Friday Flash – Crunchy

Friday Flash, courtesy of Changeling Press: *** You agreed to pet sit not realizing what kind of pet your friend has (hint — it’s not a typical pet). ***


I arrived at my pal David’s house with a box of dog biscuits and a laser light toy…certain I was prepared for everything. He’d been vague about the type of pet he wanted me to watch, so I’d come prepared for the usual types. I was actually looking forward to having a couple of days to myself in his new place, though I wondered at the location. David had recently returned from Ireland and promptly moved from his cozy loft to a drafty, concrete crib at the edge of town. I glanced around before knocking, taking in the broken glass along the front of the beaten down warehouse building and the colorful display of gang art over the chipped surface of  the street-side wall.

Light flared behind the dirty glass of the nearest window. Something shot through a hole in the glass, leaving behind a fog of gray smoke.

“What the hell?” I started toward the window, intending to look inside.

The door opened and David stood there, a smile on his face and smoke wafting upward from his spiky blond hair. He took one look at the dog biscuits and laser toy and shook his head, handing me a fire extinguisher and a length of chain. “Don’t unlock the manacles and whatever you do, don’t let him see you naked.” David trotted down the steps, a wide grin on his face. “Have fun!” he called over his shoulder.

“Wait…” Stunned, I watched him climb into his car and screech away. With a deep sense of foreboding, I swallowed hard and pushed the door open. I stopped, my nerveless fingers releasing the extinguisher. It rolled out of view.

The creature standing twenty feet away from me, chained to the wall, stared at me through a hostile, turquoise gaze and flapped jagged silver wings. Ever so slowly, its naked humanoid body tightening with interest, the thing smiled, licking lush lips with a long, purple tongue.  “Oh good, he gave you the chain.”

I frowned.

“Come on, sweet piece. Close the door and I’ll tell you my safe word,” it drawled.

I shoved the door closed and stepped back, keeping as much space between me and what looked like a cross between a man and a dragon as I could. “What the hell are you?”

The thing smiled, showing jagged teeth and two perfect dimples that made my knees wobble just a little.

“I’m your fondest dream…” Smoke wafted from the creature’s mouth as his features sharpened, darkening to purple. “And your worst nightmare.”

I thought about this for a moment and then grinned. That definitely sounded promising. “Oh. Okay,” I responded. Clutching the chain tightly in my fist, I started forward. “So, what’s your safe word?”

The creature’s dimples deepened with pleasure. “Crunchy.”

I stopped, frowning, and then shrieked as he shot fire in my direction.

Well…that certainly explained the fire extinguisher.



Monday Musings – Morel Shmorel!

Okay, I’m convinced that Morel mushrooms, you know the ones that look like a human brain on a stick, are nothing but an urban legend created to make people like me feel inadequate.

Seriously! I’ve spent hours picking through my woods, following the sage advice of supposedly experienced mushroom hunters, and have so far come up with exactly squat. Is it possible that my little neck of the woods (literally) is the only 14 acre plot of forest in the entire country that hasn’t a single brain on a stem within its boundaries? I mean, is that possible?

Come on mushroom hunters…you can admit it here…I won’t tell anybody…hehehe…It’s all a cruel joke isn’t it? Nobody’s ever found Big Foot either. Or the Loch Ness monster. I’m picturing old giganto paw and his friend Nessie sitting somewhere together chomping brains on sticks.

All the sage advice: “Look in the shadow of a dead Elm tree.”   Been there.   “No, no search beneath an Ash tree.”   Done that.   “Poke around with a stick and the stupid things will appear before your very eyes like sprites in fairyland.”  Yeah right.

I’ve been had. I’m morel-less.  And I’m not going to fall for the bullshit again.

Wait…What? Where? Are you sure…because I’ve just about worn my mushroom hunting stick completely down to the nubs? It’s now a hunting toothpick. Okay. Yeah, I’m coming. Just give me a minute…

Erm, okay, I have to go…um…clean a bathroom right now.

I’ll talk to you later. And don’t worry, I’ll say hi to Big Foot for you.



Friday Flash – Afternoon Delight

This is the first of hopefully many Friday Flash on this blog. I love flash fiction and, like vegetables, it’s good for me. #:0) It’s a great writing exercise. My goal will be to keep my flash under 300 words. Here’s the premise for this week:

You just stepped out of the shower and you hear your dog yelping in the back yard. Since it’s a warm, summer afternoon and all your neighbors are at work, you drop the silk boxers you were about to pull on and rush out the back door, naked as the day you were born.


