Creative writing time!

[judecorp]

Quick! Write me a story incorporating 5 of the following:

• pirate flag


• Mr. Winky


• lobster


• Daniel Larusso


• Golden Gate Bridge


• second-hand store


• cherry cola lip gloss


• Lincoln Logs


• honeydew melon


• Jack Kerouac

Get to it!

Comments

[kreie.livejournal.com]

So this one time me and Jack Kerouac were gonna man a pirate ship to find a new route to a second-hand store. Well, we decided to pull over to Red Lobster for a bite to eat when he pulled out Mr. Winky and started rubbing cherry cola lip gloss all over it. I shouted "stop! stop!" and Daniel Larusso came over to see what the hell was going on. When this sight met his eyes, he grew panicked and started attacking us with honeydew melons. We were forced to flee the restaurant by an angry mob bearing Lincoln Logs as well as honeydew melons, and it wasn't until we got past the Golden Gate Bridge that we lost them. I said "damn, Jack, that was harsh!" and he agreed.

We never did make it to the second-hand store.

[judecorp.livejournal.com]

Ha ha ha ha! A+! Bonus points for using ALL the items.

[sudrin.livejournal.com]

It hadn’t been Daniel Larusso’s day. He couldn’t find a pirate flag for his Lincoln Log version of the Golden Gate Bridge. It was with a touch of irony that he had decided to do it. He figured Jack Kerouac and his “Beat Generation” would be proud of the notion that the Bridge might be held by pirates. He checked at various second-hand stores but none of them had anything pirate-y. On his trek back home he remembed that he had to stop by the grocery store and pick up a Honeydew Melon for his sweetie. Remembering this reminded him of how Mr. Winky had responded so positively to his sweethearts cherry cola lip gloss. That was something to see. Maybe he would pick up a lobster too, and plan a nice special evening. He could worry about a pirate flag tomorrow, or maybe the next day

[judecorp.livejournal.com]

Yay! Through and sentimental. I would expect nothing less from you. A+.

[sudrin.livejournal.com]

That was fun, thank you. :-)

[mrmoe.livejournal.com]

After crossing the Golden Gate Bridge, Jack Kerouac went to the park to have lunch. In his travels, he'd gotten a pirate flag(ARRRR!) from a second-hand store, and so he laid that out to sit on, and lay his lunch out.

For lunch, he was having lobster and honeydew melon. The only problem was, the lobster tasted really odd with the cherry cola lip gloss he'd put on just before crossing the bridge to keep his lips from getting chapped.

[cathboblet.livejournal.com]

"I got your cherry-cola flavored lip gloss right here," said Jack Kerouac, smacking his lips in the noisy fashion he usually saved for All-You-Can -Eat lobster night at the Pirate Flag bar beneath the Golden Gate Bridge.

I eyed him, standing there in his second-hand store flannel shirt and well-worn jeans with pink sequin appliques. "We were talking about Daniel Larusso," I reminded him, my voice hard edged. I hadn't been this frustrated since the night he lost the Lincoln Logs and offered me Lego instead.

"Is my li'l honeydew melon upset?" he asked, mocking me a little.

I arched an eyebrow. "You think now's the time for terms of endearment, Mr Winky?"

I was well satisfied when he blushed.

[judecorp.livejournal.com]

Hooray! A+ for Cath and her wits! <3

[judecorp.livejournal.com]

Bonus points for saying "ARRRR."

Long time, stranger. :)

[judecorp.livejournal.com]

You're welcome!

[mrmoe.livejournal.com]

Hey, I sent you a HUGE email not that long ago! I'm just...ummm...reticent, yeah that's it!

Part The First

[kjtoo.livejournal.com]

It was Tuesday, I think. The days all blur together now, and I can't tell one from another anymore. If you need a point of reference, though, we'll say it was Tuesday.

I was buying Band-Aids and Miller Genuine Draft. The guy at the checkout said, "Thirty-seven cents is your change." He cupped my hand in his when he dropped the coins into it. I hate it when they do that. Evil knows I hate it. He knows everything I hate. "Hurt him," Evil whispered into my ear. The clerk smiled at me and told me to have a good night. "Hurthimhurthimhurthim," whispered Evil as I stuffed the coins into my pocket and picked up the blue plastic bag.

Last week - or was it last month? - Evil didn't like the way Karen smiled at me. "She's so condescending," he whispered. "You should crush her face." Karen is a clerk at The Second Hand, a store in the mall that sells clocks and watches. I think Karen is very pretty, and I'm trying to work up the nerve to ask her out. Evil says she'd never be seen with me. Evil says Karen thinks she's too good for me. She's not my type. I have twenty-nine watches.

