I’d never placed an ad on Craigslist before, but the interface was user-friendly enough, so no trouble there…
Wanted: Young, uninhibited women to audition for BJ videos. Pays $50 to auditioners, $500 to the women cast in the actual video. Nude scenes necessary, contact email below.
The email address was a dummy I’d set up for the purposes of the ad. I knew I’d be receiving a lot of email from a lot of women I’d likely want nothing to do with, and I wanted to be able to abandon the address when I was done with it, never thinking of any of it ever again.
I mean, who responds to an ad like that?
A surprising number of people, as it turns out...
I don’t know if it’s the economy or what, but when I checked my email Monday I already had three hundred replies. Three hundred women who, for one reason or another, were willing to respond to an add like that on Craigslist. Disturbing, if you think about it.
I tried not to think about it as I deleted each and every one of the emails, unread.
This wasn’t about them, it’d never been about them. Their emails were just a byproduct of an unrelated agenda.
I wasn’t even really paying attention to their subject lines as I deleted them. I knew what I was looking for, and I knew it wasn’t there.
You’d already told me, after all, to expect your email Tuesday.
By which point another hundred fifty emails had arrived. Weeding through them was tougher, logistically speaking, as this time I was actually looking for something. But eventually all but one had been deleted. I responded as politely and professionally as I could, you responded back, an uncomfortable edge to your email, and we made our plans to meet.
So here I am, in a hastily constructed video studio in my living room, waiting for you to arrive. And when you do, we’ll see how your “audition” goes, and if you do well, we’ll see what other “projects” I might want to involve you in.
And I’ll do my best, through all of this, to be comfortable with the part I am to play in the process.
I honestly will do my best, nervous and somewhat icky though I am by the seediness of it all.
I’ll do it because you’re my wife.
And I love you.
And yes, I’m willing to play along with your kinks.
Thursday, October 13, 2011
Sunday, October 9, 2011
Moustache
From a prompt from the excellent 100 Word Stories podcast, found here:
http://podcasting.isfullofcrap.com/2011/10/09/weekly-challenge-285-mustache/
Moustache
By Christopher Munroe
Five days into growing a moustache I looked like a pedophile. I’ll own that.
The percentage of people who actually suit one, after all, is frighteningly small. Still, I commit to what I do, so the ‘stache was staying.
Until you got me drunk, waited for me to pass out and shaved it.
The next day, I faced my still-moustachioed friends, clean-shaven.
Humiliated.
You thought I’d forgive this betrayal.
I’ll never forgive. Nor will I forget.
I’ll always remember, the fifth of Movember. The moustaches, treason and plot. I see no good reason moustaches and treason should ever be forgot.
http://podcasting.isfullofcrap.com/2011/10/09/weekly-challenge-285-mustache/
Moustache
By Christopher Munroe
Five days into growing a moustache I looked like a pedophile. I’ll own that.
The percentage of people who actually suit one, after all, is frighteningly small. Still, I commit to what I do, so the ‘stache was staying.
Until you got me drunk, waited for me to pass out and shaved it.
The next day, I faced my still-moustachioed friends, clean-shaven.
Humiliated.
You thought I’d forgive this betrayal.
I’ll never forgive. Nor will I forget.
I’ll always remember, the fifth of Movember. The moustaches, treason and plot. I see no good reason moustaches and treason should ever be forgot.
Thursday, October 6, 2011
Correspondence
To Marcus Pembilton
C.O. The Edmonton Institution
21611, Meridian Street
PO Box 2290
Edmonton, Alberta
T5J 3H7
Dear Marcus:
In the eighteen months since you moved from our fine neighborhood, I’ve agonized over whether or not to write you. I know you didn’t leave us on the best of terms and that, due to the unusual circumstance of your departure, you’ve likely had more important things on your mind than the old Neighborhood Association, but after thinking and praying on the question, I’ve finally decided to sit down and attempt to put my feelings about the incident on paper, to explain them to myself as much as to you.
