by Alice Folkart
I'm more than tired of the games that have been played with my name all my life, from kindergarten through grad school: 'Rabbit – grab it,' 'Rabbit Stew Who are You?' 'Run, Rabbit, Run – let's have some fun,' 'Fun Bunny,' 'Bunnie Buns,' and now, 'Dr. Bunny' and the honorable 'Dr. Jessica R. Rabbit, head of the College of Letters and Sciences,' never mind about what happens at Easter. It doesn't help that I bear a close resemblance to the more expensive Barbie Doll models; not my fault that I have beauty, brains and an incredibly stupid name thanks to the poor language skills of the intake clerk who filled out the reception papers when great grandpa Rabinowitz arrived at Ellis Island – Abraham Rabinowitz, a respected Rabbi in Gdansk, became Abraham Rabbit, and Rabbits we have remained; and Rabbit I will be until I marry. Aye, there's the rub -- I love Dr. Howard Hutch, dean of Science and Technology, the man of my dreams, a man who likes to eat orange sherbet in bed and who has to taught me all of the secret ways in which orange sherbet can be enjoyed, and he loves me; but because of my standing in the international academic community, my many scholarly monographs, my three books on the Middle English poets, I really should retain my own name, or at least hyphenate and become, Oh My God, Jessica Rabbit-Hutch. Well, you say, why not? Good question. Okay, okay, I've made it this far with a ridiculous name; I've got a wonderful man who is incredibly creative with orange sherbet (and who knows what other flavors), a superb career, and I can have the perfect life regardless of how silly my name is; but, Howie wants kids, kids who will get plenty of orange and maybe carrot sherbet, kids that we will not name: Peter, Flopsy or Jemima.
6S - C2
Alice Folkart is a self-described "newbie." (Welcome!)
20070921
Orange Sherbet and Jessica Rabbit
by Angela Pitt
As he peered through the binoculars, Valiant shook his head. Why a dame like Jessica married that schmuck was beyond him; what did the guy have? He wasn't even a guy, he was, well... a rabbit for crap sake. Valiant had seen her act; she had a nice voice, all sultry and smoky... stirring. Now, as he watched her feed the rabbit orange sherbet, he wished he was on the receiving end of that spoon - he saw her lean over and lick some sherbet from the rabbit's whiskers. Damn, he thought, some rabbits have all the luck.
6S - C2
Angela Pitt is now officially a 6S author!
As he peered through the binoculars, Valiant shook his head. Why a dame like Jessica married that schmuck was beyond him; what did the guy have? He wasn't even a guy, he was, well... a rabbit for crap sake. Valiant had seen her act; she had a nice voice, all sultry and smoky... stirring. Now, as he watched her feed the rabbit orange sherbet, he wished he was on the receiving end of that spoon - he saw her lean over and lick some sherbet from the rabbit's whiskers. Damn, he thought, some rabbits have all the luck.
6S - C2
Angela Pitt is now officially a 6S author!
Orange Sherbet and Jessica Rabbit
by Anita Hunt
Jessica Rabbit had a passion for pain, not all pain, not just any pain but head pain. She had come to realize that head pain was the path to the sacred, the bridge between the human body and the holy spirit and so she relished the occasional headache and envied those with chronic migraines. She understood the ecstasy of Bernini’s Saint Teresa whose face displayed the sublime agony of the pounding headache that only came with sexual orgasm. Not one predisposed to self-mutilation, Jessica had sought out the method of reaching the perfect spiritual connection while keeping her head intact and her wits about her. Furiously stirring the frozen concoction to a liquid state, stimulated by the orange glow, Jessica’s hunger to be one with God could only be satiated by the supreme brain freeze. Her skin, as blue as the Madonna’s robes, was marred only by the dribble of a sticky liquid that streaked across her cheek and pooled beneath her head; puzzled by the scene, the coroner pronounced Jessica Rabbit dead by excessive consumption of orange sherbet.
6S - C2
Anita Hunt is a high school art teacher, an artist, a mom, a grandma and a Professor of Neat Stuff.
Jessica Rabbit had a passion for pain, not all pain, not just any pain but head pain. She had come to realize that head pain was the path to the sacred, the bridge between the human body and the holy spirit and so she relished the occasional headache and envied those with chronic migraines. She understood the ecstasy of Bernini’s Saint Teresa whose face displayed the sublime agony of the pounding headache that only came with sexual orgasm. Not one predisposed to self-mutilation, Jessica had sought out the method of reaching the perfect spiritual connection while keeping her head intact and her wits about her. Furiously stirring the frozen concoction to a liquid state, stimulated by the orange glow, Jessica’s hunger to be one with God could only be satiated by the supreme brain freeze. Her skin, as blue as the Madonna’s robes, was marred only by the dribble of a sticky liquid that streaked across her cheek and pooled beneath her head; puzzled by the scene, the coroner pronounced Jessica Rabbit dead by excessive consumption of orange sherbet.
6S - C2
Anita Hunt is a high school art teacher, an artist, a mom, a grandma and a Professor of Neat Stuff.
