An ongoing evolutionary collaborative free-range Atkin's friendly, wardrobe malfunction-free, literary blog. Tastes like chicken, smells like pennies, thinks like Sloths. Hand me your cash, we need an editor.
Closet Ambitions
Steve: I'd put off cleaning the bedroom closet long enough. After twelve years, it was the time. However, I'd forgotten that at the bottom of the pile consisting of old clothes, discarded items, and various other debris I would find...
Shirl: a sporran. I groped at it in the darkness of the room and smelled its musky odor. Did I dare open it? I took a deep breath and opened the clasp, reached inside and found to my delight a...
Steve: slip of paper folded many times. As I unfurled it, I sensed there could be a secret hidden within. As I opened the last fold, soaking in the aroma wafting from the pouch, I was distracted.
Shirl: I had travelled far and wide, my whole life had been a solitary path and I had kept myself apart from those who might otherwise have been my companions. But it all began to come more clear to me with the opening of this slip of paper, the memories unfolded with every unfold of the paper. It was a note from my beloved from many years ago....
Steve: It read: "I knew it would take years for you to open this foul-smelling sporran, so I decided to leave this note in it. Eat shit and die, you bastard!"
Shirl: It was that idiot Flossie, she really knew how to get revenge, even if it was 20 years later. She was a penny-pinching, ill-willed, flagrant, jaw-dropping, needle-nosed princess. Her father was a sewage manager who.....
Steve: enjoyed his job to the point of obsession. Many who knew him said he became absorbed in his work. Flossie, jilted by her father's inattention, developed an unhealthy fantasy life.
Shirl: She liked to go down to the bingo palace and pick up men there much younger than herself, have her way with them, then steal their money while they slept. She wore lipstick that was applied generously over and beyond the edge of her lips, and she used this lipstick to leave messages on the bathroom mirror when she slinked out of the hotel room that said, "See Ya Sucker." She would then....
Steve: make photocopies of the Polaroid pictures she took of her victims as they slept. After distributing these images about the town using Scotch tape and a stapler, she would retreat to her home where Daddy awaited, ever ready with an abject apology. This always unnerved her. One night her angst swelled to the breaking point. She decided to retaliate against all men for the wrongs she believed were perpetrated toward her. She stole the keys to Dad's Volvo. Off she went in her quest to...
Shirl: purchase some car freshners, fuzzy dice, and a pack of cigs. She drove to the sewage plant and demanded a pay check, although she didn't work there. The accountant passed her a check which read, "I'll see you in Hell". She managed to keep her composure and took a Polaroid of him and darted out the door and into the Volvo, pressed the pedal to the metal and high-tailed it out towards the sewage lagoons.
Steve: Standing guard at the lagoon was John. A five foot four inch wisp of a man, he knew his sewer stewardship. As Flossie approached in the Volvo, the air was thick with the smell of danger. The driver's door swung open.
Shirl: She looked him over coyly, then asked him, "You want a piece of this?" Her body brushed up against his body gently. He looked around to see if anyone was watching then made his move....
Steve: "You like things colored green?" he asked. "Well, what ya got?" replied Flossie. John grasped her hand. "Here, let's take a tour."
Shirl: They walked up the slope to the retaining walls and looked over the precipice and to the shimmering glass-like surface of the lagoon. The smell overwhelmed her, and she almost fainted. She told the guard she was feeling indulged to drive her father's Volvo into the enormous vat of swill
Steve: "But baby," John cooed as he whipped out his makeup mirror, "Just look at yourself! You're a gorgeous doll. Ya know we were meant to be together. Can you take me into town when the court house opens so we can get married? I don't have a car."
Shirl: "Well, I'll marry you only if you wear your Scottish outfit, complete with knee high socks, kilt, sporran, jacket and have a piper play at the ceremony," she demanded. She pulled a cigarette out from behind her ear and offered it to him, while scratching under her left boob, and still lamenting over the fact that she hadn't yet driven the Volvo into the sewage lagoon.
Steve: "I like a woman with Celtic tendencies," John muttered as he played with the hem on his kilt. "Shall we sing a dirge about Barry Manilow?"
Shirl: She asked him if she could play his skin flute and he muttering something inaudible back, then grabbed her hand again and....
Steve: directed it to the softest part of his manhood. His family photo album, that he had secreted behind a nearby wall for just such an occasion. "Look, this is my sisterrrr" he intoned, the rough Scottish brogue overtaking his speech. "Whattya think of herrrrrr?" Suddenly Flossie became overwhelmed by the situation. A man in a kilt. An unexplained Scotsman. Pictures of an unknown sister. The thought of having sex near sewage.
