Grin on Flashshot

My Bathroom Monologue, "Grin," is the story of the day over at G.W. Thomas's Flashshot. It's one of the pun-based monologues, and points to you if you see the end coming.

You can check it out at this URL: http://www.gwthomas.org/flashshotindex.htm

Bathroom Monologue: Finally Got Shelves

I love shelves. You put things on them, and suddenly they aren’t in storage anymore.

Where a pile of boxes says, “Good luck finding that Campbell anthology,” shelves say, “Labels on the spines.”

When gravity says, “Everything falls down,” shelves say, “You’ll have more floor space if you put the paperbacks and anime DVD’s up here.”

Shelves. I hadn’t really moved in until I met you.

Bathroom Monologue: Bolshevik Swine

(This was written in response to a challenge to do a six-sentence piece relating to the above picture)


The hogs hit the switch and those miserable cheerleading oppressors were yanked skyward. A baton clattered before them, and Louis-14 caught it in his snout.

He squealed, "With this baton, we seize the reigns of cheerleading.”

His second in command snorted, "The revolutionary pigs on that farm will probably lead more productive lives."

Louis-14 twirled the baton about his snout and declared, "But one only half as fabulous."

Bathroom Monologue: Gradients of Goodbye

There are gradients of goodbye. The goodbye one morning as you rushed to the school bus was nothing like the goodbye before you got into the car so mom could drive you to college. Certainly neither was like the goodbye when I stayed with mom after the stroke, while you had to get back to campus. There were those four goodbyes that one day, when we hugged and cried in the morning, then ran into each other outside the bathroom, then you got delayed packing and we had to say some sort of goodbye after lunch, only for you to forget your alarm clock, drive back half an hour later, and impart one last and most embarrassing goodbye. If only I’d known that what was wrong with mom was wrong with you, I wouldn’t have had to say the last goodbye, the one to which you couldn’t respond. And because your life with us was so punctuated by “goodbye,” I wonder why you chose for your headstone to read: “HELLO.”

Bathroom Monologue: Earl and the Muslim

Earl blew his nose and looked up to find they were the only two left in the weight room. He, an American-looking American with an American beard and an American Nickelback t-shirt, and this enormous Muslim on the chest press, Arabic tattooed across straining biceps, glowering at Earl in-between reps and making weird gestures at his face.

Earl checked himself to see if he’d done something wrong, but all he was doing was rubbing his nose and lounging with a foot up. Oh crap, wasn’t showing your soles to a Muslim a death-worry offense? He quickly pushed both feet to the floor, but the guy was already coming. The guy pushed a box of tissues at him and muttered, “Dude, snot in the beard.”

Bathroom Monologue: Astral Plane or Astral Plain?

It's kind of both. It's a plane of existence if it’s anything, but there are also rolling hills. The souls of buffalo roam, and long-extinct races of antelope play. They do not, however, play harps. It’s lovely at night as instead of daisies, stars bloom in the grass of these fields, and twinkle a far sweeter music than man has ever known. He has felt it in a fashion, though, and expressed it by accident in every song that bring to mind places without using words.

Bathroom Monologue: Sir Wallace Prepares for the Immortal

The Immortal slapped Sir Wallace across the cheeks and said they’d fight it out right here.

Sir Wallace mopped his brow and said nay, they’d duel seven noons from today.

It was a spirited reply, so off the Immortal went with a wench, and off Sir Wallace went with his maid, preparing in hush and haste for the inevitable. They ducked into his house, locked up the shutters and shut up the doors, and such a clatter came from inside that by Day Two minstrels sang of his brave preparation.

On Day Five there arrived a fencing teacher who looked suspiciously like the town lothario in an eye-patch and rapier, announcing he’d instruct Sir Wallace as he slipped inside the shrouded abode, one arm entwined with the maid’s. Come Day Six a new sort of clatter came from the premises and the Immortal kicked in the doors to find only the swordsman and the maid in Sir Wallace’s bed – and Sir Wallace six days ride away.

Six Sentence Week 3

You guessed it. It's my third Six-Sentence Story Week here at the Bathroom Monologues. From Monday to Saturday I will feature only six-sentence bits, covering dueling immortals, Communists and cheerleaders, the astral plane, and much more. A poll will pop up around Wednesday. Please vote for your favorite, or leave feedback begging me to stop this.

Bathroom Monologue: Things You Should Not Accept For Free

-Piercings
-Financial advice
-Warm firearms from nervous people as sirens are getting closer
-Anything wrapped in a towel that is dripping something red, regardless of how close the sirens are
-Boxing lessons in a meat packing plant
-Pills someone refers to as “candy”
-Old cheese
-Rides from strangers over long distances when your cell battery is low
-Your cousin’s friend’s backpack just seconds before you pass through Customs at the border
-Uwe Boll DVD’s (dreadful director)
-Drinks he insists on mixing in the other room, and no that’s okay he’ll go do it alone
-Directions that include shortcuts through the woods at night near that camp where all the counselors were beheaded twenty years ago as of tonight