Our Thursday

Category: Luke

  • Burner vs. Glenn: OMG This Cannot Be Forgotten

    Burner vs. Glenn: OMG This Cannot Be Forgotten

    Prompt

    You are in a high speed train leaving Paris for Amsterdam. You just had the most intense night of your life and feel lucky to be sitting where you are. You pull out a single piece of paper and a golf pencil, and decide to make a quick note of what happened last night before you arrive at your next destination in ten minutes. This response must be submitted as a scanned/photographed image with hand written text on an actual piece of paper.

    Challengers

    In an OurThursday battle of spontaneous wits, the sleazy Dave Glenn and coy Danielle Burner, will demonstrate how valuable the actual written word can really be.

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    Danielle Burner’s Response

    Download Image Here

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    Dave Glenn’s Response

    Download Image Here

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  • Sophie vs. Jay: Relevant Capitalism

    Sophie vs. Jay: Relevant Capitalism

    On Christmas Eve, two eccentric minds met for the first time and among many other things, this Challenge Blog was birthed. This Challenge Blog also rings in the new year with the first one of it’s kind that does not involve any of the OurThursday authors. So any readers that feel the need to challenge me, their mother, their three legged cat, or neighbor… please send your requests to [email protected] and I will let you know how this goes down.

    The Prompt

    In 300 words or less, explain why the  traditional concept of capitalism is no longer relevant or indeed, is relevant.

    The Challengers

    Sophie – Cantankerous genius who has lived several more lives than the rest of us.

    Jay – Intense philosopher of life, finance, and spatial worm holes who is not afraid to shoot someone with a crossbow.

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  • The Other Side of “The Most Scared I Have Ever Been”

    The Other Side of “The Most Scared I Have Ever Been”

    A year ago I posted a story about The Most Scared I Have Ever Been which recounts a night when I was the victim of an incredible practical joke that could only be compared to a Food and Drug Administration raid on an organic chicken house not giving their constituents enough sunlight and/or over starched chicken feed. Well my story was very one sided, but fortunately one of the “raiders” has been kind enough to send us his version of the story. Thank you so much Joe. (Joe is also infamously known in the first haircut bet.) Please enjoy Joe’s story as much as I did.

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  • Why My Dad Hates Street Luging

    Why My Dad Hates Street Luging

    At the age of 16, my adrenal gland was raging at 170% capacity and was regularly known to spew out the back of my neck. I was the designated bike jump tester, my (mom’s) truck had been to the vertical extreme several times before I crashed into two parked police dirt bikes in the middle of the hills, my face was pocked with copper BB rounds from the eye-protection-free BB gun wars we had behind my house, I almost dropped all my money in semi professional paint balling, surfing, snowboarding, hiking, mountain biking, snow fights, judo, and most pertinent to this story… street luging. Here is how I lost all the skin on the left side of my body.

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  • For Sale: Ball Breaking Speed. $5000

    For Sale: Ball Breaking Speed. $5000

    And to those who do not have balls to be broken… labial lip flapping velocity. This Suzuki GSXR600 will change you, and anything you choose to put on top of it, into a long stretch of blur as you dart through the endless traffic of life.

    Just imagine this rumbling between your legs.

    With only 12,000 miles in five years and a new rear tire and chain, you can be sure that your next Saturday and Sunday will be wasted in “advanced” traffic school because you thought it to be normal to wheelie over a bump in the middle of the intersection and catching air in front of Costa Mesa’s finest, who was quite rightly upset and very vocal.

    I have replaced the rear assembly with an illegally low profile version which will surely be a hit with the cop after you weave through traffic down a curved hill in Newport Beach.

    The brakes are immaculate and will Wow any onlooker as you pull over so fast that the cop has to park in front of you, then roll down his window, and wave you in front of him.

    And finally the piste de resistance, frame sliders attached to both the left and right side to ensure that your trip to 178mph, after you happen to merge onto the 73 freeway at the same time your competitive bastard of a friend is passing by instigating an immediate drag race to Bison, will be as safe as humanly possible.

    For $5,000 you can guarantee to be the fastest thing on the road at any given time. No one passes you, and if they try, you make sure to show your disapproval as you front wheelie stall up to the drivers side window at 90mph and look over at him with your blacked out skull helmet. Your dominance of the road will be instilled without question or resistance.

    Check it out at CycleTrader.com or email me at [email protected].

  • BRIAN vs LUKE vs DAVE: The Post of Christmas Past

    BRIAN vs LUKE vs DAVE: The Post of Christmas Past

    CHALLENGE

    “Thursday Threat” -where we pit author versus author (or in this case author vs. author vs. author) in a challenging game of mesmerizing malarky and wit flavored mumbo jumbo. An author will select a prompt, write a 300 word or barely less response to that prompt (or in this case NOT write one but challenge the others to use their active-word vocabulary to write one), and then send this bundle to a challenger(s). The challenger(s) will then be expected to reply or live in shame and sudden cultural abandonment. Winner is decided by the sudden fan fare we expect them to receive.

