Let’s do an AAADD writing game!
What’s that, you ask?
The AAADD Writing Game is a relay-team story writing effort. Someone begins the story by writing the first segment. Then another person picks up from where the starter left off and continues the story by writing another paragraph or two or three. Then a third person picks up from where the second writer left off and contributes another para, and so it goes….
Post your segment as a comment. Periodically, I’ll copy-and-paste your comment and add it to our growing story in the text of this post, identifying you as the author of that segment.
Try and be specific about places and persons you refer to in your segment, so that I can find the appropriate pics to post. Think Google street maps! 😉
We’ll keep the AAADD Writing Game going all through the weekend (and perhaps beyond, by popular request). At the end, you’ll be asked to vote for your favorite author. The winner gets a one-year fully-paid membership to Fellowship of the Minds, but s/he must pay the taxes to the IRS. LOL
It’d be interesting — and funny — to see us apply our individual imagination, writing style, and sense of humor. The final result should be a riot…. 😉
[author: Steve]“Yes,” Blondie said. “Edna told me the men in black were the Harlem Globe Trotters. They knew little Barry had potential. But they were faced with a problem. Everytime little Barry got on the basketball court, his shorts would fall down.” [author: Tina]
Blondie continued, “The shorts were not the worst part. When he bent down to pull them up, his ears got caught in his shoe laces, forming a ball. The Globe Trotters kept throwing him through the hoop. This in turn has resulted in his dead eye stare.” [author: Marianne]
“It looks to me that you need some help, the kind that only I can give ya,” Blondie said smokily. “There were plenty of clues at his elementary school, but all you got out of scouting the joint were some bruises and a hangover!”
“Yeah, well let’s you try taking on 87 Kindergartners with war paint, all hitting you with dart guns. And if there were clues there you already knew about, why didn’t you tell me?”
“That was my first test of you, smart guy! You didn’t do so well, did you? Maybe the money’s not what interests you, but from what I heard, you’re pretty broke, and you need it bad, really bad! So what’s up, do you need it so bad that you want it from me? And how about now, Mr. man’s man?” [author: Joseph]
I felt dizzy. “I need to get back to my village,” I said. [author: Tina]
“Your village?” smirked Blondie, “Is that what’s on your mind? Or is my offer just too hot for ya? What’s your damned village got to offer that you can’t get from me, in spades!” she sneered. [author: Joseph]
So, are you ready? Here’s the starter!
~Eowyn & Steve
The Case of the Missing Birth Certificate
My name is Mas Edaps, private eye.
It was six o’clock in the afternoon on a hot sultry day in Honolulu. Not a breeze stirred the humid air, unusual for paradise.
I was closing up my office when this blonde with killer legs walked in.
“Are you Mas Edaps? I have a job for you.”
I took the cigarette out of my mouth. “It’ll cost you plenty, blondie, and the money’s upfront.”
Blondie cooly opened her red alligator handbag and threw a stack of William McKinleys on my desk. “Here’s ten thousand. You’ll get the other ten when you bring me Obama’s long-form birth certificate.” [author: Eowyn]
“Obama’s birth certificate? Why not the Holy Grail? That would be easier,” I snarled.
Blondie said, “I heard you were good, you want the job or not”?
I thought to myself, “Damn those killer legs, they get me every time.” Plus I was 2 months behind on the rent, “Yea I’ll take it,” and scooped up the money.
As Blondie walked out she turned and said, “You find that birth certificate and you might even get a bonus.” And with that she winked and swiveled her hips out the door.
I poured myself a huge glass of bourbon for I knew where I had to head was one of the scariest places known to man. Right to the beginning. A Kindergarten class.
Noelani Elementary School on Oahu may look like a peaceful place, but trust me it’s not.
I bypassed the 2nd graders posted as sentries. I knew these kids were armed with tasers.
I went to find Miss Edna Hooplestein. It was rumored she was little Barry’s old teacher. I almost made it to the class when the lights and sirens went off. Out of nowhere little Ninjas came swinging from the rafters. Out of the doors came 87 screaming kindergartners with war paint. They started at me with dart guns. I knew I had to get out or I was finished.
There at the end of the hallway was a ray of light. I broke for it and dove right thru it. Wow that was close. I made it…
I hate second graders and tasers.
Back to the office. I needed more bourbon and a better plan. [author: Steve]
I normally keep an ample supply of whiskey stashed in the office. But with work being a little slow lately, the Wild Turkey’s been hit one too many times.
So I pulled into Fujioka’s Wine Times, a liqueur store that my late father Bic had been a patron since 1958 to pick up a fresh bottle. [author: Thomas Morato]
I picked up a few bottles of Wild Turkey and went back to the office to patch up my wounds. Damn, them little kids are vicious.
I remembered opening a bottle. Next thing I knew, I woke up with this banging in my head. It just kept getting louder and louder.
