Wednesday, November 25, 2015

Climbing Ol' Sally (FF)

FF means Friday Fictioneers

They called her Ol' Sally, and the boys in the pink house grew up in her shadow. But Caleb and Kevin couldn't understand why nobody had ever climbed her.

"Kev," said Caleb, "with Ma & Pa away, let's me'n you climb up Ol' Sally."

The two set out on the narrow path as steep as the side of a barn, and Caleb was the first to reach the top. 

"Cal," shouted Kevin, "whadya see up thar?"

"I cain't believe it, Kevin," gasped Caleb, "but now I git why ain't nobody ever climbed Ol' Sally."

"Why, Cal?"

"Ol' Sally's a dawg! I'm lookin' here at a 8 foot flea!"


Yeah, I saw a dog right away in the above picture prompt.  I'll bet some of you did too (I hope). See her nose jutting out, her feet at the bottom, her green coat? I dunno, maybe she dyes it!

Why hasn't she moved in all the years the boys have been alive?  Maybe she didn't feel like it. You want an explanation, call Animal Planet!  And about my attempt at countrified speaking?  Well, I tried; what do you want, I'm a Jew from Philadelphia!

Click here if you want stories that may be more logical than this, but knowing the Friday Fictioneers crew I wouldn't count on it.  Oh, and Happy Thanksgiving!

Tuesday, November 24, 2015

Thanksgiving Thanks A Lot

What do I give "Thanks a Lot" for this Thanksgiving?  

Well, for starters:

1) That I do not have Comcast.

2) That since I have gotten Vitiligo I have not encountered anyone with one of those sharp mini-golf pencils who's enamored of playing "Connect the Dots."

3) That my motto is and has always been "If at first you don't succeed, try, try, try again. Then quit."

That I never paid good money to see Cirque de Soleil in Las Vegas featuring Dr. Ben Carson.

5) That I am not one of the co-stars of the movie "Youth."

6) That women do not burst into flames when I fantasize about them because the net effect would be terrible for the Earth's environment and because only Dame Judi Dench would be left. 

7) That I have finally stopped saying self-deprecating things, which is no mean feat for someone with as little self-control as I have.

8) That the picture I use on Twitter has not aged quite as badly as I have. 

9) That I have throngs of readers who love my work and also that I am sufficiently well-versed  and erudite to know the meaning of the word "throngs," which is "two."

10) That Donald Trump has never been cast to star in Anne of Green Gables.

11) That all emojis will perish in El Nino.

12) That although there is "The View," "The Talk," and "The Chew," there is no meaningful competition for my upcoming TV show "The Boring."

13) That the silly Presidential custom of pardoning a turkey will certainly end if Chris Christie is elected President.

14) That I have successfully managed not to read the latest Internet article promoted on Facebook "15 Stars You Didn't Know Didn't Know You Didn't Know That About Them." 

15) That only God can make a tree, but with the right lawyer we can break his monopoly.  

16) That so far as I know no one has ever given me an intentionally or maliciously inaccurate tooth check.

17) That Scarlett Johansson has finally stopped calling me.  Pathetic! 

18) That with a watchful eye and split second timing one can actually eat a banana when it is ripe.

19) That I have gone back in time and killed Hitler. Hey, jerk, you're welcome!

20) That I am able to enjoy a beautiful sunset. And the night of binge drinking 'til I'm sucking the carpet that follows.

Happy Thanks A Lot


Saturday, November 21, 2015

Vitiligo! Woah-oh!

Vitiligo!  Woah-oh!

No, it's not a song sung by Dean Martin back in his glorious heyday of the 50's. It is rather a disease I happen to have contracted some 20 years ago --- very much not my glorious heyday or the 50's --- that has somehow now returned to stalk me once more.  
And frankly scare the shit out of me too.

Vitiligo Whoah-oh! (actually, Vitiligo) is a condition that causes the skin to lose color in blotches. It may be localized, as in my case, or it may be all over the body so that you eventually wind up looking like Casper the Friendly Ghost. That's just what this liberal needed at this stage of my life: a disease to make me look more white! 

