Thursday Poet’s Rally Week 11 Wrap-up and Week 12 Poem March 31, 2010
Posted by Princess Wordplay in Poetry.Tags: ACLU, Fulton, gay rights, glbt, Itawamba, lgbt, Mississippi, news, poem, poet, Poetry
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First things first, an acceptance: A big thank-you to Jingle for this lovely award!
And now, I’d like to present my own week 11 Honorable Mentions:
To megzone: The “spunky little monkey” mention
To shoelessboywonder: The “tried something new and created awesomeness” mention
To Jingle: The “Somehow finds time to do it all” mention
To Moondustwriter: The “simplistic beauty” mention
To William: The “rising above” mention
To anthonynorth: The “way to throw in everything INCLUDING the kitchen sink” mention
Collect, and enjoy. You deserve it!
Week 11 Honorable Mention
And now, the moment we’ve all been waiting for: (drumroll)
Here’s a quick rundown if you’re not familiar with the concept of the News Poem:
1. First, find a news story that has a strong impact on you
2. Write a poem about the news story. Your primary goal is to explore thoughts or ideas the reporter may have skimmed over.
3. Publish the poem with a link to the news story, so your readers can compare.
Here’s mine:
The Not-so-good Shepherd
In the Itawamba hills
Somewhere west of Fulton Loch
I came upon a Shepherd
Keeping watch over his flock
In the flock there was a lamb
It’s fleece not like the others
The Shepherd saw and took it
Away from all its brothers
He took a knife, slit it’s throat
And he left it there to die
So puzzled by his actions
I demanded to know why
The Shepherd shrugged his shoulders
With nary a word to say
He looked down at the carcass
Clutched his crook, and walked away
Now there’s a guild for shepherds
They are called ACLU
And the Itawamba hills
They suggest not passing through
Hear tell she fancies the lettuce (News Flash Fiction) March 30, 2010
Posted by Princess Wordplay in Humor.Tags: England, fiction, flash, funny, Humor, lesbian, news, short story, situation comedy, Telegraph, toilet, UK
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Rated M for coarse language and sexually suggestive themes
The Fiction:
Government Office for the West Midlands – Birmingham, UK
03.30.2010 09.37 GMT
Penelope Welles was a secretary, and a damn good one. When she was on duty, no phone messages went undelivered, no files remained unfiled, and no visitor sat unannounced. Her boss, Mr. Rupert Kingsley, often boasted to his colleagues that he had the best assistant in the West Midlands, and few would choose to bicker.
Despite being extraordinary, Penelope was still human; and like all humans, she occasionally felt the need to tinkle. Now was one of those times. She peaked her head into her boss’s office and asked:
“Mr. Kingsley?”
“Yes Miss Welles?”
“I’ve got to use the lav in the worst way. Do you mind?”
“Why, certainly not, Miss Welles. Go on with it, I’ll mind till you get back. Don’t forget now, they’ve installed those bloody timers, so keep it under ten clicks or it’ll have you in the dark.”
“Does it really save the electrics like they say?”
“Don’t know, but they sure are a bugger when you’re in a cubicle doing the business.”
Penelope hurried down the hall and into the lady’s loo where she stepped into an empty cubicle. She lifted her skirt, lowered her knickers, and sat to do her bit. Presently she heard a voice.
“Wot’s that now, who’s there?”
Penelope recognized the voice.
“Rose? Rose from accounts? Is that you?”
Rose confirmed.
“Yes, it’s me. You’re that fetcher from the tax office, right? Penelope, was it? Kingsley’s your pitch, I think.”
“Right you are.”
“Come tell, how you been?”
“Right fine, but a bit of the aches.”
“On your monthly then?”
“Oh no, that was last week. Just wrenched me ankle a bit.”
“How you do a thing like that?”
“Now there’s a funny line. I was…”
The two women sat on their toilets long after they were finished, conversing and gossiping through the cubicle wall, unaware of the amount of time that was passing. Eventually there was a muffled click and the whole loo went completely dark.
