Patent Office

Below you will find the results of my having challenged myself for a number of days to write a short story with a beginning and middle and an end inside of 30 minutes. Here is what I came up with. I hope you like it.

“Hey, sexy lady!”

“Were you talking to me?”

“No, I was talking to that pregnant lady. Although, honestly, I think she may be deaf or something.”

”Oh.”

”I could be talking to you, though. Do you have swollen feet?”

”What?”

”Do you have swollen feet? That’s my thing. That’s why I’m always talking to pregnant women.”

“My feet are fine.”

”OK.”

“You like swollen feet?”

”Yeah. Swollen feet are hotter than hell. So are you. You’d be hotter with swollen feet, though.”

“Mm.”

”Want my number? You can call me if you get knocked up or get diabetes or something.”

”No.”

The Client

Below you will find the results of my having challenged myself for a number of days to write a short story with a beginning and middle and an end inside of 30 minutes. Here is what I came up with. I hope you like it.

The Psychiatrist sat in a surprisingly modest wooden chair. Very hip design. Expensive. The vibe he conveyed was intense scientific interest, rather than fatherly comfort.

The Client was practically absorbed by a giant gray leather chair that seemed to hibernate at the other side of the room. Anyone caught in the massive piece of furniture’s grasp had no choice but to passively drape themselves over the armrests and submit.

“Do you feel like talking?” asked The Psychiatrist.

“Yes,” answered The Client.

The silence that followed was so obvious as to not seem uncomfortable.

“I’ve lost my ability to shit my pants in public,” admitted the man.

“Hm,” punctuated The Psychiatrist, jotting a note onto a small pad.

The Client slowly lifted his hand, and pointed his index finger towards the ceiling. The Psychiatrist later admitted that it took him far too long to ascertain what was happening.

“Nevermind, said The Client. “I’m cured. Sorry.”

”Aw hell,” grumbled The Psychiatrist.

The Pitch

Below you will find the results of my having challenged myself for a number of days to write a short story with a beginning and middle and an end inside of 30 minutes. Here is what I came up with. I hope you like it.

The Producer asks for a pilot script about a bipolar woman and a woman with Asperger’s syndrome who team up to solve crimes as part of a top-secret government operation. Both are gorgeous, brilliant and misunderstood. Homeland meets The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo is how it’s being pitched.

Karina speaks in an uninterruptible flow of sentences that incoherently drift apart. She talks rapidly, and for hours on end. When others attempt to speak, instead of listening, she merely reduces the volume of her own speech, however briefly. Sometimes, she ‘communicates’ by way of a bizarre invented language that she insists is French, but bears no similarity to that tongue beyond a few sounds.

Clare is interested in two subjects: The Battle of Hampton Roads, a Civil War clash between armored ships, The Merrimac and The Monitor, which happened on March 9th, 1862; and The Bell Curve: Intelligence and Class Structure in American Life, a highly controversial book about intelligence testing that she has evidently memorized, and will quote at length with even the vaguest provocation. This leads to awkward situations in restaurants. These eating establishments, she points out, do not serve fried clams, which leads to other problems.

The Writers instead create a script about a man and woman who fall in love after they are booked to fight one another in an MMA tournament. The Producer thinks it’s great.

You’ve Got A Thing

Below you will find the results of my having challenged myself for a number of days to write a short story with a beginning and middle and an end inside of 30 minutes. Here is what I came up with. I hope you like it.

Big Guy asked us to go downstairs and find the box full of t-shirts. I went with Jessica. We found the box in about 10 seconds. It was right at the bottom of the stairs, underneath the light switches. “Maybe there are more shirts, down here?” Jessica sort of emitted. I knew what was happening. “No, I think there’s just this one,” I said. Jessica’s face went blank. She was confused. A few years ago, Jessica misplayed her keys in the office. She went looking for them. She found them inside of a minute. Just to be on the safe side, however, she kept looking for them. She was holding her keys in her hand, and she knew this, but she still kept looking for them. Just to be sure. Obsessive stuff. I brought the box of shirts upstairs and gave ‘em to Big Guy. Jessica spent about an hour downstairs, looking for another box. A box that didn’t exist. Just in case.

Career Counseling

Below you will find the results of my having challenged myself for a number of days to write a short story with a beginning and middle and an end inside of 30 minutes. Here is what I came up with. I hope you like it.

“You’re a big guy.”

”Yep. Six-seven. Two eighty.”

”According to this, you list your hobbies as hitting people with folding chairs and bellowing at crowds.”

”Yep. Love it. I could hit people with folding chairs, all day.”

“…and you own a sparkly mask?”

”I do. Yes.”

”Have you considered a career in professional wrestling?”

”Never heard of it.”

Amateur Night!

Below you will find the results of my having challenged myself for a number of days to write a short story with a beginning and middle and an end inside of 30 minutes. Here is what I came up with. I hope you like it.

“So tell me more about your act.”

“I fill my guitar with dangerous fireworks and road flares. They I go onstage and play a bunch of show tunes, really fast, but I change the lyrics so they’re about me trying to fuck Suzanne Pleshette. The heat from the stage lights eventually causes all the fireworks and flares to explode.”

”The audience likes this?”

”How the hell should I know? Most of my face has been burned off.”

”I saw that.”

”Yeah, I can’t really see or hear anything.”

”Um, come by Tuesday.”

”What?”

Tuesday!”

“Thanks. Can someone give me a ride home, afterwards?”

”Fine.”

The Back Of The Bus

Below you will find the results of my having challenged myself for a number of days to write a short story with a beginning and middle and an end inside of 30 minutes. Here is what I came up with. I hope you like it.

Rudy and Moody sat in the back of the bus. They were both C-students.

“What are you doing this weekend?” asked Moody.

”I gotta be the judge at the talent contest at the church.”

”CYO?”

”Yeah. It’s in the church basement.”

”How did you get to be the judge?”

“I’m a judge.”

“Yeah?”

”I won the contest, last year. I jumped over a bunch of logs with my bike. Now, this year, I get to be a judge.”

“You jumped over logs?”

”On my bike. Yeah. They set up the logs in the middle of the stage and I jumped over them.”

”How’d you get the speed up?”

”They cleared out the wings of the stage.”

”Oh.”

Rudy and Moody were quiet for a long time. They half expected a fight to erupt somewhere on the bus. Two really fat kids, who they both knew, had been arguing all day.

“My mom’s going to be in that contest,” said Moody.

“The church one?”

“Yeah.”
”The one I’m judging?”

”Yeah.”

”I’m judging your mom?”

Moody didn’t answer.

“What’s she gonna do?” asked Rudy.

“Breakdancing.”

Rudy was quite for a few moments.

“What’s she gonna wear?”

Turns out there was a fight on the bus.