Wednesday, November 25, 2009

Don't Bypass the Pie Pass

~ A double*feature duet,
at the pen and in the kitchen ~

Ray Charles was doing what Ray Charles does best in the background. Though Ben and Brett had Georgia on their mind with the way the Giants had plucked a few feathers out of the Falcon's strut, these brawny boys were more into staging the mess'around as they worked together in Ben's mom's kitchen back in Findlay, Ohio. Brett threw eggs with only a bare moment's notice of, "Go long, Ben -- go long." With just a few yolks cracking up, the yucks kept coming, as recipe book after Ma Roethlisberger's recipe book was yanked down from the high shelf the boys had no trouble reaching. When Hit the Road Jack came on, Brett looked up at the winking Felix the Cat clock over the kitchen sink and shovel-passed the Domino's brown sugar bag hard, fast and down low with a swift muttered, "Here we go again."

"You don't know me", Ben sputtered over the oooomph to his gut, "if you thought that one would get by. Now come on, let's make this pecan pie."

Me come on? You don’t have to tell me Big, I’m the one who has to get to Detroit before kickoff.”, the horn-hat QB defended.

“I can’t believe you are going to that game after the homecoming the cheeseheads gave you a couple of weeks ago. Besides, you know you aren’t going to find anything remotely resembling a home cooked Thanksgiving dinner in Motown.”

Brett, being the comeback king of not just QB-historee, but lyric-quips rile-valry, stirred nuts into the stickey goo, while informing Ben, "I have a way to survive - I'm taking one of these pies as my carry-on luggage.”

“Brett your mama might make the best pecan pie way down the Mississippi but around here we like to run ‘em through the oven before they go down down down that road. So fill ‘er up, let’s roll...”, Ben sang as he spun around holding out two empty pie shells for Brett to ladle full with the lumpy brown goo.

Brett scraped the bowl clean and popped the oven door open for Ben who, careful not to fumble, made the completion setting the first and then the second down with plenty of time left on the Felix The Cat Clock. High fives were in order followed by the opening of beers.

Big Ben took a sip and asked his possible Super Bowl foe just why he was going to Detroit to watch his former team. The team whose fans had showed a short memory and such bad manners to him only weeks prior.

“Because I’ve been a fortunate man and I’m grateful,” he said without a hint of ire. Then that shit-eating Brett Favre grin overtook his face and he added, “You know John Madden won’t be there with his eight legged turkey this year. I figured those boys might just like some pie.” The two grid-iron good guys clinked beers as Junior Brown hung it up sending them both into a kitchen-wide air guitar frenzy.

'Bout this time, Mrs Roethlisberger stepped into the disarray display gaining yardage in her usually well-kept kitchen, and fondly one'upped both grown boys as the radio flaired out some lyrically high quality Beatles, in fine game-day finesse of her own. "All together now, you rockstars had best clean up your creation mess. Any time at all, it doesn't take a fool on a hill or in the stadium nosebleed seats to know receivers have to get back and let our fave Favre score. Sure Brett, you take an extra pie down that long and winding road. Just put the word out around both leagues, to burly, brusque, behemoth defenders, keep your hands off my baby!"

“You got it Mrs. R.” Brett winked and kissed her cheek before twirling her around the kitchen floor.

"Happy Thanksgiving!"



with the thankfulness of

double-featured writing companions and inspiration

To all aboard the HARBINGER*33

plus the writer-colleagues we sail with and celebrate so well


(and good messy kitchens)

Thanksgiving dinners take eighteen hours to prepare.
They are consumed in twelve minutes.
Half-times take twelve minutes. This is not coincidence.
~ Erma Bombeck ... pulled off of Harry's refrigerator magnet collection

Tuesday, November 24, 2009

PRELUDE ~ To Wordsmithers

Welcome to

of writers' raves and readers' faves
where we do it right, do it big and give it class.

Klieg lights are shining!

