Message-ID: <42083asstr$1051319407@assm.asstr-mirror.org> Return-Path: X-Original-Path: 53ab2750!not-for-mail From: Hammon Wry Reply-To: Hammonwry@spamtrapyahoo.com X-Original-Message-ID: MIME-Version: 1.0 NNTP-Posting-Date: Fri, 25 Apr 2003 10:09:52 EDT Content-Transfer-Encoding: 8bit X-MIME-Autoconverted: from quoted-printable to 8bit by sara.asstr-mirror.org id h3PE9pGU025155 X-ASSTR-Original-Date: Fri, 25 Apr 2003 14:09:52 GMT Subject: {ASSM} Hammon Wry's Words of the Day for December 28, 2002 Date: Fri, 25 Apr 2003 21:10:07 -0400 Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail Approved: Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d X-Archived-At: X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation X-Story-Submission: X-Moderator-ID: dennyw, RuiJorge Hammon Wry's Words of the Day for Saturday December 28, 2002 Note: Due to copyright laws, I am hesitant to include the definitions and pronunciations of the words of the day. I have provided the websites for each so that you can look up the words for yourself. This is an exercise in writing discipline. I am trying to get into the habit of writing something every day. I figure if I use the words of the day from two sources in a sexual context, I will have inspiration and motivation. (Denny, that word keeps kissing my butt. Spell check finally stopped haranguing me. Three's the charm, they say.) And now, on to Hammon Wry's Words of the Day! (C) E. Howe 2003 All rights reserved Dictionary.com's word of the day: pugilist http://dictionary.reference.com/wordoftheday/archive/2002/12/28.html "...He walked down the iron-cold streets, his hands in his pockets, clutching the bottle of purloined either and a clean, dry washcloth. His step was in time with the music blaring from the megaphone speaker mounted outside a shop window. Simon and Garfunkel's 'The Boxer' reverberated from the buildings. The gunshot sounds of the chorus echoed from the glass and steel that rose above him in the night sky. He stopped when he saw the prostitute leaning over, her head in the window of a car. Her shiny skirt was hiked up to the tops of her thighs, and fishnet stockings descended into the top of her patent leather boots just below her knees. The speaker continued its tinny rendition. '...Just a come-on from the whores On Seventh Avenue' All his life, he'd fought for every possession, every concession, every acquisition. He was tired of fighting, being bruised and beaten over and over. He was tired of the cold solitude of nights, and the lack of companionship. Like the pugilist of the song, he decided in his loneliness to take some comfort there. He pulled the bottle from his pocket, and stepped into an alley to wet the cloth with the odiferous liquid." Hammon Wry -- Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated. +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ | alt.sex.stories.moderated ----- send stories to: | | FAQ: Moderator: | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ |Discuss this story and others in alt.sex.stories.d, look for subject {ASSD}| |Archive at Hosted by | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+