Photo by ikon vodka
Shortly after the New Year, Pinhole, the man with the golden pen, Revived an Old Challenge: write something based on a required opening sentence.
He brilliantly rose to the challenge.
Then he threw down the gauntlet.
Being a bit short of baby gaunts, I gingerly picked it up, brushed it off and nurtured it back to health.
Sköl!
She couldn’t place the accent; it was thick, yet, undefined.
Tasting the noxious brew again, Tilde Tittle decided the tonic had all the flavor of an undercooked umlaut and realized that she could never present such an inferior libation to her cavillous husband, Mark.
Perhaps the shaken concoction of raspberry vodka, Sprite soda and DeKupyer Razzmatazz liqueur was too ambitious.
Even though she was wearing acute négligée, she was certain that Mark would see through her façade and complain bitterly.
Yet, Tilde was tired and she figured she would just take her chances.
She carried the drink from the wet bar, sashaying seductively across the shag carpet.
As Tilde approached her husband, he nailed her with a baleful glare askance (imagine, if you will, a sidelong glance with one questioning eyebrow arched like a hairy circumflex.)
Taking one sip from the proffered martini glass, Mark’s expression changed to shock.
With all the subtlety of a linguolabial trill, Mark forcefully spewed the liquid from his lips.
As the hazy red alcoholic mist hung in the charged atmosphere between them, Mister Tittle flew into a tizzy:
“What is the matter with you, woman? How dare you use me for your grand delusional mixological experimentation!
“Is it not enough that you got tossed out of bartending school after failing the professional server certification test for the third time?
“Where did you ever get the idea that you could possibly improve on the venerable martini?
“Any fool knows that the only true martini consists of gin and vermouth!”
“Why, I just ought to . . .”
At the height of this apoplectic articulation, he experienced a bout of spiritus asper and suffered a sustained voiced palatal implosive.
Thus deprived of oxygen, he collapsed onto the carpet and expired.
Tilde blinked.
Leaning over his recumbent form, she whispered, “I always knew you would die a critic, Mark.”
Great entry, Mitch! Good thing I had a dictionary nearby.
Heh, Pinhole, that’s what I said while researching all those arcane terms.
I’m glad you enjoyed it!
Cheers,
Mitch
Good stuff, Mitch! This was a fun challenged, wasn’t it?
I’m glad you posted an entry. You always do come up with a fun read!
Some say it’s heredity and some say it’s environment. But why should I try to embrace this subject with my parent theses?
Papa
Hey there, Shelly!
Yes, it was great fun. I wanted to leave some comments on Communati.com’s entries, but I think I’ll wait until the server move is completed.
Thanks for stopping by!
Cheers,
Mitch
Hi Pop!
You crack me up! Are you trying to egg me on?
Yes, it is heredity. Not once has a tree ever made a bad pun in my direction.
In fact, trees generally leaf me alone.
Love,
Mitch
This post is FANTASTIC! I love it!!!!
Hi Bobby!
I’m glad you liked it! The old WritingUp.com gang still keeps the party going. We just have to travel a little farther down the info highway to get to the “happenings”.
Cheers,
Mitch
Great blog Dad, loved it!
Love,
Sheldon
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Dang!
I remember seeing your comment, Sheldon, thank you!
This was just before the drama-filled server move, wasn’t it?
I need to do a better job of tracking comments.
How cool is this?
Three generations of writers on one blog!
Love,
Dad
Mitch,
Brilliant…
It made me think of the first time I drank vodka and had to think of something to say at this party of business students that would make them think, even though I don’t have a degree in business, I can still say something useful…
so I remembered this math challenge and presented it to the drunken students, and everyone finally accepted me…even though I didn’t have a degree. This is the long way around saying, you are a great writer, so WRITE!!!! and keep writing and publish your ideas, I will make the music for your commercials!
BTW here is the math problem
Think of a number.
Add 7 to it.
Subtract 2.
Subtract your original number.
Multiply by 4.
Subtract 2.
(Tell them not to give you the answer, then you cleaverly act out adding and diong all kinds of crazy calculations…finally you say “your answer is 18″ and they will be shocked…)
the thing is…you can only do this once!!!!
LOL
talk to you soon,
Stone and write more please!
Here’s another grave error, Mitch… after entering my e-mail address in the space provided your Subscriptions block still reports that e-mail subscriptions are not enabled. Whasupwitdat?
Melinda jiggled my memory in that I needed to come by and gather info on the CCC. Mind if I poke around in the back room for a bit?
Good concoction too by the way
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Hi Allan,
Poke away. I have to get to the root of this email thingie.
I’m glad you enjoyed the libation
Cheers,
Mitch
Loved your post. Very inspiring one.
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