Category Archives: @kikiandkyle

Star Crossed

“Why you gotta be frontin’?” she yelled as her friends and ponies tried to hold her back.

This was starting to irritate Luna, who had been living w/ this pressure for the past 5 years. Running into Star, her stomach turned

beneath her purple dress. But she couldn’t let Star know that. Instead, she kept yelling, puffing out her chest, acting tough.

“Take that nasty ass blonde weave outta my face. You ain’t foolin’ no one, biatch,” she continued.

Luna lunged at Star, grabbing her hair. Pony, the pink pony, tried to separate them. “My hair!” screamed Star. “Give it back!”

Luna waved the weave defiantly as Star watched in horror, hairless. No one knew why Luna was livid, just that she was.

“Who did you sleep with to get to model the ball gown?” Luna whined. She was stuck in a jumper that was more appropriate to Skipper.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” sneered Star. “Yes I would,” responded Luna candidly. “That’s why I asked.” Star was caught off guard.

“You always think you’re so much smarter than everyone, Luna,” said Star. “But if you’re so smart, how come I’m in the ball gown?”

Mother knocked on the door. “Star, honey, please open up. Maybe you should put the dolls down and come to dinner with us.”

“My precious… my precious unicorn ponies,” Star mumbled incoherently. Then, louder, “Coming, mother. Just a second.”

Star’s mother worried about her. Star didn’t leave the house much, and she was always trying to shave Luna, their cute Pomeranian.

In fact, ever since she’d fallen asleep while watching a Jem marathon, Star hadn’t been the same. Ears raw from the many rounds…

of ear pulling, she’d taken to walking around the house in bejeweled stirrup pants. Her homework was signed Jerrica Benton. It…

reminded Mother of her Aunt Jeanne, upstate in a sanitarium. Poor Jeanne – half Carol Burnett, half Ethel Merman. Mother wasn’t…

about to let another daughter end up like Jeanne, not again, not again…

Not after she already lost Astor, her oldest. Most days, you could find her staring at doors, trying to open them with her eyes.

“Kids!” Mother yelled. “Time to go to Olive Garden!” Mother and Star went outside, but Astor stood still, staring at the doorknob.

Astor petted Luna. “It rubs the lotion on its skin or else it gets the hose again.” Mother gave up and promised bread sticks.

Star came back inside to get Astor and dragged her away from Luna. But when they got outside, Mother was nowhere to be found.

They searched for her inside and out, noticing her car was still in the driveway. Where could Mother have “flown” to this time?

Luna heard Star mumbling to herself, “mommy in the can… mommy… the garbage.” Luna’s eyes widened in horror. She runs towards

their garbage can, behind the car. Tears are welling up, in her eyes as she reaches to open the lid. She gasps, shocked by what she

just realized – Luna, the Pomeranian, not only understands what humans say, but can move around like one too. Star’s jaw drops.

Hiding inside of the garbage can, was her mother, Luna always feared this day would come. Her aunt Jeanne had the same

…fate. Star is stunned. Like a robot she starts tweeting feverishly instead of calling 911. All of the sudden…

she gets a DM from her father, who had been in prison for the past 10 years and was now…ON TWITTER?!

Luna can’t help noticing the perplexed look, on Star’s face. What’s wrong with her; and why hasn’t she called for help? Then

without any warning their mother jumps out of the garbage can, tears all of her clothes off, running down the street screaming…

…”I CAN’T TAKE IT ANYMORE!!!!” to which Luna (now human form) and Star looked at each other and shrugged. Meanwhile, Father was

contemplating, as he braids his lover’s hair. Should I tweet her? Such a delicate child; but she needs to know, I’m in love with…

in love w Ricky Martin… He bangs, he bangs! Here we go! Closet drummer, too. He starts to tweet her &…

then gets distracted by THE HONEY BADGER! Like the Honey Badger he said, “I don’t care. I don’t give a sh*t!”

“Whoa watch out, says that bird (from a bird’s eye view). Star still hasn’t heard from her Dad, but she starts to hear drums…

not just any kind of drums but a super clean drum line. Snares, Tenors, Bass. The whole shebang. Well it is that time of year…

Luna looks at Star & says, “Is today a holiday?” Rounding the corner, on their street, is a fully dressed marching band, led by…

Mother, in marching gear. “What happened to the bread sticks from Olive Garden you promised?” asked Star. Astor was dumbfounded.

“In a minute,” Mother yelled in between the first and second verse of Poker Face. Star and Astor sang along, drawn in by the beat.

Star didn’t notice mom leading the band w/breadsticks, in hand. After the final verse, she threw the bread sticks at Star saying…

What a day… we need to get those bread sticks from the Olive Garden and get ready for Shark Week. Tired, they hugged &…

peeled away from the marching band. They jumped in the car, headed to Olive Garden, & ate unlimited salad and bread sticks.

