tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post6088214392967517225..comments2024-03-29T07:29:32.276-04:00Comments on Janet Reid, Literary Agent: the ALOT of books writing contest!Janet Reidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00615380335938685231noreply@blogger.comBlogger82125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-10872212945671174312016-07-03T08:59:27.508-04:002016-07-03T08:59:27.508-04:00Capote called me Monsieur X in his columns. I espe...Capote called me Monsieur <b>X</b> in his columns. I especially loved the bitchy comments about me. “But never reveal my identity.”<br /> <br />“Hi<b>s lip</b>o reduced him to a sack of potatoes.”<br />“He applies his makeup with a trowel. His face melts at <b>100</b>*.”<br />“He dresses in the finest Vau<b>devil</b>le tradition.”<br /><br />As alcohol curdled Truman’s genius, he’d backsta<b>b one</b> friend, then another, to spice up his columns. <br /><br />The coroner found “no foul play.” Money buys anything in Bel-Air.<br /><br />I stole Truman’s ashes and added the ashes of his last column I found when I visited him that night. I had warned him.Kittyhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/09868642232827730189noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-58434646953331261562016-07-03T08:58:25.857-04:002016-07-03T08:58:25.857-04:00“You’re doing it wrong,” E said slipping ahead.
X...“You’re doing it wrong,” E said slipping ahead.<br /><br />X gritted his teeth. He hated vowels down to his cross-legged bones. “Tyrant.”<br /><br />“What was that?” Of course, Alpha had heard him.<br /><br />That was the problem. Vowels were everywhere. They knew all X’s plans to expel them from power. If Orwell had wanted to study a police-state he only needed to have glanced at his typewriter.<br /><br />Double-U, H and Wye had served a 100 years for their unauthorized get together.<br /><br />“Psst.”<br /><br />X glanced over his shoulder.<br /><br />Q held out a piece of paper.<br /><br />Unfolding it, X cracked a devilish smile.<br /><br />Mandarin.<br />Anonymoushttps://www.blogger.com/profile/11166550751939493778noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-52614285162292813632016-07-03T08:54:19.531-04:002016-07-03T08:54:19.531-04:00I may be little, but I see things: good, evil, sex...I may be little, but I see things: good, evil, sex...everything. I prefer the happy times when everyone's smiling, dancing, laughing, but I'm there for the tears and the crying as well.<br /><br /><br />I may be little, but she trust me. Yesterday in bed, today bones and toys for her beloved dog, 100s of memories I keep locked inside me. <br /><br /><br />I may be little and she trust me, but I can only see so much with my one eye, but don't worry — I see things. Well...I see things until she slips me back into her bag.<br />LynnRodzhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/10796099106913990163noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-7564641646534187792016-07-03T08:53:12.031-04:002016-07-03T08:53:12.031-04:00Sgt. Barry charged into the room.Blood defined the...Sgt. Barry charged into the room.Blood defined the corpse of her daughter. The killer threatened her with his bloody knife. 100 angry thoughts sought relief as each heart beat bounced the badge on her chest. Her service revolver snapped on target. The X tattooed above his eyes registered and demanded action. He fell. She holstered her piece and stepped to her daughter’s body. Gushing tears caused dimples in the cherished blood. She delivered several bone crushing kicks. A shiver shook her as she perceived the devil slip from her despised son-in-law’s body. She fumbled for her cell phone.Ken Frisbie, Jr.https://www.blogger.com/profile/06997113590992606612noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-28608523234839768132016-07-03T08:51:34.126-04:002016-07-03T08:51:34.126-04:00Six years ago I became a pirate. I was a slip of a...Six years ago I became a pirate. I was a slip of a girl then, my blue eyes a blazing contrast of life against the dull stone-wash grey of this stormy sky. This was the sixth time we have moved in as many years. The rain never stops here; there is no sun. We live on Devil’s Ave. I mean who names a street after the devil? Our school mascot is the Jolly Roger. The skull and crossbones – there to remind the 100 plus students that we are pirates? After arriving, the reason they fly the Roger was made clear.Anonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-10082538262531963302016-07-03T08:42:55.113-04:002016-07-03T08:42:55.113-04:00
“Boilermaker,” he said, sitting down next to me.
