Monday, June 28, 2010

My bestselling children's series

Excerpt from a novel by K.L. Ingram, The Mostly True Adventures of Corky Calabash and Her Best Friend Louie (Who Is Also Her Dog!) #12: The Thrilling Tale of The Muffin Pirates (Who Became Friends With Yours Truly) (Corky Calabash!!!!)

“Golly gosho, Louie!” exclaimed Corky as she shined her flashlight into the now-empty culvert. Her missing front tooth made all her Ss whistle. “You think there are pirates down there?” Pirates… pirates… pirates… echoed back at her from inside the tunnel.

Louie seemed to nod and shake his floppy mutt ears in reply.

“Pirates in Middleton, gosh!” she whispered to herself. She swung the flashlight and was shocked at what she saw in the beam of the flashlight.

On the concrete wall of the culvert scrolled in very old-timey script was a warning. “BE WARNED,” read Corky carefully, remembering what Tina the Tutor taught her about words ending in –ed. “…ALL YE… WHO ENTER… OUR PIRATE LAIR!”

Corky and Louie gasped in fright. Louie whimpered and tucked his curly tail between his legs.

“Gee gosho golly gumps, Louie!” snapped Corky. “Stop being such a scardycat! We need to save those stolen apple bran muffins from those pirates!” Her words were fearless but her voice shook a tiny bit. She swallowed hard and her gulp! echoed in the tunnel. “…Even if we is a-scared!”

Friday, June 25, 2010

Roland, the Melancholy Starbucks Patron

"Oh, life!" yawned Roland from his seat in the second booth near the window at the 17th Street Starbucks. He scratched his flanks with a sleepy smack of his cafeteria-pink lips. Glumly he flicked the Reduced Fat Very Berry Coffee Cake crumbs from the collar of a wrinkled pale blue linen shirt.
"I am like a Dürer print. These crumbs are like my sadness," he jotted in his Moleskine, jabbing the umlauts with special fervor. Roland nodded with satisfaction. He leaned back in the booth at a careful 30 degree angle and watched a daddy longlegs crawl into a corner.
"Oh, to see the natural world from this sprawling steaming concrete jail!" he wrote furiously, flinging azure ink all over his crumby cotton shirt. Roland frowned and scratched out steaming and wrote hellish. He nodded again.
"Oh, words!" Roland started all of his sentences with Oh. He frowned deep in thought for two hours then got a refill on his extra hot venti hazelnut cappuccino, and he sighed very deeply when the barista asked him soy or regular milk.
"Oh, this world," he frowned with a sad chuckle. "This. World."

Wednesday, June 23, 2010

Big Manly Darryl

MY NAME! he bellowed every morning IS BIG MANLY DARRYL, AND I LOVE THE SMELL OF MY OWN TESTICLES! He kicked his cabin door open with his manly muddy boots and stomped to his outhouse.
But, he whimpered quietly to himself in the buzzing still stench as he crouched over the stinkhole, I do so long for the touch of a woman.

Saturday, June 19, 2010

My dream journal has a lot less JTT than it did the last time I kept one

Background: I have been hearing a farting robot noise upstairs for the past week or so and I do not know what it is (unless I am right about the flatulent robot theory, which I almost certainly am). I'd describe it as the noise of a power drill first going through drywall, but from far away. It's intermittent but when it shows up it sometimes last for a few minutes and is terrible.
Often when I hear noises while I sleep they don't immediately wake me up but happen in my dream (a dog's barking is someone coughing or a doorbell is someone's insane doorbell voice, for example). So I was napping on the couch and dreaming about The Wire while farting robot was farting up a major robo-storm. Also, before I fell asleep, I was thinking of watching Blood Simple.

My dream transcript:

(The imagery is mostly Dominic West and then giant pans of brownies being cut)
Man 1: I need to refile as an African-American.
Man 2: Your honor, my real name is Emmett, Emmett Walsh.
Man 1: I need to refile as an African-American.
Judge: Please rise, sir. Sir, please state your name--
(robot fart)
(jury laughter)
Man 2: Your honor, let me explain. My name is Emmett. Emmett Walsh.
Judge: You are out of-- (robot fart)
(jury laughter)
Man 2: Your honor, listen. My name is Emmett. Emmett Walsh.
Man 1: I need to refile as an African-American!
(robot fart)
(jury laughs more loudly)
Judge: Officers, PLEASE!
Man 2: Your honor! My name is Emmett! Emmett Walsh!
(robot fart)
(robot fart)
(robot fart)

And then I woke up (to the sounds of robot farts).

Friday, June 18, 2010

Drabble 1: The Drabbling

Sometimes I write things, and sometimes those things are exactly 100 words. The term for such a work of fiction is "drabble," which is a term and definition I did not make up as you see from that very reliable source.

“I need you inside of me. You complete me, David.” David smiled, tossing his wild mane with a flip of his head. He pulled his older lover close and let his lips trail lightly down his neck. He undid his shirt and let it fall to the floor; then the belt, the pants. Soon they were entangled on the bed, passionately embracing, kissing, thrusting, subsiding. David cradled him in his arms. “I love you, David,” he sighed, his breath stirring David’s chest hair. He kissed the top of his head. “And I love you, Richard Nixon,” David Frost whispered back.

Wednesday, June 16, 2010

Let your mouth gape open and suck in some of this new air!

Like Charles Foster Kane, I write my mission statement for you, the reader, and publish it on the first page (as long as you don't tear it out and ask to keep it to rub it in my face later when I become a pathetic, lonely, megalomaniacal egotist who totally lacks the ability to connect with other humans in any meaningful way) (just kidding, that describes me exactly how I am already!):

I pledge to make this blog full of

and sometimes to get a little serious to provoke some personal

and, ultimately, great


So I'll see you around, you fabulous person. Have I told you lately how much I enjoy your company, no matter what everyone else says about you when you're not around? It's true! Your braying, snort-filled laugh is like music to my ears, and your ridiculous sense of style has its own fun quirkiness that just screams I BUY MY CLOTHES OFF THE INTERNET WITHOUT TRYING THEM ON, I DRESS IN THE DARK, I LACK FUNDAMENTAL UNDERSTANDING OF STYLE AND COLOR, I NEVER LOOK IN MIRRORS, AND I DON'T GIVE A CARE WHO KNOWS IT! Love you!!!!!
K. Lee Ingram
June 16, 2010