Unutterably Silly Memorable FIRST SENTENCES - Only Yours, please

[Dr. Drib]

We cruise down the road lickety-split, my Pop and I, his head held high as he glances both left and right in that abrupt way he has, nodding to friends and strangers as we make our way quickly into the park, where this one big Sycamore with a shade as big as the sky seems to be Pop’s destination; and then my Pop says, “Mack, this tree is one of the oldest trees in the park, a tree with a history and my very special favorite,” and then – as if to punctuate his words - he hitches up one hind leg and urinates for a very long time all over the base and trunk, his tongue hanging out loosely and a satisfied smile on his face as he watches the world of Willowsprings spin on its axis during this hot summer day, and I know that all is well with my Pop.


Don

Dedicated to ShortNCuddlyAm

[ShortNCuddlyAm]

Originally Posted by Dr. Drib

We cruise down the road lickety-split, my Pop and I, his head held high as he glances both left and right in that abrupt way he has, nodding to friends and strangers as we make our way quickly into the park, where this one big Sycamore with a shade as big as the sky seems to be Pop’s destination; and then my Pop says, “Mack, this tree is one of the oldest trees in the park, a tree with a history and my very special favorite,” and then – as if to punctuate his words - he hitches up one hind leg and urinates for a very long time all over the base and trunk, his tongue hanging out loosely and a satisfied smile on his face as he watches the world of Willowsprings spin on its axis during this hot summer day, and I know that all is well with my Pop.


Don

Dedicated to ShortNCuddlyAm

Thank you!

[Dr. Drib]

My Pop and I, we hate cats and the way they slink around corners and refuse to fight fair the way my Pop likes to fight, which is with his mouth wide open and his lip curled back over his teeth and his nostrils quivering, which to me is an honest kind of fighting, that’s what I call it, and not like those sneaky cats that always make poo-poo in the house, even if it is in some box, as if they don’t respect their own territory – I mean, that’s where they live, arf; while we, on the other hand, we DO respect our territory, marking fire hydrants, parked cars, animals, garage doors, open alleyways, bicycles, the yard, the side of the house, the garbage can, lawn chairs, the swimming pool (when no one is looking), Mrs. Hardy’s leg (when she’s sleeping), and the apple pie that our neighbor Mrs. May always leaves outside to cool off, and we do this with happy smiles, arf, on our faces, which is certainly not the case with those evil cats and their sharp claws.


Don

(from A Pup and His Pop) - hahah

[GeoffC]

This thread....is it a thread? ...it starts....but does it end? or does it go on forever and a day and another day and another day; is it a thread....or a weave of weft and warp until the day is done, the fire burned down, the cats alseep and the mice at play?

[Dr. Drib]

Originally Posted by GeoffC

This thread....is it a thread? ...it starts....but does it end? or does it go on forever and a day and another day and another day; is it a thread....or a weave of weft and warp until the day is done, the fire burned down, the cats alseep and the mice at play?

Ummmmm....it's a posssssibillllity!

(I like your sentence, by the way. )

[Dr. Drib]

“Son,” my Pop says to me, in that gravelly voice he has that tells me he wants to talk seriously about something, “we need to talk about Cars,” and all I can do is shiver inside even though the temperature is already humid enough to cause my fleas to bounce around like they’re having an all-night jamboree, so I scratch absently behind my left ear, arf, and then run around in circles a few times to let the fleas know I’m still alive, and after a moment my Pop asks me to please pay attention as I follow after him as he trots down the alley in that loose, relaxed way he has, and all this time he continues to talk about the danger and recklessness of Cars, “because this is really serious, Son, what we need to talk about, since you’re starting to grow up and soon you’ll be your own Dog, making decisions that will last a lifetime, chasing Cars like the rest of us, even Cars that are unpredictable, that make sudden turns and quick stops, and also some red Cars on occasion, too,” and it’s then – in that single moment – that I know my Pop loves me, arf, and that he wants to protect me in the best way he knows how, so I nuzzle real close to him to let him know that I love him a lot, too; but a few fleas take this opportunity to change partners, maybe to join their cousins, but I’m happy and that’s all that matters right now with me and my Pop.


