[legend has it that Ernest Hemingway wrote a six-word story to win a bar bet — For sale: baby shoes, never worn. leading to the author’s birthday, I’m going to offer a daily post of my own six-word story. readers are encouraged to respond with their own]

Night gives love and steals lives.

[photo]

[legend has it that Ernest Hemingway wrote a six-word story to win a bar bet — For sale: baby shoes, never worn. leading to the author’s birthday, I’m going to offer a daily post of my own six-word story. readers are encouraged to respond with their own]

Day Eight; He regretted previous seven.

[legend has it that Ernest Hemingway wrote a six-word story to win a bar bet — For sale: baby shoes, never worn. leading to the author’s birthday, I’m going to offer a daily post of my own six-word story. readers are encouraged to respond with their own]

Fine cuisine spewed from his mouth.

This weekend I was thinking about dying, and the ridiculousness of contemplating non-existence. Somehow I got to thinking about what will happen when I eventually have hellspawn and they come to me seeking answers.

“Daddy” they’ll say, as I’m shoveling dirt on to the corpse of one of my parents. I ain’t buying no coffin, that shit is a racket.

“Daddy” they’ll inquire again, “Where is Nana gone to?”

And I’ll just keep heaping the dirt onto the body, trying to ignore them.

“Daddy?”, “Daddy!”, Daddy?!” they’ll keep pestering me.

“What happen? Where Papa now?”

And I’ll have to look them deep in the eyes and tell them them the truth:

“I HAVE NO IDEA. Now stop bugging me and grab a fucking shovel! There’s flies!”

[legend has it that Ernest Hemingway wrote a six-word story to win a bar bet — For sale: baby shoes, never worn. leading to the author’s birthday, I’m going to offer a daily post of my own six-word story. readers are encouraged to respond with their own]

Before leaving, she shot my dog.

Pepsibones was living the high life last week in Las Vegas, and I myself am just returning for the pitfalls of Cowville, where Mrs. Caffeine Power originates from. Hereby declaring the last few days a loss, I apologize to the two people who read this site. Starting tomorrow, everything is back on track. Sporadic, ill-timed track, just like the good ole days.

I attempted to post this note while in Cowville, but I found myself without means. There was no computer, no wireless access, and my iPhone spent four days searching futilely for a 3G connection. Balls.

Welcome back to the suck.

[legend has it that Ernest Hemingway wrote a six-word story to win a bar bet — For sale: baby shoes, never worn. leading to the author’s birthday, I’m going to offer a daily post of my own six-word story. readers are encouraged to respond with their own]

The sword is easier to use.

[photo]

[legend has it that Ernest Hemingway wrote a six-word story to win a bar bet — For sale: baby shoes, never worn. leading to the author’s birthday, I’m going to offer a daily post of my own six-word story. readers are encouraged to respond with their own]

“You are not a real American.”

[legend has it that Ernest Hemingway wrote a six-word story to win a bar bet — For sale: baby shoes, never worn. leading to the author’s birthday, I’m going to offer a daily post of my own six-word story. readers are encouraged to respond with their own]

Burn it down. Digest the ashes.

[legend has it that Ernest Hemingway wrote a six-word story to win a bar bet — For sale: baby shoes, never worn. leading to the author’s birthday, I’m going to offer a daily post of my own six-word story. readers are encouraged to respond with their own]

Fascinated, Joshua ate his best friend.