leave it to zombie

The music swells, airy violins and cheery piano, as the scene opens on a well-kept suburban home.  Sunlight filters through the leaves of a large oak tree and dapples across a manicured lawn where a bicycle is overturned by the front steps.  Credits scroll as a dark sedan pulls into the driveway and a middle-aged man exits dressed in a crisp suit that is probably dark blue – it’s impossible to tell when everything is in black and white.  The man retrieves his briefcase from the back seat and strolls up the walkway.  He grins and shakes his head as he sets the bicycle on its wheels and lowers the kickstand.

When he opens the front door, the music fades and we zoom in on the man as he calls out, “Bobby, how many times do I have to tell you to take care of your bike?”

Cut to the stairs and a boy of about ten bounds down them.  “Gosh, dad, at least another twenty. “

Laughter is heard as the shot widens to include dad and son.  “Put it in the garage after dinner, please.”  He sets his briefcase on the floor of the entryway and unbuttons his suit jacket.  “Speaking of dinner, where’s your mother?”

Bobby examines the toes of his sneakers.  “Uh, in the family room.”

The low whirr of a vacuum cleaner can be heard in the background. The man checks his watch.  “A bit late for her to be doing housework, isn’t it?”

His son only shrugs. “Mom’s been actin’ kinda funny today.”

The man folds his jacket over his arm and walks toward the sound of the vacuum, his face set in an expression that could reflect either concern or annoyance.  The shot follows him into the adjoining room and in a tight close-up we see his reaction to what he finds – a mixture of shock and confusion.  A cut to the interior of the family room reveals what he sees and a collective gasp is heard.

In the middle of the room is a woman, the handle of a vacuum cleaner in one hand and a rolling pin in the other.  She is standing still and slightly hunched over, watching the vacuum relentlessly churn against the same section of carpet.  Her makeup and hair are perfectly set, but her polka-dot dress is torn and bloody.  A close-up of the rolling pin shows blood running down the wooden barrel and dripping off the end onto the carpet.

Cut to the man who raises an eyebrow and loosens his tie.  “Bad day, sweetheart?”

Laughter swells as the shot cuts back to the woman.  She turns her head toward the man and growls, her lip curling into a sneer.  She releases the vacuum handle and drops the rolling pin to the floor before taking a lurching step toward him.

Again cut to the man who quickly backs out of the room and returns to the entryway where the boy still stands.  “Well, son, how about we give your mom a break tonight and go to the drive-in for dinner?”

The boy’s eyes widen with excitement.  “Swell, dad!”

The man throws an arm around the boy and they exit through the front door accompanied by the sound of music and applause.

housewife

I don’t even know anymore.  These stories are getting weirder and weirder as the year progresses.  I fear for December.

And, yes, this is a couple days late.  I tried to feel bad about it, but in the end couldn’t be bothered. I figured that I made the rules to this little challenge, I can change them at will.  I won’t let the power go to my head.

To see my progression into madness, visit my Zombie-A-Month page.

say AAHHHH!

Bill figured the only reason why anyone became a dentist was because they took an unnatural delight in causing people pain. All those little kids who kicked puppies and poisoned goldfish who didn’t grow up to be serial killers, found outlets for their twisted proclivities in the mouths of innocent dental patients. Torturing small animals and younger siblings gave way to drilling bicuspids and extracting molars. That the depraved souls got paid to torment their victims was just a bonus. Not to mention the unlimited access to nitrous oxide.

Orin Scrivello – D.D.S. was painted in black on the frosted glass door. Bill wiped his sweating palms on his trousers before twisting the knob and stepping inside. The lobby was white and clean and the gray-haired receptionist greeted him with a kind smile. His hand shook as he grasped the pen to sign in, but he controlled his tremors enough to scratch out his name and the time of his appointment. He was twenty minutes early.

Easing himself into one of the blue chairs, Bill took a few deep breaths in an attempt to slow his racing pulse. The receptionist gave him a sympathetic look, but it wasn’t nerves that caused his agitated state.

Bill was excited.

Dentists weren’t the only possible end product of a twisted childhood. Some became sadists and others, like Bill, evolved into masochists. He’d blocked from his memory the seeds of trauma that were planted in his subconscious which later germinated into his current predilection for having pain inflicted upon his person. But he had no interest in curing his unusual desires. In fact, he’d studied hard and acquired a good job just for the access to excellent dental benefits.

