tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1649891970807516812024-03-13T04:00:14.345-07:00Kimberly Lloyd writesKimberly Lloydhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17494119124005560724noreply@blogger.comBlogger3125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-164989197080751681.post-17020930758942283732017-04-04T18:30:00.001-07:002017-04-04T18:30:05.757-07:00Gods, I miss social media. I feel uprooted without Twitter and Facebook.Kimberly Lloydhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17494119124005560724noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-164989197080751681.post-92160515714177687302017-03-16T12:03:00.003-07:002017-03-16T12:03:24.962-07:00I'm still pretty proud of this Harry Potter fan-fiction I wrote last year. Working on a new one now, but you can read the completed one on <a href="https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12096590/1/Mr-Slughorn-or-How-He-Learned-to-Stop-Worrying-and-Love-Slytherin">FanFiction.net</a>.Kimberly Lloydhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17494119124005560724noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-164989197080751681.post-69284900025041950572017-01-12T14:41:00.000-08:002017-01-25T10:15:26.508-08:00Odor-geddonMarch 4, 2018<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Mr. President!”<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“This better be important, Brett.”<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“It’s Brent, sir. There’s an emergency that requires your presence in the situation room.”<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Let me finish tweeting about CNN’s ratings. SAD!”<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Mr. President, this is urgent!”<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Keep your pants on. I’ll tweet while we walk there. Give me the basics on the way.”<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“There’s been a chemical attack. We have reports coast-to-coast of powder falling from the sky.”<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Don’t tell me Vlad is behind this! He’s a great man, he recognizes my genius.”<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“We don’t know who is behind it, Mr. President. We also haven’t identified what the substance is, or what effects it could have on our people. We have prepared a statement for you to read in an address to the nation to help calm the people.”<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“You know I hate teleprompters, Brett.”<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Yes, sir, but think about how this could improve your popularity.”<br />
<br />
March 5, 2018<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Mr. President, you need to return to the situation room.”<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“About the powder? If the experts don’t have anything new to say, I don’t need to be there. I’m smart, I don’t need to hear the reruns.”<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Mr. President, the powder continues to fall. We’ve confirmed that this is a worldwide phenomenon, and we still haven’t determined the source. Americans are reporting flu-like symptoms and we’re worried this might be akin to anthrax.”<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Great band, Brandt. ‘Caught in the Moss’ is GREAT.”<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“It’s Brent, sir, and it’s ‘Caught in a Mosh.’ We need to discuss nationwide clinics to dispense antibiotics, and determine if we have enough doses for everyone.”<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Let me check which pharmaceutical companies my kids have stock in. We could make millions!”<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Sir, we need to distribute the medication immediately.”<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Fine, we can always bill folks later.”<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“That is magnanimous of you, sir.”<br />
<br />
April 19, 2018<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Mr. President--”<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Oh, it’s Downer Brad, interrupting my lunch. How are you going to say today that I’m not making the country great?”<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“It’s Brent, sir. And we need to talk about how our cleanup efforts are failing.”<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“You mean ‘drain the swamp?’ Look, that was just for ratings and poll numbers.”<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Jesus, sir, no! Cleanup of the toxic powder!”<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Don’t take the Lord’s name in vain, Brad. I might have to sit through church again for my base.”<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Sir, you have to hear our toxicologists. We are unable to identify the powder.”<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Speaking of unidentified, is this really chicken? It’s so bland, someone forgot the eleven herbs and spices. I am definitely tweeting the Colonel about this.”<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Sir, the powder is sticking to everything. Buildings, animals, trees. We can’t vacuum it up or dilute it in water. Containment appears impossible and we’re going to have to focus on mitigation of the side effects.”<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Side effects? You mean those silly little sniffles?”<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“No, Mr. President. I mean everything from anosmia to renal failure. The health experts--”<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Insomnia? People are having trouble sleeping? Pussies, I get only a few hours a night.”<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“No, anosmia. It’s--”<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Anemia? Is that what my wife gets some months when she’s bleeding out her whatever?”<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“ANOSMIA, Mr. President. The inability to smell. It’s the most widespread side effect. It may explain why your fried chicken isn’t satisfying. If you can’t smell, you can’t taste much.”<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Hogwash. I have the best nose, a huge nose!”<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“No argument here, sir.”<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“YUGE!”<br />
<br />
