Creative Writing Practice

[Oliver]

Dear World,

Hi! How are you? You look in great shape, especially for being, what,  a few billion years young? Are you a member of AARP yet? They have a special in case you're interested. 

Hey, you're not getting old, you're getting better! Don't fall for all the dire predictions we wee tykes are bantering about with ozone holes, warming, cooling, and all the rest. I know you're de boss. You'll do whatever the heck you want to and it's OK by me. We tykes have had an effect, about as much as a single quark would have on a whale but it keeps our minds busy thinking about these things, which is a mixed blessing. The same knowledge that holds so much promise for a better life also holds the same promise for incredible evil and the resulting pain and despair. (I think a lot of it is in trying to deal with the fact we are living on a ball, in limitless(?) space. Weird. We don't know where we're headed in the largest sense, either; just expanding away from other galaxies where some of them may still be digging Wayne King.)

So, take it easy. Don't spoil us with too many floods, quakes, tsumis (never could spell it) tornados, hurricanes, sand storms, (now, what am I leaving out?) oh, avalanches, mud slides, ice storms, Blizzards,(butterscoth with Reeses, please) dust storms, fog, sleet, hail, 10 foot snows, downpours, 120 deg F temps., droughts, and 100% humidity. It's all worth it to see a few of your rainbows and to walk through a few meadows alone.

So, talk at you later. Be good!
Sincerely,
Oliver--   

[Oliver]

It is often hoped for, though with little expectoration, that the Grimmets will see the error on their blackboard (which is strangely a pinkish Hugh) and attempt to correct it with a gattling gun.

Many feel that the world will never see a moment's peace until some corrective action of this nature is wielded around the gang-plank. Once very much the "in" thing to engage in, gang-planking is whatever the French word is for "old hat", though that really isn't the particular denotation I am looking for. Since I'll lose my place if I Google it, I dare not risk it, so, I'll simply not leave you hanging while I do that. That would not be very nice, even though I am not really very nice at all, which should be obvious if you read beside the river.

There is much to be said in favor of acsog.  Hi, Mr. Newell!








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[Oliver]

My "creativity" module is on the blink. I shipped it for repair back after the last entry. I knew something was horribly wrong. The button was getting too sticky for some reason and didn't want to pop out like it was designed. When it got stuck inward and wouldn't pop out, the whole thing crashed.

When that happened all I could type were things like, 'the politicians should all be shot' or 'why should they spend all that money on space? people are starving on earth!' Or, 'we're all doomed! I tell you, doomed!!

So, until it gets fixed, images of Pee Wee Herman reciting Chaucer or the dog hyperventilating "Under the Yum Yum Tree" or the 'unsinkable' Molly Brown actually sinking, will not be imagined.

Just wanted to keep you updated.

[Oliver]

Just as we are made of trillions of atoms, the Universe is also. I bet it makes up something inconceivably large, relative to us, like, say, a huge sardine...Not bad if you like that sort of thing.

Further, I believe the sardine, whom I'll name "Sardonic", is on a trip to see his aunt, whom I'll call "Stella" to retrieve his swim fins he left there last month (7.2 billion years ago by our calendar).

Well, I can safely predict that most of us will not be able to wait quite that long for Sardonic to return, if he ever returns. He might get lost, ya know. Then we'd be lost, and there aint' nothin we could do about it anyway. Just as long as we can find our Wal-Mart, though, it wouldn't make much of a difference at this time.

The ironic thing is that Sardonic wonders if he is simply a small part of something much bigger, like, Charlie the Tuna,,,who ruminates over whether there is something much larger than he in the Universe, like, Moby Dick.

Infinity and eternity don't gel well in our 4 little dimensions.....We need to invent a new flavor of gel and have Jack Benny's great-grand children hawk it on Sat. morning cartoons.

Then a gnat, whom I'll call "Noel", sneezed. Kleenex or Scotties?

[Oliver]

All right. I admit it. My "optimism" label has always been a total sham. Actually, I'm the most pessimistic person I know.

Why, I believe things are so awful in this country that there will be riots up and down Vermilion St. tomorrow at 8AM sharp!

Life is unbearable here! It's unbearable anywhere! We're all mad and we're not going to take it any more!

We're going to do the only logical thing as a result: self-destruct!

I know it will get pretty stinky at some point!

I believe road rage will grow to massive slaughter on a daily basis until just one "winner" is left, "Fred" from Whacko, CA who will finally commit suicide since there was nobody left to shoot.

I believe that the enemies of the U.S. will hardly have to lift a finger if only finish the job.....

I believe that after the entire country is dead, Osama will fly merrily into Danville and arrange to have the Fischer Theatre, complete with fancy-shmansy organ, restored and sent to one of his palaces where the kidnapped President of the United States will be forced to be a Fischer usher or cigarette girl, as the case may be.

