When you ask where my ideas come from be sure,
That you’re ready to go on the grand tour,
Get ready for a wild ride,
As I take you deep inside,
My mind where all my ideas are far from mature.
Here you’ll see some truly startling sights,
And learn my characters control all my rewrites,
“We know what’s best,”
My heroes expressed,
They always get their way in all of our fights.
I might start out with a detailed grand design,
Or okay, maybe just a title and tagline,
But they always take the reins,
Like little brain hurricanes,
It’s their story and my job is only to refine. …
While falling from the top of Nakatomi Plaza at the hands of shoeless John McClane, Hans Gruber staves off his terror of defeat and impending death once he realizes that he couldn’t possibly be beaten by a raggedy-looking, down-on-his-luck detective with no shoes. …
“We need to talk,” Wayne wheezed into the phone. “In person.”
“I can’t make it to you. Slog your lazy ass over here.”
Stomping through the woods, his lungs burned. They’d never been the same since the fire. Wait, what fire?
Her shrill laughter guided him towards the rubble of her cabin.
Pushing his way through the charred door, he saw her. Once lovely, she was now an almost skeletal corpse.
“Came for amends? Should have tried that before burning me in my sleep.”
He ran back, away from the mocking laughter he killed her for. Time again for forgetting.
This story is a response to the weekly Centina Pentina prompt “Start a story with somebody saying, ‘We need to talk’”.
“I did a great job at losing. I lost bigger than anyone has ever seen before. I lost bigly and magnificently. All will tell of me, the fabled loser for years to come. I lost so big and I’m the best at losing.”
Those were the words that rang through the east side of the White House. Only seconds before, the president had falsely claimed that this election was a fraud on the American people and had declared himself the winner, but reporters were baffled by his strange and sudden shift to truthfulness.
“None of us knows what happened,” said one White House correspondent. “The president was on a roll with his usual rants and lies and all of a sudden, he just started doing something he’s never done before. …
Does your teen suffer from the inability to talk to you without looking at their phone? Is their answer to, “How was your day?” always one syllable? Do you only see a spark in their eye at the mention of online gaming? Do they say things that your mother would have answered with the help of a long wooden spoon?
If one of your most frequent thoughts around your teen is, “If you only knew how good you have it,” then treat them to a chance to see things from your point of view and send them to our Back to the 90s Bootcamp. …
Some bookstores have sections with magical authors,
They craft spells and suspense and mix in some monsters,
At most bookstores,
One section makes me feel miniature,
It’s the one with Patterson books penned by all of his partners.
I came upon this section with towering bookshelves,
It seemed so mystical as though inhabited by elves,
Or at least so I thought,
Wow, this author writes a lot,
It was just the Patterson books written by all of his pals.
Seeing this huge section makes me long for the days when,
He delivered thrills again and again,
What to do once a spider comes along,
Kiss the Girls to finish strong,
Too bad he doesn’t write the books like he did back then. …
Walt yelled ahead to his little brother over the menacing sounds of the big kids who had taken chase, “I told you I didn’t want to go!”
Feeling like he was now too big for trick or treating and not wanting to deal with it, Walt had tried to hide from Henry earlier that night but his kid brother finally found him underneath the porch. After an eternity of begging, Walt had finally relented. “Fine. But I’m not gonna wear that sheet again like last year.”
For some reason, he kept having visions of himself tripping on the sheet and falling headlong into the path of an approaching car. Now that they were being chased, he thanked himself for going costumeless. …
I’m gonna reveal something crazy personal here. I’ve never bagged a babe. I know, you must be thinking, “But Geek, you’re such a lady’s man. You’re one of the biggest studs John Hughes ever directed, how could you still be a virgin?”
Well, it turns out that long-distance relationships with imaginary girls from Canada and women made from magical computer bits don’t make for great bedfellows. But now that it’s decades later and I’ve gone through years of living in The Dead Zone, I’m ready to get out there and mingle.
I’m trying this online dating thing after a long hiatus. Believe it or not, kissing my mom in that old Packard didn’t exactly do wonders for my emotional well being. Plus, I can’t even see a Calvin Klein commercial without hearing my mom’s sultry voice in my head and going into a full-blown anxiety attack. But I’m a fun-loving guy who knows how to have a proper adventure. …
Timmy pulled the covers over his head as he heard moaning from inside the closet. He didn’t know which sounds were scarier, those or the growling coming from the hallway.
Two monsters. He’d have to face them to make them go away. He got up and ran.
He chose the closet first, swung the door open, and stared horrified. It was his brother, bruised and cowering in the corner.
The growling monster burst in. “Get back in bed! Do you want to end up like your brother?” his father yelled.
Timmy obeyed, welcoming dreams about being big enough to escape.
This was in response to the prompt “Write a horror story,” although this turned out to be more of a thriller instead.
Do you know about the time machine hidden in the context menu of Chrome?
Unlike most time machines, the wacky thing about the Wayback device is its simple activation.
There aren’t any Konami-type codes to activate the hidden magic of the Wayback device. Its ease of use makes it the perfect feature to solve your most regrettable decisions.
Did someone leave a private note or send you a message about an embarrassing typo on one of your Medium, Facebook, or Twitter posts? …