The checkout guy at the grocery store ran after me, waving a little white piece of paper. "You forgot your receipt, sir," he shouted. "Thank you," I said, folding the receipt twice and slipping it into my inside coat pocket.

"That was nice of him," I told Evil as we got into the car. "Don't you think?" Evil didn't say anything.

At home, I put the beer in the fridge and the Band-Aids in the medicine cabinet between the mercurochrome and the Pepto Bismol. I emptied my pockets, first dropping two pennies, a dime and a nickel one-by-one into the big change jar, then digging into my jacket pocket for the receipt. I found two pieces of paper there and carefully smoothed them both out on the table. The first was the receipt for my beer and Band-Aids, the second was a receipt for the movies I'd rented the weekend before, The Karate Kid and Behind The Green Door.

"Wax on, wax off," Evil whispered.

"Stop it," I said, and crumpled both receipts into a little ball, which I left on the table. Evil laughed.

I don't remember where it was I first met Evil. It's been so long now that it seems like he's always been my ... well, "friend" isn't really the right word. The trick to having him around is learning to ignore him. He's constantly offering his opinion on things and the few times I've taken his advice it's gotten me into trouble, much to Evil's delight.

Evil thought the restraining order was hilarious.

I draped my jacket across the back of the chair and got one of the beers out of the fridge on the way to the bedroom. I don't even like beer, but I got tired of listening to Evil call me a "pussy" every time I bought anything else, so I finally relented. It's only really bad for the first couple of swallows, then I barely notice the taste.

The street light outside flickered unsteadily for a moment, then the dim blue light burned hotter, until it was warm and yellow. The view from my bedroom is a brick wall on which the previous owner of the building next door had painted a very beautiful image of the Golden Gate Bridge. The new owner, who lived in San Francisco for seventeen years, called the mural a "fucking sham" and hired someone to paint fog over it. Now all I see when I look out my window is a wall of grey illuminated by a single street lamp. Evil's idea of consoling me was to suggest that I set fire to the building.

The beer isn't all bad. It helps me sleep.

Part The Second

[kjtoo.livejournal.com]

I don't dream at all anymore. I haven't since college. Each night, I feel like I'm being wrapped in a warm, dark cocoon and I hope I'll undergo a wondrous metamorphosis. Sleep spits me out like a watermelon seed at 6:30 every morning, my stomach tied in a Gordian knot, my eyes caked with crud, my mouth dry.

"You look like shit," Evil said as I stumbled into the kitchen. I ignored him and opened the fridge. The milk carton was empty. All that remained in the fridge were five bottles of beer, an ancient box of baking soda, and a honeydew melon that was so old it was flat on one side and sitting in a puddle of brown, sticky goo. I rummaged around in the cupboard and found a box of chocolate PopTarts.

"Real healthy," Evil sneered. "You're going to have a coronary thrombosis by the time you're forty if you keep this up."

He was right, of course. Evil's predictions always came true.

I showered, cut myself shaving, and dressed for work. I pressed a fresh Band-Aid onto the laceration and Evil muttered, "fucking klutz." I thought of a thick, solid mass of blood growing in my circulatory system and clogging my coronary artery. I imagined falling to the floor, my face turning blue, like those little cartoon guys I used to watch every Saturday morning, or brilliant, bright red, like a lobster. I imagined how the darkness would surround me one last time, and how I'd never be spit into the cold, inhospitable morning again. No more pain or loneliness. No more co-workers, snickering behind my back. No more court-appointed psychologists. No more Evil. Best of all, No more Evil.

"What the hell are you smiling about?" Evil rasped.

"Nothing," I muttered.

I picked up my briefcase, grabbed my car keys, and went to work.

Re: Part The Second

[judecorp.livejournal.com]

Wow. Color me impressed. That story had a very George Stark feel, and I am floored.

Thank you for doing all that work to feed my creative whim. A+++. You get the air rifle, and not a nice football. You will not shoot your eye out.

*bows to you*

Re: Part The Second

[kjtoo.livejournal.com]

Thank you, kindly. It was fun and a nice little distraction for a Thursday afternoon. I met only minimum requirements (at least, I hope I got five), but trying to work more of 'em in was just going to make it very obvious. Maybe next time.

short story since I need some sleep...

[grrrrrindigo.livejournal.com]

I had decided to spend the afternoon wrapped only in a pirate flag (as Mr. Winky had told me it was all the rage just across the Golden Gate Bridge) eating honey dew melon and Lobster, when the doorbell rang. I hurriedly fumbled to put something less revealing on, something a little more "second-hand store", something a little more comfortably me before I flung the door open.

