The Amazing Race   American Idol   The Apprentice   The Bachelor   The Bachelorette   Big Brother   The Biggest Loser
Dancing with the Stars   So You Think You Can Dance   Survivor   Top Model   The Voice   The X Factor       Reality TV World
Stop WAR in Ukraine !
PLEASE NOTE: The Reality TV World Message Boards are filled with desperate attention-seekers pretending to be one big happy PG/PG13-rated family. Don't be fooled. Trying to get everyone to agree with you is like herding cats, but intolerance for other viewpoints is NOT welcome and respect for other posters IS required at all times. Jump in and play, and you'll soon find out how easy it is to fit in, but save your drama for your mama. All members are encouraged to read the complete guidelines. As entertainment critic Roger Ebert once said, "If you disagree with something I write, tell me so, argue with me, correct me--but don't tell me to shut up. That's not the American way."
"SSC(CW) American Interview: Lasca, Alabama"
Email this topic to a friend
Printer-friendly version of this topic
Bookmark this topic (Registered users only)
Archived thread - Read only 
Previous Topic | Next Topic 
Conferences Story Competitions Forum (Protected)
Original message

SherpaDave 8325 desperate attention whore postings
DAW Level: "Playboy Centerfold"

06-23-01, 01:24 AM (EST)
Click to EMail SherpaDave Click to send private message to SherpaDave Click to view user profile Click to check IP address of the poster
"SSC(CW) American Interview: Lasca, Alabama"
The old rotten porch slants forward to the ground. A woman who looks about 60 years old but is probably 40 sits in a rocking chair, drinking a beer. A confusion of cats wanders 'round the porch and through her legs. Too many children to have come from one womb play in, on, and around a Ford pick-up mounted on cinder blocks overgrown with weeds.
"Who'd have thought I'd end up here?" the woman asks no one in particular. Her voice is surprising, husky from years of smoking unfiltered cigarettes, but also bearing faint traces of a London accent.
The children, possibly twenty of them (they are difficult to count, moving too fast for accuracy) all bear at least a passing resemblance to the woman. One wonders if somehow (God grant her peace) they are all hers.
"Eighteen kids," she sighs, answering the writer's question. "And no father in sight," She says, anticipating the follow-up question.
Through the course of a six-pack, a pack of cigarettes, and a plate of cornbread, she lets her story unwind, talking to the air.
Studying as an exchange student in the sixties, she had boarded one of the now infamous bus tours. In a haze of LSD, she had somehow become separated from the bus. Finding herself smack in the middle of Alabama with no ID, no money, and an odd way of speaking, she didn't know where to turn. The sherriff ran her in and eventually started whoring her out. She accepted this; it seemed to be a choice between prostitution and rape. The years passed without her ever seeming to save enough money to leave. Whenever she'd come close to moving on, she'd gotten pregnant. Eighteen times. Always healthy, always one more mouth to feed.
She shrugs, sighs, and whistles through her teeth. There is a flurry of activity, feet pounding, slingshots in action. Within ten minutes, there is a pile of squirrels and rabbits at her feet and eighteen small, sweaty faces beaming up at her.
She gives a short laugh and a grunt and scoops up the dead animals. Padding into the kitchen, she smiles. "Eighteen people love me." She shakes her head. "How many people can say that?"



Lobby | Topics | Previous Topic | Next Topic

p l a c e h o l d e r t e x t g o e s h e r e - p l a c e h o l d e r t e x t g o e s h e r e - p l a c e h o l d e r t e x t g o e s h e r e - p l a c e h o l d e r t e x t g o e s h e r e - p l a c e h o l d e r t e x t g o e s h e r e - p l a c e h o l d e r t e x t g o e s h e r e - p l a c e h o l d e r t e x t g o e s h e r e - p l a c e h o l d e r t e x t g o e s h e r e - p l a c e h o l d e r t e x t g o e s h e r e - p l a c e h o l d e r t e x t g o e s h e r e - p l a c e h o l d e r t e x t g o e s h e r e - p l a c e h o l d e r t e x t g o e s h e r e -
about this site   •   advertise on this site  •   contact us  •   privacy policy   •