Monday, June 18, 2012

Win Groovy Things Here.


There are a few ways you could have arrived at this blog post.

1. You clicked on the link to enter the Secret Hideout contest to win one of three GROOVY THINGS. If so, go ahead and leave me a comment. 

2. You are a regular visitor to the blog and if so, I really appreciate that. If you want to win one of three GROOVY THINGS then you should go to the Secret Facebook Hideout to get instructions on how to enter to win. You will need these instructions. You can't wing this contest. 

3. You stumbled here by complete accident. If so, see #2. Why not, right? There are groovy things to be won.

Deadline is Wednesday June 20 at 11:59 PM. 
Winner will be announced as soon as I can considering I'll be gone from Saturday to Thursday.


16 comments:

Charles the Reader said...

Here is my entry:

Toilets are multifaceted beings. Beyond their main purpose of existence, they are used for countless things. No one can tell half of the things that get flushed down the toilet. We don’t really think about it, but one of the largest unofficial uses for the toilet is as a graveyard of sorts. This particular graveyard is almost exclusively for fish (I said almost). Now, imagine if you will the thousands upon thousands of pet goldfish flushed down toilets. It really might as well be an official fish cemetery. Charming, to think of what we do in this graveyard, isn’t it?

My email is charlesthereader@gmail.com

ringothecat said...

My entry:

Toilets know more than you think. That you go there because it is quiet. Or because you want to finish that exciting book. They know you are there to think up world domination and they know you are there just to conquer your fear of drowning. Sometimes the cat is there too, but toilets usually do not really like that because cats are all sorts of messy. So when this particular toilet saw the man with the fish and the crying boy, it knew about the heartache and that it would take more than a lollipop this time. Maybe icecream.

My email: elsdeclercq[at]gmail[dot]com

unpub said...

Great minds think alike! I have a fishy comment too!

THE BALLAD OF TIM AND HANNAH

When Tim the fish went belly-up,
Hannah scooped him in a cup
And dumped him in the toilet bowl,
Without a thought for Timmy's soul.

Then, off she ran to hit the gym,
And never shed a tear for Tim.
But Hannah left in such a rush,
The silly slut forgot to flush.

Then Tim, who'd just been playing possum,
Let his imagination blossom.
Though just a fish, he knew that he
Deserved at least a eulogy.
She should have mourned him in some way,
But she'd done zilch, and she would pay.

Skip ahead an hour or three
Till she returned and went to pee.
I'll spare you details - it's too gruesome -
But Tim had teeth, and liked to use 'em.

Learn a lesson from poor Hannah;
Never diss your pet piranha.

Becky B. (Bibliognome) said...

Awesome, I actually take pictures of outhouses (the outsides, because you find them in such interesting places. Here's my entry for the contest a toilet haiku

Magical toilet
Flush your cares away it says
Down the handle goes

geckyboz[at]gmail[dot]com

A.S. King said...

Great entries, guys! Thank you.

A reminder to please follow the rules. Those who have entered before know that I am serious about my word count limits.

I really am.

Even if I love your entry, if it's over 100 words, it can't win!

Carry on.
Pip pip tally ho.

Annie said...

I hate group activities. It was at a marching band event of all things. As one of the four freshmen in this much larger group of upperclassmen having dinner at an Australian-themed restaurant things took a turn from boring to downright illegal. That’s probably an exaggeration. Halfway through dinner, all of the girls got up and said that EVERYONE had to go to the bathroom. On the way in, a waiter rolled his eyes knowingly but let us pass. Then I saw the sign. 5₵ to flush. And one of the girls had a pocketful of nickels.

Email: anniemoorebooks@gmail.com

Danielle said...

An angel lost her halo down the dunny. It happened when she kissed the cistern, hugged the porcelain body and felt the hellish burn of regurgitated tequila. She blasphemed and prayed into the loo’s wishing-well water – but it all just sloshed into muck at the bottom of the throne, taking the sheen off her halo as it lay at the bottom.

- Danielle Binks
danielle_binks@hotmail.com

Christina said...

Margo ran sobbing into the bathroom and locked it behind her, while Danny thumped on the door.

“Baby, it didn’t mean anything. It was an accident. I was drunk. I love you.” He pleaded, “please open the door.”

Margo heard the slam of their front door. So the naïve girl her man-whore of a husband had seduced was gone.

Looking down at her hand, Margo made a decision. She pulled the ring off her finger, threw it in the toilet, and flushed it down.

Opening the door, she said, “Like our marriage, my wedding ring is down the drain.”

cynicalsapphire at gmail dot com

unpub said...

Oh, I know my "Hannah & Tim" poetic masterpiece doesn't make the word cut, but I had so much fun writing it that I wanted to share it anyway! Toilet Lovers of the World, Unite!

valerierlawson said...

Love letter to Sting
Ferris Bueller VHS
My wasted teen years

Matthew MacNish said...

Twenty of the green
and a twenty of the brown
Cops are at the door

sari said...

"i'm sorry", he said, tears running down his face.

I looked at him, aghast. He had been in there forever, I had been waiting for his call. But this? Horrifying.

Apparently, while pooping, he dropped his plush Pokemon in the toilet. The full toilet.

The dirty toilet.

Now, it was my job to retrieve it.

The thankless tasks of a mother.


- Thanks!

(my email is thegeekinside (at) yahoo (dot) com )

Anonymous said...

as a disgruntled boarding school student i find myself in the pink lu all the time
the things that are left in almost commit a crime
from three left over period wrappings to a doggie batman holiday sweater to the myriad numbers of heartbreaking letters or fake feathers. and what kind of asses who wear field glasses would throw molasses in there?
they might as well measure their arterial blood gases.

meredith.lew@gmail.com

Mr. Stephenson said...

My parents claim I repeatedly threw my puppy in the toilet when I was a toddler. The puppy was stuffed, mind you, so don’t think I was a serial-killer-in-the-making. I was two. I have no recollection of sneaking away from my parents, stuffed puppy clutched in my chubby hand, ambling toward the bathroom. All I have as evidence is the tattered toy itself with its frayed brown fur and half-torn tongue. Larger than my adult fist, it was unflushable. I wonder what was.

My email is stephenson (dot) jason (at) gmail (dot) com

blamethegoat said...

“In here!” Margot gasped, pulling me into an abandoned outhouse.

A single, filthy toilet squatted over a bottomless pit.

Margot took the disk and held it between two fingers over the toilet. “Now nobody will know that we took it. We’ll be safe.”

The sound it made when it fell was a delayed squelching that made my stomach lurch.

“But how are we supposed to prove that MalCorp created the tentacle people when they spliced human babies with squid genes?” I said.

Margot’s face fell and we both looked into the toilet. “Shit.”

kathleenelizbeth@live.com

Cathy said...

Did you know? Cat food expands to three times the size in the toilet? Would you like to know how I know? Because my sisters and I were very close and loved to do everything together when we were younger. Unfortunately, being poor, we didn't have lots of toys. But we had cats. And we had cat food. So we made our own toys. Our parents (and our cats) didn’t care for those toys, but the plumber LOVED them!

cathyakyle@gmail.com