I smoked a big fat doobie the other night. I got so high…I was flying. Like high. Like super fucking high.

Yeah.

I packed my pipe full of grass. Lots of grass. I mean, lots.

Only one problem.

I think it was laced. Laced? Yeah, laced. I started hallucinating. I was laughing, fucking laughing. It was unreal. But, then I started to tweak out, tweak the fuck out.

Eggplant. A fucking eggplant. That was what I saw. It was one of those magical eggplants, magical, magical. You know? It was the most beautiful eggplant I’ve ever seen. It had a glow, a fucking glow. And it was beautiful.

The beauty of the eggplant. Eggplant is beauty. I have realized that eggplants are magical. I don’t have to smoke to know this. Eggplant. Beauty. Magic.

The eggplant. What it did: it danced. It sang. It karaoked for fuck’s sake. And it danced well. And it sang well.

It could be the next god damn American Idol.

Eggplant. Beauty. Magic.


...

Caitlin: It's James Frey meets J.D. Salinger and not all together very pretty. 168 words. Took a different approach than I normally would.

Use the following words in yours: Nordstrom, Velveeta, chai latte, Jesus Christ.

Go.

I know the key to a good short story is conflict, which mine lacks, but it's a Friday, and I'm tired.

Love you and miss you. xxx