Legal Theft: Torture (445 Words)

And so begins the longest five days of my life.  I’ve never been good at waiting.  Never have, never will.  As much as I might hate to associate with the Me generation, I do want my instant gratification five minutes ago.  I have things to do, people to see, places to go.  Sure, knowing now would only take me on to the next stage of waiting, but at least I know what I’m waiting for.  Will I spend the next few years slowly driving myself towards the insane asylum on the edge of town or will I live long enough in this world to see my dreams come to fruition.  Okay, I’ll stop being a philosopher now (or trying to anyway), but seriously will my Monday be spent celebrating or moping, trying to pretend my hopes weren’t up.  In a week and a half, I want to know if I will be donning as much of my most hated color or putting on another of my favorite pair of black pants.  In two and a half weeks, I could be giggling and splurging, but I secretly long to sweat, bleed and cry that day.

I squirm, I squeal, I practice my newfound yen for telekenesis to speed up clocks.  Or maybe I need time control for that (is there even a word for that).  I type out long-winded sentences, delete them and repeat, searching for the words to ease my bubbling mind.  I look errantly for the odd movie I might not have seen and could hold my attention for me to lose track of three hours.  I put on my fanciest dress while I Google Map the nearest IHOP and draft text messages to the nearest friends who would do the same.  I calculate the hours between here and Wyoming and wonder if boredom via car is better or worse than getting lost in a book for days, but looking up and realizing it’s still Friday.  My pillow sings songs of surrender to the world of no clocks or calendars, but my dreams taunt me with unreachable cell phones, lost internet connections and missed conversations.

And then the minutes pass, the hours stretch to days, five becomes three, three will become one and I will continue on my sanity rollercoaster waiting until I do know, but dammit woman, why can’t your world run on my schedule?  And then I remember who this is and faint slowly into the sweet oblivion of lost time, taunting realistic dreams and quadruple awakenings each night via cat-meet-face-meet-claw…

And then the author stopped trying to be a bad third -person philosopher and took her poor, tortured soul to bed…


Legal Theft: Circumlocutional (548 Words)

He took the hint slowly, turning back toward the door.  There was a bright pink note on his back:
(and an idiot, cause I STILL haven’t noticed this sign)

You snorted, trying not to laugh, and clapped your hand over your mouth, hoping he wouldn’t notice. You followed him to the door. Just as he stepped out, you grabbed the note and slammed the door behind him, hoping that he wouldn’t notice the wild rustling paper coming off his back.  With your back to the door, you listened to make sure he continued on down the hall.  Then you noticed the other side of the note:

Aww… you’re a nice person! You took this note off his back. You could have left it on a bit longer, stalked him, taken it off when you had somewhere you needed to be. It wouldn’t have hurt him any.
But you’re a nice person. So, I guess I have to follow the example of my fellow members of the Excellent League and Sisterhood of the Silent. Here’s my first line:
He handled frenzied leviathans and royal messengers with equal insouciance.
            We’re having pizza tonight if you want to come out anyway.
            -Captain Carpenter

You sank to the floor, laughing for the next ten minutes.

As your laughing slowly subsides, you begin to think about your line.  the grin and watery eyes are slowly taken over by a cringe as you realize you almost have to look up three of the words in a ten word sentence.  Okay, that was an exaggeration; you knew leviathans from that one cartoon movie that kept you sane through college; and it was frenzied.  Okay, well there were crazy whales and annoying mailmen that a man felt… something about.  Insouciance though, surely that was a word you should know from english class or even GRE vocab studies, but right now, nothing came to mind.

A quick jaunt over to Google provided you with the answer that the man was quite aloof about both loch ness monsters and singing telegrams.  Making a mental note to slap the Captain when you headed over for pizza later, you returned again to the online information superhighway, specifically and attempted to compose a composition as unintelligble as possible.  For the elementary amusement of aggravating the Smarmy Cad.

