On the left, a rosy-cheeked cook, frightened, panting, biting his lips, looking humble as he can be. On the right, his boss, the balding codger who never thinks they work fast enough around here. Around them, a ring of wide-eyed employees acting like there’s no one to serve, like kids, like school is out already. And on the counter, an affront to any cook who styles himself an artist: Boss Rones has slapped the ladle straight out of Cook’s hand, and the proof is all along the marble in driblets of red-orange. Some days it seems like nobody can cook right by the tyrant.
“You…” Cook’s voice trembles. “You can’t rush art.”
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This is a guest post by a friend currently known only as Trish:
It’s the warm-up to the greatest match of the century. Nothing much, just a little show-off game to let the people of Earth know what the new toughest boxer in the galaxy is made of. He is approximately twenty feet long, and he is a worm. His mouth guards are a sight in and of themselves, and the mouth-flesh around them gleams. Taut…tough…veiny. Confident. He doesn’t need boxing gloves to be a champion. And tonight, he’s going to show the universe his personalized retort to the age-old insult “you fight like a worm.”
On one end, Mr. Tommy “The Machine” Gunn swaggers in and pounds his gloves together. From the visiting side wriggles Wormy “The World War” Too, head hanging low with dark confidence. The man behind the worm – rather, the terrifying mouse-man hybrid given new life in some offshoot Rocky sequel – is done toweling off the approximate area wherein the worm’s arms and shoulders would theoretically be.
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This is a story that was written in collaboration with a friend of mine who wishes to be designated as “Traindick McIronpunch”. I hope you very much enjoy it.
Inane and Stupid
It was another hot day in July for Wizards star Michael Jordan as he walked down the pathways of existence, contemplating why he was a human being and not a star, like he felt deep within his heart– nay, his soul. His very being called out to the stars, like he was one of them. And yet he was not one, because he was a human being on the planet Earth, far away from any star except the measly yellow sun named Sol. What could one human being possibly do in the expanse of the universe, even a human being like Michael Jordan, do compared to even one single star? Not much.
Abruptly, Michael Jordan realized that it was 2015 and he wasn’t actually on the Wizards anymore. Woe took his soul; was he even still alive? Public opinion didn’t care about him outside his role in Space Jam, and even that was enjoyed ironically. Existential numbness shook Michael to his core. The starfathers would not be happy about this.
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Today, we’re posting Home Clipart Animal Deer’s very first Guest Post; our friend Ktalaki has written a President story for Governor Chris Christie, and we’re happy to have it on this site. Enjoy:
The Chris Christie Bridge
“Hey you!” a professionally suited businessman said, getting the attention of Chris Christie as he rolled down the sidewalk on his Segway i2 SE. The man was holding a heavy briefcase, so Christie could tell he was a genuine professional. “You look like a man of great taste. I think I’ve got an offer just for you.”
It was true; Chris Christie was a man of excellent taste. He especially loved the fine delicacies at Wegmans markets, often making several trips in one day. “What kind of offer?” Christie asked.
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