Tuesday, May 12, 2015

injaynesworld "Bite Me... A New Recap"

… and other tales of woe.

I thought I had pretty good street cred in the spider world. 

Stuck in my house due to your own poor sense of direction?  I will cover you with a plastic ice cream container kept handy especially for this use, gently slide a piece of cardboard underneath your delicate legs, and release you into your natural habitat.  I’ve been saving the lives of spiders since I became a country girl in 1994, certainly long enough to have gained some redemption for the many that drown in a puddle of Raid at my hand during my city years. 

One.  Would.  Think.

On Thursday, I developed flu-like symptoms:  Chills, fever, aches and pains.  But it wasn’t the flu.  And it wasn’t a cold.  I was left to toss back Advil and hot tea, and wonder WTF?  On Saturday, still feeling like crap, I discovered what appeared to be a bullet hole in my ass.  Right upper cheek.  But it wasn’t a bullet hole.  Some stealth s.o.b. arachnid, likely when I was asleep, chomped down and then injected me with enough venom to make me his fucking bride.  So far I have not developed an appetite for flies or sprouted additional limbs, but I have brewed up some venom of my own toward the species that, heretofore, had been on the receiving end of my benevolence.  Today I saw a spider cross the kitchen floor in front of me.  I stepped on him and then left his squashed carcass for his friends to find.  Let the word go forth!   You enter my home at your peril.


Here’s something to smile about.  George "Murderous Psychopath" Zimmerman got shot this week when he waved a gun a another driver during a road rage incident.  Nice to see him on the receiving end of a bullet for a change.  Unfortunately, it wasn’t fatal so he'll likely be set loose once again.  Where's ISIS when you really need them? 


By now you all know that Tom “Overinflated Ego” Brady was outted as one of the prime instigators of “Deflategate.”  Apparently, Brady doesn’t have the balls to play fair.  What an asshole.  For a punishment he gets suspended for four games next season and the team gets fined a million bucks.  Big deal.  So he’ll sit it out on his yacht with the missus.  How about stripping the entire team of their Super Bowl championship and the paychecks that came with it?   On the other hand, this is the NFL.  What more should we expect? 

Mamas, don’t let your babies grow up to be football players.


Obama gave the okay to Shell Oil to start drilling in the Arctic Circle.  Yep.  The same folks responsible for these headlines:

Shell Oil Spills Nearly Doubled In 2011

There’s truly no hope, people. 


And just when I thought things were looking up with the discovery of the Netflix comedy “Grace and Frankie...” 

I learn that Paula “Could She Be More Vapid” Abdul is replacing Mary “Hot Tamale Train” Murphy on “So You Think You Can Dance,” one of my favorite shows.

I hope a spider bites her on the ass.  

But I couldn't leave this post on such a negative note.  It was, after all, Mother's Day this week and moms rock! 

Friday, April 24, 2015

injaynesworld "Getting High On Poetry..."

So completely have I been selfishly focused on the celebration of my birthday this month, one would think April was invented just for me.  Not only did “National Weed Day” pass me by without so much as a whiff, it’s almost the end of the month and I’m just now learning that April is “National Poetry Month.”

Who makes this stuff up?

I’m particularly embarrassed about my ignorance of the celebration of poetry, especially since I’m currently enrolled in an online poetry class.  You’d think someone would have given me a heads up.

While I can’t offer you any plant matter to toke upon, I do have a tiny poem to share.  Well, actually, it’s just a snippet that aspires to be a poem.  This is in response to the Studio 30+ prompt “arcane or mysterious.” I call it “No Name Poem,” partly because such a title is mysterious, and partly because I have no name for it. 

The tapping of a cane
Against worn wooden planks
Echoing off walls filled with faces
Forever to remain unknown

Yeah, I know.  Some righteous weed would have been better.  

Happy Poetry Month.  

Wednesday, April 8, 2015

injaynesworld it's "The Hunt..."

Blasts from the high-powered rifles shattered the quiet, sending the herd trumpeting from the watering hole, their gigantic feet quaking the ground beneath them; mothers, calves and great bulls all fleeing for their lives. 

The men panicked as the barrage of metal ripped through six of their own, sending their bodies snapping wildly in the air, before falling bloodied to the jungle’s dirt floor. 

Bold and arrogant, they had been easier prey than that which they had preyed upon.  

Leaving their dead comrades behind, they ran toward the trio of Jeeps, firing their weapons aimlessly in an effort to ward off their unseen attackers and prevent their own impending slaughter. 

What was left of their carcasses after the lions and vultures had had their fill would be found next to signs written in blood:  POACHER.

From the Five Sentence Fiction prompt “hunt.”

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