THE END

 

Whoa. Just whoa. I don’t even know what happened in this story. It was really hard to follow, and normally I’m pretty good at keeping the storyline on track. What started out as a fight turned into a kid’s imagination, which then turned into a streaking Mom, a human-like Pomeranian, Ricky Martin and unlimited salad and bread sticks at Olive Garden. I could barely keep up. All I know is Astor and Star are two lucky girls for finally being able to chow on those delicious, garlicky logs of heaven. I’m jealous.

Thanks to @kikiandkyle for the photo, which started this wild tale. And thanks to all those who wrote. The vets – @nella22, @Chrisa_Hickey, @jimmydoestea and @hwtibbs – you guys always make me laugh. And we had a bunch of newbs – @_Benny_K, @javilabbe, @vnarvasa, @honey_badger_, @Guert – which is awesome. You guys carried the end of the story. Hope you all contribute again next time.

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A Witch’s Brew

“Let there be rain!” she declared. To her surprise, it began pouring. Did she really just do that?

She wondered what else her powers could get her. “Let there be shoes,” she cried and there she was, at Manolo Blahnik!

Ellen couldn’t believe it. The correspondence witchcraft course had worked. She’d started it on a whim, but now she had new shoes.

A late night junkie, she was all in after Erik Estrada promised “powers Harry Potter’d be jealous of” between Cosby Show episodes.

It was a wonder she even saw the infomercial. She was working on a thesis about the political meanings of Cosby Show sweaters.

However as she looked around the room at the piles of paper only surpassed by the colors of the sweaters, she felt that she needed

a break, a life, a husband who would fit all these sweaters, she turned to her tv & vanilla frosting when what did she find?

“Claire, is that you?” he exclaimed. “No, I’m not Claire, there’s no more Claire. Only Ellen,” she said as he looked around & saw his sweaters.

Ellen couldn’t believe how well her correspondence witchcraft course worked. First rain. Then Manolo Blahnik. Now Cliff Huxtable?

Cliff went to Ellen’s door and immediately began trying to fix her doorbell. Meanwhile, Ellen wanted to keep testing her powers

“Let there be music!” Immediately, a shortish man in a suit appeared behind her, holding a boombox. It was playing a mix of…

bluegrass and whale songs.

The suited man reached in his trouser pocket and pulled out a small bag that resembled Michael Gross. He handed it to her.

She took the bag and examined its contents: one marble, a Slim Jim, and some weed. “Yep,” she thought, “Michael Gross.”

Not knowing who Michael Gross was she waved her hand & turned the bag to look like the judges on @NBCthevoice @ceelogreen 1st side.

“Crap!” yelled Ellen. She loved Gross, the Family Ties dad, ever since last week’s marathon. Elsewhere, Cliff tested the doorbell.

The sky open and thunder shook Ellen’s windows. Lightening hazed her vision momentarily. Coming to, she realized all was taken away.

Lacking a pure heart, Ellen had only temporary magic. She needed to find the only one who could purify sins: Patty Blagojevich.

Patty was nestled in the corner booth at Harold’s Chicken Shack on East 53rd street, reading palms as usual.

Ellen headed to Ravenswood to track down Patty. She’d certainly be home from her reality show foray by now.

Ellen found a note on the Blagojevich’s door: “Will return by 3. On the south side getting chicken & a weave for Rod.” She sighed.

Ellen stammered as she approached Patti, “I… I just…” The two locked eyes. “It’s fine,” Patti said. “You can touch my bangs.”

Ellen didn’t want to touch the hair but cut it. The crisp hair, the faint scent of AquaNet – perfect for her next potion.

Ellen shook Patty’s hand, remarked how it resembled a man’s hand then left. She only needed two more ingredients for her potion.

With Cliff still at the house messing with the doorbell & entertaining CeeLo & The Voice judges, Ellen was in no rush to get home.

So she continued on her quest to find the other 2 ingredients for her potion. Up next: a blobfish fin.

The blobfish had been known to frequent the Redwood Tap, so that was her first stop.

Ellen, forgetting her witchcraft powers, texted “Redwood Tap Chicago” to G-O-O-G-L-E to find its address. She awaited the response.

Google texted back:

Ellen thought maybe she misheard the bar’s name. But she trekked to Elgin anyway.

Ellen got there, but alas, no blobfish. “Wrightwood Tap, not Redwood,” said a Komondor bellied up to the bar taking whiskey shots.

Not to be out done, ellen asked the bartender for the rest of the bottle of whiskey, and started drinking it like bottled water…

After chugging a bottle of Early Times, Ellen set her sights on the Wrightwood Tap. Drunk, she called Cliff to drive her there.

Cliff was busy testing the doorbell, so when his “Get Low” ringtone went off, he barely heard it over the barrage of ding dongs.

Cliff picked up just in time. “Be there in an hour,” he said. “Nope, haven’t fixed it yet.” He hung up and headed out to get Ellen.

Cliff got to a drunk Ellen right as she and the Komondor started karaoke. “Let’s go find your blobfish,” Cliff said. Ellen burped.

