Friday, May 9, 2014

CUB REPORTER



"CUB REPORTER" will be a recurring theme.You will be provided with a Headline.

You are the FLASHY FICTION GAZETTE's star reporter. You are to write the copy, flash fiction style!

The Headline:

"ELVIS CLONES TAKE OVER THE WORLD!"

4 comments:

  1. ELVIS INVASION: WOMEN AND CHILDREN MOST AFFECTED

    The world was stunned today when major cities across the United States were over run by Elvis Presley clones. As far as authorities can tell, these are not impersonators. They are scientifically reproduced "replicants" of the "King of Rock and Roll". The White House had no comment.

    Suspicions had been raised by the wide spread occurrence of shortages of peanut butter and bananas, long time known to be the ingredients for Mr. Presley's favorite sandwich. Crowds gathered outside the gates of "Graceland", the compound that was once the home of the bloated performer, held candlelight vigils as they awaited Elvis' return home.

    Various versions of "the King" have been spotted across the country. The "Ed Sullivan" - hip swiveling, shot from the waist up, lip twitching Elvis has been located around the Memphis area, while the tragically obese Elvis has been seen in Minneapolis, MN, long rumored to be where Elvis removed himself to after staging his own demise. Jim Morrison and Janis Joplin have been found in the Twin Cities area, but deny any knowledge of Presley's whereabouts.

    Complaints have been minimal with the influx of these new "residents". Alvino Drinkwater of Tennessee had this to say:

    "I've seen a coupla Elvises. The skinny one and one really large one. They both seemed pleasant and had manners, thanking everybody, "Very Much". We jawed a bit and then the Elvises left the building" Mr. Drinkwater reported.

    Since they started showing up, Elvis sightings have been confirmed in Los Angeles, Reno, Amarillo, just outside Tupelo, Chicago, and New York City. The much anticipated concert tour - ELVIS PRESLEY ALIVE AGAIN FROM HAWAII is in negotiation stage with the broadcast rights bound to make the clones very wealthy men... again.

    A spokesman for the Priscilla Presley told this reporter she was not making comment at this time.


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  2. NOT EVERYONE IS AN ELVIS CLONE

    As news of the clonic invasion spread, this reporter journeyed to Tennessee to speak with the president of the local Pat Boone Clone Club in Gatlinburg. He was greeted by Bernadine Mudd, the president’s wife, dressed up in a flowing, red-and-white checked tepee skirt and sporting teased white hair. “Is there really a club here,” he asked.

    “Oh, yes, indeed,” Bernadine exclaimed. “When my hubby, Walter, learned of the clone invasion, he said he’d had just about enough of that nonsense. He started the club last month.”

    “Do you have many members?” this reported asked.

    “Oh, my heavens, yes. We have thirty-five now, and expect many more.” Bernadine went on, “The club has a few rules, but nothing fancy like the Elvis cloners have. For example, all our members wear white bucks and have Princeton haircuts. Except the bald ones, of course.”

    “What about the ladies?” the reported asked further.

    Bernadine blushed, “Well, it was really us gals who noticed Pat first, you know. He came from Tennessee, just like us, so we all decided to wear outfits like we used to wear in high school, back in those days. How do you like mine?”

    “Very nice,” the reporter answered. “I say, do you folks go to events and sing songs?”

    “Why certainly! It’d be silly if we didn’t, now, wouldn’t it?” Bernadine smiled. “Of course, it’s mainly the fellows who do the singing. My hubby, Walt, does a mean Ain’t That a Shame.”

    “What’s a shame?” this reported asked.

    “Why, you silly boy! That’s a song, one of Pat’s early hits. Walt used to sing it to me while he wrote love letters in the sand. `Course, we don’t have much beach sand in Tennessee.”

    Just then, this reporter noticed a balding but Princeton-coifed fellow coming around the corner. He was humming a soft ballad, looking dreamily at Bernadine as he did so.

    “Why, hello honey,” Bernadine said. Turning to this reported, she said, “This is Walter.”

    “Hello, there, son,” the man said to this reporter. “I see you were cocking your ear at the song I was humming. Recognize it?”

    “Can’t say that I do,” this reported replied.

    Walter looked crestfallen. “That’s too bad. I thought everyone knew April Love.” It’s my favorite of all Pat’s songs; it was probably his biggest hit except for Love Letters in the Sand. I met Bernadine in April,” he went on, looking adoringly at his wife.

    “Sorry, I didn’t know,” the reported said.

    “When were you born, son?” Walter asked.

    “In 1995,” the reporter replied. “This is my first job” he went on, “part-time while I work through college.”

    “Well, no wonder,” Walt and Bernadine cried, together. “Well, just the same, “ Walter went on, “I was sure everybody knew April Love, just like I know many of Perry Como’s songs.”

