CAW 6: The Birthday Girl

[aesopstails]

Unrequited love… check.
Everly Brothers song… check.
Written from opposite (male) POV… check.
Note to self: You can stop wearing the strap-on now!

This wouldn’t have seen the light of day without Ejls’ gracious assistance, so I thank her for her time, patience, and generosity.

The Birthday Girl

　
What the hell?

This is MY home, and I should be able to do whatever the fuck I want to do in it! It’s been nearly two years since I left our suburban “starter” house in a big hurry and bought this condo in the city, so why am I still following her rules? And, believe me, there were lots of them. Heaven forbid the spice jars weren’t lined up in alphabetical order- she would act like that was a sign of the frickin’ Apocalypse!

Like just now… I sat down on the couch, swinging my feet up onto the coffee table, only to drop them back down to the floor almost immediately. Am I still that pre-programmed to follow the friggin’ rules?

I sink into the cushions as I raise my feet back up to the table… this time with a more deliberate motion, resulting in a solid, satisfying “thunk”. If I’m going to spend yet another Friday night home alone, I might as well get comfortable.

After digging the TV remote out from under a pile of mail and newspapers on the sofa beside me, I turn on the baseball game and rip open a bag of pretzels, a.k.a. “dinner”. They’re the “whole grain/low salt” variety… want to guess who got me into the habit of buying those?

Damn! It’s the bottom of the eighth inning and we’re down by four runs. But the top of the order is coming up to bat, so maybe we’ll get something going.

Settling even deeper into the smooth brown leather, I stretch my legs out until they’re completely straight, my feet now hanging off the far side of the table. Had she walked in to find me in this position, she would have, undoubtedly, let out an exaggerated sigh while standing at the end of the sofa, shaking her head in disapproval. And I, no doubt, would have responded with semi-feigned irritation: “What? My feet aren’t even touching the table!” Then she would have flashed me her “Why do I even bother?” smirk, which I would have countered with my “But you know you love me” grin, and then she would have sauntered closer, trying to maintain a “Now you’re gonna get it, mister” pseudo-scowl.

Oh, hell… I’m doing this far too often… not just remembering how things were, but imagining her here and playing out a whole scenario in my head. After a few too many shots of tequila, I recently admitted this to my brother. His sage advice: “Fucking doesn’t require loving. Maybe you should just go out and get some and it will calm you down.” What did I expect from a twenty-three year old? But, then again…

Determined to escape my own thoughts, I return my attention to the television. The game is over; we lost by two runs. Typical. Those overpaid sons of bitches…

I lean forward, lifting a bottle of water from the coffee table and raising it to my salty lips. With the bottle in my left hand, I reach into the pretzel bag with my right. Without a free hand to change the channel, I am subjected to one of those irritating infomercials. This one is hawking DVDs with clips from the old Ed Sullivan Show. I vaguely remember hearing something about that show from my parents. All I know is that Letterman now occupies Sullivan’s old studio.

The TV screen is filled with a grainy old clip of the Beatles… damn, McCartney looks so young… nice haircut, dude. Next is a comedy bit… some goofy puppet with a foreign accent. Then a couple of guys I don’t recognize until the announcer’s voice fades and the two guys are heard singing.

“…only trouble is… gee whiz… I’m dreaming my liiife awaaay…”

Suddenly my throat tightens and it takes great effort for me to swallow the water in my mouth without choking on it. That song used to be on the jukebox at The Sandbar, a little place by the beach that we used to frequent back in our college days. Christ, that was almost ten years ago, but it might as well have been yesterday.

The TV announcer is now reminding me that this offer is not available in stores, so I hit the mute button, lean my head back, and close my eyes. In my mind, the music still plays, and I am transported to another place and time. To another Friday night long ago, when the salt on my lips came not from pretzels but from a warm breeze off of the ocean.


We met friends for burgers and beers, but decided not to go to a party with them afterwards. Instead, we finished our beers and decided to take a walk along the beach, past the dunes and down to the lighthouse, before heading back to my uncle’s bungalow on the other side of the narrow peninsula. He had taken a job overseas for a year and I was more than happy to be spending the summer in the little house “down the shore”. Neither my dorm room nor her room at her parents’ house had afforded much privacy, so our previous liaisons, while amazing, had never been what one could call “leisurely”. The bungalow had become our very own harbor and haven for that long and blissful summer.