Dr. Scrivello would be the tenth dentist Bill had seen in three years. Most refused to treat Bill after only a few visits not because of his obvious disregard for brushing his teeth and his candy addiction, but because he refused any anesthetic during even the most invasive of procedures.

Bill was called back into the exam room by a cute dental assistant. He reclined in the big, white chair and clasped his hands together to keep from fidgeting. After a moment there was a clatter from the hallway that sounded like a metal tray dropping to the tile floor followed by a scream. Two hygienists ran past his room. Bill was wondering if he should be alarmed when a figure in green scrubs stepped into the doorway.

The man that Bill assumed was Dr. Scrivello had red hair that hung from beneath his surgical cap and into his dark-rimmed eyes. His scrubs were ripped and stained with blood. In his hands was a large, gleaming drill, blood dripping from the tip. The dentist stumbled into the room and made a moaning sound that was muffled by his blood speckled mask.

Bill bit his lip to hold back his squeal and gripped the arms of the chair. At long last, it appeared he had finally found a dentist that understood his needs.

say AAHHH!

Any Little Shop of Horrors fans out there? If you are, then you will have already noticed that this post is an homage to Steve Martin and Bill Murray’s scene in that movie.  And, yes, I was singing “you’ll be a be a dentist (be a dentist)” to myself the whole time I was assembling this little guy, much to my husband’s dismay.

And I apologize for the late posting on this one.  I have a very good excuse and as soon as I think of what it is I will let you know.

See my other zombie friends from previous months here.

notorious d.e.a.d.

There are some events you just don’t miss, like your child’s high school graduation or your mom’s wedding.  For Lenore, one of these can’t miss, absolutely must attend or die trying events was the grand opening of a Ben & Jerry’s in her hometown.

Lenore was certain that she was primarily responsible for the newest location of the world famous ice cream shop.  She had submitted no fewer than two hundred requests on the Ben & Jerry’s corporate website petitioning for her town to be the next to receive a shop.  Then there was her Twitter campaign in which she and a handful of her followers basically carpet bombed the Ben & Jerry’s account with tweets asking them to open a franchise in Lenore’s North Georgia town.

When she learned that the ice cream moguls had relented and a notice was posted in the newspaper announcing the construction of a new shop not ten miles from Lenore’s front door, she was ecstatic.  She dragged the family’s tent out of the attic and was preparing to camp out at the construction site until the shop opened, but her husband and two young boys pleaded with her to remain at home.  She agreed only when she found out the tent had a hole in the roof.

Now, months later, Lenore was among the throngs of people that converged upon the new Ben & Jerry’s location for the grand opening.  It was a carnival like atmosphere with balloons and games and the local radio station was broadcasting from the parking lot.  There was even a small stage where various up and coming musical acts performed for the crowd.  Lenore was not interested in any of the festivities.  She was in line for another free sample of ice cream.  This would be her fifteenth.  Her husband had long ago gone home with the boys, who had looked a bit green while clutching their stuffed bellies.

Lenore was not done yet, however.  There were still at least seven flavors she had not sampled and she was determined to try them all.

Chewing on her little wooden sample spoon in anticipation, Lenore approached the counter.  She was trying to decide between the Chocolate Nougat Crunch or the new Cannoli flavor when there was a commotion behind her.  Outside in the parking lot, people were screaming and running away from the stage.  Lenore then saw a man wearing baggy clothes and gold chains lumbering through the crowd, snarling and lunging at people as they passed.  She guessed he was one of the performers – a rapper of some sort – because he was still clutching a microphone in one hand.  A security guard approached and tried to subdue the rapper, who sank his teeth into the guard’s cheek and ripped away a thick hunk of flesh and muscle.  Blood splattered across the stunned faces of the two other guards who had arrived as back-up.  Lenore guessed this wasn’t part of the rapper’s act.

The Ben & Jerry’s employees and everyone who had been standing in line for free samples had run out of the shop to try and find their friends and families in the panicking crowd.  Lenore was alone in the ice cream shop.  Ignoring the rapper as he munched his way through what was supposed to be his potential fan-base, Lenore closed and locked the front door of the shop.  Walking to the counter she smiled at the gallons and gallons of frozen perfection spread out before her.  She grabbed a new spoon and dug in.

notorious D.E.A.D

Priorities, man. You gotta have them.