“Bloody hell,” said Rose, “The fucking timer’s gone.”
“I’m closest, I’ll get it” Penelope said. “Just need to wipe me labs.”
There was some noise as she fumbled for the toilet tissue and wiped herself dry.
She stood up, reached down, and encountered a problem.
“Oh, bloody hell!”
“Wot’s it?” asked Rose.
“The elastic from me knickers is caught around the heel of me pump.”
Rose laughed.
“It’s not funny!” said Penelope, “I can’t see a thing it’s so fucking dark in here.”
She stooped to undo the snag, lost her balance, and fell headfirst into the cubicle door. The flimsy lock buckled, the door flew open, and Penelope spilled out onto the floor of the loo.
“Quite the racket!” Rose called, “You alright then?”
Penelope winced in pain, and then answered.
“No, I don’t rightly think. I’ve a huge lamp to the head and me ankle’s gone buggered again. I don’t think I can walk.”
“Keep yourself, I’m coming.”
Rose righted her knickers and felt for the cubicle door lock. She opened the door and stumbled blindly until she touched the edge of the washbasins. She began to creep slowly along the edge toward the light switch, until…
“Oh bloody hell; I think I’ve caught me blouse on the soap dispenser.”
“Come off it Rose, how’d you go and do a thing like that?”
“I don’t fucking know! It’s so bloody fucking dark in here!”
Rose pulled gently, but not quite gently enough. With a series of popping sounds, the blouse’s buttons let loose. The snag let go and Rose stumbled back, tripped, spun, and fell face down on Penelope.
“Ow, you bloody lummox! That fucking hurt!” Penelope cried.
In the struggle to right themselves, Rose’s brassier was pulled down and Penelope’s skirt was flipped up. The two women were still wrestling in the dark when the door opened and the light came on.
Lola the cleaning lady looked down at the lump of female on the floor. The skinny blonde one on the bottom lay with her skirt up and her knickers around her ankles; and the dark haired, full figured top one sat with her hand between the other’s legs and her exposed breasts hanging in the other’s face.
“Wot’s this?” asked the astonished Lola, “Bunch of lezzers?”
Penelope gazed wide-eyed at her.
“No… oh goodness no… it was the lights… an accident! We’re not lettuce lickers, are we Rose? Erm, Rose?”
Lola ignored her answer, turned away pale-faced, and pushed her cleaning cart swiftly down the hall.
Rose stared down at Penelope silently for a moment. Finally, she spoke.
“It was an accident, yes. But I… well, I am. Didn’t you know? Seem the whole bloody office knows.”
Penelope took her turn at an awkward silence, and then answered.
“I didn’t, but it’s… it’s alright… I’m not against it or anything. You… you do have lovely bosoms”
“Thank you” Rose said as she pulled her bra back up.
“I’ve always been a bit curious, you know” said Penelope.
“Fancy a drink sometime?”
“I’d love that, but right now I think I need a doctor. This ankle is fucking killing me.”
“Of course,” she told her, “I’ll call for one straight away.”
To herself, she whispered “Maybe those bloody timers aren’t so bad after all…”
Prayer of the… (News Poem) March 24, 2010
Posted by Princess Wordplay in Poetry, Rants/Raves.Tags: civil rights, gay rights, homophobia, lesbian, news, poem, Poetry, prejudice, religion, tolerance
9 comments
…Mississippi High School Principle:
Now I lay me down to sleep
I pray the Lord my soul to keep
Away from all those wretched queers
Let them not exploit my fears
I’ll hold my Bible in my hand
Make the heathens understand.
