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August 12, 2005

Volume 5, Issue 12

One word. It doesn't have to be about the word, per se. Just use the word somewhere in your story:

lips

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He pulled her close, as if to kiss her
But then as her lips drew near
Her eyelids opened, and her throat he cut
From ear to bloody ear.

She gasped just once, and the blood spewed forth
Her face paled in pain
She grabbed his wrist and clutched her throat
Her struggles were in vain.

The knife slashed through her graying skin
From her trachea to kidney.
A crimson river then opened up
From Winnipeg to Sidney

He strung her up from either wrist
And started at her chin
And with a care methodical
He peeled away her skin.

Posted by: Mr. Parx at August 12, 2005 4:39 AM · Permalink

His lips drew back to reveal a grizzly set of fangs . She drew back as far as she could. She backed up until she was up against the glass . He lunged and she leaped to avoid it . His head swayed from left to right as he looked for his opening . She followed his head ,concentrating on his eyes. The eyes were the real deal. Everything else, the swaying head, the flickering tongue , were all misdirection. He started to strike, she slipped on the sawdust underfoot , and he sank his fangs in.

" Oh.man, she almost got away"

" Throw another mouse in !!"

Posted by: drackip at August 12, 2005 5:56 AM · Permalink

“What sort of movie should we do?” Lipscomb asked.

“I’ve got some clips of slips, flips and pratfalls,” Philips replied.

“Do we want a comedy?” Lipschitz asked. “We could do a documentary on flowers, say, cowslips or tulips…” She checked her lipstick in the mirror of her compact. “Or even insects … maybe the amphibolips.”

“I got some great footage of the eclipse from the ellipse,” Philips said. “Hey, a plastic surgeon gave me some footage of corrective surgery for harelips. It’s kind of slipshod, though, amateur stuff.”

Lipschitz pouted at her reflection. “I need collagen injections … what do you think?”

Posted by: hnumpah at August 12, 2005 12:56 PM · Permalink

"The raspberry!" I yelped as my mother dug her fork into the cake and raised it to her lips.

"Can I ask you an ethical question? Is it wrong for us to be eating this when Sherry is making ours free?" I asked her.

"Ethics are overrated when it comes to cake," she stated, "if eating cake is wrong, I don't wanna be right."

"I made you some sample wedding invites. Here."

She shuffled through them, "'What is love? It is the morning and evening star,' Ugh."

"Sinclair Lewis!"

"Sinclair Sappy Lewis. Here's one: 'We have buried the putrid corpse of liberty,' ...perfect!"

"Mussolini it is."

Posted by: teenlobotomy at August 12, 2005 1:00 PM · Permalink

Now I'm not saying Misha was a mean-tempered man, but he was the sort who'd kill ya for breakin' wind if he was feeling ornery. He never suffered fools gladly; any town he passed through wound up with a lower population and a higher average IQ.

Strong as an Ox, Misha was, and all over strong. He could hammer nails with his bare hands. Once he walked from Fairbanks to Juneau barefoot, a baby in each arm, dragging a sled and seven dead dogs with just his lips. (He couldn't use his jaw on account of the toothache.)

To Misha!

Posted by: Jeff R. at August 12, 2005 4:57 PM · Permalink

"C'mere, kid. I do love you." We kissed.

I deftly reached for my pistol, but then I heard the click of her revolver. Next thing I knew, I was down on the ground, gut-shot.

"Poor baby," she cooed. "You thought we were gonna do that schtick where we hug and you shoot me in the heart? Too bad. Nobody pulls a double-cross on Lips 'Busty' McGee, mister. Nobody!" She aimed at my head.

A police siren sounded.

"You got lucky this time, fella," she shouted as she ran.

And that, son, is the true story of your Dad's first kiss.

Posted by: G-Do at August 12, 2005 5:23 PM · Permalink

"Oh," said Mom. She was standing on the patio, staring at the twin giants in the sky.

I cried out, and watched as they broke mountains, as they rolled over and smothered cities, as they rent the heavens. The breath that passed between them swamped our little house and the surrounding countryside, choking the life out of the trees and crops. For a moment, I thought I caught a glimpse of the tongue, but then the sun was eclipsed, and everything became dark.

"What is it?" we asked.

"The Apoca-Lips," said Mom.

Then, in one vulgar, planetary gulp! everything ended.

Posted by: G-Do at August 12, 2005 8:58 PM · Permalink