We have been assaulted and bedeviled by the inane and awful for months. The Vine has become tedious and contentious to the point of distraction. Some days, the rancor is so divisive and inarticulate I’m hard pressed to pay attention. Pondering the lack of good writing opportunities and fun articles, I thought about our alternatives. We can either write our own fun and create some goofy stories or abandon all hope of having a good time today. To that end, I’ve noticed that the more frivolous fare churns out some of the most outrageous and amusing comments I’ve ever seen. Some of those stories, like criminally expensive and dubious juicing products or Mars colonies of kidnapped children, are a rich wealth of inventive comedy. So, I’m starting a Fractured Fairy Tale and I’m hoping you all want to participate in the writing by adding four or more sentences to the story. If you participated in any of Cinzia and my Friday Night Drive-In Movies, you’ll catch on quick. Where your mind wanders, we shall all follow. Let’s get started, shall we?
Hoary Hollow of Schaurig Forest
Once upon a time, there was a frugal and oddly ugly woman that sold day old bread out of the back of an old Ford Econoline van. It ran sporadically and often belched noxious clouds of toxic fumes from its exhaust. Usually the fine people of Bootknock County would close their doors when they heard the whirl of the wheezing engine as it came down the potholed dirt road as they were loath to purchase the bread which wasn’t that good and was usually better suited for slopping the hogs than human consumption. On this particular sunny summer morning, Mrs. Schweine-Gesicht, or Mrs. G as she was none too affectionately referred to, was nursing her old van down the Holprige Strasse when she encountered an odd little man laying prostrate in the middle of road. Not only was the little man flat out snoring, but he smelled of moldered elderberry wine and a rather large booger clung to the right nostril of his bulbous nose. If being dirty was an ambition for the man, he had not only succeeded admirably, but he had exceeded a level of filth that would have put most passing motorists off. Fortunately for Ohren Kartoffel, Mrs. G was impervious to stench as she herself lacked the modesty of clean living and indoor plumbing.
“Good day to you sir. Are you well? Do you need assistance? Is there someone I can call to assist you?” Said Mrs. G. a note of sympathy rounding her usually curt cadence.
“Not today, my good woman… not today! I am capital, I assure you” said Ohren as he sat upright and rubbed his eyes, squirting the booger a little further out of his nose. “I am on my way to the farm at the edge of the Forest Schaurig and thought it might be wise to stop for a drink and a bit of a nap. No hurry, ya know. I don’t have to get there until I get there.”
“Well laying down in the middle of the road is a fine way to get runned over. I can drop you near the Forest, but I can’t go any further, I have bread to sell and want to be home by nightfall.”
With that, Ohren and Mrs. G. got into her ugly timeworn jalopy and headed off toward Schaurig. They hadn’t gone far when…
Your turn viners… what happens next?