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CotW #64: Write about the most hilarious thing you have ever witnessed. The most eloquent, elegant, entertaining entry, ascertained by Prose, earns $100 and stays atop the Spotlight shelf for six straight days. Feel free to invite friends, distant family, even strange acquaintances to play this challenge with you anonymously. Please use #ProseChallenge #itslit for sharing online.
Written by sandflea68

Secrets and Lies

On the spur of the moment, my husband and I raced in a speedboat with our two best friends to Bimini in the Bahamas to skin dive, fish and enjoy the sun and the beautiful white sand beaches. The first thing we did was hit the bars for rum and conch chowder and camaraderie with the Bahamians who resided on the island. Our skin diving business was in the Bahamas but this trip was pure pleasure.

Stingray was a muscular man with a completely bald head and beautiful brown eyes with long lashes. Because he was a complete flirt, I valiantly tried to keep him at arm’s length so my husband wouldn’t get jealous. He was married for the fourth time to Kimmy, a blowsy blonde who was a lot of fun but a complete alcoholic. After a while, Kimmy said in her slurred voice that she and Stingray were going to the other side of the island where the white powder sands and turquoise waters were calling to them.

I finished my conversation with a Bahamian friend and then told my husband I was going back to the motel to change into my bathing suit. We were sharing a suite with our friends with two bedrooms and a bathroom in the middle dividing the rooms. I walked into our bedroom and stripped off my clothes, then remembered that I had lent Kimmy my hairbrush that was now in her bedroom. Since I was alone, I walked through the bathroom into their bedroom and was clear across the room when I noticed it was occupied.

There on the bed, nude, were Stingray , butt in the air, and an exposed but oblivious Kimmy, in the throes of passionate sex. Unfortunately, they noticed me at the same time as I noticed them so I couldn’t sneak back out!

There we were, three nude friends, looking at each other with shocked red faces. My only alternative was to walk back through the room, past their bed, into my room where I grabbed a towel and then rolled on my bed, laughing my head off. I could hear the two of them joining me in the laughter. I would tell you that we no longer had any secrets but we did keep one very big one. We never told my jealous husband.

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CotW #64: Write about the most hilarious thing you have ever witnessed. The most eloquent, elegant, entertaining entry, ascertained by Prose, earns $100 and stays atop the Spotlight shelf for six straight days. Feel free to invite friends, distant family, even strange acquaintances to play this challenge with you anonymously. Please use #ProseChallenge #itslit for sharing online.
Written by sandflea68
Secrets and Lies
On the spur of the moment, my husband and I raced in a speedboat with our two best friends to Bimini in the Bahamas to skin dive, fish and enjoy the sun and the beautiful white sand beaches. The first thing we did was hit the bars for rum and conch chowder and camaraderie with the Bahamians who resided on the island. Our skin diving business was in the Bahamas but this trip was pure pleasure.

Stingray was a muscular man with a completely bald head and beautiful brown eyes with long lashes. Because he was a complete flirt, I valiantly tried to keep him at arm’s length so my husband wouldn’t get jealous. He was married for the fourth time to Kimmy, a blowsy blonde who was a lot of fun but a complete alcoholic. After a while, Kimmy said in her slurred voice that she and Stingray were going to the other side of the island where the white powder sands and turquoise waters were calling to them.

I finished my conversation with a Bahamian friend and then told my husband I was going back to the motel to change into my bathing suit. We were sharing a suite with our friends with two bedrooms and a bathroom in the middle dividing the rooms. I walked into our bedroom and stripped off my clothes, then remembered that I had lent Kimmy my hairbrush that was now in her bedroom. Since I was alone, I walked through the bathroom into their bedroom and was clear across the room when I noticed it was occupied.

There on the bed, nude, were Stingray , butt in the air, and an exposed but oblivious Kimmy, in the throes of passionate sex. Unfortunately, they noticed me at the same time as I noticed them so I couldn’t sneak back out!

There we were, three nude friends, looking at each other with shocked red faces. My only alternative was to walk back through the room, past their bed, into my room where I grabbed a towel and then rolled on my bed, laughing my head off. I could hear the two of them joining me in the laughter. I would tell you that we no longer had any secrets but we did keep one very big one. We never told my jealous husband.
#Itslit  #Nudies  #ProseChalllenge 
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CotW #64: Write about the most hilarious thing you have ever witnessed. The most eloquent, elegant, entertaining entry, ascertained by Prose, earns $100 and stays atop the Spotlight shelf for six straight days. Feel free to invite friends, distant family, even strange acquaintances to play this challenge with you anonymously. Please use #ProseChallenge #itslit for sharing online.
Written by Mrjdhyde

Hyde got high (copy edited version)

Hyde got HIGH!!! The basic story is true.

As everyone knows, I do not partake in the botanical pleasures. Just not my bag, man. At one time it was. Actually when I quit the entire Mexican economy shifted, two villages closed completely. They were sending me pictures of their starving children. It was sad.

What? Oh yeah, but my friends do. One time, Kabuki girl was hanging out with me. We were watching TV, and she asked, "Do you mind if I?" Me, being a man of the world, of course, allowed it. She does her thing and sets her pipe down. I look at it and look at it, and it began to call to me. "Yo Hyde, it's your old friend MJ. Come say hello."

Now I abhor rudeness, so I decided to greet my old friend.

So I pick up Mr. Pipe, and I take a hit. Smiled, then took another. Then I looked at Kabuki girl and said, "Shake your dealer's hand for me."

She then helped me to bed.

You see, sometime in the last 20 years some Frankenstein/botanist motherfucker threw some science on the weed, and cranked that shit to 11! I'm not sure who he is but he scares me.

I began talking. I'm not sure how much of this I verbalized or how much I just thought I did but this what I remember, "I'd have sex with you if I could feel my sack, but I can't, I'm old, my sack sags, really bad, it's sad, I can tuck my sack into my sock, I could tuck one into each sock and jump off buildings, and fly like a squirrel, I could get a luchador mask and fight crime like that, what would the commissioner use as a sack signal? What would my name be? Sack man? Would you like to fight crime with me?" This is about all I remember, and I think Kabuki girl may have put a pillow over my head at that point.

I have to go now, the commissioner decided to just text.

Hyde

Official aunt Betsy comment: Lol, I been there. Medical don't bullshit around; it hides itself in a delicious brownie. Tells ya, "Yer still young take a bite." Two days later, you're wiping what you hope is drool off yer face, looking for clothes, a sheet, old takeout sack, anything to cover yer nakedness​.

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CotW #64: Write about the most hilarious thing you have ever witnessed. The most eloquent, elegant, entertaining entry, ascertained by Prose, earns $100 and stays atop the Spotlight shelf for six straight days. Feel free to invite friends, distant family, even strange acquaintances to play this challenge with you anonymously. Please use #ProseChallenge #itslit for sharing online.
Written by Mrjdhyde
Hyde got high (copy edited version)
Hyde got HIGH!!! The basic story is true.

As everyone knows, I do not partake in the botanical pleasures. Just not my bag, man. At one time it was. Actually when I quit the entire Mexican economy shifted, two villages closed completely. They were sending me pictures of their starving children. It was sad.
What? Oh yeah, but my friends do. One time, Kabuki girl was hanging out with me. We were watching TV, and she asked, "Do you mind if I?" Me, being a man of the world, of course, allowed it. She does her thing and sets her pipe down. I look at it and look at it, and it began to call to me. "Yo Hyde, it's your old friend MJ. Come say hello."
Now I abhor rudeness, so I decided to greet my old friend.
So I pick up Mr. Pipe, and I take a hit. Smiled, then took another. Then I looked at Kabuki girl and said, "Shake your dealer's hand for me."
She then helped me to bed.
You see, sometime in the last 20 years some Frankenstein/botanist motherfucker threw some science on the weed, and cranked that shit to 11! I'm not sure who he is but he scares me.
I began talking. I'm not sure how much of this I verbalized or how much I just thought I did but this what I remember, "I'd have sex with you if I could feel my sack, but I can't, I'm old, my sack sags, really bad, it's sad, I can tuck my sack into my sock, I could tuck one into each sock and jump off buildings, and fly like a squirrel, I could get a luchador mask and fight crime like that, what would the commissioner use as a sack signal? What would my name be? Sack man? Would you like to fight crime with me?" This is about all I remember, and I think Kabuki girl may have put a pillow over my head at that point.
I have to go now, the commissioner decided to just text.