My friend Lenore asked to be written into one of these zombie stories and I knew from the very beginning that ice cream had to be involved somehow.  I hope you like your story, Lenore.  If you notice, I made sure to note that your family was safe at home so you could eat your ice cream without feeling guilty.  I’m a softie that way.

If you’d like to read my other zombie stories just click here.  Or don’t.  No big whoop.

deceased and desist

Michelle pulled up the zippers on her new pair of boots and stood to admire herself in the full-length mirror.  The black leather, stack-heeled beauties reached her knees and were adorned with large silver buckles.  They were more Mad Max than Pretty Woman and they made Michelle feel like a bad ass.  She had to take them for a spin.

“Come on, Louis, let’s go.”

She hooked the leash to her little dog’s collar and strolled out her front door.  Yes, it was impractical to walk her dog in a short skirt and knee high boots, but she rationalized that she was just breaking in the leather.

The afternoon was unseasonably bright and warm for early March, which Michelle hoped meant that Winter was finally packing it up for the year.  As she walked down her block, she waved at her neighbor trimming his hedges and smiled at the cute bicycling guy who craned his neck to watch her as he passed.

She turned down the next street then stopped after a bit to let Louis inspect a mailbox post.  Looking up, she saw a police officer standing on the sidewalk about twenty yards ahead.  Louis saw the officer, too, and let out a low growl, his ears flat against his small brown head.  Michelle tugged on his leash and shushed him.  When she stepped forward, he didn’t budge, just continued to stare at the officer and growl.

“Louis! What is wrong with you?”

The officer walked toward her, and she was preparing an apology for her rude dog, but the sight of blood on his forearm stilled her tongue.  As he approached, she noticed his gait was stiff and awkward and his uniform was torn in several places.  However, what concerned her most was the awful gash across his chest that exposed his ribs.  Or, at least, it concerned her that the officer didn’t seem concerned in the slightest.  He kept advancing toward her, moaning and staggering in a way that was at once familiar and all too strange.

Michelle had seen Daryl Dixon fire his crossbow enough times to know what she was dealing with, however, she never expected to encounter a zombie outside of her television screen.

She turned and ran back the way she had come, Louis right by her side.  When she saw that her neighbor was still in his yard, she sprinted up to him and held out Louis’ leash.  “Mr. Campbell,” she said, trying to catch her breath.  “This is going to sound odd, but can you watch my dog for a minute while I borrow your hedge clippers?”

Mr. Campbell regarded her with a raised eyebrow.  “What’s this all about?”

“I promise I’ll explain after I’m done.  Please.”

He still appeared reluctant, but he handed Michelle the clippers anyway and took the leash.

“Thank you!” she yelled over her shoulder as she jogged back toward the creature that used to be a police officer.

She saw the thing immediately after she turned the corner and she slowed to a walk, gripping the hedge clippers tight.  It occurred to her that she was much calmer than she would have ever thought possible in this sort of situation.  She knew exactly what she needed to do, and she was focused on her task.

The undead officer was only a few feet from her now and it lunged toward her.  In one movement, she stepped to the side, lifted the clippers with both hands, then drove them into the zombie’s skull.  It fell to the sidewalk, a heap of rotting flesh and bones.  She took a moment to admire her work before yanking the clippers out of the now fully-dead creature then wiping the blades clean of blood and brains on the tattered uniform shirt.

As Michelle walked back to Mr. Campbell’s, she couldn’t help but feel proud of what she’d just done.  She never thought she’d be capable of facing something as terrifying as a zombie without so much as a flinch.

Must be the new boots, she thought with a smile.

police officer

A while back, I received a very nice request from Michelle (of Steadily Skipping Stones) that I insert her into one of my zombie stories.  I was at once flattered and terrified.  I mean, immortalizing someone in a story is all kinds of pressure.  But, I promised I’d do it so here it is.  I hope you like it, Michelle.  And I hope you get your own pair of zombie-ass-kickin’ boots one day.

If you would like me to write you into a zombie story, you have to get in line behind Lenore, because she’s next. After that, my schedule is clear.  Just let me know if you’d prefer to be one of the living or one of the undead.  I’d hate to kill you and have you be all pissed off at me. Who needs that, right?

And if you’d like to read my zombie stories for January and February, just go to my Zombie-A-Month 2013 page.

gimme a z!