Cliff gave Ellen coffee to sober her up for the drive. Pulling up to the Wrightwood Tap, they saw the slimy fish at the jukebox.

“Hey blobfish,” Ellen slurred when she got inside. “I need your fin.” Meanwhile, Cliff asked the bartender if they had a doorbell.

The blobfish, tired of being harrassed for his bloblike body, acquiesced. Ellen burped again, took his fin and dragged Cliff away.

Onto the 3rd and final ingredient – a lemon. Ellen told Cliff to take her to Jewel. “You don’t need more alcohol,” he said.

They got to Jewel, and Ellen went to the produce aisle. Cliff, however, went to find the manager to ask if they had a doorbell.

Ellen grabbed a ripe lemon, paid for it, then dragged Cliff away again. She needed to get home to look at her Potions 401 syllabus.

They made it home, and Ellen looked at her notes on making a potion. Cliff went back to doorbell, while she got the cauldron out.

She dumped the ingredients in the cauldron – Patty Blagojevich’s bangs, a blobfish fin and a lemon – heated it up and stirred it.

Ellen stirred the mixture until became a frothy liquid. She poured it in an old flower vase because she didn’t have any beakers.

Now, the final exam. If the potion worked, Ellen would receive a certificate of completion from the witchcraft school.

She followed the exam’s directions, which said to pour the potion on a sheet of paper. She had no idea what would happen.

Almost instantly, the paper began smoking. Ellen was riveted. Cliff, not so much. He kept working the doorbell, oblivious.

The paper was now shaking before morphing into a person. But not just anyone – Erik Estrada. “Congratulations,” he said to Ellen.

He handed Ellen a certificate of course completion. She was a certified witch! She jumped for joy, only to be interrupted by Cliff.

“I fixed it,” he said. Ellen had lost her patience. “Abracadabra Alakazam, get rid of this annoying man.” And poof! He was gone.

If only she could find a potion now to stop the doorbell from ringing.

Ellen practiced her witchcraft all night. The only time she stopped was to order the Slap Chop, a Snuggie and Nutrisystem.

THE END

This was a fun one. I loved it. And no, it doesn’t have anything to do with me writing about the last 20 tweets. Someone had to get a drunk Ellen home safely. Anyway, there were a lot of great pop culture references in this story, from Cliff Huxtable to Michael Gross (Family Ties’ Mr. Keaton) to Patty Blagojevich’s bangs. Who knew Ellen would need those precious locks?

Thanks for writing, everyone. I’m especially honored that my old co-worker @Pawela04 jumped in. He tweeted four lines, and those four tweets were his first four tweets. EVER. That’s pretty cool. Also, thanks to @BlackDreams for the continuous plugs. It’s always nice to have a more ambassadors. Hopefully she’ll pick up the little nuances the more she contributes. And I could never do this without my reliable stable of writers @kikiandkyle, @hwtibbs, @FeliciaCago, @jimmydoestea and @thatgirlmari – you guys save me and make the stories so good. So thanks for humoring me and writing time and time again. And to @swanieson – you managed to sneak a line in just in time!

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Unhappy Endings

“I can’t believe it’s come to this,” said Laura to her brothers. It’s a far cry from their Broadway days.

In the heat of the summer sun, her makeshift helmet was stifling. Even with her hair bobbed, she felt sweat beading on her brow.

But they were so desperate for work that they were willing to wear the new safety gear for Spiderman the Musical.

Keith, her oldest brother, wanted no part of her whining. “Just keep dancing,” he said. “No way we’re going back to father.”

Laura remembers those days and shudders. She was most afraid of Father and was the mastermind behind their escape.

They all feared him, her mother included. In the house he was omnipotent, laying down rules in all areas. He wasn’t to be crossed.

Laura & her brothers escaped one night by climbing out the window, carrying just their helmets, a few pairs of her shorts & tubing.

To make sure he didn’t catch them as they left, she’d crushed a sleeping pill into his nightly drink. It would give them more time.

And off they went to practice synchronised swimming in the ocean, not yet experienced enough to do it without helmets.

Their mom, however, mistook Father’s drink for her water & downed it before passing out on the floor. The kids couldn’t carry her.

And now, as they prepared for their routine, they missed their mother’s guidance. She was an expert synchronized swimmer.

What they didn’t know? That Father watched placed a GPS tracker inside Larry’s shorts. He knew exactly where they were at any time.

He’d planted the trackers when he found a bag Laura had packed stashed under her bed. He wasn’t about to let them leave him grasp.

Father went upstairs and began watching the tracker. They were at the beach. The dot started moving, meaning Larry was on the move.

Father put his rollerblades on & skated to the beach. But when he got there, all he found was a floating pair of women’s shorts.

He’d never told them that synchronized swimming is for pools, not oceans. Honestly, he thought they’d figure that out on their own.

Maybe the lead from the vintage diving gear stunted their intellectual development over the years. This is why he had to track ’em.