Hyde

Official aunt Betsy comment: Lol, I been there. Medical don't bullshit around; it hides itself in a delicious brownie. Tells ya, "Yer still young take a bite." Two days later, you're wiping what you hope is drool off yer face, looking for clothes, a sheet, old takeout sack, anything to cover yer nakedness​.
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CotW #64: Write about the most hilarious thing you have ever witnessed. The most eloquent, elegant, entertaining entry, ascertained by Prose, earns $100 and stays atop the Spotlight shelf for six straight days. Feel free to invite friends, distant family, even strange acquaintances to play this challenge with you anonymously. Please use #ProseChallenge #itslit for sharing online.
Written by Famewriter

DISAPPEARING ACT

My car pulls up next to a gas pump and my dad gets out to pump the gas. We were on the way to a friends house and needed some gas. Dad starts to pump the gas and then he goes inside to get a bag of chips or something. Mom, not knowing that he had gone inside the store, started to panic. 

     "Where did your Dad go?" She asks turning to look out the back and around another car. 

       "He went inside," I answer not really knowing why she is panicking. 

       "He what?! He doesn't need to be wasting money!" Mom says. Moms big on saving money. I roll my eyes and look out the window. Mom starts to text someone so she doesn't see it when Dad comes out of the store. He washes the side windows and then goes to finish the gas. He gets in a conversation with the guy next to us, and they chat for a minute or two. 

       "Where's your Dad?" Mom asks again. This time she looks toward the door of the building. "Is he still inside?" 

     "No, he's pumping the gas now," I look back from the window and am just in time to see him say good-bye to the person he had been talking to. He goes to throw away a paper-towel and starts to come back. I look down on my seat to see if I brought a book to read. I look up and see something disappear in my peripheral vision. I look back down and sigh. No book. 

      "Is your Dad still pumping the gas?" Mom asks. She doesn't even look up from her "novel". (It takes her so long to text.) 

     "No, he went to throw away something and I don't know where he is now," I say. I shrug and then look at the guy Dad had been talking to. 

      "Are you okay, sir?" I hear him say. I look out my window towards the ground and start laughing. 

       "What's so funny?" my sister says as she takes her earbuds out. She turns to where I'm pointing and starts to laugh also. 

       "I'm fine," I hear my Dad say. "Thanks though." 

        "What happen?" Mom asks. 

        "He fell!" my sister and I saw in unison. 

        "What?" Mom asks confused. I point toward the ground. Mom looks over and points and laughs. Dad lay on his side on the ground, propping his head up with his arm.         "Get up," Mom says. She pushes the door open and Dad climbs in after finishing the gas. 

       "Ladies and Gentlemen, boys and girls, don't miss Dads Disappearing Act!" my sister says like a circus announcer. We all break out laughing and I know we aren't going to let this one go.    

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CotW #64: Write about the most hilarious thing you have ever witnessed. The most eloquent, elegant, entertaining entry, ascertained by Prose, earns $100 and stays atop the Spotlight shelf for six straight days. Feel free to invite friends, distant family, even strange acquaintances to play this challenge with you anonymously. Please use #ProseChallenge #itslit for sharing online.
Written by Famewriter
DISAPPEARING ACT
My car pulls up next to a gas pump and my dad gets out to pump the gas. We were on the way to a friends house and needed some gas. Dad starts to pump the gas and then he goes inside to get a bag of chips or something. Mom, not knowing that he had gone inside the store, started to panic. 
     "Where did your Dad go?" She asks turning to look out the back and around another car. 
       "He went inside," I answer not really knowing why she is panicking. 
       "He what?! He doesn't need to be wasting money!" Mom says. Moms big on saving money. I roll my eyes and look out the window. Mom starts to text someone so she doesn't see it when Dad comes out of the store. He washes the side windows and then goes to finish the gas. He gets in a conversation with the guy next to us, and they chat for a minute or two. 
       "Where's your Dad?" Mom asks again. This time she looks toward the door of the building. "Is he still inside?" 
     "No, he's pumping the gas now," I look back from the window and am just in time to see him say good-bye to the person he had been talking to. He goes to throw away a paper-towel and starts to come back. I look down on my seat to see if I brought a book to read. I look up and see something disappear in my peripheral vision. I look back down and sigh. No book. 
      "Is your Dad still pumping the gas?" Mom asks. She doesn't even look up from her "novel". (It takes her so long to text.) 
     "No, he went to throw away something and I don't know where he is now," I say. I shrug and then look at the guy Dad had been talking to. 
      "Are you okay, sir?" I hear him say. I look out my window towards the ground and start laughing. 
       "What's so funny?" my sister says as she takes her earbuds out. She turns to where I'm pointing and starts to laugh also. 
       "I'm fine," I hear my Dad say. "Thanks though." 
        "What happen?" Mom asks. 
        "He fell!" my sister and I saw in unison. 
        "What?" Mom asks confused. I point toward the ground. Mom looks over and points and laughs. Dad lay on his side on the ground, propping his head up with his arm.         "Get up," Mom says. She pushes the door open and Dad climbs in after finishing the gas. 
       "Ladies and Gentlemen, boys and girls, don't miss Dads Disappearing Act!" my sister says like a circus announcer. We all break out laughing and I know we aren't going to let this one go.    
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CotW #64: Write about the most hilarious thing you have ever witnessed. The most eloquent, elegant, entertaining entry, ascertained by Prose, earns $100 and stays atop the Spotlight shelf for six straight days. Feel free to invite friends, distant family, even strange acquaintances to play this challenge with you anonymously. Please use #ProseChallenge #itslit for sharing online.
Written by Iseun1

Eat'n Park

Eat'n Park was a stupid place to eat for two reasons. First, it was a cheap knock off of my own first and middle name, Ethan Parke, and my younger brother would always call me that with the ever so slightest hint of some stereotypical asian accent. Second, because why would you eat first, and then park? Unless you were eating food from some other place..

"We should eat there today," Lisa suggested. "I hear the salad bar is good." I roll my eyes and stare out of the window of our car. 

"You can eat a salad at home, Lisa. We actually clean our lettuce."

"But I don't feel like making anything tonight. And besides, it's something new."

So we went to Eat'n Park. Got seated at a booth in the back by a window. Our waitress was a blonde girl. She said her name, but I forgot it as soon as she had said it, and I never bothered to look at her name tag. I ordered a like breakfast slam burger or something, it was called, because they put like an egg and hash browns on it or something, and an orange juice, since Lisa said "we already had had enough soda to drink for today." She took Marc's and Lisa's order, and then left.

"I'm so hungry." Marc said. 

"Uh huh," I grabbed my straw and started peeling the wrapper off it, rolling it into little balls then playing a game of hockey with myself. "I have never had a burger with an egg on it. Or maybe I have once, at like Denny's."

"Ew," Lisa scrunched her face. "An egg on a burger? That's disgusting."

"You would eat an egg with pancakes, or one of those McDonald's Mcmuffins or whatever they're called. I don't see what's different here. Maybe fries I guess." She shrugged.

