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A TINS! of a Different Color

Remember the Serial Thriller from a couple of weeks back (if you don't, ask FuzzybeeEll for the links -- I think she made an antimacassar out of 'em)? Well, one result of the torrent of e-mails from everyone -- uhhmm -- intermittent spate of encouragement from the Denizennes awfully nice comment I got from NevadaDailySteve, was that it gave me an idea. Since you guys were so anxious to see how it was gonna turn out, this time, you'll *know* the ending -- 'cuz you're gonna write it.

It's been a while since we had a contest with some literary merit. This probably won't break the dry spell, but it'll be good for some giggles. And you'll have *alllll* weekend to work on it!

I'll start the story, then stop at an appropriately suspenseful point and you pick it up from there. E-mail me the narrative and I'll add it / them in during next week (it's in your own best interest to contribute -- I can plug in "...and then I died. The End." --MajMike or "...and then I died. The End. Cheers!" --the Armorer all. week. long.)

Caveat: Anybody who *does* kill me off gets his or [ominous glare] *her* electronic addy posted on the "spam me" bulletin board of every cyber café in Lagos, Nigeria...

Ready? Ahem...

It was the smoothest landing I'd made in my entire aviation career (all six months of it). Even got a compliment from the Green Beanie major who'd been directing the op from the jump seat behind the radio console. I rolled the throttle to the flight idle stop and (after a couple of tries) flicked the spring-loaded RPM warning switch to the "OFF" position, then unfastened my shoulder harness.

Big mistake. It had been the only thing holding me upright.

Dimly aware that I was slumping to the right, I half-twisted toward the big opening in the cockpit that was normally occupied by the door and coughedvomitedcoughed about a pint of thick liquid onto the perforated steel matting of the runway. I remember thinking that the rusty orange of the steel planking provided an interesting counterpoint to the dark red I'd puked...

Okay, kids -- you've got the controls...

14 Comments

I dunno, Chief. I remember how bad the Moat Monster's gizzard stones messed me up just before I lost consciousness, the last time I participated in one of these. I think BCR almost despaired of bringing me back. Sometimes I wonder how much she *did* bring back and how much she just replaced and improved. At least I still have free will, and I think BCR is really cool and I would do anything for her and I wrote that without coercion and it was my own idea to write that and she didn't make me do it and BCR has only my best intere*%%(%%*@^$& So whatta y'all think about this weather we've been having lately, huh
 
I dunno, Chief. THe last time I tried my hand at, intentionally, writing fiction the school forced me to see a psychiatrist---they couldn't make up their mind if I was homicidal or suicidal. So I think I'll pass. Besides, I like your true stories better than anything I could imagine. And now, off to the grocery store since I can't sleep anyway!
 
Jtg - If you're gonna channel BCR for this, kinda downplay the death ray and the whole R&R in New Zealand thing, okay? Besides, I went to Australia... ry - Fiction? Nope. I start you off with a factual incident and you report the rest of it. Just think of it as an NYT or WaPo article, but with more of a foundation in reality.
 
I don't think I like the beginning (ending?) of this story very much. Particularly because it's you... One of the dangers of hanging out with soldiers, I suppose...
 
I see JTG is due for a paranoia tuneup ;-) Well, this should be fun! I've got two ideas already. Neither involving death rays or robots, for a change.
 
I for one, look forward to cashing-in on a bit of those Yoruba Dollars.
 
I don't think I like the beginning (ending?) of this story very much. Neither beginning nor ending -- it's the middle. As in, what came out of mine. One of the dangers of hanging out with soldiers, I suppose... Bet you're glad I'm not a proctologist, huh?
 
BCR - Could'a used a robot for a few minutes after I launched the technicolor burp. Almost fell flat on my face trying to climb out of the cockpit solo. Dearestly Beloved Sir Bocqwicucchio: I >am the sole >eldest only-surving scion of the >former Minister of the Interior Decorations of >Republic >of Nigeria, who met >his death of a fatal >illness immediately prior ot the >aerplan crash in >which there were no survivores >save only myself, thanks >be.
 
I'll try my hand... The night before, yours truly had been down to the mess hall (mess being the operative word). They were serving a lovely St. Patrick's day dinner. At least, I think it was St. Patrick's day dinner. It was green and smelled slightly of three times boiled cabage and week old corned beef mixed with the socks of an infantry squad just returned from a five day hump through the wilderness and one large, recently "fertilized" rice patty. But, it was St. Patty's day and it was green, so I decided to try it anyway. The peanut butter and bologna sandwiches were starting to be a little stale.
 
Then I died. Buuuutt... God sent me back, to continue until the ring had been destroyed, having been cast into the fires of Mt Fuji... Where I'd been sent by 7 homely geisha girls after one soulless night in the Ginsha-kinfe area of Naga-shima, savoring saki-dipped rice, chopstick-fed to me one grain at a time, while my feet were massaged.... Or maybe it was Bangkok, or... :-)
 
and right there and then I had an epiphany; I would work to resolve the issues of drab icky colors. I was reborn as BT.
 
I picked a great day to eat my last meal of beets and chianti.
 
Damn! I thought. The Doc was right! It really is true that if you drink too much for too long, one day you'll start to bleed out from the stomach!
 
Yaaay - I'm well underway to gettin' me my self some of those Yoruban Pesos. Once I raid my 401K an all.
 
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