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December 19, 2006

12.19.06

On this day in history in 1998, President Bill Clinton was impeached.

Today's story should be about a peach.

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Jim: Georgia On My Mind

Before we were married, I thought her Southern Belle accent was cute. All the ‘y’alls’ and drawling out single syllable words was just adorable. “Ti-yim, coo-uld y’all come ovah he-ah for a spay-ell?”

God, how I hate it now!

And because she’s from Atlanta, she thinks there is some sort of mandate to cook peaches into everything! Have you ever tasted peach glazed rib eyes served with peach asparagus and peach juleps?

It’s enough to turn my stomach.

Then one day I learned that peach pits contain harmful dosages of the toxic poison amygdalin.

And a plan began to form…

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Tanya: Untitled

The Immortals rested in their palace, neither eating nor drinking, awaiting the feast.

Xi Wangmu’s handmaid approached, and began decking the tables with peach pies, peach wine, game roasted in peach sauces or stuffed with the fruit. They gazed longingly at the food. It had been 3000 years since the last Pantao Hui, and yet…

“You bring us our immortality in the peaches. The key to this eternal life. Millennia, eons of life.”

“You must remain, creating humans and destroying evil.”

“Perhaps you would like to dine with us, girl? Join us?”

She hesitated only for a moment. “No thanks.”

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Stacy: Pillow Talk

“…your body is a wonderland…”

“Christ, I hate that song. Please don’t sing while you’re doing that.”

“Doing what… this?”

“Mmmm….”

“But baby, you do have porcelain skin and a bubblegum tongue.”

“Ok, that’s just gross. A bubblegum tongue? That can be stretched and twisted, and chewed on? Gross, I tell you. Besides, hair would stick to it.”

“Speaking of hair, you really have the most amazing skin. Up close, I can see all the tiny, transparent hairs that make your skin so soft to the touch… You’re like a peach, you are!”

“Shut up, would you, and bite me.”

Read more from Stacy's .

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Jeff R.:Love Song

"What's that? You writing something?"

"Not that it's your business, but yes."

"Let me see...hey,this is a some kind of sappy song, isn't it?"

"It's not 'sappy'."

"Looks sappy to me. So you still sweet on that girl with the funny name?"

"Eeta's a perfectly common Swedish name."

"I was talking about the last name. Good thing she doesn't have any brothers; I'd hate to be a guy named Mr. Peach."

"If only I didn't have a brother. Now give that back."

"Uh-uh. Sorry, but no brother of mine is going to be singing any dew-eyed aire to Eeta Peach."

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Michele: State of Mind

“Dude! a pie eating contest!”
“Dude. We’re stranded in this backwoods town and you’re thinking of pie?”
“ First prize, $500. We can get the car fixed and get the hell out of here.”
“Whatever, dude.”

Jason prepared himself by smoking three joints, getting a good munchie buzz. His stomach rumbled as he thought of shoveling dozens of whipped cream pies down his throat.

“Ok contestants! Are we ready to eat some delicious peach pies??”

Jason balked.

“Peach? WTF? I HATE peaches!”
“Son. You are in Georgia. What did you expect?”

“God damn. Why couldn’t we have broken down in Oregon?”

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Ted: Dekalb County, GA

Edward was finally ready, for the harvesting was complete. His family had owned orchards for generations in this rich southern soil. Generations where his family prospered when others failed. Now it was time to join his dad and brother. He had prayed to live long enough to participate.

The cream of the crop was brought; he selected the very best for his pyre.

Dressed in only what God gave him, he climbed the ladder into the burial pit.

His family sang praises as the flame transformed the evening, the peaches, and Edward.

It was his time to preserve the peaches.

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From The Comments: Mr. Parx

I split you open, right at the cleft, my thumbs pressing, gently, firmly, lifting and separating. Exposing your sweet, wet, fruitmeat to the cool breeze, and the warm breath from my mouth just inches away. My fingers tickle the flesh around the cleft, brushing the barely visible hairs. I start out at the bottom, licking up the dripping juices. You are perfectly ripe, just the right blend of soft and firm, give and resistance.

I press my lips against your wetness. I must have you. I sink my teeth in. I can resist no more.

Damn, that’s a fine peach!

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