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So the challenge is simple really. Use Wordsmith’s A Word A Day (AWAD) to build 100 words around. AWAD takes off during the week so Cherrie, the challenger, chooses the words for those days. A losing proposition if I’ve ever heard one, but I’m game. The daily Word I’ll post in
and hope for the best. Anu (AWAD curator) can go off on some weird themes from on occasion. And there are always obscure and archaic words featured. But I’ve nothing else to do and nothing to inspire me to do a batch this month. So I’ll join in.
Sara hadn't heard from her brother in days, since before Barney, the larcenous old
had come hunting.
Jeff was in big trouble with the syndicate already, and now the law was getting involved. Barney made a big show hinting that by "cooperating" with him, Sara could wipe out her brother's debt and simultaneously square accounts with the syndicate. Sara could no more stomach Barney than she could any other man but she played along. Drugged his wine and snickered conspiratorially when he awoke in her bed. None the wiser, Barney would brag for months.
Jeff owed her big time.
William had had higher aspirations in life. He thought at first that he'd be a veterinarian. Not that he liked animals; he just liked the sound of "Dr. Chandler". But becoming an MD meant getting involved in people's personal problems.
Then he'd considered mortuary science, not for any interest in comforting survivors, but because it guaranteed good money.
He wound up as the
by default. He'd failed miserably as the chef and it was the only position left open.
"Head napkin folder" suited his temperament - "particular, but not particularly bright." That he had a fancy title thrilled him.
Phil wiped his brow and wondered where the
had gone - the little bastard. Phil was an "Ugly American" and proud of it. Even before 9/11 he'd reclaimed the moniker and wore it more proudly since. It was past time that his country took its rightful place on the world stage.
Phil was making it happen - down here below the boarder, scouting cheap labor for the factory back home.
Damn it was hot.... where was that boy with his water?
Actually, sitting patiently in the nearby bushes while the rohypnol tablets he'd slipped into the fat man's drink dissolved.
You want to know where the bodies are buried?
You want to know the nature of the clandestine liaisons slithering right under your very nose?
You want access to the secret and forbidden (even the unclean)?
But understand, she exacts a toll. Ignore for a moment that as she is a conduit to the hidden, filthy details of your enemies' lives, she is also gatekeeper to the embarrassing underbelly of yours.
Set that aside for now.
And understand that as payment the
Will you love something so vile?
. I want to be a
"And what is that again?"
"Somebody that makes bows Daddy."
"The kind that shoots arrows. Uh huh....say boy,you understand where we live right?"
"The last time I checked, there wasn't much call for bows in South Philly."
"I guess I can't complain. You bring home good grades. You don't bring me trouble - unlike your sisters. But this....what do you call it again?"
....well, how much you sell 'em for - the bows I mean"
"As much as $1300 on eBay"
Gillian understood the
and persistence required to raise a “special needs” child. She just didn’t want to do it. Understanding what’s required of you and having the willingness to do it were two different things. She tried to explain this to the social worker assigned to her case. Gillian did not want to have to deal with medications. Gillian could afford medicines and the specialists and even the specially trained teachers that were required. She simply didn’t have the time to spend on any of it. This is why Gillian’s already shriveled soul, commenced decaying at an alarming rate.
He agreed to
the children over to Old Man Withers until such a time as he could secure the remainder of the $10,000. He figured it would be a matter of time before he hit a hot streak in Vegas and then not only would he get his kids back, they could all come out of hiding and win back his wife. Naturally it would be a matter of time before he ran afoul of someone with a short temper and a love of weaponry and wind up dead. Withers knew this and had no problem losing the money.
When Dr. Charles remarked that Linda had a "
" nature she first took offense. In fact she considered registering a complaint. Fortunately her roommate consulted a dictionary and saved Linda considerable embarrassment. Even better, Dr. Charles was unaware of the near dust up.
Still she wasn't sure if his attempt at flattery was really a compliment. Perhaps she was too guarded? Maybe she needed a makeover, a softer look? Linda decided that a "beauty encounter" at the mall was in order.
Oblivious to all this, Dr. Charles made a note recommend tutoring to the dim young woman in 3rd period.
Shelby got the giggles every time it was suggested that it was high time she
She knew what the word meant. There was no self-conscious embarrassment at work here. Quite frankly, Shelby was a slovenly mess, and aware of it.
Nor was she offended. Shelby had learned, that if one's personal appearance was not a going concern, a certain amount of criticism was to be expected.
What made Shelby giggle was that the source of said criticism originated from "Stinky Mike", the "Office Personal Disaster Area." The old bromide about "pots and kettles" leaping immediately to mind.
