Saturday, December 20, 2014
Smells like ...
"Smells like Bill Clinton forgot to clean his desk out."
###
Drill baby drill!
"What is that? An elderly creampie pic? Looks kinda dry."
"No - it's Mars."
"So it's a Martian creampie pic?"
###
Harlowe Pilgrim’s books are available at Amazon, iBooks,
Smashwords.com, Books-A-Million, and most other online booksellers.
Follow on Twitter @ https://twitter.com/HarlowePilgrim
Monday, December 1, 2014
Cemetery Play - Part 2
Night was beginning to fall, early on what had already been a dim and dour, overcast day.
“CHILDREN!”
Her call from the threshold went unanswered.
“How they let me worry,” she said to herself. “Those children … will be the death of me.”
She threw on a shawl, and picked up a lantern. The wind growing blustery as she shut the door behind her, Mother struck out hot on the trail of the departed.
“CHILDREN!”
she called after them “CHIL-DREN!!!”
Making her way down that lonely road, there no replies to her repeated hailings, urgent as they were becoming.
Darkness was descending, and the mother was fearful.
“CHILDREN!”
It was becoming a cry.
Soon, she came to the cemetery, by which her children had certainly passed, but inside whose somber walls they certainly were not.
She
called out to them anyway.
“CHILDREN!”
“Mother …”
A response?
“Mother …”
The voice was muted, but she heard it plain enough.
“Mother …”
She could not tell whom of them it was, for the faintness.
No matter, for surely they were all together.
“CHILDREN?”
She stormed into the cemetery through its open iron gate.
“CHILDREN?”
“Mother!”
The voice was voices, not just one.
“Mother!” they called to her.
She ran into the rows of stones. “CHILDREN!”
“Mother!” This was her youngest calling … her baby. But … they were all her baby. “I can’t find them! Help me! MOTHER!”
“CHILDREN!”
She’d become frantic.
“CHILDREN!”
“Mother!”
She stopped short.
The voices … the voices of her children sounded like they were … could they be? They sounded like they were coming from …”
“Mother!”
Could their voices be coming from …
“Mother, please!”
Underground?
“CHILDREN!”
“Mother!”
Underground! They certainly were coming from under the ground!
She held up her lantern. It’s light was becoming a necessity, as persisted the darkness of night.
“Damn you,” she cursed the encroaching darkness she felt stalking her. “Damn you all to―”
“Mother!”
Her lantern caught the wooden handle of a shovel, standing in the ground amid the monuments.
She ran to it, and found it stuck next to a fresh excavation, a half-dug grave.
“Mother!”
Or was it a half-buried grave? The voices she was hearing were at … her feet.
Without another thought, she began to dig.
“Mother!”
“I’m … I’m coming to you. Mother’s coming!”
The earth flew as she dug.
“Mother!”
She stopped shoveling. “What’s that? Children?”
“Mother!”
Their voices were subterranean as ever, but now seemed to come from … elsewhere.
She climbed up out of the hole she’d been digging. “My children … my loves … call to mother now, so I can―”
“Mother!”
“I hear you! I’m coming! Call to me again!”
“Mother!”
She ran to another spot, and began to dig a fresh hole afront a large family marker, in soil that had lain sleeping a great many years.
“Mother’s coming, children! Babies! Mother’s coming!”
“Do
… you see what I see?”
“Yes, I think I do.”
“That’s …”
“Um-hum. That’s her.”
“I didn’t believe she was … I’m telling you, I never would have believed it.”
“I know what you mean … there was a time … I never would have either. But … you dig graves long enough … and you’ll believe all manner of things you didn’t think you believed in. There’s a lot of sad old souls out here.”
“But how do you …”
“Hey, it’s paying work, ain’t it?”
“Yes, well―”
“So let’s get to it, man. We owe some people a hole in the ground.”
“Okay, okay … but how do we … ?”
“How
do we get back to our diggin’? Well first things first. The new
guy … has to go and ask the ghost for his shovel back.”
This piece appears in the ebook Harlowe Pilgrim's Oh My Words! 2014.
Harlowe Pilgrim’s books are available at Amazon, iBooks,
Smashwords.com, Books-A-Million, and most other online booksellers.
The End
###
Copyright 2014 Cock and Bull Publishing, LLC
This piece appears in the ebook Harlowe Pilgrim's Oh My Words! 2014.
