[stylist] A FIVE random word challenge for you all to have fun with.

Sun Jun 17 18:36:53 UTC 2012

Chris,
I don't know if I can stop laughing enough to type! I certainly could not
keep track of those random words. The pandemonium was too  great to think of
anything else.
How you managed to do this, I do not know. It is a gift to be able to
imagine and then write this with the humor and insight on all the types of
characters at the wedding. 
>From the very beginning, one is totally lost in those characters and events.

-----Original Message-----
From: stylist-bounces at nfbnet.org [mailto:stylist-bounces at nfbnet.org] On
Behalf Of Chris Kuell
Sent: Friday, June 15, 2012 7:30 AM
To: Writer's Division Mailing List
Subject: Re: [stylist] A FIVE random word challenge for you all to have
funwith.

Here's my response to the 5 random word challenge.

1. reunion 2. attention 3. light 4. rule 5. admit

Hawaiian Wedding Song

By Chris Kuell

This is a story about a boring wedding, a hungry dog, and an amazing girl. 
It's admittedly(5) a little bit weird and meandering, and uses quite a few 
vocabulary words when simpler ones would do just fine, but it's got a good 
ending, so stick with it.

Our story starts in a smokey bowling alley, in a nowheres-ville town in a 
somewhat average state. A dark-haired guy wearing a green bowling shirt with

Paulo embroidered over one side ran into this tall, inattentive skinny girl 
named Deidre. Paulo worked as an independent garbage man, and did quite well

for himself, all things considered. Deidre was good at lawn darts and drag 
racing, but she was terrible at math, so she didn't notice when Paulo upped 
his bowling score to 218 when he really bowled a 74, and modified her score 
to a more than respectable 181-the best she'd ever done.

As they talked, they discovered that they both liked pickles, holding their 
breath underwater, the movie Godzilla and a band called Counting Crows. She 
thought he was great, and he wasn't very picky, so it was a match made in 
heaven.

After only twenty-two and a half months, the wedding bells were ringing at 
the Church of the Homely Orphan, and the guests had assembled at the Crooked

Creek Country Club on what could best be called a fairly average golf 
course.

The gathering consisted primarily of old men and women in goofy looking 
suits and dresses. Their hair was all different shades of gray, including 
one with light(3) blue highlights that matched exactly the owners gray-blue 
1953 Fairlane. One woman with kind of greenish skin wore a hat that looked 
like she'd made it herself from a dead badger.

There were a handful of kids at the reception, a four-year-old named Oscar 
who ate a meatball that had fallen on the floor, a red-headed girl named 
Moxie that had a big, ugly scab on her arm, A bratty little girl who kept 
crying because her diaper hadn't been changed in nearly fourteen hours, and 
a buck-toothed kid named Darrell who stuck his butter knife halfway up his 
nose. And one more, over in the corner, trying to attract the attention(2) 
of a waitress with bacon-wrapped scallops and make her come over by using 
her undeveloped telekinetic powers. This girl was known as Anaik, which in 
old-world Dutch means-dog breath.

Anaik was in 8th grade at Mortar Block Middle School, and although she was 
very good at sports-she didn't like to participate. She preferred to dream 
about which super-power she'd most like to have-flying, or 
indestructibility? She was a rule(4) follower, was very good at making 
balloon animals, once drank four energy drinks in a row-and regretted it.

Anaik liked to carve little dogs with Elvis faces and sell them to a man who

traded them to wide-eyed tourists in Memphis for $19.99. She could stand on 
her head for more than twenty minutes, and once ate a live fly just to watch

her big sister puke.

Anaik found Paulo and Deidre's wedding reception dreadfully boring. That's 
what people from England say, stuff like dreadfully boring, and since Anaik 
planned on going to England some day-after all, they speak English there, so

there'd be no language barriers-she practiced the phrase in her mind.

Anaik's parents were as old as some of the other geezers at the party, even 
knew several from a bowling league reunion(1) last summer, but still, they 
talked about them. "A face like the bottom of a well-used suitcase." "His 
back is crooked as a Washington Politician." They told Anaik to to go play 
with the other kids, but she figured she got enough of the freak show when 
they went to the state fair last summer. Suddenly, a dog barked, a waitress 
screamed and threw a plate of cheese balls. A dog, a big dog-yellow-brown 
with long hair and a serious face-plowed from between the waitress's legs 
and made a bee-line for the food table.

   *   *   *   *

The dog who ran between the waitresses legs and started the entire 
cataclysmic event which followed was named George. George was a mutt, with 
parts of him being golden retriever, boxer, black lab and cocker spaniel. 
But, he also had a grandmother who was a bloodhound, and an uncle who was 
half wolf-so he was a dog with skills and knowledge only dreamed of by 
preppy, pure-bred dogs. George was strong enough to pull not one but two 
little kids on a sled. He was fast enough to snatch moths right out of the 
air and eat them for a late-night snack. He was so loyal, he once sat 
outside a police station for 72-hours while he waited for his master to be 
released on bail.

Eight years ago, George had been in the Saint Auschwitz Animal Shelter, on 
his way to be euthanized, when Tom Reynolds, a plumber with a love of chili 
and high-powered rifles, came in the shelter.

"Where you going with that dog?" he asked the man wearing a lab jacket, 
sporting a graying ponytail and carrying a loaded syringe.

"He's gonna fly the stairway to heaven, man," said Jerry Spinelli, the guy 
with the needle, a convicted crack dealer from New Orleans who found Jesus 
while serving a fifteen year sentence in San Quentin.

