Sit carefully in my tooled leather chair, studs and verdigris, pour my snifter of brandy. Reflect on how much I look like the pimp Esteban from Kill Bill and wonder which one of us the joke is on. Adjust my cravat.
Scroll around the Internet for designer names; perfume bottles with stitching and sewing, handbags by the likes of Choco Caramel and Channel and Coochi, which sounds almost as bad as a dongle, no matter if it’s a real word.
I don’t always enter flash fiction rodeos, but when I do, you can’t tell if I was serious or not.
This silliness is doubly inspired. It’s partly in response to Charli’s flash fiction prompt for this week: In 99 words (no more, no less) write a story about The Real Nanjo Castille, who was the signee of something that may have been a spam email or may have been an incredibly tongue-in-cheek entry in one of October’s Flash Fiction Rodeo events–read more at the link. It was also inspired by Nyquil, because I have what is evidently the plague on top of insomnia.
99 Monkeys 
Oh, Deborah, I hope you feel better soon. Nice writing, though.
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Good one Deborah. That was the crux spam or clever, serious or not. Hope you feel better soon.
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From the title to last line, I was laughing! May Nyquil kill the plague or give you writing visions.
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