Okay I am pushing major work on my second novel and its approaching 65,000 words so I am really happy about that. I was hoping to finish it here in Oahu but it looks like an impossible task as I don't know how its going to end yet and I don't want it to end as abruptly as the first one does.
That being said I did manage to finish a short story. One inspired by my leaving America and the female of the species tendancy to yap away all day on the phone.
Enjoy... and please comment! The last time I posted a story here I really enjoyed the comments and it helped me make the story better.
New Sloth Story: Yapping on the Phone
Yapping on the Phone
Sandra was at it again, yapping on the phone.
“My mom is being such a bitch. She said I look like a slut in my new top I bought at the Mall last weekend. I so do not look like a slut in it. She's so out of touch.�
Sandra's mother was out food shopping at the local strip mall, dutifully trying to choose the best peanut butter for the family, and carefully taking into consideration the best mix of quality and price. Decisions - Crunchy or smooth? Skippy or Jif? She would decide on the smooth Jif. Now should she buy the wheat bread or the white bread? She knew that wheat bread was healthier, but the kids wouldn't eat it. She would decide to buy the Roman Mealâ„¢ brand bread, which was a conciliatory combination of both wheat and white flours mixed together.
At home, Sandra was still yapping on the phone.
“What do you think about Jennifer Ricket's mom working at Arby's? Isn't that the pits? I heard her father lost his job again. He got fired for showing up drunk. And her mother's a hopeless alcoholic too. She drinks Canadian Club at noon. That is, on days when she's not working at Arby's, ha-ha.�
Sandra's father was working at the office, even though it was Saturday morning. He had to pay the bills you know, because money doesn't grow on trees. He had the weight of the world on his shoulders. He worked from 7:30 a.m. to 5:30 p.m. Monday through Friday, and then sometimes a few hours after dinner before bed. On Saturdays, he worked from 8:30 a.m. to 12:00 noon. He spent the rest of the afternoon working on the house. Something always needed fixing. On Sundays, he took the family to Catholic Mass, and then out for Brunch. After that he would spread himself out on the couch and watch the golf match or the football games, depending on the season. Sunday was his favorite day of the week.
Sandra was now tousling her long hair, laughing, and of course still yapping on the phone.
“Did you hear about Brad King? The rumor is he's going steady with Marcia Johnson. Isn't that unbelievable? I so thought he was gay.�
Sandra's older brother Connor was across the street, mowing the neighbor's lawn. He had no shirt on and the sweat dripped off his brow and glistened on his smooth chest. Mrs. Peterson, whose husband was in the military over in Iraq, watched him through her kitchen window as she stirred two tall glasses of ice tea. She made his extra sweet. After he was finished mowing the lawn he would come in for sex and a good tip.
Sandra knew all this was going on, thought that it was so gross, and continued to yap on the phone.
“Can you believe Mr. Smith gave us a pop quiz in Science? I was like, “Oh my gawd, because it was the one night I didn't study because I was cramping. There goes my chances at Stanford, ha ha, all for a stupid period.�
The planet Earth continued revolving around the Sun, like it did every day, at 90 miles per second. In Indonesia children were dying of malaria. In Africa children were dying of AIDs. In the Middle East, children were dying from madmen's ideologies.
But this American girl was living a tragedy of her own. In America the children were dying of boredom. And it was no less real or painful in the eternal scope of things.
When it seemed an appropriate moment to stop yapping on the phone, Sandra bid adieu to her friend and hung up the receiver. After all, it was time to stop yapping on the phone and go to the Mall.
Sandra was at it again, yapping on the phone.
“My mom is being such a bitch. She said I look like a slut in my new top I bought at the Mall last weekend. I so do not look like a slut in it. She's so out of touch.�
Sandra's mother was out food shopping at the local strip mall, dutifully trying to choose the best peanut butter for the family, and carefully taking into consideration the best mix of quality and price. Decisions - Crunchy or smooth? Skippy or Jif? She would decide on the smooth Jif. Now should she buy the wheat bread or the white bread? She knew that wheat bread was healthier, but the kids wouldn't eat it. She would decide to buy the Roman Mealâ„¢ brand bread, which was a conciliatory combination of both wheat and white flours mixed together.
