Mad Lib Story Thread

Option 1:"The Bird Queen and the Ancient Language of Birds."

Option 2: "Revenge of the Birds"

(Next poster pick one):)

I felt sick all over again. I didn't know whether to run for the phone or...
 
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...go soak my painfully stubbed toe, I realized the book was not that at all! It was Alfred Hitchcocks, "THE BIRDS".
Feeling a bit teeter bent & dillusioned over my broken toe, stomache ache & dry whiskey mouth, my obnoxious telephone & pathetic roommate, when the carpet started crawling with...
 
(Thus the screen name, huh, Bandit?):) ;) Anyway on with the story thread...anyone?

(Maybe we should resolve the intro and proceed with the first chapter?) So where did we leave off? Oh yes, Hitchcock...

...go soak my painfully stubbed toe, I realized the book was not that at all! It was Alfred Hitchcocks, "THE BIRDS".
Feeling a bit teeter bent & dillusioned over my broken toe, stomache ache & dry whiskey mouth, my obnoxious telephone & pathetic roommate, when the carpet started crawling with...
Click to expand...
Next? :)

__________________
 
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Awaiting_the_fifth said:
...thousands of tiny, fast moving bugs! Oh wait, no, not bugs on the carpet, just spots in my eyes. God damn I must have been wasted last night...
Click to expand...
LOL. That was good:) (the days when 3 AM was an early night. LAST CALL!) LOL
 
...I hobble over to the phone & finally stop the loud clanging bell. It was the voice of...
 
Option A) "Mr. DeMille, I am ready for my closeup now."

Option B) "I am still big, it is the pictures that are getting smaller."

Option C) something totally different than the above! (LOL-I have decision-making issues....just want to get on with the story.)
 
...who said, "Jessica Tandy is standing here screaming at me, claiming that there are hundreds, maybe thousands of birds trying to come down her chimney! Wait a minute....is that Rod Taylor I just saw?"...
 
<sigh>

And then I woke up. Thank God--it was only a dream! No birds, save a lone sparrow in the scrub tree outside the window. No broken toe. The phone was not ringing--it was only the alarm clock. No bugs crawling around on the floor. But best of all? No hangover--just a mild case of hot chili the night before (spices make us dream, you know). What a relief--I had not touched anything stronger than Sleepytime Tea (and chili) for at least six months!

But as I straggled out of bed and to the bathroom and down the staircase, I did notice an oldish-looking, leatherbound book with gold lettering. I froze, afraid to approach, but it called to me as it had in the dream. I floated, I guess, toward the dusty magnet and when my strange journey was complete, I found...
 
...that I could not understand the meaning behind the gold. Perhaps it was some foreign language, or even some kind of heiroglyphs. I just could not tell.

Damn it, Trudy! (my roommate). Why can't you be normal? Why can't you stay out of those dusty, old, wierd, witchy places you call "antique shops"? How we ever hooked up, I will never understand. Here I am, a modern young man, a "techno-geek", and well on my way to success. My world was so ordered. I was very comfortable until I met you!

But you dredge up everything inside me that ends with a question mark! How do you do that?

Well, so much for the dream--the phone was ringing for real this time. I picked up. It was my dear Trudy, saying...
 
(LOL--I am not posting a line for the story--I just wanted to thank and commend you, Juantoo3, for your bravery and imagination)

I think we need to summon the folks who started this thing in the first place! So, how about it, Pathless? Alexa? Blue Jay? How about you, Faithfulservant? Padipa? Scarlet is busy, I know, and I think Luna is on vacation. I know where Jack is.

Anyway--anyone can scroll back if so inclined. For some reason, I am not willing to let this thread die--call me crazy.

I believe the last couple of brave posts had to do with Trudy's taxes and peanut butter....:)

Next????

InPeace,
InLove
 
New Mexico--or, wait--I think it was Spain. Well, no matter. Trudy needed my help whether I drove down Route 66 or caught a plane, headed for sunny Spain, with Chic Corea on my brain.

I am beginning to think it is not Trudy who has all the problems--have I fallen asleep again? Oh, I hope not. I would rather salvage these crazy thoughts during my waking hours.

I love Trudy (she probably doesn't know), but right now, my attention is focused on that book that called me in my dreams, and is there now in what I almost hope is still a dream. But I know it isn't. It's the gold lettering--geez--I haven't even thought about opening the thing. Why not?

Well, blast it all, anyway--if this is a dream, then opening the book will solve whatever mystery I did not ask for, right? Sheesh--Norma Desmond, Alfred Hitchcock, Jessica Tandy--no one even mentioned Billy Wilder, no! And Salvadore Dali?

The book is there--it was there in my dreams--it is there in reality. I will open it.

"Ian? Are you there, my love? Ian?"

"What? Oh! Trudy--are you okay? Listen--I have been trying to tell you that there is new software out there to help you with those troublesome taxes--when will you listen to me? And why do you put jelly beans on your peanut butter sandwiches? And what is this old, scary-looking book that you have apparently dragged home?"

"Trudy?"

"Ian," (in a near-whisper). "Ian? I really have to talk to you about that book. I hope you will forgive me, but...."
 
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