injaynesworld it's "The Kiss..."

She’d regretted it almost immediately.   Sure, he was movie-star gorgeous and women shot her daggers of envy whenever they were out together, but he was also vain and arrogant, with the most annoying attitude of entitlement.   Only she knew of his humble beginnings, and how she longed to have that time back again – hours spent together lingering by the pond when she would pour out her lonely heart to him.  He had promised to fill that emptiness with a lifetime of devotion and love, to worship and adore her and treat her like a queen…   And it was, after all, just a kiss, she’d told herself.   One kiss.   What could it hurt?

This short fiction piece was based on the word prompt “kiss” from the One-Minute Writer.

injaynesworld it's the "Sunday Recap..."

The world lost a true gentleman this week with the passing of Dick Clark at 82. 

No matter what else was going on, come 4pm my mom knew she’d find me in front of our small black-and-white TV, dancing to the beat of “Dick Clark and American Bandstand.”  Back then, I couldn’t have imagined that one day I’d  have the honor of meeting and working with Mr. Clark when we developed a TV series together.  Like many other young hopefuls, he gave me my start.  I recall how nervous and excited I was anticipating our first meeting in the executive offices at ABC.  He was as kind and friendly in person as he always appeared on TV.   I wish I could recall every word of that conversation, but I think I blanked out after shaking his hand.   

I met many “stars” in my years in the biz, but none shined as genuinely and brightly as Dick Clark.   His light will be deeply missed.  

***

On the other end of the human spectrum is Ted Nugent…

You might recall back in 2008 when he called then candidate Obama “a piece of shit,” while holding up a machine gun and telling Obama to “suck on this.”   Good.  We’re all up to date.

Fast forward to 2012, where we find Mitt Romney seeking out Nugent’s endorsement because really, what candidate for leader of the free world wouldn’t want this guy by his side?   However,  before Nugent would give Romney his highly-coveted stamp of approval, he extracted a couple of promises from the candidate:  No new gun laws and – oh, yeah – keep that damn “Fish and Wildlife Service” in line, too -- demands Romney called “logical,” and the deal was done.

But alas, little Tagg Romney's excitement was to be short-lived.  While appearing before the National Rifle Association, this week, Nugent fired off this gem:  “If Barack Obama becomes president again in November, I will either be dead or in jail by this time next year.”

Oopsie.  Quick!  To the Etch-A-Sketch!:  “The campaign never asked for Nugent’s endorsement."  (But we can’t help noticing that “the campaign” is not rejecting it either.)   The official campaign response:    “Divisive language…”  (Seriously?  That's what you're calling it?)  “… is offensive no matter what side of the political aisle it comes from.  Mitt Romney (who apparently can’t speak for himself) believes everyone needs to be civil.”

Way to have a spine, Mitt!  Tea and crumpets anyone?

***

This week the Grand Old Party said a big “Oh, hell no!” to the “Buffett Rule Bill…”

… which, by increasing the tax rate of those earning over a million dollars to 30%, would have corrected a giant tax loophole that currently allows millionaires to pay a lower tax rate than those who toil as their secretaries.

Oh, and they’re not going to end subsidies to big oil either. 

So where is the money going to come from to plug that deficit hole they’re always screaming about ?  Poor people, of course!  You remember those folks?  The ones who used to be middle-class.  

House Speaker, John Boehner lamented, “We have to make hard decisions...”

Yeah, and it’s clearly easier to take from the folks who are not lining your pockets than from those who are.

***

What’s a gal to do?

You go to a concert, get wasted, meet some cute dude with a Mohawk, bang him in a bathroom stall and wind up with an unintended souvenir.    Hey – it could happen to anyone.   In this case, the mom-to-be took to Craig’s List Missed Connections to announce the joyous news:

Me:  Blue hair, silver tube top, fishnets, knee high black biker boots

You:  Red Mohawk, black pentagram gauges, viper piercings

Anyway, I’m pregnant.  It’s yours.  Contact me if you want to be part of your child’s life.

I’m going to go out on a limb here and say not likely, girlfriend.  And while many on the “right” will applaud your decision to go ahead with this pregnancy, don’t look to any of them for help once the kid is out of your womb and you’re wondering how you’re going to feed it. 

***

In entertainment news…

Cop a feel?   Not if you’re in China…

… where government film censors have edited the 3D version of “Titanic” out of concern that Winslet’s nude scene, where she poses for Leo DiCaprio, will be too realistic:   “Considering the vivid 3D effects, we fear that viewers may reach out their hands for a touch and thus interrupt other people’s viewing, so we’ve decided to cut off the nudity scenes.”

Only if they’re ripped on weed.  
  

In a reversal worthy of note, neighboring India, which had censored out the controversial scene in the film’s 1997 release, is restoring it to full and enhanced glory this time around.  

Indian border guards will be on the lookout for Chinese wearing 3D glasses.