As we stood to leave The Sandbar, the first strains of that song came from the jukebox, and she took my hand and led me to the dance floor. There was something about the way our fingers intertwined so naturally… I was more comfortable with her than I had ever been with any woman.

While I had never been much of a dancer, I thoroughly enjoyed holding her close and swaying to the music as our feet found a rhythm and our bodies followed suit. Her hands rested upon my shoulders for a moment, but when I rested my own hands on either side of her slender waist, she stepped in closer, sliding her hands upward and weaving her fingers together to rest on the back of my neck.


Though I had only had two beers, I suddenly felt light-headed. It was more than just the intoxicating scent of her honeysuckle shampoo as it mingled with the sea air. I swear I could smell her desire just as surely as I smelled her perfume. When her hip brushed my thigh as her lips grazed my neck, I knew we weren’t going to make it to the lighthouse that night. The Everly Brothers were still singing as we slipped out and ran home hand in hand, barely closing the door behind us as our lips met and we melted into one another. We landed on the blue and white striped sofa just beside the front door; I doubt either one of us even considered taking a few extra moments to make our way into the bedroom at that point.

She loved kissing, and could have done it for hours. Just kissing, that is, but she was far too good at it for me to go very long without needing more. She kissed with her whole body. While her lips and tongue welcomed and explored, excited and invited, the rest of her body urged me forward with promises it never failed to keep.

At first, her hands were in perpetual motion… clasping my own hands, sliding up and down my arms, across my back, neck, and shoulders, burrowing into my hair to massage my scalp. But as our kisses deepened, her hands slowed and she held my face tenderly between them, her thumbs caressing my cheek bones.

She closed her eyes when we kissed, but opened them while our faces were still touching. The flutter of her eyelashes against my face was an improbable combination; it was entirely innocent and thoroughly provocative at the same time.

The swell of her ample breasts against my chest thrilled me… and the prodding of her hardened nipples dared me to slip my hands between us and set my own thumbs to work.

My growing erection suddenly grew uncomfortable within the constraints of my clothing, but relief came quickly as her nimble fingers unbuttoned my trousers and began stroking my hard shaft. We alternated between caressing and fondling and tasting each other, and removing each other’s clothing. Before too long, all of it had been cast aside, and our bodies struggled to fill each other’s desire as thoroughly as each sought to quench its own.

My hands clutched the curves of her hips and my mouth covered hers completely as we pressed our warm flesh more tightly together. I slid one hand across her thigh and between her legs, where her dampness assured me that her excitement matched my own. She let out a little gasp as my fingers slipped over her clit and began rubbing her in a slow, circular motion.


Her moans, murmurs, and exclamations formed a language all their own, and her bright green eyes said more than any words ever could have. Whether she was stroking me or sucking me, receiving me or riding me, her eyes rarely left mine.

That night, as I entered her, her eyes bore into my own, offering silent but certain encouragement as I began to thrust. She raised her hips and inhaled sharply as I pushed deeper, groaning as I felt her muscles tightening around my throbbing cock. For the second time that night, we soon found a rhythm that brought our bodies together in perfect harmony…


I jolt into an upright position, my eyes flashing open to take in my surroundings… I feel a disconcerting mixture of sadness and familiarity upon realizing that I am indeed on the brown leather sofa and not the blue and white striped one. Normally, memories such as these would have had me fully aroused and in desperate need of my right hand or a cold shower. But instead, the heat rising within me was born of anger.

I am angry with myself and with her. Yes, we had appreciated what we had then, but not enough. As was typical of the young and stupid, we simply lived in the moment and never realized that life wasn’t always going to be that good or that simple, that time marches on, and that the only thing constant in our lives would be change. We had mistakenly believed that slow dances, cold beer, and hot sex on a summer night could sustain us indefinitely.

I turned off the TV, tossed the empty pretzel bag in the trash, and stomped off to bed.


It’s Saturday morning. My time to indulge in cold cereal and cartoons… and more imaginary conversations: “No, my love, I don’t suppose that I will ever grow up completely, but you knew that when you married me, so hush up and pass the Fruit Loops please.”