Just what I needed... some strange man, calling himself Jack Kerouac, and trying to sell me cherry cola lip gloss and Lincoln Logs. I sat to ponder why exactly one would market the two items together and came up with no intellegent reason. This did, however, help me to ignore the strange man as it took a good 45 mintues before he stepped off my front porch. Unfortunately, in that time my Lobster and honey dew melon had gone bad.

[judecorp.livejournal.com]

I know, I know, I've been meaning to write back...

Re: Part The Second

[judecorp.livejournal.com]

Nope, I think you did perfectly.

Re: short story since I need some sleep...

[judecorp.livejournal.com]

Yay! You pass! A+!

[kajmal.livejournal.com]

Jack Keruac and I were relaxing on Fisherman's Wharf in San Francisco, enjoying some lobster. We were at the place on the corner of Jones and Jefferson that flies that weird pink pirate flag. We had just met at the second-hand store on Van Ness and Mission, when he approached me and told me I looked like Daniel Larusso. He asked me if I'd be his "Karate Kid", and I really couldn't help but say yes. We finished off the meal with some honeydew melon and headed off twards the Presidio Park.

Over at the Palace of Fine Arts, we mused at the elaborate display of lincoln log sculptures. He of course couldn't help but make some crude references about the male anatomy about the lincoln logs, but they were funny so I let it slide. Further in, Jack cornered me in a small clearing and said he was in the mood to play with my Mr. Winky. I was a bit scared of getting caught, but how the HELL can someone say no to him? As he unzipped my pants and started nuzzling my crotch, I heard him gasp and say "Why the hell does your cock smell like cherry cola lip gloss?!" Oops! At first I didn't have the heart to tell Jack that he wasn't the first guy to pick me up that day, but I had no choice. He called me a filthy slut and walked away from me! He said he was going to Golden Gate Park to try to find someone who he didn't have to play sloppy seconds to that day. Sigh, I had missed my big chance with Jack! I made my way up to Golden Gate Bridge and stopped in the middle, looking out over the fog, into the city. No way I'd jump... too much to live for. I was feeling pretty disappointed though. That's when I heard a voice behind me. "Hey Karate Kid. Feeling like doing a bit of wax on, wax off?" I turn around to find none other than Gregory Corso! So my day wouldn't be a total loss after all...

Re: Part The First

[kajmal.livejournal.com]

Doh! I shoulda read yours before I wrote mine.. I'd have put more effort into it. :) That blew mine out of the water. Plus I feel like a copycat with the 'wax on wax off' comment.

Eh.. Oh well. :) Awesome story.

Re: Part The Second

[kjtoo.livejournal.com]

Psst! Who's George Stark? I thought I knew, but I don't. Does that make me uncultured? I did an Amazon search, but came up with nothing that seemed relevant.

Re: Part The First

[kjtoo.livejournal.com]

Thank you muchly. It's difficult to avoid a "wax on, wax off" comment when you're talking about The Karate Kid, so no foul.

Re: Part The First

[kajmal.livejournal.com]

Right on. :)

Re: Part The Second

[judecorp.livejournal.com]

It's a character from a Stephen King book (I think it was The Dark Half).

Re: Part The Second

[kjtoo.livejournal.com]

You're right, and now I remember...

George Stark was the pen name (come to life) of the main character. Stephen King "borrowed" the name Stark from Richard Stark, the pen name under which Donald Westlake wrote The Man With The Getaway Face and The Hunter (which is the basis for the awesome Mel Gibson movie, Payback). Interestingly enough, King's own pen name, Richard Bachman, is also partly borrowed from Westlake's.

Scary what's rattling around in the ol' brain, isn't it?

[judecorp.livejournal.com]

Bravo! Here is a gold star for you. Bonus points for putting in so many things from my beloved San Francisco. :) A+!

[kajmal.livejournal.com]

Thanks. :) I miss SF a lot myself.

BTW, I'm TC. Pleased ta meetcha. ;-)

[judecorp.livejournal.com]

Jude from Judecorp. A pleasure. :)

Re: Part The Second

[judecorp.livejournal.com]

You amaze me with your useless random knowledge!

Re: Part The Second

[kjtoo.livejournal.com]

When I come across a bit of useless knowledge, I immediately make room in the ol' noggin for it. If that means discarding a recipe for oatmeal-buttermilk pancakes, so be it. Combination to the safe clogging up the works? Out it goes. Cherished childhood memory in the way? See ya! Cram that useless crap in there!

[kajmal.livejournal.com]

So Jude from Judecorp, what does Judecorp do?

[judecorp.livejournal.com]

plan global domination, of course

[kajmal.livejournal.com]

You looking for a COO?

[judecorp.livejournal.com]

I'm a one woman army, baby!

[kajmal.livejournal.com]

Well good fuckin' luck then. ;-)

[judecorp.livejournal.com]

Heh, thanks!