"I guess."

We sat for a bit more, then the lady returned with our meals. I was surprised that the food looked somewhat stomach-able. The kaiser bun was buttered, and the actual patty was flavorful, which came as a surprise to me, considering I was spoiled off of Five Guys.

"This thing is life changing." Marc, who got the same thing as me, had egg yolk dripping down his jaw. 

"Wipe your face," I handed him a napkin. 

"I can't accept that." He made a face.

"You need it though, nasty."

"Look at yourself! You need it more." I looked at my hand, which was also covered in sticky yolk. I hadn't even noticed.

"You should go wash them." I nodded and stood up.

Before I relay to you the events that followed, you need to understand a little bit about building layout. Now, I'm no architect, but I'm pretty sure it's a good idea to have some sort of buffer between the kitchen and the hallway, so that it's painfully apparent that food servers are constantly coming in and out with hot plates.

But of course, I didn't think about any of this until I saw the macaroni fly out of the waitresses hand and splatter all over the wall. The blonde waitress, whose name I forgot.

I didn't see her coming out. She appeared out of no where and then we were practically in embrace, the entire tray of food she's carrying for the family at the table 3 feet from us was now part of the art collection hanging on the wall. For the slightest second no one moved. My face burned and  cold green beans slid off my pants.

"I am so sorry." I could only breathe out a syllable at a time. All around me was about 45 dollars of food wasted, plus tip. The family left, and I vowed to never set foot in an Eat'n Park ever again.

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CotW #64: Write about the most hilarious thing you have ever witnessed. The most eloquent, elegant, entertaining entry, ascertained by Prose, earns $100 and stays atop the Spotlight shelf for six straight days. Feel free to invite friends, distant family, even strange acquaintances to play this challenge with you anonymously. Please use #ProseChallenge #itslit for sharing online.
Written by Iseun1
Eat'n Park
Eat'n Park was a stupid place to eat for two reasons. First, it was a cheap knock off of my own first and middle name, Ethan Parke, and my younger brother would always call me that with the ever so slightest hint of some stereotypical asian accent. Second, because why would you eat first, and then park? Unless you were eating food from some other place..

"We should eat there today," Lisa suggested. "I hear the salad bar is good." I roll my eyes and stare out of the window of our car. 

"You can eat a salad at home, Lisa. We actually clean our lettuce."

"But I don't feel like making anything tonight. And besides, it's something new."

So we went to Eat'n Park. Got seated at a booth in the back by a window. Our waitress was a blonde girl. She said her name, but I forgot it as soon as she had said it, and I never bothered to look at her name tag. I ordered a like breakfast slam burger or something, it was called, because they put like an egg and hash browns on it or something, and an orange juice, since Lisa said "we already had had enough soda to drink for today." She took Marc's and Lisa's order, and then left.

"I'm so hungry." Marc said. 

"Uh huh," I grabbed my straw and started peeling the wrapper off it, rolling it into little balls then playing a game of hockey with myself. "I have never had a burger with an egg on it. Or maybe I have once, at like Denny's."

"Ew," Lisa scrunched her face. "An egg on a burger? That's disgusting."

"You would eat an egg with pancakes, or one of those McDonald's Mcmuffins or whatever they're called. I don't see what's different here. Maybe fries I guess." She shrugged.

"I guess."

We sat for a bit more, then the lady returned with our meals. I was surprised that the food looked somewhat stomach-able. The kaiser bun was buttered, and the actual patty was flavorful, which came as a surprise to me, considering I was spoiled off of Five Guys.

"This thing is life changing." Marc, who got the same thing as me, had egg yolk dripping down his jaw. 

"Wipe your face," I handed him a napkin. 

"I can't accept that." He made a face.

"You need it though, nasty."

"Look at yourself! You need it more." I looked at my hand, which was also covered in sticky yolk. I hadn't even noticed.

"You should go wash them." I nodded and stood up.

Before I relay to you the events that followed, you need to understand a little bit about building layout. Now, I'm no architect, but I'm pretty sure it's a good idea to have some sort of buffer between the kitchen and the hallway, so that it's painfully apparent that food servers are constantly coming in and out with hot plates.

But of course, I didn't think about any of this until I saw the macaroni fly out of the waitresses hand and splatter all over the wall. The blonde waitress, whose name I forgot.
I didn't see her coming out. She appeared out of no where and then we were practically in embrace, the entire tray of food she's carrying for the family at the table 3 feet from us was now part of the art collection hanging on the wall. For the slightest second no one moved. My face burned and  cold green beans slid off my pants.

"I am so sorry." I could only breathe out a syllable at a time. All around me was about 45 dollars of food wasted, plus tip. The family left, and I vowed to never set foot in an Eat'n Park ever again.
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CotW #64: Write about the most hilarious thing you have ever witnessed. The most eloquent, elegant, entertaining entry, ascertained by Prose, earns $100 and stays atop the Spotlight shelf for six straight days. Feel free to invite friends, distant family, even strange acquaintances to play this challenge with you anonymously. Please use #ProseChallenge #itslit for sharing online.
Written by nehasri

Learning to ride

It was an early evening of the summer of 1997. I had entered my teens and was late by different standards in learning one of the most crucial life-skills. To ride a bicycle.

So on this particular evening, I gulped down my glass of milk. As the milk travelled through the  food pipe into my gut, I felt like a cousin of Popeye, growing strong every moment. Milk was my manna from heaven.

I walked out my aunty's home, where we were staying for the summer vacation. There was a bicycle rental place nearby. I reached there.

 The place boasted of an assortment of bicycles in various sizes. I closely scrutinised all the available samples. 

 

At 4'6" around that time, I knew I couldn't take the adult size bicycle. So I decided to go for a red-coloured mid-sized one. 

I was excited to immediately ride back home on it. But, I still needed to learn how to!!

In order that I wouldn't turn myself into a spectacle, I just walked with it towards my aunt's home. 

And thus started my tryst with learning the bicycle on that day. 

Did I mention yet, I'm a fast learner? Ummm...or let's say an impatient one. 

It had been an hour of plodding with no results. It was going to turn dark soon. The bicycle would have to be returned. 

I would have to sleep through a night of failure!!!!

Dejection was turning to frustration. I took the bicycle inside my aunt's house and to the backyard where my mom sat on a  charpoy.

Tears rolled down my cheeks as I said I was unable to learn riding a bicycle.

My mom laughed and said you just started learning. Do it tomorrow.

My frustration gave way to ire. I saw my Popeye muscles building in my arms. I picked up the bicycle above my head and threw it with all my force.

My mom got up from the charpoy. She came near me and the next I remember is the tightest ever slap. 

She said, "pick up this bicycle and return it. But, don't see me or talk to me till you've learned."

And so, I picked up the bicycle  and walked to the gate.

My mom's slap actually hurt my pride. I had to show her that I could do it. 

I took the bicycle to the slope at the  gate to give it the natural push and momentum.  As soon as it was in motion,  I started pedalling.

It was almost like magic that the bicycle balanced itself and I rode my first few meters.

The milk, the muscles, and the slap had worked their charm!

#itslit #ProseChallenge 

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CotW #64: Write about the most hilarious thing you have ever witnessed. The most eloquent, elegant, entertaining entry, ascertained by Prose, earns $100 and stays atop the Spotlight shelf for six straight days. Feel free to invite friends, distant family, even strange acquaintances to play this challenge with you anonymously. Please use #ProseChallenge #itslit for sharing online.
Written by nehasri
Learning to ride
It was an early evening of the summer of 1997. I had entered my teens and was late by different standards in learning one of the most crucial life-skills. To ride a bicycle.

