FIRST EVER HTMLGIANT LITERARY CONTEST (NO ENTRY FEE)
Friends, this picture was provided to us by an anonymous friend of mine, who is an excellent and well-known publisher. S/he forwarded it to me yesterday, with the following message appended: >>this girl made fun of me in high school (pink dress)<<.
For the first ever HTMLGiant literary contest, you are invited to write an original piece of literature inspired by this photograph. Poetry, prose & indeterminate forms are all acceptable. Feel free to simply provide a caption, or to produce a short-short up to, say, 300 words. Leave your entries in the comments section of this post.
My anonymous friend will judge, and it will be up to him/her what–if anything–the winner receives.
Tags: contest, girls with d-bags, pink dress
Kangaroos are jumping through your window and onto your bed so sit down a sec. In the rocking chair for a sec. On my lap, I’ll sing you a lullaby. Nevermind the kangaroos, they’ll go all night.
The lullaby will help you rest. I will sing it: la la.
Oh these kangaroos. They’ve shrunk and are gnawing at my toes. La la. Come in here and bring the shotgun, Larry!
They are getting into and under everwhere, tiny kangaroos. The one peeing in the corner, shoot it!
Honey, just try to sleep. La la.
Kangaroos are jumping through your window and onto your bed so sit down a sec. In the rocking chair for a sec. On my lap, I’ll sing you a lullaby. Nevermind the kangaroos, they’ll go all night.
The lullaby will help you rest. I will sing it: la la.
Oh these kangaroos. They’ve shrunk and are gnawing at my toes. La la. Come in here and bring the shotgun, Larry!
They are getting into and under everwhere, tiny kangaroos. The one peeing in the corner, shoot it!
Honey, just try to sleep. La la.
Mad in the lab underground the man makes new bullets that jump. The jumping bullets go jogging around the tiny town, passed the hardware store Larry sits outside of with his rifle on his lap, singing a lullaby, on his lap. The bullets go jumping by. Larry aims at the things but they jump around the corner out of sight. Nothing to shoot today, Larry says. Got some cotton in the back, Jimmy says. What I need cotton for no-brain? Just some cotton’s what I’m saying, Christ. Christ, Larry says.
Mad in the lab underground the man makes new bullets that jump. The jumping bullets go jogging around the tiny town, passed the hardware store Larry sits outside of with his rifle on his lap, singing a lullaby, on his lap. The bullets go jumping by. Larry aims at the things but they jump around the corner out of sight. Nothing to shoot today, Larry says. Got some cotton in the back, Jimmy says. What I need cotton for no-brain? Just some cotton’s what I’m saying, Christ. Christ, Larry says.
Jimmy comes home and looks like the wife left the kangaroo-making machine on again. This tiny town is in for it.
Jimmy comes home and looks like the wife left the kangaroo-making machine on again. This tiny town is in for it.
The man in the lab opens the door and there’s his daughter holding a kangaroo by the tail, up at him. Here, she says. The man takes the thing, back to his lab. It jumps around on the floor. It gets tinier and tinier. They are shrinking, the man says. What is the cause? It’s a mouse. It’s an insect kangaroo. It jumps into his hair gets lost forever.
The man in the lab opens the door and there’s his daughter holding a kangaroo by the tail, up at him. Here, she says. The man takes the thing, back to his lab. It jumps around on the floor. It gets tinier and tinier. They are shrinking, the man says. What is the cause? It’s a mouse. It’s an insect kangaroo. It jumps into his hair gets lost forever.
Jesus Christ looks down at Larry and Jimmy briefly, then goes back to reading the paper.
Jesus Christ looks down at Larry and Jimmy briefly, then goes back to reading the paper.
A mob of kangaroos have the mob of jumping bullets cornered in the alley. but soon the kangaroos are tinier than the bullets, so the bullets jump toward them, jump over them, jump away, out into the night.
A mob of kangaroos have the mob of jumping bullets cornered in the alley. but soon the kangaroos are tinier than the bullets, so the bullets jump toward them, jump over them, jump away, out into the night.
why did you name the douchebag jimmy? his name should be ‘deutschbogge’ or ‘darby’
why did you name the douchebag jimmy? his name should be ‘deutschbogge’ or ‘darby’
Come in and eat something. It’s all free for me. It’s all free from me. Do the dodododo. What’s new pussycat?
My chest is elevator globules. I’m less bouncing than freighting. I can’t say where my car was parked.
In retrospect, maybe this was a ridiculous idea.
