Rock, paper, scissors... shoot!
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Rock, paper, scissors... shoot!
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"Best two out of three?" It's rare that I lose a roshambo, but if it looks like it's going that way, I usually pull out fire, because NOTHING beats fire. I choose my outfit by
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colour -- vibrant reds and greens -- and walked down to confront him. He can't really be that naive to think he could get away with what he did to poor Timmy. That guy only wants
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to suck out the marrow and leave the rest to rot in the sun. Poor Timmy didn't know what hit him.
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It was a nineteen eighty-five buick LaSabre. It would have struck Timmy as ironic if anything could, but Timmy was a pink mist traveling ninety miles per hour, killed and conceived
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violently in the afterlife. Timmy laughed. "That car was older than me!" But his humor faded with the gravity of his situation in the moment when the car severed his earthly bond.
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The matchbox racer was a gift from his mom's friend. Well he turned out to be her lover. And now, Timmy realized that his real dad was the friend. Daddy just paid the bills and
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was an assistant coach for Timmy's soccer team. The friend (and lover) was always watching the soccer games, taunting the asst. coach. "Bitch," he said.
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"You' got Timmy skippin round like a goddam ballerina! How's he supposed to kick a goal when you got him pirouetting down the fu--" He would have finished his tirade had a
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infuriated Timmy not pranced high in the air planting a perfectly formed foot deep into his solar plexus. "It's MY dream!" shouted Timmy driving his open hand up in a killing blow.
6
- Started
- 2010-11-02 22:09:00
- Finished
- 2010-12-21 22:27:06
1 Comments
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cuthere Dec 23 2010 @ 19:27
And THAT'S how I selected my blind date for Friday night... Had I known that this method of random selection would pair me with the cross dressing midget twins for the evening, I'd have taken a more active roll in the selection process. Hindsight, 20/20, and all that jazz...