Two Popular Uncles Partying to the Beat
by Judd Brookes
Mildred Barker looked at the giant hawk in her hands and felt worried.
It’s like rolling a die. Drawing by Terry Freedman
She walked over to the window and reflected on her deprived surroundings. She had always loved urban Truro with its plain, pong parks. It was a place that encouraged her tendency to feel worried.
Then she saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the figure of Tristan Gump. Tristan was a gentle vicar with wobbly fingernails and pink lips.
Mildred gulped. She glanced at her own reflection. She was a forgetful, stable, beer drinker with handsome fingernails and skinny lips. Her friends saw her as a cooing, cruel coward. Once, she had even saved a faffdorking baby that was stuck in a drain.
But not even a forgetful person who had once saved a faffdorking baby that was stuck in a drain, was prepared for what Tristan had in store today.
The snow flurried like sleeping toads, making Mildred calm.
As Mildred stepped outside and Tristan came closer, she could see the round glint in his eye.
"Look Mildred," growled Tristan, with a forgetful glare that reminded Mildred of gentle tortoises. "It's not that I don't love you, but I want affection. You owe me 8013 pounds."
Mildred looked back, even more calm and still fingering the giant hawk. "Tristan, you must think I was born yesterday," she replied.
They looked at each other with stable feelings, like two rabblesnatching, ratty rats thinking at a very proud funeral, which had trance music playing in the background and two popular uncles partying to the beat.
Mildred regarded Tristan's wobbly fingernails and pink lips. "I don't have the funds ..." she lied.
Tristan glared. "Do you want me to shove that giant hawk where the sun don't shine?"
Mildred promptly remembered her forgetful and stable values. "Actually, I do have the funds," she admitted. She reached into her pockets. "Here's what I owe you."
Tristan looked stable, his wallet blushing like a beautiful, brawny book.
Then Tristan came inside for a nice drink of beer.
THE END
Reviews of Two Popular Uncles Partying to the Beat
"I feel like I know Mildred Barker. In a way, it feels as though I've always known her."
- The Daily Tale
"Saying the snow flurried like sleeping toads is just the kind of literary device that makes this brilliant."
- Hit the Spoof
"Even I could do better."
- Zob Gloop
Commentary
Part of the story generator
Well, this is one of the silliest things I’ve come across on the internet: a random story generator. You answer a whole load of questions, like “What is the nature of the conflict"?”. You answer most questions from a drop-down list. This is a rather tedious process, so for my second “effort” I chose the option to fill out the entire form with random ideas. I also generated the pen name randomly (see screenshot).
Here’s what emerged:
The Damp Torch
A Short Story
by M. T. Ramsden
Annabelle MacDonald had always loved magical San Francisco with its loud, lovely lakes. It was a place where she felt delighted.
She was a generous, grateful, whiskey drinker with wide thighs and vast arms. Her friends saw her as a grated, gigantic giant. Once, she had even made a cup of tea for a wooden baby bird. That's the sort of woman he was.
Annabelle walked over to the window and reflected on her quiet surroundings. The clouds danced like loving goldfish.
Then she saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the figure of Rick Donaldson. Rick was a brave dolphin with beautiful thighs and brunette arms.
Annabelle gulped. She was not prepared for Rick.
As Annabelle stepped outside and Rick came closer, she could see the rabblesnatching glint in his eye.
"Look Annabelle," growled Rick, with a mean glare that reminded Annabelle of brave gerbils. "It's not that I don't love you, but I want a fight. You owe me 5787 gold pieces."
Annabelle looked back, even more happy and still fingering the damp torch. "Rick, I love you," she replied.
They looked at each other with surprised feelings, like two confused, cheerful cats hopping at a very clumsy disco, which had trance music playing in the background and two peculiar uncles cooking to the beat.
Annabelle studied Rick's beautiful thighs and brunette arms. Eventually, she took a deep breath. "I'm afraid I declared myself bankrupt," explained Annabelle. "You will never get your money."
"No!" objected Rick. "You lie!"
"I do not!" retorted Annabelle. "Now get your beautiful thighs out of here before I hit you with this damp torch."
Rick looked healthy, his wallet raw like a kaleidoscopic, knotty kettle.
Annabelle could actually hear Rick's wallet shatter into 5787 pieces. Then the brave dolphin hurried away into the distance.
Not even a glass of whiskey would calm Annabelle's nerves tonight.
THE END
Reviews
"I feel like I know Annabelle MacDonald. In a way, it feels as though I've always known her."
- The Daily Tale
"Saying the clouds danced like loving goldfish is just the kind of literary device that makes this brilliant."
- Hit the Spoof
"Even I could do better."
- Zob Gloop
Further commentary
As I think you’ll agree, these stories could do with a bit of work. Could the story generator be useful ? At a stretch, I’d say it might be useful for providing some plot outline ideas, but I am being supremely generous here. But as a jokey idea It’s reasonably good for a laugh.
When I have the courage I might submit one of these stories for a competition, as long as I don’t have to pay for the privilege. It would be a sad indictment on the judges’ abilities if it actually won!
I generated the pen names randomly too. The reviews were produced automatically by the story generator website.
To find these generators, here are the links:
WRITE!, a newsletter for nonfiction writers. Click the word “WRITE!" below to find out more, grab a sample copy and to subscribe. It’s free!
