SUBMISSIONS WANTED!
ECC’s Literary Review is now accepting submissions of poetry and prose (fiction and non-fiction) for its Spring 2011 issue.
Literary Review DEADLINE: March 1
Literary Review Submission Guidelines:
Open only to current ECC students
Name, email address, and mailing address on every page
Typed in Microsoft Word
12-point Times New Roman
Left-aligned, singled-spaced
4 entries max
Up to 3 Poems
Up to 3 Stories
Submit as an email attachment to jpstroup@eastcentral.edu
In Subject Line : Lit Review and Genre of Submissions Attached
Accepted Submissions Announced on March 14 via email.
If you're interested in joining the Lit Review or have any questions about submitting your work, contact Josh Stroup at jpstroup@eastcentral.edu
Thursday, February 10, 2011
Thursday, April 29, 2010
The New Literary Review is Now Available
The Spring 2010 Literary Review is finally available to the public for only $3. This year's Literary Review contains over 100 pages of science fiction, personal narratives, lyrical poetry of joy and loss, and so much more; this spring’s Literary Review is not something to be missed.
You may contact, Josh Stroup in AC 153 or at jpstroup@eastcentral.edu to purchase the spring 2010 edition of the Literary Review.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Fiction 1-76
Johnathon Blunt Last Call
Fred Davis Jr. The Daoist Tale
Jami Carter The Picture of Love
Nathan Kreamalmyer The Life and Tragic Death of
Patricia Spillsmore
Brian Farrar Willful Drowning
Christine Pennington Hippolytus and Iris
Shawn Sullentrup Mr. Jones
Rebecca Daniels When Kati Left Me
Elin Feldmann Prophecy
Poetry 77-91
Ashley Borders Dancers of Beauty
and Disaster
Tyler Florence No Home
Jeremy Horvath There not Here
Lyndsey McGilvray Blind
Hannah Goodman For Ginsberg
Jami Carter Soar
Michelle Thilking Shrouds of Glory
Rebecca Daniels Tree
Kathryn Faries My Son
Nathan Kreamalmyer The Essence of Life
Johnathon Blunt ‘Round and ‘Round
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
The Literary Review's 2010 Deadline is March 12
The Literary Review is a student-produced journal which annually publishes a magazine of student created essays, short stories, and poetry. We are also a club that meets throughout the semester to discuss writing and writing-related events in our community.
Each spring semester, students submit their original work and our editorial staff (made up of ECC students) decides which of the essays, poems, and short stories will best represent ECC.
The magazine is usually published in a small pressing (usually paperback-perfect bound) and is made available to the public for a small fee (2 or 3 dollars) on All Campus Day or Falcon Fest (usually the end of April). You can also contact me to purchase the journal.
ECC’s Literary Review accepts student created essays, creative non-fiction, poetry, and fiction.
No submissions will be returned.
Submission Guidelines:
DEADLINE: MARCH 12
Name and email address on every page
Typed in Microsoft Word
12-point Times New Roman, Single Spaced
Left-aligned
Maximum: 4 entries
E-mail submissions as a Microsoft Word file to jpstroup@eastcentral.edu
For more information, please contact Josh Stroup at ext. 6646 or jpstroup@eastcentral.edu.
Each spring semester, students submit their original work and our editorial staff (made up of ECC students) decides which of the essays, poems, and short stories will best represent ECC.
The magazine is usually published in a small pressing (usually paperback-perfect bound) and is made available to the public for a small fee (2 or 3 dollars) on All Campus Day or Falcon Fest (usually the end of April). You can also contact me to purchase the journal.
ECC’s Literary Review accepts student created essays, creative non-fiction, poetry, and fiction.
No submissions will be returned.
Submission Guidelines:
DEADLINE: MARCH 12
Name and email address on every page
Typed in Microsoft Word
12-point Times New Roman, Single Spaced
Left-aligned
Maximum: 4 entries
E-mail submissions as a Microsoft Word file to jpstroup@eastcentral.edu
For more information, please contact Josh Stroup at ext. 6646 or jpstroup@eastcentral.edu.
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
Spring 2010 Poetry Contest Announced
CALL FOR ENTRIES
ECC English Department’s
POETRY CONTEST
DEADLINE: APRIL 1st
PRIZES:
1st Place Prize: $100
2nd Place Prize: $50
3rd Place Prize: $25
Guidelines:
Submit up to five poems as a Microsoft Word attachment via email to jpstroup@eastcentral.edu.