So send me guidance from above
Help me condemn same-sex love
Yes I’m your faithful servant, Lord
In your name I’ll wield a sword
I’ll fight demons who speak untrue
That wicked ACLU
First the slave race, and now the gays
Lord Condemn these evil ways
To you this promise I will make:
I’ll cancel prom, for goodness’ sake
…Mississippi High School Student:
Now I lay me down to sleep
Lord, for your children I do weep
Don’t hate them ’cause they’ve gone astray
They’re just scared because I’m gay
So treat them with a gentle hand
Could you help them understand
I can’t help I was born this way
Let them see that it’s OK
Don’t blame them Lord, it’s not their fault
They can’t help but launch assault
They’re victims of a brainwashed mind
They’re programmed to be unkind
Give them some time, they’ll come around
See the light, tolerance bound
Lord, I have faith in them, it’s true
I’ll forgive them. Please, can you?
Gee, Never Thought of That (News Mircofiction) February 23, 2010
Posted by Princess Wordplay in Humor.Tags: banks, forclosure, funny, Humor, microfiction, news
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The Truth:
http://www.wlwt.com/news/22600154/detail.html
The Fiction:
As the black Mercedes rolled up the driveway, a horrific scene came into view. The once grand home lay half destroyed – a twisted pile of wood, vinyl, glass, stone, asphalt, and drywall. The other half was following suit, giving way to the blade of an enormous Caterpillar bulldozer.
The occupant of the car was Daniel Fairborn, president of the Hillcrest Community Bank. The bank was foreclosing on the home in the morning, and Fairborn had come to speak to its occupant personally. It was his understanding that the owner found the situation very unfair and was plotting some sort of revenge. Daniel had expected resistance, but not this.
He jumped from the Mercedes and ran towards the house, waving his arms and shouting “Stop!”
He felt silly, realizing that a half demolished house was worth no more than a fully demolished one. The driver of the dozer saw him, turned his way, and started charging towards him. Daniel held his ground, and the dozer came to a halt without harming him. The big machine growled as the diesel engine shut down. From the operator’s seat came a loud, booming voice.
“I told you I’d screw you like you screwed me, Fairborn!”
The voice was that of the home’s occupant and mortgage holder, Anthony Porter.
“Damn it Tony, have you gone completely mad?”
“You’re the mad one, Fairbanks! What makes you think you can steal a man’s home and get away from it?”
“We’ve been through this Tony. It’s not the banks fault you couldn’t afford to pay your loan. I don’t like doing these things, but business is business.”
“Well now you get nothing! How’s that for business?”
Daniel ignored the question and presented one of his own.
“How much did it cost to lease that Cat?”
“About 700 bucks.”
“How’d you pay for it?”
“Cash. What’s it to you?”
Once again, Tony ignored the question.
“You had about 700 dollars in cash?”
“Yea, so?”
Daniel answered this time.
“Your house payments are only $625”
Good Christian Values? (News Flash Fiction) February 23, 2010
Posted by Princess Wordplay in Humor.Tags: Apple, flash fiction, funny, Humor, iPhone, news
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The Truth:
The Fiction:
The intercom button on the telephone blinked rapidly, and Rodger had a feeling he knew why.
Oh hell, she’s 20 minutes early.
With the snail’s pace of a man on death row, he answered the intercom page.
“Yes”
“Mrs. Cambridge to see you, sir.”
He saw no point in delaying the process.
“Send her in”
Rodger thought she looked a lot like she sounded: a violin with the strings set too tight. She had a pointy head on a skinny neck with a noticeably wider body. He stood as she entered, walked around to the other side of his desk, and held a chair for her.
“Good afternoon…”
“Penelope Cambridge, President of the Modern Christian Families Association” the violin squeaked.
“Yes, I remember” he said to her, and to himself he mumbled “You won’t let me forget”.
The violin started in on a lengthy solo.
“I am exhausted! There is simply no parking anywhere around here and I had to walk nearly four blocks and the elevator took forever and I don’t understand why you have to have offices on such a high floor and I thought your receptionist was a bit rude and there’s nothing to drink only coffee no fruit juice how terribly unhealthy caffeine is bad for you!”