Orange Sherbet and Jessica Rabbit
by T.J. McIntyre
He recognized something familiar about the girl with the reddish-orange cascading hair and scarlet lips, but it took a moment to register. Then he realized that she reminded him of his first crush, that most erotic of Disney characters: Jessica Rabbit. She walked over to him with her tiny feet in high heels, her legs shooting up curvaceously towards swaying hips, and his drink shook in his hands. He tried to play it cool, take a sip of his martini, and managed to stab himself in the eye. He screamed, olive hanging from one end of the toothpick while the other end remained lodged in his eye socket. She looked over at him and smiled, reminding him of his first taste of ice cream: cold and sour as orange sherbert.
6S - C2
T.J. McIntyre, author of Paperback Writer, is from Alabaster, Alabama. He specializes in speculative and literary fiction.
He recognized something familiar about the girl with the reddish-orange cascading hair and scarlet lips, but it took a moment to register. Then he realized that she reminded him of his first crush, that most erotic of Disney characters: Jessica Rabbit. She walked over to him with her tiny feet in high heels, her legs shooting up curvaceously towards swaying hips, and his drink shook in his hands. He tried to play it cool, take a sip of his martini, and managed to stab himself in the eye. He screamed, olive hanging from one end of the toothpick while the other end remained lodged in his eye socket. She looked over at him and smiled, reminding him of his first taste of ice cream: cold and sour as orange sherbert.
6S - C2
T.J. McIntyre, author of Paperback Writer, is from Alabaster, Alabama. He specializes in speculative and literary fiction.
Orange Sherbet and Jessica Rabbit
by Diane Brady
"You don't know how hard it is being a woman looking the way I do," Jessica said to the Toon Town grocery store clerk, a short, dark-haired man who eyed her carefully while she dug through her purse looking for change, the scene familiar since she had already bought four pints of orange sherbet earlier that week; Jessica Rabbit never told anyone about her discovery, except, of course, her honey bunny husband, Roger, who supported any crazy beauty routine necessary to maintain her voluptuous figure, porcelain complexion and flaming red hair; the sherbet, when softened to a gooey substance, was the most remarkable secret ever found, for by slathering it on her face, combing it through her hair and eating just one teaspoon a day she could always be the most ravishing Toon in town. On the evening of July 18th, while preparing for the annual Toon Town Ball, the orange sherbet thawing to just the right consistency on her vanity, Jessica heard the horrible sound of metal-on-metal, of two vehicles crashing in front of her house, so she tightened the belt around her silk robe and ran outside, where she stayed for at least 15 minutes talking with neighbors until the ambulance arrived; although emotionally shaken, she went back inside to her beauty routine, but when she checked the container of sherbet, she noticed a fingerprint in the orange center, a visibly distinct fingerprint that she had NOT placed there. Jessica called for Roger, assuming he had returned home during her short absence, but no one answered, so she ignored the strange orange print and continued getting ready for the glamorous evening; while her face and hair soaked up the orange goo she opened the vanity drawer and removed a hand-carved wooden jewelry box, the evening calling for her finest, the emerald and diamond necklace with matching earrings sure to complement her gown and keep eyes on her all evening; when she unlocked the box and opened the lid she gasped -- the necklace and earrings were gone! Six months after that distressing night, long after the Acme Insurance Company had paid Jessica $1.3 million for the missing jewels, detective Eddie Valiant charged the short, dark-haired grocery store clerk with the theft, for the man's right index finger appeared to match Jessica's description of the strange print in the orange sherbet, and he also conveniently lived across the street from the Rabbits and had taken an interest in the sexy redhead, sometimes slipping her a note at the checkout counter with intimate details of what he'd like to do with her and that orange sherbet, one evening appearing on her doorstep with a single red rose in his teeth, the lady of the house inviting him inside for a drink, for her honey bunny was out of town on business and she just couldn't be alone all evening. The trial went quickly, presided over by Judge Doom, Jessica and Roger Rabbit sitting quietly in the front row of the courtroom near the jury box, their stoic composure in great contrast to the Toon Town grocery store clerk, who screamed and waved his fist repeatedly, insisting he'd been framed and that he, too, was standing in the street with the neighbors on the night of July 18th waiting for the ambulance after the car crash and that he could NOT have entered the Rabbit residence and stolen the jewels; the prosecutor, however, suggested his visit with Jessica when her husband was out of town on business provided him an opportunity to commit the crime; Jessica squirmed when the allegation was made, for she had not told Roger of her indiscretion, although it was well known she was a big flirt around Toon Town. The jury deliberation lasted less than an hour, everyone filing back into the courtroom, the whispers growing louder until Judge Doom pounded his gavel to restore order; the verdict -- guilty, the crowd clapping, cheering, but when Jessica Rabbit suddenly stood and turned to them, her hands high in the air and then asked everyone to hush, the courtroom fell silent; the tall, voluptuous, red-headed vixen, blushing and upset, said she had a confession to make -- she had taken the jewels from the box and sold them to the other femme fatale, Betty Boop, who worked in the adjacent studio lot, and then collected the $1.3 million insurance pay-off; Roger Rabbit shrieked, "I just don't believe it; I won't believe it; I can't believe it; I shan't believe it;" Jessica turned to him with tears, "Roger, darling, I want you to know I love you; I've loved you more than any woman's ever loved a rabbit;" three days later, while fellow inmates at the State Penn pointed to the famous Toon, Jessica shuffled along the cafeteria line, the sight, smell and texture of the orange sherbet dessert on her dinner tray prompting her to place small dabs on invisible crow's feet; finally, when an older woman behind the serving counter questioned Jessica, she turned her head, slowly brushed a thick lock of shiny red hair from her face, pulled her shoulders back and sighed, offering only one explanation for her crime: "I'm not bad, I'm just drawn that way."