Upon closer inspection, the shorts weren’t women’s. They were Larry’s. The trail, as it were, stopped here. Now what?

Father was livid. Not only were his kids idiots, but now Larry was running around w/no shorts. How much longer until they all did?

Not much longer. In fact, the police were responding to a call about four unruly, pantless kids running through a McDonald’s.

From inside the McDonald’s Laura and the boys saw a familiar car crash into a telephone pole. Was it really the end?

They ran outside and gathered around the unmistakable car of their Father’s and next to him….their mother’s body lay lifeless.

They’d thought she had drowned! And now, not only was she dead for real…the monster that was their father was also gone.

THE END

Hmmm – so this one was one of the toughest stories we’ve written so far. It never really went anywhere, and I don’t know why. Maybe it was a bad day. Or maybe I should have gone Bulls themed, as @thatgirlmari suggested, given tonight’s game. Oh well. They can’t all be Pulitzers.

Thanks to @hwtibbs for supplying the photo. And thanks to @hwtibbs, @kikiandkyle, @nella22, @VikkiRossWrites, @jsetlak and @swanieson for writing, desperately trying to make something out of it. And welcome to @VikkiRossWrites, who contributed for the first time today. Hopefully not the last.

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Sister, Sister and the Mister

Paul was small. Not very tall. He had a date. She was late. So he fixed his hair & climbed in his chair.

His blue sweater had never looked better, but his shirt was showing all the dirt.

Aurora was running late, something she hates. They planned to meet, on the street; the street with curves to eat hors d’oeuvres.

Paul cried & cried, “I can’t believe she lied!” But she stood him up before, & he vowed “No more!” So how could he blame the dame?

The dame, the dame she had a name, a name that ironically was the same

As a city in Illinois. One that Paul remembers with joy. He met Aurora. in Aurora. And that was just after getting dumped by Laura.

Laura oh Laura she was a fan of flora, Aurora now she was a fan of a certain fedora.

His sleeping beauty, she was a cutie, but her penchant for sleeping left poor old Paul seething.

The memories piled on, like love songs that go on too long. He thought to himself, “I need help.” So, he got it from Yelp.

He had a romantic dinner date planned based on Yelper HotDamned. But Aurora’s oversleeping made the reservations not worth keeping.

Paul called Aurora’s phone, wondering if she was home. With no answer, Paul groaned “I know it’s on vibrate.” He was clearly irate.

Paul had a history of anger management issues. Leave it to Aurora’s wireless carrier to light his short fuse.

He thought her inconsiderate. It was enough to leave him in a fit. There was no one around to confide how sad was he was inside.

The smile on his face was because of sheer grace. He was with Verizon. If she didn’t switch carriers, a rift was on the horizon.

Paul drove over to Aurora’s house & knocked on the door. Once, twice & then three more. “Get up Aurora! We’re going to the store!”

Aurora rolled out of bed, wiped her eyes, scratched her head. “Who was there?” she wondered, oblivious to the date she blundered.

Paul appeared at the door, her jaw dropped to the floor. “Oops, I overslept. That’s another date I haven’t kept.”

His shirt blue, his eyes flashing red. He should’ve dated her sister Peoria instead. Caught himself, put that thought on the shelf.

Peoria, now that’s a vixen. But he couldn’t let Aurora know what his mind had been fixin’. If she knew, he and Aurora were through.

“You look beautiful,” lied Paul. “Let’s go. We’ll be late.” “Just like my period,” quipped Aurora, as Paul pinched his own taint.

Aurora reacted with shock and awe. “You disgust me Paul. I’m going to the mall. Have fun staying here, playing with your balls.”

“You’re not going anywhere,” Paul fumed. “Sit your ass down. You better behave or I’ll call Craggles the Clown.”

But Aurora wasn’t interested in any more of Paul’s lovin’. It was probably because she had another man’s bun in the oven.

Whatever, thought Paul. He knew better than to take a date to the mall. He would not miss her. Would it be weird with her sister?

Aurora sat & thought, of Jonah, the man she met while on a yacht. A swarthy man of the sea, whose baby she carried surreptitiously.

In certain comparison Paul might pale to some guy who once lived in a whale. Might Aurora’s infidelity earn her a burial at sea?

In this instant Paul couldn’t resist. He took a peak at Aurora’s sis’s digits on the Rolodex. He memorized it. dialed it. Holysh*t.

Aurora has nothing she’s working toward, just playing. Paul was willing to throw her overboard. Just saying.

Peoria picked up more than the call if you know what I mean. She got Paul, after all, not some swarthy marine.

While Peoria and Paul got busy, Aurora was all in a tizzy. Her hormones were all outta whack. She thought she might want Paul back.

It was not meant to be. Paul & Peoria were making whoopee. They were making quite a racket, like UConn after winning the bracket.

Aurora said “I don’t need Paul! He’s a blue sweater boy after all!” She called Peoria to let her know she was over that freak show.