First of all, I’d like you to know that in the weeks immediately following your arrest, the whole Association came to your defense. When the news media arrived I was on camera that very night explaining that you’d always been a quiet, polite person, the sort that keeps to himself. I don’t know if you saw the footage, but it was picked up by CNN and broadcast internationally. I’ll tell you, I didn’t expect THAT kind of celebrity when I allowed myself to be interviewed, though I do admit I found it kind of flattering. When it aired, I called all my friends to tell them to tune in!
Your trial was equally well covered by the news, and it seemed for a while that it was the only thing happening in the world, to hear reporters talk about it. Did they let you watch news networks while it was happening? If not, I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but you were NOT portrayed in a positive light. I suppose, in light of the discoveries made when they dug up your yard, this shouldn’t have come as a surprise. But I admit, the lengths reporters went to try and make you look like some sort of monster verged on ludicrous to anyone who knew you the way we did.
I mean, come on! Admittedly the footage from your basement made my stomach turn the first time I saw it (especially when I remembered my Donald loaning you his tools so you could remodel it three years ago!) but that was just one side of you. One small part of your life the media chose to fixate on, it hardly seems fair. They never mentioned, to name just one example, how delicious the brownies you brought to the school bake sale were, or how you brought them without fail every year even though you had no children of your own in the school system to benefit from their sale. Were they interested in that sort of thing? Of course not, all the media’s interested in nowadays is sensationalism, it seems. It’s all in the name of ratings.
By the way, those brownies were sorely missed at this year’s sale. I was the only one who was willing to say it out loud, but you could tell everyone was thinking it.
Another reason your absence is so acutely felt is the state of disrepair your former home has fallen into. It honestly is shocking how the police left the place, you’d be scandalized if you saw it, and rightly so. The bank’s since took it over, of course, and they haven’t had luck to date finding an interested buyer, but that’s no excuse for their not filling the holes in your yard back in, or their shameful neglect of your rose garden. It’s as though they weren’t even TRYING to keep the place up, like they’d just written the place off as a loss rather than attempting to put it back into a presentable shape!
It’s disrespectful to the neighborhood, is what It is, and I’ll let you know I’ve written several pointed missives to the bank to that effect. No response as of yet, but if they think I’ll be put off so easily they don’t know me at all! One thing is certain, none of this would ever have been an issue if you were still living there, the pains you went to to keep your home beautiful are another reason that, bloodstained sewer grate in your basement or not, I respected you so well.
In fact, I think it could be safely said that your presence is dearly missed, back here in Silver Springs. I mean obviously your crimes were horrific, assuming you actually did the terrible things they accused you of, but still. If you were guilty, you always kept that side of yourself out of the neighborhood, and within our community you were the perfect neighbor, a fact we all appreciate. I suppose I’m getting a little rambling with this note, but I’m really not sure what to say in a letter like this, obviously I’ve never known anyone in your particular situation before. I hope I haven’t said anything unintentionally to put you out. I’m sure I haven’t. I’m not even sure why I wrote you, I’m sure you’re very busy in your new situation and don’t have time for people you knew in what by now must seem like a previous life.
I guess I just wanted to write to say that, although the world looks at you and sees only the seventeen corpses found in and buried behind your home, to me you’ll always be the quiet, polite neighbor who generally kept to himself but always had a ready smile when he saw me in the street. You were a real asset to the neighborhood, Marcus, don’t you ever think otherwise. And we’re all better off for having known you, though it’s grown unfashionable to admit it. And for this I thank you, even if no one else will.
I hope this letter finds you well and that you’re keeping in good spirits, to whatever degree you can during your incarceration.
Sincerely yours
Amanda Henderson
President
The Silver Springs Neighborhood Association
320 Slivergrove Bay, NW
Calgary, Alberta
C.O. The Edmonton Institution
21611, Meridian Street
PO Box 2290
Edmonton, Alberta
T5J 3H7
Dear Marcus:
In the eighteen months since you moved from our fine neighborhood, I’ve agonized over whether or not to write you. I know you didn’t leave us on the best of terms and that, due to the unusual circumstance of your departure, you’ve likely had more important things on your mind than the old Neighborhood Association, but after thinking and praying on the question, I’ve finally decided to sit down and attempt to put my feelings about the incident on paper, to explain them to myself as much as to you.
