Someone Got a Job!!!

Hey, adoring fans! I know it's been a while, but I finally have something to share. I am finally being paid to make people laugh! Well, technically, I am reviewing other people who try to make us laugh. Oh, just click on the link and read my shitty reviews!

Against medical orders...

Suck it, Ashram. I'm getting the YikeBike irregardless of my artificial hand.

Bad Fiction Contest

Here is the first entry we have received for the 5th Annual Bad Fiction Contest. Please to enjoy and don't forget to submit your own bad fiction... TODAY! Voting ends June 12th!

Jupiter’s Daydream
by Ange F.

Like the celestial orb she was named after, Charon’s image danced and perambulated across my mind as I laid in bed trying to fall asleep after a day when I danced and perambulated across the busy diner floor that I call my job. Charon like so many of my friends was a lawyer. I had known her since we were at the elementary school together as young children. Her desk was next to mine.

If I only knew how close her body would be next to mine when we got older?

I awoke to the anxious sun winking it’s cheerful morning message of pride like a beacon of light pulsating in the Sky. I scrambled across the floor of my loft stumbling on the Greek yoghurt containers and PBR cans that lay assembled at my feet like dead soldiers in the killing fields awaiting there orders. A ladybug caught my eye and I stubbed my toe on the IKEA television stand. I would be late for work again.

I was to meet Charon at the library after my shift. I had remembered to bring my long overdue books. If Terry Fox was the Olympic champion of running, than I was the Olympics of overdue books.

To passerbys I must of looked like I was lost in thought. But I was only sidetracked by my internal recollections. As a child I had longer to be like Terry Fox, the canadian juggernaut had perambulated his way across a nation’s hearts as he criss-crossed the nation on his amputated leg. As a child, I thought of blind people and their heightened senses as a result of their deprived one – sight. What has Terry heightened on account of his missing limb? Did roses sound more lovely in the fading tendrils of the summer light? Did fish swim faster in the black asphault of the icy lagoon?

As I turned the corner I espied Charon gently rotating around like some kind of lunar satellite and I knew then what it would feel like as my heart was swatted out of the air by the meaty paw of the mighty polar bear as it hunted for salmon on the banks of the Nile.

“Hey, chica!” she intoned.

…don’t blow this. Can I take your order? Burger… fries… Be right back with that.

I was distracted momentarily by the loud screech of tires on pavement. SCREEEEEEEECH! EEEEEEEEEEERK!

I looked up to see A troupe of tennagers on the prowl.

Oh! Hi. It’s been a long time… Charon, right?

Charon raised and then lowered her eyebrows. “Hey, chica. Let’s get down to the library and return these books.” Charon always returned her books on time. After we returned the books we stopped by the sporting goods store and bought some racquetball balls and made a date to play requetball later that day. I showed up but she didn’t.

No. It’s on the house. What? I get off at eight o’clock. Sure. Why not? That was six years ago.

I never saw her again.

Ask Olive!

Hey, Olive.

I'm a long time fan, first time writer. Your absence has been sorely missed (or something). Where have you been? What is happening with you? I can't go on without knowing if you're ever coming back or not!!! Please write back soon. The men in suits have been following me for days. I fear they may [Editor's Note: This letter abruptly ended and is reprinted here in it's entirety.]

Dear 'I fear they may',

Why don't you read my older posts before you ask your dumb-ass questions. I have been in medical school. I did well, but I hate it. Therefore, I have decided to take a year off to count my large inheritance, attend every classical music concert I can, make fun of Mum, and return to service as an iReporter and cultural watch dog.

In the next several weeks, I will be posting several examples of bad short-fiction for your enjoyment. Please to enjoy.

Yours,

Olive D.

OH MY FUDGING GOD!!!

I, Olive Duster, the Queen of Underachievement, passed every exam "with distinction"!!! In lieu of gifts, please send pictures of your knees (kissing the dirt in deference to me) to my P.O. box.

Suck it, Ashram!

P.S. I still might quit.

Oka Dokey!

Lately, I've been preoccupied with the unfortunate period in our nation's history known as the Oka Crisis. Now, it's no secret that I love golf (what amputee wouldn't) and that I love sacred Mohawk burial grounds, but I never would have thought of combining these two hobbies of mine. But, then again, I am not from Quebec... Seriously, what the fudge? What was that committee meeting like? I think it may have gone something...like this:

"...Our next item is the Niobium mine near the monastery. We have a proposal to expand that mine from Jende Corp..."

[That goes on for 5-10 minutes and it is resolved to allow Jende Corp. to complete their safety study and to have engineers from the town to inspect the premises before giving them the okay.]

"Finally, let's dig up those old Indian bones and build us a real Par 5, instead of that spray-on condom we have now! All in favor?"

[Lots of hooting and boot stomping ensues; an incoherent mob leaves the Town Hall with hoes, rakes, and torches and marches down past the shitty little Par 4 (250 meters? Get real) and begins raping the Mohawks once more.

I need some sleep...

And remember - It's all about me.

O.D.

fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu*k yooooooooooooooooooooooooouuuuuuuuuu!

if my god damn biochemistry professor asks, "how are we today?" one more fudging time, i swear to god i am going to purposefully unplug the autoclaves.