Writing Exercise Results

The task was to complete the following scene:


"Hey, I get one phone call," Evil Editor said.

"Yeah, whatever," the cop replied. "Here, use my cell phone."


1. He tossed it through the bars, then leant back against the wall, and closed his eyes. His yawn squeezed them tighter shut.

Bedeep bedeep, beep beep, went the phone. Bedeep, beep. Beep beep. Bedeep, bedeep, bedeep. Bedeep beep. Beep beep beep.

The cop opened one eye. "You can't call abroad."

Beep, beep, beep, beep. Beep! Beep bedeep beep beep. Beep bedeep bedeep beep.

He shut the eye again.

Bedeep bedeep. Beep.

The cop opened both eyes. "What the hell are you up to, old man?"

"Shush," said Evil Editor. "I'm concentrating."

Bedeep bedeep beep bedeep.

"On what?" the cop said, through a yawn.

"This message from my friend Samue...er, to Sam. About my bail."

Beep beep bedeep. Beep beep. Bedeep beep bedeep beep!

The cop laughed. "Bail? You rejected the Chief's novel. With nasty little comments. And you think you'll get bail?"

Bedeep beep bedeep.

Evil Editor snapped the phone shut and handed it back through the bars. "All done."

Suspiciously, the cop checked his remaining credit, then looked straight at Evil Editor, bemused.

"But you didn't make a call--"

--Buffy Squirrel


2. Evil Editor took the phone. The guard thought he seemed reluctant to actually place the call when it came down to it, but he clearly knew the number by heart, punching it in without pause.

"Evil Lawyer? This is Evil Editor. I'm afraid I'm in a spot of trouble."

There was a pause, uncomfortable at this end and the bespectacled, gray-haired old man sweated and paced, and finally broke.

"Will you forget all that? Look, I need a lawyer and you're in the club . . . What? . . . Assault and some other drivel . . . Yes, I did but the first two or three were in self defense . . . well, wait a minute and I'll find out."

He turned to the guard. "How many charges of assault am I facing?"

"Assault - um, twenty three. That doesn't include the charges of murder, property damage . . ."

Evil Editor held up one hand and turned sideburn on to the guard, muttering something in the phone and receiving a response that was audible as a buzz from the cell phone.

"Well, if Evil Lawyer won't help me, what about Evil Shyster?" He dialed, got no answer. "I hate Caller ID," he said. "Let me try Evil Bonds Bailsman." A long pause. Finally Evil Editor folded up the phone and handed it back. The guard nearly turned away, but Evil Editor stopped him. EE took off his glasses and smiled resignedly. Then he took off the gray mutton chops and hair and looked at the guard totally bald."I would have preferred not to have to reveal this, but my hand is forced. So be it. Know, then, that I am . . . Evil Comic Book Character, and no prison can hold me."

--Anonymous


3. Ed flipped open the cell phone and burst into song:

Spider Murphy played the tenor saxophone,
Little Joe was blowin on the slide trombone.
The drummer boy from Illinois went crash, boom, bang,
The whole rhythm section was the purple gang.
Lets rock, everybody, lets rock.
Everybody in the whole cell block
Was dancin to the jailhouse rock.

Gyrating his hips and playing air guitar proved too much. Ed dropped the warden’s cell phone, breaking it into three pieces.

“Uh, gee, sorry there mister. I got a little carried away. Lookin’ for number three though. She still here?”

“What are you talking about?” the warden asked.

“Number three.” Ed lifted his jail shirt, exposing the t-shirt with number forty-seven written on the front with black marker.

Number forty-seven said to number three:
Youre the cutest jailbird I ever did see.
I sure would be delighted with your company,
Come on and do the jailhouse rock with me.

“Ed,” the warden said. “You may be the king of blogs. But here in Memphis, there is only one king.”

The warden turned to his assistant. “Lock’im up with Mrs. Clooney. Give her a number three shirt to keep him quiet.”

--Takoda


4. EE takes the phone and dials.

"Hello, Mrs. McGillicutty? I'm standing here with your husband and I just want to say that I'd love to suck your toes while you lie naked in a bubble. The thought of your naked body give me a hardon." He breathes lustily into the phone. The cop grabs the cell phone and puts if to his ear.

"Hello, hello? Who is this!" he demands and waits for the answer.

"I'm sorry dear. I know dear. I'm sorry dear. Yes, dear. No, dear. I'll get a carton of milk, dear." He hangs up the phone.

"You dialed my wife? What are you a pervert?"

"But you just arrested me for making obscene phone calls. What else would I do with a phone." EE answers.

--Dave


5. "Patrick, you gotta get Danny. I just been arrested for playin' a Pìobaireachd in public."

"Oh God help me Patty, I know. Playing Pìobaireachd's in public on pipes is permanently enjoined. I told them it was Ceol Mor not Ceol Beag but they looked a'me like I was stupid. 'Merican police don't know a siubal from a Taorluath." The cop stared at him like he was a mental case.

"No, Johnny stayed at home in his bottle but I'm a wearing my secret military sporran and it's restin' right above me manhood with the son of barleycorn inside."

"What's that? No, I played Cabar Feidh."

"Well no, I'm not naked. I'm regimental. Bobby Burns would be proud o' me an' my Great Highlands." EE looked at the cop and made an ugly face.

"They took me dirk, me skean dhu, me cap badge, even me Ghillie Brouges. I swear they're all named bastard Cumberland and I need a Macdonald. Either bail or tis Bonny goodbye for me arse." EE's legs went wobbly.

"Hurry and bring the boy lawyer. You and Danny are me only hope."

The cop grabbed the cellphone. "I ain't no Cumberland. I'm Vittorio Castellucci. Can't you read a nametag?"

--Dave


6. EE dialed, waited, then spoke: "Perry. Guess where I am. No . . . No . . . No . . . Look, let me narrow it down for you, it's not a massage parlor, a bar, a bookie joint, a bordello . . . No! It was a rhetorical question, anyway. I'm in the big house . . . No, you numbskull. Jail! I don't know, something about drunk and disorderly. And apparently there's a law against manuscript bonfires in city parks. Just get down here and bail me out, will you? What? Yes, here he is." EE handed the phone to the cop. "He wants to talk to you," he said.

"Hello?" the cop said.

"Listen, pal, are you aware of just who it is you've got locked up?"

"You mean Evil Editor?"

"Precisely. Now would you do us both a big favor, and throw away the key?"

--EE