Escape from Elba
Exiles of the New York Times
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Author Topic: Creative Writing  (Read 27183 times)
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madupont
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« Reply #1965 on: January 05, 2008, 03:04:13 PM »

 A soon to be former president was casing it out as the "least likely spot" anyone would think to find him, when a year from now there were interests who would try and issue him a subpoena to appear before the World Court in Luxembourg for a hearing to determine whether his term in office had involved personal responsibility for crimes against humanity. They would read back to him those embarrassing lines:"I am the 'Decider'."

He couldn't exactly hold out in Crawford or hole up at Kennebunkport....
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desdemona222b
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« Reply #1966 on: January 07, 2008, 10:54:12 AM »

"Cut and Shoot, Texas, Mr. President.  Cut and Shoot.  Who would ever think of looking for you there?"

"Uh, Dick Cheney?"
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barton
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« Reply #1967 on: January 25, 2008, 12:04:12 PM »

[don't mean to neglect the CW, but I've been doing some cw on my own -- published a few years ago and getting back into that scene -- and sort of hoarding my mojo for that....]
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"History doesn't repeat itself, but it often rhymes."
desdemona222b
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« Reply #1968 on: January 25, 2008, 01:37:43 PM »

[Well that's cool, I'd like to read some of your stuff.]
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Beppo
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« Reply #1969 on: January 28, 2008, 12:58:13 PM »

It was a dark night in the city, the air was warm and smelled of cat pee.  In a quiet room on the ninth floor of the Bedlam Apartments

elementary forces were hard at work attempting to separate one man and his dog cat from their stash of golden mojo. It was rumoured that the mojo was worth a pretty penny in the circles within which it would be circulated; but until such times as the dog cat and the mojo-man were taken out of the picture—or at least, the apartment, all they could do was dream, and through the magnifying equipment, browse the other apartments of Bedlam Tower for something to relieve the monotony. Previous attempts at acquiring the mojo had gone awry, but it seemed that rumours of sightings of naked hoola-hooping and drug-fuelled orgies on the eighth floor was enough of a carrot to entice even the most conservative burglar to chance their luck on a three-week stakeout: perchance to dream of further large pizza-sized slices of mojo, perchance to bear witness...   


   
« Last Edit: January 28, 2008, 01:07:35 PM by Beppo » Logged
desdemona222b
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« Reply #1970 on: January 28, 2008, 01:44:53 PM »

It was a dark night in the city, the air was warm and smelled of cat pee.  In a quiet room on the ninth floor of the Bedlam Apartments

elementary forces were hard at work attempting to separate one man and his dog cat from their stash of golden mojo. It was rumoured that the mojo was worth a pretty penny in the circles within which it would be circulated; but until such times as the dog cat and the mojo-man were taken out of the picture—or at least, the apartment, all they could do was dream, and through the magnifying equipment, browse the other apartments of Bedlam Tower for something to relieve the monotony. Previous attempts at acquiring the mojo had gone awry, but it seemed that rumours of sightings of naked hoola-hooping and drug-fuelled orgies on the eighth floor was enough of a carrot to entice even the most conservative burglar to chance their luck on a three-week stakeout: perchance to dream of further large pizza-sized slices of mojo, perchance to bear witness...   


   


...to secondary sources and inspire more sophisticated participation in the quest for mojo...
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Beppo
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« Reply #1971 on: January 28, 2008, 01:49:58 PM »

It was a dark night in the city, the air was warm and smelled of cat pee.  In a quiet room on the ninth floor of the Bedlam Apartments

elementary forces were hard at work attempting to separate one man and his dog cat from their stash of golden mojo. It was rumoured that the mojo was worth a pretty penny in the circles within which it would be circulated; but until such times as the dog cat and the mojo-man were taken out of the picture—or at least, the apartment, all they could do was dream, and through the magnifying equipment, browse the other apartments of Bedlam Tower for something to relieve the monotony. Previous attempts at acquiring the mojo had gone awry, but it seemed that rumours of sightings of naked hoola-hooping and drug-fuelled orgies on the eighth floor was enough of a carrot to entice even the most conservative burglar to chance their luck on a three-week stakeout: perchance to dream of further large pizza-sized slices of mojo, perchance to bear witness...   
 
