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zelempaIn other news, I was reading The Education of Hyman Kaplan--amusing short stories about English as a foreign language night school in 1930s New York--and I came across an assignment that I think we should all take on.
From The Return of Hyman Kaplan, Leo Rosten (Leonard Q. Ross), 1959:
Any fandom, any pairing. Go.
Something always seemed to distract Rodney from his mission reports: killing Wraith; preventing citywide power crises; or, in this case, running his fingers down John Sheppard's chiseled torso. John advanced with attacking kisses, and Rodney bent backward over the lab table, sending at least one very expensive console and a probably-millenia-old Ancient lamp crashing to the ground. Releasing a low, guttural groan, John thrust forward, pressing his erection into Rodney's. Rodney slid off his elbow and dropped onto his back with all the grace of a sack of potatoes. Paperwork night was about to reach an unprecedented climax.
From The Return of Hyman Kaplan, Leo Rosten (Leonard Q. Ross), 1959:
"I shall write five words on the blackboard," Mr. Parkhill said, picking up a piece of chalk. "Use each word in a sentence, a--er--full sentence, that is. Five words, therefore five sentences." He smiled. There was no harm in leavening the bread of learning with the yeast of levity. [...]
In large block letters, he printed:
1. CHISEL
2. LAMP
3. GROAN
4. POTATOES
5. CLIMAX
Any fandom, any pairing. Go.
Something always seemed to distract Rodney from his mission reports: killing Wraith; preventing citywide power crises; or, in this case, running his fingers down John Sheppard's chiseled torso. John advanced with attacking kisses, and Rodney bent backward over the lab table, sending at least one very expensive console and a probably-millenia-old Ancient lamp crashing to the ground. Releasing a low, guttural groan, John thrust forward, pressing his erection into Rodney's. Rodney slid off his elbow and dropped onto his back with all the grace of a sack of potatoes. Paperwork night was about to reach an unprecedented climax.
no subject
on 2008-04-19 10:17 pm (UTC)"Shit," Doyle declared, "you'll have to just about chisel that mess off." Bodie sighed agreement and flicked on the ceiling light; they needed more light than just the lamp he'd hoped might provide a little ambience. With a theatrical groan at the sight of the mess, he said, "Sorry, sunshine. Guess those just weren't the right potatoes for chips." Scrubbing charred spuds off his frying pan wasn't the climax he'd planned for the evening; still, house work could always wait...
no subject
on 2008-04-20 02:03 pm (UTC)