Shirl: The whole idea was electrically charged within her, within him, and in the air. A lightning bolt blazened the air, a deafening sound of thunder roared. They knew it was time, they couldn't wait, they just had to do it.
Steve: Unfortunately, the lightning bolt - that was supposed to symbolize sexual energy - ignited a methane cloud that hovered over the sewage lagoon. With a giant flash and a thunderous roar, most of the clothing was ripped from our local heroes. Flossie now had "butt floss." John had to use the john.
Shirl: It was this memory I recalled as I stood there in my bedroom holding the sporran in my hands and reading the crumpled note found inside. She had reneged on the marriage proposal and just as well. She was such a tart. I just didn't want to lose my job by having her drive her father's Volvo into the sewage lagoon. It was a no win situation, I hated my job.
Steve: But who wouldn't hate my job. Quality control. Inspecting individual Corn Nuts. One after one after one. Eight hours every frickin' day. Nuts. Corn Nuts. Mad, I'm telling you. It's enough to make you...
Shirl: want to join a band and enjoy one's life seeing and eating the corn nuts from the other end. I now began to wonder what ever happened to that crazy Flossie.
Steve: The man who knocked on my door early Saturday morning claimed to have the answer. He told me he had clues to the whereabouts of Flossie. After strangling the Jehovah's Witness who momentarily blocked our communication, I invited the man inside. He began to talk.
Shirl: He had seen her at a youth hostel in Barcelona, Spain, while there just months ago. She was eyeing some young lads from Scotland who were band members wearing kilt apparel. She had heavily glossed over lips, wore air freshners around her neck, and a cig slung over her ear.
Steve: As I soaked in this information, I noticed that my loins were becoming soaked as well, as thoughts of Renuzit and bagpipes permeated my ideas for future entertainment.
Shirl: He continued his story and I offered him some Scotch whiskey. We sat up late talking about all manner of things and the topic of Flossie got lost in the blurriness of whiskey to the max.
Steve: Eventually we decided what was to be the topic du jour. It was the subject of his doctor's dissertation. Or what it would have been, had he graduated from grade school. "Economic Development in a 23rd Century Crack House".
Shirl: It was a topic he had pilfered from his girlfriend's diary. She had been a hippy in her youth and had kept daily entries of her episodes with contraband, flower power, bead work, and macrame filled days.
Steve: Looking back on the days when he sneakily read her diary entries (asshole), John recalled one particularly disturbing passage from 1977. It still caused his arm follicles to spontaneously erect.
Shirl: It was an entry of which she was explaining the procedure she followed while weaving the knots in her macrame. She fondled the coarse lace work as if it were a man's private parts, gently molding them into place and stroking the fibers as she gingerly made knots, but just as the knot was tightened she yanked it hard and then slammed the knot hard on the wooden work table and cursed a man by the name of Hornby.
Steve: Hornby, ired by the invocation of his name, was aroused. "YOU DARE TO SUMMON ME? AFTER FIFTEEN THOUSAND LONG AND ARDUOUS NIGHTS OF ATTEMPTED SLUMBER? HOW DARE YOU?"
Shirl: "Shut up," said John, "I'm just recalling reading my pilfered girlfriend's diary you idiot".
Steve: Hornby now silenced, John read on. On page 26, one entry was of particular interest. It began...June 12, 1988..... saw a man with his tools displayed. Went to Sears for the closeout sale. John didn't know whether to be furious or strangely titillated. Then he read further. The text got even better...
Shirl: She had gone to the sports section of Sears and bought a Big Bertha. John wasn't a golfer so didn't know what that was. He wondered aloud...could it be....
Steve: "Nah," he chuckled to himself. "I dated her. She can't be bought."
Looking at another entry from November 10, 1977 (there will be a quiz later), John stumbled on a milestone. Flossie knew something about a contributor to the blog!
Shirl: If Flossie knew, she wasn't writing it in the diary, it was only an inference. Could it be...
Steve: None of the other bloggers' business? Ha! With that, an angry John slammed the book shut. A new endeavor raced through his now agile mind. Sprinting out the front door, he looked both ways before crossing the sidewalk. He paused to pick up an earthworm.
Shirl: He asked himself, "If earthworms could talk, I wonder what they'd say?" He meandered down the street, and back onto the sidewalk, taking great pain as to not step on any of the cracks. The earthworm suddenly spoke, "What the hell do you think you are doing?"
Steve: "Well worm, I'm not stepping on you," John replied. "Be knowledgeable of who you are, what size you are, and respect others." John gently replaced the worm on the Earth.
Shirl: Moral of the Story: an earthworm in the pocket is worth 10 fold of....