Include in Subject line of email: Poetry Contest.
Title of Word file should include your first and last name and Poetry10.
All entries must be made by current ECC students and must have name, address, email, and phone # on every submission; each poem must be single spaced, left aligned and in 12 pt. Times New Roman.
Submissions will NOT be returned.
Winners will be announced via email on April 21st
For more info, contact Josh Stroup, AC 153, 584-6646, jpstroup@eastcentral.edu.
ECC English Department’s
POETRY CONTEST
DEADLINE: APRIL 1st
PRIZES:
1st Place Prize: $100
2nd Place Prize: $50
3rd Place Prize: $25
Guidelines:
Submit up to five poems as a Microsoft Word attachment via email to jpstroup@eastcentral.edu.
Include in Subject line of email: Poetry Contest.
Title of Word file should include your first and last name and Poetry10.
All entries must be made by current ECC students and must have name, address, email, and phone # on every submission; each poem must be single spaced, left aligned and in 12 pt. Times New Roman.
Submissions will NOT be returned.
Winners will be announced via email on April 21st
For more info, contact Josh Stroup, AC 153, 584-6646, jpstroup@eastcentral.edu.
Monday, January 25, 2010
Now Accepting Poem of the Month Submissions
The Lit Review Club along with the Cornerstone is now accepting submissions for its “Poem of the Month” series to be featured in ECC’s student newspaper. One featured poem will be published in that month’s newspaper. All who submitted will find out who is featured by checking out the newest edition of the Cornerstone.
Please email your poems (limit 5) as a Microsoft Word attachment to jpstroup@eastcentral.edu along with your name, email, address, phone number, and a brief bio (2-3 sentences). Please consider using proper grammar, spelling and punctuation. Poems that employ imagery and concrete language are encouraged. Also consider avoiding clichéd phrases or topics.
There is no deadline for this project.
The “Poem of the Month” feature is not affiliated with the Fall or Spring Writing Contests. BTW, the Poetry Contest will be announced later this week.
Please email your poems (limit 5) as a Microsoft Word attachment to jpstroup@eastcentral.edu along with your name, email, address, phone number, and a brief bio (2-3 sentences). Please consider using proper grammar, spelling and punctuation. Poems that employ imagery and concrete language are encouraged. Also consider avoiding clichéd phrases or topics.
There is no deadline for this project.
The “Poem of the Month” feature is not affiliated with the Fall or Spring Writing Contests. BTW, the Poetry Contest will be announced later this week.
Friday, December 11, 2009
Fall 2009 English Dept. Writing Contest: Fiction, Honorable Mention
Nathan Kreamalmyer
The Life and Tragic Death of Patricia Spillsmore
The 23rd of August started out like most 23rds of August for Mrs. Patricia Spillsmore. Patricia woke up around 5:30 in the morning, just as she did most every 23rd of August, and proceeded downstairs to cook her family their traditional 23rd of August breakfast extravaganza. On the way downstairs, Mrs. Spillsmore noticed, from the corner of her right eye, that her pool had collected a very large number of leaves and dead bugs. Patricia decided that once breakfast was ate, her husband ventured off to his pedestrian job selling raffle tickets at any and all geriatric functions, the kids were off to school, and the laundry was washed, dried, folded and put away, she would clean her pool with the large screen she had purchased just a week prior.
Breakfast went over without a hitch.
“Wow Mother!” The children exclaimed.
“Yes Dear, what a great breakfast!!! When I get home from work tonight, I'm going to plow you like a garden!” Her husband, Steven Howard Spillsmore III, said with a mouth full of sausage.
“Alright, Steve, that will be enough. Kids get your things and head to the bus stop. Steve, you best get to work before all your clients keel over dead”, Patricia said and after a rousing laugh she continued, “I've got the laundry to do, so best be on your way!”
With the house to herself, Patricia set to her housewifing duties joyously. After all her chores were completed, around 2:59 PM, Patricia ventured outside to give the pool a much needed goings over with the pool screen. Just as she reached the pool, the story of Patricia Spillsmore took an unfortunate and unforeseen turn.
You see, there were no trees in the Spillsmore’s back yard that were anywhere near the in ground swimming pool. However, as she approached, she noticed that the leaves were stacked at least a foot high off the water.
