by Mike Whitney
The stars over Rudy Valley were bright; it almost hurt to look at them. Mongo's eyes misted over as he hunkered down in front of the dying fire and tossed a branch onto the dwindling embers. Bev was a good mate but since her brain chip upgrade, hair drags from the cave were over.
The Cro-Borg missed his RealParents™, Max and Maxine. He longed for his motherboard's signature dish: groat cluster casserole with onionoid gravy and a frosty tofu shake. For dessert, 20th century Twinkies, still fresh in their cellophane condoms and filled with simul-cream centers.
The Cro-Borg missed his RealParents™, Max and Maxine. He longed for his motherboard's signature dish: groat cluster casserole with onionoid gravy and a frosty tofu shake. For dessert, 20th century Twinkies, still fresh in their cellophane condoms and filled with simul-cream centers.
Time for Two Piece
Loin Cloth with Sleeves
by Mike Whitney
The velvet storm front moved across the sky, crushing the sunlight like cream cheese in a mixing bowl when chocolate is beaten in. Mongo looked up at the fudge sky as the locomotive wind roared in his face.
Behind it, he heard laughter. He stood on the promontory with unlimited expanses of valley and mountains beyond. When the wind died down, he headed back to the cave.
The wind began to howl. Bev sidled nervously to Mongo's side and they bent together over the fire while the storm outside raged.
"Mongo hate winter," rubbing his bare arms.
"Yes, dear."
Behind it, he heard laughter. He stood on the promontory with unlimited expanses of valley and mountains beyond. When the wind died down, he headed back to the cave.
The wind began to howl. Bev sidled nervously to Mongo's side and they bent together over the fire while the storm outside raged.
"Mongo hate winter," rubbing his bare arms.
"Yes, dear."
© 2009 . . . Author Mike Whitney
Mike, feeling the pull of a new decade, has begun booking gigs in Atlanta for the first time in ten years. Past the music (essence of this fine finesse of a writer*man), comes the resonating power of who Mr Whitney truly is ~ a gregarious soul who creates characters which live on long past their prehistorical futures, past their retirement action (more than even Sinatra ~ Mongo does it ~ "his way") . . . to generate a chuckle (or guffaw?) to readers glistening minds.
Thanks MusicMike for bringin' Mongo out into the new decade's bright beginning of a beguine. So very honoured your lyrical and strumming refrains are e'er heard (and danced to!) aboard HARBINGER*33, sailing so many grand authors on to further destiny . . . publishing this year!
Thanks MusicMike for bringin' Mongo out into the new decade's bright beginning of a beguine. So very honoured your lyrical and strumming refrains are e'er heard (and danced to!) aboard HARBINGER*33, sailing so many grand authors on to further destiny . . . publishing this year!
~ Absolutely*Kate and the fine staff,
beginning their laugh ~ AT THE BIJOU
6 comments:
Oh Mike ~ you had me from Rudy Valley and then the velvet storm. I ate your trademark delicious words up like chocolate, cream cheese and Twinkies, but not groat casserole.
THANKS for bringin' Mongo back around ... AT THE BIJOU. ~ Absolutely*Kate
If Mongo had a younger zit faced, four eyed sister she would undoubtedly say:
"Mongo, Mongo, Mongo. All I ever hear about is Mongo!!!!"
We on the other hand can't get enough and in fact have to make up our own very poor imitations. her's to the original!
Ah... Mongo and Bev... how I've missed them. Great fun stuff. Peace, Linda
Echoing all the above comments. How great it is to see Mongo and Bev again, hope there is more to come. Thanks Mike!
Mongo Lives! It's good to know that human thickness will survive the Apocalypse. And thanks for using "promontory", it's a great, underestimated word.
Thanks, everybody! Ian, you are welcome!
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