This time Peoria didn’t answer. She knew where neither her phone nor her pants were.

Yet Paul knew her ringtone. A funk song he’d last heard alone. Made him frisky at the time. Twisty was more like it this time.

Paul pushed Peoria away. “How could I do this to Aurora?” he cried in dismay. He ran to the door, leaving Peoria on the floor.

Peoria got up, found her pants, then threw on a tank. She chased after Paul, screaming, “Aurora’s the family skank!”

“If she’s the family skank, where do you rank?” Peoria fired back, “You didn’t seem to give a yack when you were fondling my rack.”

Paul turned around, then sheepishly looked down. “Aurora can have Jonah. It’s obviously only you that gives me a bonah.”

Peoria was confused by Paul’s sudden Boston drawl. But it was only for a bit, because she realized she loved that little nugget.

They kept moving closer, and then they embraced. Her arms around his back, his around her waist. “Marry me,” Paul said confidently.

“Yes!” screamed Peoria in delight. She finally found someone who was her height. You see, Paul wasn’t the only one who was small.

Paul pulled out a ring. Peoria said, “Oh my! Such bling!”

The couple was wed, went on a honeymoon through Club Med. The trip couldn’t be finer. They got discounts for looking like minors.

Peoria and Paul lived happily ever after, their lives filled with laughter. Everything was good. All good in the ‘hood.

‘Cept when Paul thought about his new sister-inlaw. Her not existing was hard to pretend. It was Aurora, his ex-girlfriend.

THE END

We did it! We wrote a story that rhymed! And it even kind of made sense! I bet you thought that last sentence was gonna rhyme with the one before it. Sorry – I’m all rhymed out. Anyway, this might be the funniest Once Upon 140 story yet. I don’t know if it’s the rhyming, the classic one-liners or the dirtiness of Paul and his love triangle with Aurora and Peoria. By the way, if those aren’t two stripper names, then I don’t know what is.

Thanks to @nella22, @kikiandkyle, @swanieson, @ArzuBusiness, @elderberryjam, @hwtibbs, @hiaubs, @jsetlak and @foiledcupcakes for helping me pull off an admittedly difficult story. I appreciate the feedback up front, and I’m grateful to all of you for humoring me and playing along.

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The Secret of the Creeps

They landed in the middle of the night, sending armed guards out to patrol the field. All was quiet.

This new planet reeked of banana and unrest but General Chick McPeep, the fearless leader of this abandoned squad…

..had a potassium allergy. “Gereddsh ma gheglkv!” he screamed to his lieutenant. A soldier ran to get the General’s breathing mask.

Unfortunately, breathing masks hinder order-barking so the General cast it aside in order to lead. “Troops!” he chirped. “Find the

terrain map and fan out!” McPeep had trained his troops well; they quickly sprang into action. Only Private Chirpington did not. He

was younger than the rest & his curiosity had gotten him into trouble before. Little things distracted him – twigs, lights, leaves.

Something glimmered, just over there. He hopped, hesitated, hopped again, then gently parted the grass with his beak.

And what he saw filled him with terror. Staring at him with hunger and violence was a giant eyeball attached to a…

horrid face. Under the eye sat a gaping maw, rows of teeth glinting despite the darkness. Chirpington froze, his mind racing.

“Whatever you do, don’t touch the teeth of the horrid faced native,” Gen. McPeep’s orders stated. But Chirpington was too curious.

Chirpington stepped closer, torn between fear and growing curiosity. He timidly stretched out a wing. His heart pounded. Just then,

Corporal Featherton showed up. “What IS that?” Featherton chirped. Chirpington’s wing was inches away from the native’s teeth.

With fascination and horror, they realized they were surrounded. By an army of menacing yellow marshmallow chicks.

Chirpington was horrified. He’d heard stories about the marshmallow Peeps, who were known for blank stares and terrible tempers.

Featherton, meanwhile, was drawn to them – a moth to flame. “Aww, they’re kinda cute.” Petting one on the head, it snapped at him.

And then he remembered the rest of the story: the legendary race of deceptively adorable but deadly Creeps.

“What do we do?” asked Featherton. “They’re so cute, I just want to squeeze them.” Chirpington, though, was not the soldier to ask.

Just then the General intervened and with a decisive thwack of his baton, he drove the Creeps back into the grass. “Our mission is

NOT to play with the Creeps, but to uncover what their secret is,” he exalted. General McPeep was referring to their lack of aging.

“But but,” Chirpington started. McPeep thwacked him again. “Enough chirping Chirpington!” This was the distraction the Creeps needed.

They came flying out of the brush from all directions, throwing blinding clouds of pastel dust. “Retreat!” called McPeep, before

falling to the ground. Chirpington knew he had to do something. McPeep was covered in a light yellow film that was hardening fast.

Things weren’t looking good. Pastel dust was flying everywhere. Chirpington’s comrades were covered in light blues, pinks, yellows.

