stylorouge's Stories

Grammer: A Short Treatise on the Importance of Right Usage

2008-02-01T03:35:36Z

Your probably wondering why am I righting this. But please lend me you’re ears, ahem, eyes for a few moments of you’re time.

It have come to my attention that Ficlets are rampant with wrong grammer usage. I for one am appalled, as should you, to. Therefour, I would like to call it to everyones attention before it situation get out of hands.

Oftentime, the humur of a peace is lost when learned individuals, such as myself, must trudge thought a peace filled with mistakes, such as using your and you’re, or its and it’s, or even simple two, too, and to. Please proveread over you’re righting to insure that it have been spelled correct.

Nextly, it seems, too me, that unbeknown to many, that your using commas, alot. Overuse of the comma, can, and will, cause a disrupt of flow, in a peace, as well.

I do believe, that as a online community, its you’re, no hour duty, to create well-writen grameticaley correct short storeys which will be our legisy!

The Extraordinarily Queer Transaction of a Stratocaster (3)

2008-02-01T03:12:07Z

“Hey, buddy? Chu think?”

Scott really didn’t know where to go with this. He’d been in instrument retail most of his adult life and made a pretty good chunk of change scamming widows out of antique mandolins and guitars. They’d usually come in tearful and slide the case up on the counter. Then he’d listen to them drone on and on about how this belonged to their late husband/father/brother, etc and how they just don’t know how much it’s worth and they really don’t have any use for it cause, well, they don’t play it. And Scott waits patiently during this whole diatribe for the perfect opportunity to break it to the old bag that their mint condition pre-war Gibson Mastertone banjo was only worth about 250 or so, and if she wanted he could take it for her and pay cash right now. These maw maws would usually sputter, “well, law, I didn’t figger it was worth all ‘at,” and happily walk out the door with enough money to tint their hair as blue as the veins creeping up the back of their legs.

The Extraordinarily Queer Transaction of a Stratocaster (2)

2008-02-01T03:09:18Z

You talking selling or auction? I’d do auction my damn self. Come to think of it, I wouldn’t be selling it. Your call though. I’ve been playing my 1971 SG for what, something like fifteen years now? I’ll be damn if I give that thing up. And you really want to sell?”

Scott was amazed that someone would actually want to give this up. It’s like Zappa giving up Hendrix’s Miami Pop guitar or Clapton giving up Blackie. But here he was, standing in his guitar shop on Broad Street, and this pudgy chump waiting for his appraisal of the instrument. The more time he spent in the presence of this piece of art, the more he felt like one of those queers on that antiques show on PBS . He could see himself with those white gloves on gliding his fingers across the body as he discussed to potential payoff with some naive heir. He couldn’t wait to tell someone about this one.

The customer had begun slowly making his way around the shop, idly examining amplifiers, string sets, whatever happened to catch his eye.

The Extraordinarily Queer Transaction of a Stratocaster

2008-02-01T03:05:59Z

It was ten minutes after he’d first laid eyes on it, and Scott Ferguson still held the Fender Strat lightly in his hands before he cradled the neck in the bench rest. Almost afraid to touch it, he slowly took in each minute detail shaking his head approvingly. He looked up at the owner who was still waiting for a response.

“Well, what do you think? 20? 30? Something like that?”

“Hell, naw,” Scott answered. “You’re talking all original stuff here from the looks of it. Gold tuners, electronics, Shoreline gold finish, no cracks anywhere. A forty year old Strat in this good a shape, man, you must’ve babied this thing.”

“Yeah, I treated like it’s one of my own. Look, I’m pretty busy so if we could just move things along here I’d appreciate it.”

“Yeah, okay.”

“So you think it’s worth more?”

“Hell, man, s’hard to say. It’s really up to the buyer, ya know? What they’re willing to pay for something like this. I mean, this is up there with the big boys.”

The Return of An Open Letter to HoboBeardBob

2008-02-01T02:55:44Z

My Dear HoboBeardBob,

I must say you do impress me! I did not know that a Thalidomide child with club hands could adapt to society as an adult- much less type so well. Either you have an enormous keyboard, or you are able to control at least one of your pudgy digits. Regardless of the case, kudos to you!

By the way, not everyone shares your rabid fascination with the show “Queer Eye For the Straight Guy.” And no, we don’t just “loooooove” your shoes. And I’m tired of you asking if I’ll pose, sans boxers, for your artwork. Last time I did, I posed for eight hours and you never drew anything. It was a little creepy. My uneasiness was only exacerbated by the fact that you too, sir, chose to paint nude as well. Ah, at least we both share a love of early 20th Century Impressionists.