6S - C2
Diane Brady participated in the first two "Six Choices," selecting Chocolate and Jessica Tandy -- but that's another story...
"You don't know how hard it is being a woman looking the way I do," Jessica said to the Toon Town grocery store clerk, a short, dark-haired man who eyed her carefully while she dug through her purse looking for change, the scene familiar since she had already bought four pints of orange sherbet earlier that week; Jessica Rabbit never told anyone about her discovery, except, of course, her honey bunny husband, Roger, who supported any crazy beauty routine necessary to maintain her voluptuous figure, porcelain complexion and flaming red hair; the sherbet, when softened to a gooey substance, was the most remarkable secret ever found, for by slathering it on her face, combing it through her hair and eating just one teaspoon a day she could always be the most ravishing Toon in town. On the evening of July 18th, while preparing for the annual Toon Town Ball, the orange sherbet thawing to just the right consistency on her vanity, Jessica heard the horrible sound of metal-on-metal, of two vehicles crashing in front of her house, so she tightened the belt around her silk robe and ran outside, where she stayed for at least 15 minutes talking with neighbors until the ambulance arrived; although emotionally shaken, she went back inside to her beauty routine, but when she checked the container of sherbet, she noticed a fingerprint in the orange center, a visibly distinct fingerprint that she had NOT placed there. Jessica called for Roger, assuming he had returned home during her short absence, but no one answered, so she ignored the strange orange print and continued getting ready for the glamorous evening; while her face and hair soaked up the orange goo she opened the vanity drawer and removed a hand-carved wooden jewelry box, the evening calling for her finest, the emerald and diamond necklace with matching earrings sure to complement her gown and keep eyes on her all evening; when she unlocked the box and opened the lid she gasped -- the necklace and earrings were gone! Six months after that distressing night, long after the Acme Insurance Company had paid Jessica $1.3 million for the missing jewels, detective Eddie Valiant charged the short, dark-haired grocery store clerk with the theft, for the man's right index finger appeared to match Jessica's description of the strange print in the orange sherbet, and he also conveniently lived across the street from the Rabbits and had taken an interest in the sexy redhead, sometimes slipping her a note at the checkout counter with intimate details of what he'd like to do with her and that orange sherbet, one evening appearing on her doorstep with a single red rose in his teeth, the lady of the house inviting him inside for a drink, for her honey bunny was out of town on business and she just couldn't be alone all evening. The trial went quickly, presided over by Judge Doom, Jessica and Roger Rabbit sitting quietly in the front row of the courtroom near the jury box, their stoic composure in great contrast to the Toon Town grocery store clerk, who screamed and waved his fist repeatedly, insisting he'd been framed and that he, too, was standing in the street with the neighbors on the night of July 18th waiting for the ambulance after the car crash and that he could NOT have entered the Rabbit residence and stolen the jewels; the prosecutor, however, suggested his visit with Jessica when her husband was out of town on business provided him an opportunity to commit the crime; Jessica squirmed when the allegation was made, for she had not told Roger of her indiscretion, although it was well known she was a big flirt around Toon Town. The jury deliberation lasted less than an hour, everyone filing back into the courtroom, the whispers growing louder until Judge Doom pounded his gavel to restore order; the verdict -- guilty, the crowd clapping, cheering, but when Jessica Rabbit suddenly stood and turned to them, her hands high in the air and then asked everyone to hush, the courtroom fell silent; the tall, voluptuous, red-headed vixen, blushing and upset, said she had a confession to make -- she had taken the jewels from the box and sold them to the other femme fatale, Betty Boop, who worked in the adjacent studio lot, and then collected the $1.3 million insurance pay-off; Roger Rabbit shrieked, "I just don't believe it; I won't believe it; I can't believe it; I shan't believe it;" Jessica turned to him with tears, "Roger, darling, I want you to know I love you; I've loved you more than any woman's ever loved a rabbit;" three days later, while fellow inmates at the State Penn pointed to the famous Toon, Jessica shuffled along the cafeteria line, the sight, smell and texture of the orange sherbet dessert on her dinner tray prompting her to place small dabs on invisible crow's feet; finally, when an older woman behind the serving counter questioned Jessica, she turned her head, slowly brushed a thick lock of shiny red hair from her face, pulled her shoulders back and sighed, offering only one explanation for her crime: "I'm not bad, I'm just drawn that way."
6S - C2
Diane Brady participated in the first two "Six Choices," selecting Chocolate and Jessica Tandy -- but that's another story...
