Michael Krista, an on-air correspondent for The Daily Show with Trevor Noah, went on an assignment to interview Trump supporters at a recent Trump rally about Trump’s plan to create a Space Force.
Here is the clip of those interviews. Some might think this is funny. I find it sad and, given the blind stupidity of the Trump supporters who were interviewed, it’s downright scary.
Victoria sat alone at the bar nursing her appletini. She was looking so forlorn that the bartender came over to her and asked her if she was all right.
“No, I’m not at all all right,” she said, as her eyes started to well up. “My goddam, feckless husband is cheating on me with one of his students.”
“That sucks,” the bartender said, sympathetically.
“Yeah, sucking him off is what my husband says that red-headed, green-eyed freckled-face bitch does really well,” Victoria said. “He’s making me go berserk.”
“She has green eyes, red hair, and freckles?” the bartender asked. “What’s her name?”
“Patty, and she’s a little tramp,” Victoria said.
“Where does your husband teach?” the bartender asked.
“He teaches creative writing at the community college,” Victoria said. “Why do you asked?”
“Is your last name Fowler?” the bartender asked. “Is your husband Professor Fowler?”
“Yes,” Victoria said. “How did you know?”
“Son of a bitch,” the bartender said. He threw down his bar rag, removed his apron, and ran out of the tavern.
Written for Teresa’s Three Things Challenge. Today’s three things are berserk, husband, and freckles.
I slowly open my eyes. Everything is blurry. Are those colored lights I’m looking up at? I can’t tell. They look like red, green, and orange balls shimmering overhead. But I can’t sharpen the images.
Why can’t my eyes focus? Why do I have such a headache? Where am I? How did I get here? Why can’t I remember?
I try to sit up, but my muscles seem unwilling to respond, as if a heavy weight is pressing down upon me. I search my mind, trying to make sense of my situation. But nothing makes sense.
Wait. James’ party. I’m starting to remember. Yes. We are in his backyard. It’s his annual Fourth of July bash. The simmering colored spheres are the decorative lights hung around the pool. Yes, I remember. Lots of beer. Lots of drugs. Everyone getting wasted.
I am beginning to understand now. I can’t move because I’m at the bottom of his pool, the weight of the water holding me down. I can’t see clearly because the water is distorting my vision. I can’t breath because my lungs are filled with water.
And now I’m sinking below the bottom of the pool, being sucked down by a sudden whirlpool into a deep, dark pit. The colored spheres are fading. Everything is turning black. I can’t think. I can’t feel.
Is this real or is this my ultimate nightmare? And, at this point, does it even matter?
Written for Rachel Poli’s Time To Write prompt and for Fandango’s One-Word Challenge, “nightmare.”
Jason and his daughter, Abby, sat on the rocks watching the waves gently kissing the shore as the tide was going out. “Daddy, where does the water go when the tide goes out?” she asked.
“The water is drawn by the moon and follows it across the sky,” Jason said. “But the water doesn’t really go anywhere. It’s just that the gravitational attraction to the moon causes the ocean to bulge out in the direction of the moon.”
“But it’s daytime,” she said. “I don’t see the moon.”
“That’s because it’s still light out, and it’s easier to see it at night,” Jason explained. “But just because you can’t see it, that doesn’t mean that the moon is not there.”
“How big is the ocean?” Abby asked.
“Very big,” Jason said. “More than two-thirds of the Earth’s surface is water.”
“What’s on the other side of the ocean?”
“Other countries.”
“What other countries?”
“If you got in a boat and headed in that direction,” Jason said, pointing to the west, “you’d end up in countries like China, Japan, Australia, and New Zealand.”
“Can we go there now?” Abby asked.
Jason chuckled. “No, sweetie, it’s very far to the other side of the ocean. In fact, it’s so far that it’s already tomorrow in those countries.”
“It’s the future there?” she asked.
“Well, it’s not exactly the future,” Jason said. “See, there’s this thing called the International Date Line. On this side of that line, which is in the middle of the ocean, it’s today. But on the other side of that line, it’s tomorrow.”
“There’s a line in the middle of the ocean, Daddy? Are you sure?” Abby said with a childishly skeptical look on her face.
“It’s not actually a physical line, sweetie,” Jason said. “It’s more like an imaginary line that exists so that people know what time and day it is around the globe.”
“You’re making that up, aren’t you, Daddy?” Abby said, smiling up at her father.
Jason was tempted to pull out his iPhone and Google “international date line,” but he decided that it was time for a little distraction. “How about if we head up to the boardwalk and get us some ice cream cones?”
“Okay, Daddy.” Abby said. “And when we get home, I won’t tell Mommy that you bribed me with ice cream so that I wouldn’t tell her that you were making shit up again.”
Written for Sue Vincent’s Thursday Photo Prompt.
Welcome to June 29, 2018 and to Fandango’s One-Word Challenge (aka, FOWC). It’s designed to fill the void after WordPress bailed on its daily one-word prompt.
I will be posting each day’s word just after midnight Pacific Time (US).
Today’s word is “nightmare.” Write a post using that word. It can be prose, poetry, fiction, non-fiction. It can be any length. It can be just a picture or a drawing if you want. No holds barred, so to speak.
Once you are done, tag your post with #FOWC and create a pingback to this post if you are on WordPress. Or you can simply include a link to your post in the comments.
And be sure to read the posts of other bloggers who respond to this prompt. You will marvel at their creativity.
This, That, and the Other 