So on this particular evening, I gulped down my glass of milk. As the milk travelled through the  food pipe into my gut, I felt like a cousin of Popeye, growing strong every moment. Milk was my manna from heaven.

I walked out my aunty's home, where we were staying for the summer vacation. There was a bicycle rental place nearby. I reached there.

 The place boasted of an assortment of bicycles in various sizes. I closely scrutinised all the available samples. 
 
At 4'6" around that time, I knew I couldn't take the adult size bicycle. So I decided to go for a red-coloured mid-sized one. 

I was excited to immediately ride back home on it. But, I still needed to learn how to!!

In order that I wouldn't turn myself into a spectacle, I just walked with it towards my aunt's home. 

And thus started my tryst with learning the bicycle on that day. 

Did I mention yet, I'm a fast learner? Ummm...or let's say an impatient one. 

It had been an hour of plodding with no results. It was going to turn dark soon. The bicycle would have to be returned. 

I would have to sleep through a night of failure!!!!

Dejection was turning to frustration. I took the bicycle inside my aunt's house and to the backyard where my mom sat on a  charpoy.

Tears rolled down my cheeks as I said I was unable to learn riding a bicycle.

My mom laughed and said you just started learning. Do it tomorrow.

My frustration gave way to ire. I saw my Popeye muscles building in my arms. I picked up the bicycle above my head and threw it with all my force.

My mom got up from the charpoy. She came near me and the next I remember is the tightest ever slap. 

She said, "pick up this bicycle and return it. But, don't see me or talk to me till you've learned."

And so, I picked up the bicycle  and walked to the gate.

My mom's slap actually hurt my pride. I had to show her that I could do it. 

I took the bicycle to the slope at the  gate to give it the natural push and momentum.  As soon as it was in motion,  I started pedalling.

It was almost like magic that the bicycle balanced itself and I rode my first few meters.

The milk, the muscles, and the slap had worked their charm!

#itslit #ProseChallenge 


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CotW #64: Write about the most hilarious thing you have ever witnessed. The most eloquent, elegant, entertaining entry, ascertained by Prose, earns $100 and stays atop the Spotlight shelf for six straight days. Feel free to invite friends, distant family, even strange acquaintances to play this challenge with you anonymously. Please use #ProseChallenge #itslit for sharing online.
Written by SelfTitled

French Uno is Called Une

French Uno is meant to be taken seriously.

I'm fortunate enough to be a teacher's pet. Technically, I'm not, however my class is filled to the brim with disrespectful heathens, therefore I'm trapped within the braced-up, purple banded jaws of the looming teacher's pet. As the teacher's pet, I'm awarded the luxury of doing whatever I want with no complaints from Madame Roller (who is Québecois, not Francophone, which is a bit irritating at times).

I sit down at a square of desks pushed together for the sake of the game, my closest friends already sitting at each desk. Kadasia beckons me over with wild hand gestures, Gillian aiding by rapidly tapping the empty desk before someone undesirable took the seat. Alicia, the calm one who I remark as Jesus Christ sometimes, looks at me with desperate eyes, eyes that fall back and forth from the desk to me. Smiling, I sit down and my friends relax. We chat idly for the next ten minutes about the tests coming up in our next classes, boys, and how frustrating it is that our hour lunch was taken away. Our school had nine fights in two days the week before, so Wolverine Time was stripped from us until after Spring Break. That was a recipe for disaster considering how my class acts and how Ms. Roller has no idea how to control the bad seeds.

Ms. Roller shouts (Alicia and I swear that all people from New Jersey shout in order to piece together a proper conversation) the directions for the game. It's like Uno, only that there are multiple more shades of blue that can be mistaken for purple and green. And in order to get rid of our cards, we have to piece together the irregular verb given with a phrase in the subjunctif. Nothing I'm awful at, mind you. I've always been great at French, so the rules of the game were nothing to me.

It was the fact that I was grouped together with my friends that made this game difficult. "Fuck me up the ass!" Alicia, my sober companion, shakes her head at me with a tiny smile as Gillian throws down her card into the stack. I have probably a dozen or more so cards while Kadasia has even more than that. Alicia has five and Gillian is stuck with two.

"Oh!" Gillian shouts, a grin on her face while her pink-dyed hair falls into her mouth. She has to spit out before reciting the sentence she came up with. "Il faut que je pussy me devoir!" Pussy became the nickname for puisse, the subjuntive for pouvoir. How it became that way, only God (or Alicia) can tell. Gillian, with one card down, exclaims, "UNE!"

"Motherfucker!" Kadasia screams, going through her deck due to her being next in our circle of desks. She gasps and slams down a 'draw two' card. "Il faut que nous puissons ses travaille!"

Alicia, the quiet one (bless her), puts down a 'draw two' almost instantly, not even bothering to say a sentence due to her face inflating with red and her vocal cords tangled with silenced laughter.

I quickly transverse my deck, praying for a 'draw two.' I find one, and it's blue. Or purple. Or green. Whatever it is, I slam into onto the deck hard enough that my fingers ache with a sharp pain. "HA!" I yell, "DRAW SIX BITCH."

"I quit." Gillian groans before taking her cards and throwing them into Kadasia's face. At this point Alicia looks akin to a middle aged smoker suffering from a stroke. I'm in a similar state, only my pigment did well hiding the blotchy redness in my face. I'm surprised that Ms. Roller wasn't paying us and our comically profane language any attention, but it's most likely because we are the squad of geeky teacher's pets that get As on every assignment, receive honor roll every marking period and show up to school in clothes that don't smell like weed.

Trying to get my act together, I take out my phone and text my friend on Skype. He missed the bus that day so he had the day off from school. Our texts back and forth during the time were a little dry and I was worried about the route we were taking with our relationship due to my overzealous anxiety towards my friendships. So I asked, "can I call you?" He responds with, "sure."

"Oh my God, are you on the phone?" Kadasia is practically in tears and I cover my mouth as a failing attempt to stifle my laughter.

"W-Wait," Gillian wheezes, a grin on her face, "give me the phone." I hand her the phone without question and my table erupts in loud, unsullied laughter as Gillian croaks out in between giggles, "she can't call right now, young man! Stop harassing my daughter! Use condoms, too!" I later learn that he hangs up out of sheer confusion and slight irritation, but I don't mind. Gillian and I collapsed on the table, teary eyed. My stomach convulses with cramps from laughing so hard.

Some cards topple off of the table on my end and Alicia is too handicapped to pick them up, so I do her the serve despite being drunk with snickers. Standing up shakily from my seat, I take one step then another. I forgot that my jacket, which I carry around everywhere because I don't have a locker, was on the floor. I end up stepping on the sleeve then tumble to the ground when it slides out from under me.

More laughter. Even I can't stop even though my knee hurts from falling. Gillian still has my phone in her hand; she can't resist taking pictures of everyone. Alicia's tomato face. Kadasia sobs from laughter. My greeting with the hard, cement floor.

The pictures are mostly blurry considering how Gillian wasn't focused enough to take better ones, but it doesn't matter. All it takes now is flashing them one photo of the group selfie I took of them for all of us to explode in laughter due to the creepy smile Kadasia sported. Needless to say, we still have a horrible understanding of the subjunctive.

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CotW #64: Write about the most hilarious thing you have ever witnessed. The most eloquent, elegant, entertaining entry, ascertained by Prose, earns $100 and stays atop the Spotlight shelf for six straight days. Feel free to invite friends, distant family, even strange acquaintances to play this challenge with you anonymously. Please use #ProseChallenge #itslit for sharing online.
Written by SelfTitled
French Uno is Called Une
French Uno is meant to be taken seriously.