May 30, 2018<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Mr. President--”<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Brock, come here! Tell the chef he’s fired. This taco bowl tastes like ash. If you don’t speak Hispanic, get a translator.”<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“It’s Brent, sir. I need you to discuss the possibility of martial law with Congress.”<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Martian law? You mean there really are men on Mars? I knew I’d get to learn all the fun stuff in this job!”<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“MARTIAL law. It means that we are facing a rioting population, which somehow didn’t happen when you were elected, but has now that everyone has permanent anosmia as well as ageusia, the loss of taste.”<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Permanently? What does this mean for my restaurants?”<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Finally, I have your attention. The restaurant industry has collapsed. So have the perfume and scented candle companies. But at this point, the economy is the least of our worries.”<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“What could be more important? I ran my campaign on bringing back prosperity!”<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“That you did, Mr. President. But the soaring death rate has to be our priority.”<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“More dead. That’s BAD. Is it the, what was it, kidney trouble?”<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“I … I had no idea you listened to me when I said that, Mr. President. I am moved.”<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Truthfully, Brock, I didn’t. The foxy blonde on the cable show told me.”<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Yes, sir, that makes sense. Renal disease is killing plenty of people, but suicides are increasing at a faster rate.”<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“LOSERS! Offing themselves because they can’t stuff their mouths with Oreos? Speaking of fatties, what happened to that guy who endorsed me after his own campaign tanked?”<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“He was one of the victims, sir. He left behind a note saying, ‘Death by Chocolate did not kill me. Death by Chocolate Now Tastes Like Chalk did.”<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Hah! Tubby finally made a zinger.”<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“It’s not just your colleague, Mr. President. Thousands of people of all sizes have ended their lives. It turns out Americans don’t have a love affair with food; they have an abusive codependency. More are dying of food poisoning. They are washing down rotten meat with sour milk; we don’t know if they can’t tell the difference or if the bitterness is the only taste they have left. Nutritionists believe those who aren’t actively ending their lives will end up malnourished and possibly starved to death. We need to restore public confidence. Your tweets and victory rallies aren’t cutting it.”<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“We need to bomb whoever did this, Brock! That will rally the people, getting revenge!”<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Sir, we don’t know who did this, and we’re running out of people who could investigate. The government is running on a skeleton crew, no pun intended.”<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“So let’s bomb someone else, someone BAD. They may not have done this, but they’ve done other stuff, and later I’ll blame the intel. If we can’t taste our tacos, then they can’t taste their kimchi or hummus or whatever they eat.”<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Mr. President, your plan is as insipid as your meal.”<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Thank you, Brock, I agree it’s inspired. Get me my nuclear football.”<br />
<br />
July 4, 2018<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Mr. President, I need a moment of your time.”<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Brick! Call the nerd squad. I can’t get Twitter working and the television is just static!”<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“It’s Brent, sir. That’s because infrastructure has collapsed. Between the suicides, homicides, your indiscriminate bombing and the retaliation, Americans are now fending for themselves in anarchy. Without a system of agriculture, people are hoarding what food they have and stealing what they can from others. To say nothing of the cannibal cults.”<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Carnival cults? People who love state fairs too much?”<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Mr. President, if there were any audiologists left, I would suggest having your hearing checked. People are eating other people. There’s a widespread rumor that you get your sense of taste back by eating a human heart and shouting, ‘It tastes like chicken!’”<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Have you ever wondered what you would taste like with a side of fava beans, Brick?”<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Sir, this is my resignation letter, effective immediately. You may not recognize the signature since my fucking name is Brent.”<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“You’re quitting? You coward, running away!”<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Yes, sir. My sister married a Virginia prepper. I’ll trade room and board there for scratch-’n-sniff stickers. Folks consider them holy relics heralding the days when sanity returns with our sense of smell. Goodbye, Mr. President.”<br />
<br />
February 13, 2038<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Gramma Brent, what was tasting like?”<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“It’s Grandpa Brent, honey, and it’s hard to explain. Imagine you woke up one morning, and the sun was gray. The walls were gray. Your hair was gray. That’s what losing taste was like -- all color drained out of the world, but on your tongue.”<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Your tongue was big enough to hold the whole world?”<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“You could have pieces of the world on your tongue, and it was marvelous. Borscht, Vegemite, gojuchang, injera. Paprikash and pierogis. Marsala and masala.”<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Those are funny words, Gramma.”<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Gramps, and yes, they were funny and beautiful. That was back when we had food besides powdered cockroach and bean paste.”<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“But we do have other food! You are eating Hot Slurry, and I am eating Crunchy Bits in Cold Liquid! That’s two kinds right there, Gramma!”<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“How about calling me Pee-Paw or Pop-Pop? Our meals may have different temperatures and textures, but they are made of the same stuff. In the old days, I would be eating Cream of Wheat, and you would be having some sugary breakfast cereal that I would pretend rotted your teeth. They would taste different even if you crushed and served them at room temperature.”<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“That’s silly, Gramma Brent. Why did you old people ruin the world over that?”<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“It’s … Shut up and eat your Crunchy Bits.”<br />
<br />
<br />
**END**<br />
<br />
p.s. Special thanks to Erin Lynn Jeffreys Hodges whose writing continues to inspire me.Kimberly Lloydhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17494119124005560724noreply@blogger.com0