Tragic Rabbit

A man was ordered by his doctor to lose 35 kg as soon as possible due to very serious health risks. As he wondered how in the heck he would ever Do it, he ran across an ad in the newspaper for a GUARANTEED WEIGHT LOSS PROGRAM. Guaranteed. "Yeah right!" he thought to himself. But, desperate, He calls them up and subscribes to the 3-day / 5 kg weight loss program. The next day there's a knock at his door, and when he answers, there stands before him a voluptuous, athletic, 19-year-old young lady dressed in nothing but Nike running shoes and a sign round her neck. She introduces herself as a representative of the weight loss company. The sign reads, "If you can catch me, you can have me!" Without a second thought, he takes off after her. A few miles later, huffing and puffing, he finally catches her and has his way with her. After they are through and she leaves, he thinks to himself, "I like the way this company does business!" The same girl shows up for the next two days and the same thing happens. On the fourth day, he weighs himself and is delighted to find he has lost 5kg as promised. He calls the company and orders their 5-day / 10 kg program. The next day there's a knock at the door and there stands the most stunning, beautiful, sexy woman he has ever seen in his life, wearing nothing but Reebok running shoes and sign around her neck that reads, "If you catch me, you can have me." He's out the door and after her like a shot. This girl is in excellent shape and it takes him a while to catch her, but when he does, it is worth every cramp and wheeze. For the next four days, the same routine happens. Much to this delight, on the fifth day, he weighs himself and found he has lost another 10kg, as promised. He decides to go for broke and calls the company to order the 7-day/25kg program. "Are you sure?" asks the representative on the phone. "This is our most rigorous program." "Absolutely," he replies, I haven't felt this good in years." The next day there's a knock at the door and when he opens it he finds a muscular, handsome guy standing there wearing nothing but pink running shoes and a sign around his neck that reads, "If I catch you, you're mine." *

http://tinyurl.com/597tl

Thanks, it was ever so much fun to poke at Blue, AJ, Sequoyah, Pecman, Codey, TR and so many others in Chapter One. Josiah's public shaming has only just begun. Chapter Two is finished, Chapter Three in the works. Some of the guilty libeled in chapter two include: WBMS, James Saavik, Jamie and Nic of Icaria, Rustic Monk, Graeme, David McMillan and, as always, El Jefe himself. More scurrilous stuff about Josiah Jacobus-Parker and his beloved Brittania, natch. Quoique leurs chapeaux sont bien laids, Goddam! j'aime les anglais! Ozzies make pretty easy targets, too. Chapter Three takes dynamic duo Angel & Josiah up to the dreaded Poetry Pile, upon which sits the Mad Monk. But where in the world is Carmen Sandiego? Is he in his famous Throne Room? To find out, tune in to further AwestruckDude.com Adventures. Kisses... TR *