Scooping coffee into the machine, I add an extra measure. I’ll need all of the help I can get today. Though I had hoped for a dreamless sleep, my subconscious mind had not complied. As I slept, I had relived some of our best and worst moments. Upon waking, I was left to wonder if the best had really been as good and the worst had actually been as bad as they were in my dreams.

I remove the milk carton from the fridge, then open the cupboard. Crap! There’s no more than a handful of cereal in the box… I guess she might have been right about making a list before you actually go grocery shopping. I never did, and I had forgotten to buy more cereal. Fortunately, I have other options… I reach back into the cupboard and pull out one of the six boxes of cookies that my niece the Girl Scout just gouged me thirty bucks for. At least I can drink the milk right out of the carton again, without having to hear about it from the complaint department.

As I wait for the coffee, I take the cookies and milk over to the sofa, where I sit and turn on the television. I opt for the morning news instead of cartoons, but nothing they report captures my interest. My thoughts turn to the day ahead.

Today is her birthday.

We always had a big party, even if she wasn’t turning an age that ended in a zero or a five. And the party had to be on the actual day, not on the nearest weekend, which is how I would have done it. But what the hell do I know about parties that Martha-friggin’-Stewart hadn’t already taught her?

I’ve been thinking about this day for several weeks now, and have promised myself that I’ll grow some balls and show up, maybe even bring her some flowers… unlike last year, when I had taken the afternoon off from work with that same intention, but never made it further than the bar across the street from my office. By five o’clock, I was pretty much wasted, so I took a cab home before my co-workers started showing up. I spent the evening… you guessed it… on the brown leather sofa with a six pack of beer and, eventually, a pizza. And yet more eventually, a bottle of Jack Daniels. The whole bottle of Jack Daniels.

The aroma of the coffee catches my attention, and I rise to go pour myself a large mug of it. I decide that maybe I’ll just sit here watching cartoons, drinking coffee, and sampling another box of cookies… maybe the peanut butter ones this time. Peanut butter is nutritious, right?

That plan works out just fine for the next few hours, and I even manage to ignore the ringing of my telephone on several occasions, until a commercial for laundry detergent shows a bunch of kids running around and spilling stuff on their clothing at a birthday party.

It’s well past noon, yet I’m still wearing the sweatpants that I slept in and I haven’t even brushed my teeth. If I’m going to bite the bullet and go, I need to get it in gear. After turning off the TV, I swallow the last mouthful of coffee in my cup, wincing as I realize too late that it’s now cold and bitter. Yet one more thing to add to the long list of things I didn’t realize until it was too late.

I tell myself that showering, shaving, and dressing are not necessarily a commitment to anything more than good hygiene. I take my time, and the longest, hottest shower I have had in a while leaves me feeling a bit less apprehensive. I shave slowly and carefully, and spend a few moments thinking about what I’ll wear. I settle on a pair of khakis and a light blue denim shirt, and decide not to wear one of the baseball caps that is part of my standard weekend attire. It’s sunny, but still cool, so I’ll express my allegiance by wearing a baseball jacket instead.

I get into the car, thinking that I should stop at the flower shop near my office before I head out of the city. Despite her love of flowers, red roses were long ago deemed “too traditional” and “unoriginal”. Wildflowers and flowers that carry a deep fragrance were preferable. Daisies have always been her favorite (“because you can’t help but smile when you see them”), but I’ve always felt cheap giving them unless I mix in some other flowers. But which ones? It’s been a while since I’ve made such a purchase… I remember what some of the fancier flowers looked like, but I’ll be damned if I remember their names.

I arrive at the florist without a clear idea of what I want, but soon depart with an armload of daisies and yellow roses for her. While the florist was wrapping them, I noticed that they also sell balloons, and I impulsively added one to my purchase. As I return to my car, it bobbles about overhead… a large red helium-filled balloon with the words “Happy Birthday” spelled out in bright yellow letters.

I wind the balloon’s ribbon around the flowers, so that it doesn’t float about in the car as I’m driving. After settling the bundle on the rear seat, I take a moment to mentally plot my course before I start the car and set off.

The flowers are strongly scented. At first it’s a pleasant reminder of the approaching springtime, then suddenly it becomes a bitter aroma that surely exists only in my mind. It annoys me nonetheless; I refuse to allow its harshness to fill me as it has filled the car. I lower the window, admitting some cool air along with the fumes of the freeway, then tune the radio to a heavy metal station. It’s not what I usually listen to, but I’m fairly certain I won’t hear an unfortunately timed ballad or something we danced to on a long-ago summer night. I don’t want to arrive with red-rimmed eyes, even if I suspect that I’ll end up leaving that way.

