Madame Bonair, great grandmother of the gypsies, wandered around her apartment berating her dearly departed spouse. There was no escape for him, not even in death. The idea! Thinking he could simply pass away and spend the rest of eternity haunting a strip bar or hovering around street corners, peering down women's tops. If he was going to see any skin in the afterlife, it would be hers, or her name wasn't Madame Bonair, which it was. So that settled it. The poor disembodied spirit had to accompany his sharp-tongued wife everywhere, even to the tedious séances she held. If only some visitors from beyond would pop in to hang out with him. But that never happened. Her spiritist sittings were such a sham it made his protoplasmic blood boil, all the while wishing vehemently that he could evaporate. He observed his wife at the hocus pocus, the crystal ball she stroked so mysteriously, seeing nothing but a distortion of her own gnarly reflection; and that annoying, nasally-pitched voice spewing forth in her phony trance, the same voice that had nagged him all those years of his life and past his deceasement. Enough was enough! It made him so furious he'd lift up the table and hurl it across the room. But even in death he couldn't win. All that he achieved was a generous tip for Madame Bonair and an increase in her reputation as a mistress of mysticism.
Story #258
Thanks everyone for your story contributions for this photo, all reposted at indeterminacies.blogspot.com.
21 comments:
"No, no, no," Jonquil explained, "it should be over here between your molars...yes, yes, very good, does it feel soft and supple? Does it taste like meat or vegetable? With the tip of your tongue, dear...ah, yes that's nice...meat or vegetable, dear? Ah, spinach, wonderful, wonderful...how old does it seem? Still green? Oh, you can tell because it loses it's flavor for awhile then takes on the taste of your mouth. Can't taste it? Probably three days then. That's all I need dear, you'll live into your sixties, marry a wealthy insurance broker at 28 and will adopt one child."
Great picture! I will write something tomorrow.
Doug's is humorous.
Grandma Conchetti couldn't eat carrots without a bit of them sliding up the back stairs of the breathing passage. Carrots were the only food she had this trouble with, and she never understood why it happened to her. Her brothers taught her how to remedy the problem, back when she was a preteen in Sicely, and two generations later a snort and a hock still drew the offending veggies back down her gullet like they always had. Family dinners were always great at Grandma's house -- and, for some eaters, truncated affairs once the appetite was lost when she'd have to do her manoeuver. Her children and grandchildren had asked why she doesn't just leave the raw or gently cooked carrots out of her dishes, and she'd say with a snap "because they are good for the eyes, bimbini!" Not only did she have good eyesight, she seldom had competition for dessert.
[This is based on a true story... I have that exact problem with raw carrots. What, am I inhaling while I'm chewing?]
Mush: "Truncated" is a new word for me; I must look that one up. Either carrots just don't like you, or you just don't like them. I suppose you've mastered the art of the snort and hock.
Indie, here's my story:
I'm Pat and I'm a pirate wench. I've sailed the angry seas for over 65 years now in search of fine booty. Well, no fine booty could be found and I had to settle for my wimpy husband, Johnny.
(Insert Phyllis Diller laugh here.)
Now, seriously, whenever a drunken scoundrel would try and have his way with me, I'd give him this face here, and the rotten vermin would scurry away like a scared mouse.
But, not Johnny, no.
He never gave up, or ran away, and he pillaged and plundered the heck outta me. It was afterwards that I found out he was blind. (Insert laugh again.)
Jamie: Yes, I'm a boy thus have had extensive training and useage of the snort and the hock... and can usually spit pretty well too. :) What, you think I'd swallow? Nice 'Diller-esque' story... good thing you didn't call Pat's hubby 'Fang' or his in-laws would be suing you. (But with some of the things you say in your blog, yer own folks might disown you... muahahaha, all praise Aidon!)
I've got my story, which means I can peek by here to see what's going on. I think the lady has got us all beat, narrative-wise.
I don't know when I learned the word truncate, but it's used in math/computer circles. Instead of rounding a number up or down, you can truncate it at a certain decimal position, cut short, so to speak.
It was the worst orgasm in the history of the Universe.