Harlowe Pilgrim’s books are available at Amazon, iBooks,
Smashwords.com, Books-A-Million, and most other online booksellers.
Follow on Twitter @ https://twitter.com/HarlowePilgrim
Cemetery Play
By Harlowe Pilgrim
“Have you finished your lessons?”
“Yes Mother.”
“Have you finished your chores?”
“Yes Mother.”
“Then of course you may run along and
play. Just be sure to steer well clear of the cemetery … that’s
no place for children.”
“Unless they’re dead,” the
youngest said.
One of her siblings nudged her.
Mother looked stern, but then softened.
“Very well then, off with you now.”
The children lost not a moment,
scrambling out the door.
“And remember,” she called from the
threshold, “not in the cemetery. You’re not to play in the
cemetery!”
They passed quickly out of ear shot and
into the countryside.
Mother returned to her work, which was
somehow never done.
“Come on.”
“But Mother said we’re not to play
in the cemetery,” protested the youngest.
“Come on,” she was urged by her
siblings, as they entered the
cemetery through its open iron gate.
“What about Mother?”
“Mother will never know,” one of
her sisters said. “Here … you cover your eyes, and count to …
ten … no, thirty.”
“We’re going to hide,” one of her
brothers said, “and after you get done counting―”
“I
can’t count to thirty,” the youngest said.
“Can
you count to ten?” another brother said.
“Yes,
on my fingers.”
“Just
count to ten, three times.”
“Is
that the same?”
“Yes,”
a sister said, “it’s the same thing.”
“Alright
then … I guess.”
“Cover
your eyes …”
“Now
start counting,” another of her sisters said. “And no peeking.”
“Okay.
One … two ...” Realizing she couldn’t count on her fingers and
cover her eyes at the same time, she turned and faced the stone wall,
and held her hands out where she could see them. “Three … four …”
Dusk
was setting in early, on what had already been a dim and dour,
overcast day.
The
sky was becoming dark as the stones in the wall.
“Huh
…” she gasped and jumped. “Oh … OH MY!”
A
snake slithered out of a crevice at the bottom of the wall.
Her
heart pounded in her chest, and she’d have screamed, had she been
able.
The
serpent continued on, small and harmless amongst the mossy stones,
and was gone just as quickly as it had appeared.
“Oh
my …”
She
turned away from the wall, and its wicked creeps. “I’m scared!”
she hollered into the field of sleeping dead. “I saw a snake! It
was big and slimy! And I don’t want to play here!”
She
knew she’d been told, time and time again, that snakes are not
slimy. It was merely the shininess of their scales that looked
slimy. Fiddlesticks! This one was slimy! And no one was telling
her otherwise!
The
cemetery full of hidden playmates yielded not a sound.
“DID
YOU HEAR ME? WHERE ARE YOU? I SAW A SNAKE!”
Still,
the response was nil.
She
sighed, and looked at her fingers. “It must have been ten of you,
three times, by now.” Her eyes searched the expanse of dreary grave
markers. “AS SOON AS I FIND YOU … WE’RE GOING HOME! I’M NOT
STAYING HERE WITH ALL THESE …”
A
crow landed atop the stone wall behind her—some distance away, but
it still startling to a little girl, and she jumped.
“… dead
people,” she continued, meekly.
She
wished not to feel the chill running up her spine, and for the
goosebumps to subside, as she made her wary way into the field of
monumental rock.
Somebody
giggled … she heard it, for sure. Up ahead, and to the …
Somebody
else giggled … it was behind her this time.
She
turned and started back that way.
There
was a scruffing … a noise like a body, on the ground and writhing.
“Ah-ha,”
she said, speaking it under her breath as she crept, stalking the
noise that she’d heard. “I found you.”
Somebody
giggled again, and she felt sure from behind which of the stones it
had come.
She
tiptoed up to it, and sprang to face whatever hid behind.
“Found
you!”
Nobody
was there.
Her
eyes darted from grave to grave.
Why
did they have to play someplace so scary?
Mother
was right. Children had no place in a cemetery.
Unless
they were dead.
She
turned around …
“HA!”
her cruel brother jumped at her.
And
she just about shot out of her skin.
“AHHH!
That was mean!”
