Last night I decided to narrate my life like a bad noir detective novel. For this purpose I used lots of metaphors and as many effing adjectives as my beating heart would allow. Man I love adjectives, though they pave the road to hell (thank you, Stephen King).
This I provide for you with apologies to my husband, Chad. I'd like to appropriately entitle it Dead Before Dinner.
JANICA: The woman in the black knee length house robe sauntered into her living room like an alley cat looking for a patch of dirt. Her eyes narrowed slyly towards the man in the corner who turned to look at her as she entered the room.
CHAD: “Janica, please don’t tell me you’re going to do this all night?”
JANICA : Her husband said pleadingly. Janica looked at him briefly then made her way to the kitchen. Her hips followed her like a pendulum, back and forth.
CHAD: “You’re weird.”
JANICA: “I don’t need your lip,” she said with disdain then pulled her hand out of her housecoat. She shaped it into a gun, held it forcefully to her husband’s bald head, and pulled the trigger.
“BANG,” she said … with disdain…her husband looked at her with a hint of…hmm…passion in his eyes?
CHAD: “I wouldn’t call the look I’m giving you passionate,"
JANICA: he said with disdain. But she knew better. Janica moved closer to her husband, like a spider to her tangled fly that just got caught in her web of lies … and disdain. She unbuttoned his top button with a snap of her fingers…I said with a snap of her…She unbuttoned the top of his shirt.
CHAD: “Okay now it’s passionate.”
JANICA: “This isn’t a romance novel, Peacock,” she said, shaping her hand into a gun again and rubbing her leg against his own. “This is a mystery.”
CHAD: “Ooooo, does that make me the detective?”
JANICA: he said eagerly but ignorantly. If he only knew he’d be dead any second.
CHAD: “Well, I know now.”
JANICA: Janica smacked her husband across the face like a train hitting a goat. “Shut your mouth,” she said angrily and held the gun to his head again.
CHAD: “Didn’t you already shoot me?”
JANICA: “Yes. But some people need to be told twice, APPARENTLY,” she said WITH DISDAIN.
CHAD: “Alright, I’m dead already.”
JANICA: Her husband fell to the floor….on the floor. No, put your leg over here. Um…hang your mouth open. Okay.
Her husband fell to the floor in his own blood like a freshly cut tree floating down a river with a squirrel still living inside. It was regretful that he was dead before dinner. She was making ranch burgers.
CHAD: Yay!!!
Thursday, September 13, 2007
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6 comments:
This is pretty funny stuff. Can I steal the line about the tree with the squirrel in it?
I love this entry ... nothing like a guy who knows how to play along.
"Not a bad little column you're running there, shweeheart," the professor said with the admiration of a lame duck finding the abandoned crutch of Christ. "Of all the blogspots in the world, I had to come here to this one. But you'd better not be messin' with my racket, see. Or you'll be a dirty rat. A dirty rat with an Oreo mustache without the milk."
Janica, you're a WHORE! .... HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Actually you should just start calling Chad, "Husband". It would be so funny! "Husband! Get me a clean spoon!" ...HAHAHA!
OMG I haven't laughed that hard in awhile. You Rock!
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