Once upon a time, long ago and far far away, in the beginning of a dark and stormy night, it was love at first sight…then shit REALLY got interesting!
(Okay…as first lines go, a bit tamer than I was feeling when I wrote “Pulling out the 50th Shade…”, but it works all the same)
😆
Here’s a tease
…let’s go to the movies!
“My Left Foot” Gets an Oscar while My Right Ankle Gets the shaft?Stigmata? (Lights that Weep?)Weapon of Mass De-SUCTION? Ok…not a movie, but really?From Hole to Eternity?Mercury Rising? I mean, PHEW, thank goodness it was NOT one of those dangerous and banned incandescent bulbs!
Does the show go on?
YeS!
Do you want to hear it?
Hope so…if for no other reason than you being able to laugh AT me if not WITH me…
Famous Opening Lines…We all know them and know too, that when we hear one, there’s bound to be a good story to follow!
Once Upon a Time…
Far, Far, Away…
Long Ago and Far Away…
It Was a Dark and Stormy Night…
In the Beginning…
It Was Love at First Sight…
You get what I mean right?
I know when I hear one, I feel a true sense of anticipation for what’s to follow.
Good storytelling does that for me.
A good story begins at the beginning; that great opening line.
One that gives me that special kind of ‘tingle up my leg’
(stole that from some pseudo-famous liberal’s “tingle heard round the world”)
Anyway…while preparing to re-enter the blogosphere after my short but eventful hiatus from sharing, I needed to capture, in one good opening line, the true sense of what’s to come.
A line to draw you in and make you want to keep going to see what there is to see and feel what there is to feel.
An open to encapsulate the last 374 days, 17 hours, and 49 seconds in a little amuse bouche that, once tasted, will leave you wanting a bigger bite.
None of those listed above will do for me though. Not this time anyway.
While great, they are lacking that je ne sais quoi I’m hoping for.
So, to that end…I’m pulling out the final shade in my Bag O’ Fifty; the one I didn’t think I’d get to for at least another 5 years minimum, if ever.
The one I call “The 50th Shade – Kiss My Ass and Call Me Fred, What Next?”
I know, I know…we are such a huge community of optimists here.
And I love that about us
I do! 🙂
But we all have our limits. That point where we tell optimism to fuck off!
After we’ve fallen through the hole of the shithouse two-seater, but before we decide whether to wallow in the muck and mire and drown in the sludge, or crawl out and take a damned shower!
Okay…this is me…post-wallow…yet…pre-crawl.
I’m covered in it, sticking with it, red-faced, and blotchy skinned from it…but I ain’t drowned.
I’m one slime-covered maggot with a boil on its ass away from dead, but not dead yet.
I still have one good leg and two good arms with which to push and pull my way out of this crap, and I’m using them now.
(Well, maybe the good leg’s not so useful on the keyboard, but hey, I’m giving it its due)
Stay tuned…my famous opening line is coming…as soon as I think of it.
Then watch out (or at least have an anti-microbial handi-wipe ready)
His name was Fleming, and he was a poor Scottish farmer.
One day, while trying to make a living for his family, he heard a cry for help coming from a nearby bog.
He dropped his tools and ran to the bog.
There, mired to his waist in black muck, was a terrified boy, screaming and struggling to free himself.
Farmer Fleming saved the lad from what could have been a slow and terrifying death.
♦
The next day, a fancy carriage pulled up to the Scotsman’s sparse surroundings.
An elegantly dressed nobleman stepped out and introduced himself as the father of the boy Farmer Fleming had saved.
‘I want to repay you,’ said the nobleman. ‘You saved my son’s life.’
‘No, I can’t accept payment for what I did,’ the Scottish farmer replied waving off the offer.
♦
At that moment, the farmer’s own son came to the door of the family hovel.
‘Is that your son?’ the nobleman asked.
‘Yes,’ the farmer replied proudly.
‘I’ll make you a deal. Let me provide him with the level of education my own son will enjoy. If the lad is anything like his father, he’ll no doubt grow to be a man we both will be proud of.’
And that he did.
♦
Farmer Fleming’s son attended the very best schools and in time, graduated from St. Mary’s Hospital Medical School in London.
He went on to become known throughout the world as the noted
As the end of fall approaches, I decided to grab the hubby as my driver (the only time I give up the wheel is when there’s a camera in my hand, and then, not always) so I could do one last Drive By Shooting…
From my home in the Northeast Kingdom to the metropolis (that’s the ‘big city’ for some of you) of Burlington, I took these on the fly.
I could have had him stop so I could compose, and I could have doctored them once I got home…
But these are raw and real and that’s just the way I like my drive bys…
I do hope you enjoy my the last hurrah before the snow flies.
50 Shades of Gray Hair 
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