Who's Your Daddy?
Yesterday, Mr. Lane and Lane 1 were wrestling. Father and son, goofing off, showing off and enjoying roughhousing together.
After about twenty minutes, I told my husband, "Honey, you're getting kind of winded. You might want to stop before you get hurt." He tried ignoring me and continued to wrestle with the boy.
Two minutes later, my old man's breathing was obviously more strained. Breathing completely normal and effortlessly, Lane 1 said, "Okay Darth, simmer down. I know you are my father."
I think I may have scared some of you with the definition posted for haiku. You ought to know by now, I am not one to follow rules. Besides, the only haiku I could do is the fifth grade version Bud Buckley mentioned.
So all you need are five syllables in line one, followed by seven syllables in line two and then five more in the third line of text. You can have as many lines as you wish as long as they follow the 5 - 7 - 5 rule and submit via e-mail at Home_Fires@comcast.net . There is no theme. You can be as lovely, crass or brown-noserish as you want. Simple, right?
Now, I will openly break the law. Do any of you have any photo editing software you can send my way via e-mail?
You know what really blows camels? When a magazine picks up your story and spells your fucking name wrong. Really people, how difficult is copy and paste? That's what I thought. At least their check cleared.