Why did the Chicken Cross the Road? GEORGE W. BUSH We don't really care why the chicken crossed the road. We just want to know if the chicken is on our side of the road or not. The chicken is either with us or it is against us. There is no middle ground here. AL GORE I invented the chicken. I invented the road. Therefore, the chicken crossing the road represented the application of these two different functions of government in a new, reinvented way designed to bring greater services to the American people. BILL CLINTON I did not cross the road with THAT chicken. What do you mean by chicken? Could you define chicken, please? RALPH NADER The chicken's habitat on the original side of the road had been polluted by unchecked industrialist greed. The chicken did not reach the unspoiled habitat on the other side of the road because it was crushed by the wheels of a gas-guzzling SUV PAT BUCHANAN To steal a job from a decent, hardworking American. COLIN POWELL I have aerial photo's showing the chicken did cross the road --notice the arrow beside the chicken track. RUSH LIMBAUGH I don't know why the chicken crossed the road, but I'll bet it was getting a government grant to cross the road, and I'll bet someone out there is already forming a support group to help chickens with crossing-the-road syndrome. Can you believe this? How much more of this can real Americans take? Chickens crossing the road paid for by their tax dollars, and when I say tax dollars, I'm talking about your money, money the government took from you to build roads for chickens to cross. MARTHA STEWART No one called to warn me which way that chicken was going. I had a standing order at the farmer's market to sell my eggs when the price dropped to a certain level. No little bird gave me any insider information. JERRY FALWELL Because the chicken was gay! Isn't it obvious? Can't you people see the plain truth in front of your face? The chicken was going to the "other side." That's what they call it -- the other side. Yes, my friends, that chicken is gay. And, if you eat that chicken, you will become gay too. I say we boycott all chickens until we sort out this abomination that the liberal media whitewashes with seemingly harmless phrases like "the other side." DR. SEUSS Did the chicken cross the road? Did he cross it with a toad? Yes, The chicken crossed the road, but why it crossed, I've not been told! ERNEST HEMINGWAY To die. In the rain. Alone. MARTIN LUTHER KING, JR. I envision a world where all chickens will be free to cross roads without having their motives called into question. GRANDPA In my day, we didn't ask why the chicken crossed the road. Someone told us that the chicken crossed the road, and that was good enough for us. BARBARA WALTERS Isn't that interesting? In a few moments we will be listening to the chicken tell, for the first time, the heartwarming story of how it experienced a serious case of molting and went on to accomplish its life-long dream of crossing the road. JOHN LENNON Imagine all the chickens crossing roads in peace. ARISTOTLE It is the nature of chickens to cross the road. KARL MARX It was a historical inevitability. SADDAM HUSSEIN This was an unprovoked act of rebellion and we were quite justified in dropping 50 tons of nerve gas on it. VOLTAIRE I may not agree with what the chicken did, but I will defend to the death its right to do it. RONALD REAGAN Well... What chicken? CAPTAIN KIRK To boldly go where no chicken has gone before. FOX MULDER You saw it cross the road with your own eyes! How many more chickens have to cross before you believe it? SIGMUND FREUD The fact that you are at all concerned that the chicken crossed the road reveals your underlying sexual insecurity. BILL GATES I have just released eChicken 2003, which will not only cross roads, but will lay eggs, file your important documents, and balance your checkbook and Internet Explorer is an inextricable part of eChicken. ALBERT EINSTEIN Did the chicken really cross the road or did the road move beneath the chicken? JOHNNY COCHRAN It was because the road was black and the chicken was white. We must acquit. THE BIBLE And God came down from the heavens, and He said unto the chicken, "Thou shalt cross the road." And the chicken crossed the road, and there was much rejoicing. COLONEL SANDER I missed one? *[/img]

