Sounds fascinating.
But were it me, I would have called it, say, “micro-“ or “nano-“ fiction.
Rebel that I am.
(h/t LMC)
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Recent Comments
- In The Mailbox: 02.28.23 (Afternoon Edition) : The Other McCain on Hey, longtime pw readers…
- In The Mailbox: 12.23.22 : The Other McCain on Patrick J. Carroll truly IS a sad, embittered psychopath
- Danger on Patrick J. Carroll might be a psychopath
- Danger on Patrick J. Carroll might be a psychopath
- In The Mailbox: 07.18.22 : The Other McCain on Patrick J. Carroll might be a psychopath
“Bargaining” — a protein wisdom nano-fiction
“Period, eh? Well, then how ’bout you just blow me?”
~ finis ~
Banking – A True LMC micro-story
And here I thought it was just a birthmark.
The End
James Frey? Isn’t he the guy who lied about a drug addiction and cried on Oprah?
“Denial” — a protein wisdom nano-fiction
“Sure. But if you add them up, it says ’18.’ Nothing devilish about that.
“Now please, put down those knives…”
~ finis ~
Fear, a Maggie K thing
“Really? You want me to do what while in that horse costume?”
Micro-non-fiction:
BUTTON UP BUTTERCUP
a pd romance novel series
with action toys
Turns out it wasn’t hair after all. It was FLIES! Dozens of them!
My Favorite Native American Recipes by John Johnson
1) Crow Liver Tartar.
“As he zipped up his fly, she looked up from the ashes and said, ‘I thought you said he wasn’t worth it.'”
A McGehee Nano-fiction:
The other man stuck a gun in my face but the fear in his eyes only increased. I held his gaze and smirked. “Really?” I said as I took it away from him.
Another McGehee Nano-fiction:
The big man ejected the magazine from the gun and was ejecting the round in the chamber when I pulled my backup gun and shot him.
Yet another McGehee Nano-fiction:
“You’re not real clear on what the big red ‘S’ on my chest means, are you?” I asked the little guy as I took the second gun away from him.
Just one more McGehee Nano-fiction:
“There’s more red on your chest than the ‘S,’ asshole,” I snickered as he realized the bullet had been made of kryptonite.
BUTTS-REBELS
a story about cigarette smokers
who empty their ashtrays
wherever the f*** they want
come with action figures
BUTTER -PART THREE
the true story of taste
comes with action figures which
u can put in a frying pan
and cook up with your vittles
“Sure, honey, I’ll pretend I’m the means of production. But the russian accent is gonna cost extra.”
“Thanks anyway, but I said ‘reverse'”, he said, then tripped down the stairs.
BUTT AND MGILLUCUDY
two cops- one quirky with a love
of mozart-the other a freelance
no holds barred feisty irish guy
who takes no prisoners
or wants debates
comes with action figures
He stood rubbing his temple and looked at his business partner, whose nine-iron had a sticky red liquid all over it. “That’s not the right stance,” he started to say before the nine-iron swung again.
BUTT AND MGILUCUDDY TWO
they adopt a kid
cuz his mother was a crack whore and
she got accidentally shot
and they feel bad [awwww]
so they adopt the kid [against their better judgement]
but hilarity ensues
BUTT AND MGILUCUDY THREE
they have a gruff supervisor who is…
latino? gay? a black chick?
who let’s them bend the rules
for justice and shit
comes wit…ya-u know
coolest lil sea creature ever
“That was the most intense lovemaking I ever had,” she sighed as she kissed his neck. He didn’t have the heart to tell her.
i like mashed potatoes with gravy she said wickedly
suggestvely[sp]
so don’t i he said as he was standing at the stove
pouring hot gravy into the gravy boat
do not we all like gravy
[ sorry for sounding sexual- just funnin]
i think every child should be born
with a bowl of gravy,next to thier lil winston churchill heads
i wouldn’t mind my taxes going up for that
i went down south a few times and they
had biscuits and gravy! yum yum!
and i think thats the first meal i’m gonna request when i get thru them pearly gates
in new england we ain’t got biscuits and gravy
or a good mexican restaurant
but we got the best damn fish u ever tasted
i think it has something to do
with the ‘georges bank’
the way that that the fishies come up
from down south
and hang around the cold water..
hey- i’m no scientitian/ or a cook
but i have slightly bigger hands than rachel ray
two thumbs up for new england fish!
What was that loud noise? wondered the child as he looked from the smoking gun in his hand to the twitching burglar lying on his bedroom floor.
Dude, seriously, reading over some of your old nano-fiction, how are you not published yet? I would buy your book, Jeff G.
