Assignment 9

Thanks to everyone who’s contributing and hopefully having some fun here. If you get a chance, let me know if once a week is too frequent or not frequent enough for new assignment postings. I’ve put this up only a few days after number 8 and I think I’m going to try and do a Tuesday/Friday schedule. If I miss, the worst that happens is that your new assignment shows up the following Tuesday.

For this writing assignment, please use the following words together in a paragraph. The paragraph can be about anything you want, but must use all six words.

Put your completed assignment into the comments at the bottom of this post, I’ll do the same.

The words are: rug, deposit, Tivo, lug-nut, sandwich, crumple.

*A poem does not constitute a paragraph for this project.

Tell your friends about Jeff Cutler dot com. I’m working with a writers’ organization to see if I can get some schwag to reward some of you for your participation and skill.

Keep writing.

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4 Responses to Assignment 9

  1. jeff says:

    Dorry thought about how she had left things that morning with Vince. He continued to crumple her heart with each dalliance, but she lacked the where-with-all to get out of the situation. Dorry wished she had a Tivo for her life—or that she could get the time she had deposited into that loser back. Scuffing her feet on the rug she zapped Lug-Nut and he jumped. It wasn’t fair that she was the only miserable one, but the dog immediately forgave her and nuzzle against her leg. Was that the epitome of love, or was it the sandwich she had in her hand?

  2. rug, deposit, Tivo, lug-nut, sandwich, crumple.

    Completing my deposit, I retraced my steps across the bank’s foul rug, gingerly stepping over the remnants of some slob’s crumpled pastrami sandwich. In my hapless and uncoordinated ineptitude, I tripped on one of the rope chain pedestals, and hit the ground spinning like a morose lug-nut.

    In some horrific, precognitive flash, I can see some voyeuristic teller stealing the institution’s security tapes and creating a slapstick sitcom about a klutz like me that would be a Tivo favorite for years to come.

  3. Clownface says:

    Wrenching her husband away from Sunday football was as easy as pulling a lug-nut off a car that just had its tires rotated. “Dammit,” she thought. She had put a $275 deposit on the new carpet earlier in the week, and had taken the only available appointment on the weekend to seal the deal. It was a beautiful Turkish kilim, in creamy hues of red, green, blue and yellow. It was going to look perfect with the new dining room suite, and the state-of-the-art backing would ensure the carpet remained crumple-free during high traffic family gatherings. When she first started the home redecorating project, Arthur had insisted on being involved in all major purchasing decisions. “How do you define ‘major’?” she had asked, suspicious that what he called “shared decision-making” was interference disguised as marital concordance. “Anything more than the cost of a sandwich” Arthur replied with a subtle smirk on his face. “Dammit” she thought again, mentally pounding her fist against the steering wheel. “How am I going to get him away from the football game to go to the rug store?” While it would please her to force him to miss the game, to use his insistence on being “involved” to hurt him, she knew she would pay for that passive-aggressiveness later. “Pick your battles,” she said aloud, as she crossed over the highway en route to the neighborhood Whole Foods. As she approached the yielding traffic coming off the interstate, she was distracted by a colorful billboard featuring a picture of a smiling television. “That’s it!” she exclaimed. “TiVo, I’ll subscribe to TiVo so he can watch the game when we get back from the store!” Pleased with herself, she confidently navigated her Toureg into a tight spot in the parking lot and headed into the market.

  4. Chris LeBrun says:

    The TiVo was paused and still picture on the screen showed the local news anchor’s face in a badly contorted grimace that reminded Shelia of a crumpled paper doll. She deposited the last bite of her avocado sandwich into the trash. The avocado hadn’t really been ready, but she couldn’t convince her cravings of that fact. Besides it was late. She moved across the room towards sleep; her slippers dragging across the rug created a spark as she turned off the lamp. Crawling into bed next to her snoring, lug-nut of a husband, Shelia silently wished it hadn’t been the only spark that night. Her eyes closed and wished that morning would never come.

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