Sue: I love one sentence short stories! Do you have a blog or website you'd like me to link to? All contributors get a link.
And for once I'm ahead of things! I've just reposted last week's stories and this week's at indeterminacies.blogspot.com
Jamie Dawn, I love it. I didn't notice the Phyllis Diller resemblence until I read your story.
Indie, it must have really freaked people out to see her at the store with her purse floating along beside her.
Janet’s grandson Gerald loved playing in the dirt. He would move dirt with his yellow bulldozer. Making roads for all his toy trucks and cars. Janet watched him all morning until just before lunch.
“Gerald its time to go in for a bath before we eat”
“Bath!?” Gerald spit at her. “I don’t need a bath”
As he looked at her he couldn’t help make such ugly faces at her. He spent quite a few minutes perfecting the perfect look.
Janet didn’t know whether to play along or laugh at him. He was such a dramatic child.
After Gerald got the look down he spat at her, “What’s for lunch?”
“Grilled cheese and tomato soup”
“Eeewww” another grimace formed making it hard to resist.
Janet clenched her jaws and wrinkled her nose in her best impression of Gerald’s expression.
Gerald was startled as he looked up at her but then fell into a laughing fit as he rolled in the dirt.
Janet reached down and tickled him making him laugh even more.
“Let’s go eat”
Beautiful! Indeed, when I saw the picture I was reminded for a short moment of the merry widow Dushan and I stayed with in Paris, while we took our one month French course. Can't wait for the next story! This is addictive!
Madame Bonair is just, plain mean. Her poor deceased hubby needs to toss a big, heavy table on top of her!
Michael's story was sweet. That kid could use a swat or two on the butt.
Amusing picture with an amusing story, some elements were somehow sad though its too late at night or early morning for me to analyse it. I had fun reading it.
I just have to say this too, the picture you get are so nice, funny and original which has started to develope a strange phobia in me. Its the "somewhere out there might be an embaressing picture of me and I have no idea about it" Phobia... On the other hand, if you keep digging out the best pictures of the internet one day I ll surely find someone here which I know. :D.
Sorry if it makes no sense... early morning...
Sue: Muahahaha, that's the sort of caption I would have given it had it been on my found photo site, Laughter is the Spackle of the Soul. I couldn't think of a way to make the carrots up the schnozz concept come out any shorter... it's happened enough to me that I know detail of how that feels is better.
Jamie: Forget to tell you how I loved your story. I think reading my blog has started to deprave you a little. Glad to help!
Michael: I like the family stories, though I haven't written too many of them yet for some reason. No reason actually.
Elveshat: I'm glad you like this story. As for photos: Maybe I have already found a picture of you and none of us knows it. If you want to avoid my using an embarassing photo, you can send a non-embarassing one and I will use that instead ;-) If I ever find a cache of photos I know are from Greece, I will consult with you. (I don't know that I find any. What do the filenames look like in the Greek alphabet as displayed using the Latin alphabet?)
Many of my stories were written in the early morning, too, and make less sense that what you've commented.
Elli: Thanks for such kind compliments. You're the first person I can remember saying they are addicted to my stories. I'm flattered. Disclaimer: Zu Risiken und Nebenwirkungen fragen Sie Ihren Arzt oder Apotheker.
Strangely, embarrasing pictures are the best kind of pictures for stories. I might send you one (not embarresing :D).
Well, what the greek file names look like? That depends on the author. Some give them english names and if not then it will be one of the millions of greek names. Few examples: sti_thalassa.jpg, kalokairi.jpg, halazi.jpg, desouleotipota.jpg, ellinikileksi.jpg, oitreisadelfes.jpg etc.
This was an inspirational photograph, obviously. I really liked it, but nothing floated up from the subconscious, so I just get to enjoy everyone else's great contributions. I like Doug's image of the purse floating along beside her as an addendum to Indie's story.
BTW, Indie, I had not heard of General Tomato before. Just tried to come up with a suitably red food item. Of course there was Attack of the Killer Tomatoes.
Indie!
Up there with one of my favorites!
i haven't read the story, but the photo is hysterical! LOL
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