"Look, I told you, I'm not going in there."
"How do you know this?"
"Look at the name!"
"You realize that there's no actual vomit involved right?"
"And you realize that it's merely the passageway through to the subway?"
"So what's the problem?"
"Well I know that the name has nothing to do with actual vomit. But it is a subway. Hell there might be worse in there. I mean, I've run across blood, feces, condoms... vomit would be a relief."
".... You know you're right,...let's share taxi."
He sent word that he wanted to meet her at
because it pleased him to use flowery words that sounded faintly dirty. He even hired an actor to dress in Victorian garb and show up at her job bearing an invitation sealed with red candle wax.
He didn't expect her to show (he actually hoped that she would be insulted) but he had business on the island anyway.
When she disembarked from the 7:30 ferry he felt his bowels nearly drop through his nethers.
She was intrigued even though she knew he was still living in his mother's basement.
Her voice had a slightly
quality to it, melodic, thrilling, yet annoying if it carried on too long. He therefore, never let himself linger, never even ascended the porch. Just spoke to her – sometimes with one foot propped on the bottom step – from the sidewalk, exchanging pleasantries. Before she’d launch too far into a tale of woe, or shift gears into neighborhood gossip, he’d excuse himself and move on. The memory of her melodic (yet brief) trilling carrying him down the street. It was enough to carry him through, into the night.
She wondered if he might be gay.
had actually worked up the nerve to propose! What now? She had no other prospects, none worth considering anyway. There was the old syphilis ridden drunk down the road and the shell shocked widower who had come home about 4 months earlier. All the other men were either away fighting the war or dead. The boy presented her with a dowry, livestock and a few coins that might tide them over until the war was over. She had few prospects, now that she was a widow. So she swallowed her prided and consented. She had mouths to feed.
Crystal believed that the
manner in which she treated the Duke and Duchess would in some manner bring her a monetary reward or at least a mention in the society pages. Unfortunately the Duke had lost his fortune (but kept the title) and the Duchess had never had money or title being from poor ignorant and rather ignoble stock. Not that they did anything to disabuse Crystal of her misguided (and patently opportunistic) notion. They ran the poor girl to death, taking the most criminal advantage of her hospitality, her friends, making use of her money and her resources.
Jan liked to chew on the
best of all. Consuming the pulpy interior was just the prelim. The pulp? She could really just throw that away, if it weren't so wasteful.
Jan wasted nothing, least of talking to her worthless classmates, the beer swilling primitives. For instance, she collected her hair and fingernail trimmings and mixed them into her cat litter.
She liked how the tartness of the
stung the back of her throat. She liked to think that it conferred upon her magical abilities. She wrapped all sorts of ungodly bodily emissions in the perfectly cored rinds.
Cal couldn’t stop focusing on the
under Sister Catherine’s chin. It flapped when she talked. Cal barely stifled a giggle. If Sister Catherine noticed, she didn’t react; just continued the summation of Cal’s transgressions for the day. Cal had stopped counting at 11, figuring that she was nowhere near her record of 17. Mr. Killowog had picked something fun (volleyball) for gym for once, so she’d kept quiet (to Mr. Killowog’s relief). Cal decided that the proper name was definitely “
” instead of “wattle.” Wattles grew on fowl while
grew on cows. Sister Catherine was definitely a cow.
Reggie adjusted his winner's
to the back of his head and considered his surroundings. Three hundred or so medieval battle enthusiasts in varying states of disrepair and sobriety. He'd only come for the ale, on his roommate’s recommendation. The regulars took one look at Reggie's size and wingspan and marched him to the armory for a "fitting." Hockey mask and helmet, some PVC to cover the soft tissue, a "genuine" bamboo practice sword; which mattered little to Reggie. Reggie wanted to sample the beer. If he had to brain a few Renaissance geeks in the process, so be it.
Sherry once received a poem from Jeffery - penned with an actual quill pen (with a HUGE ostrich plume) - wherein Jeffery actually used the line "You are the
of my life." Followed by, "I live in the comforting shadow of your love."
Sherry had figured there was no future in the relationship when she learned that Jeffery had once been Midwest Regional President of The Freddie Jackson Fan Club.
The poem sealed his fate.
Besides, she could not abide men who spent more time in the mirror than she did. Furthermore he wore shoulder pads in his suits.
Roger insisted that his friends refer to the new hood ornament that he'd fashioned for his vehicle as a "
." His brothers began to worry about his "fancy manners" but it didn't deter Roger. That he'd chosen a silver replica of a narwhal was no one's business but his. Roger liked narwhals. They appealed to his since of whimsy. That he possessed a sense of whimsy was a rather recent discovery.