Coach Turner stopped in the open doorway of Principal Worthy’s office. “I’m a little early,” she said. “I can wait and come back.”

“No, come on in. Close the door behind you.” He placed the file he was reading on top of a neat stack of identical-looking manila folders. “Please have a seat.” He motioned to one of the chairs facing his desk.

After the Coach sat, she ran her palms against her thighs. The tracksuit she wore was teal and yellow–the school colors–and the nylon fabric whispered with her every move. “This is a tough situation, sir. I try to handle any problems my cheerleaders may have myself, but Cindy’s situation seems too big to tackle alone.”

Mr. Worthy nodded. As was his habit, he’d removed his jacket this morning and rolled up the sleeves of his crisp blue Oxford shirt. His tie was still tightened in a perfect Windsor knot. “You were right in bringing this to my attention. The well-being of our students is my top priority.”

“We still haven’t been able to contact her parents. Left tons of messages on their cell phones. The home phone has been disconnected. No one has seen them at work.” She sighed as she clasped her hands together on her lap.

“This sounds worse than I thought.” He leaned forward, arms braced on the desk. “You’d mentioned her health.”

“She’s so pale, kinda green actually, and she practically sleepwalks through her day. It looks like she barely has the energy to get to class, much less practice the cheers. And she’s lost an alarming amount of weight. None of the other girls ever see her eat anything at lunch or after school.”

“So you think . . . ” He didn’t finish the thought, not wanting to assume.

Coach Turner nodded, her expression grave. “Yes. I think Cindy has an eating disorder.”

Leaning back in his chair, Principal Worthy shook his head. “We’ll need to get social services involved.”

“Definitely.”

A commotion outside the office interrupted their conversation. Coach Turner stood and opened the door as Principal Worthy walked around his desk to join her in the hallway. A few yards away was Cindy, looking as gaunt and green and lethargic as the Coach had described her. But what had caused a few of the other students to cry out in alarm was what Cindy carried. Clutched in her right hand was a human skull.

“Things may not be as bad as we feared,” said the Principal.

The Coach looked at him as if he’d grown a third eye.

He waived a hand toward Cindy. “Well, she did bring her lunch today.”

cheerleader

A very special thank you to my wonderful friend April for giving me the idea for this story.  I wish I had not waited until the last minute to write it so I could have played around with it a bit more.

And, yes, I did wait until the last minute because I woke up this morning completely oblivious to the fact that it is the first of the month.  Panic may have ensued when I finally figured it out.  But I managed to assemble “Cindy” and bang out a story before the end of the day.  Sorry for falling asleep at the wheel, guys.  I’ll try* not to let it happen again.

To see what all this is about, please visit my Zombie-A-Month 2013 page.

*No promises, people. 

 

game over

Mrs. Ward walked into the living room and tripped over a discarded remote-controlled robot.  “Justin!” she yelled over her shoulder towards her son’s room.  “I swear I’m going to just throw your toys away!”  She bent to pick up the robot and stormed down the hall to his room.

Yellow caution tape stretched across Justin’s door, holding up a sign declaring “DO NOT ENTER!”  She gave three sharp raps on the door, but there was no reply.  She placed her ear against the wood and heard the digitized music from one of his video games.  “I know you’re in there,” she said knocking again.  “If you don’t answer me, I’m just going to come in.”  The music continued, but there was no word from Justin.

“Okay.  Last chance.”  Mrs. Ward waited three seconds before turning the knob and swinging the door open.

A rancid smell like rotten meat assaulted her and she raised her hand to cover her nose.  “Good god.  Did you leave a sandwich under your bed again?”  The dark room was lit only by the television, the flashing screen asking if Player One would like to resume the game.  Justin sat on the floor at the foot of his bed facing the tv and from her angle, Mrs. Ward could only see the back of his head and the tops of his shoulders.

She tossed the robot toy on his bed and said, “I swear, those games are going to rot your brain.”

Justin didn’t acknowledge her.

“Can you at least look at me when I’m talking to you?”  She walked further into the room, kicking aside energy drink cans and game controllers.  “Answer me, young man.”  When she was close enough to finally face her son, she gasped and backed away, hands clutching at her throat.

Justin’s attention wasn’t focused on a joystick.  He was bent over a severed arm, gnawing at it like a wild animal.  Light glinted off a gold ring on the arm’s hand, which flapped around like a fish on a dock as Justin ripped into the flesh.