Don

[Steven Lyle Jordan]

Tuesday's crisis, like every other day's crises, started with something that shouldn't have happened: In this case, the impromptu touch-football game in the dining room (which was only suitable for such a thing because the dining room table happened to be out for refinishing), and a clumsy playmate--Buddy, why was it always Buddy?--who accidentally knocked Ken off-course and sent him careening into the corner of the wall, his arm positioned between the wall and his body taking the brunt of the blow; the inevitable falling down, giggling, jostling and preparation to either do it again, or hide when it was discovered that something had been damaged; when, of course, Ken discovered that something was indeed damaged--himself--but not in any way he could have possibly expected; leading, inevitably, to my bolting out of my office, past the monitors, across the clean-space and into the house when I heard his panicked screams about the wires, cables and circuits that were inside the thing he had, up until now (and since the last crisis) considered to be his right arm.

[GeoffC]

Weak, he was a weak and feeble man, but loved by the ladies nonetheless and also everywhere; but did he care? heck no! the ladies he could entertain with his witty charm, debonair good looks, wallet of cash, and a devoted attention to cats; but it was the dogs that continually chewed on his shoe laces that he couldn't stomach, especially that is, when they cocked their legs up and that was the bitches too......

[GeoffC]

Oh! Gosh! this is the first sentence that should, by accident and final analysis, have been the final sentence; the problem was the author was keen on the theory that if the story was ended before it was begun, then it'd save the printers all that time in wasting ink on a story no-one wanted to read.

[Dr. Drib]

My Pop wanted to visit a good buddy of his, a Bloodhound named Old Brady who has a milky film over his right eye and his left ear half-gone, the ear chewed ragged in a fight when Old Brady was young, which means Brady is now somewhat deaf in his old age and because he’s lived such a long life -- this old friend Pop’s known ever since Pop was a pup; but Old Brady lives across a field of grassy weeds that merges into an abandoned Car dump, and this is where Old Brady lives, this Car dump full of the half-buried husks of Cars and Trucks, some of them the color of dried earth and looking burnt in the summer sun with their doors hanging open like waiting coffins and the insides of the Cars smelling like cooked leather, the tires lying in clumps all over the ground in mounds both small and large, with weeds growing enormously tall from the middle of some tires; and that’s where I first saw Old Brady, all curled up inside the middle of one tire close to a colorless piece of metal that had once been a Car, and old Brady looking deathly sick with his head lying carelessly on the rim of that old tire, looking for the all world like he was going to die right then and there; but Pop just trots up real nice, with his tongue hanging out and Old Brady raises that long muzzle that’s all scarred from fighting Cats all his life and says to my Pop, “Waalll, I see you brought the Pup,” in a raspy voice that sounds like a claw scrabbling for paw-hold; and that one comment seems to hang in the air like the gnats circling above Old Brady’s head, but by then I’m too busy investigating a big mound of earth a feet away from Old Brady which seems to have an uncommon amount of activity going on around it, though pretty soon I’m barking and yelping in pain and running in circles, and whimpering too, but my Pop he goes over and kicks up a mighty ruckus of dirt with his hind legs all over this mound, and then says to me, “Son, how many times have I told you not to stick your head in an ant colony?”


Don

[montsnmags]

The morning started well enough - quick breakfast, out the door, no traffic jams, arriving early at the airport for my flight and discovering it was actually running on time - but I began to feel a little trepidatious when the small, bald man in the saffron robe came up to me, handed me a daisy, beamed his smile up into my face and said, "Today, sir, is the last day of the rest of your life".

[Dr. Drib]

The Holiday Boys - those two eighteen-year old Chums who had braved many an adventure into Strange Lands – such as the time they visited Montgomery Ward one day looking for glue, only to discover the very obese and large-framed Mrs. Cranberry walking from aisle to aisle in the department store like a piece of mobile furniture and holding tiny brassieres up to her gigantic-sized bust; or the night they saw Old Man Jaggers passed out in Snug Harbor, the local bar, drool and spittle pooling around his curiously open mouth like a spreading pool of urine – woke up one beautiful morning to find Mrs. Brady’s 15 obnoxious Cats scampering across the grass in that planned, seemingly innocent way they had that was so irritating to the Chums, as each one recalled the constant ‘meowing’ and discordant noise issuing from those Cats’ evil mouths the night before, which caused all the usually well-behaved Dogs in the neighborhood to lose sleep and start barking (a general chaos of sound that seemed to ratchet up into an unforgiving decibel of noise, disturbing the entire neighborhood), now remembered that their Mom had one exceptionally large Crockpot hidden away in the garage, which caused the two Chums to smile at each other with good-natured Mischief.


Don

[GeoffC]

he opened the door, (he had to really, there was no way he could otherwise transit through,) stepped out and fell; it was mere minutes later he realised he'd forgotten to put on his parachute.

[mtravellerh]

"Oops, sorry, wrong bedroom!"

[GeoffC]

"Coooeeee".