I'm fortunate enough to be a teacher's pet. Technically, I'm not, however my class is filled to the brim with disrespectful heathens, therefore I'm trapped within the braced-up, purple banded jaws of the looming teacher's pet. As the teacher's pet, I'm awarded the luxury of doing whatever I want with no complaints from Madame Roller (who is Québecois, not Francophone, which is a bit irritating at times).

I sit down at a square of desks pushed together for the sake of the game, my closest friends already sitting at each desk. Kadasia beckons me over with wild hand gestures, Gillian aiding by rapidly tapping the empty desk before someone undesirable took the seat. Alicia, the calm one who I remark as Jesus Christ sometimes, looks at me with desperate eyes, eyes that fall back and forth from the desk to me. Smiling, I sit down and my friends relax. We chat idly for the next ten minutes about the tests coming up in our next classes, boys, and how frustrating it is that our hour lunch was taken away. Our school had nine fights in two days the week before, so Wolverine Time was stripped from us until after Spring Break. That was a recipe for disaster considering how my class acts and how Ms. Roller has no idea how to control the bad seeds.

Ms. Roller shouts (Alicia and I swear that all people from New Jersey shout in order to piece together a proper conversation) the directions for the game. It's like Uno, only that there are multiple more shades of blue that can be mistaken for purple and green. And in order to get rid of our cards, we have to piece together the irregular verb given with a phrase in the subjunctif. Nothing I'm awful at, mind you. I've always been great at French, so the rules of the game were nothing to me.

It was the fact that I was grouped together with my friends that made this game difficult. "Fuck me up the ass!" Alicia, my sober companion, shakes her head at me with a tiny smile as Gillian throws down her card into the stack. I have probably a dozen or more so cards while Kadasia has even more than that. Alicia has five and Gillian is stuck with two.

"Oh!" Gillian shouts, a grin on her face while her pink-dyed hair falls into her mouth. She has to spit out before reciting the sentence she came up with. "Il faut que je pussy me devoir!" Pussy became the nickname for puisse, the subjuntive for pouvoir. How it became that way, only God (or Alicia) can tell. Gillian, with one card down, exclaims, "UNE!"

"Motherfucker!" Kadasia screams, going through her deck due to her being next in our circle of desks. She gasps and slams down a 'draw two' card. "Il faut que nous puissons ses travaille!"

Alicia, the quiet one (bless her), puts down a 'draw two' almost instantly, not even bothering to say a sentence due to her face inflating with red and her vocal cords tangled with silenced laughter.

I quickly transverse my deck, praying for a 'draw two.' I find one, and it's blue. Or purple. Or green. Whatever it is, I slam into onto the deck hard enough that my fingers ache with a sharp pain. "HA!" I yell, "DRAW SIX BITCH."

"I quit." Gillian groans before taking her cards and throwing them into Kadasia's face. At this point Alicia looks akin to a middle aged smoker suffering from a stroke. I'm in a similar state, only my pigment did well hiding the blotchy redness in my face. I'm surprised that Ms. Roller wasn't paying us and our comically profane language any attention, but it's most likely because we are the squad of geeky teacher's pets that get As on every assignment, receive honor roll every marking period and show up to school in clothes that don't smell like weed.

Trying to get my act together, I take out my phone and text my friend on Skype. He missed the bus that day so he had the day off from school. Our texts back and forth during the time were a little dry and I was worried about the route we were taking with our relationship due to my overzealous anxiety towards my friendships. So I asked, "can I call you?" He responds with, "sure."

"Oh my God, are you on the phone?" Kadasia is practically in tears and I cover my mouth as a failing attempt to stifle my laughter.

"W-Wait," Gillian wheezes, a grin on her face, "give me the phone." I hand her the phone without question and my table erupts in loud, unsullied laughter as Gillian croaks out in between giggles, "she can't call right now, young man! Stop harassing my daughter! Use condoms, too!" I later learn that he hangs up out of sheer confusion and slight irritation, but I don't mind. Gillian and I collapsed on the table, teary eyed. My stomach convulses with cramps from laughing so hard.

Some cards topple off of the table on my end and Alicia is too handicapped to pick them up, so I do her the serve despite being drunk with snickers. Standing up shakily from my seat, I take one step then another. I forgot that my jacket, which I carry around everywhere because I don't have a locker, was on the floor. I end up stepping on the sleeve then tumble to the ground when it slides out from under me.

More laughter. Even I can't stop even though my knee hurts from falling. Gillian still has my phone in her hand; she can't resist taking pictures of everyone. Alicia's tomato face. Kadasia sobs from laughter. My greeting with the hard, cement floor.

The pictures are mostly blurry considering how Gillian wasn't focused enough to take better ones, but it doesn't matter. All it takes now is flashing them one photo of the group selfie I took of them for all of us to explode in laughter due to the creepy smile Kadasia sported. Needless to say, we still have a horrible understanding of the subjunctive.
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CotW #64: Write about the most hilarious thing you have ever witnessed. The most eloquent, elegant, entertaining entry, ascertained by Prose, earns $100 and stays atop the Spotlight shelf for six straight days. Feel free to invite friends, distant family, even strange acquaintances to play this challenge with you anonymously. Please use #ProseChallenge #itslit for sharing online.
Written by ArmandChascour

Excuse Me

Sometime in the 1990s Marc and I were at Denny's after 11:00 p.m.  The malls closed at 9:00 p.m. so the under-21 crowd was looking for a place to hang out.  I forget what we were talking about, but we were interrupted.  A rude girl was talking about how much she liked sex.  Not just that she liked sex.  But as I recall, she liked it a lot.  She didn't go through the day without thinking of sex.  It was something that bugged her.  Listening to her and looking at her, we vowed never to have sex again.  It would remind us of the girl in Dennys.

She went on.  And on.  It was a loud restaurant and she had to be louder than the five tables around us.  We couldn't hear any of her companions but she was having a conversation, because she kept interrupting herself to laugh and yell, "I know!"  which was even more annoying that her annoying sex tricks.

Think of somebody imitating Gilbert Gottfried reading Cosmopolitan magazine cover to cover out loud in an stuck elevator, and you have a unit of sexual disgust. Call it a slut.  This girl was broadcasting at 100 megasluts.

Finally after about ten minutes, I know it was ten minutes because it was half the time it took the waiter to come back with our water, I had had enough.

"Excuse me," I said in my best Sean Connery burr.  "I couldn't help overhear you like sex."

She gawked. Our eyes locked across the room.  Her friends turned to stare at me.

"Would you like," I continued, "to shut the fuck up?"

Twenty years later I can still make Marc spew water out his nose reminding him of this.

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CotW #64: Write about the most hilarious thing you have ever witnessed. The most eloquent, elegant, entertaining entry, ascertained by Prose, earns $100 and stays atop the Spotlight shelf for six straight days. Feel free to invite friends, distant family, even strange acquaintances to play this challenge with you anonymously. Please use #ProseChallenge #itslit for sharing online.
Written by ArmandChascour
Excuse Me
Sometime in the 1990s Marc and I were at Denny's after 11:00 p.m.  The malls closed at 9:00 p.m. so the under-21 crowd was looking for a place to hang out.  I forget what we were talking about, but we were interrupted.  A rude girl was talking about how much she liked sex.  Not just that she liked sex.  But as I recall, she liked it a lot.  She didn't go through the day without thinking of sex.  It was something that bugged her.  Listening to her and looking at her, we vowed never to have sex again.  It would remind us of the girl in Dennys.

She went on.  And on.  It was a loud restaurant and she had to be louder than the five tables around us.  We couldn't hear any of her companions but she was having a conversation, because she kept interrupting herself to laugh and yell, "I know!"  which was even more annoying that her annoying sex tricks.

