Write the start of a novel...

Leaving the horror of what he had done behind him, Dingleby boarded the train and counted the seconds till it pulled out of the station. At last the train began to move, and Dingleby heaved a great sigh. Cyrus Pettibunker, the offensive, greedy, cruel president of Wombat Ltd., lay dead in his study, an apparent suicide, and no one would suspect that the butler had done it.

Mercy
Depersonalize
Cuboid
Rip
Salamander

Cuboid and Mercy knew they couldn't outrun Salamander's assassin, Rip, any longer. They had one option left. It was a messy one, but it was a far better choice than the death sentence catching up to them.

"No matter what happens in here, Mercy," Cuboid whispered as he clasped the handle to the door marked DEPERSONALIZE, "I swear, I'll never forget you."

static
treatment
bozo
wasteland
jeopardize

How did he get here? Daniel looked around, confused. He had been riding his bike to work early, so as not to jeopardize his job. There had been a sudden screech. Did he black out? The next thing he knew, he heard a voice saying, “...hospital...treatment...you’ll be okay... ambulance...”

And now he was standing in a vast wasteland. What was causing the maddening static in his ears? And who was this strange figure in baggy pants, with enormous shoes and a big red nose, advancing toward him and saying over and over, “Hi, I’m Bozo. I’m taking you to the morgue. Hi, I’m Bozo. I’m taking you to the morgue. Hi, I’m Bozo. I’m taking you...”


Manila
Polecat
Solder
Duality
Finesse

Manila lacked finesse and this was especially evident when the duality of her nature asserted itself during the full moon. She grunted loudly when she shape-shifted and sometimes continued speaking after she'd taken on polecat form, or bit people after resuming her human shape. Fortunately she was the lead singer of the rock band Solder, so much of this was attributed to artistic temperament.

Furbelow

Twitch

Platter

Axle

Salacious

Attaching a sequined furbelow to her pole-dancing costume wasn’t really necessary, but Miranda knew that with each twitch of her tush, the little flounce would sparkle, giving an added turn-on to the salacious bastards who sat there buying ludicrously expensive drinks and ordering platter after platter of overpriced munchies while their own pole, so to speak, was starting to generate heat in its axle.


Engulf
Ligature
Charivari
Barn
Nutcracker

Engulf
Ligature
Charivari
Barn
Nutcracker

The crowd began to engulf the newlyweds as they moved from the synagogue steps toward limo. The klezmer band, set to play a joyful freylekhs found that they couldn't – someone had stolen the ligatures from the clarinets and saxophones. But, the secret plan for the charivari went as planned, and as the limo sped past the edge of town toward the farm and the old barn where the party was about to begin, the new bride and groom looked at each other in confusion. "A charivari," they were thinking. What sort of goyish cockamamie Christmas Nutcracker Suite nonsense was this?

qualified
primary
vacant
meager
hardball

Mary-Lou knew she was the only girl in primary school who was qualified for the position of class president, a position that had become vacant after Susie Parker had that nasty accident on the swings. Too bad Susie would never walk again, but sometimes you had to play hardball to get ahead. The perks of the position were meager, but it would provide a springboard to her real goal: complete control of the lunch room and her pick of the school lunches.

yodel
organza
projectile
arugula
tramp

((This is my new favorite game.))

I was standing in a field of arugula when it happened. The projectile soared through the air like scissors through organza. When it struck me in the stomach, lodging itself deeply into my flesh, it hurt so badly that I almost began to yodel.

That tramp, I thought to myself. Shooting me with generic projectiles while I'm frolicking in my arugula field. How dare she?!

That was the moment when I first realized I was going to kill Trampy the village tramp.


****

soul-reaving
glitter
droppings
rainbows
zombie

Felicia put the finishing touches on the rainbows on each side of the wedding cake. How pleased the bridal party would be! This was so much more fun than having to cater to that awful Goth couple, who wanted a zombie on top of their wedding cake, along with chocolate bits that--ugh!--resembled rat droppings! She had found that experience absolutely soul-reaving. With this cake, however, she would add glitter to her little pastry business.

