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Poll
Question: Which story shall we have on the front page of the site?  (Voting closed: March 07, 2005, 05:29:23 AM)
Fear - by LashShlash - 1 (20%)
Someone Might See - by Sharon Bell Buchbinder - 4 (80%)
Total Voters: 5

Pages: 1 [2] 3 4 Go Down Print
Author Topic: New CafeDoom feature  (Read 28014 times)
Ed
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« Reply #15 on: February 28, 2005, 02:12:13 PM »

Nice one afro  I wonder how many unwitting cannibals there were in the local community that week? whoah

Yup, let's say entries by Saturday then, please.  We'll have 24 hours of voting and that'll be that.  Shortly thereafter, we'll set another challenge for April's front page.  BTW, I'm intending to make a list of former front pages in the 'Tales' section of the site, for the sake of posterity afro
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« Reply #16 on: February 28, 2005, 08:02:42 PM »

Ezra Pound, eh?  Let us know if you have any success.

You've reminded me of what we were told by someone we know who had to visit a relative who was in a mental hospital following a nervous breakdown.  There was often a fellow patient around, a very nice, well-spoken lady.  Mostly, she seemed absolutely normal, but just occasionally, she would mutter in an undertone in the middle of otherwise ordinary conversation, 'I killed him, you know.  I put him in the sausage machine.'  Our friend thought what a shame that such a charming woman should be having these horrible delusions.

That is until he heard that her name was (and here I'm changing it for obvious reasons) Mrs Smith.  And remembered that a very well-known local brand is Smith's Sausages.  And looked up newspaper archives and discovered that Mr Smith had been caught in adultery by his wife, who had... yes...

Oh, my, I love that story!

Re EP-- according to my web research, Ezra was indeed at St Elizabeth's and spent a bit of time there...right about when my wacky dad was there, I'm guessing.  I suspect my mother had a crush on him. She spoke of him in glowing tones when I was a teen, like a heart-throb thing. I even wrote a bit of flash on it, because it intrigued me, and sent it off to a comp. I mean, here she is a young mother with 3 kids, an alcoholic husband who probably had post-traumatic stress disorder, but they didn't have a label for it in the '40s, and along comes this charismatic famous man, with an entourage of groupies. She says he always said, "Hello, Mrs Bell." She sort of fluttered and blushed when she recounted the tale. Big crush, like rock star sized crush...

Sharon

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« Reply #17 on: March 01, 2005, 06:56:50 AM »

It is an interesting situation.  Something like that could be a good set-up point for a novel, don't you think?

This may or may not be part of the same thing, I know.  Anyway.  I find it very interesting how many people get totally overcome just by being in the same space with anyone with even the tiniest bit of what they perceive as fame.  When I work in theatres, it's quite common to come across an actor who's known from TV, and you see the heads turn and the mouths gawp!  Even I came in for the reaction occasionally when I used to do some local journalism - I remember a woman that I knew with CERTAINTY I'd never met before telling other people at one function I was reporting on that she and I were always bumping into one another because she just LOVED to be with (bats of the eyelashes) ARTISTIC, CREATIVE people...  I felt like shaking her off, like when a dog tries to hump your foot!
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« Reply #18 on: March 01, 2005, 08:00:00 AM »

It is an interesting situation.  Something like that could be a good set-up point for a novel, don't you think?

This may or may not be part of the same thing, I know.  Anyway.  I find it very interesting how many people get totally overcome just by being in the same space with anyone with even the tiniest bit of what they perceive as fame.  When I work in theatres, it's quite common to come across an actor who's known from TV, and you see the heads turn and the mouths gawp!  Even I came in for the reaction occasionally when I used to do some local journalism - I remember a woman that I knew with CERTAINTY I'd never met before telling other people at one function I was reporting on that she and I were always bumping into one another because she just LOVED to be with (bats of the eyelashes) ARTISTIC, CREATIVE people...  I felt like shaking her off, like when a dog tries to hump your foot!

Love the image of shaking off that frigging dog! Would that be a chihuahua? I despise the little yippers and nippers.

Yeah, thought the EP connection was fascinating and weird at the same time. I'm working on a sequel to a mystery and I think I may have to slide that bit into it. Did you know, he hated Jews and was pro-fascist? Even did radio broadcasts against the allies. The US declared him insane and put him at St. Elizabeth's. That's one way to discredit your opposition. Also tells you the kind of man my mother found attractive. (She was rabidly anti-semitic, but her best friend was a Jew). Perhaps, compared to her abusive, crazy husband, EP was a gem. 
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« Reply #19 on: March 01, 2005, 08:16:33 AM »

Quote
Would that be a chihuahua?