Think of somebody imitating Gilbert Gottfried reading Cosmopolitan magazine cover to cover out loud in an stuck elevator, and you have a unit of sexual disgust. Call it a slut.  This girl was broadcasting at 100 megasluts.

Finally after about ten minutes, I know it was ten minutes because it was half the time it took the waiter to come back with our water, I had had enough.

"Excuse me," I said in my best Sean Connery burr.  "I couldn't help overhear you like sex."

She gawked. Our eyes locked across the room.  Her friends turned to stare at me.

"Would you like," I continued, "to shut the fuck up?"

Twenty years later I can still make Marc spew water out his nose reminding him of this.






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CotW #64: Write about the most hilarious thing you have ever witnessed. The most eloquent, elegant, entertaining entry, ascertained by Prose, earns $100 and stays atop the Spotlight shelf for six straight days. Feel free to invite friends, distant family, even strange acquaintances to play this challenge with you anonymously. Please use #ProseChallenge #itslit for sharing online.
Written by Kevin_D_Ammons

Make Me Laugh

     "Do y'all want anything to eat?" Timmy's mom asked as she opened the French door to the den.

     There I sat, one sock from naked, on a hand-painted foot stool, holding two two's, two three's, and an Ace; and praying she wouldn't venture around to my side of the table.

     "No Mama, leave us alone! Wait, can you pour me some Pepsi?" he asked.

     "Yeah. David, Kevin, y'all want Pepsi, Kool-Aid, milk, or...?"

     "Pepsi's fine," I interrupted, attempting to keep her as close to the door as possible. David ordered Pepsi, and we resumed our game.

     As the door closed, I asked Timmy, "Are you crazy? Now, she's definitely going to see me."

     "Don't blame me 'cause you suck at poker," he replied. 

     In what seemed like fewer than ninety seconds, she was back with three red solo cups of Pepsi, and a brand new can of Planters peanuts.  "Can't play cards without peanuts," she informed us. "Kevin, do you need one of Timmy's T-Shirts to sleep in?"

     "No Ma'am, I have one. I'm just trying to cool off," I reassured her.

     "OK. Y'all don't stay up too late," she warned, and headed off to bed.

     Of course we were staying up late. It was December 9, 1983, and the network television premiere of Michael Jackson's "Thriller" video would be shown on NBC's Friday Night Videos, to the majority of Americans who were not fortunate enough to have seen its debut a week earlier on MTV.

     "It's only 11:00. What are we going to do for an hour and a half?" I asked my mostly-dressed, twelve-year-old compadres.

     "Let's play Make Me Laugh," Timmy suggested. I was delighted. Timmy suggesting Make Me Laugh was like John McEnroe saying to Jimmy Connors, "I don't know, wanna play tennis?" We were both seasoned professionals.

     "We should play Strip Make Me Laugh," I joked, "I guarantee y'all there is absolutely no way I'm losing at that game!"

     As the game got underway, Timmy and I sat straight-faced on the couch as David wrapped a thin, red blanket tightly over his face, and began howling at some pretend moon, somewhere. I really hadn't noticed how beak-like David's nose was until then, and its prominence became undeniable. Then, I yawned.

     "Time's up," Timmy said, "my turn."

     David took Timmy's place on the couch, and neither of us had any idea that we were about to witness history in the making.

     As the intro to Late Nite with David Letterman played on the TV in the corner, Timmy opened with a series of close-up, rhyming, nonsense words, strung together and delivered with maestro-like timing, "Lay, Tay, May, Say, Fay, Jay, Vay, Tay, Day, Pay, Jay, PAY-DAY, KAY!"

     David snickered, but managed to not break a smile. I remained stone-faced, and quite frankly, unimpressed. Although I had never heard that bit from such proximity before, it had certainly lost its edge since originating in my backyard months earlier.

     "You're going to have to do better than that," I thought to myself.

     As if reading my mind, Timmy grabbed the black, knit tie he had worn to the middle school band, holiday performance hours earlier, and tied it around his head.  He then yanked off his sweat pants, and launched into his best Olivia Newton-John impression. "Let's get phys-i-cal, phys-i-cal. I wanna get phys-i-cal, Let's get into physical." and as he gave David what we would years later refer to as a "lap dance", he continued, "Let me hear your body talk, your body talk. Let me hear your body ta-halk."

     David burst into laughter as he forcefully, launched Timmy backwards, onto the floor beyond. Unfazed and quite aware that he had approximately one minute and fifteen seconds to make me laugh, he sprang back to his feet, and was in my face once again. This time he was yelling at me like a drill sergeant with just the right amount of spit turning into drool between commands, "Laugh Loser! When I say laugh, I mean laugh! You better wipe that smug look off your face and laugh!"

     Admittedly, by then, the sight of an inch and a half stream of drool that intentionally clung to his chin, juxtaposed with the thought of a lispy drill sergeant wearing tightey-whities, black socks, and a headband was almost too much to bear.

     And then it happened. With twenty-seven seconds left on the calculator watch timer, Timmy casually walked over to the poker table. Then, while standing directly in front of me, he pulled the yellow, plastic top off the Planters peanut can. He then ripped off the foil seal, opened up the front of his underwear, and emptied the entire can of peanuts into his fruit-of-the-looms. Then, placing both hands behind his head, and with Chippendale precision, he began a brutal barrage of pelvic thrusts. I glanced down at the timer. Each thrust seemed miraculously synchronized with the countdown of the remaining seconds, and I knew, as peanuts bounced across the hardwood floor in all directions, that the end was near. As one stray peanut somehow hit me in the forehead, I burst into some well-deserved laughter. I had just witnessed the most hilarious thing I would ever see.

  

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CotW #64: Write about the most hilarious thing you have ever witnessed. The most eloquent, elegant, entertaining entry, ascertained by Prose, earns $100 and stays atop the Spotlight shelf for six straight days. Feel free to invite friends, distant family, even strange acquaintances to play this challenge with you anonymously. Please use #ProseChallenge #itslit for sharing online.
Written by Kevin_D_Ammons
Make Me Laugh
     "Do y'all want anything to eat?" Timmy's mom asked as she opened the French door to the den.

     There I sat, one sock from naked, on a hand-painted foot stool, holding two two's, two three's, and an Ace; and praying she wouldn't venture around to my side of the table.

     "No Mama, leave us alone! Wait, can you pour me some Pepsi?" he asked.

     "Yeah. David, Kevin, y'all want Pepsi, Kool-Aid, milk, or...?"

     "Pepsi's fine," I interrupted, attempting to keep her as close to the door as possible. David ordered Pepsi, and we resumed our game.

     As the door closed, I asked Timmy, "Are you crazy? Now, she's definitely going to see me."

     "Don't blame me 'cause you suck at poker," he replied. 

     In what seemed like fewer than ninety seconds, she was back with three red solo cups of Pepsi, and a brand new can of Planters peanuts.  "Can't play cards without peanuts," she informed us. "Kevin, do you need one of Timmy's T-Shirts to sleep in?"

     "No Ma'am, I have one. I'm just trying to cool off," I reassured her.

     "OK. Y'all don't stay up too late," she warned, and headed off to bed.

     Of course we were staying up late. It was December 9, 1983, and the network television premiere of Michael Jackson's "Thriller" video would be shown on NBC's Friday Night Videos, to the majority of Americans who were not fortunate enough to have seen its debut a week earlier on MTV.

     "It's only 11:00. What are we going to do for an hour and a half?" I asked my mostly-dressed, twelve-year-old compadres.

     "Let's play Make Me Laugh," Timmy suggested. I was delighted. Timmy suggesting Make Me Laugh was like John McEnroe saying to Jimmy Connors, "I don't know, wanna play tennis?" We were both seasoned professionals.

