hello my name is Shari Lewis

Staying single is easy when you have a vest that makes you look like Lamb Chop. 

Little Red in the hood

Not long after the “incident”, Little Red Riding Hood ditched the little red getup, and switched to rugged denims. Not long after that she purchased a large caliber, double-barrel pistol, and passed her driver’s test.

Her grandmother had survived the vicious wolf attack, praise Jesus; however, while the little bad wolf lost his life that day, Little Red had lost her innocence.  As a result of the incident, the girl's daily life had been reduced to a never-ending state of paranoia. As a result of her incessant paranoia, Little Red now owned a large caliber, double-barrel pistol and had developed a decent shot.

She also owned a Dodge Charger, which was a result of her grandfather’s will. It had hefty V8 power.

Over the years, Little Red had remained close to her little wrinkled grandmother, who, in her geriatric state, was more needy than ever. Every morning, Little Red would pack a bunch of snacks into her Dodge Charger and deliver them to her grandmother’s bedside.

This particular morning, Little Red was running late for her Crossfit class. She decided to take a shortcut through the sketchy, ungentrified part of the woods. She loaded two bullets into her pistol, placed it in the glove compartment, and buckled her seat belt. She was paranoid. And she was running late.  

Little Red set out towards the dark hood of the wood.

TO BE CONTINUED MAYBE

those naughty goods

The trench-coated man cautiously and confidently opened his coat to reveal his goods to the girl in front of him.

Marilyn rolled her eyes. She really wished that the man didn’t choose to do this in broad daylight. Wasn’t there a discrete alleyway close by? A park perhaps? Actually, a park would be bad news, Marilyn thought to herself. The innocent eyes of young innocent children do not need to see this.

She looked left and she looked right. The coast appeared to be clear. Her eyes focused back on the goods that were being surreptitiously displayed in front of her.

Broad daylight did have its benefits, Marilyn realized- she could see his goods perfectly without having to hold them up close to her face.

The man had exactly what she wanted. She pointed to the small package at his waist.

“That’ll do.” She stated matter-of-factly as she felt for the wad of bills in her pocket

“Alrighty then,” the man smiled and winked. “Let’s do this.”

He lifted the trench coat up over his head and approached the lass.

Inside the man’s coat it was very, very dark. Marilyn grabbed the package in her hands and handed him the money.

“Anything else today, miss?” His breath smelled like onions.

“Nope, we good, thank you very much.” Marilyn replied. The man immediately backed off and closed up his coat. He adjusted his sunglasses and walked away.

Marilyn placed the package in her purse and skipped home. 

She really had to start budgeting her money better.

that man smell

Why in the world does Mrs. Tony Randall love that man?

That man swears. He curses. He chews, he spits.

He burps and leaves the door ajar whenever he shits.

He forgets anniversaries, he never says sorry.

He most likely smells like bad calamari.

But he doesn't. 

That's because he wears "That Man" by Revlon. 

It smells ohsogood. And when it comes to smells, Mrs. Tony Randall is ohsoshallow.

when nature calls

"I say- I say- I say- I say whaaat?" Leroy looked down at his phone in surprised disbelief, breaking his cigarette in the process.

"You heard me, Leroy" responded a raspy voice. "I'm going to be coming for you, in the future." 

(The voice was from the future, apparently. The voice also apparently smoked a copious amount of cigarettes between now and then.)

"You for real right now?" Leroy narrowed his eyes and continued to look into the phone's mouthpiece, puzzled. He lowered his voice. "This some real talk?"

"This is what I like to call 'futuristic real talk', Leroy." The voice was two-parts cold, one-part foreboding.

Leroy was beginning to feel threatened. He summoned up all of the cool courage in his voice that he could. "H-how about you tell me your name so I can make sure that I watch out for you down the road, in the future, that is." 

"My name's Sandy." The voice on the phone at the very least sounded honest. "And any efforts to avoid me will prove to be futile. I'm one cougar that you don't want to mess with."

The year was 1967. The term "cougar" wouldn't be associated with nicely-aged women for another 45 years.

Needless to say, Leroy was puzzled at the use of the word "cougar". Would cats in the future be able to talk? If this one was able to hold a phone, would cats in the future also have opposable thumbs? Leroy suddenly felt less scared about the future, and much, much more curious.

"Whatever, cat lady. Peace."

Leroy hung the phone up and reached into his pocket for another cigarette. He lit a match. 

A gentle breeze blew it out.