Monday, April 14, 2014

Weekly Prompt Story: Hash

Not Every Stat Holiday is a Good Idea
By Christopher Munroe

A lot of people called in fake sick to work that day.

Like, a LOT.

A number of businesses didn’t open at all, and those that did, mostly places that sold snack foods, were swamped by the rush of people suddenly realizing that HOLY SHIT SOME CHIPS WOULD BE GOOD RIGHT NOW!!!

The customers didn’t always remember to bring money.

The staff didn’t always remember to take it.

Billions of dollars in economic activity were lost over the course of twenty-four hours.

“Hash Wednesday” was, overall, not the most productive of holidays, but it was certainly a lot of fun…

Thursday, April 10, 2014

...every child must play.

I have no kids, as my actions have demonstrated time and time again.

I do, however, make a very good cool uncle.

A little irresponsibility, after all, is important to the development of a well-rounded, fully-formed person, and parents overprotect children, so it’s the job of every cool uncle to break kids out of their parentally imposed comfort zones.

In short: I do not apologize for buying your four year old a Chucky doll and leaving it in his room while he slept.

When the nightmares finally end, the love of classic horror films it imparts will last a lifetime…

Sunday, April 6, 2014

Weekly Prompt Story: Prompt Overload!!!

Ten prompts combined this week! In 100 words! Enjoy!

Changing of the Guard
By Christopher Munroe

The newly elected MPs, some in odd socks, others in fishnets, still others in more morally conservative socks, made their way into the Capital, heads held high.

And why not?

They’d been elected to enact their version of the future, and that’s exactly what they intended to do, bringing with them a smorgasbord of values, principals and ideals.

Opportunity for all, an end to the abuses of the past, a nation where all could prosper.

And friendship, which is magic.

It was My Little Party’s first time forming a government, but they were determined that it wouldn’t be their last…

Thursday, April 3, 2014

The Perils of Mistranslation

We’d misread the prophecy, you see.

We thought he’d devour the planet, consuming all in his path and leaving nothing in his wake.

And, as he approached, panic swept the nations of earth.

But we were mistaken. Such a small error, one letter, but with such massive implications.

We should have been relieved at this, but all we could do was stare at one another in mute horror.

We were safe, but at greater cost than we would ever be able to properly express.

We’d never express anything, not ever again.

Because Gargaxia, the Eater of Words, had finally arrived…

Tuesday, April 1, 2014

Belated Weekly Prompt Story: Who do you miss?

I Miss Him Still
By Christopher Munroe

I miss the man I used to be.

The energy, the enthusiasm of youth. The belief that I could do anything, these are things I do genuinely miss.

Don’t get me wrong,  I’d never go back to being him in a million years. He was just the worst. If I met myself at seventeen it’d be five minutes before I wanted to punch him in the face. He was too full of himself, too in love with the sound of his own voice to be even remotely tolerable.

I still am, but the material I do now has improved somewhat...

Thursday, March 27, 2014

What I Enjoy in the Bedroom (a bit of NSFW standup i'm working on)

My favorite position when it comes to sex is, and I realize that this might surprise many of you, the position known as missionary.

Hear me out.

I know that many of you, simply from the fact that you know me and follow my work, likely run with a fairly hip, bohemian crowd, and as such the majority of you like different things, very different things in some cases. And trust me, I understand and completely respect that. That’s beautiful. Your bodies and their myriad sexual desires are beautiful and deserve to be celebrated, because all bodies and all sexual desires, within certain bounds of sanity and consent, deserve to be celebrated, and as such I’d be the first to raise a glass to yours. The Heart wants what it wants, after all, and I would never deny The Heart that which it desired.

On an unrelated note, I’ve nicknamed my penis “The Heart” recently, I think it’s going really well so far. But that’s neither here nor there.

The point is, while I respect, indeed applaud, whatever you might indulge in in the privacy of your bedroom or neighborhood sex-dungeon, for me it will always be missionary style sex that at the end of the day drives me wild. I don’t know why, it’s more an instinctive desire than an intellectual one. And really, shouldn’t all sexual desire be too primal and visceral to properly put into words? Some aspect of missionary sex puts me over the edge, and perhaps it’s best simply to enjoy what I enjoy and not put too much thought into it. Because it’s sex, and sometimes over-thinking the matter only detracts from enjoyment of the act.

So no, I can’t quite verbalize precisely why I love missionary sex the way I do, I just know that I do.

I love every part of it.

Travelling around the world.

Experiencing different cultures.

Meeting interesting new people.

Having sex with them.

Trying to convert them to the type of sex that I enjoy.

And let me tell you, the type of sex that I enjoy does get weird. Converting people to it isn’t always easy to do, however much I might think they’ll love it if they just keep an open mind. Missionary sex can be long, hard, sweaty, punishing work, it can exhaust you physically, mentally AND emotionally, and leave you so drained that you can barely move. There are moments when you feel you can go no farther, can take no more, where the end is nowhere in sight, when the sun’s about to come up and you suddenly realize that you have to be at work in two hours. And in moments like that, yes, I’ve been tempted to give up missionary style for good, tempted to accept that I’m growing older, that I can no longer behave as though I were eighteen years old, and put missionary sex aside in favor of other, less taxing erotic pursuits.

But, when my gasping new convert is there, on his or her knees, in front of me, hands in the air, eyes wide in a mixture of shock and ecstasy, sweat glistening across fevered face, head thrown back as though to scream “Hallelujah”, and I know I’ve made a new believer, it makes the whole process worthwhile, both spiritually and, every bit as important, physically.

Is my attitude toward sex and sexuality old fashioned? Perhaps a tad. Does it carry with it certain parochial, Eurocentric colonialist baggage? It might. The Heart does, nonetheless, want what it wants, and by The Heart I again mean my penis, and I apologize for none of my desires in any of their bizarre, twisted glory. Nor should I. When you love something, after all, it’s natural that you’d want to share it with the world, and I in no way regret one moment of my time spent evangelizing.

I’ve loved every moment of it.

That’s why I love missionary sex, and why I make such a good Sex-Missionary, one who wears the title and all that comes with it both freely and proudly.

I likely always will.

Now, if you happen to have a moment to talk further about this issue, may my associate and I come in?

Sunday, March 23, 2014

Weekly Prompt Story: Any Town But Funkytown

Reflections Upon Your Town and Mine
By Christopher Munroe

There are lots of towns out there.

And, each in their own way, all of them are funky.

Detroit has Motown, Memphis Stax. James Brown grew up in Augusta.

Even Minneapolis has funk. Prince, Morris Day and the Time and more, who thought Minnesota would be funky?

But it is. Every town is.

Every town is funky.

It’s a beautiful thing.

I tried to write a story about a town other than Funkytown, and found that I could not.

But that’s okay.

Because finally I’ve realized: I don’t have to take you to Funkytown.

You’ve been there the whole time…