Rodger was both surprised and disappointed she did not collapse from lack of oxygen.
“I’m sorry about that” He said. It was a blatant lie, but seemed to satisfy her.
“Now about your visit here today, Mrs Cambridge.”
He hadn’t thought a physical meeting was necessary, but she wanted it and his boss had insisted upon it. The MCFA, once a group of bored, neurotic housewives; had evolved into a large and powerful special interest group. Getting on their bad side could cause serious PR issues and hurt Apple’s sales drastically. Rodger had been ordered to “kiss that woman’s ass”.
She produced a familiar looking electronic device from the depths of her purse.
“A few months ago we bought this H phone”
“iPhone” Roger corrected.
“Yes, thank you. We bought this iPhone for our son Jeremy. It is a wonderful product and does a fine job keeping him in contact with his father and I, as well as his bible study friends. He likes all the little gadgets on it. I remember how excited he was when he found out he could dinload…”
“Download.”
“Yes, thank you. …found out he could download his favorite Fish videos. “
“Fish videos?”
“They’re a Christian rock band, you know.”
“Of course.”
Rodger had trouble keeping a straight face after being presented with the idea that Fish was a Christian band. He suspected that Jeremy’s bible study friends might not be as devout as his mother thought, but elected to keep his mouth shut.
“The problems arose, Mr. Curry, when I caught Jeremy and some of his friends looking at some new hap…”
“App?”
“Yes, thank you. It was some slideshow of naked women!”
“I can assure you, Mrs. Cambridge, that we have examined the app you reported to us and the women are not nude. They are simply modeling bathing suits.”
“Those are not bathing suits! They are rags!”
The voice echoed in Rodgers head: I want you to kiss that woman’s ass.
“I agree, Mrs. Cambridge. They are highly provocative and inappropriate.”
“Good Christian girls would never wear such things!”
“Oh, absolutely not.”
“It’s unclean, sinful, the wardrobe of Satan!”
“Apple is 100% behind you on that statement, Mrs. Cambridge. “
“Do you know our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, Mr. Curry?”
“Of course. I pray ten times a day. More, if I can help it.”
“As a good Christian, you must understand where I’m coming from.”
“Crystal clear.”
“So how do we solve this problem?”
“Why, we delete the unholy contraband from our app library, of course.”
“Excellent. I have here a list of over 5000 others that the members of the Modern Christian Families Association have located.”
“We’ll purge them all!”
“Oh how wonderful! God bless you, Mr. Curry!”
“He already has. He sent you to enlighten me with the fact that minions of Lucifer were poisoning Apple’s good Christian content with this vile filth.”
Penelope Cambridge began to blush.
“I was only doing my duty.”
“You serve our Lord well.” he insisted.
“Good day, Mr. Curry. And… may Peace be with you.
“Peace be with you, Mrs. Cambridge.”
Rodger flipped through the list of apps she had brought, waiting a few minutes before picking up the phone. The voice on the other end was filled with curiousity.
“Well, how did it go?”
“We’ve got about 5000 apps to purge. I’ll fax you the list. Send emails to all the companies telling them to resubmit the apps as 18+. Let them know they should publicly deny knowing our motive for deleting the apps and act puzzled about the entire situation.”
“That’ll work?”
“Sure. I see the Playboy and SI Swimsuit apps aren’t on this list, which means the bible thumpers don’t know how to view the mature audiences list.”
“Ha! Good thing too. Over three quarters of that content is porn-based.”
“No kidding. I’ve got almost 4 hours of BDSM videos on mine.”
“So that’s why you call it the iStroke!”
“You know it!”
I’ll Sue Her! (News Flash Fiction) February 19, 2010
Posted by Princess Wordplay in Humor.Tags: flash fiction, funny, Harry Potter, Humor, marriage, news, plagiarism, Rowling
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Denis pulled out the box and swept away the years of dust. He expected it to be another lot of junk, but when he removed the lid, he discovered – at least in his eyes – treasure. There, among the other assorted trophies of his youth, was a neatly stapled four page composition marked with “A- GREAT JOB!”
