“Yo, man. I thought Randy carried this song. You got a great low-end range there, dog.
“But Paula, you were pretty pitchy, and Simon, honestly, work on your rhythm. You missed, like, half your cues!”
“Wow!” said Ryan Seacrest. “This is exactly why we’re doing American Idol: Judge the Judges!”
Mr. Mannequin was not a particularly outgoing person. He was more concerned with the latest fashions than with making social contact. He was content to let others pass by and stare (in jealousy of his fine wardrobe, probably).
On Wednesdays, he tidied his master’s secret laundry room genetic engineering laboratory.
“You fool of a henchman!” cried the criminal overlord, with a mighty sneeze. “I’m allergic to cats!”
“But he’s such an itty bitty pretty kitty, isn’t he? Such a cutesy snootsy bittle snookums…”
“You fool!” cried the criminal overlord, with a mighty cough. “I’m even more allergic to lovey-dovey gibberish!”
Her works were renowned throughout the world. She was a teenaged aardvark sculptor, the greatest that ever lived. She worked with stone, ice, and clay: every medium was her domain, subject to her whims.
She hid in anonymity, each masterpiece a portrait of self-loathing, of her wish for human form.
This story was based on a title suggested by @VikkieTheMimm.
“Now I know my ABCs,” crooned the little girl, “next time won’t you sing with me?”
“Awesome!” said Paula Abdul. “You’re going to Vegas!”
“But I wan’ go home!”
“No.”
“Isn’t this exciting, folks?” enthused Ryan Seacrest. “Little Kimmy’s going to be our next finalist on American Idol: Toddler Edition!”
Priscilla the porcupine kept a tidy house. She dusted regularly and opened the windows so she could smell the lavender in the garden.
Hers was an idyllic home.
On Tuesdays she flew a flag and shot at the tax man. The one thing Priscilla loved more than tidiness was freedom.
Normally I try to take prompts from different people, but when @MisterFiendZero gave me this prompt, along with the previous one, I knew I had to go with both.
Slithering, sliding, slipping… Rory the ravenous raccoon eased his way through the gap under the newly painted fence with a patience that belied his urgency.
There! He was through, and scampering into the safety of the woods.
They found Elvis dead that morning. The orange paw prints were never reported.
This story was based on a prompt from @MisterFiendZero.
“Ha!” scoffed Mr. Yugin. “My powers are at least three times greater than your own. Your most powerful attacks are as nothing to me!”
“Oh really? But you haven’t seen my most powerful attack yet!” said Guko with a grin.
“Whaaat!?!?” cried Mr. Yugin.
Guko raised his spirit-laser super sword.
It was a dark and stormy night.
Good thing I’d brought my flashlight and umbrella. Man do I hate being wet. It’s pretty much the worst. I’d rather be sunburned a hundred times than have to go slogging through the rain. At least it’s warm.
Nothing interesting happened that night.
It’s, like, a character study or something. The fact that this story has no plot makes it super artistic. Trust me. Besides, look at that title. You just know something like that is packed with meaning.
She’d forgotten where it came from. Maybe she’d won it in a game of bingo that time she went to Paris…
Now and then it made funny noises when she went down the steps.
It seemed so content, sitting there under her front porch. Her very own happy little universe.
This story was based on this prompt from @Haberley.