"Certainly," he said uncertainly, "Certainly."
Oh wow, an update.
So I know all of you don't really care about my boring life. Basically, my parents have had a freak out lately and are going crazy.
Anyways, I'm going to start something interesting today, namely a little series-type thing. They're all going to be part of a big story, and I'll put them in a LJ-cut (if I learn to use it correctly)
That means you'll be able to read a story almost every day! What are you going to do with yourself?!!
And, as always, tell me what you think of every "chapter."
Mark
twisted off the cap. Iced Amber Bock was his favorite, especially
when the the bottle was frosty, and he could rub his fingers across
the bottle, tracing icy smiley faces in his drunkenness. He moistened
his lips, and took a long gulp.
F3.
Mark belched and let himself fall backwards onto the white leather
couch. He was just like every other married, thirty three year old
football addict on a Saturday night: drunk. He stared at the ceiling,
and his blue eyes saw both Randy Moss, and the curves of the Vikings
Cheerleaders. He wore a plain white tee shirt and a pair of blue
jeans, an outfit his wife wouldn't permit him to where anywhere else.
"Damn weather. Damn cable. If we miss the game tonight..."
E5. Tom sat on the other side of Mark, in the matching love
seat. The big game was on tonight, like every other Saturday night.
This was the time for Mark and Tom to get together, to watch some
football, and have some fun, without their wives. Tom leaned back,
propped his legs up on the coffee table, and took a sip of Coca-Cola.
The TV was snowy, and only the sound of static came from the surround
sound speakers.
Mark sat up, swaying a bit. Steady sheets of rain fell against the
window, illuminated by random flashes of lightning. He took another
sip of Amber Bock, and set the bottle down on his side of the table
with a clatter, missing the cup-holder by a few inches. G4.
Tom
stroked his mustache, deep in thought. "Now I wish Mona were
here to make some food. We can't be deprived of both the game and
food," he wiped his sweaty forehead, "You hot, Mark?"
He stood up, walked to the other side of the family room, and
switched on the fan. The fan whined at first, but then began turning
faster and faster. Tom slid back in his seat, and considered his next
move. Queen H4. Checkmate.
Mark slammed his fists on the coffee table, knocking the chess
pieces onto the carpet. He pressed his face against the table,
moaning out loud.
"That's the second time in a row tonight. You must be really
wasted, Mark." Tom laughed, and picked up the remote. After
pressing the channel-up and channel-down buttons to no avail, he
began mashing every button on the remote in a flurry. "Damn
remote." He threw it on the floor.
The rain intensified, and the lights flickered. A loud crack of
thunder, causing Mark to jump up from shock, was followed by an eerie
silence. The lights flickered again, and Mark moaned as the power
went out.
So I know all of you don't really care about my boring life. Basically, my parents have had a freak out lately and are going crazy.
Anyways, I'm going to start something interesting today, namely a little series-type thing. They're all going to be part of a big story, and I'll put them in a LJ-cut (if I learn to use it correctly)
That means you'll be able to read a story almost every day! What are you going to do with yourself?!!
And, as always, tell me what you think of every "chapter."
Mark
twisted off the cap. Iced Amber Bock was his favorite, especially
when the the bottle was frosty, and he could rub his fingers across
the bottle, tracing icy smiley faces in his drunkenness. He moistened
his lips, and took a long gulp.
F3.
Mark belched and let himself fall backwards onto the white leather
couch. He was just like every other married, thirty three year old
football addict on a Saturday night: drunk. He stared at the ceiling,
and his blue eyes saw both Randy Moss, and the curves of the Vikings
Cheerleaders. He wore a plain white tee shirt and a pair of blue
jeans, an outfit his wife wouldn't permit him to where anywhere else.
"Damn weather. Damn cable. If we miss the game tonight..."
E5. Tom sat on the other side of Mark, in the matching love
seat. The big game was on tonight, like every other Saturday night.
This was the time for Mark and Tom to get together, to watch some
football, and have some fun, without their wives. Tom leaned back,
propped his legs up on the coffee table, and took a sip of Coca-Cola.
The TV was snowy, and only the sound of static came from the surround
sound speakers.
Mark sat up, swaying a bit. Steady sheets of rain fell against the
window, illuminated by random flashes of lightning. He took another
sip of Amber Bock, and set the bottle down on his side of the table
with a clatter, missing the cup-holder by a few inches. G4.
Tom
stroked his mustache, deep in thought. "Now I wish Mona were
here to make some food. We can't be deprived of both the game and
food," he wiped his sweaty forehead, "You hot, Mark?"
He stood up, walked to the other side of the family room, and
switched on the fan. The fan whined at first, but then began turning
faster and faster. Tom slid back in his seat, and considered his next
move. Queen H4. Checkmate.
Mark slammed his fists on the coffee table, knocking the chess
pieces onto the carpet. He pressed his face against the table,
moaning out loud.
"That's the second time in a row tonight. You must be really
wasted, Mark." Tom laughed, and picked up the remote. After
pressing the channel-up and channel-down buttons to no avail, he
began mashing every button on the remote in a flurry. "Damn
remote." He threw it on the floor.
The rain intensified, and the lights flickered. A loud crack of
thunder, causing Mark to jump up from shock, was followed by an eerie
silence. The lights flickered again, and Mark moaned as the power
went out.