Sometimes the most brilliant wisdom in the world comes in the form of an after-dinner afterthought.
Whatever possessed you offer her the smaller of the two fortune cookies with the reference of how she can shovel away the Moo Goo? You held your own with the General Tsao's Chicken, all the while she graciously held her tongue.
To top it off, you didn't go after her apologizing profusely, you just sat there like a pork-bellied Buddha, sipping your tea and wondering what was in that last piece of Sushi you picked off of her plate.
You crack into your cookie to devour your message much like the way you drained the cistern of Won-Ton Soup. And you stare at the prefab fortune.
"The greatest danger could be your stupidity." you read. It may as well had said, "Stop her you fool!" You would have missed the message in that as well.
You were just glad the back of the tag taught you a new word in Chinese. Even they have a word for "moron"!
Tonight's mega mega jackpot is an unprecedented 650 million dollars! And...here are the winning numbers: 11, 21, 22, 24, 25, 31.
"Oh My God, Earl!" Shirleen screamed. She was dancing around the double-wide, waving the greasy paper fortune she'd kept from her cookie. "I'm givin' General Mao's one thousand dollars, I swear to the good lord above."
"What the hell, woman?" Earl burst out of the powder room, hauling up his Dickies.
"We won! We won! The mega mega jackpot, Earl!" Shirleen grabbed Earl around the neck and tried to twirl him. Earl could not be twirled.
"Shirleen, what are you flapping about?" Earl hated to be touched.
"Those lucky numbers in my fortune cookie I told you to play yesterday!" She shoved the teeny slip of paper in front of his face. "They were the winning numbers!"
"Well I'll be damned." Earl scratched his head. "THAT was what you were talking about."
Shirleen stopped mid-twirl.
"Well, hell." Earl said. "I thought you wanted me to pick a date for our wedding."
James sat in the small restaurant and waited with his fingers steepled. Alright, he'd made a mistake with the girl. Sure, he didn't need to sleep with her, but that was who he was--he had sex indiscriminately. If they brought in a temp, they could bloody well expect for him to sleep with her. How was he to know she was someone's niece? She certainly didn't say anything.
Looking at his watch, he acknowledged that this was much longer than he'd ever been required to wait for contact. Plus, this was a hole compared to what he was used to. You couldn't even get a decent martini for a mile. He'd have to go back to his hotel and wash the stink of humanity off him.
Plus, they'd been having a laugh at him when they sent him here in a tux. Not that he didn't tell everyone he ran into his name, but this was highly irregular to be so inconspicuous beforehand. If anyone was going to blow his cover it was bloody well going to be him. That was what he did!
He sipped the water. Swill! His water tasted like the glass had been boiled clean in his soup.
Plus, they'd never said how they'd be giving him the contact information. He'd unscrewed the salt and dumped all that on the table only to find the shaker empty. Damn and blast.
Normally, a pretty young bit of legs would escort him to a "special" table, but not tonight. No, the woman was far older than Moneypenny and fancied herself a cougar at eighty. She'd patted his rump before he sat down.
There was nothing on the placemat or the napkin. For all he knew, this was it. A wild goose chase.
Gently, he belched. He'd have gas later on. What had been in that soup? It was probably something's testicles. Yak testicles. Goat testicles. Snake testicles. Did snakes have testicles? Everything did. Pull yourself together, man.
They were probably watching him. He glanced around. If any of these other chaps were agents, they'd lowered the requirements for both hygiene and fitness. A few of the ladies were a possibility, but hopefully he wouldn't have to bed them. Well, no, he never had to, but that's what he did. That was who he was. He had sex indiscriminately.
Bother. This was just outside of enough. He wouldn't wait more than another quarter of an hour. They could simply contact him at the hotel--maybe he could find a frisky maid in the meantime.
The cougar brought him the cheque with a fortune cookie. He suspected that was her phone number on the top of the cheque and not any attempt at contact from the agency. He'd call it, but hopefully, he wouldn't have to play out the charade. He did discriminate--at times.
This was probably because he'd wrecked the last Aston Martin before he'd even found out how the missiles worked. The Russian had climbed on his lap, and she handled her curves better than he had. In all fairness, the maneuverability just wasn't up to snuff. Besides, he'd gotten some rather wonderful information that time--not for the agency, but he'd never really seen a girl be able to do that with both legs.
Ahh... the fortune cookie. Of course. They'd used this trick before. Clever. Opening it, he was forced to admit, "Well played, Q. Well played indeed." The GPS coordinates were there and the rest was as good as a signature.
"The greatest danger could be your stupidity."
He'd take that under advisement. Plugging the GPS in, he saw he'd be headed near the Sudan. His stomach protested the thought of flying right away. He belched again. Perhaps a few alka-seltzer--shaken--not stirred.
I LOVE this prompt. I'll definitely be back later.
ReplyDeleteSometimes the most brilliant wisdom in the world comes in the form of an after-dinner afterthought.
ReplyDeleteWhatever possessed you offer her the smaller of the two fortune cookies with the reference of how she can shovel away the Moo Goo? You held your own with the General Tsao's Chicken, all the while she graciously held her tongue.
