Well you’re behind the 8-ball now, maybe you could make up to her by taking her to the Fifth Dimension. If not, you might have your 19th Nervous Breakdown.
She wasn’t really my type, a hard-looking but untalented reporter from the local cat box liner, but the first second that the third-rate representative of the fourth estate cracked open a new fifth of old Scotch, my sixth sense said seventh heaven was as close as an eighth note from Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony, so, nervous as a tenth grader drowning in eleventh-hour cramming for a physics exam, I swept her into my longing arms, and, humming “The Twelfth of Never,” I got lucky on Friday the thirteenth. — Wm. W. “Buddy” Ocheltree, Port Townsend, WA (1993 winner of the Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest)
WoodEye over 8 years ago
Well you’re behind the 8-ball now, maybe you could make up to her by taking her to the Fifth Dimension. If not, you might have your 19th Nervous Breakdown.
James Lasher over 8 years ago
You got wings, fly to cloud nine.
GROG Premium Member over 8 years ago
Sucked into an engine were you?
neverenoughgold over 8 years ago
There are seven? I thought there was only one…
katzenbooks45 over 8 years ago
You’ll be fine on cloud nine.
Ooops! Premium Member over 8 years ago
Nah, wife won’t kill you. She will just you wish you were…. Oh.
bmonk over 8 years ago
She wasn’t really my type, a hard-looking but untalented reporter from the local cat box liner, but the first second that the third-rate representative of the fourth estate cracked open a new fifth of old Scotch, my sixth sense said seventh heaven was as close as an eighth note from Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony, so, nervous as a tenth grader drowning in eleventh-hour cramming for a physics exam, I swept her into my longing arms, and, humming “The Twelfth of Never,” I got lucky on Friday the thirteenth. — Wm. W. “Buddy” Ocheltree, Port Townsend, WA (1993 winner of the Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest)