A Special Night

My latest assignment: To write a 1 page story containing a flashback. I had to start in present tense, shift to past tense, and revert back to present tense at the end.

Too tired to write anything else about it. Enjo...zzzzzzzzzzzzz...


A Special Night

“Ughhhhhh…” The struggle to open my eyelids seems extraordinarily difficult this morning. They feel as if they are encrusted with some sort of hardened film, or as I like to call them, “eye boogers”. I force my eyelids open and attempt to ascertain my surroundings while rubbing off the gunk that is hanging from my eyelashes.

What is that smell? As I turn over and look at where I am laying, I see piles of large plastic bags, empty cans of food, boxes, a few banana peels, and what appears to be the remains of some long deceased rodent. Suppressing a sudden wave of nausea, I peer over the side of what appears to be a large blue container, about seven feet long and four feet wide. The cement ground is about three feet below my current elevation, and is covered in a large pile of vomit. On the side of the container, I see the words “Rainbow Disposal”. As I attempt to get out of the refuse bin, I become all too aware of the intense pain in my stomach.

How did I get here? Where is here? Why does it feel like my stomach is being pierced with sharp knives wielded by indigestion goblins? These thoughts pervade my brain as I try and remember what could have possibly happened last night to grant me an experience of such agonizing woe.

Let’s see. I was walking down the street, going to my favorite little delicatessen for a late dinner. It was past 10 pm already, and I was quite hungry after my two hour workout at the gym. I stepped inside, and the place was uncharacteristically crowded for this time of the night. As I meandered my way through a crowd on my way towards the bar, I was intercepted by an old friend of mine whom I hadn’t seen for a while -intentionally - the guy’s a tactless schmuck.

“Jake! How’s it hanging man?”

“Shut up Ricky. You know it hasn’t since the ‘squirrel incident,’” spat Jake.

“Hey man, just joking with you. I thought you were okay with it since you got your prosthetic Italian dinner,” smirked Ricky.

“My what?” demanded Jake.

“Your spaghetti and meatballs,” said Ricky, laughing.

“Yeah, real funny, jerk.”

“Hey, come on man. Take a joke. Here, I’ll buy you something,” offered Ricky.

Looking forward to this dinner about as much as a toilet looks forward to its dinner, I tentatively took a stool at the bar next to Ricky.

“Hey, I dare you to get the Special,” said Ricky nonchalantly.

The Special was the least ordered item on the menu, and for good reason. No one really knew what was in it, not even the locals. Even the chefs and waitresses were bewildered and intimidated enough by it to dissuade anyone who wasn’t wearing a full body radiation suit from ordering it. Rumor has it that a curious customer managed to sneak in the back one day, and reported seeing five burlap sacks in the back, which were dated “1856”, and had the words “Special”, and “May Contain Traces of Nuts or Other Genitalia” marked on them.

Against my better judgment, and even against my worst judgment, for some reason, I order the Special. What it looks like, I don’t know. What’s in it, I don’t remember. Whether or not I’ll ever be able to eat again, time will tell.

“BLARRRRRGGGHHHH,” I retch.

A Fair Fight

Here's another one pager I wrote, this time for my Creative Writing: Fiction class. I basically made it up off the top of my head as I was writing. My original thought for it was that I would start it off with some guy wrestling a buffalo, and somehow make it into an interesting story, but that was a little too far-fetched even for me. I nearly scrapped the whole story, but I was able to work it into this. It's not terribly funny, in my humble opinion, but it was a fun story for me at least. Enjoy.


A Fair Fight

Jeremy was an extremely talented fighter. He had spent many hours sparring with his best friend, Dave, who had two left fists, but who served as a decent punching bag. After each practice match, which usually resulted in Dave lying on the ground, bleeding, Jeremy would always stand tall and exclaim, “No problem.”

So one night, they were sitting in their apartment together, in El Paso, Texas, wondering what to do with the money they had just stolen from the 1st National Bank, about 30 minutes away. They had escaped with over $25,000 before the police arrived at the scene. Unfortunately, Dave had slipped up during the robbery and called Jeremy by his real name, instead of his alibi, which happened to be Snickers - for his affinity towards the candy bar, not for his cheerful laughing. And Jeremy, furious at Dave for blowing his cover, proceeded to tackle him and, amidst the scuffle, dropped his wallet, though that was unbeknownst to him at the time. After thoroughly pummeling Dave, he rose to his feet and exclaimed, “No problem.”

So, realizing that the police could perfectly identify one person in the crime, and could probably put the pieces together and identify the other member without too much effort, they decided it would be in their best interest to migrate down to Chihuahua, Mexico, because it was within driving distance, and it had the funniest name.

During their stay in Chihuahua, they encountered a rather large and dilapidated building with an eccentric-looking yellow neon sign which read “Extreme Mexican Fighting”. The name alone intrigued their criminal minds, and at Jeremy’s suggestion, they decided to go in. He figured that whoever he faced in that building, it would be “No problem.”

Inside, Jeremy expected to see a boxing ring or some sort of barbed wire cage. Instead, all he saw was a large empty room, save for a loud boom box in one corner which was blasting mariachi music, and three Mexicans at the far end of the building, next to what looked to be an enormous steel storage vault.

As soon as they had entered the building, the three men at the far end of the building approached them. The leader, a short yet burly man, spoke first.

“You gringos lookin’ for a fight?” asked the leader.

Stepping up, Jeremy said, “I’ll fight your best guy. Heck, I’ll fight all three of you. No problem.”

The leader laughed. “Yo homes, we ain’t fighting you. Chill man.”

Confused, Jeremy asked, “Well, who am I fighting?”

“You be fighting our luchador numero uno – his name is ‘No Problemo’.”

And with that, the leader pulled out a remote device, pressed a button, and ran out the door with his two comrades. Surprised, Jeremy and his two buddies turned to see what that button did.

The door to the vault had opened, to reveal a huge, angry, seething, and advancing bull. This was not just any bull though. This bull was named “No Problemo”, and for good reason. Mounted on its head was a double barreled shotgun, which was controlled by an apparatus attached to its neck which fired the gun whenever it jerked its neck back.

“N-n-nooo…” stuttered Jeremy.

“BANG!!!” said the shotgun.

Assorted Hodge-Podge

I've made up these little tidbits over time, but never had a chance to work them in a blog, so I figured I'd just give them a short blog of their own.


A Self-Help Book That Will Never Be Written:

10 Habits of Highly Effective Migratory Vegetation - by Lettuce Leaf


A Book of Modern Innovations That Will Never Be Written:

Yellow Bait - by P. Fischer



Two Random Jokes I came up with:


Q. What did the leprous pimp say to his feet?

A. Yo, where my toes at?


Q. What do you call a Web Browser for those with especially profane mouths?

A. Intourette Explorer.

Cloudy Words

Wow, mine is pretty stupid, methinks.

After reading Aaron and Sara's blogs, I thought I'd do one to see which words are used most in my blog. It seems it mostly takes into account my more recent posts, but I may be mistaken.

Yeah, so basically, like, one cup of books, in time, doesn't read like two phones in school. My turtle went pee.