Orange Sherbet and Jessica Rabbit
by Peggy McFarland
Jessica's latest pop-star obsession was Eddie Rabbit. She hummed "I Love a Rainy Night" to herself while she sipped her half pint of chocolate milk, pushed aside her aqua polystyrene tray (containing untouched, soggy green beans along with coagulated brown gravy and a melted pastel puddle of today's frozen treat) to make room for her Diff'rent Strokes notebook. Rather than review her notes on the first female justice (she hated current events), she rifled to a blank page to draw a large heart with the red ink of her six-colored pen. With the black ink, she drew the feathered arrow piercing the heart's center with a perfect equilateral triangle point emerging from the top right, and then inside the heart, she added in violet block letters, "Eddie loves Jessica, Forever." Below this declaration of undying devotion, she practiced with her best cursive script (in hot pink ink), "Mrs. Jessica Rabbit." So intent was she on her imagined pop-star nuptials, she missed the food fight battle cry, only aware of the raging cafeteria war when her red heart hemorrhaged orange sherbet.
6S - C2
Peggy McFarland, author of other 6S stories, now loses sleep trying to compose six sentences. It's all good.
Jessica's latest pop-star obsession was Eddie Rabbit. She hummed "I Love a Rainy Night" to herself while she sipped her half pint of chocolate milk, pushed aside her aqua polystyrene tray (containing untouched, soggy green beans along with coagulated brown gravy and a melted pastel puddle of today's frozen treat) to make room for her Diff'rent Strokes notebook. Rather than review her notes on the first female justice (she hated current events), she rifled to a blank page to draw a large heart with the red ink of her six-colored pen. With the black ink, she drew the feathered arrow piercing the heart's center with a perfect equilateral triangle point emerging from the top right, and then inside the heart, she added in violet block letters, "Eddie loves Jessica, Forever." Below this declaration of undying devotion, she practiced with her best cursive script (in hot pink ink), "Mrs. Jessica Rabbit." So intent was she on her imagined pop-star nuptials, she missed the food fight battle cry, only aware of the raging cafeteria war when her red heart hemorrhaged orange sherbet.
6S - C2
Peggy McFarland, author of other 6S stories, now loses sleep trying to compose six sentences. It's all good.
Orange Sherbet and Jessica Rabbit
by Shaindel Beers
Sherman had been too nervous to talk about his real reason for coming until his third session with Dr. Avery, and considering the apparent deviance of some of her patients whose case studies he had read when looking for a therapist, he knew his dysfunction would hardly be surprising. “It’s not unusual at all for someone to fixate on something non-sexual but to become aroused by it based on a previous experience with the stimuli.” She leaned forward — “Do you know where foot fetishes come from? A baby boy is crawling, his genitals are stimulated by the friction with the floor, and all the while he is seeing feet. So, I am guessing, based on what you told me is that Jessica Rabbit aroused you — I mean, you couldn’t help it — she was drawn that way. And just then, at the moment of your first sexual awakening, your mother brought you an orange sherbet push-up.”
6S - C2
Shaindel Beers, author of The Naming, is a Professor of English at Blue Mountain Community College in Pendleton, Oregon, and has taught at colleges and universities in Illinois and Florida.
Sherman had been too nervous to talk about his real reason for coming until his third session with Dr. Avery, and considering the apparent deviance of some of her patients whose case studies he had read when looking for a therapist, he knew his dysfunction would hardly be surprising. “It’s not unusual at all for someone to fixate on something non-sexual but to become aroused by it based on a previous experience with the stimuli.” She leaned forward — “Do you know where foot fetishes come from? A baby boy is crawling, his genitals are stimulated by the friction with the floor, and all the while he is seeing feet. So, I am guessing, based on what you told me is that Jessica Rabbit aroused you — I mean, you couldn’t help it — she was drawn that way. And just then, at the moment of your first sexual awakening, your mother brought you an orange sherbet push-up.”
6S - C2
Shaindel Beers, author of The Naming, is a Professor of English at Blue Mountain Community College in Pendleton, Oregon, and has taught at colleges and universities in Illinois and Florida.
Orange Sherbet and Jessica Rabbit
by Jeremy Brunger
Irradiation - the smoothest of human fallacies, a true genome rot and justice - had caused the plague of mutation to begin. God had tried, with little luck, "I cannot cure, I cannot lather - I can only weep." The sherbet gene, named after Halman Sherry Bert, quickly abscessed with the various proteins and enzymes the rabbits brought. It was a pure, colorful death - parents would turn on their children, inch long teeth barred as a rabid lion. Those that survived lived into an era of fear, turmoil, and starvation. The lucky ones live in an island the government erected from steel and sand, in the Pacific; most of the infected were poor people, and as such, those in power surely couldn't neglect them!
6S - C2
Jeremy Brunger is a 15 year old sophomore living in the Southern States.
Irradiation - the smoothest of human fallacies, a true genome rot and justice - had caused the plague of mutation to begin. God had tried, with little luck, "I cannot cure, I cannot lather - I can only weep." The sherbet gene, named after Halman Sherry Bert, quickly abscessed with the various proteins and enzymes the rabbits brought. It was a pure, colorful death - parents would turn on their children, inch long teeth barred as a rabid lion. Those that survived lived into an era of fear, turmoil, and starvation. The lucky ones live in an island the government erected from steel and sand, in the Pacific; most of the infected were poor people, and as such, those in power surely couldn't neglect them!
6S - C2
Jeremy Brunger is a 15 year old sophomore living in the Southern States.
