Assignment 2:

Write a 12 paragraph story, each paragraph being written in rotation by another writer until the story is complete. Essentially, 4 paragraphs per writer. No defined topic, play it where you find it.

Paragraph 1: Omphuss

"If you lead, I won'n follow. If you follow, I won'n lead. If you lead, I won'n holler but if you holler I won'n go." There was just no shutting this long-toothed old man up. Drunks. Worse yet was the kicking: no warning, two-legged donkey kicks to the driver's seat that bucked Bill Carpenter forward and snapped his neck so his teeth clicked fit to shatter. Bill Carpenter considered the stun gun at least half dozen times but the old man would just piss himself and who wants to clean that up?

Paragraph 2: Michael's Mom

The drunk leans forward, pressing his forehead against the cold metal grate that separates him from the two officers. "Tha names Reno," the drunk slurs, addressing the ponytail in the passenger seat. His breath reeks of the sweet vinegary smell of malt liquor. "But you can call me..." Vicky fiercly spins around in her seat, shooting him a seething glare. "Sit the fuck back and shut your fucking mouth before I have my partner pull over so I can split your goddamned skull!"
The drunk slides back into his seat. After a few seconds, Vicky turns her attention to Bill. "So what exactly do you mean that we should stop fucking?"

Paragraph 3:  Woodpecker

"We should just stop altogether.  With each other, with everyone.  I was reading an article about some brain wave researchers in Sweden who've proven that your capacity to learn increases by 3000% when your mind stops focusing on sex."
Vicky pauses for a moment and begins to speak, but Bill cuts her off.  "No seriously, think about it for a second.  How much of your day is spent wrapped around sex?  Thinking about it, having it, or in our case covering it up.  It's almost a full time job.  Apparently these guys have figured out that sexual thought actually dulls the brain and puts you in a temporary state of suspended animation!"
"Suspended animation?  Bill, are you listening to yourself?  Were you listening to Pink Floyd again?"
Bill continued to ramble on but Vicky's gaze and attention had begun to focus elsewhere.

Paragraph 4: Omphuss

No more wrassling the bear? No more peekaboo pistol? No more Sloppy-Sloppy? No more Greasy Mammoth? No more Pitching Machine, Angry Penguin, none of the The Dolomites? The clubs are out? The harness and the cuffs? No more bone on bone action? What about "self defense" courses? That is crazy talk. How the hell is she supposed to face each day? How the hell is she supposed to stare across the breakfast nook at that milk sop husband? She was dying and all the dirty work was living. This will not do at all. Bill is going to have a change of heart right quick and she doesn't care if it comes to blows.

Paragraph 5: Michael's Mom

It's never a good sign when Vicky goes silent. Bill looks in the rearview mirror to check on Reno, who appears to have passed out, his head slumped out in front, his hair swaying like seaweed with every turn and bump of the police cruiser. Bill turns to look at Vicky, not knowing quite what to say. She's staring out the window, watching the street lights stream by. The police radio breaks the silence. ksht "We've got a 10-11 at the corner of Edwards and Post. Please advise to 10-40 when approaching the scene." ksht Vicky turns to look at him with a bewildered expression. "A 10-11 is an 'animal problem' and a 10-40 means to approach with no lights or siren. What the fuck?" Not exactly the break Bill was looking for, but he'll take it. He grabs the CB. ksht "This is car 716, we're 10-76'n to Edwards and Post. We're on this." ksht

Paragraph 6: Woodpecker

They roll up to the location to find four other cruisers aleady on site and a collection of officers huddling around a makeshift command post.  The sargent in charge explains the location has been under surveillance for weeks as a prime location in the local cock fighting scene.  They didn't plan on making a bust tonight, but decided to move in after they were informed the gang had been tipped off to the surveillance.  After a short debrief the officers move into the building and up the stairs in pairs of two. They don't expect a lot of trouble, but their training tells them to be on high alert, so their guns are drawn.  Vicky and Bill are stationed alone at a choke point at the bottom of the stairs to reel in anyone trying to run away from the bust.  They hear yelling and rustling above them and Bill begins to stiffen in anticipation.  Vicky spins in front of Bill and exclaims, "I'm fucking pregnant."  All she gets back is a look of confusion and depsair from Bill so she says again, "Bill, did you hear me?  I'm pregnant and the baby is yours."  Before Bill could respond, a stray perp explodes down the stairs and Vicky lunges out to stop him.  She catches the man with a forearm to the chest and pins him against the wall.  In all of the commotion Vicky didn't even notice she had also dislodged a .35 mm gun the man was carrying in the back of his pants.  The gun had flown right to Bill's feet.  Bill picked up the gun and walked over to where Vicky was yelling at the man to shut his fucking pie hole before she reached down his throat and pulled his pecker out of his mouth.  Just as she was about to read the man his rights, Bill raised the gun and put three shots into the back of Vicky's head.

