The last minute reporter (writing exercise)


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The Last Minute Reporter



“You’re up buddy!”

“What the hell do you mean I’m up?”

“Rick is stuck in an elevator, you’re going on live!”

Nathan bit his lip. He’d only been an intern at the station for a month and half. In his mind live television was a good two years away. Sweat began to roll down his forehead, large salty drops. The station manager grabbed him by sleeve of his gray wool coat, while shouting across the room at a woman pushing a makeup cart.

“Barbara, fix Nathan’s face. He’s live in ten minutes. And for God’s sake get him another jacket. What the hell are you wearing kid?”

The red headed woman with cigarette stains around her lips pulled him down the hall.

“Barbara’s going to fix you right up sweetie,” she said.

Her voice was harsh and spoke volumes about the hard life she must have lived. She had large pink swirls on both cheeks, dark purple eyeshadow painted over her irregular shaped eyes, and scarlet red lipstick, so glossy you could see your reflection, she was a clown. Nathan had a hard time picturing how she could possibly be a makeup artist. As she began spackling his face with base tone, he imagined himself looking like a preppy Marilyn Manson.

The stage manager returned. “Is he ready yet?!”

“Almost done just trying to cover these God awful pores. You really need to see a dermatologist kid,” said Barbara.

Nathan followed the stage manger and flinched as he shoved in the cold plastic ear piece.

Just read the prompter Nathan. You get stuck, I’ll be right in your ear to help you out.”

“Any questions?”

Before Nathan could reply the stage manager answered, “No questions, good. Now don’t screw up.”

The hot lights beat down on Nathan’s head and he could feel the makeup melting and starting to run down the side of his face. His best fake smile was in place by the time the promo music was playing and the teleprompter lit up. Without hesitation he began to read. As if on auto pilot he flawlessly delivered the news. He was a natural. With a smile he signed off. This was what he’d dreamed of his whole life. He’d found his calling and from that moment on there would be no turning back.


The New Boss (short office fiction)


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The New Boss

He’s a preppy bitch. A younger more successful version of myself. A snaggletooth shark in a thousand dollar suit. I hate this kid. Robbie, could he have more of a douche-bag name? We’re like water and oil. His promotion came through today. He’s the new head of bookkeeping, and my boss. Fucking fantastic. If you’ve ever stepped in a pile of fresh dog shit barefoot, you’ve got an inkling of how bad my day is going.

“So, John, I’ve seen your reports. They’re sloppy. This kind of work’s not going to fly around here anymore. You need to get with the program. You need to get on the Robbie train,” he says.

“The Robbie train?” I ask.

“That’s right. It’s an express train. It don’t stop for losers.”

“OK, um, doe’s it stop for lunch? Because, it’s ten minutes past my lunch break.”

“Keep it up John. Don’t make me check your ticket.”

What a piece of shit. I’m going to stick my balls in his coffee cup. He walks away with his chest puffed up like some kind of animal. The wild Arizonan Fuck-tard, yeah, that fits him. If only I lived in a world, where I could get away with stabbing him in the gallbladder. He rounds the corner, and I let out a sigh. This was going to be a long rest of my life.

A Touch of Porno/ erotic writing snippet


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A touch of porno

Speed bumps, the tiny hills around the nipple, they turn me on. My tongue flicks softly against each and every one of them. The stiffening between my legs, the beating heart in my chest, the sweat dripping from my brow, all signs that I need to slow down. I pull my face from her breasts and look into her eyes. A moment is all I need. A noise escapes my lips with each slowing breath I exhale. I need to calm myself, focus on the end game.

The tip of my cock brushes against her wet panties. She wraps her silk covered legs around me and pulls me close. Her soft moans could make the pope rethink his abstinence. I breath in her scent, sweat and perfume. My hand traces the contour of her long stems, every smooth inch I caress, causes my member to stiffen even more. From her toes to the clip on her garter belt, I memorize every curve of her lovely legs. My hand finds the end of her stockings. I reach around, grab her plump ass, and squeeze. The throbbing in my cock is unbearable now. She grinds her crotch into it. Panties push to the side and I feel her warm wet lips. She’s a fucking goddess.

Her juices surround my member and I plunge deep. Our tongues tango in each others mouths. Grasping my bottom lip in her teeth like a wild thing, she pulls it, and growls.

“Fuck me harder. I want to feel your cum inside me!”