Illumination through history
is on its veritable showmanship way!



More than parades and football
are cookin' up
a delicious mess on
Thanks-Be-Giving Day

~ T H E N ~

The MIKE & MIKE Show!
on the first calendar turn to Tuesday in December
( Let'em snow, let'em snow, let'em snow? )

~ The Moon Chronicles ~
come shining the first Thursday in December

plus, pleasures profuse ~


What happens when across the pond splash-ripples with . . . ?
Come find out the second Thursday of Decembering!



~ Before the turkey comes the grace
Mine for fellow-writers, globally rippin' waves
all over the place.

~ For the tango, schmaltz and waltz when words
take to dancing; for reaching within, stirring around,
then plucking triumphantly out
what our inner spirits saw coming, all along
~ whisper's greater shout.

~ For muse and music . . .
resonating, resounding, crescendoing
and occasionally a symphonic cymbal'ic.

~ For smiles, smirks,
riles, perks and grins within.

~ For the beguile of piles of "yet-to-be" story files
where expressions meet phrasings
and turn streetcorners named desire,
to wander and wonder those roads less traveled,
simply (thus strongly) making all the difference.

~ For bylines and wry lines and meeting one's
finer higher self in the coupe de ville at Inspiration Point . . .
losing new virginities to scribing passion's
most alluring persuasions.

~ For publishing . . . and relishing . . .
and telling more than 33 . . . of our closest friends
plus colourful colleagues ~ "Hey! Check it Out!"

~ For all the shades and hues
and tint'alizations of your true blues,
my most colourful colleagues ~

. . . words . . . fail . . . me.

~ Absolutely*Kate

Thursday, November 19, 2009


*** It's Double*Feature THURSDAY! ***

for a very good cause . . .

Fools ask 'why?' ~ Wise folks seldom try.
But sure ~ I'll tell you. Multitudes of Great Folks around the webwide writing community are getting together in any creative way possible to help out one of their own ~

Link your hearty help to a donation drive
to help a fellow-writer really jive,
The story's just below and so is
a very classy dame by the name

Now Peggy said it's an honour
to appear on any marquee with John,
and John is pleased as ... well,
salt water splashes
to be in the swim with Peg.

I say this harbingers well with a dynamic duo
presenting quite a show for Your Viewing Pleasure!

* * * * * * * * * * *

AT THE BIJOU presents
"The Bathroom Monologues" man,
with a whole new splash of *flush fiction*
from an irrepressible lady . . .

You heard me.

R E A D I T.
You'll see.

And help out our buddy John.
Your spirit will know how.
You'll see.

* * * * * * * * * * *

And we'll see You ... in the front row or the balcony ~

Each Thursday, Each Tuesday, your viewing pleasure
will not only be titillated (and who amongst us does not want their pleasures titillated?), by two grand writers appearing in a particular place with a particular following on a particular day . . . but stay, stay awhile ~
chance a glance on other seasoned scrawls
AT THE BIJOU in your one-stop action-break,
and carouse your browse on the "Showcase Show*Off" wall,
over to the right for more golden oldies our featured attractions are right proud of.

* * * * * * * * * * *




and that ** ABSOLUTELY*KATE ** shows up here and there


Follow Our Blog*Lists showcasing some of the most prolific writers
and sensational write'site collections in Web*City.

Remember folks, you heard it here first.


** IT'S JOHN! ** IT'S PEGGY! **
It's a Bathroom Monologue and Flush Fiction
It's 2 - 2 - TWO TREATS at once!

~ This has been an Absolutely*Kate promotional message,
which is one of the things she does best, believing in believers . . .

* T * H * A * N * K * Y * O * U *
See you AT THE BIJOU next Tuesday,
come rain or come shine!

