Fill in the Blank

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Since I am lazy by nature, I have failed to complete this scrappy story.

You, on the other hand, being even lazier, have fittingly only one word to contribute. Make it good. (An example of democratic writing.)

I’d like to buy a new car, but as a general rule I find car salesmen insincere, so I’m hesitating. You may say that I’m overly sensitive, and you may be right. But insincerity isn’t my only worry. Car salesmen are completely transparent about the personal benefits a sale can make to their hollow lives. In fact, if they were to stand by a window and you happened to be looking across the street at some poor petrified sod, with a grimy hand clutching a paper bag, waiting to cross an enraged street, mad with traffic, you would see him without obstruction.

But what if the salesman’s son is, let’s say, unhappy at work? I mean, it shouldn’t be a distraction, but what if I keep hearing about Simon’s problems. I’d get queasy. And after some banter about Simon’s awkward performance in an off-Broadway production of Hello Dolly , he says, “Standard or automatic,” hoping to take my mind off Simon’s problem with drugs.

“Automatic,” I say, in a reassuring voice.

“Here’s a cute little number,” he says, placing his palm on the hood of a Chevrolet Trax. “It’s available in Crack (a yellowish white), Hash (a handsome brown) and Weed (an unconvincing green).”

“I’ll take it in Hash,” I say hesitatingly, looking at the gigantic creases in his forehead, which are, it now strikes me, like trenches from some pointless war.

The salesman makes a tight fist and delivers a horrifying blow to the passenger-side window. The glass absorbs the shock, but the car is terrified. Owing to this show of brutality, I understand where Simon got his violent temper, and why Nadia, his girlfriend, who works in a sweatshop, has to call the police whenever Simon comes home drunk or can be seen dancing on the rusted steps of the fire escape while in a parlous delirium.

“It’s only available in Weed,” says the salesman, favoring his swollen paw.

The magnitude of my shame is bested by the immensity of the salesman’s natural gift for [FILL IN THE BLANK].

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30 Comments

  1. confabulation.

    Liked by 4 people

    • Brilliant. Naturally. And since your answer blows away the competition, it will be cast in bronze (to ensure it remains sedentary).

      Liked by 3 people

      • Laughing, here….laughing so hard, in fact, I may plummet from my plinth.

        Liked by 2 people

      • Aren’t you glad you have plush carpets?

        Liked by 1 person

    • Another vote for confabulation.

      Liked by 1 person

      • Not far from my house, up by lake Mooselukmeguntik, they are scraping a black fungus off of birch trees and making chaga tea. It’s all the rage here. Despite my skepticism, I’ve had some, and am ready for any outcome.

        Like

      • Oh, ethnobotanical tea! You may now be confabulating new childhood memories.Write them down. There’s a market for that sort of thing on Amazon, if I’m not mistaken.

        Liked by 1 person

  2. transparent methamphetamine. (I make this humble suggestion in the hope that Cynthia is incapable of climbing back up onto her plinth).

    Liked by 2 people

    • Snorted crystal meth was my gut reaction, so I will ask the judges if they can bronze this too. We may have two entries tied for first place! Of course the judge’s decision will be final. I’ll let you know what they’ve decided when they return from rehab.

      Liked by 1 person

      • Do you take bribes? It’s Spring here and I could send you daffodils or apple blossom…

        Like

      • As many of the judges have criminal records, bribes are not entirely out of the question.

        Liked by 1 person

      • I smell a rat….

        Like

      • Laboratory rats, like the Chevy Trax, have ‘crack’ and ‘hash’ colored coats. Which would you prefer?

        Every effort will be made to assure fairness (though several of the judges have confessed to liking daffodils).

        Liked by 1 person

      • I don’t prefer rats of any hue, anyhow. I finally escaped a rat race quite some time ago, and I have no intention to participate in another one, however amazing it may be.
        Beware of rats bearing floral gifts is my motto, and I would suggest engaging the services of a musician—like a pied piper— to get rid of them. I hear they like violins and pianos, but they can’t stand accordions.

        Like

      • Thank you for that Greek caveat. I like the idea of a vagabond playing his flute, enticing all the Chevrolet vehicles of questionable color to follow him into the ocean, whereupon they would sputter and drown. It’s tragic, but makes for great entertainment.

        Liked by 1 person

  3. Clinstolfestiness

    Liked by 3 people

    • A neologism? This will merit careful consideration.

      Like

      • I knew I couldn’t compete with Cynthia. Who can? I went for pretend.

        Liked by 2 people

      • I can only say that the judges are impressed with your entry.

        Liked by 1 person

  4. Heterocliticity*

    *not rude

    Liked by 1 person

  5. i simply adore it. and yes, confabulation is impossible to be matched, i am afraid. no matter how vacant or pensive the mood the crowd of golden daffodils puts the judges in 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

    • Oh dearest…

      The judges, some of whom have murdered for a nosegay of sun-flecked daffodils, are not to be teased with any sort of flora–it’s in the contest rules. If they prefer the street-smarts of Bruce’s gritty answer, they must cast their vote in that shady direction. The special-delivery of two dozen dewy daffodils, wrapped in feathery ferns, will have little effect, aside from giving the prison staff the unenviable task of having to sop up pools of blood from the crack-white linoleum floor.

      Liked by 1 person

  6. good day to you Prospero.
    yes -the salesman’s gift to distribute the golden chariots of the gods where the pale yellow is transformed to gold through a crack of light

    Liked by 1 person

    • Peut être qu’il etait un vendeur de rêves et qu’il avait un talent inouï pour la peinture!

      Like

  7. I was given no warning of this, or rather my feed and email had nothing of you in it!

    Pffft, and other such noises.

    I’ll have to digest and think on. I shall return *swishes her cloak in an extravagant manner then leaves by way of the toilet window*.

    – esme of Cloudiness fame

    Liked by 1 person

  8. falsiloquence.

    – esme not in the running but enjoying the challenge upon the Cloud

    Liked by 2 people

    • Someone on the judging panel’s exhibiting a certain . . . obmutescence, as regards my heterocliticity, Esme, though I must just applaud your wonderful entry. *inserts smiley face*

      Liked by 1 person

    • Esme and Hariod,

      Two of the judges have apparently run afoul of indecency laws and have been arrested. The other judge, a neurotic vinedresser, votes in a manner best described as demonic and confesses to have locked some entries in the earth closet for further consideration. The final results will be announced in 2035 at a posh ceremony featuring a brass quartet, two cherubic page-turners, and a large bubble bath.

      Liked by 1 person

      • “run afoul of indecency laws” – You were one of them too! An obese cherub named Maurice spilled the beans behind the scenes.

        – esme keen on a futuristic bubble bath upon the Cloud

        Like

      • Maurice and his twin brother Twinkle Toes, page-turners par excellence.

        (Pardon the tiny bubble rings upon your screen)

        Liked by 1 person


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