tagging...

Blog tags, I think, are kind of like toe tags. Getting one is a sure sign that you have no life. This particular death herald is from Liz.

1) Write an entry of between 100-200 words, with these words have to be included once, and only once:

- I
- me
- blowjob
- grapes
- random
- power
- loneliness
- water
- robot
- blue

2) Out of the 10 words, you can only change 2 words.

I changed 'I' to 'cherries', and 'me' to 'flowering'.


3) Your essay must make some kind of sense. If it's not cool, then it won't get published.


4) Send to 5 people.

Suet.

PokX.

Suan.

Adam.

Kai.

Here we go. This is rather more explicit than others, so you know what to do.

The pastry chef had enough. This was the seventh time this week that a customer had returned the souffle. It wasn't his fault that the head waiter moaned so loudly in the broom closet during each of his daily blowjobs that the hostess was bribing him with for the dinner shift. Each time, just as the light sugary fluffiness that was the Bistro's special was perfecting, Jorge had to make this unearthly groaning and the resulting sound waves flattened the flowering dessert.

"I'm telling you, Jorge, this is the final fucking time I'm putting up with your broom closet antics. It's a good thing that you don't go down on her."

"I tell you Hans, that girl has one of the most beautiful cherries of his fine city's orchards," the sniggering head waiter, err, sniggered.

"Fucking in the staff rest room, I can take. But this random excursions to the broom closet are extremely disruptive to the dessert production. Mess it up for me one more time, and I'll see to it that the only 'cherries' you ever get in this city's 'orchards' are sour grapes."

Meanwhile, in the back alleys, Hilde and Fran were chatting over a Cuban joint.

"I tell you, Fran, that Jorge is a tiring man to please. If it wasn't that my rent was several times the GDP of a small African country, I wouldn't try to get the dinner shift so often."

"Well, dahling, at least you're seeing some action. My old man's like a robot, so there's nothing a horny bitch like me can do. Hmm, maybe I should try for the dinner shift too..."

The hostess laughed at the barmaid's comment.

"As is, ol' Jorge ain't that much of a lover. With two of us going after him, he's gonna have some real watery cum!"

Back in the Bistro, Jose, the gay Mexican waiter, was sitting around, waiting for the lunch crowd to disperse. He was flipping a wine opener in his hands, staring blankly at the plainface brick wall. Myra walked up to him.

"Why so blue, Jose?"

"Mi novio se separó conmigo..."

"Well darling, if you weren't gay, I'd go out with you."

"Sí, and if I weren't gay, I'd fuck you, too, chica."

"Hmm, yes. Well, what say you we go for supper tonight. At least something for us both to forget our loneliness with?"

"¿Cuando amigos, sí?"

"Yes, Jose," laughed the curvaceous blonde Myra.

From within, the pissed off voice of Hans echoed like a bad wind out of a bean stuffed glutton.

"Myra! Will you please get the fucking hostess and head waiter out of the fucking broom closet! Do it now or I'll get out the power sander!"

Hmm, didn't make any sense. Joda.