Black Friday

“Are you ready for our chaotic day at the shops tomorrow, then?”

“It’s the ‘stores,’ luv. We’re in America now.”

“Oh, all right then. The ‘stores.’ Are we taking the lorry or the car?”

“We’re going to take the truck. We’d better if we’re going to buy a new bed.”

“Right then. Better get the shopping bags out of the boot of the car for the small stuff.”

“What’s that sigh for?”

“Nothing, me luv. Did you ask them to close off the lift when we get back?”

“Yes I did. And it’s the ‘elevator.'”


can’t see the future
it’s unanticipable
unqualified to speculate
can’t anticipate
what they’re going to do

do they know?
can they prognosticate?
or are they prostrate
scratching their noggins
debilitatably stuck?

ain’t got the answers
maybe neither them too
so what are we to do?
wait and see


Chili might elicit a burp or a fart
And lightning a blink or a wink

The moonlight might just draw out a gasp




And cause your canoe to sink (but I doubt it).


“It’s the newest thing in weaponry and I got it right here. You, Sir! You! Yes, you. Come on over and see the best new thing money can buy. It’s the Arro-Matic. You hold the bow just so and fit the arrow right here and pull the trigger. Here, why don’t you try it?”

“Hey, that looks pretty good. But how does it smell?”

“Smell? What do you mean ‘smell’? This here’s a state-of-the-art weapon. Money can’t buy anything better than this. Why in God’s name do you want it to smell?”

“What did you say it was called?”

“The Arro-Matic! Best darned bow and arrow you can get.”

“Arro-Matic. Arro-Matic…”

“Sir, I’m not getting your drift.”

“False advertising, that’s what that is.”

“Sir, I think you should just move on. And don’t be calling me a stinking salesman!”


“Look! You’ve scorched the milk, Norman.”

“I’m sorry, Harriet my love. I don’t know what’s come over me today.”

“Do you think it’s got something to do with …you know?”

“It might, my love.”

“Oh, Norman. We did have a laugh though.”

“Hehe. Yes, yes we did.”

“Well then. What are we going to do with all this scorched milk?”

“Harriet, my love, why don’t you just pour it in the cat’s bowl? Give him a treat.”

“I s’pose I could, at that. We’ve had ours. Do you have any more of those pills left?”

“Harriet! You’re not thinking about that now, are you?”

“Why not? Let’s go scorch the sheets.”

“All right, then.”

Creamy trois – seven months later

(Part two: Creamy too – 100 words)

“Hey man, long time no see! What’s new with you?”

“Oh, you know. Finished college. I’m engaged.”

“Right on. Who’re you marrying?”

“Remember that ‘creamy’ chick?”

“No! So she didn’t impale you after all?”

“Oh yeah, she did. But after that she agreed to swap her collection of stuffed heads for a trailer.”

“So now you’re…”

“Getting hitched.”

(For Joey. 🙂 )

Creamy, too – 100 word fiction

(Part One Creamy.)

“Hey man, did you see that ‘creamy’ chick again today?”

“Yep. She sat behind me again. This time she whispered, ‘You’re really, really creamy,’ and then she licked my ear.”

“Geez! What did you do?”

“I talked to her after the lecture. We went home to her place.”


“And she’s got a fridge full of whipped cream.”

“So you…”

“So I got creamy.”

“Wow. Are you gonna see her again?”

“I think so. She said something about me being extra horny.”

“She didn’t have, like, deers and rhinos mounted on the walls, did she?”

“Yeah! How did you know?”


“So there was this chick sitting behind me in class today, and she leans forward and whispers almost right in my ear, ‘I like you. You’re so creamy.'”

“What the hell, man? Did you say anything to the teacher?”

“Bro. I’m in college, not grade school.”

“Creamy, huh? Like yummy cream-filled pastry creamy?”

“I haven’t got a clue.”

“Maybe she means creamy like she wants to get into your pants and…”

“Ugh! Oh God no, don’t be filthy.”

“So what then? You going to ask her out?”

“I don’t know.”

“Maybe you’ll find out what she means. Is she cute?”

“Yeah, in a kind of creepy sort of way. I mean, who whispers in a stranger’s ear that they’re ‘creamy’?”

“I dunno, but I wanna find out.”

To be continued…


Fuuuuck! I just dropped a piece of fish off my fork on the way to my mouth. Do I pick it up? Do I let it sit in the carpet? Who the hell puts shag carpet in their dining room anyway? The host of this dinner party, apparently. I already feel like I don’t belong among these stuck-up prissy billionaires, with their posh manners and their ‘oh-so-very’ way of talking.

Why don’t these people have a dog?!? If I pick it up I’ll look like an idiot who can’t feed himself, and if I don’t, they’re going to remember who sat here and made their stupid shag carpet smell like wharf in August. And why the hell are they serving fish at a party? Don’t they know how many regular people can’t stand fish?

I know. I’ll drop my knife and when I pick it up, I’ll get the fish at the same time.

What the fuck? Where’d that servant come from? Aaaand he’s bringing me a clean knife. Great. So much for that idea.

I don’t really like the looks of the woman sitting opposite me. Maybe I’ll kick it under her chair. Then they’ll think she dropped it and I’ll be off the hook. OFF THE HOOK! THAT’S FUNNY! Okay, I’ve got to stop giggling. People are looking at me.

“Yes, the weather is lovely this time of year. What was I laughing at? Oh, um, nothing.”

Smooth. Okay, now if I can just kick it over there… Damn it! The soles of these fancy dress shoes are too slippery. I’ll have to take my shoe off.

UGH! I can smell my own feet. Gotta slip my shoe back on. Now the old lady across the table is giving me the eye. Wait, did I nudge her with my foot? Oh God, I might have! She’s going to think I want to play footsies!

AHHH! She’s sticking her toe up my pant leg! Gotta stay calm, gotta stay calm. I’ll just smile at her and… Dear God she winked at me!!

“Excuse me, I just have to, um, use the facilities. Could you direct me… Down the hall to the left? Thank you.”

Okay, time to make my escape. Should I try and pick up the piece of fish? Maybe I can just bend down and nobody will notice… Holy shit… OUCH! The lady across from me just kicked me in the mouth!

“I wasn’t… I mean, I was just trying to… Oh fuck it.”

Well I won’t be invited back here again. I hope the old lady enjoys her fluffy shag-covered fish for dinner.

cereal aisle psychosis

i married a man
with cereal aisle psychosis
whom i can leave to ponder
this or that
or that or this
for half a day
and still wind up
with naught
but a bowl of milk
for breakfast

my question is
if the cereal aisle
is such a conundrum
how did he
choose me?