I know they're lame and I'm showing my nerdism, but I like round robin stories. Here are the rules for this one:

Entries shouldn't be more than 150 words.

You have to end by dangling a simile (like... as...) or drawing a comparison for the next writer to finish.

In the case of simultaneous posts, the last shall be first. You know what them redneck pheasnat hunters always say - The early bird always gets shot first.

The rating for the story should be Pg-13. Anyway caught flying down the soft porn world of NC-17 will have their hands tied behind their back and be forced to make out with me in a musky broom closet during JounlOrgyCon -- for ten minutes! (did I mention that I dip Skoal?)

-- Anonymous, July 29, 2001

Answers

Carbonated soda pop squirted from her nose. It ran down the front of her new 1950's canary yellow sundress and burned the sensitive membranes in her nostrils but she didn't care. She was having fun. She was laughing. She was in love.

Alicia reached quickly reached into the picnic basket for a hand towel. She covered her face with the rag. She held it there for a moment partly to wipe the brown fizzy mucus from her lips and chin but mostly because she was embarassed to have snort laughed like a...

-- Anonymous, July 29, 2001

prize winning pot bellied pig.

"Oh. What you must think of me.", she whispered in a mannered southern bell drawl as she bagan to compose herself. "I do declare, Colt Ridge Hansen the third. You must not say such things to a lady. Why just look at what you've gone and made me do."

Colt gave his legendary lady killer smile. His teeth gleamed like a line of theater spotlights. His smile was so bright that he may have blinded her if not for his deep, dark brown eyes that seemed to counteract the effect of his pearly incisors by soaking up the sunlight like a stack of quicker picker upper Brawny paper napkins covering a koolaid spill. How he'd never blinded himself while looking in the mirror as a child he never understood, although he suspected that it something to do with the bushy black unibrow that hung over his eye sockets like...

-- Anonymous, July 29, 2001

...the 16 year old that Colt didn't know she was. She stifled her gasp and began to think of what she'd wear, what she'd tell her momma.

"Oh Colt, I would love to go with you!"

Alicia had dreamt of going to the Plum Society Dance since she was old enough to twirl around in her mother's scarves. The annual dance, the biggest in the county, took place on the last day of the Plum Festival. The transition from girlhood to womanhood took place somewhere between bobbing for plums and the inevitable drive out to the orchards after the dance. Last year, Alicia had bit a plum out of the barrel on her first try, a plum so ripe that it seemed like a bag of sugar water. This year, she was ready to try her luck under the trees. She looked at Colt like he was...

-- Anonymous, July 30, 2001

a bronze tinkling boy fountain in the center of her Garden of Eden.

She laid a delicate, lily-white hand on his strong, well-muscled arm. "You don't know what this means to me," she breathed. "Imagine, someone like me going to the Plum Society Dance with someone like you."

Her crooked grin faded as she thought about just how different they actually were. Cole was dashing and dangerous, and she was about as alluring as

-- Anonymous, July 30, 2001

yesterday's newspaper. She began to think of the reasons she should turn down the invitation...she couldn't afford an expensive frock, her married sister would want her to babysit that night, her lack of knowledge of ballroom dances. But her smile reappeared as she realized that Colt knew these things, and still wanted the pleasure of her company.

Alicia knew that there would be that special time out in the orchard after the dance. She got all warm just thinking about it. Special, private time with Colt. Most of their dates had taken place on her parents' front porch. Not exactly private.

Colt interrupted her reverie by taking her in his strong arms and pulling her close to him. He said, "Just think---it will be your first chance to taste the plum wine." He did not mention that first tastes of plum wine often caused as much trouble as...

-- Anonymous, July 30, 2001

a masturbating crazy person in church, a subject that Alicia knew about all too well.

It had been almost two years ago, but the irreverant images and smells still haunted her daily. Brought up in a strict christian home and, until now, holding co-starring roles in PG rated round robin stories, she'd never thought about, much less witnessed, such fleshy acts as self stimulation. But she remembered the crazy man well.

He would come in, waddle his way down the sanctuary aisle toward the old oak alter all the while slapping the side of his leg with one hand and rubbing his greying jagged cut flat topped head with the other. "Slappy Jack" what they called him. He was wrinkled, unkempt and as stinky as

-- Anonymous, August 01, 2001

...the hospital sheets the morning after he'd lost the nightly fight with the urine bottle. Those damb nurse's aids! He'd ring that buzzer over and over and some two hours would pass before a pimply-faced youngster, smelling of pot and hospital cleanser would finally come help.

Where was she, right now? Was she thinking of him? His miserable life, its suffering exsistance had almost poisoned the memory of her until he'd found her picture. It was an old, yellowing snapshot that had fallen in between the liner of his Air Force jacket. How long had he been carrying it there, forgotten, but still close to his heart?

"You're too late, you miserable mother ---" Slappy would trail off addressing the nurses's aid who'd finally came in. His eyes turned away, remembering the girl at the Fellowship Baptist Annual Picnic. He remembered how she had recognized him and quickly turned away. But he had seen her...had seen the recognition flash across her face like a...

-- Anonymous, August 01, 2001

... a cat that had rolled in a dead carcass. He would always slip into the third pew from the front and fix his eyes upon the short, pudgy choir director, Mr. Vandergabin, who kept his back to the congregation through the service, his pudgy little butt moving in time to the music.

Not everyone knew what the old man was up to, and the ones who figured it out only whispered horrified whispers to one another. No one ever confronted the crazy old man, and one day he simply slumped over and died right there in the pew.

The town buried him in a simple grave, and the only mourner who came to the graveside service was the old man's son, Colt Ridge Hansen Jr., and the old man's grandson, Colt III. The younger Hansen spent the whole ceremony crying like a ...

-- Anonymous, August 01, 2001

... like Rudeboy when he notices his story just totally ground to a halt.

-- Anonymous, August 03, 2001

It's Beth man. All Beth's fault. She doesn't want it to be dirty and you know dirty pervesrion is the only way to keep you bunch of nymphos interested. If everybody else gets to have a juicebox, why can't I at least talk about one? A nice soggy, slippery, spilling over the edges cuz it was squeezed too hard wet one.

Just kiddin'. I've turned over a new leaf. Absolutely no more ambiguous sex stuff.

-- Anonymous, August 04, 2001

The new forum will open today, and you can start over and make it dirty, if that makes you happy.

-- Anonymous, August 04, 2001

Sure, make it seem like you care. I know the truth tho. You don't luv me, you just luv my rudie style.

-- Anonymous, August 06, 2001

Well, that's not true. I'm going to start this up again in the sex thread at the new forum, and you will have my permission to make it as R rated as you like. NC 17, even!

You'll have to register to read it, though.

-- Anonymous, August 06, 2001