Mom, Dad, I Met . . . Someone ~ by Peggy McFarland

Not knowing what to expect is exactly what to expect when you come across writer Peggy McFarland. A shy, timid lass (yeah, right), this rarified lady of class, sass and brass tells it as it is in her mind's world . . . and, the world goes along for the story. That's the glory of reading Ms Peggy . . . she brings the absurd home, and you just want it to stay.

Adventurous Ladies
and Stalwart Men

*** AT THE BIJOU ***

Mom, Dad, I Met . . . Someone
~ from the far reaching realm of Peggy McFarland

The cab driver parked next to the white sign hanging from a wrought iron post. It creaked in the slight breeze. “Schuyler Animal Healers,” he read aloud. “You one?”

“Family biz,” Andy answered. His nostrils flared. The lingering onion and lunch meat, stale-sweat atmosphere intensified since the cab stopped. Andy lunged for the window button.

The cab driver glanced in the rearview mirror. Andy gulped for air. One hand fidgeted with the door lock and the other scratched his shoulder. This skin’s so dry!

“In trouble or meet a girl?”

“I met … someone.”

The driver smirked. “I get it. Not the type of,” he gestured air quotes, “’someone’ your parents expect.”

“Something like that.” Andy tapped his foot. If he only knew. The driver drummed his fingers against the dash. He peeked in the rearview at his immobile fare and deliberately turned the meter back on. He looked out his side window. “Is that an emu?”

“Probably a sore throat case. Dad’s the bird healer.”

“What’s wrong with the moose? Too horny?” The cab driver chuckled.

The radio crackled. “Got another fare. That’s Eighteen seventy-five, Dr. Doolittle.”

Andy paid the driver, grasped the door handle and then, reluctantly, stepped out of the vehicle. The cab peeled out almost before the door clicked shut. Andy choked on the sprayed grit. Soon, no more dirt.

A horse trotted to him and with a loud pop transformed into his human mother. An eagle swooped and batted Andy with the tip of a wing; its raucous screech drowned out a faint pop. Human legs skidded to a stop. After a sharp crack the rest of its avian body transformed into Andy’s human father.

“So how was spring break?” his father asked. “Meet any ‘Girl’s Gone Wild’?”

Before Andy could respond, his mother smothered him in a tight hug. Andy gasped for air. He wheezed, “Let’s go inside.”

His mother wiped her feet on the novelty “Finish Line” doormat before she led the way to the kitchen. As she washed her hands she nodded for Andy to sit and said, “Beauty’s lonely since her colt noticed fillies. He chases every twitching tail.”

She dried her hands and raised her eyebrows at her son. Andy stared at the Blue Seals Feed plaque decorating a door that led out of the kitchen.

“Don’t nag Rosa. You’ll get your grandchildren,” his father said. Rosa shook her head but smiled a toothy grin at her son.

Andy squirmed. And stalled. “Uh, why were you in eagle form, Dad?”

A skein of Canadian geese flew toward a golf course. The ‘endangered list’ years made them arrogant. They don’t believe people hate ‘em. I had to use intimidation to divert them.”

“Mom, Dad, I met … someone,” Andy blurted.

“Oh thank goodness!”


“Arnold, we both worry that his time spent as different fish has made him,” she nudged Andy’s arm before she added, “… aloof. So how’d you meet?”

“In the Caribbean. She’s sleek and graceful and, and … we’re soul mates.”

His father cocked his head. “Aanndd?”

“And … she’s a dolphin.”

He gushed out his explanation. “She was depressed swimming with tourists, so I became dolphin and helped her escape and … we connected.”

His mother snorted. “So, how’s this going to work? If you’re human and she’s dolphin?”

“I’ll – I’ll live as a dolphin.”

His father said, “You know you can’t do that. The longer you stay dolphin, the harder it is to change back to original human form.”

“I won’t have my son live as … as a creature. What about grandchildren?” His mother stomped her foot. “How am I supposed to spoil them? ‘Here’s your bucket of herring?’”