Pec, don't you find that the more you talk about a story, the further it recedes into the distance? I haven't been writing as long as you have but I've found that's true for me. I accidentally killed (or at least temporarily banished to my Unfinished File) a number of what seemed to me promising stories because I chatted about them to the Dude or someone before getting more than a few pages down. Another time I had more down but during a research phase, talked too much, and ended up setting that story aside for months. That one was finally finished but only because his Dudeness nagged at me! I'm glad he did, Lucky Strike Hit Parade 1941 isn't the worst story I've written, in my opinion. But I did nearly off the poor thing by overtalking it. Several others. Why? I'm not sure, I think maybe I get self conscious and then, esp when someone says 'Wow, sounds Awesome', I'm skeered it'll fall short. Performance anxiety. Right now, I have about six half finished stories, I'm actually having a terrific problem with Fiction Interruptus. Help! Any advice? It's depressing. Characters I like. I do like Brian and Pete, those stories were some of the first I read at Nifty back before I decided I, too, could try this thing called Fiction. I'm lousy at remembering names, real or fictional, so I can't be sure about the others but probably read most of those, too. I love Elecivil's characters, like some others, Jamie's winged hunks, Mickey and Davey from TLOT, many others I'm too muddle headed to be able to list here from memory. Published books, lots of characters stay with me, I fell in love with Anne Rice's Louis long ago and never got over it, plus lots of other fictional vampires (now that I think of it, I loved David McMillian's vampire hero very much), almost any character Anne Tyler writes, all very ordinary folk, most Philip K Dick characters, flat out nuts as so many of them are. Tolkien's characters, pretty much the whole entire cast of thousands, but especially the hobbits, Gandalf and an Elf or two. Merry and Pippin, Sam and Frodo. Lots of other characters probably no one here has heard of but plenty that I love enough to either reread their books or, if I'm lucky, discover further adventures, though that is sometimes disappointing. What about the guy in Invisible Man? Does he even have a name? Great character. Holden in Catcher in the Rye? So there are loads of characters I have loved, but why do I love them? I think some of what's been said is right, they have to seem individuals, for one thing. If they blend into a bunch of same types the author tosses out, well, they are forgettable to me. That's one thing that's amazing about Tolkien, that he created so MANY people that you just canNOT forget, not to mention a whole entire and believable world. Harry Turtledove does that in some of his series' (Southern Victory, for example) where huge casts live through decades but they each seem very much themselves and you like (or hate) them. Speaking of research, Turtledove is a madman, he researches like crazy but since his stuff is 'alternative history', he doesn't get the recognition that someone like Colleen McCullough does. She's awesome, don't get me wrong, and her huge casts are also gripping and realisitic (and real people, too!) but hers are seen as somehow more legitimate because it's fiction based on history that did happen, versus Turtledove who writes fiction based on what might have happened. Both drenched in enough realism to choke horse...or a history major. I think good or great characters also do need to change somehow, though that is harder to pin down in your own stories than in someone else's and might be something more for later analysis than thoughts you have while writing...or reading. While reading, you should just feel as if things make sense, as they happen, that events and actions are unfolding in a manner that you can believe--whether that's in a world where the Confederate States won the War of Northern Aggression, in outer space like the Foundation and Empire series (mind numbingly good work, btw) or just a suburban housewife whose tired of her marriage a la Anne Tyler's very ordinary scenarios. So how to WRITE such a character, a memorable and good one, might be awfully different from recognizing one in someone else's work, esp if that work is well regarded, like Tolkien's. In my own stories, I do often like most, if not all, of the characters. They all seem real to me, real as Tinkerbell and Peter, real as people who breathe and speak to me in daily life. But I wrote them, wouldn't they seem real to me, even if no one else likes them? Else why would I write them? Angel de la Torres lives in my head, as does Gene Kuo and other Drama Club characters, no less so Christian and Thomas from Some Enchanted Evening, or Johnny from Lucky Strike Hit Parade. Are they good characters? Hell if I know. My only clues are when someone says they like a story or, and this seems more tellng, when someone says they CARE what so-and-so does, what happens to them. They cried, or laughed, or loved along with a character that *I* wrote...a stunning feeling and something I still haven't gotten over the thrill of, that I can invent people that not only seem real to ME but who manage to live, at least for a moment, in the heart of a reader. Good character, what's a good character? Different things make a character good but when a reader cares about a character, is rooting for something to happen, something to go right or wrong, you know that you've touched someone and done something, not sure what, right. Probably James' initial post is on target, too, by asking if you remember them LATER, even if not by name. I'd have to look up a lot of characters to tell you their names, or authors, but their deeds, their scenes, their LIVES live on in my memory almost as if they'd happened to me, at least for the best storytellers, the better, perhaps, characters. But the characters can't stand alone, you also need a gripping story, believable details/scenery and other stuff to allow the reader a framework in which to appreciate a character. So, to answer the question, I don't know but the above are some of my thoughts on the matter. Kisses... TR

Bottled Bugs (for Kevin) There is a sultry summer night that I remember: Long ago, when we were young, Starry shadows, insect serenades Years ago, when we were young. In your hand, you held the jar Into which we poured our glitter glow Fireflies Ecstatic, they lit our way Amid sleeping trees and secret paths. Running fleet through fields, we were Young, so young, so long ago, and yet That night still shines like bottled bugs Shelved in the storerooms of my soul. You, joyous, joyful; me, alight with life, We thrilled, we thrummed We glistened, gleamed As we ran together, laughing, laughing, and A burnished boyhood Moon smiled down upon us. *