 My mind filled with visions of Otto fighting for his life, I threw the door open and plunged through, already screaming his name. I stopped at the edge of the patio, searching frantically for my little dog. I didn’t see him so I stumbled toward the gate at the side of the house. The gate stood open. I’d forgotten to close it again. Shit!


A shrill bark had me running through the gate, toward the house next door, where the sexy mechanic with the Harley Davidson lived. Lustful thoughts gave my nakedness a whole new dimension and I bobbed along toward the sound of barking, praying my sexy neighbor didn’t come home early. “Otto, where are you?”

One last bark preceded the jingle jangle of his tags and the cocky little dog trotted around the corner of my privacy fence, tongue lolling and tail whipping the air happily. I picked him up and hugged him close, relieved he was all right.

“Sorry. I think I startled him,” a husky voice informed me from behind a tall evergreen.

I jumped, my gaze sliding to my half-erect penis. “I…erm…no problem.” I turned to run back to the safety of my privacy fence.

“He yelped when I talked to him…”

I yipped, startled. He stood ten feet away, dark eyes wide with surprise. He wore only low-slung jeans and his sculpted chest was hairless…perfect. His big hands were covered in grease. He wiped them with a rag while he stood checking me out. As I faltered, unsure what to say about my naked and increasingly aroused state, the dark green gaze filled with heat. He cocked his head. Smiled. “I see you found your wiener.”

I swallowed hard, my gaze sliding to the new bulge under soft, worn denim. “Good god, yes. I believe I have.”





Monday Musings – ‘Twas the Weekend before Christmas

Twas the weekend before Christmas, and all through the place
The relatives were snoring, with drool on their face.
The stockings were flung o’er the furniture with care,
Because sloppy cousin Roger had thrown them all there.

The invaders were snuggled in couches and chairs,
While visions of beer margaritas danced ’round in their heads.
And weird Uncle Mike wore a stained Santa cap,
Having settled his brains for a long winter’s nap.

When down in the basement there arose such a clatter,
We all sprang from our beds to see what was the matter.
Away down the stairs we flew like a flash,
To see which drunk relative had fallen on his ass.

We flipped on the light switch and sucked in a gasp,
Our ears picking up a strange strangle and rasp,
‘Cause old Mother Haggard was sprawled near the door,
A beer-stained bent dixie cup rolled ‘cross the floor.

She was dressed all in fur, from her head to her foot,
Her extremities burnished with ashes and soot.
A bag full of bottles was flung o’er her back,
And she looked like a peddler, bent ‘over her sack.

Her eyes — how they wrinkled, their surface so bleery!
Her cheeks were like roses, her nose like a cherry!
Her lips were turned down ’cause she’d set herself low,
And the hairs on her chin were as white as the snow.

Our eyes all agoggle, we stared down at the sight,
As she rolled on the concrete, her makeup a fright,
Mom Haggard looked up and wiped beer off her chin,
Sweeping an arm ’round the room with a beer-soaked grin.

“Now Basher! now, Cancer! now, Prissy and Vixen!
On, Vomit! On, Stupid! on Domler and Glitzen!
To the top of the stairs! to the edge of the wall!
Get the hell away from me, get the hell away all!”

And away we all flew  as she stomped up the stairs,
A glistening cobweb draped over her hairs,
And I heard her exclaim, ‘ere she stomped out of sight,
“Kiss my ass Father Christmas, I’m bein’ naughty tonight!”

Monday Musings – Just call me God!

Yeah, I’ll admit I’m functioning under a God complex. Who wouldn’t be? I mean, I can give a good man love or take a bad man to his knees with just the stroke of a pen (or key #:0). I can make the skies boil and the seas foam. I control time, conjure magic, and bring entire continents to heel. I am writer, hear me roar, prostrate yourselves before me or I’ll smite you with a single keystroke. (Okay, it might take several keystrokes – I’m good but not that good.) I can right wrongs, banish evil, and scour Heaven and Hell for solutions to the world’s problems.

Give me a cheating spouse. I’ll make his peeper shrink. I’ll make an evil mastermind cower in my presence. Under my deft touch, a lost child is found, a found child is lost, and giant snakes eat both the cheating spouse and the found child in one hearty chomp.

Yes, it’s a heady power and one not to be wielded lightly. Which is why I’m initiating a call for writers to be licensed. Not everybody is equipped to handle such power.  It might go to their heads or their…erm…fingers.

And to make sure the correct people are in charge of controlling the worlds they write, I’m declaring myself the single arbiter of all licensing. Only I will decide who can be a writer. Because I’m smart and strong and capable enough to not let it go to my head.

I mean, everybody knows I’m smarter than the rest of the world. So of course I should be in charge.


Happy reading everybody!