Professor Chichi Rodriguez cleared her throat. “Good morning, class,” she started, her naturally tenor voice resonating all the way to the back of the auditorium. “And welcome to Undressed: The History of Drag Queens 405, section 1. Please open your copy of Balls, Boobs, and Brawn to page 320 and discuss Queen Midas, King Midas’s lesser known transvestite brother, and her propensity for aureate lip-synching and how this talent would eventually lead to her rise to supernova queen status.”

–Eliot George

Gregory Wienerz was famous in his town for his propensity for eccentric lawn ornamentation. Each blade of grass on his elaborately landscaped estate was hand-gilded so that upon pulling into his driveway you were taken by the aureate glow of the sun glinting off the lawn – and if you listen close, you could hear Gregory chuckle to himself as he watched his guests, unable to see, wildly swerve their way towards the house.

~Lady Schwartz

As we sat in silence at PeeWee’s Diner, his propensity for peace, tolerance, and harmony was evident, emanating from his soul like the sun; however, when he opened his mouth to excuse himself to the restroom, a less natural aureate glow struck me, causing me to say to him, deadpan, “A gold tooth? Honestly, Gandhi, I think the worldwide fame may have finally gotten into your head.”

-Gladys Potter

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4 Responses to Aureate/propensity

  1. hiroprotagonist says:

    I … I … I live on an island of giants. My name is Cosmonaut 1432 — my friends call me Pasha. I came here with a co-pilot, my mentor, no. 43, but he died during the crash landing. His name was Mikhail … Misha. I buried him under a carne of rocks. Or at least, they seemed like rocks to me. But now I realize they are grains of sand. The giants are bird like, approximately twice the size of our ruined rocket.

    I live in fear, for the birds, once they spot me, swoop down and terrify to no end. After each encounter I race back to my shelter. I squeeze myself deep into & under the cracks of a monolithe, breathing hard, hands over my chest, my heart racing and palpitating. Once I returned to find my pants automatically soiled with urine and feces. It was disgusting. At dawn and dusk, when I (and I assume the giant avians) can barely see, I go out to forage for food and water. It is a furtive existence.

    The birds are colorful and vibrant, with aureate feathers, intricate, dense, and complex. Because of my small stature, I can appreciate their details despite the awful size of their bodies. At night they have a propensity to screech in what can only be described as the manifold cackle of witches. The sounds reverberate through the air; they append themselves to a growing, aggregating horror building within my psyche.

  2. Dr Banana says:

    Alone, he stepped out of the castle and looked westwards then eastwards. To the west was a gabble of desperate whores, dressed in gem stones that created aureate reflections visible for about two thirds of a mile. To the east was a foothill. The lone warrior headed eastwards, having a propensity for hill walking and a distaste for the shimmying of one of the whores trying to lure him closer. As soon as he began to get a sense of the inclining ground, he grew tired of hill walking. He immediately began to jump up the hill and his enjoyment of his situation was renewed.

  3. wrightless smalls says:

    My propensity for distraction by aureate details was my imminent downfall. I couldn’t peel my seedy little eyes from the innovative window in Macy’s flagship store expressing a golden shower with baubles that sparkled like sunshine, so much so that I walked into a human catapult and was flung to death by impalement on a spear like fence post. It took 43 minutes for me to bleed out, with tourists and squirrels making my worst nightmare true by poking at my face and brushing their tales against my neck. Mahatma Goodny strolled past and touched my forehead with her delicate fingers, “This is what love feels like, imbecile.” she whispered so the tourists wouldn’t hear her. I stretched my arms out to embrace her and expired before I was able to. Nothing is permanent.

  4. Velma Creen says:

    Grimaldi and Florine were lovers whose passion had waned somewhat over the years. Florine had become nearly despondent over Grimaldi’s obsession with the body politic. One night, over dinner, their conversation degenerated into a discussion of the current economic state of things. Feigning interest, she asked Grimaldi to define ‘economics’. He pondered it for a moment and responded, “Economics: the often failed attempt to satisfy unlimited wants with limited resources.” Florine agreed, “Hardly aureate or eloquent, but true I suppose”.
    In an attempt to lighten the mood, and perhaps spark renewed interest, she coquettishly continued, “Now………define ‘romantic love’.” Again, Grimaldi pondered a moment, then dispassionately offered, “Romantic Love: the often failed attempt to satisfy unlimited wants with limited resources.”
    She was dismayed with Grimaldi’s cynicism, and sharply retorted, “Surely you don’t equate romantic love to failed economies. “Dear one”, he passivley replied. “remember that the marginal propensity to love, just as the marginal propensity to save, is marginal.” A sustained silence filled the room, broken only by Florine’s shouting. “THAT’S JUST FUCKING DEPRESSING. GET OUT! JUST GET OUT! AND DON’T COME BACK!”
    Having neither the interest nor the courage to object, he sheepishly departed. Not quite sure where to go, Grimaldi found himself standing in a subway station waiting for the D, when he happened upon a beautiful young girl dancing on the platform. He felt compelled to approach her, and he did. Yadda, yadda, yadda…..(I tire of writing)…….they loved their lives away. Years later, it occurred to Grimaldi, “I was wrong.”
    Moral: Don’t wait for Florine to throw you out.

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