Paragraph 7 - Omphuss

Everything was quiet and turning very slowly. He had all the time in the world and all he could ask himself was, "where did this little hump get a gun so cleverly disguised as a camera?" He turned to the little hump as if to ask him that very question but the hump's mind was elsewhere. He was looking down at Vicky like he had found his kids' cat dead at the end of the driveway and knew somebody was going to have to tell them. Bill shifted the awkward camera/gun to his left hand and drew his 9 mm, a normal looking gun, and shot the little hump in the eye. Baby, my nut. When the boys came flying down the stairs at the sound of gunshots, they found Bill standing over the little hump, waving the camera gun, screaming "You should of taken a picture! You should of taken a picture."

Paragraph 8 - Michael's Mom

What tha fuck just happened? What tha fuck! Had this Bill guy just blown tha fuckin head of that lady cop he was fuckin? It must have been an accident. A mistake cuz of tha fight she was in. No! It wasn't no mistake. He walked up slow - shot her more than once - in tha back of tha fuckin head!! Then he blew that little fucker's brains on tha wall. Put a gun in his hand. Made it look like he shot tha lady cop - just like on cop shows. What tha fuck! Reno was desperately trying to piece together what he had just seen, but the alcohol was making it impossible. On top of that he was a dumb shit. He had always been better at drinking, than thinking. He knew he had to come up with something fast though, because when that cop came back to the car, he was sure to notice that he parked right in plain sight of the whole thing.

Paragraph 9 - Woodpecker

“Cut, cut, cut!!!” the Director screamed. “This whole scene is wrong. This whole movie is wrong. Who wrote this damn thing? A 35 mm gun? What happened to a little thing called fact checking? “ Directing a low budget Indie film was never easy, but this one was a joke. Henri couldn’t get over the dialog. He knew it was a gamble taking on a project from HSH Screenwriters. They were known for their edgy storyline and thought provoking take on everyday life, but this script seemed as if it was written by three totally different people. And the acting was simply terrible. The Studio had only given them $3 million for the picture, so the casting process was less than successful. Ira Sinton, who played Vicky, was one of those “where are they now?” child stars who had dropped out of sight after 20 years of drug addiction, family issues, and one go around with soft core porn. Travis Smith, also known as Bill, was a moderately successful country singer looking to break into the movie business. Henri didn’t even know who Reno was; he was literally a drunk they hired off the streets. What had happened to Henri’s promising life and career? He couldn’t believe how far he’d fallen and his thoughts traveled back to that fateful day when everything had changed.

Paragraph 10 - Omphuss

Bill turned slowly and saw the crazy across the street. A wild-eyed fuck with a heavy beard and streamers tied to his black-framed glasses was screaming "Cut, cut, cut!" and scissoring his arms to end the scene. Wouldn't it be nice if we could scream "Cut!" and end the scene? Wouldn't it be fine to walk away from every stinking pile of shit you made? The dead stand up and shake off the dust and meet later for drinks. It doesn't work that way. You are stuck with every decision that you ever made. Looking at the piss pant looney across the street...you just can't walk away. Nobody was calling this fucker of an evening off. Vicky and the hump were dead and the cops coming down the stairs weren't retards. The angles were all wrong. Vicky's blood and brain were sprayed all over the hump. There was no talking his way out of that. The angles were all wrong. Oh Josephine, life is a cunt and bad decisions last as long as you let them. Bill put his 9 mm in his mouth. Never let them say he tried to walk away from his mess.