But that was beside the point.
He spent all night welding and then grinding the base of his
to the hood of his F150. It looked factory installed.
Ricky liked taking the old man to task over his clothes. What Ricky didn’t know was that the old
packed iron, an old snub nose carried over from his days as a numbers runner for The Syndicate. The Real Syndicate, like the one everybody was writing about in the 70’s but knew nothing about. The old man was beyond that now, content to grouse and complain with the rest of his cronies on the block, enjoying the smiles of the young women. But he kept the snub nose in his pocket just in case, for Ricky, the little schmuck.
Emily felt forced to
just to keep up with the times. Skiing in upstate New York, torrid romances with random Euro-trash. These were the stories that made her a legend in the co-op. Her “girlfriends” were all lying too, naturally. But none could lie as well as Emily. That she was uncommonly ugly eventually drew the notice of the more competitive Lotharios of the neighborhood. The words didn’t match the music, which piqued their interest even more. Soon Emily was living out her fantasy life, outpacing even her most outlandish tales. She died of a particularly nasty venereal disease.
manner in which Greta ate (or rather, didn’t eat) carried over into her personal life. She rarely took the full measure of anything. She grimaced rather than smiled, trilled, rather than laughed. She even took baby steps, as if not to cover too much ground at one time. She was quite striking, but no one ever noticed. Greta never attracted enough light to draw any attention. The tragedy of it all was that it wasn’t her fault. Greta was the unwitting victim of a curse placed on her by a jealous rival. Least that’s what she told herself.
His complexion had a
pall to it. His skin was clammy and he was always coughing. But he was good in bed. That’s why Paula married him. Well that and his money. Old money, brought over in barrels from Europe during the Big WW. They hadn’t even opened all the barrels yet. Sixty-two years after the fact and there were at least a couple hundred fifty gallon barrels of gold coins sitting in storage. Paula couldn’t believe her luck. She literally pinched herself every day. All she’d done was treat the poor sod kindly. The lawyers arranged the rest.
Valerie often makes reference to her “anemious childhood.” Valerie is given to exaggeration and bombast, but in this case she is fairly accurate. From the winds blowing off the bay to the storms that raged between her parents, there was always turbulence. She hated every minute of it. Cursed the winds and her parents. There was not a peaceful moment in Valerie’s childhood existence. She slept with her fists balled up. Her jaws ached every morning from the grinding. In adulthood she’s constructed a proper fiction of “rough times building character.” But she always says it, teeth clinched, fists balled.
That her husband was damning her with praise, Carol was sure. The
bastard. And after she’d carried him through graduate and post grad work holding down two jobs. “Well I’m sure the Lord couldn’t give my wife brains and good looks Thank God she can cook.” That fat little troll! As if he was God’s gift to women. Carol had put up with a lot – she knew about the “adoring” grad assistants, but he’d been discrete and brief. But this was too much. She decided right then to email his department head about the covert “borrowing” of department funds.
“I have an
nature,” Roger explained. “I like to burrow down into the dark muck, to find what’s hidden. Sure you get dirty, and you go places that no one else wants to. But that’s the point, you see? You become privy to a trove of secrets that nobody else had the time or the nerve find. I work hard at what I do. I like what I do. And every so often I turn up a gem among the waste.” Tammy didn’t care for what Roger’s analogy said about her surroundings but she liked being called a “gem.”
Barbara made it a rule to never get involved in the
affairs comprising the intricate rivalries of her students. It violated her personal and professional charter as a teacher, besides being just too complicated to follow. A hate B for siding with C over the beat down A had received at the hands of C. It often rivaled any one of Shakespeare’s best intricacies which Barbara never made mention of as they would have been appalled. “‘Cause no raggedy ass ‘white man’ could ever understand what it’s like in the streets.” Because great passion only originated with their generation.
was an herb, not a state of mind. So when the men in the funny hats arrived to declare him The Next Perfect Master of The World, Max showed them the door. He had homework and a Pokemon tournament to prepare for. Besides, Max was hitting puberty and fully aware of it. He was NOT about to pass up getting a chance to see his first naked breasts (if the rumors about Michael Allen’s big sister were true) to lead the ascetic life. The adoration (and the little bit of money) were tempting. But hormones won out.
He told his mother that he was going in for an “
” not realizing that she had majored in English in college, so she’d peeped his hold card right off. She asked him “which letter they were removing” with a straight face, then explained that she knew he wanted money for drugs and not some obscure life saving procedure. Instead she made him a pie, which he didn’t want and couldn’t tolerate, his stomach being in the state it was. She told him about her brother’s bout with heroin addiction and how she was firmly constituted for another such death.
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