1) Each letter of the alphabet starts a sentence.
2) It has to be a cohesive story with a beginning, middle and end.
3) You have to use all the letters.

Give it a try. Post your experiments to the comments section. After the leap, you’ll find one of mine, a rip-roaring yarn about a pirate. I’m so alone.

So This One Time on the High Seas…

After plundering the HMS Wimp, the scurvy pirate Wiggins cackled in delight.

Because he had never successfully captured a ship, he was beside himself.

“Courage has won the day, me mangy curs!” he bellowed, waving his cutlass.

Determined to avoid losing a limb, his crew cowered away from his frantic, uncoordinated slashing.

Even the first mate covered his one good eye.

Fresh off his victory, Captain Wiggins set his eyes on more glorious booty.

“Grab your cleanest eye patches, mateys, for we’re setting off toward Fort Impregnable!”

“Holy hoisted hangnails!” cried the cabin boy, wee Scabby Hernandez.

“Inside that fortress awaits certain doom!”

“Jest ye have some faith in ol’ Wiggins, ya cur,” came the captain’s reply (in his finest pirate dialect).

“Kindly take your hopeless negativity elsewhere,” he added.

Long days turned into long nights as they sailed toward the coast.

Manning his post in the crow’s nest early Monday morning, Barnacle Jones threw aside his spyglass and bellowed, “Fortress ahoy!”

“Never give up…” the captain recited (it was his usual speech); however, the crew tuned him out as they prepped the cannons, muskets, and swords.

On the fortress walls, the soldiers braced for impact.

Pirates recklessly piled into boats as cannons roared, mostly at Captain Wiggins’ ship.

“Quiet the dogs with your bayonets!” growled the captain, leaning over the prow and making obscene gestures with his hook.

“Rip them to shreds!” echoed the third mate.

“Squirrels!” cried Crazy Edward, who was unable to locate his lucky battle-nuts (almonds).

Turns out all the boats had holes in them and they began to sink.

Unconvinced of the chances in holey boats, the pirates turned and swam back to the ship, but Captain Wiggins charged forth through bullets and bombs.

Visions of his glorious demise clouded his thoughts.

“When I die, all the famous bandits will be there,” he muttered, half crazed.

“Xylophones will ring through the halls of the Pirate’s Cove as I join Davey Jones in his locker.”

“Yar!” he cried as a well-placed musket-ball tore first through his shirt, then his crinkly picture of Maria the toothless barmaid, and finally through his heart.

Zorro, Lafitte, and ol’ Jack Sparrow himself were pallbearers at the funeral, for while the captain was mostly incompetent, he was a “really good guy”.

I want to be very clear that I am not disrespecting the date I took out. Sometimes people just don’t mesh. This should be expected. I think we both recognized this, but unfortunately, neither of us had enough gauze to stop the hemorrhaging wounds.

It was obvious minutes into the date that I had overlooked something. There are clearly (at least) three ways a blind date can go. Good, bad, and slightly uncomfortable. I wasn’t ready for the third one. It’s the feeling that you get when you are 14 and watching Titanic with your parents and the “Paint Me Like One of Your French Girls” festival begins. Part of you wants to be there; the other part is wondering who cranked the thermostat to Habanero. Option three in blind dating is probably the worst. At least if it’s disastrous, you can see it coming and either jump out of the way or enjoy a head-on collision. Instead, I stood there using the romance defibrillator on a relationship that just wasn’t meant to come to life. Certainly, every date starts off a little rough. A bad step turns into a bad touch. You reveal too much about your drinking habits and also while drinking you talk about your ex-girlfriend. Then you mention how hard it is living with mom three or four times.

And so, I charged the defibrillator.

“What kind of hobbies do you have?”

KERTHUMP!

The sound of the defibrillator going off was a saddening aural stimulus. I’m pretty sure that question blasted ear drums at nearby tables. The shock paddles rallied a gasp of air and a few blips on the heart monitor. However, the bleeding had worsened and without a hot nurse by my side, I mopped my own brow with my French cuffs.

That wasn’t the last time I used the shock paddles… Clear!

“What music do you like?”

COUNTRYTHUD!

I stared sadly at the paddles. I think I forgot to charge them. Or I had misdiagnosed. “What music do you like?” was like giving a diabetic a Super Big Gulp and a king-sized Snickers. This was a terrible question for me to ask. I am a music snob, and the answer I was expecting was completely irrational. For some reason, some part of my brain expected “Band of Horses” or “Mates of State.” I am trying hard as a recovering music snob not to judge, but c’mon, I also wasn’t expecting country.

Shock ensued, and I panicked. I tried every trick in my charm satchel and came up with kazoos. I was a clown surrounded by crying five year olds at a birthday party. A donkey ate a baby in the petting zoo. Someone stabbed dad with alligator scissors. The party was over, so I declared a time of death.

“What time is it?”

When you ask that question, you don’t care what time it is. “6:13? Oh, I have to be somewhere at 6:14! Icantbelieveialmostforgot pleasedtomeetyou. Ohyoucanseestraightthroughme becauseyouarentdaft!” She was keen to my manuever, and I’m pretty sure she was about to pull the same move on me. I think she was a lot kinder than I and was going to wait another 30 seconds. At that point, I was exhausted. We limply embraced and split ways.

I shut the car door and soaked in the awkwardness. Then the question arose: Would I go on another blind date?

In a heartbeat.

Bungee monkey does the dew.

This whacked out chimp has elastic arms that can fire the primate over 30 feet. But, our apartment isn’t that long, so we just shoot the monkey into the wall most of the time. But, I think the monkey has seen it’s last day.

Let me explain: we’ve developed a sick game around here. See, the monkey makes a wild jungle ape sound when it hits something, so if it hits the wall and then the ground it screams two times. Well, the game we play involves trying to get the monkey to scream the most times.

Anyway, I was working on a five-screamer (for a new apartment record). I skipped bungee monkey off of the cabinets, into the ceiling, off of a double corner wall, and I was well on my way when the monkey stopped screaming. It was weird. We stopped laughing, and I swear this is exactly how the monkey landed:

Needless to say, life hasn’t been the same since the monkey stopped screaming. He only makes retard jungle sounds now: mostly slurring his words and not completing sentences. I have to balance his checkbook now too.

I think he has severe head damage. I’m hoping he’ll still be able to function in life. Maybe he’ll get a real job at Taco Bell or as a pro wrestler.