Orange Sherbet and Jessica Rabbit
by caccy46
Everyone has been laughing at me my whole life - that's right; my entire life: nine years - and that's pretty bad. Who could have been so stupid to make up a name that kids could laugh at or make funny faces about or even nibbly sounds or wiggle their butts in my face. Okay, the Jessica part is not so bad - but Rabbit - that's right, I said Rabbit - the name of a stupid, little animal, with big ears and a bushy tail that wiggles its nose and eats carrots - RABBIT - an animal, not a person; that's my name, Jessica Rabbit - I could just die. We had to wear name tags on the first day of summer camp this year, and I was laughed at all morning while my group made hilarious comments about my name, some sticking their hands on top of their heads and flopping them up and down like big ears. After bursting into sobs that took my breath away and made me a snotty, red-faced, blubbering mess, my counselor put her arm around me and led me to the snack bar, sat me down at a table and brought me an orange sherbet; so there, in my swimsuit with the sun pounding on my back, soothing my heaving chest, the tangy orange sherbet melted on my tongue and burned the roof of my mouth as it dribbled down my chin to my chest, leaving sticky orange stains on my skin and swimsuit; my counselor told me that I was actually lucky to have such an unusual name - it made me unforgettable - and, someday, I would learn to treasure it. Well, I hope she's right - I think of what she told me every time I eat orange sherbet, and who knows, someday maybe I'll like my name, like when I'm 11 or 12.
6S - C2
caccy46 is the author of Ashes to Ashes.
Everyone has been laughing at me my whole life - that's right; my entire life: nine years - and that's pretty bad. Who could have been so stupid to make up a name that kids could laugh at or make funny faces about or even nibbly sounds or wiggle their butts in my face. Okay, the Jessica part is not so bad - but Rabbit - that's right, I said Rabbit - the name of a stupid, little animal, with big ears and a bushy tail that wiggles its nose and eats carrots - RABBIT - an animal, not a person; that's my name, Jessica Rabbit - I could just die. We had to wear name tags on the first day of summer camp this year, and I was laughed at all morning while my group made hilarious comments about my name, some sticking their hands on top of their heads and flopping them up and down like big ears. After bursting into sobs that took my breath away and made me a snotty, red-faced, blubbering mess, my counselor put her arm around me and led me to the snack bar, sat me down at a table and brought me an orange sherbet; so there, in my swimsuit with the sun pounding on my back, soothing my heaving chest, the tangy orange sherbet melted on my tongue and burned the roof of my mouth as it dribbled down my chin to my chest, leaving sticky orange stains on my skin and swimsuit; my counselor told me that I was actually lucky to have such an unusual name - it made me unforgettable - and, someday, I would learn to treasure it. Well, I hope she's right - I think of what she told me every time I eat orange sherbet, and who knows, someday maybe I'll like my name, like when I'm 11 or 12.
6S - C2
caccy46 is the author of Ashes to Ashes.
Orange Sherbet and Jessica Rabbit
by austere seeker
And of course Sherbet has an Arabian Nights feel to it, a jewel-bedecked, pale as alabaster Scheherazade swathed in the finest of rose silks, with diamonds in her hair, spinning her tales through endless nights of star-crusted velvet, veering her tale to a dreary end so it just about splutters to a certain death, and THEN with a single brilliant turn of phrase setting it adrift like a kite, to another startling level, a gasp at life, surviving another sunset. Arabian Nights, and you; and I try keep my mind on the price of oil, straight roads and chrome and glass buildings of the bustling modern Arabian city you live in, force veer it away Scheherazade-like, from thinking of how straight a nose you have, the feel of your skin, and how your curiously-slit eyes shine like diamonds in the dark. But I’m no Scheherazade else this story would have had a different ending or none, and you wouldn’t perchance have tripped, hunting for a Scheherazade to call your own, roving past high-rise towns, past marketplaces, minarets, chat rooms, and skyscrapers. I was good, I was sweet. Nice, goody-two shoes nice; why, I can make a little go a very long way: three subs, one poem one haiku, scrawled black on white. I’ve just about begun.
6S - C2
austere seeker is an austere seeker.
And of course Sherbet has an Arabian Nights feel to it, a jewel-bedecked, pale as alabaster Scheherazade swathed in the finest of rose silks, with diamonds in her hair, spinning her tales through endless nights of star-crusted velvet, veering her tale to a dreary end so it just about splutters to a certain death, and THEN with a single brilliant turn of phrase setting it adrift like a kite, to another startling level, a gasp at life, surviving another sunset. Arabian Nights, and you; and I try keep my mind on the price of oil, straight roads and chrome and glass buildings of the bustling modern Arabian city you live in, force veer it away Scheherazade-like, from thinking of how straight a nose you have, the feel of your skin, and how your curiously-slit eyes shine like diamonds in the dark. But I’m no Scheherazade else this story would have had a different ending or none, and you wouldn’t perchance have tripped, hunting for a Scheherazade to call your own, roving past high-rise towns, past marketplaces, minarets, chat rooms, and skyscrapers. I was good, I was sweet. Nice, goody-two shoes nice; why, I can make a little go a very long way: three subs, one poem one haiku, scrawled black on white. I’ve just about begun.
6S - C2
austere seeker is an austere seeker.