“You always say I can be anything I want.” Andy quivered under his father’s fierce glare. “I want to be a dolphin.”

“That’s not what we meant!” his father squawked. “You don’t have to be a healer, but use your talent! Become a deck hand! A magician! A, a … whatever! But not a PERMANENT DOLPHIN!”

“In a couple years,” his mother whined, “you’ll regret it, but you’ll have been dolphin too long to change back completely. Then what’ll you be? A merman?”

“I love her. This is what I want. The open sea, intellectual communication, freedom from city living …”

“ … and caught in a tuna net!” his mother interrupted, “You’ll be lunch!” She sobbed.
Andy shook ‘no’. “Ridiculous! Didn’t you teach me, look for inner beauty? She has it! Outer beauty too. The cutest little bottlenose …”

“Okay Flipper,” his mother spat, “since you brought it up, what about sex?”

Andy squirmed. “Er, that’s pers …”

“Well, it’s called animal needs but it’s human! You’ll look dolphin, but ….”

“Dolphins have sex for pleasure too.” Andy added, “Once you rub fins ….” His face burned.

His father strutted around the kitchen and rubbed his bald head.

“Dad, sure I can be a bass or a goldfish, but they don’t need healers, not like birds and mammals. With ‘Chtkh’ …,” Andy clicked her name, then realized his parents couldn’t speak dolphin. He stood.

“If you want to meet your future daughter-in-law,” he paused to retrieve a brochure from his pocket, “tell an albatross to find me. Meet us here.” Andy dropped the brochure on the table. The resort offered “therapeutic swims with dolphins”.

“Mom, Dad. I love you, but I have to be with her.”

Andy strode across the room and gripped the doorknob. The plaque clattered against the door.

“Son, that’s the bathroom.”

Andy darted inside and flushed. When they realized what he was doing, his parents dashed to the doorway, only to see their son’s orange tail twitch down the drain.

© Peggy McFarland; first published at Everyday Weirdness

Peggy wished to share a little background on her tall tale - er tail, which splashed out of a Writer's Digest writing prompt contest . . . and what better to appear with an epic of The Bathroom Monologues, than . . . *flush fiction*? (You had to see that coming down the pipes).
PEGGY: “After it didn’t win (out of 1500 entries) I took the time to beef up the word-count slightly in order to make it all a little clearer. I didn’t give up on this story, as it cracked me up every time I thought about the mother complaining that she couldn’t spoil her grandchildren, and the son saying his parents taught him he could be anything he wanted to be. Everyday Weirdness, with editor N.E. Lilly liked it and gave me a 24-hour turnaround between acceptance and printing. And now, Kate asked me if she could reprint it. I’m glad I stuck with this story.”
KATE: Aboard the Harbinger*33, Peggy has raised the bar (as well as drinking at it when Mike Whitney frets his guitar and croons his heart away in the Lizard Lounge - hey, he named it). Her heart’s there though, right on the starboard side midst the most raucous of our sailing wenches and scalawags. She no longer rolls her eyes since Goddess Mother Jeanette has put the kibosh on those kind of rogue movements, but the dash of her outspoken presence hones both wit and wordsmithery of crew. Truly Peg, it would not be the same voyage without You. Honoured we are for your timeless talents aboard Harbinger*33, sailing to its publishing journey of manifesting destinies.
PEGGY: “As for what I do with my life . . . I am participating in NaNoWriMo for the first time and always feel a paragraph behind . . . oh! That line works for the first time in my life! (smiles and buffs fingernails on shirt), and I write a daily nanofiction story at Twitter. If you look at the right column, you can find a link to Eldritch Way, which is a place I frequent . . . waiting for others to discover me . . . call now and you will receive two pieces of flash fiction for the price of . . . free? peace out “
KATE SMILES ~ Peggy McFarland stories will be discovered the more when her Twilight Zone of a terrifying tale is published within the collaborative tome, Harbinger*33, soon to soar.

