Amos was sick and tired of everyone calling him “Anus” ever since Jimmy Potter started it in third grade!
Tracie had assured him that she had a plan that would get him a new nickname. The week before Homecoming was Spirit Week, and each day had a theme. “Opposite Day” usually just meant jocks dressed as geeks and cheerleaders as goths, but there are other opposites...
A girl wearing a tight sweater under a necklace that spelled “Amy” took her seat in homeroom, smoothing her miniskirt. Her ruby lips formed a perfect O and she blew a big pink bubble.
My muse woke up recently, and this dumb story about a contest jumped into my head.
When Amy told me she'd found a way to win the money that would save our house, I was reluctant. But we were desperate. We maxed out all the credit cards we had left to afford all the procedures, and now looking at my sexy bikini "After" photo, I was hopeful.
I thought I'd give her a hand emailing our submission, so I opened her laptop and clicked around her bookmarks to find the website. When I found it, I shrieked. Amy came running in and I pointed at the screen. "The Man Into Woman Challenge is a Photoshop contest!"
"From the town of Bedrock, they'll have a gay old time!"
The large brunette frantically searched for something to fill her leopard skin bra. “Hey Bonnie, where are the coconuts?”
Her blonde companion handed her a large white package. “I found something better, Frederica. Here.”
She grabbed a small bird from the top of her desk and used it to cut the string. Two large pink blobs were in the box. “What are these?”
“The latest in breast form technology.” Bonnie turned to show off her figure for her friend. Her brown minidress clung to curves Frederica knew she didn’t have, bouncing and jiggling the way they were supposed to. “Jellyfish.”
The plan was brilliant — the three of them would dress up as hot chicks to rob the bank, so no one would have seen their faces. Plus, when they got to the boat, they’d ditch the disguises and no one would ever connect them to the three bimbos.
Unfortunately, Lefty had grown too attached to his “Roxanne” persona and just ducked behind the hydrofoil’s gunwale instead of stripping off his big blonde wig, stiletto heels and huge silicone casabas.
Bruno gave him the bad news. “Chuck that stuff overboard. We’ll never outrun the police boats if we don’t reduce drag.”
A silly story about herbs.
Three TG ladies, each a different ethnicity as is usual in stories like this, went to a tea shop to order their favorite source of phytoestrogens.
The first introduced herself to their waitress and said, “I’m Shannon, as Irish as Lucky Charms and love a tea that reminds me of the green hills covered in shamrocks. Red Clover for me.”
The second one said, “A Nubian princess like me, LaWanda, doesn’t let anyone or anything in her that isn’t black. Black cohosh for me.”
The third one, a spicy Latina, preferred to sing her order. “Dong Quai for me, Argentina.”
A proposal ends in a vocabulary lesson.
I’d forgotten the ring, but I didn’t want to lose the perfect moment, with the way the moonlight danced on the water. I summoned all my courage, looked deeply into her eyes and asked the question I’d been practicing: “My love, I cannot imagine a greater happiness than if you and I were to live out our time on Earth as man and wife. Will you have me?”
She answered my question with a question. “Man and wife, respectively?”
“Certainly,” I said.
“Then, Yes!” she said, and kissed me.
I’ve since learned that “respectively” doesn’t mean the same as “respectfully.”