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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.
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on 2008-04-20 05:09 am (UTC)I read the challenge wrong at first and started out with a few extraneous sentences I had to ditch, but this was (oddly, for someone who tends to tremble at one prompt, much less *five*) fun.
The Sentinel:
Steak -- ribeye, perfectly grilled -- not a tofu-infested mockery of beef stew, or barbecued goddamned wheat gluten (Jesus; the things he ate for Sandburg); potatoes -- home fries, not Jerusalem-fucking-artichokes, or taro root, or some other sorry excuse for Idaho's best. Honest-to-God butter, a big chunk chiseled off the slab -- a minor flaw in Blair's culinary prep, there; the butter was still cold, but at least the rolls were hot and the butter had melted perfectly. Cheesecake: chocolate raspberry, waiting in reserve...Jim groaned, gratefully, and undid his jeans out of necessity. And in expectation -- no way in hell was that cheesecake going to be the climax of the evening. Sandburg had been leaking pheromones for months, his temperature spiking up to heat-lamp range every time Jim looked so much as looked at him -- and it was Jim's birthday, after all...
no subject
on 2008-04-20 01:42 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2008-04-20 02:06 pm (UTC)