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April 24, 2008

Thursday

I'm sorry, I suck.

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THE LEGACY

They slammed locker doors and tossed helmets like grenades. "Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" became the Spartans' mantra. Seven consecutive losses was unjustifiable for a team that won the state championship a year ago. A weak link existed among them and every player knew who it was.

Braydon hid in one of the stalls, sat on the toilet and wept while he recalled a conversation with the coach.

"Dad," Braydon said. "You know I suck. Everybody does."

"We're Russells," he said. We are football in this town. You're playing!"

When Braydon went to change, his teammates formed a wall and blocked him.

Posted by: Jarrett at April 24, 2008 10:42 AM · Permalink

Before he died of heart failure back in 92', I spent a week each summer visiting my grandfather and the local Bingo halls of Portsmouth, New Hampshire.

Bingo was never a game with my grandfather. With every subsequent trip, the number of cards he spread grew. Towards the end he needed two spaces (chairs removed) and played standing.

On my last trip North, my grandfather was not allowed to play bingo. His nurse forbid it. So I told her she sucked.

"Appologize now," grandfather said. I refused. Later that night he handed me a twenty dollar bill.

"Jackpot," he said.

Posted by: Mike at April 24, 2008 11:46 AM · Permalink

In his 43rd year, Martin fell in love with a giant octopus.

Like all passions to which his species is susceptible, the feeling took him suddenly. One moment, he was balancing his aquarium-crazed son on his shoulders, trying to liberate his watch hand- the next, he was reaching towards the glass, his heart throbbing with every swell of octopal head. He tapped a love letter, scaring the fish. He chanced a longing look at its tentacles.

The boy was found in the gift shop. Fatherless.

The octopus, though it does love, does not know the subtleties of human embrace.

Posted by: Meowbag at April 24, 2008 4:57 PM · Permalink

I"M SORRY, I SUCK. (Goldfarb cont')

Goldfarb, eyes burning with the vision imprinted from the bedroom, ears rebelling from the sounds of two rutting animals, flies down the hall, his crutches not touching the floor.

Behind him the old man, a sheet held tightly around his wast, rushes from the apartment.

“Please son, let me explained.”

“Just come back for 5 minuets.”

“Son, I am so sorry.”

Goldfarb Jr., turning on his crutches, chokes out the words, “How could you!”

Stepping forward, Goldfarb's foot finds only air.

Goldfarb flips head first into space.

The old man, feet tangled in his sheet, hovers inches above him.

Posted by: JerryD at April 24, 2008 9:55 PM · Permalink

Gagnon was terrified. He'd done it again, spilled all the blingths all over the spaceship.

He knew that Jankzera, Leader of the Gorgozytes would be livid and there'd be hell to pay.

Jankzera was so anal that even his anus had an anus.

Leileela had been watching Gagnon frantically trying to fix this mess by blowing the blingths into the Big Receptacle.

Desperate to abolish any signs of his screwup he solicited Leileela's help in blowing the blingths away.

Much to Gagnon's chagrin Leileela responded that she was not a blower model and she was sorry but she sucked.

Posted by: Sherry at April 25, 2008 12:43 AM · Permalink