Ten Second Stories

Latigo Flint holds this truth to be self evident, that he can slap thigh and shuck his authentic replica Colt Peacemaker revolvers from their hand-tooled elk hide holsters faster than a mongoose smirks. The head mechanic presenting a repair bill more than twice the quoted price did not. So Latigo Flint showed him. He was impressed. Then the mongoose went for his throat.

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You have left Latigo Flint nary but the chair that makes the farty sound when sat upon. Everyone knows this. Even one snicker and I promise you, this staff meeting makes the evening news.

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A young girl asking an innocent question of her father doesn't make Latigo Flint want to cry. Except when the question is, "Daddy, why is the sky blood?" And the response is another backhand slap. Then it takes the rest of a beer and at least a third of the next before Latigo Flint cheers up again.

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Sorry, you are new here and didn't know that Latigo Flint desires whipped cream on top of his mocha chip frappuccinos. Latigo Flint will pay to have your clothes cleaned.... You might want to have a doctor look at that eye.

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That crunch had to be snail underfoot. Kindly notify his next of kin whilst I ponder approximately nine trigintillion chaos theory variables.

(Came up with this one a minute ago on a smoke break. That you have now read of snail's demise actually raises the number to approximately forty trigintillion chaos theory variables. If you can banish it interminably from your mind in the next fifty seconds we can keep the number in a quantifiable range.)

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I can think of several ways to ensure each successive day is more exciting than the last, but they're frowned upon by every major religion and rational doctrine in the civilized world.

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The pretty sales girls at Nordstrom are more than happy to help you pick out shirts that go with pants if you pretend you're blind. They catch on mighty quick if you stare at their breasts and giggle.