How could this be, Patricia wondered to herself.
Another startling discovery was made when she noticed that all of the bugs were still alive, and frantically buzzing around in frenzy.
“What the f...” she started to say as she slowly dipped her screen into the pool to remove the first layer of leaves and bugs.
She suddenly gasped as she removed a screen full and noticed that the water was stained red with blood. Immediately, bugs flocked to the revealed pool of blood, and it was covered again. Mrs. Spillsmore dropped the screen and covered her mouth. A musty, raunchy smell leaked out when she moved the leaves and bugs, and she suddenly felt sick. She ran to the side of the patio where she puked all over the yard. She puked so hard her eyes were watering, and her stomach was cramping. She puked so hard she fell to her knees and while she was puking, sounded like Grizzly bears in a fight over a bucket of honey! With each thrust, puke flew out of her mouth as she shook violently from the force of each blow. Finally, after about 10 minutes of straight puking, and 5 minutes of dry heaving, Patricia returned to her feet. As she stood, her neighbor rounded the corner of the 17 feet tall privacy fence which divided their properties.
It was Milda Spencer, the neighborhood friendly. She was like the kid in school who was always up in your business and wouldn't take a hint from anyone that she was hated by all. But Milda had a weird growth on her forehead, and nobody in the neighborhood had the heart to tell her off because of it.
“Howdy Patricia!” Milda greeted, “Do you need some help cleaning out your pool?”
“Umm...no Milda, I'm fine. Why don't you just go home, I'm not feeling well today,” Patricia replied.
“How'd ya get so many dern leaves in that pool? And where the sam blue blazes did all those bugs come from? And what's that God ridiculous smell? And why did you puke up something sick and rotted all over your yard? Why you sick anyways? You were fine yesterday. And why in the f...' Milda went on.
'”MILDA!' Patricia interrupted, “I don't know! Please, just leave me be for awhile! You’re, you're annoying!”
“Oh, well, alright then. I hope you feel better neighbor,” Milda mumbled in a sad tone and walked away like a dog with its tail between its legs.
Patricia slowly made her way back to the pool, picked up the screen net, and prepared herself for round 2.
“This calls for drastic measures.”
Just then Milda enormously smiled and peered over the fence.
“Need some help?” she asked again.
Patricia rolled her eyes and said, “Please go home! Okay? I’m sorry but I don’t need your help!”
Milda cheerfully smiled, uncomfortably chuckled, and disappeared behind the fence. Patricia made her way to the shed in the corner of her back yard and pulled out a gas mask, a pair of full sleeved gloves, and rolled out a 400 horse power sewage pump from inside. She tossed on her safety equipment, threw the huge black tube into the pool, and put the other end of the tube over Milda's fence.
“System engaged”, said Patricia as she switched on the ridiculously high powered sewage pump.
The machine made a noise that shook the entire neighborhood and the disgusting water was shooting all over Milda's back yard. Through the air flew entire raccoons, squirrels, and mice that had been torn to shreds by savage bugs that filled the pool.
Milda heard all the commotion coming from her back yard and looked out through her back sliding glass door.
“Oh goodness!” she exclaimed and threw open her door to try to redirect the hose pumping all her neighbors pool filth into her back yard.
Milda ran for the hose, slipped and fell on the grass as the force of the nasty water ripped off her clothes. She screamed loudly as the water devastated the rest of the neighborhood. Milda caught a ride on a wave of sludge over the next three yards and into a nearby neighbor’s back door where she landed on the lap of a man sitting in his living room.
As she sat perched, naked in his lap, the man's wife rounded the corner from their kitchen with a snack and asked, “Dear me, what’s that terrible smell?”
The woman saw Milda sitting on her husband’s lap unclothed. Milda smiled cheerfully with nasty pool residue in her mouth.
“Hi Maude, how are things?” Milda politely greeted.
Maude dropped her snack on the floor with her mouth wide open in shock. Her facial expression soon turned to anger as she stomped toward her husband, screamed out, “Walter!”, and smacked him in the face.
Meanwhile, back at the Spillsmore residence, Patricia had just finishing pumping her cesspool. She removed her gas mask and said, “That’s that!” Satisfied with her work, she dusted her hands by smacking them together. She let out a whistle as she began to roll the massive sewage pump back into her shed. But her song and dance was interrupted by an eruption of hisses and growls. Creepy noises filled the entire neighborhood beyond the privacy fence that surrounded her.