    I, Danielle Burner, am not participating because I want to challenge these men on a technique I already utilize.  This is meant to hopefully enhance their story telling.

    The Prompt

    Write (don’t draw it) a true story from Christmas/Hanukkah/Kwanzaa/Holiday past without using the words “was”  “have” and “were”.  May the best writer, with a keen sense of active words, win.

    Merry Christmas to all and to all a good fight.

    ——————-THE AUTHOR’S RESPONSES———————-

    DAVE’S RESPONSE

    I am happy. Santa had come. A Nintendo, calculator watch, and remote control car top the list that will go down as the greatest day of my life. For someone who’s already lived 2,531 days, this is huge for me.

    The most underrated Christmas gifts, however, are the stocking goodies. While I believe in Santa, for some reason I’ve always known my mom stuffs the stockings. One gift I’m fascinated with is a red slimer jelly monster–the kind that stick to walls. This particular monster resembles an octopus and has extra stringy legs, too skinny for a squid but too thick for an insect, which expand to create an eight-inch diameter if completely stretched.

    Because I am convinced that the best humor is in observing people’s reactions to the mysterious or unusual, I shall use this monster to scare my sister, an innocent young chap of four years. I slink upstairs while she doesn’t see me and strategically smack Slimer onto her wall, carefully sticking all six legs at max distance. Her walls are completely white, not a single poster. The monster stands out like a shark in a swimming pool. It is my toy and even I am scared of it, and I’m like four years older than her.

    I wait.

    My sister finally bounces up the stairs, glowing in the wake of her fourth Christmas. I slither around in my room, waiting for her to find my surprise. The moment she walks in she stops. Because she is stupid, she doesn’t run and tell mommy. Curious, she begins talking to herself, “Wus that?” I creep up and curl my head around her door. She inches her way closer, still murmuring to herself, “Wus that?”

    Once she reaches the one-foot mark, she begins to reach out to the monster, at which point I make a disturbing noise. It sounds like a blend between an oink and loogie-hock. My sister jumps and begins bawling like a baby.

    I retreat back to my room just before she flees to tell papa. “Dave put a monster in my room!” I hear her wail downstairs. I lay in bed and laugh. Then my dad stomps into my room and spanks the crap out of me. Whatever, at least I have Nintendo.

    BRIAN’S RESPONSE

    I wore a sparkling silver long sleeve shirt with a matching hood and grey spandex tights. I waited anxiously backstage for my cue. In the annual church Christmas play, I always managed to get the lead part. Not because I possessed any acting chops, but because I could memorize the shit out of my lines. At church camp, they gave everyone bare necklaces and handed out beads for us to decorate them with for various accomplishments. Kids would get them for hitting bullseye’s in archery, or winning water balloon tosses, or participating in nature hikes. I received most of mine for reciting bible verses.

    I practiced my introduction song quietly, trying not to think about what just happened. Having your friends burst into uncontrollable laughter after seeing you in costume is not something you want to dwell on, especially moments before going on. Just a few days ago, I had on white spandex-like pants and knee high socks. No one seemed to find that funny. Put a baseball mitt in your hand and all is forgiven.

    “Peter Pan wore tights.” One of the older girls told me after I nervously stepped out of the dressing room and faced the snickering.

    “Oh gee, none of these seem right, what ever are we going to do?” a future thespian voiced from the stage. The lights dimmed and sharp beams of color zipped around the room, making the audience feel like they entered a giant game of laser tag. I jumped into the spotlight and belted out my opening line.

    “Greetings earthlings! I am G.T. the Christmas martian!  I’m here to help you find the perfect Christmas card!”

    LUKE’S RESPONSE

    I saw the signal and began bellowing “HO HO HO” and waving my lantern from side to side. I winced at the ornately covered pillow as it scratched and pulled my stomach hair and forced me to sweat despite the two feet of snow on the ground coming over the top of my green gardening boots. I entered the house leaving a trail of mud on the fine carpet. I wondered if the white tampon cotton still obscured my dark eyebrows as sweat poured over my brow. I gestured to my aunt to wipe the liquid clear before it hit the lipstick rosiness of my cheeks. I took my throne and requested/demanded my whisky and cookies as the little elf boy wearily approached to take his seat on my knee. While merrily chastising the adults for keeping the heater so high and contributing to the global warming destroying my house, I tugged on the see through red pants that could not repel my acidic body juices. The little elf boy got right close to my face and stared deep into my eyes assessing if indeed I could be the magical gift giving man. I glared back and pointed to the other side of the room to make him look away as I lifted my beard to swig from the crystal glass of Glen Livet. He turned back to find me holding a santa helper hat that I offered him and as fast as the wily Rudolph himself, the suspicious set of eyes disappeared. In their place appeared the beacons of joy atop a face that would power any quantum powered present delivering sled for the rest of eternity. The elf and I brought a holiday cheer to the room that night that will be as timeless as my annual circumnavigation.