...<br />“Boilermaker,” he said, sitting down next to me.<br /><br />“Sure thing, don’t mind that fella next to you, he just lost his wife.”<br /><br />“Fuck you Ned,” I said.<br /><br />Ned bit his lip, and served the fella his boilermaker.<br /><br />“I tell yah, the devils never dealt me a square hand since before I was a kid. Worked my fingers to the bone,” I said, draining the last of my Springbank 100 proof Scotch. I nodded for another.<br /><br />“Let me get that, you lost your wife.”<br /><br />“Thanks.”<br /><br />“How’d ya lose her?”<br /><br />“Fucker showed a pair of sixes, and I had a full boat.”<br />french sojournhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/14262858704848580714noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-15022652888425463862016-07-03T08:25:13.136-04:002016-07-03T08:25:13.136-04:00Alexandra,
You worry over nothing. I am happy, fi...Alexandra,<br /><br />You worry over nothing. I am happy, finally.<br /><br />It's this new tech, you know. For only $100 a session, I relive the best part of my life. It's like time travel—but real. I'm with Jeremy again, before the accident. The lazy Saturdays, the walks to Cambridge... I slip into the past, and we're together. I can feel his stubble, his muscles, his bones...he's real.<br /><br />You can call it the devil's machine, but it's only for fun, Alexandra. Only for a moment of nostalgia. I can quit whenever I want.<br /><br />But, yes, a few more checks would be nice.<br /><br />SusanAnonymoushttps://www.blogger.com/profile/01235832553786202667noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-79815644748279737062016-07-03T08:24:52.613-04:002016-07-03T08:24:52.613-04:00“...TUV, WX, Y and Z. Now I know my ABCs, next tim...“...TUV, WX, Y and Z. Now I know my ABCs, next time--”<br /><br />“All right, all right. Why don’t you count for a while?” Watching Bailey was proving to be a devilishly difficult $20 an hour.<br /><br />“Ooh, counting!” This occupies him for all of a minute and a half. “...98, 99, 100.”<br /><br />“Okay, okay. Bailey, fetch me my slippers.”<br /><br />Bailey returns seconds later with drool-covered slippers in his mouth. At wit’s end, I walk to the kitchen. <br /><br />“Look, Bailey, a bone!”<br /><br />“Bone? Bone!”<br /><br />Finally, some peace and quiet. Sometimes the old tricks work best, even with a genius talking dog.Anonymoushttps://www.blogger.com/profile/09886045611763178062noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-79147383282637027922016-07-03T08:23:52.097-04:002016-07-03T08:23:52.097-04:00David never found work. The legal market was terri...David never found work. The legal market was terrible. Jill got something right before graduation—a small firm offered $100k. They rented a townhouse in Wayside Village, near the university. <br /><br />The hours were long. Jill would slip in, bone tired, David long asleep, game controller still in his hand. She tried not to judge his pasty skin, his creeping waist. <br /><br />A flash of light from David’s phone one night. <br /><br />>Miss you<br /><br />>Still up? XOXOXO<br /><br />A few frayed wires, a camp stove, should make tomorrow’s game electrifying.<br /><br />She smiled heading out early to work. It was just a rental anyway.Anonymoushttps://www.blogger.com/profile/06133613633729435045noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-23422330789551425182016-07-03T08:23:06.119-04:002016-07-03T08:23:06.119-04:00The Reading of the Prophet Ezekiel finished, our a...The Reading of the Prophet Ezekiel finished, our a cappella choir sang. <br />“Dem bones, dem bones, dem dry bones,”<br />The music stoked us. <br /><br /><br />All the hatred and evil vicissitudes visited upon our people. All the swilled slips fed to and bedded upon our ancestors. It dried our souls and parched our hearts. How long? 100 years? Nay. Thousands. <br /><br />But, the Lord says: <br />IX-nay. <br />No. <br />More. <br /><br /><br />All our people sang,<br />“Dem bones, dem bones, gonna walk around,”<br />They stretched and stepped. They strolled and strutted.<br /><br /><br />It is time.<br />It. Is. Time.<br />We are gonna survive. <br />And we are gonna thrive. <br />Now.<br />Lisa Bodenheimhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/17809067722921953857noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-23532177234731596512016-07-03T08:05:39.858-04:002016-07-03T08:05:39.858-04:00“It’s hotter than the Devil is Hell,” said Al.