Damn, it’s not my head, it was Blondie about to break the door down. She swiveled in and gave me a once over and said, “You look like shit.”
“Thanks,” I groaned, “It’s better than I feel.”
“While you were drinking that rot gut, I had a lovely evening with Edna Hooplestein. It’s amazing what a few drinks and a few little love kisses will get you.”
Whoa. Is she saying that she and Edna play for both teams?
“Edna told me she remembered Barry and he was always picked up from school by several men in dark suits and sunglasses in a dark sedan.”
“Are you trying to tell me that the men in black were involved?”
I shot back, “Get a grip, Blondie! I’m not 007 and you sure as heck aren’t Pussy Galore!”
On the way back to the village, a little niggling thought kept creeping into my brain. What’s the story with the mother? What about the grandparents? How did a teenage girl from Kansas wind up in Hawaii with a married African boyfriend in 1960? What’s up with that? [author: Bloomergal]
Putting those long legs aside for now, I knew I was more than up for her challenge. I’ll show her and that stupid Obamamama just how manly a man’s man can be!
On my way to the school I drove to Matsuo Fujioka’s Flying Wings, a boutique exotic poultry farm that my late father Bic had been a patron of since 1958, to pick up a couple of fresh wild turkeys. I had old Matsuo put them in a heavy burlap bag. Those brats would never see what I had until I turned these birds loose on ‘em!
Once we bagged them and loaded them into my old Jeep, Matsuo turned to me and got chatty.
“Hey, Mas, it’s been forever since I seen you last. What’s the matter, you don’t like my birds so much any more? Or are they too pricey?”
“Hell no, Mats, but I’ve had to get my business up and running without help. I never inherited money like you did from your old man’s liquor store.”
“Well, that sure helped, but believe me Mas, raising exotic birds hasn’t been easy for me either. So I hear from the street that you got a rich blonde paying you to dig into the Obamamama’s past here on the Island. What’s it to you if he’s in power? Sure it’s a dirty job, but somebody’s got to do it. And besides, better one of them than one of us!” [author: Joseph]
Her name was Dorothy. She was a teenage girl. From Kansas. Toto was old now but they both remembered how good it felt to get back home to Aunt Em and Uncle Henry after losing her red shoes.
Now, they were both ready for a new adventure. Dot remembered how free she felt skipping down the yellow brick road ahead of the rattling old tin man, the fearful king of the jungle and Ray Bolger. Bolger was once in love with Amy, the blond detective who worked out of Mas Edaps’office on Ala Moana Boulevard.
Dot’s fingers twittered as she wrote a desperate postcard to Amy begging her to face booking her a way to get out of this tornado-infested state and over to the land of pineapples and tiny bubbles. Dot also put out a plea via her new transistor radio hoping that Amy would get her request sooner. Rushing through an ad for lindbaugh cheese, the announcer read Dot’s plea.
Basking in the sands in front of the Royal Hawaiian on Waikiki, Amy, the blond, heard Dot’s desperate begging for help. She loaded down airline tickets so that Dot and Toto could escape Kansas. On the way to the airport, and not feeling security in her homeland, Dot quickly changed her name to Stanley Ann and off she flew just ahead of the next tornado. At the last minute, she left Toto in Kansas. [author: just jane]
“Ha Ha Ha,” I chuckled. “You’re tellin’ me Obama’s mama was Dorothy from Ozland? Mat, ol’ buddy, now I know you’ve dipped too much into the cooking sherry. Come on, you can tell me. How much is the man paying you to jive talk me?”
Red faced, Matsuo mumbled, “Well, at least that explains why the FBI says all of Stanley Ann Dunham’s passports have been destroyed….” [author: Eowyn]
I bumped into the new Gov, Neil Abercrombie, at the Snorkel Shop where the tourists never go. He’s such a gasbag it was easy to get him started down memory lane. He took those classes in Russian the year Obama met Stanley. They were an odd ball version of “the three amigos” that summer. It was the last summer of carefree youth. Without realizing it, he gave me the connection that was also the reason for the big breakup later on! Her last name was DUN–HAM! DUN-HAM!
“Well,” Abercrombie said, “your choices are pretty limited. You can go full blown, balls to the wall muslim and deck yourself out in a burqa, change your name to Dhuha and he will never know what you look like until your wedding night.
Or you could just strike him over the head, drag him back to your place and jump his bones and then dump him in an alley somewhere.” [author: Tom in NC]
In the end, she didn’t have to drag him back to her place. They were hanging out at the snorkel shop late one night watching Ernie Kovacs, and sealed their love to the melodies of the popular proleterian Nairobi Trio.
Nine months later when he took his All-American girl home to Kenya to meet the family, an amazing baby boy was born who would one day grow up to be the POTUS and Nobel Peace Prize winner all in a year.
What’s up with that? [author: Bloomergal]