A Writer’s Dilema

Slowly the world resolved itself and Dorothy walked out of the house.  “Crap,” she said, noticing the feet sticking out from underneath the house, “I’m going to need a lawyer.”

 

‘Do you want to play a game?’

David reached behind the computer and flicked the switch.  “No, not really,” he said.

 

“Life is like a box of chocolates, you eat the whole box then puke them up,” said Forrest.

“Why do you say that?” asked the African American woman sitting on the bench next to him.

Forrest pukes in her lap.  “Because it hurt my tummy,” he said.

 


 

I look at my computer screen.  “I can’t even write good fan fict!  Time to hang it up,” I say to myself as I push away from the computer.  I pause before getting up.  “Then again, maybe one more try.”


 

 

Dr. Who stepped out of the tardis and into the hot African jungle.  The man in front of him seemed to go blue with streaks of lightning for a moment.  As the man looked around, trying to get his bearings Dr. Who said, “Dr. Beckett I presume?”

Dr. Becket replied, “Oh boy.”

 


I smile.  “I’ve still got it baby,” I say and dive back in.


 

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