Still Hardly Working

So two and a half years ago, I made a post called "Hardly Working" that showed all the random pictures that I drew while I worked at Random Department Store, Inc. Well, here is the sequel, only this time I shall paint you a picture with WORDS.

Oooooooooh.

So, the queues at my current job are completely empty and have been for the past four hours. So, because my supervisors are cool and devious at the same time, they sent us creative writing prompts to keep us busy. I know I've said this before, but I'll say it again: I'll admit, I've actually been having way to much fun with these. Just like Obama & the Kangaroo, I decided to let my mind wander off the beaten path and just do whatever the bleep it wants.


Prompt: Create an advertisement (three to five paragraphs) using this image as your inspiration:

"Allow me to sing you the song of my people."

Now, to me, it looks like these guys are sharing in some particularly hilarious joke. As a result. here is what I spawned:

=====

Do you ever feel like the Netherworld is just a little too dreary at times? Our home may be riddled with trillions of dead folks, but that doesn't mean we have to act like it! Even Hades needs a chuckle once every few millennia.

As the sole proprietor of "Funderworld," I am here to bring the gift of laughter back into your afterlife. My improv training seminars give you the tools you need to tickle the funny bone of everyone you meet.

Whether you bump into the head of a somber guillotine victim down by the River Styx or a dispirited pioneer who has still not gotten over their death from dysentery on the Oregon Trail, I teach you how to transform any situation into a gold mine of comedic wonder. Along with my fellow humor instructors and the jocular antics of Cerberus, my in-depth classes are sure to make you a veteran member of the Army of the Fundead in as little as 37 years! Transform your eternal afterlife into the Laughterlife by enrolling today.

Contact Komos on the outskirts of the Fields of Asphodel to register for his posthumous and post-humorous training sessions.

=====

AKA; My life in a nutshell.

Also, shout out to the person in Romania that's actually reading this. "Vă mulțumim!" ;)

Stop That Ferret!

Hello, all! What up with thee?

So, NaNoWriMo came and went, with my not nearing that 35,000 mark at all. I was just a tad over-zealous with that word count goal, but I am remaining positive! I finished with 10,022 words which is way more than I have written in a while, so I am calling that a definite win! There is another camp in July, so hopefully I'll be able to make even more headway on my book!

Anyway, you're probably wondering what this title is about. Allow me to elaborate.

So Amy, Shellie, and I were at the writer's meeting this past week. We have gained some new blood recently, the lovely and talented Nicole, whose phenomenal blog Dancing on a High Wire you can read here. I realize that the more people we have, the better our meeting become because we are ALL insecure about our prompts and can share in the mutual shame of our writing styles!

But this time, I felt the most inspired for a prompt than I had in a while.

After getting the initial craptastic prompt out of the way, we moved on to something new and fun.

A few weeks ago, Amy lent me a book called "How to Be a Villain," and I randomly opened to a page and immediately burst out laughing.

The line my eyes instantly flitted to?

"Stop that ferret!"

So Amy took it upon herself to transform this out-of-context phrase into a prompt for our meeting. And for some unknown reason, I felt like I was in my element.

Ridiculousness and whimsy? Totes me, yo.

So since this is something I am actually slightly proud of (and if you hate it keep it to yo'self, ya nasty), I decided to share it with you all.

So, here goes:

******

"Stop that ferret!"

Fiero scampered as fast as he could, making sure not to drop the Golden Acorn. He panted, clutching his tiny pink fists as he dodged the steady stream of toothpick arrows that whizzed past his pointed ears.

The Nutcracker Army was hot on his trail, marching remarkably fast for wooden dolls. Fiero kicked himself silently for ever taking this stupid job in the first place.

Darting through the forest, he kicked up a slew of leaves and twigs in his wake. He thought wildly for a moment that he could simply climb one of the massive oak trees, but knew that it would be futile. The Nutcrackers had access to buzz saws and heavy machinery used to whittle their wooden offspring. No, scurrying would have to do for now.

He continued his journey, the protesting shouts of the army ringing in his ears. Keep going, he thought, just a bit further. . .

Then, he saw it. His salvation.

The river.

The Nutcrackers would get carried away by the current and they would be unable to catch him if they tried to follow. With all his might, he grit his teeth and launched himself off the riverbank.

Fiero flew through the air, one arm outstretched, the other clutching the Golden Acorn. He felt the air ruffle through his fur and heard the arrows fly by his head. He remembered the skills he had learned from Plucky the Flying Squirrel: "Tuck and roll, boy! Tuck and roll!"

Bracing for impact, Fiero pulled his limbs in tight, but let out a squeak of pain as a stray arrow grazed his arm. He toppled onto the grass, gasping. But he couldn't stop. He jumped up. With a last glance over his shoulder at the shrieking Nutcracker Army on the opposite bank, Fiero .

"That's the last time I help out the nut-brained Squirrel King," he muttered bitterly, the Golden Acorn grasped firmly under his bleeding arm.

