Dear Readers! Good News! I am overwhelmed to announce that one brave blogger has stepped up to this blog’s story-writing challenge by using not just one . . . not just two . . . but ALL TEN WRITING PROMPTS! which were presented here yesterday.
Who is this Death-Defying Wordsmith? This Participle-Dangling Daredevil? This Purger of Profundity? (Okay I’ll stop now.)
Why it’s none other than our Beloved, El Guapo, The Friday Foolishness Frontiersman of WordPress!
The Adventures of El Guapo and His Side-kick, Abraham Lincoln
1) Abraham Lincoln was using his axe to prune the Rhododendron. He was doing this because he was grumpy that when he was done he would need to transplant an organ at the church. Then he was grumpy for the sake of being grumpy for the number 2 (2) and no reason besides that.
While it was odd that Abe Lincoln was out doing this kind of work (especially in the 21st century, it really was his own fault. (3) He had shot the gardener, Fats, (Fats had a green thumb.) (Literally, as he was an alien.), in the Skinny part of his throat after Fats told him he could no longer wear the Hideous stove-pipe hat.
He also shot him because Fats had a Tragically awful habit of capitalizing adjectives. It was later that afternoon that Abe realized Fats may have been so skinny due to genetics, or possibly because of a tragic accident. (That was after he saw a (4) steamroller flatten a poor woman from something resembling a Sputnik to something the thickness of a harpsichord.) (The sight almost ruined his lunch. “Oy Vey” he lamented into his tibbs and pickles sandwich at his favorite sandwich shop, They Call Me Mr Tibbs.) (But his appetite came back since he was so tired. Organ transplanting really”takes it out of you”) Editor’s note: Author has been slapped for that awful joke above.
After lunch, Abe went to see his friend (5) Hum Cwart, who he always called Kumquat. Even though Hum wasn’t green or an alien. It’s a sad fact that Hum couldn’t see Abe, or even see that Abe was mispronouncing the name. But that’s another story. The fifth, I believe. Now for those who don’t know, Abe was a statesman, known best for his dealings with the Chinese. Or at least General Tso, and his delightful companions known as (6)Wang-Lang and Lang-Wang.
He never knew their last names because they never used them. Now, as it happens, since they gave up smoking, the Ang-Angs (as Abe called them) became dress makers. They made dresses because they could test them by dancing in them to work off all the nervous energy from not smoking. They made a dress for their dear client (7) Lucy.
As a surprise, her husband Ricky picked it up, and the Ang-Angs told him that even though it was expensive, it was their best dunce dress. Ricky was so angry, and dragged Lucy into the store yelling at her for buying a stupid dress. Realizing the misunderstanding, the Ang-Angs donned the dress (together, for they were very thin), and demonstrated it was a “dance” dress, being careful this time to enunciate. Ricky was so ashamed, but Lucy said the studio audience loved it and off they went. As the Ang-Angs were reminiscing,
Abe interrupted, saying “Something smells rotten in Denmark”. Most people would say that was a euphemism, but Abe was well known for his scenting ability and the prowess of his schnoz. In fact, he had famously versed (8) “The nose knows the woes of those what owes the toes”, which was accepted as very profound by those who had no idea what the hell he was talking about.
What Abe, in fact, would have loved to be talking about was (9) women behind women behind woman, all oiled up. But Abe was shy and didn’t think that kind of talk was appropriate in mixed company, shaken or stirred. So with nothing left to do, (10) Abe mounted his trusty horse, Glue, and headed back to the 1850s to invent the stapler.
For their efforts, I am officially awarding El Guapo and his sidekick, Abraham Lincoln, this
hastily made much coveted trophy:
I think you’ll agree that nobody deserves this trophy more than El Guapo — with the possible exception of Abraham Lincoln.
Until next time . . . I love you