Exoticism
Glimpse
Peony
Sousaphone
Tautology

The peony tree lent an aura of exoticism to Janet's garden, incongruous amidst the primroses and daisies as a sousaphone in a chamber orchestra, as out of place as the explosive "goddammit" shrilling from the tiny, dishwater blonde figure standing beneath it wrapped in a drab, oversized green and grey striped flannel robe, so long there was barely a glimpse of the scuffed garden clogs -- also several sizes too big -- on her feet.

She wrinkled her nose, pushing her glasses up with one knuckle, and re-read the letter that had instigated her outburst. "Dear Ms. Bryster:" it began impersonally, as if she hadn't been in the close company of the sender five days a week for the last seven-plus years; "it is with great regret and sorrow that I am sorry to inform you that I must tell you that your services as an employee are no longer required and that your employment with my firm will cease and come to an end with the receipt of this letter. Enclosed is a check for your final pay along with two weeks of accrued vacation benefits. Regretfully, Chester L. Frierson."

He's going to be very regretful and sorrowful when he finds himself sending out letters to associates as fraught with ridiculous tautology as this one. That thought gave Janet some grim satisfaction at least. But now what? Grim satisfaction wouldn't pay the mortgage.


Obsequious
collieshangie
affection
affectations
blasphemy

Finlay was glad to be closing up for the night. He was sick of these tourists, making a side trip up here from Aberdeen with their affectations about ghost sightings. There were no ghosts in Castle Fraser, he would tell them, but they always thought he was hiding something and would become obsequious, flattering him and even slipping him money to get him to tell the truth about the supposedly haunted castle. Tonight, two Americans had come into the pub and argued about whether the ghost was that of a headless Green Lady or of Mary, Queen of Scots. Their argument turned into such a collieshangie that Finlay had to throw them out. Finlay had grown up here in Inverurie, and had had affection for the old turreted castle. To him, treating it like a piece of Hollywood claptrap was blasphemy.

Gendarmerie
Cinnabar
Kelp
Sabbatical
Rewound

Pierre Poutine of the Gendarmerie Nationale was beginning to wish he hadn't agreed to end his sabbatical early to pursue a ruthless gang of Cinnabar smugglers. He sighed as he rewound the old films showing shipments of products in which the ore had been discovered in years past: kelp, Kool Aid, kayaks, Kangaroos...A thought niggled at the edge of his consciousness. Was there a theme here? he wondered.

Plotz
Hoopskirt
Baton
Intercontinental
Trench

When Norma walked through the door wearing a hoopskirt and twirling a baton, Max looked as if he was going to plotz. “What does this mean, Madame?” he said. “You have been invited to dinner at the DeMilles’ tonight.”

“I know, Max.”

“You cannot go looking like that!”

“Why not?” She did a full turn. “Mr. DeMille is planning a movie about intercontinental intrigue during the Civil War, and he needs an actress to play the lead, a spy masquerading as a drum majorette. Naturally, he will choose me.”

“Madame, please listen to reason. Last month when you put on a German uniform because you thought you could get a part in a remake of All Quiet on the Western Front and dug a trench in the back yard to rehearse, I told you to stop. It is for your own good."

But Norma was determined to proceed, and they set out in the 1929 Isotta Fraschini for the DeMille house.

The director himself opened the door. She twirled the baton coquettishly. “I’m ready for my close-up, Mr. Demille.”

Interlard
Muscatel
Clinic
Hex
Tachometer

The Adventures of Captain Shoe and The Amazing Aglet - Part 1: Shopping for Shoes

The Adventures of Captain Shoe and The Amazing Aglet - Part 2: Cry Havoc and Let Slip the Shoes of War

The Adventures of Captain Shoe and The Amazing Aglet - Part 3: The Knight and the Shoe

---

The Adventures of Captain Shoe and The Amazing Aglet - Part 4: Shoes in Pursuit

"Muscatel?" Captain Shoe gave the Amazing Aglet a sideways quizzical look. "Muscatel? What the hell are you pulling that stuff out for while we're in the middle of a car chase?" He tapped the tachometer's face plate to indicate their current high velocity.

"Not a good time?" the Amazing Aglet queried, tilting his balloon glass full of wine expertly as the Shoemobile was thrown around another corner.