To us, it’s just sugar. To the Chicks, it was a candy coating that’d force them into submission, then turn them into confections.

He rushed over to McPeep, who by now was gasping for air. Featherton was rolling in the dust to shake off the pink haze on him.

The expression on McPeep’s face glazed over, now identical to the blank countenance on each and every one of those damned Creeps.

In the commotion, the horrid one-eyed creature had returned and now lumbered towards Featherton, jaws open wide and eye narrowed.

There were roughly elevenish ways out of this ordeal, but would there be enough time to pull off any of them? http://blyp.me/hLWSkU

“The Ziploc method would take too long,” thought Chirpington. “And I’m out of popsicle sticks, so burning’s out.” Time was ticking.

The Creeps’ secret wasn’t hidden somewhere in the fields of plastic grass surrounding the landing site; it was the DUST itself!

If only he’d thought to bring the egg cases, they could have waited out the attack. Alas, they were left back at the site.

And with no furry Dahgs in sight, no one could be relied on to eat the Creeps which strayed from the larger group.

Even a Caat could have proved helpful, though they couldn’t be controlled and were known to indiscriminately bat at small objects.

The horrid face, now seen to have not one but two eyes (and banana breath) abruptly began devouring Creeps, one by one, meaning…

… that there was hope for the remaining Chick troops after all. But would the face come after the dusted among them next?

Chirpington remembered what General McPeep taught him. “When face to face with face, peck nose,” was one of McPeep’s many lessons.

The face moved in on McPeep, now yellow and soft. Chirpington waddled himself in the way. “On guard!” he chirped, voice trembling.

The face kept moving closer. It was again inches from Chirpington. This time, though? He started to pecking at the face’s nose.

And with every peck, the mystery was revealed. A purple parchment emerged, with letters that spelled out the truth.

One by one, letters were revealed: A…Y…I…R….P. what could this mean? Chirpington held his breath.

The letters kept appearing as he scanned the page. Alone they meant nothing but they were the key to defeating the ruthless Cheeps.

Another yearning, I revealed… peanuts!

A…Y…I…R….P…A…Y…I…R….P…A…Y…I…R….P…A…Y…I…R….P. The letters kept scrolling faster and faster.

Not the brightest chick in the coop, Chirpington couldn’t decipher the code, even with Featherton whispering it before solidifying.

“Another yearning, I revealed…peanuts!” whispered Featherton. It finally dawned on Chirpington. He was gonna need some peanuts.

Chirpington remembered seeing a peanut by McPeep’s pastel dust-frozen body. He leapt to it just as the face was about to close in.

The face followed, and Chirpington nudged the peanut out from under McPeep’s marshmallowy corpse. “Now what?” he wondered.

But not much longer. Face’s two eyes began bugging out, and it pulled back. Chirpington had no idea that face had a peanut allergy.

Defiantly, Chirpington rolled the peanut toward face. Face backed off. “That’s right!” chirped Chirpington, puffing out his chest.

With face having moved on and Featherton, McPeep & the rest of the chicks solidified in pastel dust, Chirpington accepted his fate.

No Creeps were left, but there was plenty of pink pastel dust ammo. Chirpington picked up a casing, emptied it & covered himself.

He would be in a better place, just like Featherton and McPeep. A tear fell from his eye but froze before reaching his beak.

So did his wings. And his legs. And his claws. Chirpington was becoming a Creep. His head became marshmallowy, as did his body.

The Chicks had finally uncovered the Secret of the Creeps. They would forever be preserved in a pink & yellow pastel dust.

THE END

Whoa. This one had it all. Chicks. Creeps. McPeeps. Two-eyed faces. Potassium allergies. Peanut allergies. Dahgs. Caats. So funny. Thanks @kikiandkyle for supplying the photo. And thanks @FeliciaCago @hwtibbs @inediblejewelry @jsetlak @foiledcupcakes and @rickmurray (inadvertently) for writing with me.

Maybe this should be an Easter story? Actually…maybe not.

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Chicken and BISCUITS

He’d already missed his court date once. It couldn’t happen again. But the memory loss was setting in.

His small apartment was strewn with post it notes to remind him of what he was supposed to do, his new court date among them.

“This worked for the guy in Memento,” thought Jack Bauer. But the memory loss struck again. “What’s up with all these post its?”

The worst was when lapses struck while he was composing a note. On the far wall were half finished notes he couldn’t decipher.

Just then, there was a knock at the door. “Open the door, Jack,” said a woman. Jack was confused. He didn’t recognize her voice.

But he did recognize that smell… Pizza? Tacos? Sushi? What WAS it??

Chloe walked in with a bucket of KFC & coleslaw. She looked familiar to Jack, but couldn’t place her. “Do I know you?” he asked.

“I’m your parole officer, we’ve been through this” she said as Jack grabbed a piece of chicken and thought..parole officer?

“Since I know you won’t remember, I’m also your sister.” She was unshaken, pecking him on the cheek as she went to the kitchen.