When I reach my destination in the suburbs, I wonder if this outing might be some perverted form of self-torture or if I’m subconsciously making a vain attempt to address some unfinished business. Or am I, as usual, over-thinking things and simply conducting myself as warranted and expected.

As I park the car, I tell myself that I can still leave… that I’m not necessarily obligated to be here. I believe myself when I think she would surely understand if I chose to spend this time elsewhere… perhaps she might even prefer that.

I look around at the other cars, specifically to see if her parents’ aging Oldsmobile is among them. I owe her mother a phone call, but I keep putting it off because I don’t know what we might end up talking about. I almost sent her mother flowers when it was her own birthday, but I wasn’t sure if there’s a protocol for that kind of thing. I mean, her mom has always been very kind to me, even now, and I do feel bad about keeping my distance from her. It’s nothing personal, it’s just easier that way. If I don’t run into her parents here, maybe I’ll call next week to say hi or something. Or maybe I’ll call tomorrow morning, when I know they’ll be at church and I’ll get the machine. Yeah, it might be easiest to just leave a quick message then.

I walk up the path slowly, admiring the well-kept grass and the stately old elms. Quite a change from the weedy lawn I never seemed to keep up with, and the skinny new trees of vague origin that graced the front yard of our little house on the cul-de-sac. I begin to wonder if I should have purchased a flowering plant instead of the cut flowers I’ve brought her. Too late now, though… too late for lots of things.

I steady myself with several deep breaths, then rake my fingers through my hair in some half-assed effort to make myself more presentable. A meager smile curls my lips as I think of a better time, when I felt her fingers smoothing my hair away from my face as she reminded me that I needed a haircut. It was a gentle admonishment, followed quickly by a full-on lip lock that said “long or short, I’m about to do something to you that will make your hair stand on end and your toes curl”. And then she did just that…

All too soon, I am back in the present moment, now just steps away from her. My throat tightens and my heart begins to pound as I approach, wondering what to do next. What’s “appropriate”? What “makes sense”? None of this, damn it… NONE of this makes sense! I shouldn’t even be here. SHE shouldn’t be here. She should be the one eating the god-damned whole-grain pretzels and Girl Scout cookies. She should be home with me, in our bed, making love slowly, fucking wildly, or giggling as I play connect-the-freckles with my fingertips, lips, and tongue. She should be in my car, singing along, not entirely on-key, with some cheery tune blaring from the radio. She should be sitting sideways on one end of our couch, her long denim-clad legs extended, with her always-cold feet tucked in beneath my leg, doing the crossword puzzle as I sit on the other end reading the sports section. And always, ALWAYS, chewing on the friggin’ pen… Christ, how that annoyed me! And I usually told her about it, too. If only we had a do-over… there are so many things that I would do differently.

OK. Deep breath. Stay calm. I can deal with all this shit when I get home. Maybe. Not now, though. Not here. Now, for the next short while, it’s time to celebrate her birthday… the day she came into the world. The day that made it possible for her to later come into my world. No matter how briefly. No matter how badly it ended.

I extend my hand and, in my mind, … ever so briefly… it is greeted by the warmth of her own hand, our fingers mingling effortlessly, as they always had. In reality, though, it is the coolness of the granite headstone that I feel, leaning on it as I bend down to lay the flowers on her grave.

As I release my hold on the flowers, the balloon slips from my grasp and hurtles skyward, then slows to a lazy float. I watch it until it becomes no more than a barely discernable speck in the sky. I silently blame the glaring sun for the tears burning my eyes as the balloon disappears from view forever.

“Happy Birthday, sweetheart. I’ve been missing you.”

[ejls]

That's what friends are for, sweetie. Welcome to the group.

[ELaken-Palmer]

Exceedingly good writing. This story grabbed and held my attention, to every well-thought-out word, right to the very end. I did not expect the ending and was taken aback by it. I found myself wanting to know what happened to her and that is the mark of a very good story... wanting more when it's over. Great job on this!

