Happy Memorial Day!
Hope it was a good one.
I, for one, percolated over PROMPTuesday.
This time, I wanted to do something unique, something block-busting, something random and ridiculous…and I feel confident that what I came up with will confuse and befuddle you. But that’s OK! Because confusion leads to creativity! You’ve read that somewhere, right?
This is why I don’t take painkillers with alcohol.
Anyway.
For this PROMPTuesday, I’d like us to experiment with being someone else for awhile.
So, here’s the deal: Write in another voice — someone completely opposite from you (i.e. an oil tycoon, a four-year-old kid, a drunk dog) and argue in favor or opposition to something outlandish which should be legalized or outlawed (i.e. the oil tycoon might argue that all environmental groups be declared unconstitutional, the four-year-old may advocate mandatory dessert after dinner, etc.).
This could be fun, no?
All right. Here are the rules:
You must write your entry in 10 minutes. This encourages top-of-mind, primal thinking before the ego and judgmental brain kicks in. Just set a timer, make your kid count to 600 slowly, whatever. It’s an honor system. And I trust you.
Keep to 250 words or less.
Use Mr. Linky below to post your entry, so everyone can read them. If you don’t have a blog, please post your entry in the comments section.
Please have fun. Don’t put pressure on yourself. Together, let’s rediscover the simple joy in the writing process.
I can’t wait to see what turns up!
Well that’s all fine and well, Tony, from your perspective. But then you aren’t being at all sensitive to my point of view, are you? I mean, look at it this way: we Brits invented the bloody language and you lot go and trod all over it as though it were yours to rape. I don’t give two figs that there are four, or five or fuck-all times more of you than there are of us. Numbers aren’t everything now, are they?
How far would I get in life if I went about declaring, “I like to bugger birds without their consent and so does just about everyone so my way must be right?” And that’s a fair comparison now, isn’t it? Who doesn’t like a nice bit of forced dewy buggery? Still, I doubt anyone would argue that holding down tarts in the underground and giving them a bit of the upsy daisy should be the “standard.” Far from it! Gratifying though it might be, it’s flipping deviant, no?
Nothing about how you butcher my tongue is “standard.” It’s thuggery. It’s exploitation. It’s relenting to the basest impulses and it’s bloody rape and you running around China denouncing my honestly dropped h’s and silent terminal r’s is tantamount to you declaring yourself my superior through your membership in a widespread, privy anal torture clambake society and glee club. So piss-off with your “standard,” you tosser.
(Far too fun not to carry forth)
Terrence is right, of course, Tony. In Pakistan we are also having vays of speaking English which are only for us common and unique and not spoken as videly in other countries because unlike in Pakistan, the people in other countries are not Pakistanis. Like vhat you call a “trunk,” Terry calls a “boot,” vhereas I, being from Pakistan, can properly refer to it as a “rizvandabala.”
Yes. Qamar makes excellent point. Also in Bosnia is English more different. We are not speaking in fifi ways. We are to speak English as man speak English, not as child.
Ashuary, Chinglish is form of English like Admin say. We are Chineses. I am a Chinese and I speaking English and is for communicate to world because the English very impotent. Is much good for to speaking English of Chinese way for communicate and for businesses like to for the foreign trade. And for Olympic Games too. Is why also for speak in different country where all is speak English but some are speaking the other foreign talk.
Look, Terry, Qamar, Admin and Walt, I hear what you’re all saying and frankly, I feel brutalized.
(All done. Thanks. I feel much better.)
They came in boats larger than our villages, these angry, loud men, their pale bodies covered in strange garb, and swarmed onto the beaches. We came cautiously, in awe, to greet them and they slaughtered us where we stood, offerings of goodwill still in our hands.
For thousands of years, we lived off the land in peaceful co-existence; in months, they raped it, leaving it ugly in its wasteful barrenness and hunted us like animals for sport. They smelled evil, like rotting flesh, and took what they wanted without remorse, while we huddled in our bark humpies unable to comprehend how we had displeased our gods, and begging them to tell us how we could appease them.
