tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5420658442051690546.post6278246887817522341..comments2024-03-13T03:01:29.212-04:00Comments on Mike's Short Attention Span Theater: It was dark that night. And stormy, too.Mikehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13434942178702334897noreply@blogger.comBlogger5125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5420658442051690546.post-27248085479340712492010-07-21T07:50:17.721-04:002010-07-21T07:50:17.721-04:00The end.The end.Juliehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/03281093667007242929noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5420658442051690546.post-84209928951978376462010-07-20T20:01:36.917-04:002010-07-20T20:01:36.917-04:00Lefty’s voice boomed from the speaker next to the ...Lefty’s voice boomed from the speaker next to the cash register. “Marge! What’s all the fuss out there? Everything OK?” Lefty’s voice startled her, and Marge burped loudly. “Well, excuuuuuse me,” she whispered, stifling a giggle. She stole a sideways glance at Jeff, who was slowly crab-walking his way up Aisle 2. He stopped to rest next to the Hydrox cookie display, panting softly, and put his forefinger to his lips. “Quiet”, he mouthed to Marge. “I said take that package to Lefty,” growled Elliot, “and tell him we need an answer, pronto. We don’t got all day, sister.” Marge froze, unsure whether to continue on to the back room and deliver the package as ordered, or wait for her young lover to make his move. Somewhere in the distance, a coyote howled.Mikehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/13434942178702334897noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5420658442051690546.post-40622142918176030452010-07-18T08:37:17.287-04:002010-07-18T08:37:17.287-04:00"Martha? Marthie-Warthie? Why are you being..."Martha? Marthie-Warthie? Why are you being so mean to me?", Eliot sniveled, reaching across the Slim Jim dispenser for his beloved's hand as tears streamed down his ruddy cheeks. "You know I don't like it when you talk mean to me." Martha slapped his hand away and clamped her own over the cashier's greasy lips. "Shut your pie hole check-out gal," she growled, "and take the package into the back to Lefty. Do it now!" Marge tasted salami-tinged bile in her throat as she gently lifted the package with two fingers and turned toward the back room. Just as she was about to lose her optimism (and the hero sandwich), she saw the familiar stains of Jeff Grandacre's jacket approaching the counter. Maybe Ol' Marge will get out of this after all she thought.Juliehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/03281093667007242929noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5420658442051690546.post-37134040343931989582010-07-18T00:11:05.176-04:002010-07-18T00:11:05.176-04:00Here it goes...this was too fun by the way!!
Jef...Here it goes...this was too fun by the way!! <br /><br />Jeff’s ear drums erupted with familiar screeching sound of Marge’s voice. Even though Marge was twice his age he adored how she enjoyed a greasy hoagie almost any time of day. He loved Marge though he would never say to his friends or family for fear they might taint his perfect affair with the purveyor of by-product cheeses and year old slushy mix. Her cry for help nearly broke Jeff’s heart. Nearly. Although his attraction to her was undeniable he pondered on just what that attraction was worth. Jeff disliked confrontation and most of all hero work. He thought strongly about going back out to his car and heading north to the ‘Lefty’s Kwik Mart Dose’ at least he knew there they had handicap railings and hot dogs with real beef. Not mechanically separated chicken. As Jeff started shuffling his feet to gain momentum towards the door a whiff of delicious nachos grabbed at him to come forward, teasing him with their rich ingredients and promises of fingers to be licked clean. He wanted nachos now more than anything. “I’ll do it for you nachos.” He whispered under his breath. Jeff had watched enough Law and Order to know that walking like a crab against the nearest solid thing was the best way to be stealth. He set his refillable cup on the yellowish tile, zipped up his stained beige Member’s Only jacket and waddled carefully to the nearest aisle. He noted quickly that his legs were giving out. Cooked spaghetti noodles, as his mother would say. At that very moment he knew he wasn’t going to get any nachos without his motorized scooter.Anonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5420658442051690546.post-70260802117942951912010-07-17T10:52:03.686-04:002010-07-17T10:52:03.686-04:00Grandacre???? Ha ha. I don't remember this o...Grandacre???? Ha ha. I don't remember this one. I can't wait to see what happens to Eliot and Martha (and their pickle)! I hope someone writes another chapter so we can find out....Juliehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/03281093667007242929noreply@blogger.com