[wantsomefun]

Originally Posted by ELaken-Palmer

Exceedingly good writing. This story grabbed and held my attention, to every well-thought-out word, right to the very end. I did not expect the ending and was taken aback by it. I found myself wanting to know what happened to her and that is the mark of a very good story... wanting more when it's over. Great job on this!

Dammit, Emerson, you always use all the good lines!

So I'll just say, this was an incredible way to introduce your writer persona to us.

[ELaken-Palmer]

I just know how to turn a phrase. I REALLY love the audience!



Makes me feel like Bob Barker.

[ejls]

I just keep reading the end over and over again. Damn girl, what took you so long to find us.

[ejls]

Bumping this because it deserves it.

[JackassTales]

Your story was certainly NOT a 'let-down' and neither is your entrance into this contest! Now there are you, ejls, and ELP in a fight for my vote.

I ain't afraid of kickin' the new kid in public. Cover your ass, 'cause here it comes; there is not enough sex in your sex story!!! Okay, that's it, no other complaint; you are a damn-fine storyteller! In all fairness, there wasn't a lot of sex in ejls' or Elp's stories either, so you are in good company. Maybe the constraints of the rules made for limited sex scenes (Hell, my story had 'em!) due to the unrequited love theme.

Towards the ending of your story, I felt kind of an unsettling feeling settling into my stomach. I began hoping, I began praying, "Please don't it be a cemetery he is taking his flowers to!" Alas, unrequited love must have its way and tears must be shed.

This story is not only a good 'first story', it is a good story, PERIOD!!!! Nuff said.

[JayneyRedd]

What a lovely, lovely (sad) story.

I'm in tears here, super bit of writing, well done.

[aesopstails]

Originally Posted by ELaken-Palmer

I did not expect the ending and was taken aback by it. I found myself wanting to know what happened to her and that is the mark of a very good story... wanting more when it's over. Great job on this!

Originally Posted by wantsomefun

So I'll just say, this was an incredible way to introduce your writer persona to us.

Originally Posted by ejls

I just keep reading the end over and over again. Damn girl, what took you so long to find us.

Originally Posted by JackassTales

Towards the ending of your story, I felt kind of an unsettling feeling settling into my stomach... This story is not only a good 'first story', it is a good story, PERIOD!!!! Nuff said.

Originally Posted by JayneyRedd

What a lovely, lovely (sad) story. I'm in tears here, super bit of writing, well done.

I'm honored to receive such kind words from such talented writers.

But no tears, Jayney... and Ejls, I can't have you reading that same ending over and over, so here are a couple of alternate endings for you nice folks:

Alternate Ending 1:

As I arrived at my ex-wife's birthday party, her new lover, a lesbian dwarf professional bowler by the name of Ursula, came over to greet me, riding their dog, a Rottweiler/Chihuahua/Malamute mix by the name of Cujo.

The dog was hitched to a small wagon, carrying a box of wine, a few cans of beer, and a stack of plastic cups.

I was politely declining Ursula's offer of a beverage when my ex-wife approached. I almost didn't recognize her, as she had gained about 50 pounds and dyed her hair purple.

I certainly didn't want to kiss THAT, so I quickly stuck out my hand, placing the flowers between us and saying "Here, these are for you" as I planned a hasty retreat.

Unexpectedly, the birthday balloon slipped from my grasp and sailed away. Cujo raced after it, and Ursula screamed in fear as she grabbed the speeding animal's thick fur and held on for dear life. The beverage cart fell on its side, and rattled noisily as Cujo dragged it behind them.

My ex-wife burst into tears, as her lover, their dog, and her favorite wine sped around the corner and out of view. "Help!", she cried, "Please...".
She looked up at me with her tear-stained face, seemingly expecting me to provide a solution.

When it became obvious that no offer of assistance was forthcoming, she grabbed my arm, screeching loudly, "Help me, damn it! What should I do"?

"Sorry" I replied, as I turned toward my car. "I can't help you right now... I have to go home and make sure all of the jars in the spice rack are in alphabetical order".



Alternate Ending 2:

The balloon slips from my grasp and hurtles skyward, but is pierced by a limb from one of the aforementioned stately elms.

A mighty wind carries the deflating balloon over the fence and into the roadway, where it lands squarely across the face of a passing motorcyclist, obstructing his vision completely. He quickly raises one hand to his face, clawing desperately at the balloon, but his fingers are rendered impotent by its slippery mylar surface.