Mrs. Ward released a strangled sob.  It was her husband’s wedding band.  And there, just visible from around the far corner of the bed, she saw a pair of legs wearing her husband’s work trousers and loafers.  A black puddle surrounded the legs and spread across the carpet to where Justin sat.  She knew if she turned on the overhead light, the puddle would be red.

She backed away a few steps then stopped.  What could she do?  Where could she go?  Everyone she loved was in this room.  And everyone, including herself, was now broken beyond repair.

Falling to her knees, she crawled to her son.  “Justin?”  Tears streamed down her face as she settled down by his side.  “Give mommy a hug, sweetheart.”

game over

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, robots are out and zombies are in for 2013.  I couldn’t be happier about the return of my undead friends.  The calendar company did issue a Fold Your Own Unicorn calendar as well this year.  I was tempted.  But eventually decided that twelve months of homicidal unicorn stories may be too weird even for me.  So zombies it is.  And I realize that this story is very bleak.  I promise that the tone of the story is not a reflection of my state of mind regarding the year to come.  In fact, the more optimistic I am, the more horrible my stories tend to be.  So, um, sorry in advance for that.  Heh.

Also, if you look closely at the photo, you’ll see everyone’s favorite redneck zombie hunter taking aim at my latest zombie pal.  I am now the proud owner of a Daryl Dixon action figure.  Life just doesn’t get any better than this, folks.

If you’re confused as to what all this is about, please visit my Zombie-A-Month 2011 page to see how this business got started.

Rudolph – BlogFestivus 2012

Eight reindeer slowly approached a small stable on the far edge of  Santa’s compound.

“Remind me why the elves can’t do this?” Comet stopped, her knees shaking.

Dasher pushed her forward.  “You want P.E.T.E.* all over our asses again?  Keep moving.”

When they reached the stable, they just stood there, staring at the closed door.

“Shit,” said Dancer.  “I’ll do it.”  She stepped up to the door and took a few cleansing breaths, then knocked three times.

The stable was silent.

Dancer cleared her throat and said to the door, “Rudolph? Sir? It’s time.”

A low growl rumbled from inside the stable followed by short huffs and snorts.

The group backed away.  Blitzen pulled Dancer behind him.  It was old fashioned, but she appreciated the chivalry.

Then the stable door burst open, sending splinters flying across the snow.  Rudolph stalked through the doorway, hooves stamping at the earth, lips curled into a snarl.  His rage was manifest in the unholy red light that pulsed from his nose in time with his thundering heartbeat.  He threw his head back in a bone rattling roar, massive antlers slicing through the cold night air.  Rudolph then reared back and leaped forward, storming off toward the sled staging area where elves waited with tasers and chains.

After a moment, the group turned to follow Rudolph.  Vixen stifled a sob and Donner wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

Prancer shook his head and said, “Merry fuckin’ Christmas, everyone.”

blogfestivus-20122

*People for the Ethical Treatment of Elves. But you knew that.

And that marks the end of this little challenge.  I hope you all has as much fun corrupting these nine icons of Christmas cheer as I did.

Learn what this craziness is all about by clicking on the BlogFestivus 2012 picture.

Please make sure you visit the other blogs participating in this madness to read how they ended this challenge with Rudolph:

Blogdramedy – the Conductor of this Joy Train

Steve Betz – the holiday mixer.

Rewind Revise – newly married and on her very own joy train.

Lenore Diane — thoughts from the Elf Queen herself.

Shouts from the Abyss – Tom’s on a mission to blighten your holiday season.

Lynn Schneider Books — Lynn, the BlogFestivus newbie.

1 Point Perspective — the Bruce Willis of WordPress.

So I Went Undercover — she’s undercover and that’s all I’ll say about that.

Joe Owen’s Blog — he’s got forty-something eyes. Not Betty Davis eyes.

MC’s Whispers – Maria-Christina works in PR. What kind of “spin” will she put on this writing challenge?

LittleWonder2  – a musical surfing vampire lover. I know.

Blog It or Lose It! – One word. Minecraft.

Voice in Me — Reena’s from India…where reindeer go on vacation.

Apprentice, never master – Gwendolyn, the fearless.

A Year of Daily Posts — Sarah, the paperback writer (three manuscripts but they count.)

Dot Knows! — Liz, the life changer.

k8edid — oh, yes. She did.

The Day After — A musing wannabe.

