I really like our blog project, y’all.
Casey: I agree with your soapbox. In my own mind, there exists a world wherein all people are allowed to marry whomever they want. It’s always jarring when I’m forced to realize that this is not actually the case.
Christina: Hm… a punishment… I think Cassie has a great idea with the challenge. I also commend your choice of soapbox. I’m undecided on the subject of drug legalization (apart from marijuana—I think it’s rather silly that it is illegal), but if hard drugs were legal, it would make them much safer. I additionally enjoyed reading the discussion in the comments section! Also, that poor monkey… I can’t tell whether its face indicates happiness, good training, or complete hysteria.
Cassie: Kate sounds like quite the sister! I hope someday she gets to write a guest post or something. There’s another topic idea: Writing a “guest post” as someone else. Or perhaps actually getting someone else to write your post for the week. Or perhaps both.
Alexandra: I love your lie. Well crafted! The true parts fit seamlessly into the untruths. Awesome.
And now I will tell you the story of how I worked for the Mafia,* using asterisks just as others have.
It all started when I was 16, just after I got my driver’s license.* I was driving my Lamborghini down the street (it had been a gift from my grandmother when she decided she wanted a yellow one instead of a red one) when all of a sudden, out of nowhere, an elephant stampeded (can a single elephant stampede alone?) out of the forest by the side of the road.** Of course, I had graduated from strategic driving class not long ago, so I was able to get away, high-speed-chase style. But then I hit a telephone pole.
So I had all these car repairs that I had to pay for. To pay for them, I needed a job. The only job I was able to get was working as a banquet server for a local party center*… which was owned by a Mafia family.*
Everything was going swimmingly with my new job. I was serving salads, entrées, and desserts with customary Italian gusto (though I am not very Italian*), and being appreciated by all the guests and our maitre d’, whose name was Evil.*
And then one day, the banquet center was the site of the marriage of a mob princess* and a tiny shrimp of a man who disappeared into his sizable new wife during their first dance as a married couple. The robust maid of honor gave a lengthy speech about how she and Princess had met during school; the pint-sized best man avoided public speech altogether and cowered next to his diminuitive friend the groom. It was all quite lovely.
At this point, with six months on the job, I was one of the most tenured servers on staff. (The turnover was astronomical; some servers were never seen or heard from again.) Therefore, I was given the responsibility of serving dessert to the parents of the bride. As I inched toward their corner table, squinting my eyes against the dense aromatic fog of cigar smoke, the soundtrack from the Godfather started playing over the sound system.* Faces began to emerge from the smog, most of them mustacchio’ed and cigar-stuck. One by one, the faces, previously celebratory (if not jovial), each took one look at my pallid mug and turned decidedly displeased (though that could have been just my internal terror speaking). I not-too-hastily dropped each slice of cheesecake down in front of its new master and, through shortened breath and a cold sweat, made for the hills.
I was never seen or heard from again.
** My hometown was truly the site of an elephant escape once when I was growing up. A circus came to town every year, and during one fateful tour, a zebra headbutted an audience member and an elephant escaped (and walked right in front of the car I was riding in with my father). I kid you not. The circus didn’t come back the next year.
Looking forward to the rest of the lies!