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.
Getting a Grip
Shirl: He had an aptitude for making desirable discoveries by accident. The cohesive grip of old habits led to the discovery....
Sam: ...of the next great sexual lubricant. His countless hours of experimentation led him down paths seldom explored, even by sexually normal folk. Dern was described as an affable, outgoing child by most of his family and peers throughout elementary school. His adventures into the world of household chemicals yielded some interesting results, to say the least. His cohesive grip played a part in his discoveries.
Shirl: The old standbys of bacon grease, coconut oil, and olive oil didn't quite make it anymore. Intestinal fortitude aside, he plotted out the next harrowing trial. Gripping the neck of the stuffed goose....
Sam: ...he remembered the sweet nirvana of the banana peel. All adolescent boys recall the wondrous sensation as the peel, voided of its inner fruit, as it slid up and down along the shaft of the hoe. Dern's father, Frank, was a stern taskmaster. Frank was a strong advocate of the benefits of banana lubrication applied to the handles of farm tools.
Shirl: Some drizzled chocolate added a nice touch. Oh yes, it was sinful. The sound of fresh voices pierced the air. He took the gallon of freshly concocted mixture and stowed it away with him to the shed. He thought to himself, "I'll build a wall. Not to block anyone out, but to see who loves me enough to climb over it."
Sam: Dern awakened from his nap next to the library. He thought, "Where in the hell did a concoction come from? I was only pondering a coc."
Shirl: The gravitational pull of a new and yet unfound delight was weighing heavily on his quest. What seemed to be an insurmountable obstacle became suddenly clear. He reached over and grabbed the Frank's RedHot Sauce left at the dinner table. His eyes twinkled.
Sam: Frank recoiled. "Dern you, y'ought to know better than to grab a man by his sauce. Ya must be a bastard. Can't be any son o' mine. I'll gather that yer mom's innards are in ya. Yea remember her name, don't ya? It was...
Shirl: ...Bad Mutha MoFo Goomagoochie. She toted a gun, rode broncs, pistol whipped the sheriff in town, had bad wooden teeth, and sneered. Dammit, he referred to the them as the 'rents.
Sam: "Well, fuck!" Dern suggested.
Maybe that minor directive would distract these miscreants for a little while. In the meantime, perhaps he could backtrack, and possibly relieve himself of some of the Frank's.
Shirl: The hollow tube, the caliper, the wine drip stop ring, the bubble blower, and yes, the lasso, were all laid out on the kitchen table. The 'rents were up to something, and he didn't want to be part of it. He had his own agenda. The only thing now was a plan to apply the agenda. He mustered up some quotables before applying the Frank's RedHot Sauce.
Sam: "Sense, it matters not," Dern felped. "You will be the first to be slathered by the latest masterpiece. Millennia of spice cultivation, combined with multiple generations of agricultural knowledge, led us to this point."
Shirl: "Oh Lord, let us be thankful for that which we are about to receive", he declared. There was a pause, then continued silence. Crickets chirped. All of a sudden.....
Sam: ...a small crowd gathered. People seem to come out of nowhere in movies, so why not in printed fiction? They backed up slightly to witness what was about to occur. Somewhere, off in the distance, a balloon inflated. It was gaseous, and full of itself. A dog barked alongside it.
Shirl: The occurrence was titillating and the faux leather upholstery began to glisten. The crowd was awed.
Sam: Faux leather. Oh, the faux. Many were the times that Dern was the one with dull luster against the glistening of the upholstery. He yearned for the days when he was the glistening one. Alas, he had more to achieve. Then...
Shirl: ...lacking of course in the prized odor of natural leathers, the faux leather still had its glistening qualities whilst being massaged with Frank's Redhot Sauce. The enduring lure of faux leather ensconced with the sauce was unmatched. Who could say they didn't prefer it over a real hide?
Sam: Those who have ridden real hides can tell the difference. Natural hides tend to have an innate basic friction. While healthy, and stabilizing the mounter, natural hides are summarily respected by hide analysts. Unnatural hides tend to slip once mounted, have more blemishes, and tend to leave the mounter with unpleasant memories of the ride.
