Flash Fictions

Let the cat out of the bag

Please, oh please, expect me to say something sarcastic about bags. Expect me to create silly puns from the images of cats and coming. Try to forecast my next line. Try creating nonsense from cliché’. Sure you can write a few sentences that carry the idea a few steps further, but then you’ll be too saddled with details and concrete imagery to keep walking. But better to have loved and lost than never have loved at all, you’ll say, as if you have the authority to say such things. Surely though, you must realize it isn’t easy to create my little worlds. You must realize that sarcasm and absurdity aren’t cheap. I’ve been paying off my loan for almost five years now, and still can’t do any better than this.

Election Year

A friend of mine, named Chad, is running in a big and important race to support some big and important local charity. Chad won’t win this big race. He just hasn’t got the stamina to keep running and running. There seems to be something wrong with him. Chad is typically so fast in these big and important races for local charities. I think it might be his attitude or maybe the fact that Chad has surgically implanted two large jungle cats to his back. They’re fairly heavy. And besides being hard to feed, they instinctively lunge at the other runners. Sure, it’s probably the thrashing jungle cats bolted to his spinal cord that’ll keep him from winning. I guess it’s like Chad always says, you can’t use wheat bread to strain the pulp from orange juice. You know he’s right. Maybe he just might win after all.

pothooks and hangers

There is a theory, but I suppose there are lots of theories. But then that’s just a theory I have about theories. Now, I’m going to say theory one more time so don’t be scared. There is a theory about handwriting. It goes something like north or an excessively orchestrated movie score, very long and never-ending. Some believe a person’s handwriting can be analyzed, questioned and roughed up by burly thugs to determine personality traits. For example a curvy, bubbly style might indicate an over-abundance of air in the cranium. Or a messy, unreadable signature might signal a person’s desire to invade small countries with substandard military capabilities. But this idea, much like the rectangular nature of American housing, doesn’t make sense to me. Instead, I’m hoping the slant and neatness of a person’s handwriting points to their willingness and desire to sleep with writers who within the lines of a paragraph wander from idea to idea, filling the spaces with jokey asides and abstract distractions. Either that or handwriting might have something to do with hand strength. Either way I’m still having a hard time meeting women.


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