A Spoonful of Suga — Making reality sexy.

Random Says  – In the moment. At the moment.

 

Blitzen – Blog-Festivus 2012

It was the last night before the main event and the gang decided on a quiet gathering in the recreation barn instead of a wild night on the town.  Bing Crosby crooned in the background while reindeer chatted in scattered groups, nibbling on oatmeal cookies and sipping festive drinks.

Blitzen was ladling out another mug-full of rum punch when he felt a hand on his elbow.

“You sure you need another drink, Blitz?” asked Vixen.

“This is only my second one,” he said.

“I know, but better to be safe than sorry, huh?”

She reached for his mug of punch, but he pulled it away.  “I don’t have a drinking problem!”

He said this loud enough that the whole gang was looking at him now.  A few shook their heads, others looked uncomfortable.  Vixen patted him on the shoulder and whispered, “Calm down.  We’re all friends here.”

Blitzen groaned and tossed back his punch, slamming the mug on the bar.  “Listen, everyone!”  There was a sound of a needle being pulled across a record, which was strange cause he was certain they were playing a CD.  “I appreciate your concern, but I’m not an alcoholic. I have an inner ear problem and I stumble sometimes. That’s all.  Besides, “he pointed to Prancer, passed out under the Christmas tree, “he’s the one you need to be worried about.”

Vixen shook her head as she poured Blitzen more punch. “Oh, we’ve given up on him.”

blogfestivus-20122

Blitzen is German for “lightning,” but not white lightning.

Learn what this craziness is all about by clicking on the BlogFestivus 2012 picture.

Please make sure you visit the other blogs participating in this madness to read what they have in store for Blitzen:

Blogdramedy – the Conductor of this Joy Train

Steve Betz – the holiday mixer.

Rewind Revise – newly married and on her very own joy train.

Lenore Diane — thoughts from the Elf Queen herself.

Shouts from the Abyss – Tom’s on a mission to blighten your holiday season.

Lynn Schneider Books — Lynn, the BlogFestivus newbie.

1 Point Perspective — the Bruce Willis of WordPress.

So I Went Undercover — she’s undercover and that’s all I’ll say about that.

Joe Owen’s Blog — he’s got forty-something eyes. Not Betty Davis eyes.

MC’s Whispers – Maria-Christina works in PR. What kind of “spin” will she put on this writing challenge?

LittleWonder2  – a musical surfing vampire lover. I know.

Blog It or Lose It! – One word. Minecraft.

Voice in Me — Reena’s from India…where reindeer go on vacation.

Apprentice, never master – Gwendolyn, the fearless.

A Year of Daily Posts — Sarah, the paperback writer (three manuscripts but they count.)

Dot Knows! — Liz, the life changer.

k8edid — oh, yes. She did.

The Day After — A musing wannabe.

A Spoonful of Suga — Making reality sexy.

Random Says  – In the moment. At the moment.

Donner – BlogFestivus 2012

Donner took a sip of his beer then lowered the bottle to pick at the label. He regretted letting Dasher talk him into coming out to the bar tonight. It was always the same. The other guys would each find some willing doe to chat up and ply with free alcohol, and he’d be left at the table, drinking alone.

Not that he didn’t try. Donner would find some cutie and offer to by her a drink. He was a good enough looking guy, so the doe would usually say yes. Then came the questions.

“You’re on the big guy’s sled team?”

Donner would nod.

“What’s your name again?”

“Donner.”

“And you’re one of the original members? Not some new guy.”

“Yep. On the team from the beginning.”

“Oh. Hey! Can you introduce me to Prancer?”

Every time, it was some variation of this same conversation. He couldn’t help it if he wasn’t as flashy as Dasher and Prancer or didn’t have the name recognition of Cupid and Blitzen. He was just Donner. He liked classic rock, action movies, and his name meant “thunder” in German. Not that any doe ever talked with him long enough to find out.

“Hi. I’m Clara.”

Donner looked up to see a beautiful doe standing in front of him. “Donner,” he said.

“Oh, thank god you’re not one of those sled team guys. They’re so full of themselves. Mind if I sit?”

Donner chuckled. “No. Please do.”

blogfestivus-20122

Donner likes to fly under the radar. Heh. Get it? Fly? *sigh*

Learn what this craziness is all about by clicking on the BlogFestivus 2012 picture.

