I’m not afraid of being an amateur.
Even the great Richard Pryor started somewhere.
I’m not afraid of being honest with myself.
If a man can light himself on fire while freebasing cocaine and then joke about it on stage in front of thousands of people, I’ll be okay.
I’m not afraid of taking the heat.
Even hostile audiences can be dealt with gracefully.
I’m not afraid of exploring issues that make people uncomfortable.
Richard Pryor was fearless in this regard. Fearless.
I’m not afraid of having fun with it all.
If it comes from the heart, there’s nothing wrong with cracking a smile once in a while. Richard Pryor did it at his own roast.
Vlad is speaking programming languages at his computer again, aloud. We share an office six hundred feet above sea level. I can’t tell if you’re talking to me when I have my headphones in, dammit.
“Ah, forget it man.”
I turn up the volume for good, gangster rap so loud Easy-E might flinch at the snare.
Wednesday Write-in #31 @ CAKE.shortandsweet
Prompts: sniffle :: font :: northern :: powdered :: pick a card
It’s in the northern part of this state that the mountain peaks are always white-capped, their slopes powdered with virgin snowfall. It’s where the children sniffle in the morning as they prepare themselves for the walk to the school house in the bitter cold. And it’s where King George always takes holy water from the font and crosses himself before finishing his walk to the mills.
The challenge is to write a story based on a sentence spewed out by this sentence generator.
“THE HYPOTHETICAL RECIPIENT COMPROMISES THE DIAGNOSIS”
October 15, 1995
I stole some medical records from my primary care physician today.
Actually, I am sleeping with a nurse at the office and convinced her to photocopy the medical record of a recently diseased patient which she readily obliged in that tingly, after-sex fog that so definitively suspends our faculties.
I just put in my two weeks, she told me. So what do I care?
Wednesday Write-in #30 @ CAKE.shortandsweet
Prompts: overdose :: gloss over :: poach
Some people cook from instinct, seldom from recipe. Marienka’s mother was like that; if you gave her a recipe, she’d gloss over it once to get the idea before setting out in her own direction, rarely in vain. It could be Cornish hens with red cabbage and potatoes; salmon with homemade dill sauce; potato pancakes made from scratch and served with apple sauce and sour cream; or catfish slaughtered fresh and then breaded.
It didn’t matter.
Wednesday Write-in #29 @ CAKE.shortandsweet
Prompts: ‘I do’ :: crockery :: torch :: capsule
HAMILTON WEDDING (REVISED)
March 6, 2012
Dear Brother John,
I was moving some boxes out of Dad’s place last weekend when I happened upon this gem. Remember how he used to send these out? Always pragmatic, he was. Anyway, I’ve attached the itinerary for the Hamilton Wedding that never was (with my own notes and revisions included for effect, naturally). I thought about torching the thing but decided that it’s not my place to erase such an informative time capsule–that you might get a kick out of it after so many years.
Enjoy, you crafty bastard (see insert):
Wednesday Write-in #28 @ CAKE.shortandsweet
Prompts: farewell :: pocketful :: feeding :: thief :: maroon
THREE DAYS REMOVED
June 8, 2000
I have marooned myself with limited provisions. Tobacco and papers, yes. Some vegetables and bread.
I stole what I have.
I made no farewells.
I’ve a pocketful of regret already.
THE MUSE AND THE MINION
A muse came to me behind the liquor store and put a gun to my head. She told me to write a story.
“Sit down,” she said evenly as she drew the hammer back. Her voice was velvety, masculine, the skin on her trigger finger fair. There was a desk there and a pencil and a pad and the steel of her heater chilled the skin on my forehead and sent a wave of sensation down to my heels so I obliged her command. One of her minions stood close by, a Kalashnikov hanging loosely from his shoulder, holding a quart of Russian Standard and a glass in either hand. He stepped and set the bottle on the desk and the little glass next to it and then poured me three fingers before quietly retreating into the shadows.