Exercise

FinsburyParkCarrots

Write a story of exactly 150 words about a jar of pickled onions. The story must have a beginning, middle and end. But the story must not involve eating or feding anyone else the pickled onions. Use your imagination.

FinsburyParkCarrots

That should be feeding, not fed-ing. You could fed a pickle onion, I suppose: that is, you could appoint it the role of FBI officer. But no eating it, afterwards.

DopeBeastie

i'm in...


thanks

burtschips

---

The state of the pickled onion in international super power and minor power politics.

Tony: Bush, honey, have you ever smelt my jar of pickled onions? I carry it with me everywhere. Inside are the most beautifully pickled onions you'll ever find.

Bush: Hey Blair, no shit? Let me have a look at those pickled onions.... thanks for the socks, I appreciate the little details of our friendship.... now lets have a sniff.

Tony: Well that would be an honour, it really would. I love you, here smell them.

Bush: ooh Tony, They're beautiful. I know you love me, I know - Here, I've got an idea - if I gave your pickled onions to Condi I'm sure we could have the Palestinians and Israelis agree that these are beautiful pickled onions. Common ground Tony, that's where we got to build from boy.

Tony: That's brilliant, you are brilliant. I love you.

---

a couple of fucking muppets

even flow?

I used 150 typed words not what I learned in school about five letters equaling one word. It may not have a perfect start, middle and end. But here ya go anyway.

Jim and I argued over the fact that pickled onions and cocktail onions were indeed not the same thing. We took a walk over to the mart to get to the bottom of the arguement. Upon our arrival at the mart we quickly went to the aisle with the bottled goods. Once there we looked high and low in search of the onions. Jim spotted the jar first. "Come on over here and take a look". Thinking that Jim had me beat, I slothed on over to his side. Jim held the bottle up and to my surprise it said pickled onions. Jim said "there you
go, cocktail onions". I looked him up and down, turned the bottle around and said, "read the bottle". "So what!", was his retort."It says, pickled onions!", I replied. "Same thing", Jim shot back. We put the jar back, and went for a pint.

burtschips

even flow? wrote:

I used 150 typed words not what I learned in school about five letters equaling one word. It may not have a perfect start, middle and end. But here ya go anyway.

Jim and I argued over the fact that pickled onions and cocktail onions were indeed not the same thing. We took a walk over to the mart to get to the bottom of the arguement. Upon our arrival at the mart we quickly went to the aisle with the bottled goods. Once there we looked high and low in search of the onions. Jim spotted the jar first. "Come on over here and take a look". Thinking that Jim had me beat, I slothed on over to his side. Jim held the bottle up and to my surprise it said pickled onions. Jim said "there you
go, cocktail onions". I looked him up and down, turned the bottle around and said, "read the bottle". "So what!", was his retort."It says, pickled onions!", I replied. "Same thing", Jim shot back. We put the jar back, and went for a pint.

shit, I've never heard of cocktail onions... is it true, do they exist? pretty funny

even flow?

burtschips wrote:

shit, I've never heard of cocktail onions... is it true, do they exist? pretty funny

They are the same thing as pickled onions for most people. But I guess if you used a big onion and cut it into pieces and then pickled it. It wouldn't be the same as having perfect little, round pickled onions or cocktail onions. So there just may be a difference in the point somewhere. But I lost myself in my description, Mr. Chips.

DopeBeastie

Ever wish you could blow up the outside world with the perfect bomb? This one might not get everything to smithereens, but it’s a good start. Remember to choose your onions carefully… presentation is everything.


Pickled Onion Jar Bomb
from PastaNazi

What You'll Need:
Large Pot of Boiling Water
1 Pound - Green Onions, cut to ten inches long
Vinegar
Grain Alcohol
Dynamite
Duct Tape
Matches

Instructions
Place Green Onions in Jar, fill to the top with vinegar. Cover jar with lid, tighten. Place jar in pot of boiling water and allow to boil for ten minutes. With jar tongs and an oven mitt, remove jar from boiling water. Allow to come to room temperature.

Place dynamite alongside the jar. Secure with duct tape.

Drink as much of the grain alcohol as possible, making sure not to breath on the matches if they’re lit.

Light fuse and run.

Quickly.

justam

PastaNazi wrote:

Ever wish you could blow up the outside world with the perfect bomb? This one might not get everything to smithereens, but it’s a good start. Remember to choose your onions carefully… presentation is everything.


Pickled Onion Jar Bomb
from PastaNazi

What You'll Need:
Large Pot of Boiling Water
1 Pound - Green Onions, cut to ten inches long
Vinegar
Grain Alcohol
Dynamite
Duct Tape
Matches

Instructions
Place Green Onions in Jar, fill to the top with vinegar. Cover jar with lid, tighten. Place jar in pot of boiling water and allow to boil for ten minutes. With jar tongs and an oven mitt, remove jar from boiling water. Allow to come to room temperature.

Place dynamite alongside the jar. Secure with duct tape.

Drink as much of the grain alcohol as possible, making sure not to breath on the matches if they’re lit.

Light fuse and run.

Quickly.

LOL!!!!!!!!
Ms. PastaNazi, you're a sharp one!!

justam

She wanted a place to hide for a while before getting back into her car to finish the long drive to her sister’s house. (As a female, she had to stop every few hours to find a decent bathroom and she sometimes found it hard on these small roads to find a suitable stopping point!) This place looked interesting and not unclean, so she had stopped.