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  • Fair Trade Meets Wake Up Coffee Company

    Fair Trade Meets Wake Up Coffee Company

    His words were always rife with thought and significance and continue to be so in his current endeavors. From the dearly beloved Charles Pearson who was a past author here at OurThursday…

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  • Ollett vs Burner : Dark Days

    Ollett vs Burner : Dark Days

    Welcome to this addition of “Thursday Threat” where we pit author versus author in a challenging game of mesmerizing malarky and wit flavored mumbo jumbo. An author will select a prompt, write a 300 word or less response to that prompt, and then send this bundle to a challenger. The challenger will then be expected to reply or live in shame and sudden cultural abandonment. Winner is decided by the sudden fan fare we expect them to receive.

    The Prompt

    You are walking down the neon lit street of Hong Kong one summer evening. You gaze up to see an electronic message scrolling across the screen saying “We are sorry to inform you that the world has run out of electricity and a dark chaotic life will ensue. Good luck and Thank You.” You look around to lock eyes with other pedestrians who read the same thing. You hold eye contact for a few seconds, and then in a cold instant, the  lights go out.

    Ollett’s Response

    “Really? You would build yourself a bathroom that had a switch that fogged the windows up when you turned it on? Wow. You are a dummy.”

    “Well what would you pick then?”

    “Man, if I could have one hour with anything that had the spark… easy, it would be this little plastic case my dad brought back from some country without safety standards. It had two jelly pads and wires connecting these pads back to a softly rounded base station with two spinning dials. There were no instructions but the two distinct icons of a set of wavy lines and a man looking as though he is vibrating could only mean one thing, automatic electronic massage pads of course! I would spend hours researching the pain threshold at various points of the body. One day I decided to place one pad on my lower left rib, and the other pad on my lower right rib. I began the experiment and increased the power. Without warning I had lost all bodily control and was engulfed with the biggest and most powerful tickle of my life! I was floundering on the ground with my arms contorted into obtuse angles and my gasps for air just breaking through a piercing laugh that sounded like a cackle of young teenage girls all telling the same story at the same time. After eight minutes my mom entered my room to find me in this exorcist state and quickly unplugged me from the pads. I can remember that moment well. I just laid there. I laid there and smiled and I genuinely felt good. Give me the spark and I would have a laughing orgasm for one hour.”

    Burners Response (8 hours after challenge)

    “That is sweet, kind sir. A hand held massager?  Me and other women worldwide are very familiar with this device, using it during lonesome nights, mornings, in traffic, and sometimes even during coffee breaks.  We in fact utilize it often in lieu of,” her eyes instinctively glance down where she catches a ‘tent’-like shape forming in her acquaintances trousers.  “Well…in lieu of pricks, like you.”

    Embarrassed by his nature’s reaction, he refutes “My dear, you realize that little massager you speak of has done nothing great for the male species?”

    “Oh please, if anything it has made you work harder!  Anyway, the spark would not be necessary for my hand held massager, as it is battery operated.  I will simply steal my AAs from the remote, when need be, which will ultimately render me with these ‘laughing orgasms’ without interruption from my mother, of course, because I live solo…alone…by myself”, she shudders at the thought of both the laughing orgasms and the desolate living situation as she whispers under her breath, “If only that thing would cuddle…”

    “Excuse me?”  he interrupts.

    “Oh nothing…the spark.  Yes, the spark.  Considering the cold and dark world we live in now I would take my hour of spark time to charge my iPod touch.  With that external speaker, the world can experience a music and picture show in the palm of my hands.  I will be popular, for once.  Also, during that hour I will download songs and video to prompt me during “hand held massager” time because clearly you can’t sanctify me.”