Please make sure you visit the other blogs participating in this madness to read what they put their Donner through:

Blogdramedy – the Conductor of this Joy Train

Steve Betz – the holiday mixer.

Rewind Revise – newly married and on her very own joy train.

Lenore Diane — thoughts from the Elf Queen herself.

Shouts from the Abyss – Tom’s on a mission to blighten your holiday season.

Lynn Schneider Books — Lynn, the BlogFestivus newbie.

1 Point Perspective — the Bruce Willis of WordPress.

So I Went Undercover — she’s undercover and that’s all I’ll say about that.

Joe Owen’s Blog — he’s got forty-something eyes. Not Betty Davis eyes.

MC’s Whispers – Maria-Christina works in PR. What kind of “spin” will she put on this writing challenge?

LittleWonder2  – a musical surfing vampire lover. I know.

Blog It or Lose It! – One word. Minecraft.

Voice in Me — Reena’s from India…where reindeer go on vacation.

Apprentice, never master – Gwendolyn, the fearless.

A Year of Daily Posts — Sarah, the paperback writer (three manuscripts but they count.)

Dot Knows! — Liz, the life changer.

k8edid — oh, yes. She did.

The Day After — A musing wannabe.

A Spoonful of Suga — Making reality sexy.

Random Says  – In the moment. At the moment.

Cupid – BlogFestivus 2012

Cupid sat on his bunk in his stall as he re-read the letter from Polar Regional Hospital. The results from his yearly physical were all in the normal to above average range except one–the one added to the battery of tests this year.

“What’s up, man?” Prancer leaned in the wide doorway of Cupid’s stall.

“Nothing.”

“Ooh! Are those your physical results?” Prancer plucked the letter out of Cupid’s grasp and scanned it. “What was your time on the mile dash? I’ll bet you my next paycheck you didn’t beat . . . Oh.” Prancer gave Cupid a worried look. “Bummer, dude.”

Cupid shrugged. “It’s okay. I mean, I’m not even sure I want calves anyway.”

Donner walked up. “Hi, guys. Why the long faces?”

Prancer handed the letter to Donner and said, “Cupid’s bow is shooting blanks.”

Donner shook his head. “That doesn’t make any sense. Arrows can’t be blanks.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” Prancer scratched his ear. “Um, his bow is broke?”

“No, no.” Donner looked to Cupid. “Your bow,” he made the air quotes gesture with his hooves, “is working fine, right?”

Slack-jawed, Cupid just nodded.

“So,” said Donner to Prancer, “it’s more like Cupid’s arrows have no points.”

“Yeah.” Prancer made a jabbing gesture. “‘Cause they can’t penetrate the target.”

Comet stuck her head in the doorway. “What’s going on?”

“Cupid is pointless,” said Prancer.

Cupid groaned and leaned back on his bunk, pulling the pillow over his head.

blogfestivus-20122

Don’t ask me now hooves can make air quotes.  The reindeer talk, for pete’s sake.  Let’s keep things in perspective.

Learn what this craziness is all about by clicking on the BlogFestivus 2012 picture.

Please make sure you visit the other blogs participating in this madness to read how they tortured poor Cupid:

Blogdramedy – the Conductor of this Joy Train

Steve Betz – the holiday mixer.

Rewind Revise – newly married and on her very own joy train.

Lenore Diane — thoughts from the Elf Queen herself.

Shouts from the Abyss – Tom’s on a mission to blighten your holiday season.

Lynn Schneider Books — Lynn, the BlogFestivus newbie.

1 Point Perspective — the Bruce Willis of WordPress.

So I Went Undercover — she’s undercover and that’s all I’ll say about that.

Joe Owen’s Blog — he’s got forty-something eyes. Not Betty Davis eyes.

MC’s Whispers – Maria-Christina works in PR. What kind of “spin” will she put on this writing challenge?

LittleWonder2  – a musical surfing vampire lover. I know.

Blog It or Lose It! – One word. Minecraft.

Voice in Me — Reena’s from India…where reindeer go on vacation.

Apprentice, never master – Gwendolyn, the fearless.

A Year of Daily Posts — Sarah, the paperback writer (three manuscripts but they count.)

Dot Knows! — Liz, the life changer.

k8edid — oh, yes. She did.

The Day After — A musing wannabe.

A Spoonful of Suga — Making reality sexy.

Random Says  – In the moment. At the moment.