The Day I Spoke Up


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The Day I Spoke Up

This wasn’t going to end well for me. The day had already gotten off to a bad start. Cramming my size thirty two ass into a a size thirty pair of pants, I refused to believe that I had gained that much weight, and then hearing the slow tear of my my favorite jeans as I secured the final button, it broke my heart. Being a two hundred pound sixth grader was a tough gig.

My father was waiting for me at the breakfast table that morning. He was on food patrol.
“Do you really think you should be eating that,” he asked. Knowing which wounds to rub the salt in took an expert torturer, but my father was no pro, he went for the gaping hole in my chest. Reminding me I was fat wasn’t going to make me skinny. Just like reminding him that he was a drug dealing scum bag, wasn’t going to make him anymore of a father.

I inhaled a sausage and smiled at him. The back-hand was quick and precise. My father the mathematician, the answer to solve “x” was always a slap in the face. A trickle of blood oozed out of my nose down into my mouth.

“You’re going to respect me boy, or you’re going to to be really damn sore,” he said.

“Fuck you!” I replied. Yep, that shit came out of my mouth. I felt like a foot soldier in the German army. The one who just told Hitler that his mustache looked like shit. Speaking of shit, I was in it, and deep.



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The table thumped. The thoroughly calloused leather that covered his hands, was no match for an oak surface, and the inch long sliver of wood sticking from his knuckles, did little to dissuade him from repeating the mistake. After the third gory punch he settled down into his chair, letting his arms dangle between his legs, as blood dripped from deep cuts into a puddle at his feet.

“I loved her,” he said. His voice was gravel. Tears mixed with dust left trails of mud down his face. He hummed a sorrowful tune and rocked back and forth. The chair creaked with each shift of his body. The moments passed. The smell of blood and his unwashed body mingled, and filled the cabin with the scent of desolation.

Gary and the Dead Guy (Crime story snippet)


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Gary and the Dead Guy


Gary is a fuck’n riot. He’s a court jester in blue jeans, pretty much the funniest man I’ve ever met. Who knew a murderer could be so likeable? But, there he was, like a present on Christmas morning. Blood spatter on his face, holding the murder weapon, with a body at his feet, gift wrapped, and the FBI was loving it.


The hair on the back of his neck stood up on end. It was a cold November day in Prescott, Arizona, or as Gary referred to the town, Arizona’s ass-hole. He itched his five o’ clock shadow and looked down at his soaked pants. The prick in the green mini van had hit the puddle just right. It soaked him from loafers to crotch. Gary sighed. He took a sip of coffee. The hot liquid poured down the collar of his shirt. Convenience store lids never fit right. His burning nipples caused him to do a water-head’s version of the chicken dance. He let go of the styrofoam cup. The wind picked it up, and blew it against his supervisor’s feet.

“That’s littering you know? What happened to you? You look like shit,” said his boss.

Now, Gary was known around the sheriff’s office as a bit of a jokester, but today all he could come up with was: “Fuck off! Where’s the dead guy?”

“Nice,” said his superior, “Over there wise guy. And hey, Gary, be nice to the FBI agent.”

Gary bent over and under the crime scene tape. A human hand lay severed between the gap where two police cars were parked. He knelt down and examined the appendage.

“Shit, and I thought I was having a bad day.”

Head in an Alleyway (Slasher flash fiction)


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Head in an Alleyway

“Who the hell are you?”

The silhouette said nothing. The footsteps had echoed behind her for a good two blocks. When she stopped, so did they. Now faced with her admirer, she displayed her wears. Lilly ran her hand up the side of her fishnet stockings until reaching her crotch. She slowly let one finger rest on her panties and massaged herself.

“You got money? This pussy isn’t free,” she said. Lilly waited but there was no response. The man stood shrouded in darkness like a deep black statue.

“Why do I always get the fuck’n freaks? Listen dip-shit I ain’t got all night. You want some company or not?”

The click of the man’s hard soled shoes echoed though the alley, as he began to advance.

“That’s what I thought. It’s $150.00 for an hour. If you ain’t got no place to go, I’ve got a place around the corner. If you want a hand-job or your cock sucked it’s $80.00, we can do it right here,” she said.

Four crisp twenty dollar bills appeared from the man’s trench coat pocket. She snatched them from his fingers and deposited them between her breasts.

“I’m going to blow your mind honey. Don’t cum in my mouth!” she warned, “Tell me when.”

The stranger unzipped his pants. His penis was smaller than you’d think a man of his stature would have. She covered her teeth with her lips and began to suck. Deep moans came from the man. He clutched the back of her head and began to thrust.

