Hey Folks,
Mr. Bellybutton here. I have a modest proposal. There is such a thing called “The Exquisite Corpse.” It is an old parlour game from the time of the Surrealists and their dandy, opiated existences.
The idea is to write a story. But as a group. Everyone adds a line, or several, and then passes the page to the next person. At the end is a bit of a Frankenstein of a story. But hopefully a good one and with some cohesion.
I propose to see what we can come up with as a group. What lurks in the unchained minds of the the overgrows?
Each person begins where the last person left off. Each person must write four sentences/lines. No more, no less. Each person gets one turn at fame.
I’ll begin.
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“Hemlock tea, you offer?” he stated in a stern voice.
Chills ran down her spine at the thought of being found out.
“No. It’s just chamomile,” she said as she edged toward the mantle, where a large, heavy paperweight met her open palm.
At that moment Gerard shut the TV off, put on his trousers, and walked out the front door to see where his luck might take him.
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She, Mary Jane Canana, had just scraped up the last of her bubble hash, and then thought she’d make some tea out of it for Harry (Anslinger, whom she felt deserved to die), and whom she also hoped would distract him from Gerard, in the bedroom, also hoping it would give Harry a fresh outlook on whether or not to illegalize cannabis.
She had been planning to use the paperweight to press out some of the bubble hash for extract, but had reluctantly thought about using it to smash Harry’s brains out.
Meanwhile, after getting dressed, Gerard was heading out the door to see where his duck, which he named Luck, would lead him. So began the decades long saga of Luck the Duck, Mary and Gerry as they fought for their right to paarrrtee.
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