Mrs. Spillsmore ran in the tool shed and shut the door. She tried to escape the hisses and moans, but they only grew more intense as she huddled in the corner of the small shed. After about an hour of these weird noises going on, Patricia's fear gave way to annoyance and she decided it was time to end the nonsense. Patricia grabbed the shovel from the corner next to her and slowly headed out of her shed's door.
Cautiously Patricia approached the fence, and peering through a knot-hole she found something most unexpected. You see, Mrs. Spillsmore had thought the noises were coming from several different places, and possibly things, but all the sounds were originating from one source. There, standing in the yard beyond the fence, was 2008 Republican vice Presidential nominee Sarah Palin.
Sarah Palin was barbequing moose and drinking Molson, Canada's finest beer. Patricia gasped at the sight of the first woman nominee for a major political party, and this caught Mrs. Palin's attention.
“Oh, well hello there my little Joe Six Pack. Whatcha doin' over there?” Sarah asked.
Patricia did not answer Mrs. Palin's question, evoking a more aggressive assertion this time.
“Well Joe, I hope you aren't cohorting with any known domestic terrorists over there. ‘Cause, golly that just wouldn't be good. I had to take patriotic action on your neighbor over here, old Mr. Vincent Hindergooden, ‘cause he passed a known domestic terrorist in his car on the highway yesterday and, you see, he didn't flip him off. And that's not the kind of person we need living here in America”, Sarah Palin strolled to the fence as she recounted the events from the day before.
Patricia finally answered, “First off, my name is not Joe. Now you best tell me, Mrs. Palin, what you did with Mr. Hindergooden?”
“Tell you what Joe, why don't I just show you what I did with old Mr. Hindergooden?” Sarah said as she shoved a set of moose antlers through the fence between Mrs. Spillsmore and Mr. Hindergooden's yards.
The antlers grazed Patricia's face, cutting it slightly and drawing blood. A scream escaped Patricia's lips as she rolled back away from the fence.
“You see, Joe, my running mate and I are Mavericks. And we are reformers. So, why don't I show you how I reform by REFORMING YOUR FACE?!” Mrs. Palin screamed as she front flipped over the fence and threw the antlers above her head, preparing to strike.
As she brought the full force of the antlers down, Patricia rolled across the lawn. The antlers shattered as they hit the ground next to Mrs. Spillsmore. A sigh of relief escaped Patricia as Mrs. Palin's only weapon laid broken next to her.
“Oh, you little six packer, I wouldn't relax quite yet. I don't mean to toot my own horn, but when I took on corruption in Alaska's Oil companies things got pretty rough. And that's where I learned hand to hand combat, and how to be a maverick”, Sarah said with a wink as Patricia scrambled to her feet.
Just as Patricia had gained her balance, Mrs. Palin smoked her in the eye with a right cross. Patricia landed hard on the ground. Her jaw was shattered and her head was throbbing. Mrs. Spillsmore realized that when she landed on the ground, she had hit the side of her head on the shovel she had brought from the shed.
THE SHOVEL, that’s it! Patricia screamed to herself.
Patricia grasped the shovel firmly and jumped to her feet. Swinging wildly to stave off any incoming attacks from Mrs. Palin, Patricia moved forward. Sarah Palin made some sort of weird growling sound and lunged for Patricia throat. Patricia, knowing Mrs. Palin's reputation as a pit bull, had anticipated this and simple sat back biding her time. With Palin's lunged, Patricia drew back and smashed the shovel across her face, sending Sarah sprawling to the ground. Mrs. Spillsmore quickly moved
forward and pushed the shovel to Palin's throat.
“What's the meaning of all this?” Patricia desperately tried to catch her breath as she questioned Mrs. Palin.
“I'm just doin' my patriotic job. Ya know, defendin' the country from both, uh, you know, foreign and, uh, domestic, um, threats and enemies and all,” Palin answered in her annoying little folksy way.
“Why'd you fill my pool full of blood and dead animals?” Patricia pressed on with the questions.