She started to slowing walk up and down the aisles looking at everything. Trying to turn her mind away from that nagging thought....what was she going to do once she got to her sister’s? She picked up a can of artichokes, but she really wasn’t hungry for artichokes. She saw jars of cherry peppers, pickles, olives, and miniature onions.

A jar of onions fell on the floor (and broke!!) as she was walking by, so she paid for that and then quickly left.

olderman

Jethro never appreciated grandma’s pickled onions. Never mind that the potent condiment had won the Grand Prize more than once at the State Fair. Jethro didn’t like them and no one was to convince him that he should.

He still had a jar of those damned pickled onions sitting on the floor board of his pickup truck. He often hoped that a bump or a quick move would fling the jar against hard metal and bust open. He knew that he carried with him the final solution.

Fuck the bitch was his attitude.

So he tried to bust that jar of pickled onions. Racing over railroad track crossings, sharp turns in town and ultimately slamming his truck into the statue of Higgabottom Anderson, the town’s founder, in the middle of the Town Square.

He cried when he was denied his wish. Poor Jethro never could tell who loved him most.

Bu2

Most of us onions do. And life was good, it really was, even though we lived in dirt. We got water, we got conversation, we got plenty of sleep. And then one day I saw my dad get picked clean out of the dirt, and it was a horrifying sight. Mama shriveled up and woulda died an old weed but that she knew we'd need her.

And then Aunt and Uncle Onion got dug up, and my little cousins too.

Mama finally went mad after that. Me and my brothers and sisters had more room, so we didn't mind losing our cousins. But we sure did miss Mama's pungeant clarity. She really added a bite to our conversations, up until then.

Wasn't until my oldest sister stopped being a pearl and went Spanish on us, that we learned what life was all about. She practically thrust herself out of the ground, went rolling around, hanging out with peppers (not just the green ones, but the red ones too) till she found a bar. Jumped into a dry martini, slithered out of her yellow bikini, and swam for a good hour.

Then she came home, told us all we were stupid for being sober and smart, and the next thing you know, we were all hooked on dry vermouth.

Been pickled ever since.

olderman

Bu2 wrote:

Most of us onions do. And life was good, it really was, even though we lived in dirt. We got water, we got conversation, we got plenty of sleep. And then one day I saw my dad get picked clean out of the dirt, and it was a horrifying sight. Mama shriveled up and woulda died an old weed but that she knew we'd need her.

And then Aunt and Uncle Onion got dug up, and my little cousins too.

Mama finally went mad after that. Me and my brothers and sisters had more room, so we didn't mind losing our cousins. But we sure did miss Mama's pungeant clarity. She really added a bite to our conversations, up until then.

Wasn't until my oldest sister stopped being a pearl and went Spanish on us, that we learned what life was all about. She practically thrust herself out of the ground, went rolling around, hanging out with peppers (not just the green ones, but the red ones too) till she found a bar. Jumped into a dry martini, slithered out of her yellow bikini, and swam for a good hour.

Then she came home, told us all we were stupid for being sober and smart, and the next thing you know, we were all hooked on dry vermouth.

Been pickled ever since.

you get the 5 star award.. this is EXCELLENT!!

Bu2

Thank you!!!

I just wrote it just now and I get an award?

Life IS cool!!

DopeBeastie

i'm with olderman bu2... that was awesome

(oh, and kudos to you oldersir... that last line's a kicker, yo)

even flow?

Nice writing folks. Makes for a good Wednesday morning of reading.

dunkman

Once upon a time in a land far, far away, oh lets say near Poland, there sat upon a shelf the last remaining jar of pickled onions left in the whole wide village… old Jack would sit and stare at them through the shopkeepers window, his saliva landing in his lap and leaving a puddle that geese would bathe in and small boys would throw shopping trolleys into. His dream was to take a threaded needle and sow all the pickled onions together and stuff them up his bum. Jack was a knowledgeable man, he knew the concoction of vinegar, salt and other preservatives was the ultimate sexual rush, the bums rush… he was no ordinary pervert. Anyway he fell asleep in his own pool of saliva, crushing a goose, and the jar of pickled onions remained there until someone called Henry buried them next to Jack… preserving his name!

Being Enlightened

Oh these are fun! You guys are great! I wrote one last night but forgot it at home so, I hope to add it to the mix *hiccup* tomorrow.

even flow?

I thought I should bump this as the original thread starter has yet to make me laugh, cry, heavily sigh over his contribution.

FinsburyParkCarrots

All in good time. Carry on, fellas.

Meine liebe

Today is everyday. Wake up, go to work. Listen to conservative talk radio while you clean out Ms. Felty's bed pan in room 103. Help Mr. Thomas up off the floor.

"I love my job". I say it over and over.

Ms. Walker in room 124...I can hear her awful screams. She is shouting jibberish about pickled onions again. To this day I still have no idea what a pickled onion is. The entire staff ignores her. She still yells her insides all over the blanket. I feel a sharp pain in my head. Today is everyday. I say to myself, "I love my job."

As always I end up in Ms. Walkers room as lunch is served. While the nurse feeds her roommate behind the curtain, I always add a little cyanide in Ms. Walker's pudding.

"What is that?" she asks.

"Pickled onions."

Today is everyday.

(the end-i know i stretched the rules a bit but this is where my mind went with it)