I admit that watching me noodle around with oxymorona isn't quite what draws people here, but Typepad lost its head a little yesterday and wouldn't let me post anything new. If nothing else, however, you can see why that entry never made it all the way to the blog. Every week or so I would think of another oxymoron and incorporate it into the story. It was less of a post and more of a hobby.
In other words, I'll resume stoning Adam tonight. (Because in the end, you and I both know you're here for the violence.) However, I'll leave my little experiment below the fold. You're more than welcome to edit sections of the text so to include more oxymorons I haven't thought of. (The result could be our very own Whole Family
She left the industrial park, boarded the elevated subway and cursed that so-called benevolent despot for firing her. Spinning the fate of a company that'd grown smaller for the better part of a decade was hardly easy.
Her assistant Jim had written a damned good speech, but that bankrupt millionaire whose benign neglect had put the company in jeopardy had rearranged Jim's talking points in some random order. She couldn't even understand it anymore. She thought aloud:
"'Negative growth'? He's upset I didn't say 'negative growth'? I'll show that old boy negative growth!"
Composing herself, she thought "Perhaps I shouldn't have insisted on reading from the original copy instead of the final draft." As the El pressed forward with deliberate speed she spoke to her reflection in the window:
"You may be flat busted but you're a fighter. A light heavyweight, certainly, but a brawler. You won't end up in a mobile home eating freezer-burned White Castle Hamburgers. You're terribly good at what you do and if worse comes to worst you still look damn fine barely-clothed even if you are flat-busted. He can shove his business ethics and airline food and 'Bald is Beautiful' routine where no sun shines."
She knew the odds of him finding a suitable replacement were astronomically small. Firing her was a calculated error that honest thief would regret in the near future. She'd write the true story behind that functional alcoholic's rise to power. She knew that since his idiot savant of a sister died the office had been in a state of organized chaos. It was an open secret that without Beth Ann around things would get pretty ugly pretty quickly.
She should cash in before it became old news, she thought to herself as the train rapidly decelerated. She felt numb. As she walked into the bright night she felt cautiously optimistic about her future. She wouldn't crash land. She would don her designer jeans and make from this dark day a killing on the corporate memoir market.
As she kicked aside the doorstop, she assured herself that this time the final version would be hers. Unfortunately God hated her. She died where she stood. Her cats were sad.
God chuckled to Himself about His Mysterious Ways and decided to let the genocide in the Sudan continue. "I'm such a just God," He silently thundered to Himself.
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