A glint of light flickered from something in his right hand. The knife plunged deep into the top of her skull. Her eyes rolled back into her head and she began to twitch. Removing his cock, he pulled her head back to reveal her soft neck. He carefully sliced around the circumference of her throat. It took several twists and jerks to remove her head.

Blood poured from the open stump onto his still hard penis. Stroke after stroke he assaulted his dick, the blood was the lube. He looked deep into the dead woman’s half open eyes and kissed the severed head. Another deep moan and he was finished. He let loose of the bloody mass of hair. A dull thump, and the head rolled off behind a dumpster.

The sound of the dark man’s heels echoed again through the empty alley. A cell phone rang.

“Hello, darling. Yes, I’m on my way now. No, no, honey you and the kids go ahead and start dinner without me. OK, see you in a few. Love you.”

A Cock in a Canyon (Fantasy/ flash fiction)


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A Cock in a Canyon

The Kul-crux are cat people. They have barbed cocks. Right now Beatrice Stonefist is finding this out the hard way. Her screams of pain bounce back and forth off the canyon walls. The puss thrusts again, jamming his spiny prick deep into her now bleeding cunt.

“You like that? Scream you filthy whore!” said the Kul-crux.

“I’m going to declaw you! You fucking piece of shit!” Beatrice replied.

She bit her lip and braced herself for the next painful jab. Tears puddled on her cheeks. As a warrior of the Black Plains People this rape would brand her unclean. She would never be allowed to marry within the tribe, or have children. Beatrice was as good as dead now. She’d be forced into hard labor and shunned by her family.

The cat began to purr as his pace quickened. In the midst of his ecstasy he made one fatal mistake, and loosened his grip on the victims arm. The bone handled blade sheathed in the Kul-crux’s belt would be Beatrice’s tool of slaughter. As the cat’s hairy thighs made one final slam against her soft pink ass, her hand came free of the creature’s grip. She grasped the knife and made a long upwards slash.

The Kul-crux’s penis fell to the ground. It twitched and squirted pink fluid into the air. The cat hissed and grasped the stub of his once prized dick. His high pitched screams brought a smile to the Plains Warrior’s face. She walked slowly towards the now kneeling cat and smiled. His pain would be legendary and his suffering long.

“Now, about those claws,” said Beatrice

The Hunt (Flash fantasy fiction)


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The Hunt

Damn trolls, the smell of them make me wish I was born without nostrils. Elusive bastards too, I haven’t found a single physical trace of this one. Scent alone has led me this far. It’s close. I can feel it.

“Son of a bitch!”

The razor sharp claws slice through my armor like it isn’t there. All I saw was it’s shadow. The bastard was quiet. The cuts aren’t too deep. My belt will suffice to stop the bleeding for now. Where the hell did it go? Fuck that hurts. I should have bought that wizard’s shielding enchantment, but I thought the old prick was trying to rip me off.

The sound of twigs snapping gets my attention. I’ve got the fucker now. It’s a perfect strike. My pike rips through the rough flesh and keeps going. It’s a female. I got her right between the top two tits. I lift her up over my head and slam the bitch into the ground. Bone shards erupt from the creatures neck accompanied by a distinct snapping sound. I love that noise. This cunt is toast. I whip out my dick and piss all over the corpse. What can I say? I take pleasure in the small things.

I grab my ax and hack off the two biggest claws. The king’s guards won’t pay me the bounty without proof. I take the fangs as well. They’re worth four silvers each. This monster hunter’s eating steak tonight. And if I’m lucky, I’ll get back to town before all the good whores are spoken for. The names Henry Blackfoot, and for a price, I kill the shit that goes bump in the night.

Short story snippet


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I hate the sounds that keyboards make. With each stroke of my fingers, I feel my intelligence slipping away. I’m a data entry zombie. No brains required. I’m the bathroom attendant of the the white collar work force. Four years of college for this shit, God, I am as stupid as I look.

“Hey, ya, Willie boy!” said Tom. Great, I thought I detected the distinct smell of semen. I dislike Tom, to the point of wanting to piss in his mouth.

“Heard you got a raise buddy, congrats,” said Tom, “who’d you have to blow for that?”

Your mother you fat fuck. I worked my ass off for two years for that extra forty bucks a week.

“Thanks Tom,” I replied. I hope you choke on a Frito you rotund pig. I flipped him off as he left my cubical.

The break horn sounded. It’s the Sunday church bell and it was time for my daily bread. I reached in my pocket feeling around for change. A dollar fifty, it was time to make my offerings to the vending machine, the giver of the mighty sugar buzz.