     "We should play Strip Make Me Laugh," I joked, "I guarantee y'all there is absolutely no way I'm losing at that game!"

     As the game got underway, Timmy and I sat straight-faced on the couch as David wrapped a thin, red blanket tightly over his face, and began howling at some pretend moon, somewhere. I really hadn't noticed how beak-like David's nose was until then, and its prominence became undeniable. Then, I yawned.

     "Time's up," Timmy said, "my turn."

     David took Timmy's place on the couch, and neither of us had any idea that we were about to witness history in the making.

     As the intro to Late Nite with David Letterman played on the TV in the corner, Timmy opened with a series of close-up, rhyming, nonsense words, strung together and delivered with maestro-like timing, "Lay, Tay, May, Say, Fay, Jay, Vay, Tay, Day, Pay, Jay, PAY-DAY, KAY!"

     David snickered, but managed to not break a smile. I remained stone-faced, and quite frankly, unimpressed. Although I had never heard that bit from such proximity before, it had certainly lost its edge since originating in my backyard months earlier.

     "You're going to have to do better than that," I thought to myself.

     As if reading my mind, Timmy grabbed the black, knit tie he had worn to the middle school band, holiday performance hours earlier, and tied it around his head.  He then yanked off his sweat pants, and launched into his best Olivia Newton-John impression. "Let's get phys-i-cal, phys-i-cal. I wanna get phys-i-cal, Let's get into physical." and as he gave David what we would years later refer to as a "lap dance", he continued, "Let me hear your body talk, your body talk. Let me hear your body ta-halk."

     David burst into laughter as he forcefully, launched Timmy backwards, onto the floor beyond. Unfazed and quite aware that he had approximately one minute and fifteen seconds to make me laugh, he sprang back to his feet, and was in my face once again. This time he was yelling at me like a drill sergeant with just the right amount of spit turning into drool between commands, "Laugh Loser! When I say laugh, I mean laugh! You better wipe that smug look off your face and laugh!"

     Admittedly, by then, the sight of an inch and a half stream of drool that intentionally clung to his chin, juxtaposed with the thought of a lispy drill sergeant wearing tightey-whities, black socks, and a headband was almost too much to bear.

     And then it happened. With twenty-seven seconds left on the calculator watch timer, Timmy casually walked over to the poker table. Then, while standing directly in front of me, he pulled the yellow, plastic top off the Planters peanut can. He then ripped off the foil seal, opened up the front of his underwear, and emptied the entire can of peanuts into his fruit-of-the-looms. Then, placing both hands behind his head, and with Chippendale precision, he began a brutal barrage of pelvic thrusts. I glanced down at the timer. Each thrust seemed miraculously synchronized with the countdown of the remaining seconds, and I knew, as peanuts bounced across the hardwood floor in all directions, that the end was near. As one stray peanut somehow hit me in the forehead, I burst into some well-deserved laughter. I had just witnessed the most hilarious thing I would ever see.

  
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CotW #64: Write about the most hilarious thing you have ever witnessed. The most eloquent, elegant, entertaining entry, ascertained by Prose, earns $100 and stays atop the Spotlight shelf for six straight days. Feel free to invite friends, distant family, even strange acquaintances to play this challenge with you anonymously. Please use #ProseChallenge #itslit for sharing online.
Written by Tripe94

The Lurking Turd... True Story

It was 2003... or 2004? It was the mid 2000s in Montana, a state where outsiders are amazed at the fact that we can leave without a passport, that we have indoor plumbing, and that we have access to modern technology like iPods. I'm not kidding... people are that clueless. Anyway, it was the mid 2000s in our home, which contained one snake, one dog, four cats, three ferrets, and two fish. Give or take a few of these animals but the cats were most certainly present for this story. One of our cats, Stormy, was my kitty cat. I also called her "Mischnikov", my little Ewok, fluff muffin,... yes, I am one of those crazy cat people. And I don't know what "Mischnikov" means. It just came out one day. 

Our cats had their special quirks and Stormy's quirk was eating string. The other cats just whacked at it or chased it around the house like the nuts they are. But not Stormy... she ate it up like spaghetti. We tried to keep it away but she got a hold of it somehow. One day I was looking for her and found her underneath a piece of furniture. She appeared frightened. I was trying to get her out and called on my parents to assist. They lifted the furniture when Stormy dashed out and was frantically running away from something... her very own piece of dried turd. I'm not making this up. A string was dangling out of her butt and the turd was attached to the end. When she ran, it looked like the turd was running after her. My parents and I were cracking up at the sight. 

My dad finally got a hold of her, who so happened to be Stormy's least favorite person due to a baked chicken incident between the two of them when she was a kitten. She is fifteen now and still holds a grudge. Back to the main story, my dad snatched her up and tried to calm her down. Somewhat calm, he grabbed the string and very lightly pulled... MRRROWW! He pulled even lighter... MRRROWW! It was like he was starting a motor. This didn't help my dad with the cat liking him. With Stormy's reaction, my dad just cut off the string that was outside of her butt with scissors. We had to wait and see if the rest would come out and it did the next morning, finding it in the litter box. 

So that was one crazy story, just one of many with our pets in Montana. But this was the only lurking turd incident thus far. 

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CotW #64: Write about the most hilarious thing you have ever witnessed. The most eloquent, elegant, entertaining entry, ascertained by Prose, earns $100 and stays atop the Spotlight shelf for six straight days. Feel free to invite friends, distant family, even strange acquaintances to play this challenge with you anonymously. Please use #ProseChallenge #itslit for sharing online.
Written by Tripe94
The Lurking Turd... True Story
It was 2003... or 2004? It was the mid 2000s in Montana, a state where outsiders are amazed at the fact that we can leave without a passport, that we have indoor plumbing, and that we have access to modern technology like iPods. I'm not kidding... people are that clueless. Anyway, it was the mid 2000s in our home, which contained one snake, one dog, four cats, three ferrets, and two fish. Give or take a few of these animals but the cats were most certainly present for this story. One of our cats, Stormy, was my kitty cat. I also called her "Mischnikov", my little Ewok, fluff muffin,... yes, I am one of those crazy cat people. And I don't know what "Mischnikov" means. It just came out one day. 

Our cats had their special quirks and Stormy's quirk was eating string. The other cats just whacked at it or chased it around the house like the nuts they are. But not Stormy... she ate it up like spaghetti. We tried to keep it away but she got a hold of it somehow. One day I was looking for her and found her underneath a piece of furniture. She appeared frightened. I was trying to get her out and called on my parents to assist. They lifted the furniture when Stormy dashed out and was frantically running away from something... her very own piece of dried turd. I'm not making this up. A string was dangling out of her butt and the turd was attached to the end. When she ran, it looked like the turd was running after her. My parents and I were cracking up at the sight. 

My dad finally got a hold of her, who so happened to be Stormy's least favorite person due to a baked chicken incident between the two of them when she was a kitten. She is fifteen now and still holds a grudge. Back to the main story, my dad snatched her up and tried to calm her down. Somewhat calm, he grabbed the string and very lightly pulled... MRRROWW! He pulled even lighter... MRRROWW! It was like he was starting a motor. This didn't help my dad with the cat liking him. With Stormy's reaction, my dad just cut off the string that was outside of her butt with scissors. We had to wait and see if the rest would come out and it did the next morning, finding it in the litter box. 

