paralyzed, and more than just a little queasy. He swallowed, hard, searching his mind for something - anything - appropriate in a situation like this.
Just as he was about to resort to bursting into desperate tears, all at once he heard a loud crack, and the old woman squeak as she jumped back and her gun clattered to the floor.
Bo looked up, stunned, as Tom Jones stood holding his Airsoft gun pointed at the woman, while she gripped her hand painfully. The crooner leaned down, picked up the revolver and said, "I don't like it when people shoot my friends. It's not sexy."
The boy scrambled to grab the jar and the note as fast as he could, and said, "Keep an eye on her, I'll check for a First Aid kit - then we're out of here."
"Like Vladimir?" Tom asked.
"We can bring Vladimir along, for all I care." Bo said before he left the room.
As he tore apart the linen closet looking for the kit, he could hear Tom casually chattering to the old woman, "You can't be a sexy person unless you have something sexy to offer. With me, it's my voice: the way that I sing, the way I express myself when I sing ..."
"Tom, I found it. Let's go. We're going to hole up somewhere until we can figure out what this note means."
32 comments:
Sorry it's so short. I'd already taken forever getting something up, and I just could not figure out where to go from here.
Am I up Next? Does Darryl need to be lured out with bacon?
Someone will probably have to flash a little breast, too.
So we shall have to fetch a random woman off the street and kindly ask her to empty out the contents of her brassiere, is that it?
You know, a woman is probably the best choice for this task. Good thinking.
I beg your pardon, I suppose we could use a female of any species, however very few of them wear bras, and therefore cannot tote bacon around in them.
I vote Miss Piggy. She's horny and made of bacon.
Two essential qualities I look for in any potential romantic mate, really.
mwb, I asked mommy nico to step in for me this time around, life has been pretty hectic what with beautiful eighty hour work weeks and other reasons I'm absolutely sure you invest not a single shred of interest in hearing about. It has been leaving my creative teet dry and un-suckled. I'm going to do my very best to give it a tweak and have it start performing it's duties again.
Does anyone know what I'm talking about right now? I'm afraid I don't.
You call me mommy again, I will do something unspeakably horrible.
Okay, well ... I'm sick right now, so I have no idea what's happening. I may have mailed out my children and just fed dinner to some bills.
Darryl, it is unspeakably wonderful to see your delightful face again, however I must implore you to cease your use of metaphor when illustrating your points in the future. You are obviously making Nico lose her mind... she is a helpless baby armadillo being attacked by a rabid iguana who is sucking the sanity out of her brain through the bloody cavities where her eyeballs were... her mental stability is a lump of Camembert cheese, suspended over Judah Freelander's mouth, dripping into the humid black abyss of his gullet... her rationale is like a hairball left on the carpet for a few weeks...
Why isn't anyone preforming something? That's the best part...
I honestly don't know...
mommy.
You're baiting me. I guess I'll just have to go make a Nutella and banana sandwich.
YOU'RE TEARING ME APART NICOOOOO!!!
All I gotta say is: fuck peanut butter, Nutella is like god damned dessert. I'm glad you yelled at me for never trying it before.
I might actually - I can't believe I'm going to say this - blow Mark Zuckerberg if he was wearing Nutella.
Holy shit, I'm delirious. Bring me Mark Zuckerberg and a jar of Nutella.
And the head of Lady Gaga!
I've created a *little* monster.
Husband just tried it. His reaction: "oh eff that..." (there was a child in the room)
Clarify please? Did Esau try nutella all by its self or your above proposition which shall henceforth be called the "nutella ^2" in honor of Darryl's guitar and all things nasty? And were his remarks in jubilation or disgust.
You know how confused I get about these things.
He tried it on some whole wheat bread, and he loved it. He said something later about it being crack in a jar.
I sense a new slogan...
I sense a disturbance in the force ... and by force, I mean my diet.
Question: Can either of you log out of your blogger accounts? I'm seemingly not able to.
I was able to sign out.
Well, that's strange.
I guess now I have a tangible excuse for not posting on the Celluloid Kitchen. Every time I sign out of my "sunglasses" profile, it says that I have been signed out, but when I return to the blog I am still signed in and unable to access my other account. Weird.
Have you tried closing the browser window, or restarting your computer? Those would be my next steps. If neither work, mallet to the head of the next person who annoys you.
Whoa, look what is happening in this comments section. I do not even know where to start.
mwb, you have a way with words. It's magical. If you exist outside of the internet, I'll bet you're endlessly popular.
So when MWB posts part of the story, will you wax poetic about MY writing?
If by "endlessly popular" you mean "has a pet fish named Chester who you converse with on the issues of the day", then yes, my charisma and social skills know no boundaries.
By the way, whose turn is it?
I guess your turn. I mean, I technically took Darryl's turn for him, and usually I go after him - but that would be a little weird.
Maybe he'll post after you?
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