He picked it up and rushed into the house, nearly tripping over the cat as he sprinted into the living room.
“Janet! Janet!” He cried, gasping for breath. “Janet, we’re going to be millionaires!”
Janet’s eyes took a brief intermission from her romance novel to watch her husband frantically wave some ancient loose-leaf paper around.
“That’s wonderful news, but will we be millionaires with a clean garage?” She asked dryly.
“Who cares? When this is over we can hire someone to clean the garage!”
“Fantastic news… So how are we going to go about making this fortune?”
“I’m going to sue J.K. Rowling!”
“For what, being British? I don’t think that’s a crime, at least, not since the Revolutionary War.”
“No, for stealing my idea! Look at this, I wrote it in 9th grade, years before Harry Potter came out.”
Janet reluctantly took the paper. At the top of the page in a sloppy, adolescent scrawl was the title: Sam, The Boy Magician.
“Sorry Denis, this doesn’t look anything like Harry Potter to me.”
“Isn’t it obvious? Look… Sam has a friend named Ron, just like Harry!”
Janet rolled her eyes from behind the pages.
“So? Our dry cleaner’s name is Ron. Should we sue him, too?”
“That depends – does he have a flying go-kart?”
“He might, I better look into it.”
Denis noted a hint of sarcasm in Janet’s voice. He began to suspect she wasn’t taking him seriously.
“You don’t believe me, do you?”
Janet sighed. She wished she had a magic wand – whether it was Sam’s or Harry’s didn’t much matter – so she could conjure up a normal husband.
“Denis, how on earth to you expect to prove that the world’s wealthiest living author stole her idea from a 15-year-old kid on another continent?”
“The evidence speaks for itself. A jury will have no choice but to award the maximum punitive damages. We have an airtight case here.”
Janet buried her face in the palm of her hand.
“For the last God damned time, Denis, watching courtroom dramas on TV does not make you a lawyer. Do you even have any idea what you just said?”
“We can hire a lawyer then.”
“Our checking account balance is 42 cents, Denis.”
“I’m sure we can set up a payment plan. We’re going to be millionaires.”
“That’s right, I almost forgot.”
Denis’s eyebrows raised in an enlightened moment.
“I got to look through some more boxes. I just remembered a story I wrote about a teen vampire. Funny how Twilight is about a teen vampire, isn’t it?”
“Did your story have a girl named Buffy in it?”
“Buffy? That’s a goofy name. Who would name a character Buffy? Why would you even ask that?”
“Never mind. The kids and I are going to Mom’s for a while, assuming I can peel their fingers off those Xbox controllers. Please, please try and get the garage clean. I heard this crazy rumor at work that if you clean it, there’s enough room to actually put cars in it.”
She handed him back his treasured story.
“Maybe Sam and his magic shop-vac can help you.”
“Magic shop-vac! That’s brilliant! Why didn’t I ever think of that?”
***
Three months later, Denis was seated on a luxurious leather sofa, thumbing a magazine as he anxiously awaited his appointment. He nearly pounced like a cheetah when the receptionist announced that he was ready to be seen. The well dressed, well spoken gray haired gentleman who occupied the office shook Denis’ hand firmly.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Yates. My name is Bartholomew Jacob Dexter esquire, a registered attorney with the Ohio State Bar Association. I understand you need my services?”
“Yes, Mr. Dexter, I do. You can help me?”
“I most certainly can. Don’t worry about a thing. I am committed to making sure you get your fair share in court.”
“That’s good to hear.”
“Now, let’s begin at the beginning, Denis… May I call you Denis?”
“Sure.”
“OK Denis, for starters, why don’t you tell me about the circumstances leading to your wife’s petition for divorce?”
“Well, it all started when J.K. Rowling stole my idea…”