Come in and eat something. It’s all free for me. It’s all free from me. Do the dodododo. What’s new pussycat?
My chest is elevator globules. I’m less bouncing than freighting. I can’t say where my car was parked.
In retrospect, maybe this was a ridiculous idea.
Life is awesome.
Life is awesome.
the girl in the pink is a ‘big bitch’. i do not mean ‘big bitch’ in a negative manner.
my penis is of little ferocity. it would be scared around her.
look at those thighs. she looks like a professional tree kicker.
the girl in the pink is a ‘big bitch’. i do not mean ‘big bitch’ in a negative manner.
my penis is of little ferocity. it would be scared around her.
look at those thighs. she looks like a professional tree kicker.
Ladies and gentlemen, we are floating in shit.
Ladies and gentlemen, we are floating in shit.
I think that is me. There. In that picture. I think that is my hair slicked, my lip biting. In that picture. Next to those women. The one in pink. Her hair. Her friend in a dress made from scrambled checkerboards. And the moon, quadrupled and bouncing instead of outside the window. In the black. Where I think it is Las Vegas. Where I have never existed. I have never been to Las Vegas. I have never arrived in its darkness. I have never seen its artificial moons. I have never walked its jumping bedsprings. This picture is a fragment of something I was thinking, I think. Something about me, that blackened hair burnt and smiling, us gesturing with our hands, caught mid-jump next to the moons. Smiling. This is not a photograph. I think this is me. There. In that picture.
I think that is me. There. In that picture. I think that is my hair slicked, my lip biting. In that picture. Next to those women. The one in pink. Her hair. Her friend in a dress made from scrambled checkerboards. And the moon, quadrupled and bouncing instead of outside the window. In the black. Where I think it is Las Vegas. Where I have never existed. I have never been to Las Vegas. I have never arrived in its darkness. I have never seen its artificial moons. I have never walked its jumping bedsprings. This picture is a fragment of something I was thinking, I think. Something about me, that blackened hair burnt and smiling, us gesturing with our hands, caught mid-jump next to the moons. Smiling. This is not a photograph. I think this is me. There. In that picture.
It was a normal sunday evening and then suddenly my wife came out with that one sentence, that sentence that would change our lives forever and a day, that sentence that would once and for all make our little daughter, who is only 16 years old, forever a woman in my eyes and the eyes of also someone who wasn’t me but was, in fact, my wife of 20 years.
“Honey, I think we should talk to Elizabeth about sex.”
A grim look passed between the two of us, the sort of look that two enraged snails might cast each other before a fist fight, or a panda might flash its misbehaving cub before dashing it’s brains out on a rock, or that the proud bee might give to the rump of an invading oxen before that fatal sting.
“Ok. I’ll go upstairs.”
I went upstairs and knocked on the door to my daughter’s room – no longer the door of a girl, now a fully grown lady.
“Not now dear father.”
I knew something was up. With all my might I destroyed the door with a flurry of blows from my hands, feet and penis. There she was, having a fucking party with her friends, in a pink dress, bouncing up and down like a lunatic on her bed, laughing, laughing and laughing. I went berserk. I ripped my clothes of and started weeping.
I had failed as a father.
It was a normal sunday evening and then suddenly my wife came out with that one sentence, that sentence that would change our lives forever and a day, that sentence that would once and for all make our little daughter, who is only 16 years old, forever a woman in my eyes and the eyes of also someone who wasn’t me but was, in fact, my wife of 20 years.
“Honey, I think we should talk to Elizabeth about sex.”
A grim look passed between the two of us, the sort of look that two enraged snails might cast each other before a fist fight, or a panda might flash its misbehaving cub before dashing it’s brains out on a rock, or that the proud bee might give to the rump of an invading oxen before that fatal sting.
“Ok. I’ll go upstairs.”
I went upstairs and knocked on the door to my daughter’s room – no longer the door of a girl, now a fully grown lady.
“Not now dear father.”
I knew something was up. With all my might I destroyed the door with a flurry of blows from my hands, feet and penis. There she was, having a fucking party with her friends, in a pink dress, bouncing up and down like a lunatic on her bed, laughing, laughing and laughing. I went berserk. I ripped my clothes of and started weeping.
I had failed as a father.
there is no good or bad in art
there is no good or bad in art
there is good and bad in art
there is good and bad in art
[…] November 18th, 2008 at 3:05 amCome in and eat something. It’s all free for me. It’s all free from me. Do the dodododo. […]