What Was I Thinking?
Bad Book Idea
Last year I wrote a book entitled “Teach Yourself To Read.”
It sold zero copies.
50-Word Story
Billy The Space Pirate
Space pirate Billy The Space Pirate had never encountered such a foe. The alien life forms looked like ordinary grass. But their edges were razor-sharp. If Billy wasn’t careful, the creatures would slice through his spacesuit, and he’d suffer a painful death.
“Billy. Dinner time.”
“Be right in Mom.”
Silly Fiction
Scrambologna
The land of omelets
In the land of Scrambologna, people were not judged by their appearance. No sir. They were judged by the quality of their omelets. Those who mastered the art of creating fluffy, perfectly crafted omelets were held in the highest esteem.
Mornings were special. Folks enjoyed good omelets and good conversation. The breakfast table was a place of love. Families and relationships grew strong while dining on delicious omelets.
As time progressed, things changed. Competition got the better of the folks residing in Scrambologna. No longer were grandmothers and chefs the toasts of society. The fine art of omelet making was corrupted and turned into nothing more than a sporting event. The bigger the omelet, the better.
Those with the most eggs dominated the competition. Four egg omelets gave way to eight egg omelets. Then twelve egg omelets. And so on. It became a sickness. An addiction. Omelet cook-off stadiums were built to house the omelet games.
Naturally, chicken holders ruled the land and used their power to obtain more eggs than they could possibly eat. Using their egg stockpiles, they built elite teams of omelet makers. Two teams dominated omelet-making. One team was named Cracked Perfection. The other team was called Western Fluffy. They battled it out every morning, and folks argued about the results the rest of the day.
Old-timers began to lament what had happened to their once happy land of tasty omelets and pleasant conversation. They hated the corruption and greed that now dominated omelet-making. There seemed to be no hope.
Then one day, a foreigner rode into town on an ostrich.
Their world changed. This unfamiliar traveler from afar owned 500 ostriches. He could have easily dominated the sport of omelet making. Huge omelets were easy for him. But he refused to use his power for selfish gain. Instead, he re-introduced the folks of Scrambologna to the art of omelet making again. He sold his eggs to everyone at a very reasonable price and showed them the proper way to make an ostrich egg omelet.
Slowly, people remembered what omelet-making was really about. Flavor and shared experience. The joy of having breakfast with loved ones. And before long, a quality omelet was once again held in high esteem in the land of Scrambologna.
Happy Monday.
Mark