Below is the text of the latest Writer’s at the Improv ‘story’. Our panelists this time were Ed Willett, Dave Worsick, Kevin Weir, Katie Harse, and Tony King; Susan Forest was our scribe while Renee Bennet emcee’ed. Enjoy
FEAR AND ADHESIVES IN LOS ANGELES
Aunt Lur found herself in quite a sticky situation: a tar pit. (antler)
“If I poke her, will she do tricks?” said a wide-eyed little boy, holding his mom’s hand as he stared down at the La Brea Tar Pits-entrapped senior citizen, the rest of the tour group around him equally enthralled. (poker)
“If we pull her our by fall, lick all the tar off her and stick her in the ticket office, we’ll have a new employee.” (follicle)
“Skiing lessons this way,” shouted the tour guide, leading the tourists away while the La Brea employees began drawing lots to see who would do the licking honours. (skiing)
The pro, Boscus, and the high Biscus played ‘Rock, Tar Paper, Scissors’ to see whose tongue was expendable. (proboscis)
Biscus was too high to even notice pro Boscus, the slippery snake, had cheated, and gleefully agreed to slide down the slope into the tar pit and begin the oral cleansing. (slippery)
As Biscus struck the tar, the spirits of the land took him, fusing him with Aunt Lur into a raging beast of hate and stickiness. (spirits)
As the employees ran, it was that little boy who rose up as a champion, lifting his lollipop into the air to battle icky stick with tasty stick. (champion)
Ascending higher and higher, the little boy crashed into Aunt Lur, who engulfed him and the employees and the tour group within her hateful stickiness, while the high Biscus protested weakly from within the fusion and tried to take the lollipop as he was stricken by the munchies at the most inopportune time. Unfortunately, the story was interrupted by the sound of crickets and no one ever learned what happened. (crickets)
The In Places Between (Robyn Herrington Memorial) Short Story Contest is now open for submissions for 2018. Go to the Short Story Contest page for more information.
Please note that the persons responsible for this literary travesty were Ed Willett (in a team by himself), Kevin Weir and Katie Harse, and Steve Swanson and David Worsick. Congratulations, everyone.
The velociraptor raptly watched the velocipede rapidly wobbling down the vellum-covered roadway, licking its lips in anticipation of the veloci-repast it would enjoy when the velocipede crashed.
“Puce!” the velociraptor swore (for velociraptors swear using colorful words like that) when the velocipede’s velocity suddenly increased; his victim had seen him!
Just then the mysterious liquid in the lake at the end of the vellum-covered roadway began to effervesce.
“Martin! EEEEE!” screamed the boy on the velocipede, and from the bubbling lake rose a giant bearded head. (martini)
The velocipede hit the lake, the boy was catapulted into the beard of Martin’s giant head, and the velociraptor’s dream of turning the scene into a slaughterhouse died with a muttered, “Magenta!”
Things had not, however, ended happily ever after as a yawning cerulean vortex appeared in the effervescent lake, and Martin and the boy were pulled under the chartreuse waters with a hideous sucking sound.
Martin and his new companion found themselves in an upside-down world, colorless and so, as is well known, humorless.
“You petty, coat-dragging excuse of a theropodic meat-grinder,” shouted Martin, his maple leaf colored face displaying his rage, “I’ll blacken your gullet with bile for this!” (petticoat)
The object of his rage was a very small man in a gray suit, who blinked mildly at Martin and said, “I warned you when I asked you to co-sign the velociraptor’s deal with Satan that if you thwarted his appetite I would drag you into the underworld and harvest your soul.” (cosine)
At which point the boy leaped out of Martin’s beard and shouted, “Get thee behind me, Satan’s banker!”
And so pure was his soul that all concerned were transported to heaven on the spot.