    “Perry Como?” This reported was getting confused.

    “Never mind,” said Walt.

    “What do you think of the Elvis clones?” the reporter asked.

    “Can’t stand `em,” Walter replied. I started the club in protest; we always knew Pat was a better singer than that kid from Mississippi. We’re organizing; going to storm a clone meeting coming up soon in Nashville.”

    “That sounds drastic,” this reported observed.

    “Oh it is, it is,” Walter acknowledged. “But something’s got to be done about this nonsense. I think we can do it; most of us played football in the old days. We’re working on a wedge formation. In fact, I gotta run; the guys are waiting for me right now. SDorry I can’t talk wiotjh you anymore.”

    This reported watched as Walt walked off briskly, singing something that sounded like a march.

    “What’s Walt singing?” the reported asked Bernadine.

    “Oh, that. That’s the Mardi Gras March,” she said. The fellows are planning to bust up another Elvis meeting in New Orleans, after they go to Nashville.”

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  3. NOT EVERYONE IS AN ELVIS CLONE

    by William Preston (aka “A Nonny Mouse”)

    As news of the clonic invasion spread, this reporter journeyed to Tennessee to speak with the president of the local Pat Boone Clone Club in Gatlinburg. He was greeted by Bernadine Mudd, the president’s wife, dressed up in a flowing, red-and-white checked tepee skirt and sporting teased white hair. “Is there really a club here,” he asked.

    “Oh, yes, indeed,” Bernadine exclaimed. “When my hubby, Walter, learned of the clone invasion, he said he’d had just about enough of that nonsense. He started the club last month.”

    “Do you have many members?” this reported asked.

    “Oh, my heavens, yes. We have thirty-five now, and expect many more.” Bernadine went on, “The club has a few rules, but nothing fancy like the Elvis cloners have. For example, all our members wear white bucks and have Princeton haircuts. Except the bald ones, of course.”

    “What about the ladies?” the reported asked further.

    Bernadine blushed, “Well, it was really us gals who noticed Pat first, you know. He came from Tennessee, just like us, so we all decided to wear outfits like we used to wear in high school, back in those days. How do you like mine?”

    “Very nice,” the reporter answered. “I say, do you folks go to events and sing songs?”

    “Why certainly! It’d be silly if we didn’t, now, wouldn’t it?” Bernadine smiled. “Of course, it’s mainly the fellows who do the singing. My hubby, Walt, does a mean Ain’t That a Shame.”

    “What’s a shame?” this reported asked.

    “Why, you silly boy! That’s a song, one of Pat’s early hits. Walt used to sing it to me while he wrote love letters in the sand. `Course, we don’t have much beach sand in Tennessee.”

    Just then, this reporter noticed a balding but Princeton-coifed fellow coming around the corner. He was humming a soft ballad, looking dreamily at Bernadine as he did so.

    “Why, hello honey,” Bernadine said. Turning to this reported, she said, “This is Walter.”

    “Hello, there, son,” the man said to this reporter. “I see you were cocking your ear at the song I was humming. Recognize it?”

    “Can’t say that I do,” this reported replied.

    Walter looked crestfallen. “That’s too bad. I thought everyone knew April Love. It’s my favorite of all Pat’s songs; it was probably his biggest hit except for Love Letters in the Sand. I met Bernadine in April,” he went on, looking adoringly at his wife.

    “Sorry, I didn’t know,” the reported said.

    “When were you born, son?” Walter asked.

    “In 1995,” the reporter replied. “This is my first job” he went on, “part-time while I work through college.”

    “Well, no wonder,” Walt and Bernadine cried, together. “Well, just the same, “ Walter went on, “I was sure everybody knew April Love, just like I know many of Perry Como’s songs.”

    “Perry Como?” This reported was getting confused.

    “Never mind,” said Walt.

    “What do you think of the Elvis clones?” the reporter asked.

    “Can’t stand `em,” Walter replied. I started the club in protest; we always knew Pat was a better singer than that kid from Mississippi. We’re organizing; going to storm a clone meeting coming up soon in Nashville.”

    “That sounds drastic,” this reported observed.

    “Oh it is, it is,” Walter acknowledged. “But something’s got to be done about this nonsense. I think we can do it; most of us played football in the old days. We’re working on a wedge formation. In fact, I gotta run; the guys are waiting for me right now. Sorry I can’t talk with you anymore.”

    This reporter watched as Walt walked off briskly, singing something that sounded like a march.

    “What’s Walt singing?” the reported asked Bernadine.

    “Oh, that. That’s the Mardi Gras March,” she said. The fellows are planning to bust up another Elvis meeting in New Orleans, after they go to Nashville.”

    ReplyDelete
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