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The new philosophy instructor wanted to make a good impression on his fellow teachers, so he waited till he saw the philosophy department chairman unlocking his office door. The new instructor called out: "What do you think of the Cynics?"
The chairman replied "Not much," and closed his door.
Tim tried to finish his assignment for English class tomorrow. It was a cold January night and as he rubbed his aching temple, he stared at the only words filling his Microsoft Word Processor page. "I nac't ared my won riwtng, cufk my eifl."
A bit Hemmingwayish, but I like Hemmingway, so I like this!Quote:
Originally Posted by tonywalt
Mine is still the best.
He was confident. Assertive. Bold. He could stare down the world and excel in any kind of challenge, he thought as he entered the hallway. And then a cute girl walked by. “Nice clothes…. Not!” she laughed as she passed. He was insecure. Shy. Embarrassed. He never stood a chance!
I fall from the stars, I enter the desert, and I climb the mountain. My reality is gone, but I exist still. I find a way to end the pain. Goodbye mountain, goodbye desert, and goodbye stars.
Short Story with Fried Eggs
Poo-puck had a flippity-dope. The flippity-dope plinged in a complete boo-bad. Boo-bad had fiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing with schlack. And pong pong pong! Now cap!
Sip-dung, who had bamp with dik dik dik dik szacked with all the hemp ziiiiiiips, and now the hop hop can't hop!
Copyright 2013 by Wolf Larsen
What are you on, Wolfie? I want some. It must be some strong shi t.
James wrote, "Nonexistence is sweet." That would piss off mommy. She said his stories sucked.
"Mommy's stupid."
He took the semi-automatic rifle to the nursery, killing the women in charge and then the children before the police put one through his head.
Investigators read, "Truth is shallow. I am deep."
George cried in the temple, "Why? Oh, why?"
Nothing happened.
He cried in the church, "Why? Oh, why?"
Nothing happened.
He cried on the mountaintop in gorgeous weather, "Why? Oh, why?"
Nothing happened except lightning struck him from out of nowhere. He ran into his fifty-word story limit.
The condom broke. Nine months after that Julie was born.
Fifty-nine years after that, he died and Julie wept.
Two years after him, she also died and Julie wept.
Some knew them as sinners and others called them trash, but every God worth loving loved them, without exception.
Ping-eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep
a very short story by Wolf Larsen
Ping-eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep had a favorite ha-ha-jalikoptuck, which he kept in a black hole half way across the universe.
The black hole was made out of peanut butter.
Peanut butter has all the answers your genital herpes are craving for.
Is the ceiling talking to you?
Copyright 2013 by Wolf Larsen
A blond walks into the bar at closing time. "Where's Michael?"
"He's upstairs."
"Oh. I see." She quietly climbs the stairs.
"I wouldn't go up there, Brenda."
She comes down carrying Michael's pants and Gloria's dress. "They were asleep."
On her way out, she triggers the fire alarm sprinkler system.
Something's Wrong with the Solar System
a very short story by Wolf Larsen
He woke up inside the toilet. Then he grabbed the sun in his arms and kissed it. That's when the sun's vagina spat 1,000,000 clones of Wolf Larsen all over the planets & moons of the solar system. All of the 1,000,000 of Wolf Larsen's clones were ****ing your mother, and you were born a screaming mess 9 months later.
Copyright 2013 by Wolf Larsen
"Michael, why did the fire alarm go off and where are your pants?"
"I don't know, George."
"Brenda's had her fill of your hookers."
"Captain, you better come up here."
"Don't...."
"Relax."
George stands in the bedroom. "Gloria? What are you doing here?"
"I can explain, baby."
dawning rain
The river ran through a passage of leafy stones. The sun grabbed the water and flinged a shiny streak of yellow and red upon its waves. The air filled with condensation and it was about to rain. An Indian summer like you have never seen before was about to dawn upon nature. And thus within a matter of minutes splendor began to rise. If art could speak it would take a piece of nature and dance a jive with it.
Funeral XLVII
Alone and dead drunk again on Superbowl Sunday, surrounded by blowup dolls, each sporting his favorite player jerseys. Ravens on the right. Niners on stools, with celebrity glasses. Thanks for coming, he slurred, then bowed for their cheers. Beyonce (Destiny’s Child) was lip-synching as he lit his house afire.
Tony,Quote:
Originally Posted by tonywalt
Liked your short story. If we voted on this Thread, you'd have mine. Reminded me of Hemingway's one sentence novel ... only better.
"Well, Gloria? I'm waiting. What happened?"
"Whaa-aa-aaaaaa"
"What are you doing here without your clothes on?"
"Waaaaaa"
"Did you have sex with that sleezebag, Michael?"
"Whaaaaa-aaa-whaa"
"How long has this been going on?
"Waaaaaaaaaaaaa"
"Gloria! Brenda's your friend. She's got enough trouble with Michael's whores."
"Waaahaaa-aaa"
"I've heard enough."
To open the fridge for the last can of Muckenmeier’s, Sal had to back into the bathroom. “Gee, your place is small--”
“ ‘Small’? The mice are so hunch-backed they hired a personal injury lawyer. Even their wives are suing me for loss of consortium! Now get the hell out.”