Boat-load of thanks precise Peg; Fair Winds, Favourable Seas
~ Absolutely*Kate and shored’up readers to be

D. A. E. ~ by John Wiswell of Harbinger*33

BRIDGING WORLDS, BUT VIA HIS OWN PERSPECTIVE, is the John Wiswell who brings about the guffaw and not the gaffe . . . he who turns out unconventional tale after twistified tale ~ thereby gusting our laugh. John sends a Bathroom Monologue's piece from his old Perspectives line, fake news items that provide a weird perspective on something . . .

Lascivious Ladies
and Rebel Rogues
*** NOW PLAYING ****
*** AT THE BIJOU ***

~ by the far flung murky-mirth of John Wiswell

Demons Against Exorcism is a grassroots organization that is either entirely composed of demons or has no demons at all, depending on how skeptical you are. The demons in question have 100% willing and agreeable hosts who do not want to see their companions evicted.

“It’s my body, my choice,” says Sarah Stockman, who will have been possessed for six years next month. Her parents were initially uncomfortable with her lifestyle, but grew to accept it after her demon ceased making her writhe in public. Following a popular tolerant trend, the Stockmans have nothing against writhing in private.

The demons provide no rent, being incorporeal and generally bad at finances. Unlike poltergeists, they are not very helpful at moving things around the house.

“A possession isn’t a business relationship,” says Paul Pensly, who has been passionately possessed for two years and doesn’t see the honeymoon enthusiasm fading. “It’s about companionship, knowing this infernal buddy of mine will be there when I’ve had a long day, lost a bar fight, or whenever I just need to talk. I never go to the movies alone now."

Some people do note advantages to the possessions, however. Sarah Stockman landed a job in the Foreign Languages department of a community college thanks to her ability to speak in tongues. An anonymous Indian-American possessee in Ohio claims his demon once possessed Aristotle and now helps him breeze through textbooks. College Board is currently devising a counter-demon measure to prevent possession-based cheating on its SAT exams, a measure Demons Against Exorcism calls "the worst kind of bigotry."

(c) John Wiswell

"There you go. Hope it helped you laugh,
to balance out the recent sadness
my circumstances have caused you.

I haven't enjoyed them much either.

"I appreciate AT THE BIJOU's request to highlight my work. Any attention is good attention. Just a shame I won't be around to field the comments and/or complaints over my piece. I don't know how far the pledge drive can go, but it's already surpassed my expectations by passing 10%. There are some wonderfully generous people out there. " ~ John

JOHN WISWELL'S SURGERY IS TOMORROW, Friday, November 20th.John's relating of the surgery over his neuromuscular condition is here and the pledge drive donation fund is here. If your heart or circumstances have the ability to help this cause, then go for it.

Life is all about relationships ~ borrowing a scrawl from John's bio wall, "
The constant, unmedicatable pain has left me with a good sense of humor and humility. It's also left me with some ridiculous beliefs, such as that you've got to keep the good people you find, no matter where they were born or what logo is on their shirt. I firmly believe we need a sense of humor in everything, not only making fun of what we hate or would like to change, but what we hold most dear."

To me, aboard the Harbinger*33, John IS gentle wisdom, wild wit and sharp perspective, a new friend to no end. His words have joyed me and he even joined my ESPN pigskins pickem's group with some of the sportier sailors on the upper deck. Now that's a lot of yardage. Likewise in yardage are wide pass patterns John's trusty keyboard has rifle-armed to over 20 magazines, websites and contests. Past that mixed metaphor, we're all rooting for the Wis to score!

Prayers and good, good, good vibrations are around you John . . . Honoured we all are that your keen view of life hails aboard Harbinger*33, sailing to its publishing journey of manifesting destinies.

~ FORTITUDE AND HEALING, with FairWinds, Favourable Seas

~ Absolutely*Kate and readers of your distinctive voice all the more