"Not really," Captain Shoe replied, returning his full attention back to the road. They had negotiated the side streets around the Quasar Taco Emporium and were now heading at full speed onto the motorway where they had last seen Stiletto. He glanced toward his sidekick once again to tell him to keep a look out only for his nose to bump into a...bread board!

"Cheese platter?" the Amazing Aglet offered, thrusting a bread board overflowing with exotic cheeses and fruits into the Captain's face.

"Cheese platter?!" Captain Shoe glared at his sidekick - over the heaped mound of cheeses - in disgust. "Not now, man! We are trying to inflict a crime fighting clinic on our arch-nemesis here and you are--oooh, is that an Interlard Camembert; don't mind if I do." Captain Shoe reached over and grabbed a slice, then added with a sigh of resignation, "and some of the Muscatel, if you please." The Amazing Aglet went to work serving up the wine while the Captain hit the gas.

"A hex on that woman," a frustrated Captain muttered through a mouthful of cheese as his eyes scanned the road ahead.

Now it was the Amazing Aglet's turn to give a sideways quizzical look. "Indeed."

-

corn
whinger
subversive
pluck
variegated

The second Mrs. De Winter intended to serve corn on the cob at her first soiree. She'd risen at dawn to pluck the ears herself before the subversive Mrs. Danvers could throw cold water on her idea to surprise her aristocratic guests with a simple country meal. The whole house was to be decorated with charming variegated tomato plants set in butter churns and a small orchestra would play old favourites like Turkey In The Straw while dinner was served. There'd be silver tubs of hot butter for guests to dip the corn in, and although she supposed there'd be a few whingers complaining about spatters on their gowns, she was confident that this would erase the legendary hostessing career of Maximilian's previous wife forever.

pimples
internecine
bazooka
zinnia
squalor

Julian was far too young for this. Yesterday his biggest concerns were his pimples. But today, laying splayed in the alley's squalor behind large stinking garbage bins, his bazooka at the ready, he contemplated the contrast of red-faced zinnias growing defiantly near him in the corner - and the squalor around him that would be the last thing seen by the others till their dying breath. This was a wretched, war-torn, internecine moment.


Vestments
latchkey
thievery
chancel
mustang

Things weren’t working out. Father Thomas wasn’t sure why, but they weren’t. It was 6:30 a.m. Sunday, and as he put on his vestments and prepared to go to the chancel, all he could think of was the fun he used to have, roaring around in his 1983 Mustang, before he set out on the path that led to taking his vows. Those were the days--a carefree kid running with his pals and indulging in a little harmless thievery! What was he now? A middle-aged man in black, with no wife, no children, and a latchkey to a rectory.

Hologram
Mute
Lowdown
Clafoutis
Preoccupy

Clafoutis was preoccupied with the events of the Passover weekend as he and his twin, Cleophas, walked the dusty road to Emmaus. Cleophas, on the other hand could not stop mulling aloud the bloody events. Suddenly a mute stranger appeared and began to walk with them.

Cleophas began to give the strange figure the lowdown when Clafoutis caught his tunic sleeve. "Bite your tongue! Can't you see that he is a hologram sent by Herod and his high tech Centauri buddies to befuddle us?"

Gypsophilia
Calendula
Van Morrison
Nash Rambler
Procyon

"Where are we headed next, Thi?"

"Procyon, oh revered Musician Van Morrison, Folk/Soul Legend of the Universe."

"I don't know how many times I have to tell you to drop the flowery titles, Thi."

"A thousand pardons Your Awesomeness of Sound, ahh, Van."

"Close enough." Van Morrison leaned over his small garden and surveyed his handy-work. "Look here Thi, this is Gypsophilia," he pointed to a small white flower. Crothacky Whoop-whoop Machtaki Thi stared back at him and gave no reaction. "And here, this one is Calendula," he indicated a lovely orange-petalled plant but again there was no reaction. He smiled to himself, he knew what the Mach-ti was waiting for.

He'd been extracted for the first time in 1967 while tripping in his old Nash Rambler. Replaced by an android of startling likeness for a few days while he skipped around the galaxy with the Mach-ti. They were diminutive beings with large triangular looking heads. Their skulls were actually oval in shape but large almost elephant-proportioned ears, flat at the top, gave their heads a definite triangular appearance.