Orange Sherbet and Jessica Rabbit
by Don Pizarro
A Tibetan Buddhist monk stands in line at Auntie Anne's, and gets a pretzel and a coffee. He joins three other monks at a table in the mall food court, right in front of the Wendy's. Another monk has a frozen orange sherbet and is reading the back of what looks like a DVD copy of WHO FRAMED ROGER RABBIT? This just doesn't seem right. My face contorts into a Whiskey, Tango, Foxtrot expression, and I start worrying about the dangers that consumerism, fast food, and Mrs. Rabbit could pose on their journey to enlightenment. Then I realize, maybe it's my enlightenment that I should be worried about.
6S - C2
Don Pizarro watched the first two sentences play out at the local mall the day after he got the notice for this contest. He took it as a sign.
A Tibetan Buddhist monk stands in line at Auntie Anne's, and gets a pretzel and a coffee. He joins three other monks at a table in the mall food court, right in front of the Wendy's. Another monk has a frozen orange sherbet and is reading the back of what looks like a DVD copy of WHO FRAMED ROGER RABBIT? This just doesn't seem right. My face contorts into a Whiskey, Tango, Foxtrot expression, and I start worrying about the dangers that consumerism, fast food, and Mrs. Rabbit could pose on their journey to enlightenment. Then I realize, maybe it's my enlightenment that I should be worried about.
6S - C2
Don Pizarro watched the first two sentences play out at the local mall the day after he got the notice for this contest. He took it as a sign.
Orange Sherbet and Jessica Rabbit
by Mel George
"Nine across: orange sherbet and Jessica Rabbit." He read the clue again, and then raised his eyes to the ceiling, squinting one half-shut as if in deep concentration, powering his enormous brain cells apparently being a gargantuan physical effort. He tapped the end of his pen against his front teeth and let out a quiet but convincing little "hmm," whilst moving his arm to hide the distasteful sight of the half-finished and abandoned "five-minute puzzler" which was his previous two hours' work. He didn't know why he was bothering with this pointless pantomime; there wasn't even anyone else there to fool, but it somehow seemed like if he ignored the evidence he might spontaneously become the sort of person who regularly solved the cryptic crossword; or at least the sort of person who smiled and nodded sagely at these nonsensical clues. He chewed his pen and frowned with real, imaginary effort. The grid was empty, and would stay that way like every other day, but he'd still give it ten more minutes before he felt justified in turning on the TV.
6S - C2
Mel George lives and writes in Oxford.
"Nine across: orange sherbet and Jessica Rabbit." He read the clue again, and then raised his eyes to the ceiling, squinting one half-shut as if in deep concentration, powering his enormous brain cells apparently being a gargantuan physical effort. He tapped the end of his pen against his front teeth and let out a quiet but convincing little "hmm," whilst moving his arm to hide the distasteful sight of the half-finished and abandoned "five-minute puzzler" which was his previous two hours' work. He didn't know why he was bothering with this pointless pantomime; there wasn't even anyone else there to fool, but it somehow seemed like if he ignored the evidence he might spontaneously become the sort of person who regularly solved the cryptic crossword; or at least the sort of person who smiled and nodded sagely at these nonsensical clues. He chewed his pen and frowned with real, imaginary effort. The grid was empty, and would stay that way like every other day, but he'd still give it ten more minutes before he felt justified in turning on the TV.
6S - C2
Mel George lives and writes in Oxford.
Orange Sherbet and Jessica Rabbit
by Linda Courtland
In a seedy strip club on the outskirts of Toontown, Jessica Rabbit works the pole with faux abandon. She used to be a famous lounge singer, even starred in a movie one time, but now she just shakes and slides, competing for attention with her flame-haired arch-nemesis, Orange Sherbet. As the sultry music swells and dirty paws stuff dollar bills in her aging G-string, she scans the crowd for Roger. Jessica knows her cheating, drunken husband is a sucker for carrot-tops. Meanwhile, in a curtained corner of the club reserved for lap dances, Roger shows Sherbet what rabbits do best. He whispers sweet lies when it's over, and she melts.
6S - C2
Linda Courtland, with this contest entry, has now made her 6S debut!
In a seedy strip club on the outskirts of Toontown, Jessica Rabbit works the pole with faux abandon. She used to be a famous lounge singer, even starred in a movie one time, but now she just shakes and slides, competing for attention with her flame-haired arch-nemesis, Orange Sherbet. As the sultry music swells and dirty paws stuff dollar bills in her aging G-string, she scans the crowd for Roger. Jessica knows her cheating, drunken husband is a sucker for carrot-tops. Meanwhile, in a curtained corner of the club reserved for lap dances, Roger shows Sherbet what rabbits do best. He whispers sweet lies when it's over, and she melts.
6S - C2
Linda Courtland, with this contest entry, has now made her 6S debut!