So that was one crazy story, just one of many with our pets in Montana. But this was the only lurking turd incident thus far. 
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CotW #64: Write about the most hilarious thing you have ever witnessed. The most eloquent, elegant, entertaining entry, ascertained by Prose, earns $100 and stays atop the Spotlight shelf for six straight days. Feel free to invite friends, distant family, even strange acquaintances to play this challenge with you anonymously. Please use #ProseChallenge #itslit for sharing online.
Written by joyceanne

Sunshine & Kitty at the Library

The woman’s breasts were moving. I tried not to stare, but I was the reference librarian on duty and she was right in front of me. In a feathery whisper, she said she was looking for the original Twin Peaks series on DVD. I told her it was checked out and asked if she wanted to place a hold, but she declined. She appeared to be in her mid or late twenties, slight, nymph-like, a hint of pink gloss shining her lips.

It had been a slow day at the Library. A perfect Spring day - 75 degrees, slightly breezy, absolutely gorgeous outside. Who in their right mind wanted to be inside on a day like this? Then I realized lots of people might not always be in their right minds, me included.

Next, I remembered -- it was a full moon.

Her breasts twitched again, very noticeably this time. I looked from her chest to her eyes.

“Busted!” she grinned. “It’s a service animal, though.” Her elfin face perked up as she pulled a furry, coppery-tan and white guinea pig from the bib of her faded blue overalls.

“Oh,” I said. “What’s its name?” I couldn't think of anything else to say. I was flustered. We see a lot of strange things in the library, but this was a first.

“Kitty.”

“Kitty?” I repeated.

“Uh huh. I love cats but my landlord’s a jerk and I can’t have them where I live.”

“That's too bad.” I could absolutely commiserate with this. “I love cats, too, but my husband’s allergic.”

“Yeah, so my caseworker suggested a guinea pig. She's really friendly. Want to hold her? My name is Sunshine by the way.”

She stretched the critter out to me. At that moment, it chose to relieve itself in the chasm between us. I retracted my hands.

“Well, Sunshine, no. I mean, thanks. Maybe some other time.”

Kitty really did look adorable, twitching its pink nose and cream-colored whiskers, dark, beady eyes curiously peering up at me. A red bandana was wrapped around its body, behind its front legs. When I was a kid, I had wanted a guinea pig, but my mom only let me keep mice which I bought in the pet department at Woolworth’s. That shows how old I am, I suppose.

“Look, could you, well, that is, the Library’s policy on bringing animals in is… is …”

I paused. Is what? Service animals were allowed. The owner just had to claim that it was a service animal. No proof required. The policy didn’t specify what types of animals.

I continued, "For sure, they’re allowed in, as long as you say it’s a service ani ..."

She cut me off. “Right, that's what she said."

“Who said?”

“My caseworker, Tams.” Sunshine brightened. Her tiny, slightly pointed teeth, pale skin and wispy, wheat-straw hair suggested a resemblance to the guinea pig cradled in her arms.

“Oh, yes, I know Tammy.” Tammy S. was a roving county employee and helped a lot of people in the community find things like shelter, a hot meal or just someone to talk to.

“The thing is, Sunshine, you know, Kitty’s very cute, but …." I trailed off. But what?

Suddenly, I had it! I recalled a small paragraph in the policy document.

“Service animals need to be on a leash,” I blurted.

“Really?”

“Really,” I confirmed.

“Gee, I didn't know that. Kitty doesn’t have a leash. I guess I’ll have to get one. I'll put her back in for now.”

“Ok. Good idea. Next time,” I agreed.

Before I left for the day, I saw Sunshine sitting near the street windows where people often watch and wait for a bus. It looked like she had tucked a baby bottle under her blouse, behind the bib of her overalls and was discreetly feeding her guinea pig.

The next time I saw Sunshine, in July, she was pushing a stroller across the city’s pedestrian mall. A bright, cockatiel was perched in a cage on the seat. She waved and called out.

“Hi! Remember me? It's name is Sylvester.”

I smiled and waved back. I didn't stop. I was afraid to ask about Kitty. There was another full moon tonite.

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CotW #64: Write about the most hilarious thing you have ever witnessed. The most eloquent, elegant, entertaining entry, ascertained by Prose, earns $100 and stays atop the Spotlight shelf for six straight days. Feel free to invite friends, distant family, even strange acquaintances to play this challenge with you anonymously. Please use #ProseChallenge #itslit for sharing online.
Written by joyceanne
Sunshine & Kitty at the Library
The woman’s breasts were moving. I tried not to stare, but I was the reference librarian on duty and she was right in front of me. In a feathery whisper, she said she was looking for the original Twin Peaks series on DVD. I told her it was checked out and asked if she wanted to place a hold, but she declined. She appeared to be in her mid or late twenties, slight, nymph-like, a hint of pink gloss shining her lips.

It had been a slow day at the Library. A perfect Spring day - 75 degrees, slightly breezy, absolutely gorgeous outside. Who in their right mind wanted to be inside on a day like this? Then I realized lots of people might not always be in their right minds, me included.

Next, I remembered -- it was a full moon.

Her breasts twitched again, very noticeably this time. I looked from her chest to her eyes.

“Busted!” she grinned. “It’s a service animal, though.” Her elfin face perked up as she pulled a furry, coppery-tan and white guinea pig from the bib of her faded blue overalls.

“Oh,” I said. “What’s its name?” I couldn't think of anything else to say. I was flustered. We see a lot of strange things in the library, but this was a first.

“Kitty.”

“Kitty?” I repeated.

“Uh huh. I love cats but my landlord’s a jerk and I can’t have them where I live.”

“That's too bad.” I could absolutely commiserate with this. “I love cats, too, but my husband’s allergic.”

“Yeah, so my caseworker suggested a guinea pig. She's really friendly. Want to hold her? My name is Sunshine by the way.”

She stretched the critter out to me. At that moment, it chose to relieve itself in the chasm between us. I retracted my hands.

“Well, Sunshine, no. I mean, thanks. Maybe some other time.”

Kitty really did look adorable, twitching its pink nose and cream-colored whiskers, dark, beady eyes curiously peering up at me. A red bandana was wrapped around its body, behind its front legs. When I was a kid, I had wanted a guinea pig, but my mom only let me keep mice which I bought in the pet department at Woolworth’s. That shows how old I am, I suppose.

“Look, could you, well, that is, the Library’s policy on bringing animals in is… is …”

I paused. Is what? Service animals were allowed. The owner just had to claim that it was a service animal. No proof required. The policy didn’t specify what types of animals.

I continued, "For sure, they’re allowed in, as long as you say it’s a service ani ..."

She cut me off. “Right, that's what she said."

“Who said?”

“My caseworker, Tams.” Sunshine brightened. Her tiny, slightly pointed teeth, pale skin and wispy, wheat-straw hair suggested a resemblance to the guinea pig cradled in her arms.

“Oh, yes, I know Tammy.” Tammy S. was a roving county employee and helped a lot of people in the community find things like shelter, a hot meal or just someone to talk to.

“The thing is, Sunshine, you know, Kitty’s very cute, but …." I trailed off. But what?

Suddenly, I had it! I recalled a small paragraph in the policy document.

“Service animals need to be on a leash,” I blurted.

“Really?”

“Really,” I confirmed.

“Gee, I didn't know that. Kitty doesn’t have a leash. I guess I’ll have to get one. I'll put her back in for now.”

“Ok. Good idea. Next time,” I agreed.

Before I left for the day, I saw Sunshine sitting near the street windows where people often watch and wait for a bus. It looked like she had tucked a baby bottle under her blouse, behind the bib of her overalls and was discreetly feeding her guinea pig.

The next time I saw Sunshine, in July, she was pushing a stroller across the city’s pedestrian mall. A bright, cockatiel was perched in a cage on the seat. She waved and called out.

“Hi! Remember me? It's name is Sylvester.”

I smiled and waved back. I didn't stop. I was afraid to ask about Kitty. There was another full moon tonite.
#fiction  #prosechallenge  #humor  #library  #Itslit 
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