Steve: one piece of ass from Katelyn Faber (Kobe Bryant's accuser).
Steve: I'd put off cleaning the bedroom closet long enough. After twelve years, it was the time. However, I'd forgotten that at the bottom of the pile consisting of old clothes, discarded items, and various other debris I would find...
Shirl: a sporran. I groped at it in the darkness of the room and smelled its musky odor. Did I dare open it? I took a deep breath and opened the clasp, reached inside and found to my delight a...
Steve: slip of paper folded many times. As I unfurled it, I sensed there could be a secret hidden within. As I opened the last fold, soaking in the aroma wafting from the pouch, I was distracted.
Shirl: I had travelled far and wide, my whole life had been a solitary path and I had kept myself apart from those who might otherwise have been my companions. But it all began to come more clear to me with the opening of this slip of paper, the memories unfolded with every unfold of the paper. It was a note from my beloved from many years ago....
Steve: It read: "I knew it would take years for you to open this foul-smelling sporran, so I decided to leave this note in it. Eat shit and die, you bastard!"
Shirl: It was that idiot Flossie, she really knew how to get revenge, even if it was 20 years later. She was a penny-pinching, ill-willed, flagrant, jaw-dropping, needle-nosed princess. Her father was a sewage manager who.....
Steve: enjoyed his job to the point of obsession. Many who knew him said he became absorbed in his work. Flossie, jilted by her father's inattention, developed an unhealthy fantasy life.
Shirl: She liked to go down to the bingo palace and pick up men there much younger than herself, have her way with them, then steal their money while they slept. She wore lipstick that was applied generously over and beyond the edge of her lips, and she used this lipstick to leave messages on the bathroom mirror when she slinked out of the hotel room that said, "See Ya Sucker." She would then....
Steve: make photocopies of the Polaroid pictures she took of her victims as they slept. After distributing these images about the town using Scotch tape and a stapler, she would retreat to her home where Daddy awaited, ever ready with an abject apology. This always unnerved her. One night her angst swelled to the breaking point. She decided to retaliate against all men for the wrongs she believed were perpetrated toward her. She stole the keys to Dad's Volvo. Off she went in her quest to...
Shirl: purchase some car freshners, fuzzy dice, and a pack of cigs. She drove to the sewage plant and demanded a pay check, although she didn't work there. The accountant passed her a check which read, "I'll see you in Hell". She managed to keep her composure and took a Polaroid of him and darted out the door and into the Volvo, pressed the pedal to the metal and high-tailed it out towards the sewage lagoons.
Steve: Standing guard at the lagoon was John. A five foot four inch wisp of a man, he knew his sewer stewardship. As Flossie approached in the Volvo, the air was thick with the smell of danger. The driver's door swung open.
Shirl: She looked him over coyly, then asked him, "You want a piece of this?" Her body brushed up against his body gently. He looked around to see if anyone was watching then made his move....
Steve: "You like things colored green?" he asked. "Well, what ya got?" replied Flossie. John grasped her hand. "Here, let's take a tour."
Shirl: They walked up the slope to the retaining walls and looked over the precipice and to the shimmering glass-like surface of the lagoon. The smell overwhelmed her, and she almost fainted. She told the guard she was feeling indulged to drive her father's Volvo into the enormous vat of swill
Steve: "But baby," John cooed as he whipped out his makeup mirror, "Just look at yourself! You're a gorgeous doll. Ya know we were meant to be together. Can you take me into town when the court house opens so we can get married? I don't have a car."
Shirl: "Well, I'll marry you only if you wear your Scottish outfit, complete with knee high socks, kilt, sporran, jacket and have a piper play at the ceremony," she demanded. She pulled a cigarette out from behind her ear and offered it to him, while scratching under her left boob, and still lamenting over the fact that she hadn't yet driven the Volvo into the sewage lagoon.
Steve: "I like a woman with Celtic tendencies," John muttered as he played with the hem on his kilt. "Shall we sing a dirge about Barry Manilow?"
Shirl: She asked him if she could play his skin flute and he muttering something inaudible back, then grabbed her hand again and....
Steve: directed it to the softest part of his manhood. His family photo album, that he had secreted behind a nearby wall for just such an occasion. "Look, this is my sisterrrr" he intoned, the rough Scottish brogue overtaking his speech. "Whattya think of herrrrrr?" Suddenly Flossie became overwhelmed by the situation. A man in a kilt. An unexplained Scotsman. Pictures of an unknown sister. The thought of having sex near sewage.
Shirl: The whole idea was electrically charged within her, within him, and in the air. A lightning bolt blazened the air, a deafening sound of thunder roared. They knew it was time, they couldn't wait, they just had to do it.
