Do Something With These Words...

[Pluralized]

Algo brought the filthy glass to his lips, took a long pause to gargle the halved dose of warm liquid, working hard to suppress his gag reflex. The liquified fat of a dead man tasted of bitter revenge. To absorb even a modicum of the dead man's dna would delight him. The fat tasted of almonds and salt-pork, but left a rotten taste in his mouth. He finished it and spluttered a gray-white spray of fat-spittle onto the sleeve of his tuxedo. Back inside the room, rambunctious guests waited and he felt a surge of concern over the appearance of the stain. They might be partying too hard to notice, he reasoned, but anyone with a taste for fat would be enraged. He'd usurped them, fat-wise. Setting the glass down he grasped the corner of the tablecloth and wiped it clean.

Fisticuffs

Concatenation

Plumped

Melodious

Plaque

[T.S.Bowman]

Let me go look up 'Concatenation' in the dictionary and I'll get back to ya.

[Kepharel]

The I.T lady absent mindedly plumped her extravagant breasts, which fell alluringly across the keyboard as she continued with her Excel presentation on advanced functions. For the life of me I could not see any use for the Concatenation function, and told her so in no uncertain terms. Pushing a breast aside in order to get an uninterrupted view of the screen I was surprised by a mobile phone falling carelessly onto the desk from the inside of her cleavage. It immediately gave off a melodious tone and a picture of a tattooed looking moron appeared with the name Rickie Rotunda beneath. His smile was only momentary, until he saw me with a pair of pendulous breasts resting against each of my ears which he recognised immediately as belonging to the I.T. lady, his I.T. lady. Taken aback by the dangerous looking plaque in his mouth I was unable to understand a word he was saying, until I realised my unconventional ear-muffs were the cause of the problem. By then it was already too late for me because he was in the lift and heading my way. The resulting fisticuffs were quite perfunctory really, the bicycle chain around his knuckles the deciding factor in my hospitalization.

Calligraphy
flatulence
playwright
mendacious

[thepancreas11]

"You mendacious bastard! I saw you smooching Gladys." Dorothy clocked Harold over the head with her cane. The orderlies came running toward them but not before a flood of red had blossomed over Harold's eyes.

"Dagnabit, Dot, will you listen to the flatulence coming out of your mouth?" he yelled, fencing her off with his walker. "Gladys has been dead for two years now." He dragged a finger beneath his nose to stop the blood from pouring into his mouth. "And she was my wife. Of course I smooched her."

Understanding tramped across Dot's wrinkled face. "She's what?"

"She's dead, you bag of bones." Tears began to mingle with the blood. "I'd appreciate it if you'd stop bringing it up every chance you get."

The orderlies stood stock still watching the old man cry, not sure whether to step in or leave them be. The violence seemed to be over.

"I--I'm sorry, Harold."

"Yeah, I know you are," Harold said, pushing aside her cane. "Getting older sucks, doesn't it?"

He grabbed her hand and helped her down the hallway. "They've got Calligraphy lessons down the hall, Dot. You up for it?"

She sniffed. "I'll forget it tomorrow for sure."

"So what, I ain't going to be a playwright anytime soon, and I'm doing it. It's about the experience." He stroked her shoulder. "Let's live while we can, eh?"

NEXT WORDS:
cantankerous
pianist
hash
ogre
rocket

[T.S.Bowman]

Dr. Cholera was in a cantankerous mood.

Two days ago, his wife had run off with some sissy pianist after telling the good doctor that she was tired of him acting like an ogre.

So, tonight, the good doctor, after a dinner of corned beef hash, goes in search of a rocket propelled grenade launcher. He'll show her and her pianist just how much of an ogre he can be.

Next words:

bemused
antithesis
strawberry
children
sponge

[Kepharel]

I am sitting here on a bench in the town square, completely bemused by all around. I’ve always lived in this town, but to tell the truth much of the fabric, the buildings, roads even, I no longer recognise. I live somewhere else now, apparently, and no-one even bothered to tell me; just went ahead and changed stuff around when I wasn’t looking. If I try hard enough I can find similarities, well, of sorts. People still hang around on street corners I notice. Fifty years ago it was big boots, belts and braces and flat caps, in the throes of inebriation brought about by rough cider and warm beer. Today, it’s still there as a kind of antithesis of what was, with NY baseball caps back to front, Nike trainers, flea market joggers, and cans of weak fizzy lager. What isn’t there is pride and respect for others, quite where that went I don’t think I’m ever going to figure out.

A little girl sits next to me while her mum is distracted by a shop window. She is eating a strawberry sponge out of a small plastic container. I’m not sure whether to envy her or not. No need to make a choice yet about whether to turn left or right on life’s path, no dead ends, no regrets. I see children differently now, I suppose; hemmed in by a society suspicious of the motives of strangers, convoyed by parents from one place to another, where I and my friends roamed unfettered through streets at all hours as kids. There again, with a few exceptions, perhaps in a way its better we don’t always learn from the past. True, we will end up making the same mistakes, but isn’t life about making mistakes anyway. How else are we going to learn?

Undigested
Simpleton
Floozy
Distinguished

[Deafmute]

Sharon's face contorted, her bemused expression the antithesis of what Roger had expected. "What do you not get this time, Shar?"

"Why did you give the strawberries to those children?" She replied slowly. "They were yours, what benefit do you get in giving them up?"

Roger sighed, this was going to be harder than he had thought. Turning around the room he looked for a new teaching tool. His eyes drifted to the kitchen sink. Picking up a sponge he held in front of her. "Its like this, Shar." spinning the porous object around he passed it over the counter top a few times scrubbing off an old stain. "This spot is clean now. The rest of the house may still be dirty, but this one spot at least is clean. Sometimes even if you can't fix everything it feels good to fix what you can."

"I still don't get it..."

edit: dang missed the new one.

[Kepharel]

edit: dang missed the new one.

No law says you can't....btw you've not put the next prompts up so get to it!

[Deafmute]

alright well I guess people will get to choose then between mine and yours.

Prompt:

encumbered
echololia
precipitous
fathom

[T.S.Bowman]

Dr. Cholera sat and tried to fathom how it was possible for a writer to force another to be encumbered by trying to find a use for the word 'echololia'. It seemed, to him, a precipitous plunge into the thesaurus would be in order.

He shuddered just thinking about it.

____________________________

Blasphemy
cobalt
takedown
mongrel