Nowhere in the Dreamtime stories of our ancestors had they told of these terrible beings and we could only conclude that they came from somewhere other than this earth. How else could they be so lacking in compassion and understanding of us and our ways? How else could they treat Mother Earth with so much disdain?
In time, our culture and our heritage was scattered to the wind like our children. We were no longer the proud, nomadic people who hunted alongside the kangaroo and emu, lived amongst the red gums beneath the star strewn skies, and wove stories around our campfires. They should never have come. Now there is nothing left.
I can’t believe that little twerp actually TALKED to me after math. He tole me he likes my new cowboy boots. Dummy. He’d prolly trip if he ever had a pair of cowboy boots. I hate that kid. He thinks he’s so smart. I coulda figured out the problem on the board in another minute if he’d of just kept his big mouth shut. His big ugly metal mouth in his big ugly head. “Looks like a watermelon on a toothpick”, is what my dad would say. Who’s that kid he think he is, making me look dumb? I’ll show HIM who’s dumb. I’ll show the little creep how smart my fists are. He told me he liked my cowboy boots this morning. I’ll give him a look up close. Show ‘im how pointy they are. Then I’ll let my boots kick his sorry little ass. He can’t even tell on me ‘cuz science says I got every right to beat up on him. Darwin says its “survival of the fittest”, and I’m way fitter to survive than Twerpy Mcgee. I’m bigger, I’m stronger, and I got REAL pointy boots. Hah! There he his! “Hey, shrimp!”. . .
Wow. Those are good! I posted a link to mine.
I exhaled and a cloud of white smoke blew from my mouth into her face. A few curls wound backwards and I inhaled them through my nostrils, tasting the cigar at the back of my throat. Exhaling again, I turned my head to the side and spit once toward my boot. I looked up at her again, tipped my hat back with work-weathered fingers still wound tight around my Swisher Sweet, lowered my arm back down by my side. I squinted my eyes as I glared because I wanted her to know that I was very serious this time. Very serious. I took a step closer so I could taste her breathing. I smelled her drug-store perfume and the faint wisp of sweat borne of a day bent over a hot grill. Her heavy eyelids drooped, she couldn’t help it, and I could tell she wanted this as much as I did. She put her delicate hand on the brass belt buckle my daddy gave me, just sorta rested it there. She didn’t pull me to her but she didn’t push me away neither and her heart was beating faster, I could tell. I could tell, I could practically feel it there on my belt buckle, her heart. That hand. I stepped so close that my thigh pressed up against her apron. She didn’t move, just pressed right back up against me.
I’m in. Good one Deb!
“An Elder’s Voice”
Do not judge lest ye be judged, gentile. We provide the young with shelter, sustenance, a loving home, and a loving family. We watch them crawl, then toddle, then run. We nurture them, teach them, and provide them with a job, a sense of purpose. And we also warn them of your gentile ways — of the dark, hateful, unrighteous ways of Lucifer outside the boundaries of the Lord Thy God’s circle of protection.
We lead our boys, our young men, to become leaders — not only in the ways of self-sacrifice, strength, and breadwinning, but also of the faith, the pursuit of righteousness, and acceptance of the Elder’s guidance.
And, for our females, we educate in not only the craftsmanship of a holy household, but the pursuit of a blessed and fruitful womb. Ah, the blessed joys of dedication, holy union, and motherhood. For they shall balance the duties of not only fulfilling the Elder’s carnal requirements, but for fulfilling our Lord’s dictates for an honorable and pleasing wife. And, as celebrated by King David in Song of Solomon, to suckle our blessed projeny on breasts that have just budded forth not one year’s hence.
Blessed be Moroni. Blessed be Jesus Christ, the Eternal God, who manifests himself and our truth to all people and nations.
Blessed be thy name.
gosh, this one is hard. I’m thinking about it right now.