Vi...“It’s hotter than the Devil is Hell,” said Al.<br /><br />Virgil smiled, delight on his ghastly visage. He banged out a note on a xylophone made of bones. Another passage opened.<br /><br />“Circle Two,” Virgil said, sounding the proud tour guide. “Follow me down.”<br /><br />A stairwell wound into oblivion at Al’s feet. <br /><br />“Love what you’ve done with the place. How much further?”<br /><br />“Slippery here. The steps can be messy this time of eternity.”<br /><br />“..96, shit, 98, disgusting, 100,” Al counted his descent. “Fuck this. Going back.”<br /><br />“Wait,” Virgil said. “Your wife? You’ll lose her forever.”<br /><br />“Let the bitch burn.”<br /><br /><br /> <br /><br /><br />E.M. Goldsmithhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/18387494005655553037noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-25253416842640791132016-07-03T07:28:48.512-04:002016-07-03T07:28:48.512-04:00Sam found the X that marked the spot where the Dev...Sam found the X that marked the spot where the Devil had buried the bone 100 days earlier. Now to dig it up and give that rascal the slip before he could pull Sam under. With paws and dirt flying, Sam soon spied the prize. As he snatched it, though, a hand reached up from the hole, grabbed Sam's muzzle and pulled. Sam wrenched loose, bit the hand and skedaddled with the bone, proving that biting the hand that feeds you can be for the dogs.Unknownhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/15295560179778246330noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-22499267396212228172016-07-03T07:03:12.593-04:002016-07-03T07:03:12.593-04:00Max and I were BFFs till he told me I wasn't r...Max and I were BFFs till he told me I wasn't real. Oh, the laughs we used to have. Like when he was depressed, and I'd hide in the mirror and pretend to be his reflection till he leaned in real close, and I'd shout, "Boo!" Scared the devil outta him! And that time his grandma got all mad, who was it who made her slip and break her tailbone? I could tell you, like, 1000 stories. Then one day he said go back to hell where I belonged. So guess where I sent <i>him</i>. Go on, guess.Riohttps://www.blogger.com/profile/08646023320200189325noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-40903405484793807812016-07-03T05:46:53.927-04:002016-07-03T05:46:53.927-04:00Paragraph 2
Light the blue touch paper and retire...<b>Paragraph 2</b><br /><br />Light the blue touch paper and retire,<br />X marks the spot while palms perspire.<br />100 curses spawned evil's ire,<br />yeah--suck my bone if you desire.<br /><br />Careful now the mask just slipped<br />how's feel with fly unzipped?<br />The news is now, the boat just shipped,<br />what's that you say, the voters blipped.<br /><br />Now the time wait and see<br />wonder, just what kind of mystery,<br />or some such sublime trickery<br />will erase that X from history.DeadSpiderEyehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/07687178085803686186noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-24848360902404646072016-07-03T05:21:24.379-04:002016-07-03T05:21:24.379-04:00100 men, only 24 loyal. The sea's fed well ton...100 men, only 24 loyal. The sea's fed well tonight, but it's still trying to chew me up. Its teeth tear into me, icy sharp. It'll swallow me whole soon, carry my bones in its belly 'til the devil comes.<br /><br />The water feels molasses thick, but I reach the axe at my hip.<br /><br /><i>Heave ho thunk</i>: I wedge the axe into my (fucking <i>my</i>) ship's bowels. One hand on the haft, I grip a jagged barnacle with the other. My blood teases the hungry water.<br /><br />The sea smacks its lips but lets me go. It knows a feast is coming.Where There's A Quillhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/00950272130403817282noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-5055811015271757232016-07-03T04:18:00.109-04:002016-07-03T04:18:00.109-04:00Can’t do your homework? What are you, stupid?