First of all, I’d like you to know that in the weeks immediately following your arrest, the whole Association came to your defense. When the news media arrived I was on camera that very night explaining that you’d always been a quiet, polite person, the sort that keeps to himself. I don’t know if you saw the footage, but it was picked up by CNN and broadcast internationally. I’ll tell you, I didn’t expect THAT kind of celebrity when I allowed myself to be interviewed, though I do admit I found it kind of flattering. When it aired, I called all my friends to tell them to tune in!
Your trial was equally well covered by the news, and it seemed for a while that it was the only thing happening in the world, to hear reporters talk about it. Did they let you watch news networks while it was happening? If not, I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but you were NOT portrayed in a positive light. I suppose, in light of the discoveries made when they dug up your yard, this shouldn’t have come as a surprise. But I admit, the lengths reporters went to try and make you look like some sort of monster verged on ludicrous to anyone who knew you the way we did.
I mean, come on! Admittedly the footage from your basement made my stomach turn the first time I saw it (especially when I remembered my Donald loaning you his tools so you could remodel it three years ago!) but that was just one side of you. One small part of your life the media chose to fixate on, it hardly seems fair. They never mentioned, to name just one example, how delicious the brownies you brought to the school bake sale were, or how you brought them without fail every year even though you had no children of your own in the school system to benefit from their sale. Were they interested in that sort of thing? Of course not, all the media’s interested in nowadays is sensationalism, it seems. It’s all in the name of ratings.
By the way, those brownies were sorely missed at this year’s sale. I was the only one who was willing to say it out loud, but you could tell everyone was thinking it.
Another reason your absence is so acutely felt is the state of disrepair your former home has fallen into. It honestly is shocking how the police left the place, you’d be scandalized if you saw it, and rightly so. The bank’s since took it over, of course, and they haven’t had luck to date finding an interested buyer, but that’s no excuse for their not filling the holes in your yard back in, or their shameful neglect of your rose garden. It’s as though they weren’t even TRYING to keep the place up, like they’d just written the place off as a loss rather than attempting to put it back into a presentable shape!
It’s disrespectful to the neighborhood, is what It is, and I’ll let you know I’ve written several pointed missives to the bank to that effect. No response as of yet, but if they think I’ll be put off so easily they don’t know me at all! One thing is certain, none of this would ever have been an issue if you were still living there, the pains you went to to keep your home beautiful are another reason that, bloodstained sewer grate in your basement or not, I respected you so well.
In fact, I think it could be safely said that your presence is dearly missed, back here in Silver Springs. I mean obviously your crimes were horrific, assuming you actually did the terrible things they accused you of, but still. If you were guilty, you always kept that side of yourself out of the neighborhood, and within our community you were the perfect neighbor, a fact we all appreciate. I suppose I’m getting a little rambling with this note, but I’m really not sure what to say in a letter like this, obviously I’ve never known anyone in your particular situation before. I hope I haven’t said anything unintentionally to put you out. I’m sure I haven’t. I’m not even sure why I wrote you, I’m sure you’re very busy in your new situation and don’t have time for people you knew in what by now must seem like a previous life.
I guess I just wanted to write to say that, although the world looks at you and sees only the seventeen corpses found in and buried behind your home, to me you’ll always be the quiet, polite neighbor who generally kept to himself but always had a ready smile when he saw me in the street. You were a real asset to the neighborhood, Marcus, don’t you ever think otherwise. And we’re all better off for having known you, though it’s grown unfashionable to admit it. And for this I thank you, even if no one else will.
I hope this letter finds you well and that you’re keeping in good spirits, to whatever degree you can during your incarceration.
Sincerely yours
Amanda Henderson
President
The Silver Springs Neighborhood Association
320 Slivergrove Bay, NW
Calgary, Alberta
Sunday, October 2, 2011
Sunday Prompt Story: Coffee
http://podcasting.isfullofcrap.com/2011/10/02/weekly-challenge-284-coffee/
Coffee
By Christopher Munroe
I’ve had three cups today, and I’ll hit Starbucks on the way to work.
