Lawrence of Aradia Street (1)

Lawrence was ass-parking on his back patio, de-reconstituting his orange juice.
If the bastards at the company didn't constitute it right the first time, he thought, why the fuck should they be given a second chance?
He put the stuff into a long tall container and added some cookies from the big biscuit tin in his pantry. The cookies soon squishified and the glug had a pretty odd new constitution indeed, which pleased Lawrence.
He then added some beef mince, set up the ready-made catapult and tape recorder, and ran inside to hide behind the futon.

"waaah! Waahhhhh! Take that bad baby nephew! I'm putting you in the blender! Waahhh! BVVVRRRTTTTTTTTTT. silence."
Phhhtwang! Hurl. Spludge.
And then Lawrence waited patiently.

* * *

Lawrence Jules Harvey was not stupid.

To make sure everybody knew this, he had constructed a large sign which stated "I am not stupid" and attatched it to his door. Lawrence never got the opportunity to find out if people agreed witht this assertion becuase he didn't get any visitors.

No visitors, that was, until the Heissmans moved in to the other half of the duplex where Lawrence lived.

Lawrence thought that the Heissmans spelt their name with two little dots above the i instead of one. This was becuase a bird had shat in exactly the right place on the Heissman's letterbox, and it meant that Lawrence assumed they were German.

Hans and Julie Heissman were most certaintly not German, but they were from Europe, and they didn't speak English. Lawrence's suspicion that they were German was not only reinforced, but proven by their non-Englishity.

Bing Bong! (do tiddle doo) Bing de Bong Bong Boo.

Lawrence hated his automated musical doorbell, but it was a clause of the rent, and Lawrence wasn't stupid. He was onto a good thing with this duplex. WAS onto a good thing that is, until Hans rocked up at his door this very narrative moment.

The first thing Hans said when Lawrence reluctantly answered the door was, "Please neighbour new hen-fucker I need not be truthful mistake of my speech English."

And Lawrence raised one eyebrow carefully. Then Hans pulled out a sheet of folded paper and put on a monocle. He then read from the paper.

"Excuse me from boothering you but I am you new next door. First of questions, why is you owning "I'm not stupid" sign on door pathway?"

Lawrence decided two things at this point, firstly, that Hans was German, and secondly, that Hans did not deserve his own "I'm not stupid" sign.

Really Getting Out (1)

Cory felt lonely.

Lon Lei felt Cory.

Cory felt kinda squishy.

Cory felt bored. That was the problem ya see, with prostitutes. You could pay a woman to pleasure you, but you could never be pleased by a woman you pay.
Cory yawned therapeutically, and picked up an old Wall Street Journal to flick through.
Lon Lei looked like she felt angry, but she kept on feeling Cory.

* * *

Much later and on a different day, Cory was inspecting the felt of James' pool table.

"Oh man... that's gotta suck. This shit is expensive."
"I know," said James in reply, "You've slashed holes into it four times this year."
"Three. The other time was my dog."
A little later still the gentlemen were consuming beers.
"James, we've consumed all the beer." Cory noted truthfully. "May I borrow some money with which to buy more? I've fuckin spent all mine."
"Oh Boysterous Youth, thy tongue is sharp." was something along the lines of what James meant to say, but came out as "Fuck off, I'm out."
"So we're both broke then?"
"Seems so."
"fuck."
"yeah."
"Who's gonna pay for the felt then?"
"Ah forget it mate, it was a bad joke anyway."
"yeah."

There was a film on television which our protagonists viewed, In which funding was aquired illegally from a casino by attractive men in suits. Cory slowly started to have an idea.

Introduction and Explanation

Heya, and welcome to an experiment in creative writing called Short Stories for Short Attentions.
I write a lot of creative stuff, and I post a fair bit of crap on my blog too, so I've come up with the somewhat obvious idea to write creative crap on a blog.

The deal is that, as often as I can, I'll post a section of a short story that i'm working on. Very rarely will the whole short story be written out in one blog entry, so each entry read in reverse order will make up the whole story. Or if you follow as we go, you can tune into the site as if it were a really crap unregulated TV network. with less pictures.
I'll probably have 4-5 stories going at once, and some might never actually see the light of ending, but you'll just have to bear with me until I get into a groove with this one.

So that you know which story's which, I'll keep the entry titles the same (ie: Legend of John (1) ) and you can follow whichever stories you want.

Not really sure if this idea is going to work yet, but if it does it'll be a good collection of random pieces by me, and some whacked out shifting stories too.