Paragraph 11 - Michael's Mom

Getting the gun into his mouth is tougher than he expected. He knows that if he just points it straight in that there was a chance that he will blow a hole in the back of his neck, but survive. He needs to be sure on this. He positions the gun so that the muzzle is touching the roof of his mouth. His lower jaw burns as it is forced down to make room for the heavy Sig Sauer. Drool runs down his chin as he sees his old partner Steve Willits running down the stairs with his gun drawn. Bill pulls the trigger and within a split second the hollow point round pierces his hard palate and mushrooms, decimating his nasal bone and severing his optical nerves before it reaches his brain. His temporal and frontal lobes are turned into pulled pork as the bullet exits the top of his skull in a burst of wet, red confetti. He folds to the ground like a marionette.

Paragraph 12- Woodpecker

And that, kids, is what happens when you have sex outside of marriage.

Assignment 1

The first assignment for this triad was to write a two paragraph story which must include the following elements: A hockey stick, The phrase “I don’t even own a chicken!”, A man with a red hat, The following words must appear in the story: Book, Thai Food, concoction, bogus, Byron Nelson, Mexican Jumping Beans, An alligator, A box of old National Geographic magazines, A gallon of water, A blackberry, 10minutes late, and the US flag.  The following 3 stories are the result of that assignment.

The Interview

There really was no point in the man telling me not to count my chickens before they hatch. At this point, I don’t even own a chicken. But that’s what these bogus fancy folks with their alligator shoes tell you when they really have nothing better to say. Could he possibly get any more predictable or cliché? I know who this guy is. He’s the type that looks at his blackberry when he speaks instead of looking at you. His only knowledge of hockey sticks is a spike in sales at the end of a quarter. He is the same pathetic schmuck who as kid would search through a box of old National Geographic magazines to find the issue with the tribe of topless African women. If I didn’t need the job so badly I would have told the man with a red hat to screw himself.

It was an odd interview, to say the least, but the candidate pool was down just down to two. I was there and the other guy was 10 minutes late. In my book, that means the job should be mine, but according to Mr. Red Hat, these things can’t be rushed. He was actually going to ask us questions at the same time and have us answer in debate style. It’s amazing what you’ll put yourself through when you have no other way to feed the little mouths waiting for you at home. My own mouth was parched and I must have already gone through a gallon of water waiting for my competitor to arrive. Mr. Red Hat’s office was eclectic. The US Flag was prominently displayed next to his desk. Red Hat was a WWII vet and had the pleasure of meeting Byron Nelson over Thai food after his record breaking 18 win year in 1945. Red Hat looked very nervous and fidgeted in his chair like a Mexican jumping bean. What the hell was he so nervous about? I was the one who needed the money. He slid open the drawer, pulled out some sort of liquid concoction, and thanked me for my generous donation. With speed that didn’t seem possible for him to possess, he placed a rag over my nose and the scalpel came into view just as my eyes began to lose focus.

Liar

"In 1931, an unemployed mechanic, named Byron Unger Nelson, attacked Herbert Hoover in the Oval Office. The would-be assassin lunged at the President, screaming 'I don't even own a chicken!' Unger was restrained by Treasury agents before he could harm Hoover. The tear in this letter marks exactly spot where his knife fell." This is some of my best stuff, manufactured on the fly and falling on deaf ears. This rube in a red feed-store cap looks like he’s been pole-axed with a hockey stick. A real mouth breather, his brain is 10 minutes behind on this field trip. There is no fun in this. It’s like out-boxing a retard on ice skates. He leans in for a good look at the document in the case and nods knowingly, the flag on his cap waving like Old Glory run up over the open plains of unrelenting dumb.

Docent and tour guide at the National Archives! The money sucks, the polyester jacket sucks, the standing sucks, the ignorant, unwashed masses on holiday suck but I shaved, cut my hair, bought a box of National Geographic Magazines for a dollar, studied up and took the job. I drink a gallon of indignity piss a day. Only telling truly outrageous lies to the American public makes it worthwhile. On my first day, I found myself telling a crowd of blue-hairs that William Howard Taft's cabinet used a Thai girl named Bette, food, preferably blackberry cobbler, laced with a laudanum concoction and a handful of Mexican jumping beans to distract the President any time a decision was called for. I had them like an alligator, or is it a crocodile, rolling them over and over and over in the deep water. I found a calling and here I stay.