I believe that Martians will produce a flick, "The Day the U.S. Stood Still". 

I believe that what the fatal flaw will turn out to be will have been rooted in taking Soupy Sales off the air.


I can't think of the one-frame cartoon character, long gone, (it was like a little gopher?) who said "We have met the enemy----and they is US!"

Have a good night!

[Oliver]

In the world run by Oliver, all nasty posters would be brought to justice, given a fair trial and executed, with a sampling of their most egregious masterpieces pasted to the sides of a ten-ton weight dropping over their head.

There would be tons of definitions, all legally defined, most of them incomprehensible, of what being"nasty" constituted, but it wouldn't matter since Oliver's a good guy, totally fair and unbiased, and would only squash those who really, really deserved it.

Less strict sentences would include binding/gagging the offender and making him/her listen to and read his boring, long-winded, mundane, incoherent, babbling posts,,,most probably until the offender screamed to be squashed by the ten-ton weight.

Another lesser sentence would be for the offenders who did their cowardly little hiding game behind their many, many aliases which included one of the opposite gender,(such as "Earl of Sandwich" pretending to be "Tinker Belle" or "Robin-Girl pretending to be "Tomby-Caulk") they would be compelled to have the necessary gender-change operation to avoid the ten-ton weight, or worse yet, Oliver's posts.

It is highly probable that most of those gender-change punishments would be male to female ones. But you never really know since females can be equal or better jerks than males in certain instances.

In the case where the offender would actually welcome such a sentence, Oliver would have to fairly decide on a case-by-case basis what his call of justice would demand.

Soon, the world would be a much kinder, gentler place, chock full of ten-ton weights, a bunch of people who you couldn't quite tell about when you looked at them and heavenly forums free from  the old grumps, ner-do-wells and miserable souls.   Don't get on his list!!

 

[Oliver]

Where is it all going?

There is a time and place to be creative. This is the place, but not the time. 

[Oliver]

In the largest sense, we all may be an infinitesimal part of a giant hot dog. Still, there would naturally be a quest to find the hotdog maker. And the baker for the bun, too.

[Oliver]

Today marks the beginning of the most remarkable comeback for any forum in history. Soon, multitudes of happy posters will settle here and the hum will be so delightful.

In fact the infrastructure will have to be addressed, as a result, but I'm sure it will be successful. We don't want any over-taxed water systems here and the roads must be smooth and clear. There may be a housing shortage at 1st, too, but I know developers will seize the opportunity to answer the call.

By Christmas, I see around 15,899 active, daily, giddy, loving posters here, along with the one or two that invariably smell up the bunch. Such is life. Such is a happy, happy life.

The only irony is that I shall be more alone then than ever! Go figggure! 

[Oliver]

Beyond that which is not known, the rest will traverse the reigns of the over-lord, notwithstanding all mannerisms of prevarications which no knot of which they mis-speak, while all the while the pile of Chrysanthemums weep for the willows of time.

[Oliver]

Dear God,

Could you try just a little harder next time around, please?


Your Son,

Oliver--

[Oliver]

Grumbling could possibly lead you to greater things in life, if you would only let go, breathe deeply and mutter, "You're odoriferous and unscholarly bastion of codswallop!"

This could eventually will lead you to the exalted state many achieve, the state of "Whacko".

[Oliver]

Gradbugger sa limpspot begorrgling himpunts, not way unpungent de frumpet-jouant's besquealium krintstent bosh. (Felorma dus whoot!) Ba, thap bemungest fordy-dordy simplus, BEHOOLYWOE! OK?

[Oliver]

The vast sea of imagination, crashes along the shore as I trod wearily along searching for Pokey the horse. (Gonna have to ask directions or buy a GPS thing next time, by the way.)

I lie in the sand, getting burned and bitten and in an act of unspeakable dimensions, I throw off my headphones and beseech the heavens to turn off the tide since I remembered putting too much, waaaaay too much in the washer!

The spilt beans gleam with pride as the flies harvest them, working for even sub-minimum wages, getting paid under the table with fringe perquisites of cement-hardened chewing gum and an array of out-dated assorted nose mucus (or is that "mucae"?) The female flies tend to go for John Travolta's contributions, while the fellows go for Diane Sawyer's.

The utter beauty of Creative Writing Practice is that an ending is never needed.

[Oliver]

It was tedious dragging the thing around.

The cool night air of August was welcome relief and perhaps a harbinger of a harsh winter only a few months off. He stopped among the briarbushes to rest a moment. Night sounds were all about, a mix of comfort--and fear. He could not linger long. He didn't wish too either for he had to continue the journey, to see her one last time, to gaze at one last smile before going to a place he had only heard of, "Tommy Turtle's Repair and Card Shoppe", to get some dings out of his shell and a polish job using a 10% off coupon.