The one I most remember for that habit was a toy poodle, actually - horny little thing.  Although individual little dogs can be big personalities, and fair play to them, I generally prefer big dogs.  (I remember when I was a student being invited with all our group to our head of department's home, where the family dachshund started on the foot of another of the girl students, where she was sitting on the floor.  Mrs HoD was very embarrassed and tried to detach the animal, and this naive 18-year-old said, 'No, leave him - it's all right - I love dogs.'  The rest of us were crying with laughter!)

I did know about EPs views, but not that he'd been put away for them by the US Government.  That's interesting, considering the outcry about the USSR doing the same thing later.  Without making a value-judgement  on the opinions involved, we can still say they're both cases of involving the medical fraternity in censorship, aren't they?

What a mixture of feelings in your mother.  How old did you get to be before you came to realize the contradictions?
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« Reply #20 on: March 01, 2005, 08:37:50 AM »

I think I was in my pre-teens when I realized that she was really crazy, too. Always very abusive, racist, anti-semitic. Lots of horrible tales that I now draw on in my writing. Thanks, Mom! heh Used an altered version of her for one of the main characters in my first novel (a mystery) and her long friendship with a Jewish neighbor as a stepping off point, in part. Did a lot of going back and forth between current time and the 1940's to explain the relationship and why the mother was so horrible.  Daughter in story is psychic  smiley and dreams and has visions that put the tale together across the decades.

At this point in my life, I can look back and see that she is a borderline personality disorder. All the sibs went into human services. My sister's a psychiatric nurse, brother started in child development and family relations and I started in psych. A pattern of trying to find out what happened and how to fix it in the next generation, no?

She was furious when I converted to Judaism and married a Jew in a synagogue. She threatened not to come, then showed up. My brother  (former Green Beret) had a plan if she acted out. He was going to knock her out and drag her out of the service.  That's my big brother!

I'll sit down and shut up now.  grin

Sharon
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« Reply #21 on: March 01, 2005, 09:02:46 AM »

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I'll sit down and shut up now.

No need.  These things happened, and you get fuel from them.  It's interesting, too.  Whatever drives your motor!
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« Reply #22 on: March 01, 2005, 09:49:01 AM »

I don't think I will participate, since school is bugging me again for assignments and other stuff :lol:
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« Reply #23 on: March 01, 2005, 10:45:10 AM »

I don't think I will participate, since school is bugging me again for assignments and other stuff :lol:

Oh, that bleh!
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« Reply #24 on: March 01, 2005, 12:14:16 PM »

You offering to write to his tutor?  Wink
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« Reply #25 on: March 01, 2005, 02:39:54 PM »

You offering to write to his tutor?  Wink
Sure, I'll tell his tutor that he's doing an online assignment with a prof from the US. That should go over well.  grin

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« Reply #26 on: March 01, 2005, 03:43:56 PM »

that would be like totally awesome rolleyes
Though I somehow doubt it will work Wink
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« Reply #27 on: March 01, 2005, 04:05:13 PM »

We can all dream.  rolleyes
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« Reply #28 on: March 05, 2005, 12:23:29 PM »

D'oh!  undecided

I will write one next month.

Les
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« Reply #29 on: March 05, 2005, 03:33:07 PM »

This story was just sent to me by Sharon.  Thanks afro  (I'd rather folks posted their own stories tho - for future reference - just in case I cock something up and upset somebody  undecided )

Someone Might See
By Sharon Bell Buchbinder
(1,108 Words, Excluding Title and Byline)

I know this is a strange story, but it's true, I swear to God. Please listen to me. You're my only hope.

I get outta the joint yesterday and I'm hitchhiking on I-83, trying to get out of the city. The only reason I got out early is because they were overcrowded. There's a bunch of us out now--druggies, thieves, carjackers, rapists, even murderers. But, then, I guess you know that.

Anyway, I'm hitchhiking, and a little red VW bug stops and pulls over. It's brand-spanking new, even has the flower on the dashboard. And the passenger side door opens and a woman says, "Hop in."