You ensured an abundance of letters and the unmannerly and foolish operation of unnecessary words.  By the terminus of the requested creation, you had unearthed that the foundation of the gentleman’s indifference was based in antidisestablishmentariastic qualities (I mean, how could you not include that word?) compounded with senescence amid the expanse of Davy Jones’ locker.  His previous, however failed, courtship of a pulchritudinous mademoiselle was also supplemental to his emotionlessness in his continuing respiration.  Adventuring further into antiquity, clinging firmly to his antediluvian principles was the only way he knew how to endure the persecution known as life.  But eventually, the elderly veteran sailor discovered love once more in the finite craftsmanship of eggshell carving.  Residing the remainder of his days in his hermitage, several chickens for company, he whittled the delicate shells into captivating designs.  He thought nothing of his pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis, fondly of aequeosalinocalcalinosetaceoaluminosocupreovitriolic waters, longingly of eating aopadotenachoselachogaleokranioleipsanodrinhipotrimmatosilphioparaomelitok-atakechymenokichlepikossyphophattoperisteralektrionoptekephalliokigklopeleiolagoi-osiraiovaphetraganopterygon again and slowly became an ornicopytheobiblopsychocrystarroscioaerogenethliometeoroaustrohieroanthropoi- cichthyopyrosiderochpnomyoalectryoophiobotanopegohydrorhabdocrithoaleuroalphi-tohalomolybdoclerobeloaxinocoscinodactyliogeolithopessopscphocatoptrotephraoeir-ochiroomychodactyloarithstichooxogeloscogastrogyrocerobletonooenoscapulinaniac.

Legal Theft: Home Sweet Home (557 Words)

For Darryn, who had grown up in the enclosure of the mountains, standing on the edge of the ocean was dizzying in the worst way.  “I think I need to sit down,” he muttered, turning from the captivating in-and-out of the tides and plopping on a plastic lounge chair a few feet away.

A cute brunette on the next chair glanced up from her book, laughing softly.  “Why did you even want to come here if you’re going to spend our whole vacation pacing between the water and your chair?”

“Well, I didn’t expect it to be so…”

“Flat?” Darryn’s wife offered with a smirk, “At zero feet sea level, you didn’t expect to see so much of the sea?”

“…yeah?” Darryn said, more for something to say than for any realization of how sheepish he would feel.  “I don’t know… you know, people always come around talking about the ocean and how relaxing a beach is and all that.  And I figured if I was ever going to go anywhere outside of Ardedge, I thought I should see the ocean.  I just didn’t expect it to be so… endless.”

Amelia set her book down and shifted over to Darryn’s chair, putting a hand on his shoulder.  “What is it you see?  I watch you and half the time you look like a kid staring up at the stars and then you suddenly look depressed.”

Darryn let out a hollow laugh, sighed and attempted to explain.  “It’s hard to tell, but it’s like I look out and I try to find the edge, see how far I can see, see if there’s an end.  And it’s almost like I can see the end of the world.  Like back when they thought the world was flat and you could fall off the edge way out there.  No matter how endless you think anything is, everything ends.  The water always pulls away from my toes again and again.  Not even the tides are a constant, they’re always coming in or going out.  Ending.”  He sighed again and stared off at the shimmering water.  Slowly, a smile crept onto his face and he turned to Amelia again.  “And then I look out again and I see how eternal it all is.  The constancy of it, how the tides will always come back in, the waves will continue.  the water will always be there.  It’s the rock in the relationship of thew world.  I see how no matter how long humans last on the world, there ocean will always be here, swirling on.  It’s endless, eternal… timeless.”

Amelia smiled, rubbing his shoulder.  “I never knew you could be so deep,” she said, and there was a slight almost sarcasm in her voice that Darryn couldn’t quite identify.

“What do you see?” he asked in turn.

“I think it’s romantic,” she said and kissed him gently.  “What does it make you want to do?” she asked, huskily, staring up at him through her eyelashes.

