Perfectly Crazy Bucket List!

01378EC9-7EEF-428A-ABE7-322B7840CFF3Another of Rory’s brainstorms. He said that he would choose a topic, write four lines of rhyming verse, and then tag one of his readers who will, in turn, add four more lines of rhyming verse to his, and then tag one of their own readers, and then “it is a case of wash, rinse, repeat.”

So here’s how Rory started things off:

So, so much to do, and with so little time,
I want to do everything, nothing to be missed,
But how do l plan it all, how do l define,
The perfectly crazy bucket list?

Then he handed it off to Paula Light, who added this:

First up is a lush tropical jungle,
Jaguars and waterfalls… all quite insane;
I do hope my parachute isn’t all bungled,
When I jump from the doorway of this airplane!

And now it’s my turn:

I want to take a rocket into space,
Or maybe a submarine ride deep in the sea.
I sure hope they will save me a place,
Because that’s where I really want to be!

And let’s see what Cheryl, aka The Bag Lady, does with this.

Be Prepared

3A358FB3-F37A-4826-B019-9EF57926A899Simon looked out of the kitchen window. “It’s another beautiful spring day,” he thought. The month was on track to be the best April the region had had in many years.

Simon texted his good buddy, Sam. “It’s beautiful outside. How about meeting up at the park? I’ll bring my portable grill and we’ll barbecue some burgers and dogs.”

“Sounds good,” Sam texted back. “I’ll pick up a six-pack and meet you at our usual spot in an hour.”

Once they met at the park, Simon set up his portable grill and evenly spread the charcoal briquettes inside. Then, with his characteristic flourish, he poured the charcoal lighter fluid all over the briquettes.

Simon reached into his pants pocket for his matchbook. It wasn’t there. Then he searched another pocket. Nothing. He realized that he forgot to bring matches and he knew that Sam was a non-smoker.

Taking on an uncharacteristically humble tone, Simon looked over at Sam and asked, “You don’t happen to have any matches on you, do you?”

With a grand gesture, Sam whipped out a book of matches from his jacket pocket. “I was a Boy Scout, remember?” he said with a broad smile on his face. “Be prepared.”

A0030D6E-1F70-48B9-840A-2ED119AF3967Written for Teresa’s Opposites Attract challenge, where the opposites are “grand” and “humble.” Also for these daily prompts: Fandango’s One-Word Challenge (track), Ragtag Daily Prompt (April), Word of the Day Challenge (portable), and Your Daily Word Prompt (characteristic).

MLMM Tale Weaver — The Blogger

8968C854-B3A4-428C-B16D-BF17BF88ADD8Bernie was a shut-in. He lived alone and it had been years since he left his house. But he had his laptop, his tablet, his smartphone, his TV, and the internet. He could get everything he needed, from food to clothing to sundries, delivered right to his door. Why bother going outside when he could get everything he needed or wanted right where and when he needed or wanted it?

He had no living relatives. His wealthy parents left him a tidy sum in their wills after they died in a car accident. Bernie had no “real world” friends, male or female, to speak of. His only connection to the outside world was via social media.

He had experimented with Facebook and Instagram, but they were primarily photo oriented sites and because he was self-conscious about being overweight, he didn’t do selfies. He had tried Twitter, but felt it was too cutthroat for him.

Bernie finally decided to try his hand at blogging, since he always felt he had a way with words. He had a flair for expressing his thoughts, hopes, and dreams in his writing.

Because blogging anonymously enabled Bernie to be anyone he wanted to be, he created two blog sites, one using a male persona he called “The Professor,” to be his primary site for his more serious writing, and the other using a female persona he named Desiree, just for fun. Desiree was a sexy, coquettish young woman.

Bernie was getting reasonably positive feedback on The Professor’s blog. People were impressed by his thought provoking posts. But while he attracted a small group of loyal followers on that blog, it was, he thought, small potatoes.