"No," Tom shouted. "Let him go. I'll take him."

George couldn't believe his luck. As soon as Jerry the executioner let him 
off his leash, his Wolf-blood blasted through his veins. Without thinking or

pausing to sniff, he leaped over the counter, bit Tom the plumber on the 
hand as he bent to pet him, and crashed right through the center of the 
glass from door.

Once outside, George ran for it, pausing only momentarily to shake off the 
broken shards of glass in his fur next to a portly woman pushing a baby 
stroller.

A few days later, George met Willie as he stumbled home from an afternoon at

the pool hall, and he knew he'd found an owner. George and Willie were 
inseparable for the next seven years, until the day just a week earlier when

Willie didn't get out of bed. George barked, licked Wilie's grubby face, but

Willie just didn't get up. Half a day later, Willie was smelling pretty 
funky.

George waited for two more days before figuring out that he better strike 
out on his own. He raided garbage cans for food, slept under people's back 
porches and yearned for some of Willie's babback ribs.

George was running through the woods at one of the places where the silly 
humans hit those little white things with sticks, when he smelled something 
savory and delicious. His bloodhound senses tripped on to high alert. Tomato

sauce. And cheese. And pasta. Stuffed shells, like they make at the church 
dinners every other Tuesday night. And meatballs. And some kind of 
fish-haddock, maybe? Didn't matter. It meant there was food, and he was 
going to get some.

He found the door to the building where the food was, and waited. It wasn't 
long before one of the dusty humans came out to drink from the burning 
sticks some of them like, and George raced inside. He followed the scent of 
the food-down a carpeted hallway, through some swinging doors into a room 
full of people. Part of him wanted to run away, but the smell of the 
food-was it roast beef? - was irresistible. George barked a warning, ducked 
his broad head and charged around a guy in flip-flops with a beer in one 
hand and a white stick in the other, right at a lady holding a flat tray of 
something that smelled absolutely delicious.

   *   *   *   *   *

Anaik, like most of the people at the reception, turned her head to find the

spot where she'd heard the dog bark. She watched the pretty waitress toss 
her tray of food as the big dog bowled her over. She saw as if in slow 
motion how the dog grabbed one of the cheese balls as it dropped, chewing 
and swallowing in one swift movement as he escaped the falling waitress and 
made for the stuffed shells.

Anaik cringed as the silver platter the waitress was carrying hit a bald man

in the back of the head, causing hymn to throw his drink into the eyes of a 
prune-faced woman who screamed as the ice cubes bounced off her face and 
down the shirt of the man next to her. Somehow, the ice made it down into 
this poor guy's underwear, which made him kick out. Unfortunately, his foot 
connected with the leg of the table the eight-layer wedding cake was on, 
causing the cake to tumble on top of Darrel, the kid who could stick a 
butter knife up his nose, and who was standing near the cake hoping to dip 
his finger in to take a taste.

Little did Darrell know, but the cake had peanut butter in the frosting. 
Darrel was allergic to peanuts. Horribly allergic to peanuts. Tragically 
allergic to peanuts.

As Darrell's throat swelled and one of the old geezers who claimed he took a

CP
R class back in 1972 tried to perform a tracheotomy with the same butter 
knife Darrell had stuck up his nose, Anaik made her way over to the food 
table.

A Canadian woman with one leg noticeably shorter than the other began to 
screech like a wild turkey on hot asphalt, "Cujo! I swear by Christ-it's 
Cujo!" While the people screamed and danced and some wet themselves, the dog

jumped up, put his front paws on the table and buried his snout in the 
pasta. Before you could sing, "Who lives in a pineapple under the sea?" the 
big dog had polished off the shells and had moved on to the meatballs. When 
that tray was half-gone, he took a break, returning to the floor and licking

the sauce from his chops.

Anaik stared at the dog and thought-have you had enough, or would you like 
to try the fish?

George burped, then turned to look around and focused on the girl in the 
colorful dress. Her eyes were a light(3) chocolate brown, and held something

deeper than these other humans who seemed to be screaming and crying when 
they could be eating this fabulous chow. "Is the fish good?" he thought 
back.

"A little over-cooked in places, but the batter was quite splendid," Anaik 
said with her mind. "Shall I get you a plate, or would you rather stick your

face in another tray full of food?"

"I see no need to dirty another plate," he told her. "Why don't you just 
grab the whole tray? Throw a few slabs of roast beef on top-don't spare the 
gravy. We can go outside and play for a while, then chow down on the 
vittles. Do you have a Frisbee?"

Anaik grabbed the half-full tray of fish, forked on a few of the juicier 
pieces of roast beef and added a pound or so of the twice-roasted 
potatoes-which were her favorite.

While Darrel's grandmother held the man who had performed the unauthorized 
tracheotomy on her grandson, effectively causing his expiration, in a 
jujitsu choke-hold and ignoring his attempts to tap out, the DJ blasted the 
amplifier, Elvis crooning out, "U-a, si-la. Pa-a ia me o-e. Ko a-lo-ha 
ma-ka-mea e i-po. Ka-'u ia e le-i a-e ne-i la. Now that we are one, Clouds 
won't hide the sun, Blue skies of Hawaii smile On this, our wedding day."

Anaik smiled and walked alongside George toward the door  with a tray full 
of food under one arm. In the hallway, she kicked off her uncomfortable 
shoes and proceeded barefoot through the front door, across the blacktopped 
parking lot and into the cool, stiff grass.

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