Little Johnny is passing his parents' bedroom in the middle of the night, in search of a glass of water. Hearing a lot of moaning and thumping, he peeks in and catches his folks in The Act. Before dad can even react, Little Johnny exclaims "Oh, boy! Horsie ride! Daddy, can I ride on your back?" Daddy, relieved that Johnny's not asking more uncomfortable questions, and seeing the opportunity not to break his stride, agrees. Johnny hops on and daddy starts going to town. Pretty soon mommy starts moaning and gasping. Johnny cries out "Hang on tight, Daddy! This is the part where me and the milkman usually get bucked off!" *

Q.What do you call a virgin on a water bed? A: A cherry float. Q: What's the fluid capacity of Monica Lewinsky's mouth? A: 1 US leader Q: What did the sign on the door of the whorehouse say? A: Beat it - we're closed. Q: Why do walruses go to Tupperware parties? A: To find a tight seal. Q: What's the difference between sin and shame? A: It is a sin to put it in, but it's a shame to pull it out. Q: What's the speed limit of sex? A: 68; at 69 you have to turn around. Q: Why did Raggedy Ann get thrown out of the toy box? A: She kept sitting on Pinocchio's face, and moaning, "Lie to me!" Q: Why is air a lot like sex? A: Because it's no big deal unless you're not getting any. Q: What's another name for pickled bread? A: Dill-dough. Q: Why are Monica Lewinsky's cheeks so puffy? A: She's withholding evidence. Q: What's the difference between light and hard? A: You can sleep with a light on. Q: Why is sex like a bridge game? A: You don't need a partner if you have a good hand. Q: What's the definition of macho? A: Jogging home from your own vasectomy. Q: What do a Christmas tree and a priest have in common? A: Their balls are just for decoration *

A carpet layer had just finished installing carpet for a lady. He stepped out for a smoke, only to realize he'd lost his cigarettes. In the middle of the room, under the carpet, was a bump. ''No sense pulling up the entire floor for one pack of smokes,'' he said to himself. He proceeded to get out his hammer and flattened the hump. As he was cleaning up, the lady came in. ''Here,'' she said, handling him his pack of cigarettes. ''I found them in the hallway.'' ''Now,'' she said, ''if only I could find my parakeet.'' *

An engineer, of the BMW Corporation died and went to heaven. At the gates St. Peter told him, "Since you've been such a good man and your vehicles have changed the world, your reward is, you can hang out with anyone you want in Heaven". The Engineer thought about it for a minute and then said, "I want to hang out with God." St. Peter took him to the Throne Room, and introduced him to God. He then asked God, "Hey, aren't you the inventor of woman?" God said, "Ah, yes." Well," said the engineer, "professional to professional, you have some major design flaws in your invention. 1) There's too much inconsistency in the front-end protrusion. 2) It chatters constantly at high speeds. 3) Most of the rear ends are too soft and wobble too much. 4) The intake is placed way to close to the exhaust. And finally, 5) The maintenance costs are outrageous." "Hmmmm, you may have some good points there," replied God, "Hold on." God went to his Celestial super computer, typed in a few words and waited for the results. The computer printed out a slip of paper and God read "Well, it may be true that my invention is flawed," God said to the engineer, "but according to these numbers, More men are riding my invention than they are yours." *