“Well, ya see Joe, those animals have been known to associate with domestic terrorists. Those animals did not fulfill their patriotic duty. They did not stop the terrorists of the '60s while those criminals today were, ya know, walking the streets and heading to their, uh, jobs and exercising and going about their days like they weren't radicals from 40 years ago. So, again, I had to exercise MY patriotic duty and, ya know, take care of the animals for not taking care of folks like Joe the Plumber and Joe the Housewife. And most of the animals here were socialists as well, and that’s just not what America wants, those, um, socialist animals”, Sarah paused and then continued, “But ya know there Joe, that wasn't blood in your pool. No way, that was a red wine marinade. Ya see, as Governor of the United States only oil producing state, Alaska, we are teaching our children at a very young age to, um, not take the land around us for granted, uh, unless of course you can sell it for, ya know, billions of dollars. So we never let things like road kill or things like that go to waste, because that is pork barrel spending.”
Patricia was trying to sort through the very confusing statement from Mrs. Palin. Sarah took this opportunity to take Patricia by surprise. Palin, rolling her feet towards her chest, kicked the end of the shovel and sent it flying through the air over Patricia's head. Sarah then unhinged her jaw like a snake, rose up, and devoured Mrs. Patricia Spillsmore whole. Sarah Palin swallowed down every inch of Mrs. Spillsmore, with the exception of her shoes, which she spit to the ground because Palin does not have a taste for shoes.
“Saving America from those with obscure associations to known domestic terrorists, one person at a time! That's why they call me the pit bull!” Palin said, followed by a small burp.
The Life and Tragic Death of Patricia Spillsmore
The 23rd of August started out like most 23rds of August for Mrs. Patricia Spillsmore. Patricia woke up around 5:30 in the morning, just as she did most every 23rd of August, and proceeded downstairs to cook her family their traditional 23rd of August breakfast extravaganza. On the way downstairs, Mrs. Spillsmore noticed, from the corner of her right eye, that her pool had collected a very large number of leaves and dead bugs. Patricia decided that once breakfast was ate, her husband ventured off to his pedestrian job selling raffle tickets at any and all geriatric functions, the kids were off to school, and the laundry was washed, dried, folded and put away, she would clean her pool with the large screen she had purchased just a week prior.
Breakfast went over without a hitch.
“Wow Mother!” The children exclaimed.
“Yes Dear, what a great breakfast!!! When I get home from work tonight, I'm going to plow you like a garden!” Her husband, Steven Howard Spillsmore III, said with a mouth full of sausage.
“Alright, Steve, that will be enough. Kids get your things and head to the bus stop. Steve, you best get to work before all your clients keel over dead”, Patricia said and after a rousing laugh she continued, “I've got the laundry to do, so best be on your way!”
With the house to herself, Patricia set to her housewifing duties joyously. After all her chores were completed, around 2:59 PM, Patricia ventured outside to give the pool a much needed goings over with the pool screen. Just as she reached the pool, the story of Patricia Spillsmore took an unfortunate and unforeseen turn.
You see, there were no trees in the Spillsmore’s back yard that were anywhere near the in ground swimming pool. However, as she approached, she noticed that the leaves were stacked at least a foot high off the water.
How could this be, Patricia wondered to herself.
Another startling discovery was made when she noticed that all of the bugs were still alive, and frantically buzzing around in frenzy.
“What the f...” she started to say as she slowly dipped her screen into the pool to remove the first layer of leaves and bugs.
She suddenly gasped as she removed a screen full and noticed that the water was stained red with blood. Immediately, bugs flocked to the revealed pool of blood, and it was covered again. Mrs. Spillsmore dropped the screen and covered her mouth. A musty, raunchy smell leaked out when she moved the leaves and bugs, and she suddenly felt sick. She ran to the side of the patio where she puked all over the yard. She puked so hard her eyes were watering, and her stomach was cramping. She puked so hard she fell to her knees and while she was puking, sounded like Grizzly bears in a fight over a bucket of honey! With each thrust, puke flew out of her mouth as she shook violently from the force of each blow. Finally, after about 10 minutes of straight puking, and 5 minutes of dry heaving, Patricia returned to her feet. As she stood, her neighbor rounded the corner of the 17 feet tall privacy fence which divided their properties.
It was Milda Spencer, the neighborhood friendly. She was like the kid in school who was always up in your business and wouldn't take a hint from anyone that she was hated by all. But Milda had a weird growth on her forehead, and nobody in the neighborhood had the heart to tell her off because of it.