Darryn glanced out at the ocean one last time, feeling overwhelmed, hopeful, depressed, captivated and buoyant.  Turning back to his beautiful wife, he could only think of one thing and spoke the truth, “it makes me want to go home!”

Legal Theft: Think Pink (496 Words)

Catherine surveyed the room, little pink feathers, bits of duct tape and other hot pink detritus covering the room, Lady GaGa blaring from the speakers, “So you’re ready then?”  Catherine turned, spewing a few loose boa feathers as she did, and spread her arms for Allison to see.  Allison nodded in appreciation; Catherine had managed to turn her shadbelly and breeches into a veritable 50’s flapper dress mixed with a bridal shower gone wrong.

“How does it look?  Gaga enough?”

Allison nodded, laughing, “I think you’ve got her down pat.  Crowd favorite anyone?”

“With what Brian did last year to Party Rock, I’m not sure I can measure up to that… I just don’t look as good as he does in lingerie.”

They both grinned, remembering the fun they’d had at least year’s performance when the world-class rider had shown up and kicked things up a notch.  “Crowd favorite” and “internet sensation” didn’t quite do him justice.  “Well, I heard Jessica’s doing Pink this year, but her corset and wig will have nothing on your outfit… assuming you don’t start molting.”

“That is questionable, but that just means I’ll leave a permanent mark of my presence- feather bits and glitter.  Is Aura all ready?”  Catherine asked, turning back around to unplug her iPod.

“Well, I thought we got him pink enough, but looking at you, we might have to do him up some more,” Allison nodded, having just finished braiding miles of ribbon, painting with glitter glue and Googling whether or not pink house paint could be applied to horses without ill effects.  “He’s got his poker face on and is ready to get this bad romance to get underway.”

“All right, I’ve got to get to warm-up.  Are the octorille riders still in there?”  Catherine asked, grabbing her pink gloves and rhinestoned helmet and followed Allison out the door.

“They are, but Jose and Amelia are finishing up their La Garrocha routine, then the Pink Squad is up.  You’ve got them and three other freestyles before you get to go wake the audience up.”

Catherine nodded, heading down the aisle towards the partner she had taken to the Olympics, World Games and numerous other countries, competing at the highest level, but tonight was for something entirely different.  Whether it was more for charity or just for the fun of it, the chance to dress up like this and be this insane for one night a year with no shame, she didn’t know.  But it was time for 10th annual PVDA Ride for Life Dancing Horse Challenge and it was so worth it!

There should be some blurbity blah about the Legal Theft Project here and how Awesome it it, but I’ll get to it later.  Up two days late because… well, wanna guess where I was?  Seriously, it is that crazy, just google it!  But at 4 hours of sleep last night and getting up at 4am tomorrow, I’ll just leave you with a few pics…


UPDATE: Catherine Haddad-Staller’s AWESOME ride to Pink!  Watch the full ride here:

Legal Theft: The Race (414 Words)

“Just get to London. Everything will fall into place if you get to London.”

“That’s really all it said?”

“Yeah, really.  Here, look: race envelope, one piece of paper.  With that on it.”

“There’s no money either… this has got to be a joke.”

“Are we supposed to interrogate the cameraman?  Hey Tom!”

“Imma smack you.”

“Nice Lanie, but I’m guessing that’s a no for the camera guy.”

“No.  Now c’mon, we’re Amazing Racers, we can figure this out…”

“Yeah, well, in all the seasons I’ve seen, they’ve never done something like this.  What the hell?”

“Is this one of those specialy-ecialty clues then, with a riddle or something?”

“What kind of riddle is that?  It says ‘go to London.'”

“Well, like… uh… if they mean, go to the London section of Disneyworld or something?”

“Right, with no money and an oddly specific vague clue?”


“I don’t think I like your plan very much.  How did we get in last place half way through the first episode anyway?”

“a) You know we don’t live in episodes right; b) I think if someone hadn’t felt an overwhelming need to steal an airport golf cart to ‘get ahead,’ we might be a little farther along and c) how easy do you think it is to hitchhike to London?”

