Friday Night Drabble Party!

Spring break, bitches!

Yep, I will be heading down to FLA on Sunday to go party it up!

Okay, okay, I’ll actually be in the minivan with the Fam for most of Sunday as we go see my sister and then head out to see some friends where more than likely I will end up napping in a lounge chair for most of the week.

Spring break napping, bitches!

That’s how I roll.

In honor of spring break, and the fact that I will not be posting next week because of the HARDCORE NAPPING, I am giving you all a little blast from the past. I have pulled out one of my first paid submissions: The Seven Deadly Drabbles!

This collection of drabbles was originally produced by the Drabblecast way back in ’09 (’08?) and I’m pretty proud of it. Shit, Pride is one of the sins. Dammit.

Anyhoo, I hope you dig them and learn something from these little tidbits or morality. Just remember, when you are busy slurping Jell-O shots from a co-ed’s cleavage, you are putting your immortal soul in danger. Not to mention the sanitation issues of sucking stuff from other people’s bodies. Ewww, gross.



The Seven Deadly Drabbles
Jake Bible


“Just How Safe Is Imported Food, And What Can You Do About It?” the headline ran.

I don’t know, he thought. What can I do about it?

He took the second to last bite of his imported prosciutto, fresh mozzarella and olive tapenade panini while scanning the article.

“Wow,” he said aloud. “There really isn’t much I can do.”

“That’s right, bitch,” his Italian sandwich snapped. “Not a goddamn thing.”

He felt the fever build and saw glorious colors before his eyes. How could such a delicious sandwich be so mean?, he thought, finishing the last bite before satiated oblivion.


When Alan turned his back to the shower head to rinse the shampoo from his hair, his penis couldn’t help but notice the new guy, Fernando, walking into the locker room showers.

Wow, his penis thought, when he saw the new guy’s member. Now that’s a shlong.

Alan turned back around to face the shower wall, grabbed a bar of soap and started lathering his crotch with it.

I could never live up to that, his penis thought while enduring the sudsy onslaught. Why even bother anymore? What’s the freakin’ point?

Alan’s penis sighed, depressed, and peed in the drain.


Betty waited all afternoon with the blanket in her hands, waiting for Tommy to come home.

When the door creaked open, she pounced, pulling the blanket over Tommy, pinning his arms to his side. He cried out in surprise.

Although Tommy was bigger, Betty used her momentum to knock her brother’s legs out from under him and slam him to the floor. Keeping him pinned, Betty yanked Tommy’s shoes and socks off and pulled a large, white feather from her back pocket.

“Make me pee my pants, will ya!” she cried, as she set to work on his exposed feet.


Cade and Worthington stood on the edge of the building and watched as millions below fornicated. The entire city was in the streets, naked and writhing in one last gasp of carnal passion.

“Damn! Look at ‘em go,” Worthington said, slapping his knee. He turned to look at Cade and narrowed his eyes in suspicion.

“What? What are you looking at?” he asked.

“My date for the End Of Days,” Cade grinned, licking his lips invitingly.

“Okay, but I get tops this time,” Worthington sighed.

The demons joined hands and stepped off the roof to join the horny hordes below.


“Ten pounds of flesh,” Boltstone said, without taking his eyes from his work.

“What?” Damascus replied. “That’s insane.”

Boltstone looked up from his ledger and set his pen down. He pulled off his reading glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. Setting his spectacles aside, he glared at Damascus.

“Price went up,” Boltstone growled.

Damascus started to object, but feeling the stares from those in the infinite line behind him, he angrily flipped open his courier’s bag and grabbed two bloody, dripping muslin bags. He slapped them on the counter and huffed away.

“Next,” Boltstone sighed, replacing his glasses.


“Holy crap dude, you’re a freaking zombie!” Jessup cried.

“Bite me,” Mort snapped back.

“No, dude, seriously, you’re a zombie. Flesh eating undead and all, man,” Jessup pressed. “You should really see yourself. You ain’t looking so hot.”

Mort glared at his best friend. “You know what, Jessup? I am really sick and tired of your bullshit.”

“Fine, whatever, dude. I’m outta here. I’ll call ya later.” Jessup grabbed his brown hoody and crawled out Mort’s bedroom window. “Just don’t let ‘em catch you outside, okay?”

Mort watched him leave, then flung his mother’s half-eaten brains at the window.



Reynolds wept from the pain. The Captain had warned him. The Chief Medical Officer had warned him. Hell, the fat ass Chief Engineer had warned him.

“Work out in full G at least three times a day or your muscles will atrophy,” everyone said.

Reynolds didn’t like full G; weightlessness was bliss and why leave bliss?

When the ship entered orbit and full G was forced upon all compartments as part of the re-entry protocol, Reynolds’ legs had snapped almost instantly from lack of use and supporting muscle.

He stared up at the intercom, four impossible feet above him.




Disclaimer: Morality is in the eye of the beholder.

Posted on March 27, 2015, in Friday Night Drabble Party and tagged , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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