Jack kept eating his chicken as he read a post it up on the wall. “I like Extra Tasty Crispy,” he mumbled to himself as a reminder.

And that explained the “Extra Tasty Cris….” that was written on the wall in sharpie next to the phone…

Jack finally got up with a wing in his mouth to open the door. As the door opened, there was a woman who looked…

…like Chloe. She stopped him. “You just opened the door, Jack. Remember?” “No, I don’t,” he said. Chloe was in for a loooong day.

The look on his face made her eyes roll.That or the wing hanging out of his mouth. “Napkin?” She asked, wiping his chin.

Sneaking out the back and knocking again was just one of Chloe’s ways to amuse herself by fucking with him.

She was neither his sister nor his parole officer. If KFC was open already, he must’ve missed his court date by now. Again.

“On second thought,” Chloe admitted, “this mess calls for a Wet-Nap.” She tore one open and the smell of rubbing alcohol hit him.

For 2 seconds, Jack had a flashback to his torture in China. They used wet naps & opium to try & get him to talk. He never did.

Memory issues made the present fuzzy, but the reason for his torture was still clear to him: smuggling art from the Hunan province.

But how could a man with memory loss pull off the biggest art heist since the Thomas Crown Affair? Easy – Chloe.

Before they met, her reputation proceeded her. Her work was clean & quick. The press named ‘La Chat Noir’ in over 32 global thefts.

Interpol had been after her specter for years. Yet, they only had anecdotal leads. He’d known her to put out false stories for fun.

Like the one about her Club Med Couples Escape to Ixtapa. Within minutes, Interpol moved in, only Chloe was nowhere to be found.

Another story Chloe once used? That she’d be hosting an open mic night in Quebec. Interpol swarmed there too but again…nothing.

She needed Jack for her next heist. He was the only one who could navigate the museum & its hundreds of security guards & lasers.

But Jack, still in the throes of memory loss, couldn’t remember where the museum was…let alone Mexico.

Luckily, he didn’t need to remember where Mexico was, since the museum was in China. Too bad he couldn’t remember that either.

Jack woke up mid-flight. Window seat. Nothing but clouds. Story of his life. Wondering, Who’s this woman seated to his left?

He asked her for a drink. “Right away, Jack.” She stood & headed toward the back cabin, glancing briefly at the man seated in 4F.

Suddenly, it hit her. Seamus O’Reilly, the head of Interpol, was in 4F. But he was fast asleep. So for now, Chloe dodged a bullet.

Chloe got a water bottle from the back, then ducked into the lavatory. She unscrewed the sink panel to retrieve a black duffel bag.

Meanwhile, Jack was left alone, waiting for a drink he didn’t even remember asking for. “Man, I wish I wrote it down,” he mumbled.

He reached into his pocket & found an entire stack of post-its. All different colors & messages. “Black duffel bag!” one said.

And why am I married to Adam Sandler?

A purple one said, “Sink panel. Lavatory.” Jack was piecing things together. He went there, passing O’Reilly, who was drooling.

And the next post-it read, “By any means possible, keep the bag out of Chloe’s hands.”

Jack hoped he’d recognize Chloe. He should have drawn her face on a post-it note. He headed to the back of the plane when suddenly,

he saw a woman step out of the lavatory clutching a black duffel bag. He didn’t recognize her, but he knew what he had to do.

He had to pull out another post-it note to remind him. It said, “When you see a woman with a duffel bag, wake up the Irishman.”

Jack wondered how he’d find an Irishman. He looked left & saw nobody. He looked right. And there was O’Reilly, between Lee & Cheng.

Jack suspected this man was Irish by the corncob pipe and top hat over fiery red hair. But the next post-it confirmed it: 4F

Jack reached over Cheng to wake O’Reilly up. “There’s a woman with a duffel bag.” Seamus turned to Lee & said something in Chinese.

Lee nodded. Without hesitation, he grabbed the bucket of KFC stowed under his seat & ran towards the back of the plane.

“No thanks,” Jack said as he patted his stomach. “Had some earlier.” But this was no ordinary KFC bucket. Lee’s gun was inside.

Lee & O’Reilly knew what they had to do-distract Chloe & retrieve the Picasso. Jack could help, but only if he had his memory back.

Lee grabbed the gun but it was covered in grease. Delicious grease. It fell to the floor and discharged one lethal bullet at …

…the goats stowed above the seats in row 24. Chloe heard the gunshot, and she came running out of the lavatory.

Through screams, goat blood, and chaos, she found Jack. She ripped apart his post-it notes. “Biscuits,” she whispered in his ear…

“Biscuits?” he repeated. “No!” she screamed as Lee and O’Reilly handcuffed her. “I said Risk IT!” And suddenly he remembered.

BISCUITS was code for “Beat Interpol STAT. China Understands I Thieve Statues”. But it was too late. Chloe glared at Jack sternly.

