Wednesday, September 29, 2010

Date Night

Imagination Station:

“Susan, listen to me,” his strong hands grab her arms. She screams, as tears cascade down her cheeks.

“Geez, this girl’s like Niagara Falls,” Bill nudges my arm. “I feel like I’m on the Maid of the Mist. A ha a ha a ha ha ha.”

Yeah, great joke Bill. Bastard. Bill and I are on a date. And we’re at the movies, but Bill doesn’t seem to notice, because he just keeps quacking about random crap. Or, as illustrated earlier, lame jokes.

“Ha,” I scoff.

“What is it Johnny?” Susan collapses in his arms. “Tell me Johnny.”

He strokes her head and places a loose strand of strawberry blonde hair behind her petite ears. She just looks up at him, her eyes pleading for a reply. He stares back at those emerald eyes, unable or unwilling to respond.

“Johnny, tell me,” she whimpers.

“It’s going to be okay. You’ll be okay, but I have to go. I have no choice,” he places her in a chair and walks away.

“Wait Johnny,” she runs to him and pulls at the loose fabric of his button-down shirt. “I can’t live without you. I just can’t.”

“Oh, how typical,” Bill crosses his arms. “Why are women always portrayed as so needy? You ladies don’t need a guy.”

“Yeah, Bill, you keep fighting for feminism, but I’m trying to watch a movie right now,” I respond.

“Yeah, so am I,” he turns back to the screen.

“You’re going to have to Susan. I can’t avoid my duty to the military,” he cries.

“To hell with the draft. To hell with the military,” she shouts and throws her arms up. “To hell with the government. You belong to me and only me. Uncle Sam can’t have you.”

“Anarchy, pure anarchy. Is this director a Commie?” Bill rhetorically asks. Or at least I hope that was rhetorical.


“Well, is he?” Bill pokes my arm. Damnit, it wasn’t.

“She doesn’t want to share him and isn’t sharing what communism is all about?” I quip.

“No, communism is all about anarchy. At least that’s what that Mussolini guy said in his Cominuto Manifesta—whatever the hell it was,” Bill seems actually concerned about the director possibly being communist.

“Ugh, you have such a gross misunderstanding of history—it’s disgusting,” I shove some popcorn into my face. “Now shut it. I’d like to see this movie.”

He turns dramatically towards the audience. His eyes are pained, like those of a man caught at a crossroads.

“I’m going with Uncle Sam,” he closes his eyes and a tear rolls down his left cheek. “I have to Susan. My heart belongs to you, but not my body.”

“But I want your body too,” she wraps her arm around his muscular waist.

“Bow chica wow wow,” Bill sings.

“Seriously, seriously? Excuse me, restock on aisle three please, I believe we’ve run out of maturity,” I glare at him.

“Hey, can I have some popcorn?” He smiles.

I shove the tub of popcorn into his hands. Some sloshes over and the cornels try to run for it.

He pries her arms off of him. He grabs the obese, gray duffel bag in the corner.

“I’m leaving Susan, goodbye,” he opens the door.

“Do you think he’s actually going to leave?” Bill stares at me, his mouth open wide.

Ugh. I bury my face into my hands. I’m going to kill him. I’m going to kill Bill and go to prison for the rest of my life over some movie. That’s what’s going to happen and you know what? I don’t think I mind racking up a felony if it means shutting him up.

“Well?” he persists.

“I don’t know. Watch the damn movie,” I point to the screen.

I’ll punch him in the face if he asks me another question. I will.

He leaves.

“Do you think he’ll ever come back?” Bill pokes me again.

I don’t punch him in the face. I’m a sissy and I’m pretty sure Bill could kick my ass in a fight.

“I don’t know,” I grit my teeth. “Maybe we should watch the movie and find out.”

Grabbing the side of the chair, she pulls herself to the floor. Her skinny fingers wrap around a leg of the chair and she sobs uncontrollably.

“Aw, she needs a tissue,” Bill chomps the popcorn. I can hear him chewing. I can hear the teeth clank against the cornels. I can hear it all sloshing around in there. And I’m feeling my skin squirm with each breath.

“Shut up,” I whisper.

“What?” Bill asks.

“Shut up,” I say louder.

“I’m sorry, I still can’t hear you,” he looks at my all doe eyed.

“That’s it,” I get up, grab the tub of popcorn, and pour it all over him.

Bill stands up too. “What was that for?” he clears the popcorn off his plaid sweater vest.

I give him the evil eye as I move four rows in front of him.

The End. And the credits are rolling.

“Ugh!” I whip around and face him. “I… I… you suck!”

Saturday, September 11, 2010

Chewed to Bits by Giant Turtles

Imagination Station:

Yes, this is actually real, which means guys
actually read this back in the day. 
I was inspired to write this story after seeing a vintage male magazine cover-

My name is Sterling Rambo. Manly, isn’t it? Well, that’s the point, ‘cause I’m a man, but not just any ordinary man, I’m a manly man. I wrestle lions—while naked. I strike manly poses at a moment’s notice, the kinds you see on those harlequin novels. I have abs…of steel! And, they’re covered in man hair of manly proportions. I smell of Old Spice. I can kill a giant monster with a blink of my eye. I give Gaston a run for his money. Well, more like a death defying sprint that he will lose! Grr. ‘Cause I’m a manly man.

Now, as any manly man will tell you, you need to flaunt how manly you are often. You can display your manly chest hair or display your mountainous biceps. However, these only momentarily give you the manly status. In order to achieve manly greatness, you must do a manly act—fight off giant, man-eating turtles—just like I did.

“Sterling, I hope you don’t mind that I showed up in a pencil skirt, paired with a tight, scarlet blouse and black patent stilettos. I thought it would be perfect swamp attire,” Candy Vixen purred. We were trudging through the Florida swamplands, which is a perfect place to go for a first date, so take note men. Every woman likes the smell of mud and decaying plant matter.

“It’s alright Candy. You still look sweet to me,” I raised my eyebrow in a sexy manner that made Candy weak in the knees. You see what I did there—yeah boys, that’s a pun. Chicks dig puns.

“Oh, why thank you Sterling Rambo. You’re so smooth,” She cooed.

“Yeah, I know, like sterling silver,” I turned so she could see my other good side, ‘cause every side of me is good. Yeah.

“Oh, Sterling,” She looked into my gorgeous chocolate brown eyes.

“Oh, Candy,” I pulled her close, kissing her. All of a sudden, she pulled back.

“Oh no Sterling! I’m being eaten alive by giant turtles!” She shrieked, “Oh, no! Hold on, let me suggestively unbutton my blouse so it increases the chances of you saving me. I couldn’t possibly fend off these creatures on my own. I’m a woman for heaven’s sake! That’s a man’s job. Oh, won’t you help me Sterling?”

“Of course I will Candy. Allow me to tear off my shirt first, so you can see my man muscles of manliness that are covered in man hair. Plus, it makes it look far more heroic if I save you while shirtless,” I ripped off my suit shirt.

Buttons went flying everywhere, knocking out some of the incoming giant turtles. Candy stood there, not moving, just screaming. Clearly, a man needed to handle this. Luckily for her, I’m a man.

I brought out my 10 inch dagger that I always carry around. You never know when a manly man must be manly. Danger can come at a moment’s notice. Luckily, I know when moment decides to post a notice, ‘cause I’m a man. And ‘cause I can read.

I pushed my way through the swamp ferns, killing off any giant turtle that came in my way. I showed them who was boss. Candy fainted in my muscular arms. I continued to fend off giant turtles, until I slayed the last one. Unfortunately, it was too late for Candy, but I almost saved her, ‘cause I’m a man. A manly man.