StoryMash Creative Storytelling Forum

I've noticed a certain slowdown of creative process on this site (at least in terms of collaborations) so I thought I'd throw a monkey into the mix. (Monkey wrenches are too old school.)

This is a forum-based challenge because each author only contributes one sentence at a time. You cannot contribute two sentences in a row. Genre is free-range to start with, but once it's gone far enough that the genre is clear, stick with it. I'm starting it off on a cheesy, over-dramatic tone, so it'd be great if you can keep the tone consistent throughout the piece.

If a sentence doesn't fit, vote it down. Any sentence that has been voted down low enough to be unseen will not be counted as part of the story.

Here's the first sentence:

The jalapenos were hot, but not as hot as the leggy blonde that walked in just as I took my first bite of nachos.

As my eyes followed the hottie, I soon realized that the chip I had distractively tossed in my mouth was covered with those vengeful jalapenos; as if they were up to the task to see who was the hottest of the two.

Holy tequilla!

She glanced my way with a dramatic and flashy flip of her salon-styled hair and sent me a look that said it all.

Nachos completely forgotten, I rose up from the hard plastic chair that seemed to stick to just about everything and straightened my shirt front; I had one shot at getting this right.

(side note) Cute idea! Should be really interesting Agg!

Eyes watering, teeth tense, tongue fighting to free itself from my lips, I found words and spewed them, "So what do you know about heat, beautiful?"

Unfortunately, those jalapenos tap-dancing across my tongue took precedence over sentence-making, so all that came out was, "'O wha oo yu ow a'ou hee, oofu?"

And then, to my utter humiliation, the unspeakable happened; I tripped.

My hands flashed out, trying to catch myself on the elderly man who had scooted his chair into my path, taking us both down to the hardwood floor.

The old fella and I laid there on the floor, eye to eye, nose to nose, before he finally spoke up and said, 'I smell nachos!'

This line made me laugh out loud :)

Trying to save face, I quickly rolled to the left, hooked one knee up, and was on my feet, marvelling at my glance up Beautiful's skirt!

(Couldn't resist - perfect opportunity!)

Regaining my composure and dusting off my clothes, my mind reeled over what that glance had showed me: a bulge.

The old man while still on the ground looked up Blondie's skirt and cried out, 'Holy crap, if that's where you keep your holster, I wanna sniff that barrel!'

OMG - LMAO!!!!!!!

oh that's freaking funny!

Blondie ignored his comment, instead she looked straight into my eyes coquettishly and asked in a very unsettling deep voice: "So, you just gonna stand there dumbfounded or buy this gal a drink?"

As I pulled out my wallet and headed to the bar, she linked her hairy arm into mine, swatting the old man's nose out of her crotch.

The both of us sat down on the bar stool, as I gazed into his herish face and thought that with a steady stream of shots; I could ignore the five-o-clock shadow.

Sadly, or perhaps thankfully, I never got the chance to down those shots.

A huge hand slammed down on my shoulder and I turned to see the fiery eyes of a six foot six monster of a man whose first words sent my heart pounding; "That's my girl you're sitting with, punk!"

First the scolding hot jalapenos, then a woman with a pelvic appendage, now this jealous biker and all I could think of was what my horoscope had told me earlier: 'Today will hold many new surprises, dear Scorpio, you will see new things.'

Angry from the night, agitated by my ill luck, I seethed back, "If her man parts are any indication, then, yes, I'm primed to be punked, friend, so leave us alone and let her meaty hands talk to me."

This speech, of course, was a mistake, though not my worst before the night was over.

That hand on my shoulder tightened to an iron grip, but to both of our utter surprise, that drunk old man came to my aid; "You best be leavin' clumsy nacho boy alone or I reckon I'll shove this beer bottle up your ****!"

The way that old man said, '...up yer ****' reached back into the depths my childhood memory, reminding me of a happier time before my dear papa ran off to join a covert mercenary invasion force headed for the Falkland Islands.

LOL

Seconded.

The biker's grip on my shoulder squeezed harder, shaking my mind away from times of bliss, his face was an expression of agony and surprise as he turned to face the old man, a bottle protruded between his two rear cheeks.

The old man giggled, pointed at Big Boy's hiney, and blurted out, "Well, bubba, that's juss what ya get fer comin' in here nakey; a good ole Heineken up yer hoohah!"

I love this old man!

Me too! I don't know why but I picture that dancing old man on the Cedar Point commercials, LOL!

Shaken by this unusual turn of events, I glanced at Blondie to see a pointed, pimple like protuberance in the lap of her skirt and thought, "is it me?"

Blondie turned from me and leaped onto the old man, their lips interlocked while I pondered the theory that sveral gods/goddesses must be taking a lot of amusement in messing with my life that night.

As I marveled at the intertwining of young limbs, wheelchair parts and old tatooed arms I couldn't help but notice my dear old Mum's name stretched across, in prison-quality ink, upon the old man's bicep.