One fine day back in the last century, I began to notice white blotches erupting on my arms, hands, and way down where the sun don't shine.  I swiftly went to my family doctor who failed dismally to diagnose the condition, insisting it was a rash I picked up while gardening despite my protestations that the closest I ever got to gardening was paying the guy who does my gardening.

The rash gradually subsided but all of its handiwork did not, and I was left, among other things, with a gentlemen's genital that looks like a Popsicle with two different flavors.  But those few rash remnants aside, I did not think about the condition for many years thereafter.  

That is until last month when I awoke one morning, after cursing the alarm, to find an alarming sight.  The back of both of my hands were as white as Mickey Mouse's!  I counted up fingers to determine that I still had the requisite five per hand, Mickey having four, and bounded into the bathroom to get a better look.

It had all seemingly happened overnight.  As I flicked on the light in the bathroom to check my hands out more thoroughly I looked up and....


My forehead was as white as broadcast television in the 1950's!  I'd become a photographic negative of Harry Potter!  Damn, I certainly didn't need to be losing more cuteness points at this stage of the game, especially considering how few I had left to lose!

In a panic, this time I went to a prominent dermatologist named Dr. Joy Davis. She explained that what I had was a condition called Vitiligo Whoah-oh!

That's enough, Dean.

"This is the same condition that Michael Jackson had," Dr. Davis explained, "except of course being white and Jewish, you have no associated rhythm."

"But what does all this mean?" I asked her with increasing alarm.

"Looks like you first got this 20 years ago, then it went dormant.  It often appears on extremities like the hands, arms, face, and genital area."

Checkmark there.

"Now it's returned, including an unsightly blotch on your forehead." 

"Thanks so much for the observation, Doctor. But what can I do?"

"It may stop on its own and sometimes it even reverses itself. I can prescribe a steroid cream that might help."

"Well, that's encouraging," I said, brightening.  

"Or it may continue to progress rapidly until you give Frosty the Snowman a run for his money."

Nothing like a dermatologist with a good sense of humor to make sure you take your medicine.  So I've been working diligently with the cream, and I am getting some results. The back of my hands look a bit better and even some of the 20 year old blotches on my arms are improving.  But my forehead? 

It continues to look as if someone shmeared cream cheese upon it.  And I hate cream cheese.  

I suppose I'm lucky I've come down with a disease that doesn't kill you, make you blind, or turn you into a fan of ABBA, and you've got to be thankful for small favors. So I'll continue to battle my Vitiligo tooth, nail, and steroid cream until the battle is won. 

Or until I vanish into a snow storm.  That's the way it is with Vitiligo Whoah-oh!

Oh shut the fuck up, Dean!


Note: The picture above is not actually my hand. Neither is the picture above of Dean Martin actually my hand either.  My thanks to @JoyRossDavis, not really a dermatologist, for her support and inspiration.

Thursday, November 19, 2015

Little Shoe Lost (FF)

© C.E. Ayr

It had been a rather unhappy year for Evelyn. 

A series of setbacks had hampered her at work. She had gotten sick, a man had left her, and she’d made a few highly noticeable mistakes. Finally she received her termination notice.

Before long Evelyn was wandering the streets alone. Where could she go? What could she do?

Up ahead on a sidewalk grate she spied a little shoe lost, tattered but still wearable. Next to the grate on the sidewalk was the marking "E48."  Why shouldn't she go for it? There was no reason not to. 

She decided she would!

Inside the trendy Bistro E48, Evelyn feasted on Lobster Newburg, thought about how good it was to have a Golden Parachute, and admonished Claude the proprietor to get rid of the unsightly little shoe lost on the grate next to the restaurant's name on the sidewalk.


Yes, nobody need feel sorry for Evelyn. After dinner she'll wander the streets alone back to her penthouse condo and her several hundred pairs of designer shoes. Ain't unemployment a bitch?

The other Friday Fictioneers have many other takes on the picture prompt above and you can access them all by clicking here. There's no telling what they've done with the little shoe lost.

Maybe somebody even polished it.  In that case, I think I'll take it!