It was finally time. The most glorious moment in sports had finally arrived. The Tipoff for March Madness. Nearly 24 solid hours of basketball would be crammed into the next two days.
Stuck at the office, he hurried to his computer and began typing:
http://cbs.sportsline.com/
“What! Access denied! Where’s the network administrator!”
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The soldier died, felled by a bullet through his chest. He never saw the man who shot him. One hundred seventy days into his deployment, and he’d never fired his weapon. Had he not died instantly, he might have taken solace in the fact that his brothers in arms were now alert to the ambush.
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The stream, churning and nearly bursting its banks with the onslaught of mountain snow, punctuated the crisp March air. Unaware of the eyes that followed them endless waves of humpies fought the current tirelessly on their upstream quest. With a great splash the young Kodiaks hopped into the frigid stream looking for a hearty lunch.
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“Bryan Theodore Kramer, this court is appalled by your existence. Not only have you shown no remorse whatsoever, rather you seemed to enjoy hearing the graphic testimony of your wife’s horrific murder. I saw the satisfaction as you relived each terrible moment.
“Therefore, I have no hesitation in sentencing you to death.
“Court is adjourned.”
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Our final story of the weekend is from Dean Christianson. Thanks to everyone who participated!
The virus was deadlier and more contagious than anyone estimated turning Armageddon into annihilation for humanity.
In an underground cavern, an autonomous computer, which scientists had nicknamed GOD, buzzed and hummed amidst rotting corpses steadfastly searching for a solution. After six days it recreated the formula for life then went on standby resting its circuits.
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Shirley’s back with a more humorous contribution.
They could see the smoke rising from her as she rumbled, roared, and spewed smoke, ash, and hot air.
“She’s going to explode!” the boy said.
“Yes, son, this is how it is each time,” his father assured him. “She builds up pressure over time and just blows.”
“Has mom always been like this?”
“Always.”
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Our Sunday begins with this macabre entry from Shirley Thornton.
She slipped the necklace around her slender, white throat.
“It is perfect,” she thought.
It wasn’t what all girls like her would choose for the occasion, but she liked it.
She stared at herself in the mirror, adjusting the fit.
When she was completely satisfied, she closed her eyes and quietly stepped off the chair.
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Our final story of the day is from Nathan Watson.
The man in the tacky business suit’s breath plumed into the air as he shivered.
“Cold,” he complained, glancing up at the dismal sky.
“Spare some change, Sir?” a nearby homeless man asked.
The man in the business suit shook his head and hurried off to work.
“Cold…” muttered the homeless person, huddling back up.
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A sweet story from Mort Ginsberg.
“‘Embraceable You,’ my favorite Gershwin song!”
“I know, Harry.”
“And sung by old blue eyes, too. How thoughtful.”
“Knew you’d like it, Harry. Ready to go now?”
“Can I hear more Gershwin and Sinatra?”
“You can even meet them!”
“Been a great life. Sure, I’m ready to go — God?”
“Good guess. Let’s go!”
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Our first story of the weekend comes from Michael Vincent.
Adam’s flat was merely sloppy until my final attempt at collecting rent. His formerly barren floor was covered with shreds of white paper, a snow globe of unintelligible fragments. The only coherent thought, crookedly nailed to the wall, read, “Write your own dictionary. Start with Abandon.”
Guess that means I’m not getting a check.
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