The year is 2222 and after accumulating enough frequent flier miles, Mike and Maureen land on Mars. They meet a Martian couple and are talking about all sorts of things. Mike asks if Mars has a stock market, if they have laptop computers, how they make money, etc. Finally, Maureen brings up the subject of sex. "Just how do you guys do it?" asks Maureen. "Pretty much the way you do," responds the Martian. Discussion ensues and finally the couples decide to swap partners for the night and experience one another. Maureen and the male Martian go off to a bedroom where the Martian strips. He's got only a teeny, weenie member-about half an inch long and just a quarter inch thick. "I don't think this is going to work," says Maureen. "Why?" he asks, "What's the matter?" "Well," she replies, "It's just not long enough to reach me!" "No problem," he says, and proceeds to slap his forehead with his palm. With each slap of his forehead, his member grows until it's quite impressively long. "Well," she says, "That's quite impressive, but it looks like a long pencil, it's still pretty narrow...." "No problem," he says, and starts pulling his ears. With each pull, his member grows wider and wider until the entire measurement is extremely exciting to the woman. "Wow!" she exclaims, as they fell into bed and made mad, passionate love. The next day the couples rejoin their normal partners and go their separate ways. As they walk along, Mike asks "Well, was it any good?" "I hate to say it," says Maureen, "but it was damn good. How about you?" "It was horrible," he replies. "All I got was a headache. She kept slapping my forehead and pulling my ears." *

A male patient is lying in bed in the hospital, wearing an oxygen mask over his mouth and nose, still heavily sedated from a difficult, four hour, surgical procedure. A young, student nurse appears to give him a partial sponge bath. "Nurse", he mumbles, from behind the mask. "Are my testicles black?" Embarrassed, the young nurse replies, "I don't know, Sir. I'm only here to wash your upper body and feet." He struggles to ask again, "Nurse, are my testicles black?" Concerned that he may elevate his vitals from worry about his testicles, she overcomes her embarrassment and sheepishly pulls back the covers. She raises his gown, holds his penis in one hand and his testicles in the other. Then, she takes a close look and says, "There's nothing wrong with them, Sir!" The man pulls off his oxygen mask, smiles at her and says very slowly, "Thank you very much. That was wonderful, but, listen very, very closely...... A r e - m y - t e s t - r e s u l t s - b a c k? *

A prisoner escapes from a prison where he had been kept for 15 years. As he runs away, he finds a house and breaks into it looking for money and guns...but, he finds a young couple in bed. He orders the guy out of bed, ties him up on a chair. While tying the girl up to the bed, he gets on top of her, kisses her on the neck, then gets up and goes to the bathroom. While he is in there, the husband tells his wife : "Listen! This guy is an escaped prisoner, look at his clothes! He probably has spent lots of time in prison and hasn't seen a woman in years. I saw how he kissed your neck. If he wants sex...don't resist, don't complain, just do what he tells you...give him satisfaction! This guy must be dangerous! And, if he gets angry, he will kill us! Be strong, honey. I love you!" The wife responds: "He was not kissing my neck. He was whispering in my ear. He told me he was gay, found you very sexy and asked if we kept any Vaseline in the bathroom. Be strong, honey. I love you, too!!" *

Well, I DO think those things are weird, at least worth comment (she obviously agreed because that's the first line of her intro) but that wasn't what I was saying. I think her subjects look awful, her grammar pathetic and the whole thing just...icky. So, I thought to myself, why's she got 2000+ members on her yahoolist? I scanned through two stories, at least the first parts, and found too many spelling and grammar errors to make reading comfortable so I have no idea if she's a good storyteller. Maybe you can tell me why she has such a large yahoolist? Is it just the dark, trendy, trashy subjects? Are her sex scenes super-hot? Has her list been around for years and years? TR

