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August 6, 2005

Volume 5, Issue 6

Today's theme is "a barrel".

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Norman measured it out carefully, spoonful by spoonful. Ounce by ounce, the precious black grains filled the cylinder.

It was slow, painstaking work. He had to get the amount just right.

Ounce by ounce.

Sixteen ounces to the pint.

Two pints to the quart.

Four quarts to the gallon.

Forty-two gallons of poppy seeds, all packed carefully into the steel drum behind the stage. His secret weapon.

The lights went up and the curtain parted. Norman strode out, microphone in hand.

He would soon find out that nothing – not even Norman Schwartz – was more fun than a barrel of mohn.

Posted by: Elisson at August 6, 2005 11:14 AM · Permalink

"See, Donkey Kong is the man, the government. And he's trying to keep the working man down. Cuz Mario is the plumber, the blue-collar worker, and Donkey Kong is the fucker in the tie at the top of the food chain."

"Well, platforms."

"Whatever." Dad took a swig of the English stuff. "You notice, my boy, that he's tossing down barrels. And what exactly is in those barrels, you ask?"

"Is it whiskey?"

"You betcha. That's how the man keeps us down." Dad wiped his brow. "The whole game is a metaphor for class struggle. Those Japanese are fucking brilliant."

Posted by: G-Do at August 6, 2005 6:46 PM · Permalink

"You've got me over a barrel," he panted, sweat and blood running down his face and into his mouth.

"Yes, I suppose I do. I suppose that's a pretty accurate thing to say."

"What do you want?" he moaned.

I had to think about this for a minute. I found this surprising. All my energies had gone into beating him bloody and binding his legs and arms, and I hadn't cconsidered what I actually expected from this confrontation.

"I'll have to get back to you on that," I said, truly perplexed. Turning, I left him, still bound to that barrel.

Posted by: Adam at August 6, 2005 9:06 PM · Permalink

Nothing focuses the mind like that little hole, six inches from my nose. The hole had ravaged my friends – they lay all around me, in gooey heaps. It was still hot, and I was next.

When I invited her to the party I hadn’t expected it to end like this. Everything got out of hand. The guys were more aggressive than they should have, and she just went wild. And now I was staring at the hole.

The hole twitched. I could actually see the bullet traveling down the center of the barrel at more than 2000 feet per second.

Posted by: TigerHawk at August 7, 2005 5:34 AM · Permalink