Desiree’s blog, where she was the young, sexy, alluring woman, became a huge hit, particularly among horny men of all ages and stripes. He posted pictures of scantily clad women he’d found on some of the porn sites he frequented, blurred their faces, and passed them off as selfies. He wrote erotic, fictional stories, claiming them to be true tales about Desiree’s amorous life, with not so veiled allusions to sexual play. Her blog, much to Bernie’s delight, even attracted a handful of lesbians.

It didn’t take long before Bernie had a few thousand followers and got hundreds of comments each day, as well as numerous emails, including a few with dick pics attached to them. Some of the comments and emails were from men wanting to meet Desiree in the real world. But that, of course, was out of the question.

Bernie was having the time of his life, spending most of his time on Desiree’s blog. Then one day there was a knock at his front door. Bernie wasn’t expecting any deliveries, and since he didn’t have any friends, he was a bit taken aback.

He opened the door to find a young man with long hair wearing a sweatshirt and jeans standing there. He was holding a small bouquet of flowers. “Hello, how can I help you?” Bernie asked.

“I need to see Desiree. Is she here?”

“Why do you want to see Desiree?” Bernie asked.

“I love her. I must talk with her.”

Bernie started laughing. “Desiree is not real,” he said. “I’m Desiree. I made her up.” Then, seeing the look in the guy’s eyes, Bernie became concerned. “How did you get my address?”

“You’re Desiree? You’re the woman I’m in love with?”

Bernie could see the look of rage in the young man’s face and he tried to close the door, but he was too late. The enraged man was on top of Bernie with both hands squeezing tightly around Bernie’s neck until everything faded to black.

Written for the Tale Weaver prompt from Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie. The assignment: write about your blogging experiences. I’ve previously written several posts about my blogging experiences, so I decided, instead, to create this rather odd piece of flash fiction. I hope you enjoyed it.

L is for Lying Sack of Shit



  • “WikiLeaks, I love WikiLeaks,” Trump said in Pennsylvania.
  • “This WikiLeaks is like a treasure trove,” Trump said in Michigan.
  • “Boy, I love reading WikiLeaks,” Trump said in Ohio.


  • “I know nothing about WikiLeaks.”
  • “It’s not my thing.”
  • “I know there is something having to do with Julian Assange. I’ve been seeing what’s happened with Assange and that will be a determination, I would imagine, mostly by the attorney general, who’s doing an excellent job. So, he’ll be making a determination. I know nothing really about him.”
  • “It’s not my deal in life.”

WikiLeaks was very much Trump’s deal in 2016. He welcomed the political boost his campaign got and he was delighted by the release of the Clinton campaign’s emails. He couldn’t sing the  praises of WikiLeaks enough during his presidential campaign.

5E7F343A-9488-457B-88A0-BC2BD2C2D3D5In fact, Trump heaved high praise on WikiLeaks more than 140 times in rallies alone, not including any of his many tweets, during the course of the campaign.

Never, though, did he express any misgivings about how WikiLeaks obtained emails from the Clinton campaign or about the accusations of stealing other sensitive U.S. government information. He was so enamored with Julian Assange that he had a poster of Assange hung backstage at the Republican’s debate war room.F4DE3158-7EEC-422C-8CE5-CDB98CE88DDDBut now that charges have been filed against Assange and he was hauled out of the Ecuadorian Embassy in London and is expected to be extradited to the U.S. to face those charges, Trump says, “Who? What? I don’t know what it’s all about.”

And don’t get me started on how Trump told the head of Customs and Border Patrol (CBP) that he’d pardon him if he were sent to jail for violating immigration law.

What a sack of shit the President of the United States is. A lying sack of shit.

SoCS — Fat Lip

a5542a60-10fb-4ac0-b518-db4e781e521e.jpegWhen I was a kid, having a fat lip meant that someone hauled off and slugged you right in your kisser.

These days, having a fat lip means that you went to the doctor to get a Botox injection into your lip.835F1A35-BD90-44DC-81D7-5DC455828F61

Written for this week’s Stream of Consciousness Saturday prompt from Linda G. Hill, where we’re supposed to use the word “lip” (or words containing “lip”) in our posts.