HCl...Can’t do your homework? What are you, stupid?<br /><br /><i>HCl = <b>100 X</b> H+ of vinegar </i><br /><br />What do you call that? It’s not ballet, it’s not even vau<b>devil</b>le.<br /><br /><i>HC2H3O2 + NaCl ---> HCl + NaCH3O2 <br />(vinegar) + (salt) ---> (hydrochloric acid) + (sodium acetate)</i><br /><br />What’s this slop? I'd rather starve.<br /><br /><i>HCl cause<b>s lip</b>id peroxidation of cells</i><br /><br />Do you call that clean? Look at the ring around the bathtub, useless.<br /><br />She looked down at the gleaming tub and scooped out the last of the debris.<br />Like she thought, her mother didn’t have a decent <b>bone</b> in her body.AJ Blythehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/04529233142099749005noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-15348769170677605252016-07-03T04:16:19.945-04:002016-07-03T04:16:19.945-04:00Magic has its tools, bones and blood and crystal a...Magic has its tools, bones and blood and crystal and earth. My mother taught me the arts. A slip of a girl then, I quickly moved from pupil to mistress.<br /><br />Nothing prepared me for the stabbing wound of betrayal. My heritage is to the light; pain pulled me toward evil. Echoing laughter of the man I thought loved me haunted my soul.<br /><br />By the new moon, I knew my decision. Bones and blood and crystal and earth. 2 drams this x 100 drops that. I pulled them together, I measured them well. The potion fair glowed. A potion for death.Anonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-25317179314953390902016-07-03T03:21:03.302-04:002016-07-03T03:21:03.302-04:00I watch Detrick tag a bone colored wall with black...I watch Detrick tag a bone colored wall with black spray paint. It’s late, past midnight, but it’s gotta be 100 degrees out here. Sweat beads run down my temples.<br />“Mom’s gonna beat the devil outta us if she finds out.” The words slip out, despite his earlier demand for silence.<br />“Chill,” Detrick grunts. He draws an X with a circle in the middle, then starts on his signature—a wad of cash with a decorative D on the clip. <br /> “Detrick—”<br />“Nah,” Detrick says, finishing his tag. He grins down at me. “Call me Money.”<br />Jessicahttps://www.blogger.com/profile/16529767708330742025noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-73274100647635231382016-07-03T02:39:58.602-04:002016-07-03T02:39:58.602-04:00EUPHEMISMS & IDIOMS
1. Domestic disturbance
2...EUPHEMISMS & IDIOMS<br /><br />1. Domestic disturbance<br />2. Spontaneous abortion<br />3. Last straw<br />4. Last meal<br />5. Just desserts <br />6. Devil in the details<br />7. Accidental death: anaphylaxis<br />8. Cool as a cucumber<br />9. Slip of the tongue<br />10. 0800 Police inquiry <br />11. Dog on a bone<br />12. Inconclusive evidence <br />13. Case closed<br />14. Award-winning recipe <br />15. Happily ever after Brigidhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/13768090206152536761noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-64892583289120764502016-07-03T01:48:33.107-04:002016-07-03T01:48:33.107-04:00She started in Vaudeville. “Disappearing nightly,”...She started in Vaudeville. “Disappearing nightly,” she’d say. Cinema arrived, and absent the talent of Mae West or Groucho Marx, she departed.<br /><br />A Red Cross nurse, she was ribboned for saving thirty-two Yanks one night in Nazi-occupied France. “They were soldiers, and young.”<br /><br />She returned home after the 91st Evacuation Hospital. Raised four successful daughters. “My most delightful chore.”<br /><br />Making ends meet proved slippery until she invented bottle caps that preserved beverages. “Pepsi purchased the patent.”<br /><br />Today, her 100th birthday, her youngest, Elizabeth, said, “Mama … you must write your memoir.”<br /><br />“Oh, dear.” She blushed. “I’d have nothing to say.”<br /><br /><br />John Davis Frainhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/18020019400599228492noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-62866142568269737512016-07-03T01:04:05.900-04:002016-07-03T01:04:05.900-04:00“Why do they call it cross-stitch if you’re just m...