********


Sooo yeah that's it! I actually came up with an entire plot line for this story, but that's for another time and another place. ;)

Also, some more shameless plugging! My friend Sarah is currently doing awesome Disney races and is blogging about her progress! She is highly entertaining and wondies, so read her blog Running for Inspiration!

Also, Shellie's got a new blog called Shut Up and Read and I'm hoping by linking her page and seeing that people are viewing it, it will hold her accountable to actually write something. So go annoy her and leave comments that cripple her sense of self-worth unless she writes! Do it now! ;D

All Roads Lead to Murder. . .

This week's prompt, as stated before:  You're in a motel.

Go.

~~~

He comes here every Thursday like clockwork.  He walks in the room, takes off his trench coat, and throws it on the broken armchair.

He thinks no one can see him.

But I do.

From under the bureau I can see him.  I can smell his cologne.

He pushes the rickety bed across the floor with a screech.

Every time.

The trapdoor is exposed.  He opens it and lowers himself down gingerly.  He stays down there for forty-five minutes exactly, a constant thump thump below the floorboards.  He climbs up and moves the bed back to its original position, as if nothing happened.  He lies on the quilt, wiping the sweat off his brow, a serene grin on his face.  He dozes.

He thinks he's alone.

He thinks he's free.

He thinks no more.

~~~

I know, it's really dramatic for a comedy blog, right? Eh, but what're ya gonna do?  Another thing we like to do is Amy (whom I have now dubbed Crown Grandmaster of Writermonies) will show us a picture and we have to write a line or so based on the picture.  I wish I could show them to you, so instead I will describe.

The first week was a picture of a broken window in an old wooden house.  This is my response:

"Hello, again," he whispered with a smirk, his pliers grasped firmly in his weathered hand.

The second week we saw a picture of a white sandy beach with mountains in the background.  Pretty much a screensaver.

The scenery is beautiful here.  Rumbling waves, the green mountains, the sand. . .  The sand that is currently in every annoying crevice of my body as I'm buried up to my neck, completely alone and helpless.  Oh no, my nose itches!

Kinda lame, but whatevs!  And finally, this week's picture prompt was a pair of red loafers placed neatly leaning against a plaster house near some white ropes and some stairs.

Maybe no one would notice that his dark red boating shoes had once been a pristine white.

Soooo I'm sensing a pattern here.

Apparently everything I write has to involve death or murder in some way (with the exception of the sand one.  Well, maybe he dies if the tide comes in.).  I need to stray away from this madness!  Not every story needs murder!  "Only the ones worth telling," says my creeper murderous alter-ego.  "Who doesn't love a good murder?"

Yesssssssssssssss. . . *Insane creepy grin*

Okay so I'm gonna go attempt to work on my play for NaNoWriMo again.  We got 21 days left and I still have 12,500 words left!  Aaack!

P.S. Next week's prompt is this:

Once, when no one was watching. . .

All roads lead to murder!

Hardly Working

It can get slightly boring when you're working a closing shift at the store and there are no customers for the last hour and a half and you've already folded and cleaned everything within the five-square-foot radius surrounding the register.


One takes it upon oneself to amuse. . .oneself.


And this is how my oneself accomplished amusement:


By drawing random pictures on the back of email slips.








I like giraffes.

I like robots too.

 

This is what I would look like if I were anime.

 

My place of work.

 

They're holding hands.   GET IT?!

Man-Beast-Dog.

 The following is an actual conversation that occurred between Teresa and Will around the night of December 8, 2010.

[[HUUAARRGHUGHHHH!!!!]]

T: "...what the f@$# was that??"

W: "That noise? It was a dog."

T: "No way in hell that was a dog..."

[[HUUAARRGHUGHHHH!!!!]]

T: "There it is again!!!"

W: "It's a dog..."

T: "It's NOT a dog! It sounds like a guy throwing up or something."

W: "It has to be a dog."

T: "Why do you think it *has* to be a dog?"

[[Huuaarrghughhh. HUUAARRGHUGHHHH!!!!]]

T: "That totally sounds like a guy throwing up."

W: "It's a dog!"

T: "Why do you think that??"

W: "It has to be a dog. What *other* beast would make a noise like that?"

T: "A man. A man-beast. A man-beast would make that noise."

W: "..."

T: "I feel like this conversation is something that would happen in a blog. Not in real life. Like, you'd read about this conversation we just had online somewhere, and say it was funny, but say there's no way in hell that it actually happened like that. But it totally did."

[[HUUAARRGHUGHHHH!!!!]]

T: "...There's no way that's a dog."

W: "It's a dog."

[[HUUAARRGHUGHHHH!!!!]]

T: "...I have to tell Patty about this."

And now it is a conversation that happened in a blog but in real life thinking it was inside a blog within a blog inside a dream inside a dream inside the Matrix inside a dream.

INCEPTION BLOG.