Recognizing the futility of his efforts, he instead concentrates on bringing his vehicle to a safe stop. He curses his earlier decision to drive in the middle of the three available lanes, which has left him in the worst possible position, and decides that a sudden stop could result in dire consequences for himself and other motorists. So, as unseemly as it is to keep driving in total blindness, he decides to attempt a gradual deceleration while making his way over into the right lane and coming to a full stop by the curb.

Had he been able to consult his mirror, he would certainly have noticed the bus quickly approaching in the lane to his immediate right, but, alas, in his impaired state, that critical information was denied him.

A moment later, the motorcycle ventured into the next lane as the bus accelerated, and the vehicles collided with a thunderous crash. The biker was tossed up in the air, landed on the pavement, and was run over by several other vehicles. To the horror of those witnessing the event, the biker was decapitated and his head rolled forlornly to the curb, bearing an oddly bemused expression.

When police arrive on the scene, an officer of a certain age (and, unbeknownst to his colleagues, wearing a leopard-skin thong beneath his uniform) looked down on the severed head and exclaimed "Holy Shit! Do you know who this guy was? This is David Lee Roth!"

As the other officers and witnesses gathered around the severed head, they recoiled in horror as its eyes and mouth opened suddenly and Mr. Roth began singing:

♫ ♪ "I---- ain't got no bodddddy!" ♫ ♪
　

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MFV1biHrOBU

[ejls]

Originally Posted by aesopstails

I'm honored to receive such kind words from such talented writers.

But no tears, Jayney... and Ejls, I can't have you reading that same ending over and over, so here are a couple of alternate endings for you nice folks:

Alternate Ending 1:

As I arrived at my ex-wife's birthday party, her new lover, a lesbian dwarf professional bowler by the name of Ursula, came over to greet me, riding their dog, a Rottweiler/Chihuahua/Malamute mix by the name of Cujo.

The dog was hitched to a small wagon, carrying a box of wine, a few cans of beer, and a stack of plastic cups.

I was politely declining Ursula's offer of a beverage when my ex-wife approached. I almost didn't recognize her, as she had gained about 50 pounds and dyed her hair purple.

I certainly didn't want to kiss THAT, so I quickly stuck out my hand, placing the flowers between us and saying "Here, these are for you" as I planned a hasty retreat.

Unexpectedly, the birthday balloon slipped from my grasp and sailed away. Cujo raced after it, and Ursula screamed in fear as she grabbed the speeding animal's thick fur and held on for dear life. The beverage cart fell on its side, and rattled noisily as Cujo dragged it behind them.

My ex-wife burst into tears, as her lover, their dog, and her favorite wine sped around the corner and out of view. "Help!", she cried, "Please...".
She looked up at me with her tear-stained face, seemingly expecting me to provide a solution.

When it became obvious that no offer of assistance was forthcoming, she grabbed my arm, screeching loudly, "Help me, damn it! What should I do"?

"Sorry" I replied, as I turned toward my car. "I can't help you right now... I have to go home and make sure all of the jars in the spice rack are in alphabetical order".



Alternate Ending 2:

The balloon slips from my grasp and hurtles skyward, but is pierced by a limb from one of the aforementioned stately elms.

A mighty wind carries the deflating balloon over the fence and into the roadway, where it lands squarely across the face of a passing motorcyclist, obstructing his vision completely. He quickly raises one hand to his face, clawing desperately at the balloon, but his fingers are rendered impotent by its slippery mylar surface.

Recognizing the futility of his efforts, he instead concentrates on bringing his vehicle to a safe stop. He curses his earlier decision to drive in the middle of the three available lanes, which has left him in the worst possible position, and decides that a sudden stop could result in dire consequences for himself and other motorists. So, as unseemly as it is to keep driving in total blindness, he decides to attempt a gradual deceleration while making his way over into the right lane and coming to a full stop by the curb.

Had he been able to consult his mirror, he would certainly have noticed the bus quickly approaching in the lane to his immediate right, but, alas, in his impaired state, that critical information was denied him.

