“Consider the avocado. Its disproportionate half-moon shell is even shaped like an ovary. The creamy flesh shelters a single seed. This is the very definition of ‘fruit’.”
Obdurate and nine, he replies, “Get off your high horse, Mom. Fruit is sweet.”
Mom protests, “Not all fruit. Not tomatoes…”
“Tomatoes aren’t fruit.”
“Yes they … look, we’ll Google it together.”
He says, “I don’t want to Google it.”
“Look at this page,” she says. “It explains vegetables can be fruits, but fruits can’t be vegetables.”
“That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Just eat your lunch, Jeremy.”
“I don’t like avocados.”
I don’t think that this Mom is going to get her son to have faith that avocados are tasty.… Read the rest
Amanda over at The Last Mom on Earth
is one of the best writers I know. Or don’t know. I don’t know how the fuck cyber relationships work. And it’s more that I admire her. Not that I know her in the first place. ANYWAY. She routinely wins first prize over at the Trifecta writing challenge
(and she should – dear JESUS the woman can write).
The point here is that she got tagged in a meme, and she, in turn, tagged everyone. I’ve been resisting this meme for awhile, though I don’t know why since I’m a huge quiz fan.… Read the rest
Stations of the Cross: A Prosaic Response to John Ashbery’s Poem “The Ecclesiast”
The man left oilslick footprints, bright, then dark, mottled sometimes, variegated and unexpected. He was homeless certainly, under his burden of layered clothing and multiple grocery bags, followed by the rank decay of life. And yet, every step forward made a new color on the pavement. He gave the impression of someone from an earlier time, a medieval peddler or Christ under the cross, no Simon to bear his burden.
He walked with a staggering gait, as if the unevenly distributed grocery bags pulled him constantly off balance.… Read the rest
If you’re new to the Jester Queen, every week, I participate in a meme in which grown women tackle absurd teenager issues, as phrased by the presumed teens themselves over on Quizopolis. Men can play, too, so Lance, get on board man. This week’s questions come from here
. I link up with Lisa over at Seeking Elevation and if you head that way, you can pick up her answers, follow through to other fluffers’ links, and find out about her feral-haired daughter.
Normally, my quiz answers aim only to make you laugh yourself out of your chair. However, this week’s quiz is a little more serious, and I know I’ve acquired a couple of new readers since I migrated last week.… Read the rest
Nick adjusted the mic. “Testing,” he said. The leader gave him a brief thumbs up. Two other session singers flanked him in the tiny recording cubicle, and they all patted their white headphones. Nick’s felt too tight around his skull, but he didn’t make adjustments.
The leader said, “OK, scratch vocals for ‘Life of Death’” then held up a hand to count down visually.
Nick sang “Death chanced upon me in the hall.”
The women on either side of him echoed “ha-a-ll”.
Just outside the cubicle, the leader kept unnecessary time with the same hand he had used for the countdown, and Nick sang, “But I refused to fall.” The headphones pinched.… Read the rest
When people asked about Johnna’s dark skin and hair and her grey-violet eyes, her mother Manda said, “She was my surprise baby.” Those traits, especially the eyes, belonged to the Auric tribe, whose standing with the ruling council was never stable. So the askers usually pretended to think Johnna was descended from her stepfather, even though she looked nothing like him or her younger siblings on that side.
Her father, when Johnna saw him once a year, was more honest. “Pfft. Accident,” he said. “The caravan leader had a fetching daughter, and I had a terminal problem keeping up my drawers.”
Johnna grew up among her mother’s folk, nomadic traders who settled into their mountain valley only in hard winter.… Read the rest
Friday Fluff is going up early (even before the linkup is open) because The Jester Queen is moving. It shouldn’t look or feel any different to you. If I’m doing this right, you won’t notice anything different, and there shouldn’t be any downtime. However, the process takes between 36 and 48 hours, and I’m not going to lie and say I’m not scared shitless. If you are used to getting e-mails from me, you won’t get one Friday, Saturday, or possibly Sunday. Or, I don’t know how this works, maybe Saturday, Sunday, and dear god surely that’s all. BUT.… Read the rest
It’s an every other Thursday folks (like that has a whole lot of meaning to you who are not tracking Thursdays) so it’s time for Bella and I to host another edition of My Life In Music. This round is dedicated to Whitney Houston. Bella is a Whitney fan, and, while I’m not, I have a lot of respect for the lady and a great deal to say about the tragedy of her death. I’ll be adding my actual submission to the meme in a couple of days, but for now, I wanted to get it up and running over here at Jester Queen.… Read the rest
Algy jammed everything back onto the last tabletop after wiping it clean.
Edith said, “Easy now.”
“Rob sent me another letter,” Algy told her.
“He wants me to send him my paycheck.”
“Ohh.” The sound was a cross between a groan and a sigh. Edith went to the cash drawer, counting the money twice over to be sure. Then she asked, “Did you write him back this time?”
“You did, didn’t you.”
Slowly Algy nodded. “I said to ask me nicely.”
Edith counted out several stacks of bills, then went into the office for her deposit slips.… Read the rest
The day after I wrote the story where a five year old nearly drowns
, I lost Sam for twenty minutes in the Tennessee Aquarium. Irony much? Intellectually, I knew there was no way he could get at the tanks. Everything was encased behind a wall of glass, and no child could sneak through those locked doors. But before security found him two floors above me, trying to escape and get to the car, I ran repeatedly past the same spot, each time looking up into two stories of light infused water, expecting to see my son’s green-coated body floating down.… Read the rest