Where’d the rug burns on your knees come from?
Stylorouge

Leonard Part 6: A Short Treatise on Excellence

2008-01-30T19:53:16Z

Noted for his profound timing and staggering ability to turn an evil vegetarian premise into comedy gold, Bill Cosby’s characterizations in Leonard Part 6 is a brilliant and underrated performance.

No other actor could have written, produced, and directed such a hilarious send-up to the trials and tribulations of the real human struggle between herbivore and carnivore.

Cosby’s performance truly captures the reality of problems experienced in the CIA and creates a sense of empathy within the viewer.

Unfortunately, Leanord Part 6 was the only movie in this series actually allowed to be released by the CIA due to the interests of national security. One can only speculate the repercussions of five more cinematic masterpieces released onto the silver screen.

Cosby’s cutting edge techniques of using magic meat, gypsies, captive animals, dish soap floods, and ostriches intoxicate the viewer. In the end, the only disappointment with this movie is its scant 85 minute stretch and a deep yearning for more.

Braided Hair: A Southern Haunting

2008-01-30T13:13:36Z

Well, now at you said somethin, I reckon I gotta tell this one.

J’ever know Purchase Grover’s momma? Member she up an died when th horse an buggy she’s a ridin flipped on her? Horse got spooked somethin awful. Member she always had at long hair o’hers jest a braided?

Well, after she died, Purchase was jest sick ta death. Weren’t good fer nothin. Good thang fer him, he finally got in with this ol’ gal – Inez Bussey’s her name. Inez had at long hair like Purchase’s momma.

Once she moved in with Purchase, ever night she’d go ta bed with her hair down an wake up with it braided. If I’m lyin I’m dyin. Beat all I ever did see. An at’s the honest truth. I seen it with my own eyes.

It jest about drove Inez batty tryin to figger out why her hair kept a doin at.

Well, she finally had bout all she could. In the middle of a night, she felt at hair o’hers jest a twistin an she yelled out, “At’s enough Mrs. Grover!”

Do you know her hair ain’t braided itself since? You believe at?

An Open Letter to HoboBeardBob

2008-01-30T05:10:50Z

Dearest HoboBeardBob,

I recently learned that you suffer from an incurable and rare form of swollen hemorrhoids. I am so sorry for you and your long commute to your job at the chicken plant. I know it must be hard for you to sit all day and pull the skins off of chickens.

I hope this doesn’t dampen your spirits or cause you to lose another job.

By the way, I have a cream you could use, but I don’t know if it would help at all. Oh, I almost forgot. I found a hemorrhoid donut at a yard sale last Saturday. I’ll go back this weekend, and if they still have it, I’ll get if for you. I don’t think it has been used much because it was in such good shape.

LYLAS ,
Stylorouge

Alive: A Southern Haunting

2008-01-29T16:11:11Z

Now, don’t that jest beat all?

Minds me of a time when ‘at Riddlespur boy’s up air at the Birminham learnin’ how ta preach. Come home ta do a service one Sundey an wound up havin ta do a funeral fer at colored boy at ran th’ pump house over on Willer Creek.

Well, at boy’s momma was what we’d call a witchy woman. Had th’ voodoo ya’ know.

Well, ol’ Hoatie Riddlespur went up yonder ta read th word of th Lord an all. An I want ya ta know, at witchy woman commenced to doin’ her mess right air in front of at pore ol’ Babtist preacher.

Doin all these spells an incantations, an I don’t know what all.

Well, Hoatie liked ta crawled right up outta his skin when he saw all at. Said they wasn’ anything good ‘bout at place an it was full of th’ devil. He lit out like a skeerd cat.

Ol’ witchy woman called on him of a Sunday an said she didn’t reckon she’d be in need of his services no more.

Ya know, fore he left town, ol’ Hoatie Riddlespur swears on th’ Holy Bible he saw at ol colored boy up wakin’ around.

The Cabin: A Southern Haunting

2008-01-29T04:59:37Z

Hey, ‘at ain’t nuthin’. Back when me’n ye momma lived up yonder on Georgie Mount’n..member hit uz way on back in th’ woods ‘ere right by Shaneyfelt’s and ‘em.

