Does your baby lack locks? Does she find it difficult to muster confidence in business meetings? Then maybe you need BABY TOUPEE!
Thursday, December 24, 2009
BABY BALDNESS CURE
Does your baby lack locks? Does she find it difficult to muster confidence in business meetings? Then maybe you need BABY TOUPEE!
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
Black Boiled Bottom of a Witch's Black Brew (an excerpt found on file from early 2008)
Mr. Friedman walked quickly to his front office. The man was there waiting again. This was the sixth time this week he’d been late getting back from lunch. It was fun being an executive. He got his own reserved parking space, longer lunches, and more food. He was especially happy to be getting more food. His wife was enjoying more food as well. She’d always been big, but now she was enormous. The man in Friedman’s office was the company auditor.
“Aren’t you guys supposed to come like once a year or something?” He struggled to catch his breathe. It’d been getting harder each day to make the long walk from the elevator to the front office. He tugged at his collar. It seemed tighter today.
The Long thin man in the gray suit turned around. His face was drawn out in a permanently uninterested expression. He folded his hands behind his back and glared at Mr. Friedman. Behind his eyes a seething black hatred rolled and boiled like the black bottom of a witches black brew. He swallowed and the rage subsided leaving a residue of raw disdain. “It would be so if your departmental unit was in order,” he glanced down at Mr. Friedman’s belt where his shirt was coming out from the quick paced walk from the elevator. Friedman noticed and quickly began stuffing the shirt back in, but his belt had shrunk a little from the summer humidity or something so every time he stuffed, the shirt would come back out a little more. Didn’t he have longer shirts than this? The thin grey auditor scowled. “Mr. Friedman, this is not a dressing room.”
“I know” gasped Friedman as he sucked in with all his might, “It’s a place of business.” He huffed as he quickly stuffed the rest of his shirt in around his massive belly. Once safely in, he exhaled sealing the shirt safely behind his belt. He wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead and held out his hand to greet the auditor. The black boiling hate was back.
“Aren’t you guys supposed to come like once a year or something?” He struggled to catch his breathe. It’d been getting harder each day to make the long walk from the elevator to the front office. He tugged at his collar. It seemed tighter today.
The Long thin man in the gray suit turned around. His face was drawn out in a permanently uninterested expression. He folded his hands behind his back and glared at Mr. Friedman. Behind his eyes a seething black hatred rolled and boiled like the black bottom of a witches black brew. He swallowed and the rage subsided leaving a residue of raw disdain. “It would be so if your departmental unit was in order,” he glanced down at Mr. Friedman’s belt where his shirt was coming out from the quick paced walk from the elevator. Friedman noticed and quickly began stuffing the shirt back in, but his belt had shrunk a little from the summer humidity or something so every time he stuffed, the shirt would come back out a little more. Didn’t he have longer shirts than this? The thin grey auditor scowled. “Mr. Friedman, this is not a dressing room.”
“I know” gasped Friedman as he sucked in with all his might, “It’s a place of business.” He huffed as he quickly stuffed the rest of his shirt in around his massive belly. Once safely in, he exhaled sealing the shirt safely behind his belt. He wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead and held out his hand to greet the auditor. The black boiling hate was back.
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