Leather. Sauce. I'm thinking Arby's ®
Shirl: He had an aptitude for making desirable discoveries by accident. The cohesive grip of old habits led to the discovery....
Sam: ...of the next great sexual lubricant. His countless hours of experimentation led him down paths seldom explored, even by sexually normal folk. Dern was described as an affable, outgoing child by most of his family and peers throughout elementary school. His adventures into the world of household chemicals yielded some interesting results, to say the least. His cohesive grip played a part in his discoveries.Shirl: The old standbys of bacon grease, coconut oil, and olive oil didn't quite make it anymore. Intestinal fortitude aside, he plotted out the next harrowing trial. Gripping the neck of the stuffed goose....
Sam: ...he remembered the sweet nirvana of the banana peel. All adolescent boys recall the wondrous sensation as the peel, voided of its inner fruit, as it slid up and down along the shaft of the hoe. Dern's father, Frank, was a stern taskmaster. Frank was a strong advocate of the benefits of banana lubrication applied to the handles of farm tools.
Shirl: Some drizzled chocolate added a nice touch. Oh yes, it was sinful. The sound of fresh voices pierced the air. He took the gallon of freshly concocted mixture and stowed it away with him to the shed. He thought to himself, "I'll build a wall. Not to block anyone out, but to see who loves me enough to climb over it."
Sam: Dern awakened from his nap next to the library. He thought, "Where in the hell did a concoction come from? I was only pondering a coc."
Shirl: The gravitational pull of a new and yet unfound delight was weighing heavily on his quest. What seemed to be an insurmountable obstacle became suddenly clear. He reached over and grabbed the Frank's RedHot Sauce left at the dinner table. His eyes twinkled.
Sam: Frank recoiled. "Dern you, y'ought to know better than to grab a man by his sauce. Ya must be a bastard. Can't be any son o' mine. I'll gather that yer mom's innards are in ya. Yea remember her name, don't ya? It was...Shirl: ...Bad Mutha MoFo Goomagoochie. She toted a gun, rode broncs, pistol whipped the sheriff in town, had bad wooden teeth, and sneered. Dammit, he referred to the them as the 'rents.
Sam: "Well, fuck!" Dern suggested.
Maybe that minor directive would distract these miscreants for a little while. In the meantime, perhaps he could backtrack, and possibly relieve himself of some of the Frank's.
Shirl: The hollow tube, the caliper, the wine drip stop ring, the bubble blower, and yes, the lasso, were all laid out on the kitchen table. The 'rents were up to something, and he didn't want to be part of it. He had his own agenda. The only thing now was a plan to apply the agenda. He mustered up some quotables before applying the Frank's RedHot Sauce.
Sam: "Sense, it matters not," Dern felped. "You will be the first to be slathered by the latest masterpiece. Millennia of spice cultivation, combined with multiple generations of agricultural knowledge, led us to this point."
Shirl: "Oh Lord, let us be thankful for that which we are about to receive", he declared. There was a pause, then continued silence. Crickets chirped. All of a sudden.....
Sam: ...a small crowd gathered. People seem to come out of nowhere in movies, so why not in printed fiction? They backed up slightly to witness what was about to occur. Somewhere, off in the distance, a balloon inflated. It was gaseous, and full of itself. A dog barked alongside it.
Shirl: The occurrence was titillating and the faux leather upholstery began to glisten. The crowd was awed.
Sam: Faux leather. Oh, the faux. Many were the times that Dern was the one with dull luster against the glistening of the upholstery. He yearned for the days when he was the glistening one. Alas, he had more to achieve. Then...
Shirl: ...lacking of course in the prized odor of natural leathers, the faux leather still had its glistening qualities whilst being massaged with Frank's Redhot Sauce. The enduring lure of faux leather ensconced with the sauce was unmatched. Who could say they didn't prefer it over a real hide?
Sam: Those who have ridden real hides can tell the difference. Natural hides tend to have an innate basic friction. While healthy, and stabilizing the mounter, natural hides are summarily respected by hide analysts. Unnatural hides tend to slip once mounted, have more blemishes, and tend to leave the mounter with unpleasant memories of the ride.
Leather. Sauce. I'm thinking Arby's ®
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