Diddy give me a piece of land t’work, an right on th’ edge there, was a cabin. Log. Prolly put it up ‘for th’ war. Th’ inside’s all torned to pieces an all. Well, ye momma’s scared t’death of that place. Said hit weren’t somethin’ right ‘bout it. I know ye momma said weren’t a cat t’go near it.

Well, I set out t’see what all th’ fuss was cause she weren’t gone stop talkin’ ‘bout it. I’s out t’put a stop to all iss foolishness. An I reckon it’s ‘bout 9:30 or so in th’evenin’ I’s off in them woods.

Son, I got up near it, an my hand up t’th’ Lord, I smelled bacon jest a fryin’. Well, I get up on them steps, my knees’s jest shaking ever which a way, an I peeped up through th’ winder, and Law! They’s candles lit an food on th’ table.

Well, I commenced t’runnin’ an high tailed it outta there, an don’t spect I’ll go back no time soon.

Creating the Illusion

2008-01-28T13:24:19Z

The Jeep slowed to a crawl as Dai eased it over onto the shoulder of the interstate. He had intentionally driven in the opposite direction of his ultimate destination. Part of the plan he’d conceived at seventy miles per hour.

Dai saw his hands shake with nervousness. Had trouble moving his feet.

Do it, he thought. Do it, now.

He fingered the door handle, and stepped out onto the rain. Walking down off the road, and into the woods a few yards, Dai took the money out of his wallet and tossed it onto the ground. While he stuffed his pockets full of cash, Dai eyed his left hand. He wiggled the tarnished wedding ring off of his finger and sidearmed it into the darkness.

Dai stumbled back onto the shoulder, being careful to avoid the probing headlights of oncoming traffic, and his side began to vibrate.

He began to stumble and flounder as he dug into his coat pocket for the cell phone. He almost lost consciousness when he saw what was blinking on the screen. Over and over, almost mocking him – “Home.”

5 Awkward Things for Your Doctor to Say in the Middle of a Prostate Exam

2008-01-25T13:04:32Z

5. Man, you smell good.

4. Lemme just put my other hand on your shoulder and we’ll get started.

3. They said I had the biggest hands in proctology school.

2. So, what are you doing later?

1. Sorry about the fingernails, sir.

Insanity at the Bateau Lavoir

2008-01-23T21:21:32Z

The sun’s rays crept through the trees and warmed his face as the biting Parisian winter found its way through the moth holes in his topcoat. He removed his monocle to wipe a tear.

Magnus had been to Pere-Lachaise Cemetery many times. He had visited the graves of statesmen, leaders, artists, and writers.

Most recently, he had wept over his friend Apollinaire, the poet and art dealer. And now, here he was, still standing by the graveside with flowers in hand reeling from the death of his closest companion. It seemed surreal that the alcohol and consumption had gotten the best of Amedeo.

All of Montparnasse and Montmartre had been at Modigliani’s funeral.

He began thinking of how he would pour his soul onto the canvas. Compose lines of heart-wrenching verse to commemorate the occasion.

Magnus gently laid the tulips by the grave; his hand gently tracing a few etched letters. He stood slowly, lit a cigarette, and turned.

5 Awkward Things to Say When Commenting on Fan Fiction (Sci-Fi/Fantasy Edition)

2008-01-23T16:59:14Z

5. So, you know Palpatine was in Star Wars not Star Trek?

4. Yeah, I liked it. I especially liked the part where you kept Tom Bombadill’s dialog going for about six pages.

3. Oh, I get it…Chewbacca gambles. He’s a wookie bookie.

2. Um, I don’t think that you should have A’Tuin in your Hitch Hiker’s Guide.

1. I’m sorry. I’m kind of…um…seeing someone right now. But, I’m sure you’ll find someone at the Comicon.

Thirteen Minutes 'Til Freedom

2008-01-23T16:39:38Z

Dai checked his watch. Lord, he thought. Thirteen minutes left until she gets home. Thirteen minutes of freedom.

He knew that as soon as she walked through the door there would be an exhaustive list of chores. He was compliant, usually, choosing to give in rather than sit through another argument.

A feeling of urgency swept over him, and without warning or cause, Dai picked up his keys, checked for his wallet, and walked out to the car. Thirteen minutes was plenty of time to leave the house, the neighborhood. Thirteen minutes to escape to freedom.

He decided that now was the time- he would leave his entire life behind. With only the clothes on his back and $137 dollars in his wallet, he was heading to the coast.

Family, friends, work were now dead to him. He had taken this opportunity to find a new life.

Dai would start over.