He began fussing over the flower bed, squirting some water here and brushing petals there, then looked over at his companion who by now had begun to lean noticeably toward him with ears at full attention. "Okay, no more teasing, you win." And then, as he always did when tending his garden, Van Morrison proceeded to softly sing...

-

Wall
Banana
Manipulator
Pensive
Carcinogenic

“How many times do I have to say it--a banana is not carcinogenic!”

But the professor was wrong. He was a manipulator, and Smithers, leaning against the wall in his pensive way, knew better. He had eaten a banana, and now he had a pimple, and pimples are the first stage of a far more serious condition.

Ichthyologist
Cigar-box
Muster
Mycenaean
Drool

The drool hung in a string from the patient's mouth, suspended like elastic, unwilling to fall to the floor of the doctor's office.

"He really shouldn't have eaten that fish," the Ichthyologist commented to the doctor. "We haven't seen it's like since the Mycenean civilization dominated Greece in the 1600s, BC. There's no telling what it's done to his central nervous system." He reached for the cigar-box resting on the the counter behind the patient.

"But we're in the U.S.," Dr. Pinckel said. A look of horror came to his face. "Everyone who eats fish is in danger! We have to muster our resources and get the word out to prevent this from happening elsewhere."


stymied
surreptitious
indigenous
filibuster
disagree

The Chronicles of Intrepid Reporter Sarah Young - Episode 1: Filibuster

"Here we are in the great hall of congress and down there is Senator Smith in the middle of the longest filibuster in history, currently clocking in at 2 years, 4 months, 11 days. Let's listen in..."

"...and then I went out and bought myself 3 pounds of white rice and a toilet brush, and that was on August 9, 1973. The very next day my toilet was spotless and I had fixed myself the fluffiest white rice dish I'd ever had the privilege to eat. So I wholeheartedly disagree that the surreptitious use of..."

"Absolutely riveting. It looks like the President's Bill on the Preservation of Indigenous Alaskan Elk is stymied for the foreseeable future.

"This is Sarah Young for ICUPMMK News signing off."

-

Supersonic
Ado
Naught
Facile
Wheelchair

Eddie had a facile way of making us laugh, even at sensitive things, like referring to Miss Jones' transportation as "the supersonic wheelchair" - which frequently caused much ado about naught!

Hah! One sentence.


newspaper
toilet
tampax
neighbor
potato salad

The Chronicles of Intrepid Reporter Sarah Young - Episode 1: Filibuster

-

The Chronicles of Intrepid Reporter Sarah Young - Episode 2: Intimate Interview

"Over to you, Sarah."

"Thanks, John. We're here today in the lavatory of a Mr Ed Miller. You can see here various items of a sanitary nature: some Tampax, toilet paper, an anti-odour spray, a bowl of potato salad, ahh...? And here's Mr Miller himself. As you can see he's reading his newspaper. Let's see if we can get his attention. Excuse me, sir, Mr Miller, I'm Sarah Young from ICUPMMK News, can we have a moment of your time?"

"What the fuck! Who the hell are you?"

"Sarah Young, ICUPMMK News."

"You certainly will not see me pee. Get the hell out of my toilet, lady!"

"Your neighbor has reported some shocking backwash in his pipes, have you been experiencing anything similar. Do you have any comment, sir?"

"Get that mic out of my face, and get the hell out of my--"

"Ahh, no need to get up, sir, we're leaving. Well, there you have it, situation normal in the lavatory of the Miller household. But that does beg the question, why is Mr Miller's neighbor experiencing such problems - bad plumbing or City Hall conspiracy, you be the judge."

"This is Sarah Young for ICUPMMK News signing off."

-

Propeller
Walrus
Cowl
Insipid
Catharsis

“This cowl is insipid,” said Brother Martin. “It completely hides my gym bod. I might as well be a walrus. If I could get near a plane, I’d throw the damned thing in the propeller and watch it being ripped to shreds, and I’d send photos to the Vatican. That would be one big catharsis.”

Meretricious
Glint
disgorge
Harum-scarum
tube