Tag Archives: dialogue

Mungo Jerry Philosophy

“What if I said your girl had your dick wrapped around her little finger?”

“I’d punch you in the face.”

“Then I’m not sayin’ it.”

“Yeah, whatever. Like you’ve never fallen for a girl.”

“No, man. I follow the Mungo Jerry philosophy.”

“Mungo what-y what-a?”

“If her daddy’s poor, just do what you feel.”

“So you bang poor girls.”

“Shit yeah! You see me complaining ever? I’m not the one bitchin’ about his girl. Rich girls got expectations that are way too high. Let some sugar daddy fuck her with his old man balls.”

“Okay. Now I’m really going to punch you in the face.”

“I’m just tellin’ you to stop and smell the roses. And by smell I mean fuck and by roses I mean…”

“Stop! Just stop!”

“See? You’re already freaking out. She got you whipped. Whutcha!”

“No. No. That’s not how it is at all. That’s just not how it is.”

“Then how is it? Tell me how it be?”

“It’s… fuck, man. She’s incredible.”

“Incredible… at what?”

“What? No, she’s just an incredible person.”

“So, she’s a bad lay.”

“She says it’s her blood sugar. She gets tired.”

“I feel sorry for you. You need help.”

“She… she just doesn’t like my breath until I’ve brushed.”

“Please stop telling me things.”

“She just… she’s amazing. She’s incredible.”

“Stop… what are you, crying? Stop that! Guys don’t cry! What is wrong wit’chu?”

“I don’t want to be alone!”

“Stop! Get–get off me! You need help, man. Like, a shrink or somethin’.”


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Filed under Flash Fiction, Session XXII

A Mixture of Pride and Panic

“You’re starting to sound like me,” Shelly beamed.

Kurt’s breath caught in his throat. “Is that… good?”

“Yes! It means you’re being mature now!”

Kurt screwed up his eyebrows and ran his tongue over his front teeth. Did that mean he was immature before? “I don’t know if I want to be mature.”

“You have to grow up sometime,” Shelly said. Kurt could tell she was distracted, doing something on the other line like paying for groceries or something.

“Nnnnooo. No. I don’t think I do. I’ve seen plenty of children in adult bodies.”

“Yeah, but it’s not like it’s a good thing. But hey, sounds like you’re at least starting to take responsibility for yourself and for others.”

“Is this a talk about babies? Are we talking about babies now?”


“Because babies are gross, Shelly. They’re little misshapen fleshy things that make noises and smell bad.”

“I’m not talking about babies. Would you get a grip?”

“Because, you know, I don’t want babies.”



“Shut up.”

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Filed under Flash Fiction, Session XXII


“What are you doing now?”

“I’m kind of between jobs.”

“You’re not supposed to tell that to your date, you know. What was your last job, then.”

“It was, uh… it was at PandaMex.”


You know, the one with the panda bear with the mariachi hat and the maracas? It has the adobe walls with the pagoda-looking tiles above the front entrance?”

“Not… ringin’ any bells. No.”

“Really? The Kung Pao quesadillas are pretty popular. Oh well, anyway, so I worked there.”

“And that’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“How boring. I need a good quit-your-job story.”

“There’s no story. I just quit.”

“You’re going to have to come up with a story, then, if you want me to go Dutch on this meal.”

“You.. what… eehhh, man! All right! There is a reason I quit.”

“Was there rat meat in the food?”

“What? No! The food there’s pretty good, actually. No, it was something else. Who’s telling the story, anyway?”

“My apologies. Go on.”

“So, anyway, where was I…?”

“You didn’t start telling the story yet.”

“Oh, right! So, we had that panda on the sign, you see, but we also had a panda costume. I was new, so I would always get sent out to the curb during the lunch rush when we had enough people on staff. I’d lure people in by shaking my maracas and dancing.”

“Oh, dear Lord. No wonder you quit!”

“Well, it actually wasn’t too bad. The suit was a little hot, but it broke the monotony of the day. The one thing that really bothered me was that people wanted to take pictures with me but they rarely tipped. Isn’t it common courtesy to tip someone you take a picture with? Like in Hollywood with those weird-looking tin men or gold men or whatever. You’re supposed to tip, right?”

“Oh. You’re asking me? I really wouldn’t know. Is that really why you quit, though?”

“No. No. That’s just a pet peeve of mine. Why I really quit was the seedy underbelly of the costumed mascot world.”

“Now you’re just making stuff up.”

“It’s true! You see, there was a Chicken Cookout in the same strip mall as us. I had a guy come by dressed up as a chicken with a chef’s hat and an apron. He pushed me over and told me to stay off his curb.  And that was just the start of it. After that, there was this really old Grand Am that would drive by. Except for the driver, all the guys in the car wore chicken suits. At first they threw chicken bones, but then one time it was a chicken with its throat slit. I tried to tell the manager, but he thought I was just trying to weasel out of mascot duty. I got scared, so I put in my two weeks.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“God, that is so lame.”

“Hey! You asked!”

“Well, you didn’t have to be that… honest.”

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Filed under Flash Fiction, Session XXII


“Father, I have sinned. Though I am a priest myself, I have not been to confession in eight months since my brother was murdered.”


“I understand. Tell me about your sins.”


“I have been plagued with thoughts of vengeance and murder, Father. I even bought a gun, not for my own protection, but to kill the men who took my brother’s life… it hasn’t been easy for me. I know my brother was not a man of faith. He was a drug dealer and an addict himself. Still, I feel more comfortable with the idea of sending those men to Hell than of going to Heaven myself. I know my brother will not be waiting there anyway. I… I… I tried so hard to save him. Now he’ll never have that chance. They took it. They took his chance of salvation from him.”