“I’m going to pointedly ignore those first two, but I can’t quite resist the urge to tell you you’re going to need bigger maracas if you think you’re going to be able to hitchhike onto a plane.”

“I’ll work on that for you.”

“Okay, well… what state are we in again?”


“Okay… Disneyland doesn’t have countries, right?  But… Universal Studios had some cities or towns or something in it, didn’t it?”

“You could try asking someone for help?  Try Bob.”

“Ask who- the cactus?  …Please don’t tell me you named the cactus Bob.”

“Yuh huh!  Hey Bob, how’s it going?  Wanna hug?”


“Aside from scaring off all indigenous life in the county, was that much of a plan?”

“….no.  But you never know who might be around.  You know what?  Don’t judge me.”

“In the words of drunk Richard?”


“Hey girls?  I just got a call from our producer and from what I could get around the static it was something about a ‘bad prank’ and ‘disgruntled former employee.'”

“That’s original… so are we supposed to go to California-London or London-London?”

“Man this is gonna make good tv!”

I’m The Babbling Buzzard and I approve this message.  Legal Theft Project info blabbity blabbity blah…. you know what?  it’s a hour past my bed time, do you know where your blogger is?  In my sleep deproved state, I was curious to see how much I could get across with just dialogue… let me know how confusing it is?  More to come later…. let the insanity fly!

Legal Theft: Medieval Shakespeare (777 Words)

Sliding into a cocky pose, she cracked the whip over with a smooth flick, “Kneel before your goddess!”  Her eyes widened as a silvery stallion came trotting out of the mist a hundred feet in front of her, stopped, and slowly lowered himself down onto both front knees.  He was late.  And she desperately wanted to throw a glare at her new stage manager, but stayed in character and eyed her subjects.  She had even caught a few of the audience members stoop before they had remembered they were in a dinner theater and should instead clap and take pictures.

Shauna paused for the clapping to cede, let people grab a few more shots of her impressive silhouette against the red curtain, then strode forward.  She had learned how to rock her hips in a rhythm as to get her dark purple tailcoat to swish and sway just so, earning some appropriate ahh’s from the audience.  And with some well-times whip cracks, some fast and loose riding and more than a couple flashy tricks, Shauna had long perfected the opening act of Magic of Medieval Theatre’s entertainment 6 nights a week.  They were a cheap knock of of good dinner theatres like Medieval Times and the like, but in someplace like Emporia, Kansas, there was little else to do, and the owners scraped by.  At the junction of two highways, where the number of lost and bored travelers was above average, they made enough to keep their horses fed and paid Shauna enough she didn’t have to grab some part-time hours at the strip club down the road anymore.

Shauna wasn’t big on The Big City Life, and though staying in a smaller town would be better.  She had wandered the country for a few years before finally settling, well, as much as she could anyway, here in Kansas where the daily excitement was counting the tumbleweeds.  She had started out with some odd grounds jobs around the place, sweeping up chicken bones and soda cups, and collected the loose change people were sure to drop around the ticket booth.  Eventually she moved on from making out with the knights behind the barn to befriending the head trainer and falling in love with Surrey, the grey stallion.

Five years later and she still hadn’t moved on like she said she would, and had even caught herself buying home decor in Wal-Mart a few weeks ago – a terrible omen.  Shauna finished her act with ease and led Surrey back to the barn with a fingertip as Richard jogged up to her.  A few incredulous questions and eyebrow raises later, Shauna was counting the minutes until the show was over.  Apparently the owners had decided to sell out completely, including auctioning off all the horses, bulldozing the land and getting what price they could for all the spare parts and materials.  “You’re leaving next week, packing up and riding off into the sunset then?”  Richard asked, playing off a joke she’d made for years, but this definitely wasn’t how she thought she’d feel when it finally came time to leave.  She felt like a fish breathing air, apprehension at packing up and finding someplace new- sometime in the middle of one of her thousand tales, she had fallen in love with a king… or rather, a kingdom, however cheesy it might really be.