And a couple of the stories by pdbuttons, but McGehee’s took a weird turn at 24 that I don’t want to know about.
Or are you published and I missed it?
“Good,” said the elephant. “I’ll have another, to go. But more hot sauce, please.”
It’s actually rather pedestrian — although by not signifying my intent thoroughly I do invite the reader to supply his (or her) own interpretation.
So, um, Ella. What interpretation did you supply?
“It’s so different from how it looked in Disney’s Pinocchio,” was the last thing he thought before the last of his breath was crushed from his body.
A Deep and Insightful Journey into the Mind of an Elastic Vertical Launching Platform with Malicious Intent, an unauthorized nano-biography by me
“Derp.”
“Just hold still,” he said. “It’ll only hurt for a second.”
A Tale of Innocence Lost, and Possibly Paradise
The walls were gray and all the color was in red lipstick. “We’re all adults here,” she said, and closed the closet door.
Sometimes You Do What You Have to Do
He carefully arranged her hair and picked out her favorite pearl earrings. “There. Doesn’t she look pretty?”
ELVISTOWN
a based on a true story
re-enactment where every meal was a clambake
every girl looked like shelley fabares
like stepford wives and stuff
every guy had tight pants
and elvis costello rode into town with a six string over his shoulder
to deliver justice
yup-definitely a western
or science fiction
either way i’m watching it [ in my head]
and what costume shall the poor girl wear
to all tomorrows parties
a hand me down dress
from who knows where
to all tomorrows parties
and where shall she go
and what shall she do
when midnight comes around
she’ll turn once more
to sundays clown
and cry behind the door
Amazing punkin carving.
http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-1324109/Artist-Ray-Villafane-carves-pumpkin-portraits-just-hours.html
Imagine that you have to break someone’s arm.
Right or left, it doesn’t matter. The point is that you have to break it, because if you don’t… well, that doesn’t matter either. Let’s just say that bad things will happen if you don’t.
–Opening passage of The Gun Seller by Hugh Laurie (yes, that one)
Mo, what is life like in your country? I asked, my neckline and decorum drooping with gravity, as I swilled wine and he sipped tea.
He crawled miles through broken glass, naked, to sniff the junk of her last lover.
How hard she worked on that odor!
“Don’t Ma’am me…”
Stupid little sock puppet.
“I said,” screamed the irate non-com, “there’s a thermal inversion in the upper atmosphere, SIR!”
The officer looked at the smouldering desk chair and swallowed hard.
In his isolated cabin with no electricity, no cell phone service, and no radio signal strong enough to pick up, he never did find out about the asteroid.
“Just one more strike and the game is over,” thought the pitcher during his first baseball game in Hell.
The president’s newspaper wasn’t on his breakfast tray the next morning, and all the household staff people avoided meeting his gaze as he walked through the White House to the Oval Office. The Secret Service agents closed the door behind him and evacuated the grounds. In retrospect he shouldn’t have eaten so many chili dogs during the Fourth of July picnic.
(I wonder how many different narratives can be ended with that last sentence?)
speaking of narratives propaganda whore Viv Schiller’s National Soros Radio has a tale to tell
There’s much more to the tale… stay tuned to hear propaganda whore Viv Schiller’s National Soros Radio complain, “But Republican marketers branded the president a big spender. And because voters were just getting to know Obama, that label stuck to nearly everything he’s tried to do.”
link
“Channellocks, check.”
“Copper tubing, check.”
“Waterproof fuse, check.”
“4F Black-powder, check.”
A wistful smile crossed his face as he zipped up the bag.
“Fishing should be good this year, but Betty will be missed”
The president sat on the remains of his office chair, his head in his hands. Gasping through the smoke, he wondered to himself “How could it have gone this wrong?”…
The Secretary of Defense paused, looking around with a strange look on his face. “Do you smell methane?” he asked.
Click. Thoummp! “Dude!!”
crackers with fire-crackers
dorothy with a bucket of water
i’m melting, i’m melting
oh-cruel world
He drew his gun in a second, but he was a second too slow.
It was cold next morning when they buried him.
That was from a western novel I remember reading on a fishing boat. Can’t place the author to save my life.
“Awwww, yeah baby. Keep doing that. Hey, what’s the knife for?”
He dropped a last handful of dust on the gravesite before rejoining his legion. “So much for this planet”, he thought bitterly.
He initially thought it was just a reenactment of an Aztec human sacrifice.
“Awwww, yeah baby. Keep doing that. Hey, what’s the knife for?”
Also known as Act V of last night’s Criminal Minds rerun, the one with the chick in New Orleans who Jack-the-Rippers men in the French Quarter.