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    Stories Inspired by : The Word-a-Lizer

    Friday, December 05, 2003
    word challenge: priority, epiphany, poopersnickle

    I am not sure I remember what "poopersnickle" means... so here goes nothing.

    I like to think that I am a perfectionist. That is, as much of a perfectionist as one can be when one is a rat. I don't mean "rat" like when a human calls another human a rat, you know, like, "You dirty rat". I mean, literally, I am a rat - rattius rodentis. I am not a huge rat, which might be why I don't get priority when it is time to line up for food.

    I used to think of myself as attractive, but I guess I am rather plain now that I think about it. I am white, which in itself isn't very exciting when you have other rats in the neighborhood who are white with spots of some color or another. Once there was a rat on TV (or maybe he was a mouse, which doesn't really amount to much of a difference if you ask me.) Anyway, this mouse had spots arranged so that it resembled the "MickeyMouse Ears" One large circle in the middle and two smaller ones just above and to the sides of the bigger circle. That was the moment of my epiphany. Finally, I would stand out. I would be *special*. I might even get on the news and be FAMOUS!!!

    I rummaged through a dumpster behind the BINGO hall where the funny-smelling hunched over people with the blue hair hang out. I found it. It was perfect. One bottle of purple ink - with the sponge circle thing on the top of it. I think the blue haired ones use these to mark their numbers on those cards. I don't understand what the hell they are doing with this, but it seems to cause a commotion. This one old man named Bingo in a black dress and a white collar says a bunch of numbers, and then suddenly one of the old ladies stands up and yells his name. Then she goes to his desk and he gives her some more paper with pictures of men on them. Then they start over again.

    Anyway - I put the bottle on its side and then stepped up to it sideways trying to get the ink to make circles on me; so I could be like that mouse on TV. Ah, poopersnickle! Just my dumb luck -- the damned thing was all dried out.

    posted by pero on 12:43 AM
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    Monday, June 09, 2003
    word challenge: enamored, yellow snow, celebration



    Morey loved yellow snow. He lived for the days when he could walk through the streets of his village and mark the spots where the dogs had paused. Morey hated dogs, you see. He remembered every time a dog had growled at him, or sniffed at him ~ which made him quiver with distaste. He so loved spotting yellow snow that several people had accused him of being enamored with the sight of it.

    Morey waited patiently, making his map, marking it with all the spots where the dogs had soiled the pristine white of the snow. He loved winter, tracking the furry buggers was so much harder in the summer. He knew that at some point, he would make use of this map. He planned his revenge every day, every time he stepped in doggie doo, every time one of them sniffed his leg, or was presented to him to be petted. He would place poison along the route of their walks, leaving something that would be activated when they did the dirty and discolored the snow. He would rid the town of the vermin, he would be a hero.

    Morey had planned the celebration for weeks. He rented a hall and hired a band. He invited all his friends, without telling them what the party was all about. He bought the poison and placed it all along the route marked out on his map. He went to bed with a smile on his face, knowing that the next day, the town would be dogless and he would be the hero. However, his plan was foiled. Batman swooped down and washed all the poison away, saving all the dogs. Morey's friends decided to celebrate anyway, since the hall was rented and the band was hired. Alas, poor Morey was in prison. He wasn't awfully sad, though ~ there are no dogs in jail.

    posted by susan creamcheese on 10:18 AM
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    Saturday, May 31, 2003
    word challenge: collections | tonsils | quirky



    Herbert entered the building reluctantly. He had doubts about sitting and talking with a bunch of strangers. He just didn't see how it would help his situation. But he'd promised his girlfriend that he would give it a try.

    There it was. A sign on the door identified it... "Collections Anonymous". He took a deep breath, and opened the door.

    He was greeted by a lady wearing (what he hoped was) a boufant, blonde wig. She directed him towards the chairs at the far end of the room. They were arranged in a semi-circle; several of the chairs were already filled.

    "Oh!" she exclaimed, as he walked toward the chairs. "I see you've brought a bag with you! I hope that's part of your collection! We LOVE to see what other people collect!"

    "A quirky group..." he thought to himself. "This could be interesting."

    He found his seat, and waited for the meeting to begin.

    At precisely 8:00PM, the wig lady started the meeting. She turned to Herbert, and asked that he introduce himself to the group.

    He stood. "Hi. My name is Herbert. I work over at the hospital, doing maintenance and clean up. I really like my job; mostly 'cause it gives me access to the most fascinating things."

    All eyes were on him. He decided he liked this "group" thing. The wig lady encouraged him to share what was in his bag.

    Slowly, and with great care, Herbert lifted the jar out of his bag. He held the jar up... so that everyone could see.

    "OH MY GOD! WHAT IS THAT????" the wig lady screamed.

    "Tonsils, of course. I collect tonsils!"

    posted by Deb on 6:05 PM
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    Wednesday, May 21, 2003
    word challenge: flatulence | dischord | self denial



    Helen loved milk. In fact, she drank a glass EVERY day without fail. The fact that she was lactose intolerant didn't seem to bother her. It did bother her room-mates though. The milk didn't cause stomach cramps... it caused Helen to have gastrointestinal distress....which manifested itself in a most odiferous manner. A fog of fumes filled Helen's home most evenings. Her roomies were afraid to light matches.

    One brave room-mate talked to her about the situation. Helen admitted to feeling bad about her problem, but the next day, was seen drinking milk. Ginger lost it. "Your FLATULENCE is making us all crazy! It is causing DISCHORD within our home! You are in serious SELF-DENIAL! Stop drinking MILK!"

    Helen started to cry. She turned and ran up the stairs. Unfortunately... jogging up the stairs is NOT a good thing to do - when you are full of gas.

    posted by pero on 11:41 AM
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    Monday, May 19, 2003
    word challenge: thongs | compliance | water torture



    The ship was filled, mast to stern with literally hundreds of them. They had worked all year on their bodies, getting them to the perfect shape that they were. Day by day they ate and ate and ate . The Fabulous Fatties were once again ready for their annual cruise to The Bahamas; they scrambled aboard, excited and ready to begin their feast-packed journey

    The morning the ship departed, Percival realized that he had left his sea legs somewhere else; as he felt very green. He leaned over the Starboard rail and let it all go. By 'it' we are kindly referring to "all he could eat" from the breakfast buffet earlier in the morning.

    Unfortunately, the chosen side was not only windward, but also an upper deck. The deck below was holding a contest featuring thongs and turtle wax. The contestants were throttled with all the lovliness of what remained of Percival's Eggs Benedict, smoked salmon and other sundries of cruise food.

    Shocked and appalled the Cabin Steward grabbed the ship's fire hose, and attempted to aleviate our guests from the coating of cuisine. The Fabulous Fatties began to slide around, since the Turtle Wax was preventing the water from wetting the deck, causing a slip and slide of terror. The pressure of the water from the hose was so fierce that the fatties flab began flapping, sending them all flailing about helplessly. In her attempts to relieve the poor fatties, she had managed to subject them to vigorous water-torture.

    The next day, the remaining fatties lined up at weigh in, a necessary daily event in order for them to avoid being thrown to the sharks. Poor Percival, his recent evacuation of content caused him to fall under weight, and out of compliance. posted by pero on 11:39 AM
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