...to secondary sources and inspire more sophisticated participation in the quest for mojo...

Rumours, rife in the business of burglary, spoke of a

After all, a life without mojo, without the possibility of mojo, was not worth living.     
« Last Edit: January 28, 2008, 02:19:54 PM by Beppo » Logged
nnyhav
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« Reply #1972 on: January 28, 2008, 03:25:10 PM »

Meanwhile Mrs. Hipsy Graves was already looking ahead to the Naples Fair where she expected to exhibit her three legged duck.

[I stole that from bosox -- he got it at Crooked Lake. cf
http://www.crookedlakereview.com/articles/101_135/129fall2003/129flory.html ]

« Last Edit: January 28, 2008, 04:17:31 PM by nnyhav » Logged
bosox18d
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« Reply #1973 on: January 28, 2008, 11:59:17 PM »

I was tempted to go look for a pic of a three legged duck last night.Now that's funny.It looks hard to walk with three legs. Smiley
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"If it keeps going like this,the Zamboni driver is going to be the first star"
bosox18d
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« Reply #1974 on: January 29, 2008, 12:51:48 AM »

Mrs. Hipsy Graves was worried about her three legged duck Foie Gras.Saturday was the start of the Naples Fair and Foie Gras was acting listless.Little did she know that her three legged duck was a psychic.Foie Gras had been dreaming of the past and future of late.Through dreams he knew he was related or in a past life had been part of a royal cassoulet but at the same time he dreamt of the future and kept seeing a place in New Jersey called D'Artagnan.Foie Gras's dreams were disturbing and his third leg kept twitching.Mrs. Hipsy Graves weaving Grape Baskets as she gazed at her duck knew little of this but things were about to change
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"If it keeps going like this,the Zamboni driver is going to be the first star"
barton
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« Reply #1975 on: January 29, 2008, 12:19:10 PM »

[Mr. Mojo Hoardin' applauds your maguffin choice!  LOL!]

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"History doesn't repeat itself, but it often rhymes."
nytempsperdu
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« Reply #1976 on: February 02, 2008, 09:21:28 PM »

...things were about to change, and days of dreaming of a royal cassoulet, or even a royal castle, would no longer be permitted in the new world order that declared such decadence off limits even in dreams, enforcing that ban by...
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Beppo
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« Reply #1977 on: February 05, 2008, 02:43:40 AM »

the methods outlined in the Reverend Tuppley Bupps' Magnum Opus, Daydreaming & its Discontents... 
« Last Edit: February 05, 2008, 02:46:22 AM by Beppo » Logged
Beppo
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« Reply #1978 on: February 07, 2008, 09:28:13 PM »

"What, say you, walks in the mornings with three legs, shimmies across the sunlit afternoons on two, and partakes of the evenings atop a single stilt?"

Mrs. Hipsey Graves' dreams were of the diminishing kind, so that, almost always, she would forget even the most vivid realities nestling deep inside her sleeping face. Yet, on this particular evening...

"Ah, but there is just one full moon, one perfect full moon, at which, howling of the first sort may take place: the rest is merely growling...."   

He placed the soft cloth towards the outer lens, wiped the smudge, and thought to check the smaller, more awkward piece as an afterthought. It pleased him, this job, this pretend existence, searching for things. Yet: 10 years, zero mojo. Other occupations had provided food, liveliness—but he was never lively, never prone to outbreaking happiness, never one for believing things. Automatic suited him; best to keep calm, steer clear of trouble, avoid having to do what he hated himself for ever doing.

"It is said that a duck's quack doesn't echo..."
« Last Edit: February 07, 2008, 09:54:25 PM by Beppo » Logged
desdemona222b
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« Reply #1979 on: February 08, 2008, 12:57:43 PM »

"...if it's stranded in a deep, dark cavern where no one is there to hear it.  On the other hand..."
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