At home, Sandra was still yapping on the phone.
“What do you think about Jennifer Ricket's mom working at Arby's? Isn't that the pits? I heard her father lost his job again. He got fired for showing up drunk. And her mother's a hopeless alcoholic too. She drinks Canadian Club at noon. That is, on days when she's not working at Arby's, ha-ha.�
Sandra's father was working at the office, even though it was Saturday morning. He had to pay the bills you know, because money doesn't grow on trees. He had the weight of the world on his shoulders. He worked from 7:30 a.m. to 5:30 p.m. Monday through Friday, and then sometimes a few hours after dinner before bed. On Saturdays, he worked from 8:30 a.m. to 12:00 noon. He spent the rest of the afternoon working on the house. Something always needed fixing. On Sundays, he took the family to Catholic Mass, and then out for Brunch. After that he would spread himself out on the couch and watch the golf match or the football games, depending on the season. Sunday was his favorite day of the week.
Sandra was now tousling her long hair, laughing, and of course still yapping on the phone.
“Did you hear about Brad King? The rumor is he's going steady with Marcia Johnson. Isn't that unbelievable? I so thought he was gay.�
Sandra's older brother Connor was across the street, mowing the neighbor's lawn. He had no shirt on and the sweat dripped off his brow and glistened on his smooth chest. Mrs. Peterson, whose husband was in the military over in Iraq, watched him through her kitchen window as she stirred two tall glasses of ice tea. She made his extra sweet. After he was finished mowing the lawn he would come in for sex and a good tip.
Sandra knew all this was going on, thought that it was so gross, and continued to yap on the phone.
“Can you believe Mr. Smith gave us a pop quiz in Science? I was like, “Oh my gawd, because it was the one night I didn't study because I was cramping. There goes my chances at Stanford, ha ha, all for a stupid period.�
The planet Earth continued revolving around the Sun, like it did every day, at 90 miles per second. In Indonesia children were dying of malaria. In Africa children were dying of AIDs. In the Middle East, children were dying from madmen's ideologies.
But this American girl was living a tragedy of her own. In America the children were dying of boredom. And it was no less real or painful in the eternal scope of things.
When it seemed an appropriate moment to stop yapping on the phone, Sandra bid adieu to her friend and hung up the receiver. After all, it was time to stop yapping on the phone and go to the Mall.
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mccutcheon
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Raving on planet Vaginanousia. And thanks for lunch.
I know you live in a Sloth world and when you write you create a Sloth world with Norman Rockwell vocabulary and futuristic absurd fucked up hard core sex where 10 year old daughters eat out their mothers pussies and then say, “Thanks for lunch ma, I'm off to the mall.�
“Okay dear,� says the mom. “If you are going to be high on heroin while simultaneously getting every orifice stuffed by a 12� African America cock and you will be late for dinner please text me.�
“Aw mom, you know I can't think about eating when I have a big dick down the throat."
“Okay than. See you tomorrow.�
“MOM!!! You know I'm raving on planet Vaginanousia tomorrow. I'll be high on E for a week.�
“Okay dear, see you when I see you.�
“Toddles.�
I like my fiction to be ‘realistic' if you know what I mean. But I think you should stick to your style. I don't think it has ever been done before which is a good thing and a thank God thing.
Anyway, my point is I'm not sure if the girl would use the phrase, “Isn't that the pits?"
“Okay dear,� says the mom. “If you are going to be high on heroin while simultaneously getting every orifice stuffed by a 12� African America cock and you will be late for dinner please text me.�
“Aw mom, you know I can't think about eating when I have a big dick down the throat."
“Okay than. See you tomorrow.�
“MOM!!! You know I'm raving on planet Vaginanousia tomorrow. I'll be high on E for a week.�
“Okay dear, see you when I see you.�
“Toddles.�
I like my fiction to be ‘realistic' if you know what I mean. But I think you should stick to your style. I don't think it has ever been done before which is a good thing and a thank God thing.