“Howdy Patricia!” Milda greeted, “Do you need some help cleaning out your pool?”
“Umm...no Milda, I'm fine. Why don't you just go home, I'm not feeling well today,” Patricia replied.
“How'd ya get so many dern leaves in that pool? And where the sam blue blazes did all those bugs come from? And what's that God ridiculous smell? And why did you puke up something sick and rotted all over your yard? Why you sick anyways? You were fine yesterday. And why in the f...' Milda went on.
'”MILDA!' Patricia interrupted, “I don't know! Please, just leave me be for awhile! You’re, you're annoying!”
“Oh, well, alright then. I hope you feel better neighbor,” Milda mumbled in a sad tone and walked away like a dog with its tail between its legs.
Patricia slowly made her way back to the pool, picked up the screen net, and prepared herself for round 2.
“This calls for drastic measures.”
Just then Milda enormously smiled and peered over the fence.
“Need some help?” she asked again.
Patricia rolled her eyes and said, “Please go home! Okay? I’m sorry but I don’t need your help!”
Milda cheerfully smiled, uncomfortably chuckled, and disappeared behind the fence. Patricia made her way to the shed in the corner of her back yard and pulled out a gas mask, a pair of full sleeved gloves, and rolled out a 400 horse power sewage pump from inside. She tossed on her safety equipment, threw the huge black tube into the pool, and put the other end of the tube over Milda's fence.
“System engaged”, said Patricia as she switched on the ridiculously high powered sewage pump.
The machine made a noise that shook the entire neighborhood and the disgusting water was shooting all over Milda's back yard. Through the air flew entire raccoons, squirrels, and mice that had been torn to shreds by savage bugs that filled the pool.
Milda heard all the commotion coming from her back yard and looked out through her back sliding glass door.
“Oh goodness!” she exclaimed and threw open her door to try to redirect the hose pumping all her neighbors pool filth into her back yard.
Milda ran for the hose, slipped and fell on the grass as the force of the nasty water ripped off her clothes. She screamed loudly as the water devastated the rest of the neighborhood. Milda caught a ride on a wave of sludge over the next three yards and into a nearby neighbor’s back door where she landed on the lap of a man sitting in his living room.
As she sat perched, naked in his lap, the man's wife rounded the corner from their kitchen with a snack and asked, “Dear me, what’s that terrible smell?”
The woman saw Milda sitting on her husband’s lap unclothed. Milda smiled cheerfully with nasty pool residue in her mouth.
“Hi Maude, how are things?” Milda politely greeted.
Maude dropped her snack on the floor with her mouth wide open in shock. Her facial expression soon turned to anger as she stomped toward her husband, screamed out, “Walter!”, and smacked him in the face.
Meanwhile, back at the Spillsmore residence, Patricia had just finishing pumping her cesspool. She removed her gas mask and said, “That’s that!” Satisfied with her work, she dusted her hands by smacking them together. She let out a whistle as she began to roll the massive sewage pump back into her shed. But her song and dance was interrupted by an eruption of hisses and growls. Creepy noises filled the entire neighborhood beyond the privacy fence that surrounded her.
Mrs. Spillsmore ran in the tool shed and shut the door. She tried to escape the hisses and moans, but they only grew more intense as she huddled in the corner of the small shed. After about an hour of these weird noises going on, Patricia's fear gave way to annoyance and she decided it was time to end the nonsense. Patricia grabbed the shovel from the corner next to her and slowly headed out of her shed's door.
Cautiously Patricia approached the fence, and peering through a knot-hole she found something most unexpected. You see, Mrs. Spillsmore had thought the noises were coming from several different places, and possibly things, but all the sounds were originating from one source. There, standing in the yard beyond the fence, was 2008 Republican vice Presidential nominee Sarah Palin.
Sarah Palin was barbequing moose and drinking Molson, Canada's finest beer. Patricia gasped at the sight of the first woman nominee for a major political party, and this caught Mrs. Palin's attention.
“Oh, well hello there my little Joe Six Pack. Whatcha doin' over there?” Sarah asked.
Patricia did not answer Mrs. Palin's question, evoking a more aggressive assertion this time.