A moment later, the motorcycle ventured into the next lane as the bus accelerated, and the vehicles collided with a thunderous crash. The biker was tossed up in the air, landed on the pavement, and was run over by several other vehicles. To the horror of those witnessing the event, the biker was decapitated and his head rolled forlornly to the curb, bearing an oddly bemused expression.

When police arrive on the scene, an officer of a certain age (and, unbeknownst to his colleagues, wearing a leopard-skin thong beneath his uniform) looked down on the severed head and exclaimed "Holy Shit! Do you know who this guy was? This is David Lee Roth!"

As the other officers and witnesses gathered around the severed head, they recoiled in horror as its eyes and mouth opened suddenly and Mr. Roth began singing:

♫ ♪ "I---- ain't got no bodddddy!" ♫ ♪
　

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MFV1biHrOBU

Good Lord, you make me laugh!

[JackassTales]

Originally Posted by aesopstails

Alternate Ending 1:

As I arrived at my ex-wife's birthday party, her new lover, a lesbian dwarf professional bowler by the name of Ursula, came over to greet me, riding their dog, a Rottweiler/Chihuahua/Malamute mix by the name of Cujo.

Hey, I know Ursula! The bitch is really not all that bad.

Oh, just to clarify things; I meant Cujo!
...

[JayneyRedd]

Hahahahahahaha!


Tears again, but ones of laughter this time!

Alt end #1 had me literally LOL-ing, but #2 inspired a (humorous) groan...

I'll never listen to that DLR song again without giggling now, I think!

[donb9033]

Okay, it's time for me to add my $0.02: A thoroughly wonderful story (and where have you been all my life?). Of course, I especially loved the alternate endings. I may have stopped crying/rolling on the floor by tomorrow.

Welcome, welcome, welcome. I hope you never leave.

[wantsomefun]

The substitution of about a half a page of text changed this story from one that left me grieving with your male protagonist to one that inspired a completely different reaction.



.

[aesopstails]

Originally Posted by donb9033

...and where have you been all my life?

Well, they just released me early for good behavior, so you never know where I might turn up next!

Thank you for your kind words!

Originally Posted by wantsomefun

... a completely different reaction.

And thank you for MORE kind words, WSF... but you might want to see a doctor about that little problem with your wayward body parts!


Now... does anybody else remember "Mad Libs"?

Alternate ending #3:

I got out of my __________ car and __________ until I __________ my one true love. I __________ her with my __________ until I could no longer __________.

I used to think she was __________ and __________, but during the course of our __________ marriage I came to realize that my __________ was the real reason for her __________. But all that had changed. Once she __________ and I __________ we both __________ better than ever before.

Now if I could just get her to __________ me with a __________ __________ every time we __________, then we could truly live happily ever after.

Until then, I have fond memories of the time I __________ her ___________ __________ with a garden gnome while she __________ the pink plastic flamingo!

[sullygom]

So you're not only a randy, funny spikey woman......brilliant Red, you know how to keep a guy going 'til the end ooh, and come back for more

That's two outstanding pieces of writing I've read in the last 4 days, this one and Emerson's latest !!

[okieblueyes]

Fantastic story,once I started reading it I couldn't stop .We the readers of CAW6 are the true winners of this competition.

[aesopstails]

Originally Posted by sullygom

So you're not only a randy, funny spikey woman......brilliant Red, you know how to keep a guy going 'til the end ooh, and come back for more

That's two outstanding pieces of writing I've read in the last 4 days, this one and Emerson's latest !!

That comparison completely blows me away, Sul... thank you kindly.

But "spikey"??? I wish Google Translate had an "English to English" option!

Originally Posted by okieblueyes

Fantastic story,once I started reading it I couldn't stop .We the readers of CAW6 are the true winners of this competition.

Thanks so much!

And as a reader, I heartily agree with you... I've been having a great time reading the entries (almost finished!), and I'm so impressed with the variety and quality of them! I don't look forward to having to pick a favorite, though ... I'm not sure that I can pick just one.

[darthel0101]

Originally Posted by ELaken-Palmer

Exceedingly good writing. This story grabbed and held my attention, to every well-thought-out word, right to the very end. I did not expect the ending and was taken aback by it. I found myself wanting to know what happened to her and that is the mark of a very good story... wanting more when it's over. Great job on this!

In the words of a certain ghost, "Ditto"
VERY well done story.
Thanks to whoever put the recommendation in the list.