Tag Archives: Writing

Moses and the Open Eyed Sneeze (Chapter Three)

1 “Is this is your doing, Ze’ev? Don’t lie to me. I know your modus operandi!”

2 Zipporah throws a walnut on the table and slams it with the dildo. Bang! 3 The walnut spins out of control and takes off like a shot. It smacks against the wall beside poor Ze’ev. 4 He shrinks, taking a step back. Why is he always having to deal with this crazy family?

5 Not so long ago the weak-willed Moses was here paying for his weird order (muttering something about how a burning bush compelled him to do it), and now that same order is being brandished by his furious wifey. 6 Ze’ev is beginning to wish he’d never made the cursed thing.

7 “You love making pestles, don’t you? Be so kind as to make a mortar as well!”

8 Ze’ev doesn’t quite know how to react. What does she mean by this cryptic remark? 9 Is he ever safe with this mad woman around? It’s doubtful. 10 He nervously rubs one elbow, gesturing at the offending dildo with his free hand. His mouth is moving but no sound will come.

11 “Well, should I refresh your memory, or can you do it without me lifting my hem?”

12 Zipporah stands there, her arms akimbo, waiting for him to say or do something. Then it dawns on him. 13 She wants him to make a… 14 Oh. 15 My. 16 God. 17 When Zipporah sees the shocked look on Ze’ev’s face, she turns and leaves the workshop. She’s quite satisfied with the response.

18 I think that went very well.

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2016

Moses and the Open Eyed Sneeze (Chapter Two)

1 A real gaga. Dumb-ass! I should have zonked him twice!

2 Mercilessly, Zipporah batters the walnuts with her new dildo. Bang! Bang! 3 They’re blameless of course but she doesn’t care. 4 Bits of shells sprinkle about like muted confetti, mixed up with nutmeat similar to tiny, mummified brains. Bang! 5 These walnuts look brainier that her hypochondriac croaker of a husband.

6 Zipporah stops bashing. 7 She smiles to herself, lowering the dildo. 8 There is something she can do with this situation. Yes, there could be a way to turn it all around. 9 Zipporah throws a light shawl over her shoulders, puts the dildo in her handbag, and sweeps out of the mageireío. 10 It’s time to visit the tektōn.

11 He gives me a mere dipstick? I’ll show him where he can put it!

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2016

Moses and the Open Eyed Sneeze (Chapter One)

1 God, my head is throbbing!

2 Moses has been donged with a donger, and not just any old donger but a replica of his own donger. It’s not often that an imitation phallus is used to stave your pate in on a date. 3 And not only that, it has a more pleasing heft and rigidity to it than your unconvincing flop of nutmeat ever will. It’s the oaken tree root to your withered sapling. 4 The humiliation!

5 Ruefully, he shakes his head. Moses can’t understand why she doesn’t like his gift. Zipporah can be so unreasonable! 6 His eyes follow the sway of her hips as, zephyr-like, she sweeps out of the kafestiatório with her new dildo in hand. 7 Even now, in her great anger, she moves with the fluidity of a belly dancer.

8 God, she’s enchanting…

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2016

Water Cure

“Drink.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Drink, I say! You look very thirsty.”

“But… Hey, what are you doing?!”

Streams of water pour on me. I try to face away… I try to cry foul… but my voice drowns in the streams.

“Drink!”

I splutter. I cough. A gray dusty clot, almost weightless, lays inside my empty head. Dehydrated words are tied in a bunch like Chinese tea.

“Drink!”

I choke. I’m full of water. The words start to spin in the whirlpool and swell. The words take shape and color. The gray dusty clot unfolds inside my head… blossoms… and slowly fills the entire space. Now there’s nothing except a big moist poem here. My head is full of the poem, like a tiny teapot with beautiful blooming tea.

“Well, my girl… Now… do you realize how much you were thirsty?”

“Screw you…”

I wipe my wet face and cuss mildly. She smiles and says something… but I don’t listen to her. I open my laptop. WP Admin, Posts, Add New…

by TETIANA ALEKSINA 
© All rights reserved 2015

CRACKED FABLES // The Ant and the Cicada

Imagine, if you will, a field in Boring, Oregano. It’s a blisteringly hot summer’s day–the kind that makes bark peel off trees to find shelter from the sun’s calamitous gaze.

Cicada is lazing about wearing his customary bling. He’s chomping down on stogies while flipping through the latest copy of Big Buzzo Jumblies. This is what you do when you’re young, dumb and full of hum.

Ant, meanwhile, is nearby, huffing and puffing with a heavy trolley load of corn ears and woodworking equipment. She’s taking these essentials back to her place. She’s got a big project in mind…

“Wassup playa!” says Cicada. “Haul ovah’n rap wit’ me ’steada toilin’ moilin’ tha whole dam’ day!”

“I beg your pardon?” says Ant.

“Holla at’cha, yo!” says Cicada. “Hang wit’ me ho, ’steada slayin’ biz wit’ da wheel whizz!”

“I have no idea what you’re saying,” says Ant. “You do realise you’re not a gangsta rapper, don’t you?”

“Dawg, I’s that’n a bag o’ potata chips!” says Cicada. “Badassical!”

“I see,” says Ant, not seeing. “Here I am trying to build a shelter and lay up food for the winter, and all you can do is waste time showing off your posing pouch and speaking gibberish.”

“Yo, winta ain’t no thing but a chick’n wing!” says Cicada. “Sitch is I’skin already gets me eats an’ alcamahol and tasty blo’ hos any time I want!”

“Ooohhh-kay,” says Ant, rolling her eyes. “Have a wonderful summer then.”

Ant goes on her way to begin preparations. She sets about converting her place into a cosy, fifteen bedroom tree house with a spacious observation deck and outdoor heating. It’s from here that she plans to spend the winter, kicking back with a hot toddy, warm muff, and popcorn to view the Pleiades in all its stellar goodness. She’s really thought this through, you see, and stocks her new home with more ears of corn than one can poke ears of corn at. When the renovation is complete, Ant names the revamped abode Lady of Patience.

Winter eventually rolls around like a dial on an oven set to ‘Off’ and, predictably, Cicada has no food left by this point. He’s dying of malnutrition in a gutter. His rudey dudey mags have blown away to more clement climes. Even his bling has lost its zing. Ant, on the other hand, is spending every day on her deck, nibbling hot buttered, microwave nuked popcorn from the stores that she’d collected in the summer.

Cicada looks up from his self-inflicted misery and sees this. He finally swallows his pride, drags his sorry, withered arse to Ant’s door… and knocks. It opens, and there she is, looking down at him. His mouth opens–as if to say something contrite–then, changing his mind, he pulls out a piece, guns her down and takes all her stuff.

The moral of the story? “Good things come to those that wait.” Sure. Why the hell not.

by TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2016