“Why do they call it cross-stitch if you’re just makin an X?”<br /><br />“Shh, child.” <br /><br />“Granny, what’s that slippery stuff in the washtub in the barn?”<br /><br />“Best go wash, child. That stuff will eat you to the bones.”<br /><br /> “Granny, where’s Pappy?”<br /><br />“He forgot to throw salt, child. He’s gone for a bit now. Always throw salt over your shoulder if you spill.”<br /><br />“Yes, Granny.”<br /><br />“1 tree, 2 tree, 3 tree, 4. 100 paces and you’re knockin at Devil’s door.” <br /><br />“Where’d you learn that, sweetie?”<br /><br />“Hi, Mommy! Granny taught me. She said it’s how she finds Pappy when she needs to talk.”Anonymoushttps://www.blogger.com/profile/07109592845458830162noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-74742084006142163062016-07-03T01:00:11.945-04:002016-07-03T01:00:11.945-04:00
How cliché, the map says X marks the spot. The b...<br />How cliché, the map says X marks the spot. The bolded big red X sits right next to the bend in the river. Can it be that simple? Has the devil hidden his secrets in such an obvious location? Is this the key to his kingdom? Or would these riches once again slip through my fingers? No, this has to be the one, 99 attempts have failed. Lucky 100 just has to be it. I can feel it in my bones.<br />Anonymoushttps://www.blogger.com/profile/08841650884123927374noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-1358789149764513982016-07-03T00:35:59.256-04:002016-07-03T00:35:59.256-04:00As the vaudeville show lets out, there's treas...As the vaudeville show lets out, there's treasure to be had.<br /><br />X spots the mark.<br /><br />The guy's a prize: Well-off, tipsy, and careless. Before they've ribboned their way through the rabble one block, he's flashed his dough twice, buying for his filly. Inside coat pocket, right side.<br /><br />X would've pegged him even without Olivia's chalk on his sleeve.<br /><br />At the bump, the guy topples. X apologizes and helps him up, then slips away.<br /><br />The wallet contains $1.00. And a note: <i>"Love and war, Xavier. -O"</i><br /><br />X's heart seizes. He quickly feels for his own billfold.<br /><br />Damn.<br /><br />She's gone.Nate Wilsonhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/09690171790664252309noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-8230918701421402802016-07-03T00:34:02.522-04:002016-07-03T00:34:02.522-04:00
“X-Women, assemble.” She wears pink bunny slippe...<br />“X-Women, assemble.” She wears pink bunny slippers with her pajamas, a blue towel tied around her neck.<br /><br />“Not now, honey. Aunt Dana needs to rest.”<br /><br />“But mom, we have to assemble to chase away the bad evil people. Say ‘Begone and stay gone for fear of the X-Women’ 100 times.”<br /><br />“Let’s just say it 10 times, okay?”<br /><br />A dramatic sigh. “Okay.”<br /><br />They chant the line. She grabs me in a bone-crushing hug, careful to avoid my broken arm.<br /><br />“You’re safe now, Aunt Dana.”<br /><br />My swollen mouth hurts, but I smile anyway. “I feel safe now.”<br /><br />I don’t think I’m lying.<br />Cindy Chttps://www.blogger.com/profile/13196306055833459983noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-86881396308950033202016-07-03T00:19:25.213-04:002016-07-03T00:19:25.213-04:00I slip into the soul of a dancer. Her movements b...I <b>slip</b> into the soul of a dancer. Her movements balance peril and poise. She floats on pointe; her ankles overe<b>x</b>tend past her limbs.<br /><br />I sense the pain beneath her focus. Over <b>100</b> of the 206 <b>bone</b>s in her foot are fractured. <br /><br />This will be her last performance. <br /><br />Her life will soon be devoid of the purpose she has assigned it. This moment will haunt her, as will my presence. <br /><br />She will call me the <b>Devil</b>. <br /><br />Whether that's true, I cannot say. I can only say that these fleeting moments of greatness give me fire in this sterile eternity.<br />Casara Clarkhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/07115900181645032796noreply@blogger.com