    After that jab, her fantasies retreat while she ponders that, regardless of this man’s self-proclaimed inept skill, she will return home to her massager, giggle tirelessly until she falls asleep holding her pillow, once a again.  To cuddle or not to cuddle, that is the compromise…

  • Contest Update – First failure

    Thank you everyone who has sent their stories in. Keep them coming for a chance to win some of our fantastic prizes. Click the tongue on the top right of this page for details. I wanted to share a fantastic submission that just did not quite make the cut but I thought worthy to be displayed here. Think you can top this story, well show us. Submit your emails to [email protected] now!

    wisdomTEETH
    For the last 7 years or so, my wisdom teeth have been coming in.
    When I was young, my dentist did x-rays and told me that I would not need them removed. He
    wasn’t sure, but he felt good about my chances. I was relieved.
    I went to a new dentist in college, when my wisdom teeth had started to breach, and he raised
    his eyebrows as he recommended immediate surgery. I asked if it was necessary to remove
    them, and he said with a laugh that it would hurt like hell if I didn’t. He seemed knowledgeable
    and polite, but I chose to think he was a pathological liar. My reasoning was simple. Believing
    him would have meant action needed to be taken. So instead I decided to believe my childhood
    dentist and his far smaller range of evidence.
    And boy does that belief hurt. Every few months, the teeth creep up a bit. Severe pain shoots
    through the jaw, down to the throat and up to the ear, talking and breathing and swallowing all
    feel like chewing glass. It’s the type of pain that could send a man to church.
    And eating food, that’s a nightmare whether it’s one of those wisdom-pain months or not. Food
    sticks in the tiny crevices between half-breached tooth and half-torn gum. I’m convinced I
    brush my teeth more than any other human being. I’m also convinced my breath smells terrible
    almost all the time. Little bits of roast beef, cheese, bread, rice, carnitas, pulled chicken… all
    stewing underneath a calcium-infested gum near the back of my mouth. No amount of feverish
    brushing and flossing can save me — those are just cover-ups.
    But at least I’ve been spared the pain of 3 hours of dental work (for which I would not be
    conscious). Not to mention the agony of actually setting an appointment with an oral surgeon.
    Talk about hell.
    So here I am now in the great city of New York and my back right molar decides it needs to
    move up a few millimeters. The pain is one thing, I can deal with that. Chloraseptic, a little
    amphetamine, tons of ibuprofen. Chew with the left side of the mouth. Brush a little more
    carefully.
    But these few millimeters seem to be a bit more critical than the last. My right ear has started
    to plug. At first I thought water was in there. Then I decided to let it sit for a few days, which
    was a great idea. I woke up today completely deaf in my right ear. Action needs to be taken.
    Use a Q-Tip. Wow, lots of wax in there. How do I hear at all? I remove what must be three
    grams of disgusting ear wax. Still, no change in ear-pressure. Still, no change in volume
    reception.
    I peruse CVS for more drastic solutions. Unfortunately, there are very few. Apparently, this is
    not a common problem.
    I buy an ear syringe (‘for babies’). $7.99 later, I am at home and following directions. Fill it up
    with lukewarm water. Pull the earlobe down, insert syringe, gently flush water in. Let all liquid
    and buildup run out of the ear on its own.
    Uh, nothing came out.
    Try again.
    Same result.
    Hmm.
    I’m literally injecting my ear with water that traps itself inside.
    This has to be good.
    So now everyone has to talk a bit louder to tell me mundane things (“WHY DON’T YOU JUST
    GET YOUR STUPID WISDOM TEETH PULLED?”). I miss the obvious (“DUDE THERE IS
    NO POINT IN LEAVING THEM IN”). I feel like my father and his failing hearing (“SON, DID
    YOU SAY YOU WANT TO EAT YOUR WISDOM MEAT?”). I’m underwater and people have to
    shout down to me (“WHAT ARE YOU DOING ALL THE WAY DOWN THERE?”). It’s frustrating
    for everyone (I DON’T KNOW WHAT I’M DOING DOWN HERE BUT I DON’T THINK I’M
    COMING UP). When I talk, my words are sweet but tainted with the smell of day old meat (HEY
    WHY DON’T YOU GUYS JUST COME DOWN INSTEAD, IT’S FUN — AND IT’D BE EASIER
    FOR ME.). Everything hurts, all the time (I pray one day it will stop). All this because I’m too
    stubborn and I irrationally believe I know better (I WAS TOLD THEY DIDN’T HAVE TO COME
    OUT, SO THEY DON’T HAVE TO COME OUT). Stupid fucking wisdom teeth — who the hell
    named them that, anyway?

  • Short Story Contest

    As of right now, Our Thursday is accepting short story submissions from the public for a chance to win one of five great prizes!

  • A chance to be the next contributing author on OurThursday
  • A mobile application that is of your winning submission
  • Two days of prepared food by our very own Danielle Burner
  • Get your mugshot drawn by our very own Brian Pratt, the genius behind the drawings for each of our authors.
  • A sneaky date with our revered Dave Glenn

    • And if applicable, a guaranteed slot at this year’s OurThursday.com Open Mic Night will be awarded to all our winners.

    Your submissions will be accepted up until midnight of the 26th of November 2010. That’s a good 10 days to get your act together. If you already have a blog and would like to share a particularly good post, feel free to send it our way and we will be happy to link to it when we do our Contest review posting. Facebook post? Send it on in. We are not picky.

    Please send submissions to [email protected] immediately