Jack’s memory came back fast. “Crap! I missed my court date!” Chloe snickered, and O’Reilly stifled a laugh. Lee openly mocked him.

Jack looked at his watch. “There’s still time!” He pulled a parachute out of his bag and opened the door. “Jaaack!” screamed Chloe.

Jack nodded at Chloe & winked twice. That was their sign. They’d meet at the Peach Pit in 13 days. Without warning, he jumped.

Just like that, Jack was gone. O’Reilly and Lee handcuffed Chloe to seat 4A, while Cheng cleaned up the goat’s blood.

THE END

Wow – this was awesome! 13 writers (including me) contributed on this one. Thanks @AgentLuke for supplying the photo. And thanks to @ParkRidgeDDS @hwtibbs @LundieP @foiledcupcakes @nella22 @brianpinkley @Chrisa_Hickey @jsetlak @thatgirlmari @FeliciaCago @kikiandkyle @jimmydoestea for writing.

We may have just written Season 8 of 24.

 

 

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Justin Time

She cleaned the pool, mixed drinks & waited for her guests. The party was going to be off the hook.

Melania was starting to wonder if Donald had finally lost the plot with his latest design for Trump Copehagen.

“Have you finally lost the plot with your design for Trump Copenhagen?” Melania asked. He was combing his hair and didn’t hear.

Trump had bigger things on his mind: how to get rid of Melania, once and for all? He needed to call an expert, someone discreet…

Just then Ivanka stormed in. “Did you take my hair straightener again? That toupee will fall off once you jump in the pool anyhow!”

Donald nodded. Ivanka’s tirade was code for “I loosened the hinges on the diving board.” Melania wouldn’t be a problem much longer.

And thus something was indeed rotten in the state of Denmark. Poor Melania wouldn’t have long to enjoy her own party. But why?

Melania, a former Slovenian Olympic diver, was doing some ballistic stretches in the house. This would be her shining moment.

As guests arrived, Donald & Ivanka continued speaking in code. They couldn’t let Melania out Donald for being a Justin Bieber fan.

“Ut-bay I-hay ant-way ustin-Jay ieber-Bay o-tay e-bay y-may ool-pay oy-bay!!” Melania screamed into the phone while stretching.

Melania had been wanting Bieber for herself, and it floored her to see Donald fawn over him. But who was she talking to?

Suddenly, Melania heard a crash, followed by a deathly scream! She rushed downstairs and grew dizzy when she saw…

…Ivanka holding a bottle of Ambien. “Tired yet, Melania?” Ivanka asked. Donald laughed while fanning Justin Bieber on Facebook.

She did feel the need, and her guests still hadn’t arrived.”Sure, gimme two!” and as Ivanka slipped her two “Ambien”,some1 knocked.

Ivanka opened the door to find Justin Bieber’s mom holding a boom box. “I’m a little early, but I’m here to party!” she exclaimed.

As she threw back the pills with a swig of Trump Water, Ivanka shreiked “That wasn’t Ambien, and there are no guests because…”

“…Mrs. Bieber told them to go home so you can dive.” Melania was confused, but Donald didn’t care. He kept grooving to “Baby.”

“But I just put out the crudités & mojitos!” Melania said desperately to Ivanka. She started to panic, but just then…

Mrs. Bieber changed the boombox to “Never Let You Go.” Donald, Ivanka & Melania had a dance party. “Love this song!” yelled Donald.

mrs. bieber headed towards the pool. the others followed. ivanka said to melania, “you should show us your skills!” donald agreed.

Melania got on the diving board & started her approach. She leapt once, but the board buckled just like Ivanka and Donald planned.

Melania fell into the pool, screaming at Donald to help. He looked at Mrs. Bieber. “I don’t want to get my hair wet,” he shrugged.

The back gate opened. Justin Bieber came running in, and he dove in to save Melania. Donald squealed like a little girl. “Justin!”

Donald watched Justin, a former lifeguard, save Melania. His heart softened. He knew he could no longer go through with his plan.

He sat the Biebers in his boardroom. “Biebers – what you did today changed everything. Well, except how much I love your music.”

“I’ll always love your music. I want it around all the time. Melania doesn’t know yet, but we’d like to adopt you.” Donald smiled.

“Mom – can I?” Justin asked. She nodded yes, with a line he knew pretty well. “Baby, baby, baby, oh. Thought you’d always be mine.”

Justin leapt into Donald’s arms, still soaking wet from Melania’s rescue. Donald was happier than Ivanka when she got her 1st BMW.

Donald still couldn’t believe it. He mouthed to Melania, “Justin Bieber, our new son. Oh my god! Oh my god! OH MY GOD!!”

THE END

Thanks to @danielzarick for supplying the photo. And thanks to all the writers on this story. It was a good group – @kikiandkyle, @nella22, @foiledcupcakes, @jsetlak, @thatgirlmari and @FeliciaCago. Who knew the Trumps were such big Bieber fans?

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