You're all cwacking me up! Now time for a smooch scene! Help me out, won't you?

The moment they were in the Matterhorn car, Mr. George Cluny lay the sable blanket over their knees and feet.

As she snuggled back into that broad warm chest he leaned in to whisper softly ....loser...as their lips met!

And he deftly and quickly loosened the seatbelt that held 3894 fast, imwardly smiling as they rapidly approached the wicked curve at the top of the crest.......

3894's hand tightened on the chinchilla lap robe. If she was going to land in the submarine lagoon, so was his $150K fur.

And her dream ended in the same way. Clooney sailed on as out she flew, gathered in safely by the strong and ready arms of the always slightly puzzled Mr. Boynton.

Apparently, I must be more generous with my Mojo before I can give any to Wendybeth. ;)


Oh! Congratulations, Helen!!! Welcome to loserdom!

She stood, waiting, looking at the pile of timber in the yard. Why had she trusted the velvet tongue of the travelling salesman?

She was weak. His glib words and flattering phrases had let her guard down. He had pressed himself on her, and her lips gave way to his. Now the deed had been done and the error made. It was time to pay the piper.

"You say you bought WHAT, Helen?" her husband said in amazement

"Fence-posts. One THOUSAND posts."

"Loser."

Her words echoed in the sudden silence. All eyes were on this place in time, this threshold, this Post.

The reverberations ended, and the hall burst into applause. Dozens, then hundreds of hands, all clapping, the noise in echoes dissolving into an almost clacking noise, a clacking of deft keyboard movements. Congratulations sounded in the voice of these hands, in empathic dialogue and semicolons paired with end parentheses, in the rooms of her beloved colleagues across the world.

Congratulations, Helen. ;)