Steve: Unfortunately, the lightning bolt - that was supposed to symbolize sexual energy - ignited a methane cloud that hovered over the sewage lagoon. With a giant flash and a thunderous roar, most of the clothing was ripped from our local heroes. Flossie now had "butt floss." John had to use the john.
Shirl: It was this memory I recalled as I stood there in my bedroom holding the sporran in my hands and reading the crumpled note found inside. She had reneged on the marriage proposal and just as well. She was such a tart. I just didn't want to lose my job by having her drive her father's Volvo into the sewage lagoon. It was a no win situation, I hated my job.
Steve: But who wouldn't hate my job. Quality control. Inspecting individual Corn Nuts. One after one after one. Eight hours every frickin' day. Nuts. Corn Nuts. Mad, I'm telling you. It's enough to make you...
Shirl: want to join a band and enjoy one's life seeing and eating the corn nuts from the other end. I now began to wonder what ever happened to that crazy Flossie.
Steve: The man who knocked on my door early Saturday morning claimed to have the answer. He told me he had clues to the whereabouts of Flossie. After strangling the Jehovah's Witness who momentarily blocked our communication, I invited the man inside. He began to talk.
Shirl: He had seen her at a youth hostel in Barcelona, Spain, while there just months ago. She was eyeing some young lads from Scotland who were band members wearing kilt apparel. She had heavily glossed over lips, wore air freshners around her neck, and a cig slung over her ear.
Steve: As I soaked in this information, I noticed that my loins were becoming soaked as well, as thoughts of Renuzit and bagpipes permeated my ideas for future entertainment.
Shirl: He continued his story and I offered him some Scotch whiskey. We sat up late talking about all manner of things and the topic of Flossie got lost in the blurriness of whiskey to the max.
Steve: Eventually we decided what was to be the topic du jour. It was the subject of his doctor's dissertation. Or what it would have been, had he graduated from grade school. "Economic Development in a 23rd Century Crack House".
Shirl: It was a topic he had pilfered from his girlfriend's diary. She had been a hippy in her youth and had kept daily entries of her episodes with contraband, flower power, bead work, and macrame filled days.
Steve: Looking back on the days when he sneakily read her diary entries (asshole), John recalled one particularly disturbing passage from 1977. It still caused his arm follicles to spontaneously erect.
Shirl: It was an entry of which she was explaining the procedure she followed while weaving the knots in her macrame. She fondled the coarse lace work as if it were a man's private parts, gently molding them into place and stroking the fibers as she gingerly made knots, but just as the knot was tightened she yanked it hard and then slammed the knot hard on the wooden work table and cursed a man by the name of Hornby.
Steve: Hornby, ired by the invocation of his name, was aroused. "YOU DARE TO SUMMON ME? AFTER FIFTEEN THOUSAND LONG AND ARDUOUS NIGHTS OF ATTEMPTED SLUMBER? HOW DARE YOU?"
Shirl: "Shut up," said John, "I'm just recalling reading my pilfered girlfriend's diary you idiot".
Steve: Hornby now silenced, John read on. On page 26, one entry was of particular interest. It began...June 12, 1988..... saw a man with his tools displayed. Went to Sears for the closeout sale. John didn't know whether to be furious or strangely titillated. Then he read further. The text got even better...
Shirl: She had gone to the sports section of Sears and bought a Big Bertha. John wasn't a golfer so didn't know what that was. He wondered aloud...could it be....
Steve: "Nah," he chuckled to himself. "I dated her. She can't be bought."
Looking at another entry from November 10, 1977 (there will be a quiz later), John stumbled on a milestone. Flossie knew something about a contributor to the blog!
Shirl: If Flossie knew, she wasn't writing it in the diary, it was only an inference. Could it be...
Steve: None of the other bloggers' business? Ha! With that, an angry John slammed the book shut. A new endeavor raced through his now agile mind. Sprinting out the front door, he looked both ways before crossing the sidewalk. He paused to pick up an earthworm.
Shirl: He asked himself, "If earthworms could talk, I wonder what they'd say?" He meandered down the street, and back onto the sidewalk, taking great pain as to not step on any of the cracks. The earthworm suddenly spoke, "What the hell do you think you are doing?"
Steve: "Well worm, I'm not stepping on you," John replied. "Be knowledgeable of who you are, what size you are, and respect others." John gently replaced the worm on the Earth.
Shirl: Moral of the Story: an earthworm in the pocket is worth 10 fold of....
Steve: one piece of ass from Katelyn Faber (Kobe Bryant's accuser).
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