Latte, I think. Venti.
There’ll be a pot waiting when I arrive, and when it’s gone I’ll honestly try to remember to start a fresh one. It’s inconsiderate to drink it all without replacing it for my coworkers.
It’s just hard to remember things sometimes. Gets harder every day.
I hate the taste of coffee, it’s like hot tar in my mouth. But I’ll choke back as much as I can.
Because they come when I sleep, and there’s nothing I can do to stop them.
Coffee
By Christopher Munroe
I’ve had three cups today, and I’ll hit Starbucks on the way to work.
Latte, I think. Venti.
There’ll be a pot waiting when I arrive, and when it’s gone I’ll honestly try to remember to start a fresh one. It’s inconsiderate to drink it all without replacing it for my coworkers.
It’s just hard to remember things sometimes. Gets harder every day.
I hate the taste of coffee, it’s like hot tar in my mouth. But I’ll choke back as much as I can.
Because they come when I sleep, and there’s nothing I can do to stop them.
Thursday, September 29, 2011
#FollowFriday
…and then came the day when my Twitter followers showed up at my home.
This was, it goes without saying, unexpected. 329 people standing under my balcony as I headed out for my morning cigarette left me quite at a loss for words. But I suppose they had pledged to follow me, so I oughtn’t have been surprised by the turn of events.
I’m just grateful I was wearing pants.
I suppose they were too.
Getting to work was tougher than I’d expected, that number of people tends to stop traffic as it crosses intersections. And our arrival terrified the day manager.
He’d thought they were looking for a meal, and we don’t have the staff for that many during lunch shift.
He was enormously relieved, if still somewhat disturbed, to learn that they were simply there to follow me.
Eventually, after my third table complained about not being able to enjoy their lunch in peace, I was sent home. I’d arrived willing to work in good faith, but the throng made anything resembling productivity impossible. It’s a shame, I could have used the tips, but I understand why I was cut. And paying me through to the end of the week while I attempted to sort things out was a classy move.
There was, we realized upon our return, no way they’d all be fitting into my apartment.
It was a smallish place, but Kat and I had never needed that much space and it’d suited our purposes to that point. Finding room for an additional 329 occupants, however, wasn’t going to fly. Still, it was the tail end of summer, the weather was still gorgeous, and if the other tenants in my building had a problem with a tent city cropping up in the courtyard they were too terrified by the weird, cult-like nature of the gathered people to bring it up.
I guess it was natural that they’d be a little bit terrified. I sort of was too.
I’d never meant to form a cult via Twitter.
Though I suppose, upon reflection, that running a Twitter account does hold certain superficially cult-like qualities.
You share your thoughts with the world and hope to attract followers that hang on your every word, and the more people who follow you the more powerful you feel.
In person, however, a few hundred people waiting for my next missive swiftly began to feel oppressive.
There are only so many jokes, quips and puns about pop-culture minutiae and politics I can be expected to make. And a real crowd is tougher to ignore when I’m tired than a smartphone with a flashing red light.
I had followers, but I was quickly learning that I wasn’t cut out to lead.
I attempted to explain this, but I couldn’t figure out how to phrase how conflicted their presence left me using only 140 characters. Eventually I gave up and took the easy way out.
They packed up their tent city, I threw some things into a bag and we set out on a pilgrimage.
We’re heading west. In search of Conan O’Brien. We’re going to follow him a while, hopefully he’ll lead us better than I did.
I expect he will.
From what my Blackberry tells me, we won’t be the only ones there…
This was, it goes without saying, unexpected. 329 people standing under my balcony as I headed out for my morning cigarette left me quite at a loss for words. But I suppose they had pledged to follow me, so I oughtn’t have been surprised by the turn of events.
I’m just grateful I was wearing pants.
I suppose they were too.
Getting to work was tougher than I’d expected, that number of people tends to stop traffic as it crosses intersections. And our arrival terrified the day manager.