He
chuckled as he ran away, deeper into the hallowed yard. “You didn’t
find me—I found you! So I get to hide again!”
“That’s
not fair! I don’t want to play!”
The
wet warmth of tears began streaming down her cheeks.
“I
told you I’m scared!” She started to bawl. “I hate this game.”
She
started walking. “I can’t find you! At least give me some
hints!”
There
was a whoop up ahead.
Somebody
let out a whistle.
Now
she would find them!
This piece appears in the ebook Harlowe Pilgrim's Oh My Words! 2014.
Harlowe Pilgrim’s books are available at Amazon, iBooks, Smashwords.com, Books-A-Million, and most other online booksellers.
###
Copyright 2014 Cock and Bull Publishing, LLC
This piece appears in the ebook Harlowe Pilgrim's Oh My Words! 2014.
Harlowe Pilgrim’s books are available at Amazon, iBooks, Smashwords.com, Books-A-Million, and most other online booksellers.
Follow on Twitter @ https://twitter.com/HarlowePilgrim
Saturday, November 8, 2014
Harlowe Pilgrim's 'Tweeting Fool' - Thanksgiving Issue
The
Pilgrims came on the Mayflower.Some … more than others.
“I’m
thankful for my mommy, and daddy, and the airline who lost mommy’s
pills when they went home for Thanksgiving, the year before I was
born.”
“Shut
your pie hole!” he said.
She frowned, looked down at her lap, and closed her legs.
She frowned, looked down at her lap, and closed her legs.
“Scuse me while I eat some pie.” -Jimi Hendrix, Thanksgiving dinner 1968
“I’m
all about the baste, ‘bout the baste, ‘bout the baste. I’m all
about that baste … that turkey.”
After
sampling her entire family’s pies … no wonder I needed a nap.
She
hauled off and slapped him. “I do NOT look like a turkey!”
“Sweetheart … I said you had a foul mouth … not a fowl mouth!”
I heard that all pies are fun-sized.
Really, they all come that way.
Who wants to trade a breast for some stuffing?
Is that a turkey in your pants … or is your cunt trying to gobble me?
Oh, it’s a turkey?
That’s weird and disappointing.
As if any of us would really give one.
“We’re
having turkey bacon.”
“Huh. You sure it’s okay for people too?”
“Huh. You sure it’s okay for people too?”
What’s
your favorite part of the pie? Mine’s … the filling.
When
does the gravy come out? Keep tickling my giblets, and it should be
coming.
Boy,
you got to eat the pie *before* you fill it.
I’ve
never seen you turn down ‘more stuffing’.
I’ll
bring the baby gravy.
I mean, I’ll bring the gravy, baby.
I mean, I’ll bring the gravy, baby.
If you like her baking …
… you should try her pie.
I’ve
never heard her say she’s had too much stuffing.
“White
women all want to look under my loincloth.” Chief Fucking Bear,
present at the first Thanksgiving orgy.
Stuff
the fucking, please … I mean, fuck the stuffing, please …
Sorry—just pass the stuffing, will you?
Sorry—just pass the stuffing, will you?
This holiday season, be sure to take some time and share your meat, with the needy.
If you spread her legs so wide they snap …
… hopefully, you’re
talking turkey.
“You
can drop a load right here”.
Well put, Grandma.
There’s no excuse for letting that pie go to waste.
Butt
stuffing.
That’s what a teddy bear sits on.
“Sorry
– I thought you said you wanted me to lay it all on the table.”
Takes it off the table, and puts it back in his pants.
Did
you guys know you can cover food in Saran Wrap too?
Unintentional
quote of the day: “Stop playing with it, and eat it!”
Here’s
to stuffing a bird on your Thanksgiving table … especially if
you’re not even having turkey.
“Smell
this,” she said. “Do you think it’s still good?”
“It is a
little stanky … but I’d still eat it.”
Let’s
all come together for the holidays.
PS. The other Pilgrims were on the Mayflower. My ancestors took the De-flower.
Copyright
2014 Cock and Bull Publishing, LLC
This piece appears in the ebook Harlowe Pilgrim's Oh My Words! 2014.
Harlowe Pilgrim’s books are available at Amazon, iBooks,
Smashwords.com, Books-A-Million, and most other online booksellers.
Follow
on Twitter @ https://twitter.com/HarlowePilgrim
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