Thursday, December 31, 2009

2010.

Is it tempting fate too much to tentatively set 2010 as the year when I'll be finished? Probably.

I need to be averaging about 1,000 words a week. I'm not at the moment. But I think I can do it. So what is that? My New Year's resolution?

What's your New Year's resolution?

In other news, this remix by DJ Earworm blew my muffin' mind:



Download here.

Goodbye, 2009. I didn't like you very much. But I'll miss you all the same.

Happy New Year!


P.S. Megan Phelps-Roper of Westboro Baptist Church fame recorded her own parody of "Poker Face" by Lady GaGa. It's oddly catchy. "You diss God! You diss God! Yeah, you just got your whoooorish face!"

Sunday, December 27, 2009

Hermaphrodite City!

By the way, all drabbles take place before the start of my book-in-progress. I was gonna call them "snapshots." But I didn't. This particular one takes place before Marcus becomes a Cap. 248 words.


Title: I'm Not Lyin', I'm Just Stunnin' With My Love-Glue-Gunnin'

Character(s): Marcus


---


Marcus turns the radio up. His favorite song is on.

"Can I be hermaphrodite pretty?" he sings. He looks in the mirror and shakes his butt. It's a good butt, so everyone tells him. "Am I an innie... O-OR AN OUTTIE?"

He's got a date in half-an-hour. He's had a date every day this week so far. Knock on wood.

Ripped bootcut jeans. Shirt one size too small. A dab of dollar store gel in his hair. Cologne slick like oil on the inside of his wrists and across his neck.

"Chasin' Hedwig's confusin' kitty! Suckin' cock erect'd by committee!"

Four dates, four different Johns. Although one was almost a threesome: A fat man sat at the foot of the bed, breathed slow and in control, and watched as Marcus fucked some woman with a jungle snake tattooed across her shoulders. The fat man's glasses were thick enough to be opaque, and the woman moaned beneath him. Her tattoo constricted with each thrust.

Marcus charged double for that one. He reckons he could've charged triple and gotten away with it.

He rubs his face now. It's sandpaper. He slides his thumb down the twin blades of his razor; it's clogged with old stubble, and he tosses it in the trash.

"Air out that botched vaginoplasty! GIM-GIM-GIMME HERMAPHRODITE CITY!"

Not a big deal. This John isn't interested in his face anyhow.

Marcus checks his reflection one last time and makes sure to lock the door on his way out.

Friday, December 25, 2009

Merry Christmas!

A little drabble. 267 words.


Title: Every Day is Exactly the Same

Character(s): Red


---


"I'm worried about Kallie. I think she needs to get laid."

Sheep barks. Wags her tail furiously.

Red squints. "Calm down, killer. I'm pretty sure she's not into that." He pats his pockets. "What did you do with the torch?"

Sheep cocks her head. Barks again. Then licks her chops.

"You four-pawed Judas." The bowl in his hand is warm and made of glass, and he fingers its smooth mouth absentmindedly. "You ate it."

He thinks. Forgets what he was thinking about. Thinks about something else.

"The joke's on you, if you think about it." Swallows hard, spit like talcum power. "You're a dog. You ate poop when you were young, you know. And now you eat butane. But look at these swanky thumbs I've got. I can pick shit up. Your shit mostly, Shits McGee. But also other things." He scratches his head with the back of his hand. "Thumbs up, I can do that. TWO thumbs up. And two toes that used to be thumbs if you factor in evolution. You can count 'em if you–oh, wait a fucking minute. YOU CAN'T–"

Sheep leaps onto the couch. Plows into Red and slathers his face with her tongue.

"Gerroff me!" He shoves her to the floor, and she lands with a dull thud. His shirt comes away moist and sticky after his wipes his face clean.

Sheep sniffs her butt.

"If you lick your poophole, I will fucking throw up on you."

She licks.

Red rises from the couch. "DON'T SAY I DIDN'T WARN YOU."

Sheep yelps, scrambles for the bedroom.

"RAAAWR!" he growls.

Wednesday, December 23, 2009

Dear loyal/sexy reader(s).

My hatred of flight (Damn you, creatures of the air!) may have colored my last post. Possibly.

After we got through the whole security/plane/itchy blanket/making out part, Hawaii and California weren't so bad. In fact... You could say I enjoyed myself.


Or maybe I ate too many pennies and now I'm delirious.


I bought a lot of clothes in any case. Something about Hawaii compels you to spend money. Maybe it's all the heat Hawaiians pack. Didn't know that, did you? Can't walk five feet without being asked to hold/try out/stroke/fire some stranger's gun. Hmm. Something about that seems fishy to me now.


In other news, Nemo and Crush have been captured, killed, and conveniently packaged.


Happy Holidays!


P.S. Tiny relations apparently do not equate to tiny living spaces.