“You know this is a grievous sin you speak of…”




“Thoughts of murder are as bad as murder itself. The Devil is trying to tempt you and you are losing, Father.”


“I understand, but…”


“Your brother’s soul is in God’s hands. It always has been. You are a man of faith, are you not…? Have some faith, then.”


“Father, there’s more.”




“I’ve found out where they lived, driven by their homes. I saw one man with his brother, too, and I thought, ‘Why should he get to have a brother? Shouldn’t he share my pain?’”


“That’s not for you to decide.”


“…so I loaded my gun and drove by his house again, but this time it was after school and I saw children playing in front of the building. I’m not sure what I would have done if they were not there.”


“…Father, I want you to listen to me. If you do this, you won’t be ridding the world of a murderer. You will simply be replacing one with another. Trust in God and pray for His forgiveness. You said you wanted to find salvation for your brother. Can these men not also be saved?”








“Don’t be an idiot. You may be a shepherd yourself, but it’s not such a good thing to lie to your confessor. You and I both know that penance and confession can absolve the hearts of the faithful.”


“These are not faithful men.”


“Maybe so, but I’m sure they have a priest that can guide them as well. Isn’t there some scrap of hope you can find?”






“There was one man who claimed to not be involved with the murder, though he stood by and watched. I thought he was just a liar, but I could see the genuine shame in his eyes. I think I could, someday, forgive that man. I think… maybe he does need guidance toward the Lord.”


“Talk to him.”


“Excuse me?”


“Visit him. Talk to him. You’re a priest, aren’t you, man? Let him know what he can do repent and find God.”


“…that sounds… I don’t know.”


“Yes. You do. God can’t forgive you if you can’t even have the faith that others can be forgiven… please visit more often, Paul. I’m worried about you. We all are.”




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Filed under Flash Fiction, Session XX

Epilogue (synopsis)

Sadie and Seamus speak via a Facebook chat [author’s note: unlike most of the main characters, Sadie and Seamus prefer FB over Myspace]. The dialogue between the two begins as a casual catching up with things lately (Sadie talks about the group getting together again at last and the awkwardness), but it turns into something of closure for the two. Sadie and Seamus come to the conclusion that they aren’t to blame for what almost happened and that even Chev isn’t entirely at fault since he was not really in his right mind (that doesn’t entirely excuse him, though his sobering up shows that he gives a shit about himself and others). Seamus and Sadie come to terms, as well, with their unrequited love (Seamus for Sadie; Sadie for Dizzie) that will never actually come into fruition because the other person does not/cannot feel the same way. Their friendships remain most important (d’awww!). They realize they’ve been talking for a very long time and about more than they intended. Though it is daytime for Seamus, Sadie states that she is unusually tired and states she will sleep well (having had a burden finally taken from her). The end.

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Filed under Novel, Session XIX

Don’t Use Cell Phones

“I don’t have a cell phone.”

“You don’t have a cell phone, Roger? What are you, a cave man?”

“No, I’m not, James,” Roger said, stirring around the sugar and creamer into his coffee. “And I’ll tell you why. We don’t even know the long term effects of those things.”

“What? You think they’re going to give us all cancer?”

“Yes. All of us.”

“What? So everyone’s going to be dead in forty years?”

“Not dead; just mutated. Everyone will have tumors growing out of their skulls. Some will die, sure, but the rest will be deformed, hideous, and in constant pain. People will kill each other over simple pain medicine, even aspirin once the pharmacies are burned down in the riots…”

“…the riots?”

“…and only the tumorless few shall rule the world with their superior physical prowess, concentration, and overall charisma. The people will swoon before myself and others like me. They’ll bow before us as elder gods from a time when the world was not completely ravaged by the cancer-causing devices that we so foolishly worshipped at the beginning of the 21st-century.” Roger took a sip of his coffee. “Damn good coffee.”

“I still don’t understand how you can function without a cell phone.”

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Filed under Flash Fiction, Session XVII, Uncategorized

The Monogamous Bonobo

“I don’t care who you have sex with, as long as it’s with me,” said the male bonobo to the female.

“What did you say?”

“I said I want only you,” he put his lips out to kiss her.

“Noooo. No, no, no. What about all my girlfriends?”

“But I want only you,” he said, puckering his lips again.

She pushed him away. “But what about my other male sex partners?”

“Am I not enough for you?” The male bonobo said, holding his hands to his heart. He looked crushed.

“How about I just have sex with other male bonobos when you’re not looking?”




“Look, pal, I’m trying to work with you here. You’re saying I can’t have sex with any females either?”

“Hmm. How about only when I am looking?”

The female bonobo threw up her hands. “Why are you making things complicated? All I’m asking in this relationship is that we can have sex with whomever we want, whenever we want.”

The male bonobo stuck out his lower lip. “But that’s not what I want.”

“You’re crazy!”

“Hey! Humans do it.”

“Humans like to wear pants.”

The bonobos were silent for a moment. “Point taken,” the male replied. “But I love you.”

“No you don’t.”

“I don’t?”

“You only love the idea of loving me.”

The bonobo scratched his head. “Huh?”

“You’re getting me all strung out. I’m going to go have an orgy with my girlfriends.”

The male bonobo watched her leave, then he went to his favorite termite hill and poked it with a stick, even though he didn’t really feel hungry at all.

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Filed under Flash Fiction, Session XVII