(Forty-nine words, not counting the title. By the bye, it's "50 words or fewer.")
AuntShecky,
LMAO ... "wives suing for loss of consortium," now there's a brilliant legal tort that's never yet been tested :)
YesNo,
Like your vignette. Makes me think of Shaggy's famous song: “It Wasn't Me.” All those long words should be added to the modern dictionary, 'cause they convey clear meaning and are often heard by English speakers ‘round-the-world. I count 49 words on your short story, not counting the title. You most certainly found the poetic loophole in the word count rules by using all those hyphens :). I'd say, keep-on posting those genuine gems, but 'tis most often thought unwise ... to encourage the incorrigible :).
Hawg
PS: It would be fun to vote on the submissions on this thread too?
Thanks, Hawg Horse! I found Shaggy's song which I hadn't heard before: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2g5Hz17C4is He's pretty good.
A limit of 50 words initially seemed too restrictive but then it occurred to me that some chapters in graphic novels don't have many words in them.
Like the Time Elvis Shot Up His TV When Robert Goulet Came On
The viewer hurled the remote with such force it smashed the screen. He grabbed his crotch and yelled, “I got your ‘going forward’ right here!”
Fatastic! Standing ovation! Bravooooooooooooooooooooooooo!Quote:
Originally Posted by Hawg Horse
A Horde of Millions of Crystal Meth Addicts Devouring Everything in Their Path...
a very short story by Wolf Larsen
A penis was having a celery dip with the evening news. The evening news is made out of corn flakes, and cornflakes are falling through your dreams like the orgasms of the Pope. Someone is playing Alfred Schnittke in the distance...
Copyright 2013 by Wolf Larsen
Thanx Wolf. Nice to hear back from the freeist mind onsite. Your posts always give me pause--usually making me feel out of touch with the latest ways of the world. Without you, I'd never have considered the wet dreams of the Pope
or the music of Schnitte.
The king died. Then the queen partied like it was 1599.
The Philosophy of World War 3 in a Cracker Jack Box
a very short story by Wolf Larsen
You were walking up thousands of miles into yourself when you discovered the big gigantic anus in the center of the universe. It was the big black hole of the big gigantic anus that was devouring dozens of solar systems by the minute. Caligula was there devouring all of the solar systems...
Copyright 2013 by Wolf Larsen
It was dark. He was in a coffin. In a panic he shouted and banged. The lid came off and smashed into the back. The hearse sprang open. The box slid out. He was rolling down the street, past the chemists screaming “Has anyone got anything to stop this coffin!”
FridaY niGht imMaculate cOncePtion aT the hOtel SaNta maRia (five hour rate)
a very short story by Wolf Larsen
And the symphony of three stories of bokity-bapity-bedsprings goes bonkity-bickity-oh-oh-oh as priests & politicians & other people's wives & their bosses & good girls from good families all practice the Catholic glories of Friday night immaculate conceptions by the thousands & thousands throughout Latin America. And in nine months...
Copyright 2013 by Wolf Larsen
Billy spent hours constructing his snowman. When it failed to come to life, Billy kicked and stomped it into a lumpy mess. He considered building a replacement, but his bus was coming. All the rest of the day, he treated his employees miserably.
the title and the ending are so great! Bagel so well story. I mean Nagel so well story. I mean Nagel so well with the story. You know this voice recognition software sometimes really socks! Anyway I think you know what I mean.Quote:
Originally Posted by AuntShecky
Highway Inversions
From the backseat he thought of the interstate as slowly devoured. Pissing into the afternoon's empty wine bottle he felt an intense aversion towards his tumescence. The impulse was there, the synapses alert, scissors could be pulled from his kit, he would grasp this engorged moment...snip.
15836 or 18725
a very short story by Wolf Larsen
A poem & a very short story are exchanging gunshots outside on the street. You call the police and they laugh. Harold Washington falls through the ceiling with his male lover. You stick a mailbox into your penis and walk away...
Copyright 2013 by Wolf Larsen
Reading "snip" ... caused me a detumescent reaction.
Quote:
Originally Posted by islandclimber
Wish I Was There!!
a very short story by Wolf Larsen
Boom-boom ha-ha-ha-ha whooooopiieeeee carnivaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaalllll oh my boopity-bing-bop dance drink fornicate like ten-thousand verbs having an earthquake with a tidal wave! Sweet-sing-sex in a hoppity-yip-bing! Love hotels completely full with jonging-jip-jop! Bonging! And sockity-dip-frrriiinnnggggg! Oh my cloppity-clop!!
Copyright 2013 by Wolf Larsen
Strong. Powerful. Understated. Excellent writing.Quote:
Originally Posted by Isagel
Harper’s wife always neglected to refill the ice cube trays, but this didn’t end their marriage. He left her the night she poured him a drink on the rocks. Literally.
I don't know who I am. Sometimes, people tell me I am called Dave and that before the accident I was a great success.
The rain was falling now, an deluge of heavy droplets that skittered off the damp tarmac beneath the man's feet. Pulling his collar up against the biting wind, he tucked his hands into the deep pockets of his overcoat. He shook his head.
"All this for a pint of milk."