***

Meanwhile, in Fucking, Austria…

No, that wasn’t a slur on the country, although the 104 folks living in the hamlet of, yes, “Fucking” Austria, probably wish it was.   To be fair, locals pronounce it “Foo-king,” which is such an improvement.  Named after a 6^th Century nobleman named Focko, the current spelling was adopted in the 18^th Century, clearly by some mad comic visionary.  Actually, the town’s name went largely unremarked upon and the residents lived in peace until the end of World War II when U.S. troops (Why is it always us?) happened upon the place and behaved like 14-year-olds.

Now the town can’t replace road signs fast enough, although local gifts shops have seen a boom in the sale of postcards. 

Recently, elected officials have decided it’s finally time to change the town’s name.  All they need now is for the Fucking residents to agree.

***

And finally...

Republican candidates aren’t born.  They’re made.  View secret footage from the training camp where young, Republican presidential hopefuls are formed for future greatness.

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injaynesworld we "Listen To The Children..."

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April is “National Child Abuse Awareness Month.”  This piece is part of this week’s “Five Sentence Fiction” challenge.  The prompt is “Armor.” 

Armed only with the truth, she felt small against the powers before her.  She pulled her sweater tight across her chest to ward off the chill of their stares.   She’d put her own body between her younger sister and his nightly visits until the blood had appeared and he no longer desired her.  Why had no one listened?   Now she had stopped him the only way she could.

injaynesworld " 'Odd Job' Wasn't A Bond Character..."

I’ve done a lot of things to earn a living in my lifetime, but perhaps the point of greatest humiliation came when, in my twenties, I dressed up as a giant orange and handed out samples of orange-scented shaving cream at the local Walgreens.  Little children, eager for what they thought was an orange candy treat, went away disappointed and complaining, while their mothers shot me dirty looks and promised them a sugary treat if they’d just quiet down.   Men avoided me completely.  They had no desire to smell like fruit, much less engage in conversation with one.  Clearly, Gillette had not thought this marketing ploy through very well.

A lesser embarrassment, but one that nonetheless haunts me to this day, is my brief stint at a Dairy Queen.   The company prided itself on the fancy little “curly-q” atop each of its trademark soft ice cream cones.   The skill involved a quick wrist action that, try as I might, I did not possess.  Each of my cones was just a sad white blob that leaned precariously to one side.  Alas, my defense that it tasted the same fell on deaf management ears.

Once, while still modeling, I posed wearing a bikini while standing inside a refrigerator unit filled with crates of strawberries.  To this day, I don’t know what I was supposed to be selling, but it paid the rent.  

Thankfully, I learned to type in high school – a skill that has kept the proverbial wolf from the door more times than I can count.  It was the only thing of value that I took away from those four, angst-ridden years.  That and a pair of plastic salad-serving utensils I made in crafts class that I still use to this day.  Oh, yeah.  I was a real scholar.   I’d wanted to take auto-mechanics, but wasn’t allowed because I was a girl.   Today, I’d sue the crap out of them.   I left high school prepared for nothing, but naively believing I could still conquer the world.   I guess just the fact that the world hasn’t conquered me is proof that I succeeded, at least to some degree.

Looking back now at the patchwork of my life, each odd little square – even the dropped threads – placing me exactly where I needed to be, it’s only in hindsight that I can see the hand of Divine guidance.   And when I remember myself in that orange costume, certainly more than a bit of Divine humor, as well. 

Had “Oddjob” only learned to type his whole life might have been different.

injaynesworld a tale of "Betrayal..."

Since many of my blogging buddies are off doing a photo challenge, I decided to do something a little different, too.  Today I’m participating in The One Minute Writer website’s weekly short fiction challenge.  The prompt is “shirt.”  Go easy on me.  This fiction stuff is new…

The shirt was neatly pressed just the way he liked.  She’d hung it on the refrigerator where he’d be sure to see it first thing as he entered through the garage.  He’d wonder where her car was at that hour and why the house was so quiet.   He’d call out for Buddy, his beloved Schnauzer, who was usually leaping against the kitchen door and barking to greet him.   At first he wouldn’t understand, but the large burn mark on the hem would draw him close and the trace of red still visible underneath would bring his memory into sharp focus. 

She’d laid the hot iron against the stain again and again as she thought about the woman who’d put it there.   She knew her well.   She’d been her at one time before the years had made her, too, vulnerable.

The sea breeze washed over her, taking the past with it as she sped up the coast.   Knowing this day would come, she’d planned well.   She imagined her husband picking up Buddy’s empty food dish from the floor; maybe going to fill it before he remembered just how alone he was now.

Her cell phone rang.  She looked down at the screen.  From the back seat, Buddy barked as he tried, over and over, to catch the wind in his mouth.  She smiled and tossed him the phone.  “It’s for you.”