Before I became concerned about my Mum's name, a suctioned popping sound drew my attention to the biker guy, who pulled out the bottle in his hinny and took a swig of the beer's backwash left in it.

Maybe it was a mindtrick, or just the desperate need to bring SOMEONE home that night, but Biker Guy looked absolutely stunning backlit by the neon martini with the green olive tubing framed around his noggin like a halo.

The crash, as the old man threw Blondie off, attracted my attention and I turned to see him staring at me, licking his lips with an unbelievably long tongue and vigorously rubbing his crotch.

As the old man began to move toward me, my hand reached out behind me, diving into Blonde's abandoned purse, grabbing the largest object and pointing it toward that man as we both turned our eyes to see what I wielded: a pink vibrator.

'That looks just like your mother's,' announced the old man as I smiled, with a tear in my eye and whispered...'Papa?'

This cracks me up!

He held out his scrawny arms and I went forward into his embrace, listening as he whispered in my ear, "Yes, son, it is me.....but I have some bad news."

I started shaking, to the core, as my Papa lifted his crinkled hands to frame my face.

Time seemed to slow, the chatter of conversation dulled, the sound of cue balls colliding fell upon my deaf ears as tears begin to spill down my face, "Papa, we could have warmed up that pizza, you didn't have to leave us for all these years because it was cold!"

Papa's eyes slanted as his hands dug into my check bones, "I never liked pizza, boy."

I slowly emptied my painfully full bladder down my newly starched pants leg.

Papa sniffed, looked down at my soaked pants and said, "Looks like I failed in your education, son; that ain't the way water sports is played."

'You taught me the most important lesson of all, Papa, when it's time for a change...leave...without so much as a good-bye.'

Papa waved away my remark and said, "Shush, boy, you're distracting me from the bad news I have to tell you!"

...Don't tell me she's my sister, don't tell me she's my sister, don't tell me she's my sister...

hahaha! cute Al!

"I've been screwing Molly," Papa said to me, bluntly but as he saw my lack of understanding, he continued, "you're bassett hound..."

I looked on incredulously, not wanting to believe he'd been with my Molly, then whipped out my mobile phone to call Maury and set up a DNA test to see if those were, indeed, my puppies..... or my father's.

Unfortunately, the pre-recording on my cell-phone informed me that they were only accepting couples consisting of a midget and a really tall person, like Shaq-tall.

Overwhelmed by a variety of conflicting emotions - anger, devastation, and the joy in finding my long-lost father - I performed the 'calming ritual' my mother had taught me as a small child........

I crossed my fingers behind my back, squatted as if taking a dump, closed my eyes and began with the monkey-like grunt, "ooh -ooh ooh - ooh uh ooh..."

Little did I realize was that the entire bar room had grown silent as everyone watched the two of us, gawking at the insanity.

My Papa paid no attention to our rather large audience as he causally reached down and shifted his balls.

Before either of us could begin to speak again, the bar's doors suddenly burst open, drawing the attention of the occupants around.

"JOHN THOMAS LUTSCHENKOPF-YOU BASTARD! YOU OWE ME 15 YEARS OF CHILD SUPPORT AND I INTEND TO COLLECT!," screamed my mother, shoving all 407 lbs sideways through the entry, using the cane she walked with to point at my father.

'Honeycomb!,' my father said with a smile,'You've lost weight, Babycakes!'

Her overtly swollen lips curved into a smile as much as her red cheeks would allow, "John...you self-righteous, wrinkled old man...you have finally taken my baby from me I see!"

Papa blushed a deep crimson to match my mother's, leaped into her arms, and, to my absolute horror, they shared loud, slobbery, wet kisses that echoed and bounced off of the cavernous walls of the bar, sounding a lot like hogs at a trough, and sending all of the other patrons to their knees in a puking stance.

All except Blondie, who sighed and said, 'I hope one day...true love will walk through my door and love me like that...no matter what I look like...no matter what I become.'

Once again, Blondie snared my attention and grabbing her hand, I said, "My name is LUTSCHENKOPF...that translates to SUCKERHEAD; surely there's some significance..."

Ha ha...I figured you would appreciate the name I gave him!

Yessum! Loved it...lol

And with a twinkle in her beautiful eye, she squeezed my palm and replied...'How did you know my name is Shirley?'

I laughed and pointed at her Wal-Mart name tag, smiling as I said, "Your name ISN'T Shirley, darling - it's Mark."

The naked biker guy was not throught figthing for his woman/man and came at me with the smelly beer bottle.

I issued him a quick boot to the dome, sending him sprawling across the floor like a bear rug, puffed up my chest, and did a fair impersonation of Porky ... "Buh-dee, Buh-dee, Buh-dee...THAT'S ALL FOLKS!!"

And as I gazed around the bar room I finally said ... "Ah Buh-dee, Buh-dee, you thought I was gonna say son of a bitch, didn't ya?"