SSC Weekend Words Prompt: “All My Children”

Continued from StoryStudio Chicago’s webzine Cooler By The Lake.

“All My Baby Mommas”

–Teaser–

INT. Apartment in the South Side of Chicago – Night

Jack sits on ratty couch, eating Cheetos, watching Comedy Central, laughing hysterically.

Door bell rings.

Grunting, struggling to get up, bits of food dropping off of him, Jack stumbles to intercom.

Jack: Who is it?

Intercom: Beatrice.

Jack’s eyes blow-wide–Uh, oh.

Jack: Wait.  I thought you were in a coma?

Beatrice (through intercom): I was.  I woke up.

Jack (looks panicked then becomes smooth): Well, heey, baby–how yah doing?

Beatrice: Ooh, don’t you–heey, baby, me, Jack.  Where’s my child support checks for all three years I was in a coma?

Jack looks around his apartment.  Uh, oh.

–End Teaser–

Roll Opening Credits.

Narrator (v.o.): There once was a man, who was just a man, but found himself a hit with the ladies, which was sweet and good times for a while…

…until they got pregnant…

…this is Jack…

…these are Jack’s Baby Mamas…

…and these are THEIR stories…

“All My Baby Mamas”

Debuting this winter on Fox…

When not satirizing day-time TV, Michael James Greenwald (Sleep Sunshine) is a student at Story Studio Chicago, applying for a Ragdale Residency in the fall, and waffling daily (sometimes hourly) on To-MFA or To-Not-To-MFA, that is the question.

His debut novel The Rainbow Child and short story collection Celebratory Gunfire are W.I.P (better than RIP).

His personal blog site is sleepsunshine. Feel free to venture to his Facebook page or feel free to email him with any comments or suggestions for further topics, or if you had any interest in being a guest blogger on either one of his sites.

SSC Weekend Words Prompt: “So This One Time, At BilBo’s Tavern”

This flash-fiction excerpt is continued from a blog post at StoryStudio Chicago’s “Cooler By the Lake” blog.

“So This One Time, At BilBo’s Tavern”

By: Michael J. Greenwald

The Tuesday night shift at BillBo’s Tavern had been the reason I’d been hired as the new bartender; even though I walked-in that one Sunday morning carrying a print-out of a Craig’s List ad which sought a dishwasher (“Hole-in-Every-Wall-Bar Seeks Creative Individual that Fears Not Soap and Suds”).

“Can you bartend on Tuesday night?”

I had only just stepped inside the dingy space, senses momentarily blitzed by the rancid smell of puke and BO which would offend a career homeless’s sensibilities.  I hadn’t spoken and had no idea where the voice had come from, due to my eyes reacting to the dimly-lit space as though I’d been staring at the sun before running directly into a mine-shaft.

Finally, my pupils compressed enough for me to discern the lone human in the bar: a man whose body would garner snowman-envy squeezed into a spotty-white T-shirt; which might have been too small for his girlfriend, if he had a girlfriend, and if she were on a liquid-diet.

“Huh,” I said.

“Can you bartend Tuesday nights?”

I held up the print-out; the paper shook.

“Can you bartend on Tuesday night?” the man repeated.

I turned the paper around, double-checking I’d printed the correct ad.  “No. I’m the creative individual who fears-not soap and suds.”

The fat man shrugged.  “I can’t do nothing for you.”  He turned, twisted a knob of an old Zenith TV propped on the bar-top.  A black-and-white image came to the screen, fuzzy lightning bolts shooting across the picture, like the cheesy original Batman show.  Bam!  Pow!  Poof!

“But I’m here about the dishwasher position.  Please, sir.  I’ve applied all over the city and I’ll do anything you need.”

The fat man didn’t turn for a long minute.  I’d already headed for the door.

“Can you work the Tuesday bartending shift?” he asked for a third time.

I stopped, turned.  “Sure.  Whatever.”  He had the Zenith’s taped-antenna’s in his grubby hands, moving them like one of those airport crew guys with the highlighter sticks.  “But I’ve never bartended before.”

“You ever worked at the zoo?”

“Sir?”

His head swiveled.  I noticed a red birth-mark the shape of Africa splotched on his skin from left cheek to the top of his head.  “The zoo.”

“No…yes!  No.  Yes.”

Suddenly the Zenith’s picture cleared and WGN news appeared.  The man lowered his hands, grunted as he situated himself on a beer cooler, eyes on the screen.

“That’s good, real good,” he responded, nodding agreeably–the birth mark in the shape of Africa had disappeared.

So like I said at the front; I was not supposed to be bartending at BillBo’s on Tuesday night.  But here I am.

“Cooler By The Lake” Blog: “I’m Mad About…Jonathan Franzen – Doing Work”

SS Discussing Something of Literary Merit with Brother Man

Hello, loyal, Sleep Sunshine followers. My anxiously-awaited debut blog on StoryStudio Chicago’s “Cooler By the Lake” blog has landed!

The weekly segment is called, “I’m Mad About…” and this week I discussed Jonathan Franzen’s use of language and syntax to elevate the art of his literature. I also discovered where Oprah and I share common ground! Please check it out and please, please, please, if you can, comment (so those folks at “Cooler” realize I bring something to the table) on the blog. Thanks so much!!

Please click on the link below to zip over there!!!

LINK

Thanks for hanging.

–SS

When not drooling over the capability in Jonathan Franzen’s typing-pinkie, Michael James Greenwald (Sleep Sunshine) is a student at Story Studio Chicago, applying for a Ragdale Residency in the fall, and waffling daily (sometimes hourly) on To-MFA or To-Not-To-MFA, that is the question.

His debut novel The Rainbow Child and short story collection Celebratory Gunfire are W.I.P (better than RIP).

His personal blog site is sleepsunshine. Feel free to venture to his Facebook page or feel free to email him with any comments or suggestions for further topics, or if you had any interest in being a guest blogger on either one of his sites.