I guess so, but the main benefit, one hopes, is that Blue would be more comfortable with HIMSELF. I guess I really found others like me in high school, maybe junior high, but mainly high school where I interacted with other openly gay/bi students in and out of school. Not all were in drama but quite a lot of the more open ones were, open at least within our little queer Borg collective. I went to my first gay bar when I was in high school, but (obviously) did that more in college. That's also when I started finding other connections outside of bars, aside from theatre. I remember some pretty great college parties where, somehow, most of the guests were gay. Even so, I have since had other experiences that were transcendent for me, like the first time I went to a large gay church and saw hundreds of my fellow queers (sorry, guys, that's a word I use) worshipping God. Big rallys, political events, outdoor parties, parades and such are also nice for that reason, seeing others in large groups outside of bars and the more sexually oriented parties. So I can kind of relate to how Blue feels, but not to the waiting so long part. I think my head would have exploded had I had to be secretive all of my life, date secretly, etc. Even so, I HAVE done a lot more of that than I ever did want to--pretending someone wasn't my lover, pretending I was straight, not mentioning things, not speaking up when things are mentioned in, say, a job setting. I think it wears down your psyche to do that, ever, and I can only imagine what it would do to have done it ALWAYS, for decades, my entire whole life. Still, like they say, better late than never. I know plenty of closeted adults, though usually their closet exists in specific places: the American Airlines pilot I know who is gay but closeted at work, the teachers I know who are any kind of GLBT and closeted at work (or anywhere that someone might report on them back to work), the very religious who are active within a prejudiced faith who are closeted at church, and the many, many people I know who THINK (meaning, I don't know if their fears are valid) that if they 'come out' to family, church, friends or work that they will suffer for it and thus hide something of themselves in some situations. I guess all of us hide something at some time, or at least keep silent. Which sucks. I think it's possible that things in America are taking a downward turn, that it might be less and less acceptable to admit to anything outside the str8, white, middle class mainstream. Scarey, that. I am no fan of forced outings but have some sympathy for the idea that people who actively work against gay rights but ARE gay, privately, might ought to be held accountable publically and outed as homosexual. But I'm not definite about it... Kisses... TR

Wow, that's kind of creepy. 2000+ members of a list for an author who says: Welcome to my yahoo group! I am Madison Dante also known as Maddy A., a GIRL : ) who reads and writes gay male fiction. My stories are mostly romantic by nature, plot orientated and contain interracial themes of love between Black, White and Latino characters and some deal with very dark themes such as abuse both physically and sexually, self injury more commonly known as "cutting"and suicide. I will try to post something new as time permits. There are also a few other authors here so check out there stories too. If you see a story that you like and want to see it updated quicker, then post a message letting the author know. Okay, where to begin with my thoughts. She's a girl writing gay fiction about cutting, suicide, abuse, interracial gay relationships, etc. According to other notes on the list, she writes about real people in her stories, though makes them gay and makes up all the detail. I haven't yet looked at a story but I'm already thinking this is ....weird. She also can't spell. TR

At the end of the tax year, the Tax Office sent an inspector to audit the books of a synagogue. While he was checking the books he turned to the Rabbi and said: "I notice you buy a lot of candles. What do you do with the candle drippings?" "Good question," noted the Rabbi. "We save them up and send them back to the candle makers, and every now and then they send us a free box of candles." "Oh," replied the auditor, somewhat disappointed that his unusual question had a practical answer. But on he went, in his obnoxious way: "What about all these biscuit purchases? What do you do with the crumbs?" "Ah, yes," replied the Rabbi, realising that the inspector was trying to trap him with an unanswerable question. "We collect them and send them back to the manufacturers, and every now and then they send a free box of holy biscuits." "I see," replied the auditor, thinking hard about how he could fluster the know-it-all Rabbi. "Well, Rabbi," he went on, "what do you do with all the leftover foreskins from the circumcisions you perform?" "Here, too, we do not waste," answered the Rabbi. "What we do is save up all the foreskins and send them to the Tax Office, and about once a year they send us a complete dick ". *

Guy gets on a plane and finds himself seated next to a cute blonde. He immediately turns to her and makes his move . "You know," he says, I've heard that flights will go quicker if you strike up a conversation with our fellow passenger . So let's talk." The blonde, who had just opened her book, closes it slowly, removes her reading glasses, and says to the guy, "So, what would you like to discuss ?" Oh, I don't know," says the guy . "How about nuclear power?" OK," says the blonde . "That could be an interesting topic . But let me ask you a question first . A horse, a cow, and a deer all eat the same stuff -- grass . Yet the deer excretes little pellets, the cow turns out a flat patty, and the horse produces muffins of dried poop . Why do you suppose that is ?" The guy is dumbfounded . Finally he replies, "I haven't the slightest idea." So tell me," says the blonde, "How is it that you feel qualified to discuss nuclear power when you don't know shit ? *