Orange Sherbet and Jessica Rabbit
by Chris Conroy
Richard Ulrich is tired of the anniversary and the specific rituals that have gone along with it for the past fifteen years and this year, the sixteenth year anniversary, today the 21st of September 2007, he is prepared to put an end to it. The Orange Sherbet Corporation — inventers of the first Push-Em-Up Pop in 1956 (first flavor: orange sherbet; hence OSC) - transferred their head salesman, Richard Ulrich, with wife Linda and 3 month old baby boy Trevor, from their Kentucky plant to their new sales division based out of Sausalito California in the summer of 1985. It has been — as it is today — Richard’s job the past fifteen years to unlock the toy chest that collects dust in the basement 364 days out of the year, and carry the “Special Items” as Linda puts it, up to the living room and arrange, in a semi-circle around a framed photo of Trevor, the items: a red Swatch Watch, Hotel California CD, Spider-Man wetsuit, a Swiss Army knife, and Trevor’s favorite doll and sleeping buddy ever since he first saw her — a stuffed Jessica Rabbit doll - strutting her animated stuff on the big screen when he was just four years old, which, by the way, was obtained by Richard’s skilled hands — after close to an hour and over ten bucks in quarters — on the toy crane machine at Fisherman’s Wharf. The Orange Sherbet Corporation set the Ulrich’s up in a three bedroom condominium that was part of a new development — Golden Gate Estates — just three blocks from the San Francisco Bay; egrets, herons and seals were among their neighbors and the only witnesses to the drowning death of little six year old Trevor Ulrich who, claimed over the phone to his Grandma in Kentucky just a day before, that he was now an expert swimmer and that he would be a lifeguard instead of a baseball player when he grew up. Hotel California is blasting from the living room speakers when Linda Ulrich walks through the front door with tears in her eyes and an ice cream cake boxed white in her hands, “Richard, we’re not supposed to play the song yet,” she yells over the music, turns and drops the cake; Richard’s lifeless body hangs from the wooden cross beams in the kitchen; an orange electric cord clenched around his neck; his face blue and slumped down over the right shoulder; the eyes rolled back and gone; the Jessica Rabbit doll — the last thing in Richard Ulrich’s hands — now on the tiled floor inches below his dangling feet. On the 21st of September 1991, Linda Ulrich woke her 6 year old son Trevor up a half hour before sunrise, dressed him in his Spider-Man wetsuit and walked him three windy blocks to the fog laden San Francisco Bay: “Go ahead, Honey,” she said and pushed him into the dark water, “show Mommy how far you can swim.”
6S - C2
Chris Conroy writes after breakfast and before lunch.
Richard Ulrich is tired of the anniversary and the specific rituals that have gone along with it for the past fifteen years and this year, the sixteenth year anniversary, today the 21st of September 2007, he is prepared to put an end to it. The Orange Sherbet Corporation — inventers of the first Push-Em-Up Pop in 1956 (first flavor: orange sherbet; hence OSC) - transferred their head salesman, Richard Ulrich, with wife Linda and 3 month old baby boy Trevor, from their Kentucky plant to their new sales division based out of Sausalito California in the summer of 1985. It has been — as it is today — Richard’s job the past fifteen years to unlock the toy chest that collects dust in the basement 364 days out of the year, and carry the “Special Items” as Linda puts it, up to the living room and arrange, in a semi-circle around a framed photo of Trevor, the items: a red Swatch Watch, Hotel California CD, Spider-Man wetsuit, a Swiss Army knife, and Trevor’s favorite doll and sleeping buddy ever since he first saw her — a stuffed Jessica Rabbit doll - strutting her animated stuff on the big screen when he was just four years old, which, by the way, was obtained by Richard’s skilled hands — after close to an hour and over ten bucks in quarters — on the toy crane machine at Fisherman’s Wharf. The Orange Sherbet Corporation set the Ulrich’s up in a three bedroom condominium that was part of a new development — Golden Gate Estates — just three blocks from the San Francisco Bay; egrets, herons and seals were among their neighbors and the only witnesses to the drowning death of little six year old Trevor Ulrich who, claimed over the phone to his Grandma in Kentucky just a day before, that he was now an expert swimmer and that he would be a lifeguard instead of a baseball player when he grew up. Hotel California is blasting from the living room speakers when Linda Ulrich walks through the front door with tears in her eyes and an ice cream cake boxed white in her hands, “Richard, we’re not supposed to play the song yet,” she yells over the music, turns and drops the cake; Richard’s lifeless body hangs from the wooden cross beams in the kitchen; an orange electric cord clenched around his neck; his face blue and slumped down over the right shoulder; the eyes rolled back and gone; the Jessica Rabbit doll — the last thing in Richard Ulrich’s hands — now on the tiled floor inches below his dangling feet. On the 21st of September 1991, Linda Ulrich woke her 6 year old son Trevor up a half hour before sunrise, dressed him in his Spider-Man wetsuit and walked him three windy blocks to the fog laden San Francisco Bay: “Go ahead, Honey,” she said and pushed him into the dark water, “show Mommy how far you can swim.”
6S - C2
Chris Conroy writes after breakfast and before lunch.
Orange Sherbet and Jessica Rabbit
by mgirl
Eddie Valiant sat at a small table in the dimly lit barroom, scooping the last spoonful of orange sherbet into his mouth. The band began to play as the spotlight hit the stage a few feet in front of him; her voice made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. His body bubbled into a boiling inferno, which caused the sherbet that he just spooned into his mouth to instantly start melting. He didn't realize that an orange river of sticky cream was dripping down his chin like lava streaming from a volcano, until a drop hit his pant leg, at the same time the voluptuous femme with long sexy legs exposed through a slit up the side of her pink dress, which sparkled like stars in the sky on a clear cold night, instantly spotted him. Why Don't You Do Right were the words that flowed from Jessica Rabbit's luscious red lips as she sauntered her curvy hips over to his table. Leaning in close he could feel the warmth of her breath as she slowly licked the creamy orange from the edge of his lips, "I'm not bad... I'm just drawn that way," she whispered in his ear, placed her hands on her hips, turned and walked away.