To top it off, you didn't go after her apologizing profusely, you just sat there like a pork-bellied Buddha, sipping your tea and wondering what was in that last piece of Sushi you picked off of her plate.
You crack into your cookie to devour your message much like the way you drained the cistern of Won-Ton Soup. And you stare at the
prefab fortune.
"The greatest danger could be your stupidity." you read. It may as well had said, "Stop her you fool!" You would have missed the message in that as well.
You were just glad the back of the tag taught you a new word in Chinese. Even they have a word for "moron"!
Walt, LOL! This is great. the way you drained the cistern of Won-Ton Soup made me crack up!
ReplyDeleteTonight's mega mega jackpot is an unprecedented 650 million dollars! And...here are the winning numbers: 11, 21, 22, 24, 25, 31.
ReplyDelete"Oh My God, Earl!" Shirleen screamed. She was dancing around the double-wide, waving the greasy paper fortune she'd kept from her cookie. "I'm givin' General Mao's one thousand dollars, I swear to the good lord above."
"What the hell, woman?" Earl burst out of the powder room, hauling up his Dickies.
"We won! We won! The mega mega jackpot, Earl!" Shirleen grabbed Earl around the neck and tried to twirl him. Earl could not be twirled.
"Shirleen, what are you flapping about?" Earl hated to be touched.
"Those lucky numbers in my fortune cookie I told you to play yesterday!" She shoved the teeny slip of paper in front of his face. "They were the winning numbers!"
"Well I'll be damned." Earl scratched his head. "THAT was what you were talking about."
Shirleen stopped mid-twirl.
"Well, hell." Earl said. "I thought you wanted me to pick a date for our wedding."
Awesome, both of you. I liked the cistern of won-ton soup also... and Deb's use of the words "powder room" and "Dickies."
ReplyDeleteclap clap clap
James sat in the small restaurant and waited with his fingers steepled. Alright, he'd made a mistake with the girl. Sure, he didn't need to sleep with her, but that was who he was--he had sex indiscriminately. If they brought in a temp, they could bloody well expect for him to sleep with her. How was he to know she was someone's niece? She certainly didn't say anything.
ReplyDeleteLooking at his watch, he acknowledged that this was much longer than he'd ever been required to wait for contact. Plus, this was a hole compared to what he was used to. You couldn't even get a decent martini for a mile. He'd have to go back to his hotel and wash the stink of humanity off him.
Plus, they'd been having a laugh at him when they sent him here in a tux. Not that he didn't tell everyone he ran into his name, but this was highly irregular to be so inconspicuous beforehand. If anyone was going to blow his cover it was bloody well going to be him. That was what he did!
He sipped the water. Swill! His water tasted like the glass had been boiled clean in his soup.
Plus, they'd never said how they'd be giving him the contact information. He'd unscrewed the salt and dumped all that on the table only to find the shaker empty. Damn and blast.
Normally, a pretty young bit of legs would escort him to a "special" table, but not tonight. No, the woman was far older than Moneypenny and fancied herself a cougar at eighty. She'd patted his rump before he sat down.
There was nothing on the placemat or the napkin. For all he knew, this was it. A wild goose chase.
Gently, he belched. He'd have gas later on. What had been in that soup? It was probably something's testicles. Yak testicles. Goat testicles. Snake testicles. Did snakes have testicles? Everything did. Pull yourself together, man.
They were probably watching him. He glanced around. If any of these other chaps were agents, they'd lowered the requirements for both hygiene and fitness. A few of the ladies were a possibility, but hopefully he wouldn't have to bed them. Well, no, he never had to, but that's what he did. That was who he was. He had sex indiscriminately.
Bother. This was just outside of enough. He wouldn't wait more than another quarter of an hour. They could simply contact him at the hotel--maybe he could find a frisky maid in the meantime.
The cougar brought him the cheque with a fortune cookie. He suspected that was her phone number on the top of the cheque and not any attempt at contact from the agency. He'd call it, but hopefully, he wouldn't have to play out the charade. He did discriminate--at times.
This was probably because he'd wrecked the last Aston Martin before he'd even found out how the missiles worked. The Russian had climbed on his lap, and she handled her curves better than he had. In all fairness, the maneuverability just wasn't up to snuff. Besides, he'd gotten some rather wonderful information that time--not for the agency, but he'd never really seen a girl be able to do that with both legs.
Ahh... the fortune cookie. Of course. They'd used this trick before. Clever. Opening it, he was forced to admit, "Well played, Q. Well played indeed." The GPS coordinates were there and the rest was as good as a signature.
"The greatest danger could be your stupidity."
He'd take that under advisement. Plugging the GPS in, he saw he'd be headed near the Sudan. His stomach protested the thought of flying right away. He belched again. Perhaps a few alka-seltzer--shaken--not stirred.
My critique group used this flashy fiction for a writing prompt last night. Our results can be found at http://literarygirls.blogspot.com/
ReplyDeleteHilarious Wendy and Walt. Deb loved the Earl could not be twirled - Earl hated to be touched.
ReplyDelete