Herewith the results:
Words I had to look up:
Steve Forti: parget
If I understood it at all, I'm sure it would be hilarious
RKeelanA word I want to use often
What to you think of making this sentence the next contest prompt?
cjohs "Somebody had thrown a pogo-stick through the window"
Consigned to the KalePits of Carkoon
Honestly, John Davis (manuscript) Frain is just going to own the subheading for a while
“You couldn’t raise money on an escalator.”
"I wondered why his fist was getting bigger. Then it hit me"
Why do I even try??
Steve Forti has foiled me yet again.
The gym stank of old sweat and moldy parget. Gone was the glory, the clog of fans. Just an idiot shouting from the top rope.
“Get your ass down. You ain’t Tarzan, Z. I barely recognize you lately. And stop shouting. What’s the most important tool for a boxer?”
“Oxygen,” Zeke mumbled.
“Damn straight. Speed and strength don’t mean shit if you’re winded. Breathe first, then attack. Jab or slug. One-two combos. Up-tempo. Go high then low. Keep ‘em guessing. He retreats too far, goad him back.”
Zeke exhaled, eyed the empty gym. Two years, yet Coach’s voice lived on.
Here are the finalists:
She pogoes the Tango.
The audience in uproar at this no-no.
A rebel of the Ballroom from the get-go.
Couples still going quick-quick-slow.
A slug of The Judge's water before,
she rips up The Organiser's logo
to protest their embargo on her partner being Margo.
'Security!' calls The Judge. 'You've taken things too far.'
'Go on, Dad. Throw me out. Your water tastes of vodka with a twist of spite. But I'll keep dancing with whomever I like.'
Chengdu International. Waipo sees me off: Ba and Ma too busy. Students lug on cases, full of get-go. Waipo presses her Bible into my hands.
“You can't give me this!”
She smiles. “You need it more.”
Auckland. Waipo's pickles confiscated: biohazard. Her Bible stays.
My thesis: isotopes of Argon. Hate it.
Crowne Plaza, NZ. I barf, drunk for the first time. Miss those pickles. Go back; read. Cry.
Log onto email. Waipo. Hospital.
Early flight? Then I can't afford to eat next semester.
I take it anyway.
Arrive at nearly six. ER. Oxygen mask on. But Waipo? Gone, flown. Home.
(and selected by Her Grace, the Duchess of Yowl as the best entry of course)
She stalked into my alley, a golden-furred queen.
“Hello Gordy” she purred.
“That’s Mr Whiskers to you, sweet-ears. What’s the get-go?”
“That new family from Fargo…”
“They’re deciding between keeping me or…” She arched “…getting a D.O.G. Some pogoing idiot, all slobber and walkies”
I clicked my teeth. “That’s bad.”
“Thought you might come play chase. Make them think.”
“I could visit… if you’ve got something to trade.”
She flicked an ear. “Joint called the Zanzibar. Pallet of spoiled cake behind the xerox. Deal?”
Hot damn. “Deal.”
In this slug of a town, a rat’s gotta seize his chance.
At seventeen, Matt was an A-plus mechanic, a whiz-bang auto-fixer. Oxygen sensor on the blink? He’d fix it, two shakes of a lamb’s ass. Unfortunately, English class just wasn’t his thing.
“...And then they pogo up, down. Near, far, going every which way you can imagine! Canines go all zanzi! Barrel around in these multi-colored cars --”
He smiled, halo gold as the sun. “Yes, Mrs. Blodget?”
“‘Go, Dog. Go!’ is not appropriate material for an 11th grade book report.”
Later, in the faculty lot, he adjusted her wheel fasteners: lug operation optimal.
Teach her to fuck with the classics.
Tommy knocked harder, and Adrianne braced the front door. Jesus, he was drunk from the get-go. Calling her a dumb-slut slugo and worse. Door was gonna break—so she opened it, and he pitched forward inside.
She aimed the kitchen knife at his throat. “Stay,” she said. And he did, chained in the basement with nothing but old comics, Garfield, Charlie Brown, Pogo. For four years.
First, his bank account: easy. Then, a Zanzibar vacation, and in the Fargo airport she saw his face on a “missing” xerox flyer, under a police shield logo.
Except his name wasn’t Tommy.
I’m a xero. Xip. Froxen out. By Her decree.
True, I never seixed much buxx. I’m no whixx. I’m a slugo, laxing along at the back of the line. It’s pretty far, going to the endxone when you need me.
But Xounds! I’ve been there from the get-go. Hello, got amaxing words to spell all through the Greek era.
And snooxing on the far left of the keyboard, that’s not craxy. You realixe I’m almost never seen in a typo.
Gosh! They’ll never be able to spell Xanxibar now. I know she needs to foil Forti, but geex!
The GetGo 99-cent breakfast burrito trampolining in my gut threatened to pogo back up to the pavement. The super-sized slug of vodka fortifying the Slush Puppie didn't help. I trudged onward, officeward, my wake reeking of regret. Inexplicably, my shoes had gained a few pounds since last night. Beneath them, the sidewalk sighed, saddled with the weight of my world.
I arrived to find the switchboard lit up like the heavens, and pushed the button blinking the loudest. A shaky voice beseeched.
A far gone conclusion. My first day on the job would be less than divine.
Honestly, you guyz just continue to amaze me.
How you do this and on such short notice and with such IMPOSSIBLE words!!! I do not know.
I'm just going to have to surrender to Steve Forti. He's stymied me every single time. Even a shark has to know when to quit gnawing.
This weeks winner though is a deft use of prompt words and letters, a delightful bit of play.
JanR of course.
JanR, if you'll email me with your preferred mailing address and what you like to read, I'll get your prize in the mail.
As for all the rest of you, you are just amazing.
There were TERRIFIC entries that missed the cut this time; I had to pare down from more than a dozen entries!
Thanks to all of you who took the time to write and enter.
This was utterly fabu.