Humorosity #33

CLEANING OUT THE FILE DRAWER IN MY HEAD

(Humorosity #33)

By Honeydew Zubari

I’m a keeper when it comes to every scrap of a horrible idea that passes through the space between my temples. If I keep the dribs of my physical life, then why not the drabs of my mental one? Who’s to say that story idea about a banana who commits suicide by peeling himself isn’t any better than Aunt Aleta’s toaster from 1951 (that’s bound to come back into fashion one day)?

So, as a last-ditch effort at keeping my New Year’s resolution to get organized, here’s what I call:

Honeydew’s ideas for 2005 that sucked so bad even she ditched them

One thing I tossed around for a couple of hours before tossing out was the idea to write new clichés. This gem of an article would have been called “A Cliché Is A Cliché…Unless It Isn’t.”

I even went so far as to do some fancy cutting and pasting to come up with “new” clichés like” You can lead a horse to water; which is a heck of a lot easier than lugging water to a horse.” The point of the thing? Well, three guesses whether I came up with one or not.

Another doozy would have been my undercover look at the world of fan fiction. Or “fanfic” for those of us in the know. I planned to expose the horrendous writing. I actually took time to collect gems like:

For the first time ever an expression of speechlessness fluttered across his features…

-and-

…kicked at him harshly in the shins…

(I swear I didn’t make the above up.)

I wanted to send every author wannabe to a corner for a five-year time-out and not let them post another chapter until they’d learned the rules of decent writing. This article turned into one long lunatic rant which I rather enjoyed, but had to admit might bore the general masses and cause hoards of little fanfictioneers to hunt me down and picket in front of my house with signs reading, “Kill the wich and smeer her blod on her computer,” or, “We hat your dum!” Oooh, scary.

The most current rejected idea was for “Dial-A-Writer.”

Recently I contracted a minor case of the Plague, and in between frenzied bouts of gacking my intestines out I came up with the idea. Not surprising—that’s usually how it happens. I think this one was a combination of the 3 a.m. television ads for sexy chicks saying, “Call me,” and a fever that had me delirious.

The article started like this:

Writing, as I may have mentioned seventy-three times before, is a lonely business. Has to be, doesn’t it? But that shouldn’t mean that writers need be lonely. We’ve all been there…its midnight and everyone is sleeping but you. You’re guzzling caffeine and pacing away the block in your head. Or if you’re lucky…

That’s where the reality turned absurd and a cabbage with my sister’s voice started yelling at me to clean the floor.

So, there you go! That’s somewhat better. At least I can delete a wad of files with one sentence on them. And I can start eating chocolate again! There’s a big Valentine’s heart filled with confections that has been torturing my nose and willpower for weeks now. “HA!” I say and prepare to dive into the box, roll around and coat my body in sticky, yummy chocolate. Because I deserve it.

Mmmm, don’t bother calling, the phone is off the hook.