Anyway, my point is I'm not sure if the girl would use the phrase, “Isn't that the pits?"
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TragicPixie
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Guest
how far can you put the receiver down your throat?
what you don't yap when you drunk dial? What about the time we had phone sex? I guess our mouths were doing something else to each other than talking, or we created that with our words.
anyway Pixie, here's yapping with you, kid.
Guest? McCutcheon more like?
anyway Pixie, here's yapping with you, kid.
Guest? McCutcheon more like?
So, when in doubt just suck the receiver, is that what you're getting at McC?
I actually can't complain about Sloth's story at all. It's wonderfully weird, in your face, and just the kind of thing a drunk, stoned and tired person can accept at face value and still get a chuckle out of. What more could you possibly want?
Oh I know...instead of having Connor mow the lawn, have him watering the grass with a hose. It's sexier that way.
I actually can't complain about Sloth's story at all. It's wonderfully weird, in your face, and just the kind of thing a drunk, stoned and tired person can accept at face value and still get a chuckle out of. What more could you possibly want?
Oh I know...instead of having Connor mow the lawn, have him watering the grass with a hose. It's sexier that way.
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mccutcheon
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I'm not saying I didn't like the story. I like the idea, that American kids get brain cancer from being bored and talking on the phone all day while people around the world die horrific deaths-- I mean what's not to like. But come on...lawn boy goes to get fucked, she will make his extra sweet. Marky I know you have been there and done that with your hose.
I like the story, but I kind of agree with McC. Make it more surreal and it will fit your style better. I think you have the unique ability to make it surreal and real at the same time, if that makes any sense. For example, if they lived on a spaceship, or some post-apocalyptic place, but ignored that and still talked about the same stuff they do. What do I know.
And I'm going to post my Airport Security story. Jake was the only one who commented so far, and he didn't say "this blows, don't post it", so I'll put it up there.
And I'm going to post my Airport Security story. Jake was the only one who commented so far, and he didn't say "this blows, don't post it", so I'll put it up there.
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TragicPixie
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drunk dialing is different 
than yapping on the phone. that's mumbling on the phone or abruptly saying "I love you. *long pause while person having been drunk dialed says anything under the sun-I'm not listening and concentrating on how the room is spinning around me and the lights flickering* I'm sorry - I'm drunk. I gotta go. bye."
oooorr you know... anyway; you never call me so blaaah! I don't talk on the phone unless people call me (unless I'm drunk but then I'm drunk)
than yapping on the phone. that's mumbling on the phone or abruptly saying "I love you. *long pause while person having been drunk dialed says anything under the sun-I'm not listening and concentrating on how the room is spinning around me and the lights flickering* I'm sorry - I'm drunk. I gotta go. bye."oooorr you know... anyway; you never call me so blaaah! I don't talk on the phone unless people call me (unless I'm drunk but then I'm drunk)
Lie to me, it takes less time to drink you pretty.
Oh McC, I was just being silly and kidding around. It's hard to get this kind of thing across on the computer sometimes.
Mav I started reading your story last night but ultimately felt it required more sobriety than I had available to devote to it. I think the premise is good, though.
Pixie I should probably try to drunk dial you in a sec here.
Mav I started reading your story last night but ultimately felt it required more sobriety than I had available to devote to it. I think the premise is good, though.
Pixie I should probably try to drunk dial you in a sec here.
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mccutcheon
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Hey Pip it's the pits!!
I'd say the same thing about Dickens. Antithesis of short prose.
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sara
Pip is great.
Can I ask a question? It's not anything other than curiosity. But why are the majority of the characters in the stories so young?
And MC I still want to know about the cheese. I thought that people smuggled mushrooms out of France confusing Americans who thought truffles were chocolates.
Can I ask a question? It's not anything other than curiosity. But why are the majority of the characters in the stories so young?
And MC I still want to know about the cheese. I thought that people smuggled mushrooms out of France confusing Americans who thought truffles were chocolates.