Jay mentioned there are rules for this wordzzle thing that Raven graciously hosts every Saturday:) I don't do rules very well, but I suppose at some point, I'll maybe wander back over to Raven's place and possibly look around to see if any rules jump up and smack me in the face. In the meantime, I just went ahead, copied the words and banged out another pitiful attempt at trying to hang with literary big dogs. Even if I suck, I kind of like the creative challenge and a few minutes of not thinking about where I am and what I'm doing.
With that, here's my Saturday Wordzzle offering...
Epeius and Odysseus combined, I sit motionless. The salamanders crawl out of the bushes between my house and the next, intent on dragging the dessicated chicken leg, I'd left on the patio-a trojan horse to their Troy, Filled not with Greeks, but rat poison pellets, in my trivial pursuit of finally ridding my house of these pugnacious pests. They paused near a half-filled beer can, carelessly tossed aside by the neighbor's son, passed out behind the wheel of his car abut 10 feet from me. They began removing the pellets and dropping it into the beer. Balderdash! I thought as I watched. This can't be true! But after cleaning the poison-stuffed chicken leg of every pellet, spiking the beer and dragging the can to a spot near the neighbor kid's car where he's sure to spot it and hopefully finish it, they departed with my now harmless offering. With their own sort of binding arbitration, these fantastic little creatures had cemented a peace with me. The bottomless pit of hate I felt for the kid who routinely stole beer from my garage, music CD's from my car and once vomited what smelled like cheap whiskey all over my porch, far outweighed the mere annoyance of these small lizards who often swarmed over my house. No more Trojan horses, I would offer them frankincense ,myrrh and finally, a peace between us.
And for the mini challenge:
Inspired by Jay and his images of pink thongs...I need to get of the ship!
The maniac girl worked the telephone pole outside the video store like a crackhead stripper, moving in time to the sidewalk flute player, her skirt flying on a windy day. Splinters.