He’d thought they were looking for a meal, and we don’t have the staff for that many during lunch shift.
He was enormously relieved, if still somewhat disturbed, to learn that they were simply there to follow me.
Eventually, after my third table complained about not being able to enjoy their lunch in peace, I was sent home. I’d arrived willing to work in good faith, but the throng made anything resembling productivity impossible. It’s a shame, I could have used the tips, but I understand why I was cut. And paying me through to the end of the week while I attempted to sort things out was a classy move.
There was, we realized upon our return, no way they’d all be fitting into my apartment.
It was a smallish place, but Kat and I had never needed that much space and it’d suited our purposes to that point. Finding room for an additional 329 occupants, however, wasn’t going to fly. Still, it was the tail end of summer, the weather was still gorgeous, and if the other tenants in my building had a problem with a tent city cropping up in the courtyard they were too terrified by the weird, cult-like nature of the gathered people to bring it up.
I guess it was natural that they’d be a little bit terrified. I sort of was too.
I’d never meant to form a cult via Twitter.
Though I suppose, upon reflection, that running a Twitter account does hold certain superficially cult-like qualities.
You share your thoughts with the world and hope to attract followers that hang on your every word, and the more people who follow you the more powerful you feel.
In person, however, a few hundred people waiting for my next missive swiftly began to feel oppressive.
There are only so many jokes, quips and puns about pop-culture minutiae and politics I can be expected to make. And a real crowd is tougher to ignore when I’m tired than a smartphone with a flashing red light.
I had followers, but I was quickly learning that I wasn’t cut out to lead.
I attempted to explain this, but I couldn’t figure out how to phrase how conflicted their presence left me using only 140 characters. Eventually I gave up and took the easy way out.
They packed up their tent city, I threw some things into a bag and we set out on a pilgrimage.
We’re heading west. In search of Conan O’Brien. We’re going to follow him a while, hopefully he’ll lead us better than I did.
I expect he will.
From what my Blackberry tells me, we won’t be the only ones there…
Monday, September 26, 2011
Weekly Prompt Story: Mirror Mirror
Here we go once more! Didn't post the link yesterday since I was working a double and then attending a birthday party, but for you prompt fans here's my weekly thing....
the link!
http://podcasting.isfullofcrap.com/2011/09/25/weekly-challenge-283-–-mirror/
the text!
Mirror Mirror
By Chris Munroe
I don’t know if I’m the evil twin.
I mean, I don’t feel evil and I have all my memories from before the teleportation accident, so that should make me the original, right?
On the other hand, does anybody self-identify as evil?
And my twin did also claim to be the original. Though now he’s dead. Tell you what, I’ll let you cast the tie-breaking vote.
Sound good to you?
Promise me you won’t scream for help, and I’ll take the gag out of your mouth so you can tell me which one of us you think’s the evil twin...
the link!
http://podcasting.isfullofcrap.com/2011/09/25/weekly-challenge-283-–-mirror/
the text!
Mirror Mirror
By Chris Munroe
I don’t know if I’m the evil twin.
I mean, I don’t feel evil and I have all my memories from before the teleportation accident, so that should make me the original, right?
On the other hand, does anybody self-identify as evil?
And my twin did also claim to be the original. Though now he’s dead. Tell you what, I’ll let you cast the tie-breaking vote.
Sound good to you?
Promise me you won’t scream for help, and I’ll take the gag out of your mouth so you can tell me which one of us you think’s the evil twin...
Saturday, September 24, 2011
By the way... (shameless self promotion)
If you read my blog and don't already listen to the Dunesteef podcast, start doing so now. One of my longer-form stories, "Death and Michelle Jenkins" was picked up by them a few months ago and was broadcast today. It really is an excellent 'cast, and I'm pleased as punch to make an appearance there as an author. Won't be posting the text here, listen to the damn thing!
http://dunesteef.com/2011/09/24/episode-112-death-and-michelle-jenkins-by-christopher-munroe/
http://dunesteef.com/2011/09/24/episode-112-death-and-michelle-jenkins-by-christopher-munroe/
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