6S - C2
mgirl loves to read and write, is from Canada, is forty something and has just become a Grandma.
Eddie Valiant sat at a small table in the dimly lit barroom, scooping the last spoonful of orange sherbet into his mouth. The band began to play as the spotlight hit the stage a few feet in front of him; her voice made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. His body bubbled into a boiling inferno, which caused the sherbet that he just spooned into his mouth to instantly start melting. He didn't realize that an orange river of sticky cream was dripping down his chin like lava streaming from a volcano, until a drop hit his pant leg, at the same time the voluptuous femme with long sexy legs exposed through a slit up the side of her pink dress, which sparkled like stars in the sky on a clear cold night, instantly spotted him. Why Don't You Do Right were the words that flowed from Jessica Rabbit's luscious red lips as she sauntered her curvy hips over to his table. Leaning in close he could feel the warmth of her breath as she slowly licked the creamy orange from the edge of his lips, "I'm not bad... I'm just drawn that way," she whispered in his ear, placed her hands on her hips, turned and walked away.
6S - C2
mgirl loves to read and write, is from Canada, is forty something and has just become a Grandma.
Orange Sherbet and Jessica Rabbit
by Sara Crowley
We called Jessica "Rabbit" because of the two great Bugs Bunny teeth that stuck so awkwardly out of her mouth. The boys in my class would whit whoo her, and make those hour glass shapes with their hands to show where her breasts and hips may have been, were she not just a nine-year-old girl with no discernible sticky out bits other than the aforementioned calcium bones. I joined in, suppressing the sick flutter of shame in my stomach as I cat called and wolf whistled that poor girl. At Jeremy Miller’s birthday tea I bent double, clutching my stomach in an overblown parody of mock hysteria, as Jessica put a spoonful of orange sherbet ice cream to her mouth, and then screeched with terrible agony as the frozen dessert clanged against her sensitive incisors. She made her way to me, and my arm was in her grip before I knew it. I can still see the faint marks where she bit deep into my flesh, welding pain and shame together into a moral badge I have referred to the rest of my life.
6S - C2
Sara Crowley is (in no particular order) a mum, writer, daughter, bitch, sister, friend, bookseller, and wife.
We called Jessica "Rabbit" because of the two great Bugs Bunny teeth that stuck so awkwardly out of her mouth. The boys in my class would whit whoo her, and make those hour glass shapes with their hands to show where her breasts and hips may have been, were she not just a nine-year-old girl with no discernible sticky out bits other than the aforementioned calcium bones. I joined in, suppressing the sick flutter of shame in my stomach as I cat called and wolf whistled that poor girl. At Jeremy Miller’s birthday tea I bent double, clutching my stomach in an overblown parody of mock hysteria, as Jessica put a spoonful of orange sherbet ice cream to her mouth, and then screeched with terrible agony as the frozen dessert clanged against her sensitive incisors. She made her way to me, and my arm was in her grip before I knew it. I can still see the faint marks where she bit deep into my flesh, welding pain and shame together into a moral badge I have referred to the rest of my life.
6S - C2
Sara Crowley is (in no particular order) a mum, writer, daughter, bitch, sister, friend, bookseller, and wife.
Orange Sherbet and Jessica Rabbit
by Madam Z
Jack Rabbit was a doe, trapped in a buck’s body. He longed to be a docile, modest bunny, who could spend his days daintily nibbling tender shoots of grass and flowers, instead of having to be an aggressive oaf, competing for cottontail and chomping on those hard, unappetizing carrots. One day, he was leafing through the newspaper, the Briar Dis-patch, and noticed an advertisement for "Sex-Change Surgery." He was so excited, he immediately hopped down the Bunny Trail to the doctor’s office, and after the obligatory greeting, "What’s up, Doc?" he begged the good fellow to "make me a lady!" "Jack, you wascally wabbit, you will be Jessica Rabbit in short order, but first, taste this delightful orange sherbet; don’t worry - it’s safe; it’s made from nice tender carrots and some morphine, so you won’t feel a thing." When Jessica awoke, several hours later, the first thing she noticed was an intense craving for chocolate.
6S - C2
Madam Z loves six and isn't afraid to admit it.
Jack Rabbit was a doe, trapped in a buck’s body. He longed to be a docile, modest bunny, who could spend his days daintily nibbling tender shoots of grass and flowers, instead of having to be an aggressive oaf, competing for cottontail and chomping on those hard, unappetizing carrots. One day, he was leafing through the newspaper, the Briar Dis-patch, and noticed an advertisement for "Sex-Change Surgery." He was so excited, he immediately hopped down the Bunny Trail to the doctor’s office, and after the obligatory greeting, "What’s up, Doc?" he begged the good fellow to "make me a lady!" "Jack, you wascally wabbit, you will be Jessica Rabbit in short order, but first, taste this delightful orange sherbet; don’t worry - it’s safe; it’s made from nice tender carrots and some morphine, so you won’t feel a thing." When Jessica awoke, several hours later, the first thing she noticed was an intense craving for chocolate.
6S - C2
Madam Z loves six and isn't afraid to admit it.
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