A magician worked on a cruise ship. The audience was different each week, so he did the same tricks over and over again. One problem, the captain's parrot saw the show each week and began to figure out how the magician did every trick. Once he understood, he started shouting in the middle of the show: "Look, he's hiding the flowers under the table!" "Hey, why are all the cards the ace of spades?" The magician was furious but couldn't do anything. It was, after all, the captain's parrot. Then, during a fierce storm, the ship sank. The magician found himself on a piece of wood in the middle of the sea with, as fate would have it, the parrot. They stared at each other with hatred but did not utter a word. This went on for a day, and then another and then another. Finally on the fourth day, the parrot could not hold back "OK, I give up. Where's the fucking ship?" *

I believe you mean 'tyranny'. Snark! :whdat: TR

Elecivil, incomparable author of Leaves and Lunatics, begins a new serialized novel at AD with chapter one of LAIKA, the story of Brandon Collier, a friendless teen with matching socks and a quirky, popular older brother. As with L&L, Elecivil's trademark understated humor and utterly charming characters will instantly engage your interest. Chapter One introduces the brothers who skip school to pick up 'Pete?s cousin?s mom?s friend?s son from Curson' a.k.a. Nick of the enormous, deep brown eyes. Read Laika, Chapter One, by Elecivil: http://www.awesomedude.com/stories/Laika/l...a_chapter_1.htm

Funny, I just used that line last night. :dark1: Horniness does not preclude prawpah English. TR

I'm actually astonished that I could write a comprehensible story while so constrained by metre, rhyme and rhythm. At first, I had only hoped to set a mood, a scene, but then the tale, as such things do, got out of hand. I'm also surprised that rhymed, old-fashioned stanzas don't preclude hot sex, assuming the sex in the story is any good. The Midnight Chime still isn't perfect, but it's not too bad and I'm proud of myself. I thought of it as horror but what I'm hearing is that it's more of a romance. You know, I don't know how it is that so many of my stories devolve to romance, it seems to be my default setting. Is that a bad thing? No idea, nor any idea of what it tells you about my psyche. I won't even mention (woops, I'm mentioning!) that a few other TR stories and poems are about having sex with the dead. Some Enchanted Evening, Der Cowboy and several poems romanticize some kind of necrophilia. The Midnight Chime is the only one where someone is actually embracing a disgusting, decaying corpse, though. I can't answer for my brain. Thanks to all who liked The Midnight Chime, and, as always, thanks for letting me know. Kisses.... TR

Donald Duck and Daisy Duck were spending the night together in a hotel room and Donald wanted to have sex with Daisy. The first thing Daisy asked was, "Do you have a condom?" Donald frowned and said "No." Daisy told Donald that if he didn't get a condom, they could not have sex. "Maybe they sell them at the front desk," she suggested. So Donald went down to the lobby and asked the hotel clerk if they had condoms. "Yes, we do," the clerk said, and pulled one out from under the counter and gave it to Donald. The clerk asked, "Would you like me to put that on your bill? "No!" Donald quacked, "What kind of a fucking pervert do you think I am?" *

Haha, thanks! And I just updated the metre, so if anyone read it earlier than 8 or 9 Wed night, you might want to try again. I think I have it flowing a lot better now. Yesterday, it was all I could do to get the story and rhyming stanzas together. I always did like romantic necrophilia, A Rose For Emily is one of my favorite short stories.( http://xroads.virginia.edu/~DRBR/wf_rose.html ) SEE needs updating, actually, I'm a lot better now (I think) at organizing sentences and paragraphs, but I'm skeered to ask the Dude to do all that work! But I'm glad you like both, I like them both, too, actually. I like less than half of what I do, I guess. Kisses for EC! TR