I hop in and the driver is a babe in a skin tight, high-necked red dress. Long blonde hair, big lips, big tits, and from what I could see, a big ass. And she smells like roses. A year in the joint with horny, fart stinking, ugly guys and now this babe appears outta nowhere. I'm getting a woody just looking at her.

So, she says, "Where to?"

I says, "Anywhere outta this shit hole of a town."

She laughs this low, rumbling kind of laugh, and says, "No problem. I'm heading home. Wanna come?"

Wanna come? I'm about to come right then and there, but I say, "Yeah, baby, that sounds great."

She's hot for me, I know she is. She gives me those quick sidewise looks, smiles, licks her lips and tosses that mane of hair.  So, I decide to take a chance and put my hand on her thigh.

She puts her hand on top of mine, and slides it under her dress. I'm about to die, I'm telling ya. We can't wait any longer, so as soon as she can, she gets off the highway and drives down a side road. We're all over each other in seconds, two octopuses in lust inside a little VW bug, and I pull my pants down. And the bitch starts laughing.

"What's so funny?" I say.

"You are baby," she says and looks at my woody, which is now starting to wilt. And she laughs some more.

All of a sudden, my hands are around her neck, but she's fighting like a cat and scratching at my eyes and biting my hands. I hold on and I'm choking that smug look off her face. And, at last, the bitch's eyes roll up in her head and she stops struggling.

Then I panic. I gotta ditch the body and this looks like as good a place as any. I drag her outta the car, all the way into a bunch of bushes and then I see the houses. That's no good, someone might see. I'm thinking, where can I hide her? I can't afford to be caught. They won't ever let me out this time. This is all her fault. If only the bitch hadn't started laughing when I pulled my pants down.

Then I think, Jesus! What am I going to do about her car? She bit my hand and my blood's all over it. If they find the car, they'll find me! I tell myself to calm down, take deep breaths like they taught you in prison.

Then I remember there's a reservoir a little further up the highway. Yeah, that's right. No one will see it there. I'll just drive the car over to the edge, her in it, and give it a shove. No problem. Yeah. I'll just drag her back to the car and we're off.

So, I pull the body back to the car and there's no car. Do you believe that? Someone took the fucking car. Do I have shit luck, or what?

I drop the body and start running up and down the road, looking for a car, truck, mule--anything to get me outta there. Then I remember the houses. I'll just walk over to one of those houses and boost a car.

So, I walk back to where I left the body and it's gone. This is not happening, I tell myself. Who would steal a body? A car, I can understand. A body? Makes no sense. I'm running in and out of the bushes, getting more scratches and tears at my face and arms and sweating bullets. I turn to go back out to the road.

The next thing I know, I'm lying on my side, trussed up like a pig at a luau and the bitch is sitting on my ribs with her hands on my throat. She doesn't look so hot now. She has red marks all over her neck and her eyes are blood-shot. And she's smiling, this really weird, creepy smile.

"Oh, baby," she says. "We're gonna have some fun."

And she drags me through the bushes to one of the houses, opens a sliding glass door and pulls me though it, all nice and casual, like she does this everyday.

"Honey," she yells out, "I'm home. And I've brought a friend to play with us."

And the biggest, ugliest woman I have ever seen comes into the kitchen and smiles at me with two rows of candy corn teeth. She's wearing a big, flowery Hawaiian muumuu and has hairy arms and dirty feet, which I can see just fine, since my nose is next to them.

"Oh, baby, he's a cute one," the ugly one says in a voice lower than mine.

"What shall we play first?" the blonde bitch says to the ugly one.

"Hmmm, let's play, 'Your Turn in the Barrel!'" the ugly one says.

"I love that game!" the blonde bitch says in a deep voice.

I'm screaming and crying and they're laughing and saying how much fun they're gonna have with me, but first they want me to see the "play room" and "freshen up," since I've been "working out." So, they drag me downstairs to a locking room with a metal cot and a skinny mattress and leg irons on long chains. They untie me and order me to strip. Just as I'm leaning down to untie my shoes, I grab the chain, swing it around and hit the ugly one on the side of the head with the leg iron. She goes down like a tree.

The blonde turns to run up the stairs and I grab the bitch's arm and throw her against the wall. She goes down and I run out the door, slam it behind me and lock it. And get the hell outta there.

So, I was wondering, Officer, is there any chance I could go back to prison? I don't feel safe out here.



« Last Edit: March 06, 2005, 05:21:52 AM by blunt » Logged

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