Saturday's Storyteller: "Though it had been amusing at first, the mounted deer head's constant quoting of memes was beginning to wear on us."
by Belinda Roddie
Though it had been amusing at first, the mounted deer head's constant quoting of memes was beginning to wear on us. So was the bear skin rug's persistent singing of Parry Gripp jingles. So Ronald took out his shotgun and fired two direct shots in between the deer's eyes before sticking lead between the bear's teeth. When the distant din of shells on wood had subsided, we were greeted with the "Nom nom nom" song.
"Ron," I said, "they're already dead."
Groaning, Ronald placed his gun aside and pulled out the bottle of Jack Daniels from the cupboard. As he poured him and me two glasses, he shut out the incessant LOLCats references emitting from the bullet-riddled deer head's mouth. He told me he knew he shouldn't have left the laptop open for so long last night, but he had been rather busy "playing checkers" with his girlfriend. I didn't know why he had to be specific with his girlfriend, but sometimes Ronald was a bit too open.
"It could be a lot worse, I guess," he grumbled as he swigged some heavy liquor.
I laughed. "It sure could," I said. "You could be Carl."
"Why? What's up with Carl?"
"Three words." I sipped my Daniels and sneered. "Singing. Dancing. Bass."
This week's prompt was provided by Daniel Bulone.
Though it had been amusing at first, the mounted deer head's constant quoting of memes was beginning to wear on us. So was the bear skin rug's persistent singing of Parry Gripp jingles. So Ronald took out his shotgun and fired two direct shots in between the deer's eyes before sticking lead between the bear's teeth. When the distant din of shells on wood had subsided, we were greeted with the "Nom nom nom" song.
"Ron," I said, "they're already dead."
Groaning, Ronald placed his gun aside and pulled out the bottle of Jack Daniels from the cupboard. As he poured him and me two glasses, he shut out the incessant LOLCats references emitting from the bullet-riddled deer head's mouth. He told me he knew he shouldn't have left the laptop open for so long last night, but he had been rather busy "playing checkers" with his girlfriend. I didn't know why he had to be specific with his girlfriend, but sometimes Ronald was a bit too open.
"It could be a lot worse, I guess," he grumbled as he swigged some heavy liquor.
I laughed. "It sure could," I said. "You could be Carl."
"Why? What's up with Carl?"
"Three words." I sipped my Daniels and sneered. "Singing. Dancing. Bass."
This week's prompt was provided by Daniel Bulone.
...This is so absurd and amazing.
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