Instead of itching to get home and pack, she was itching to double check her numbers in her savings ledger.  She kissed Surrey on the nose as she glanced at her watch for the hundredth time, wondering how much money the owners were hoping to get from the horses.  She bounced between wildly high and wildly low estimates and prayed she could at least find a way to keep her four-legged friend.  Richard caught her time-check again and made a shooing motion with his hands, “oh go on already, I’ll cover for you.  Just be back in half an hour all right?”

Forty-five minutes later, Shauna had a handful of every last dollar bill she could track down and in search of the owners of her newly-recognized haven.  She passed Richard in the aisle and pointed towards the back.  She put the swivel in her hips, jutted out her chin and prepared to fight.  A beaming, yet totally-in-shock Shauna to exit the office if certainly not what Nate expected, but went with it, “I’m thinking I’ll never believe what you’re about to tell me,” Richard half-asked, unsure of what was to come.

“A horse, a horse…” Shauna almost sang and planted a huge kiss on Richard’s lips.

A week later, they unveiled the new sign, “Under New Management: My Kingdom for a Horse Theatre”

There should be a tag here telling you how awesome the Legal Theft Project is and where to find more of it, but it’s 1am and this author is TIRED (in case you couldn’t tell with that super-quick wrap-up of the end of the story) and is going to scrape what little beauty sleep she can out of the remaining hours….

Legal Theft: Craigscaller (480 Words)

Cass’ muscles twitched their ingrained response as the muffled buzz of her phone shook her bag.  The first few days had been fun, but the game had moved swiftly into frustrating abut 27 calls ago.  For her birthday, Cass’ best friend Val had put a bunch of fake ads up on Craigslist with her number.  Cass had gotten a few dozen voicemails of bad pirate-y accents, a few calls about the ten-pound prize-winning banana, and numerous text messages asking if the roulette table car rims were still available.  And aside from the miscellaneous salacious activities solicitors that grabbed the phone number as well, it was all good fun.  Cass and Val had even answered a few calls and texts for some extra hilarity, but three days later, with calls still coming in and the percentage of dirty dialers increasing, the honeymoon was over.

Val had taken all of the ads down, but the calls just kept coming during history class, in the middle of the library and while she was trying to call her mother each evening.  She had even accidentally barked out “The gilded moose head has been sold and the Pikachu mascot job has been filled, now stop calling me!” to one of her friends, not having looked at the caller ID beforehand. Cass stabbed at her chicken a little more violently than was necessary, the fork making an awful squeal against the plate,

Val grimaced from across the kitchen table as she heard the phone vibrating too, “I’m sorry, Cass.  If I had known…” she stopped in the middle of the apology she had offered a hundred times already.

Cass smiled gently, “It’s okay Val, really.  I just wish there was a way we could shut them all up while managing to get one more laugh out of it too.”

“Hm…” Val said around a carrot as she gave Cass a knowing smile.  Or rather, a smile Cass knew to be quite dangerous given the right conditions.

Within 24 hours, there was a warning post up on the site and several replies followed.  With a little coordination and Val’s phone on speaker, Cass was free of her kinky callers.

“Whatever you think you’re calling this number for, it ain’t it!  This number is really for some college switchboard!  Fake ad!”
“Re: Fake ad:  What do you mean switchboard?  I though it was a ps hotline and I got a friggin’ COP!”
“Re: Re: Fake ad: Dude, what the heck?  I got some telemarketer chick who wouldn’t let me hang up ’til I told her how I felt about my long-distance carrier!”
“Re: Re: Re: Fake ad: Alright, seriously, never call this number, I got some message that said my number has now been added to the Disney Kids phone call update service!  Oh god, how do I unsubscribe??”

I stole this first line from the awesome blogger over at Go there tomorrow to see her original story with this line.  Check back here tomorrow to see my original story, the first line of which was stolen from me by an equally awesome blogger – see what she did here:

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