> home
> how we work
> who we're working for
> about us
> publications
> buy apache essentials
> client login

play
static·red
edmonton and area web development

Current Projects

Edmonton Weather


>>Le blog.

speakeasy archives


Super Happy Collaborative Fiction #2

<< You're invited! | Main | "Make no mistake . . . it will be vetoed." >>

It's time once again for collaborative fiction!

Jason was an odd little man, with an unsatisfied yearning for...

Posted by Darren James Harkness on Wednesday, September 25, 2002 11:14 AM
Trackbacks...


Comments:
>> Anders » Wednesday, September 25, 2002 12:26 PM

...corn on the cob. He'd read about it once in a magazine his aunt had left out. Neat rows of yellow kernels from end to end. What he would give for just a taste! But that sort of thinking could land you in jail alongside with Jason's aunt. It was the time of the Cleansing. Everyone knew that. Corn was illegal. Magazines were illegal. All Jason had in this world was an old...

>> Darren » Wednesday, September 25, 2002 12:29 PM

..kernel, from his last meal as a free man. He kept it in a secret place, a place where the minions of Mr. Clean himself wouldn't find it! Once a week, when he was sure nobody was looking, he'd...

>> kirsten » Wednesday, September 25, 2002 12:34 PM

write in his journal--just like he'd read in 1984. Funny how metafictional his life had become.

>> Julie » Wednesday, September 25, 2002 04:56 PM

In his spare time, this odd little man named Jason ran an Internet markting company. One day, he closed the whole web design department. People were sad. He laughed. And then, he had the audacity to...

>> Anders » Wednesday, September 25, 2002 05:24 PM

...double-dip his ripple chip at the final staff party, right in front of everyone. Across the room, somebody shouted out...

>> Kirsten » Wednesday, September 25, 2002 09:40 PM

you bastard! where di you get those boots! are they Fluvoges?


Post a comment









Remember personal info?


Comments:


* under no circumstances will your email address be traded for a sack of quarters. No-sirree.