Just for fun, I am turning on WORD VERIFICATION (WV) for this post only. In the comments section, make a sentence or paragraph or story using your WV word. It must make sense.
o In Latin, the plural for theater is theati.
o Furuq that noise!
Unleash the muse...
Ingstl my beating heart!
The sign read 'noshe,' leaving her to decide if she should buy a snack or turn around and find another entrance.
I synde myne name uponn the document forwyth to seale myne fate.
Never had her foul mood matched the greari day so perfectly.
OOh, it gave me another one. I guess there is a bonus to having WV be a pain the butt.
It was a dirty thing to do, but the untsmati were not known for their brains.
Even though he got a standing o, he got kicked out of the glee club for exposing his sonino.
Bravo...these are both creative and funny!
I'm a guy, which means I don't like spas or spa treatments, getting your nails done and all that bullshit.
So I'm going to open up a place where guys can go to get muddy and dirty and drink lots of beer. I'll place up near golf courses and call it a nonspa.
ingle - to make something fit an unlikely shape or notion.
She ingled the clothes hanger into a sort of folded wire contraption with a hook on the end and then eased it through the basement window to grab the keys that had fallen onto the ground outside. "Got it!"
I will ingle a definition out of this word if it takes all day.
Reminds me of sniglets. I still use some - or at least think of them - occasionally. But now I'm showing my age!
(yes, I'm avoiding writing this morning)
Sammy settled in to the beach chair and peeled off her coverup to let the sun soak in to her weary bones. She lay still, eyes closed, reveling in the sibilance of the crashing surf.
"Damned lizines," she mumbled to the cloudless sky. "Why do I let those rags rile me up? They're nothing but piles of rotting vitriol."
"Because it's true," her conscience nagged. "At least there's a grain of truth."
"But they twist it beyond all recognition, dammit, now I'm ruined!" Sammy spit, getting worked up again in spite of her surroundings.
Her conscience chuckled. "Ruined, schmuined. Nothing is fatal in Hollywood. Even this can be used to our advantage. Let me work on it. I'll find a way to get back in their good graces. In the meantime, lie back and fugetaboutit."
Staring at the pelicans flying in single file overhead, Sammy let the seed of hope take hold. Yes, it was true. This didn't have to be irreparable. Even bad publicity could turn out to be good.
She reached in her cooler for an ice-cold beer. "Yeah. Screw the lizines." They wouldn't outmanuever Sammy Starr.
Gradually, her mind stilled and her breathing slowed as the sea and the sun worked its magic.
Oh goodie, that was fun! And I may just use that somewhere down the line in my ms, so you may see it pop up somewhere again. Thanks, Eric, great idea, "ulase"bum! (JK, that was my new WV.) :D
What a novel idea :
When Spring allergies attack me, my nose fills mycous. I weally alwuys speak this way with my sinus full of mycous.
Eric, don't be chros with me, but I had to do it again. Roland
I've been here several times over the last couple days; and finally, I have the time to devote to this prompt.
Word verif: Porma.
Porma walked into the bar, looked around. It was packed with couples. Guys and their dates. Many she’d been with. Gals and guys both.
Don sat with a peroxide blond. He liked to slow dance; intimately. A belt buckle polishing number. Porma liked it. For the three - four minutes of the song. He was always looking long term though. A sugar mama she wasn’t.
“Buy me a drink?” he says.
“I’m broke,” she admits. “I’d hoped you could satisfy me.”
He smiles beautifully. Uh huh; a long time player who’s sweet enough and good looking enough to score if he hangs long. The girls adore him because he'll dance. Not even their chosen dates will. She doesn't want to ruin his chances. She's been lonely long enough to empathize.
“Not tonight honey,” she tells him. “You go on; cruise the bar.”
He smiles, blows her a kiss. Yeah, he’ll be by later, when none of the women is willing to buy him his drinks. Pay him for the night. Porma’s got wine in the fridge; and Don never goes home alone by choice. She's not even sure he has a home to go to.
Porma watches his tight ass trundle off. Yeah, too many couples in attendance for him to score. She’ll get lucky with him, if nothing better presents. He knows she'll feed him too.
Porma returns to the bar. “Yo hun, y’all took my drink,” she accuses the barmaid.
“It was dead,” the 30 something, dark haired girl answers. “Ya gonna order or what?”
“Nah,” Porma answers. The ice in her last drink was sucked so clean it looked like it’d been freshly popped from the tray.
Time to go. Girls, girls, girls to dance with; Don looking for love in all the wrong places; and Porna not willing to play the bar game. Slow grinds with girls to catch the men’s attention just didn’t appeal to her tonight. She wanted a man; and not as a last resort.
"Screw this," she decided, and strode out the door as another favorite country song filled the air. Whatever; like there was a cowboy worth dancing with in the joint. Five feet from her Subaru, she pressed the button once to unlock just the drivers door.
“You smell delicious,” a sultry voice whispers in her ear.
“What.” Porma looks around, sees no one at first. But the feel of his breath is on her neck, so she looks deeper, concentrating. A shadow detaches from the gray wall.
“You smell delicious,” a masculine voice repeats. “Sweet, demure. Angry.”
“Disappointed,” she challenges. “I’m not angry, I’m disappointed. More in myself for coming out tonight than in the lack of pickings.” And why did she say that?
I should be frightened Porma advises herself. But she is not. Something in his voice soothes her anxieties, her natural feminime suspicions. When he speaks again, her heart thrills.
“I shall be your friend, your lover. You will need no other. Come, my bride. Leave your lonely existence for me.”
He steps out of the night; and he is handsome. His mouth is sensual, kissable. His eyes darkly dazzling. His cold fingers touch her face, but she feels warmth, desire. A needy lust. She tilts her face up to meet his lips. His teeth are gleaming, white. They dazzle her senses. She wants to be kissed. She wants to stroke her tongue along the sharpened canines.
“We will dance together,” he says, entering her thoughts as effortlessly as he held her hands.
Intuitively, she knows she should fight this spell, this languid feeling in the presence of a stranger. But it’d been so long since someone - a male- had touched her so intimately, demanding everything, and nothing. She let herself be lulled in the trance of his eyes, his soothing voice.
Porma bared her throat; inviting the intimacy this intriguing stranger offered. She’d come for adventure; and adventure had found her a willing soul.
Sammy and Porma, love em both!
Fun stuff, this. Fun to read such random thoughts captured and released.
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