“Well Joe, I hope you aren't cohorting with any known domestic terrorists over there. ‘Cause, golly that just wouldn't be good. I had to take patriotic action on your neighbor over here, old Mr. Vincent Hindergooden, ‘cause he passed a known domestic terrorist in his car on the highway yesterday and, you see, he didn't flip him off. And that's not the kind of person we need living here in America”, Sarah Palin strolled to the fence as she recounted the events from the day before.
Patricia finally answered, “First off, my name is not Joe. Now you best tell me, Mrs. Palin, what you did with Mr. Hindergooden?”
“Tell you what Joe, why don't I just show you what I did with old Mr. Hindergooden?” Sarah said as she shoved a set of moose antlers through the fence between Mrs. Spillsmore and Mr. Hindergooden's yards.
The antlers grazed Patricia's face, cutting it slightly and drawing blood. A scream escaped Patricia's lips as she rolled back away from the fence.
“You see, Joe, my running mate and I are Mavericks. And we are reformers. So, why don't I show you how I reform by REFORMING YOUR FACE?!” Mrs. Palin screamed as she front flipped over the fence and threw the antlers above her head, preparing to strike.
As she brought the full force of the antlers down, Patricia rolled across the lawn. The antlers shattered as they hit the ground next to Mrs. Spillsmore. A sigh of relief escaped Patricia as Mrs. Palin's only weapon laid broken next to her.
“Oh, you little six packer, I wouldn't relax quite yet. I don't mean to toot my own horn, but when I took on corruption in Alaska's Oil companies things got pretty rough. And that's where I learned hand to hand combat, and how to be a maverick”, Sarah said with a wink as Patricia scrambled to her feet.
Just as Patricia had gained her balance, Mrs. Palin smoked her in the eye with a right cross. Patricia landed hard on the ground. Her jaw was shattered and her head was throbbing. Mrs. Spillsmore realized that when she landed on the ground, she had hit the side of her head on the shovel she had brought from the shed.
THE SHOVEL, that’s it! Patricia screamed to herself.
Patricia grasped the shovel firmly and jumped to her feet. Swinging wildly to stave off any incoming attacks from Mrs. Palin, Patricia moved forward. Sarah Palin made some sort of weird growling sound and lunged for Patricia throat. Patricia, knowing Mrs. Palin's reputation as a pit bull, had anticipated this and simple sat back biding her time. With Palin's lunged, Patricia drew back and smashed the shovel across her face, sending Sarah sprawling to the ground. Mrs. Spillsmore quickly moved
forward and pushed the shovel to Palin's throat.
“What's the meaning of all this?” Patricia desperately tried to catch her breath as she questioned Mrs. Palin.
“I'm just doin' my patriotic job. Ya know, defendin' the country from both, uh, you know, foreign and, uh, domestic, um, threats and enemies and all,” Palin answered in her annoying little folksy way.
“Why'd you fill my pool full of blood and dead animals?” Patricia pressed on with the questions.
“Well, ya see Joe, those animals have been known to associate with domestic terrorists. Those animals did not fulfill their patriotic duty. They did not stop the terrorists of the '60s while those criminals today were, ya know, walking the streets and heading to their, uh, jobs and exercising and going about their days like they weren't radicals from 40 years ago. So, again, I had to exercise MY patriotic duty and, ya know, take care of the animals for not taking care of folks like Joe the Plumber and Joe the Housewife. And most of the animals here were socialists as well, and that’s just not what America wants, those, um, socialist animals”, Sarah paused and then continued, “But ya know there Joe, that wasn't blood in your pool. No way, that was a red wine marinade. Ya see, as Governor of the United States only oil producing state, Alaska, we are teaching our children at a very young age to, um, not take the land around us for granted, uh, unless of course you can sell it for, ya know, billions of dollars. So we never let things like road kill or things like that go to waste, because that is pork barrel spending.”
Patricia was trying to sort through the very confusing statement from Mrs. Palin. Sarah took this opportunity to take Patricia by surprise. Palin, rolling her feet towards her chest, kicked the end of the shovel and sent it flying through the air over Patricia's head. Sarah then unhinged her jaw like a snake, rose up, and devoured Mrs. Patricia Spillsmore whole. Sarah Palin swallowed down every inch of Mrs. Spillsmore, with the exception of her shoes, which she spit to the ground because Palin does not have a taste for shoes.
“Saving America from those with obscure associations to known domestic terrorists, one person at a time! That's why they call me the pit bull!” Palin said, followed by a small burp.
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