The Man Who Floated Over The Clouds

Write the most random sentence you can. Then make a story from it.

The sentence: The man who floated over the clouds. (I know, it’s not a complete sentence. It’s okay.)


The man who floated over the clouds. You would think this is special, floating over the clouds. You rise up, off the ground, and rise and rise until you reach the clouds. Then they open, and through the clouds you go. And once you’ve reached the top, back down you travel. Back down to the ground, landing with no more commotion than the bounce of a tennis ball. Yes, you would think that was special, and maybe it was, but Tom didn’t know. It was just a thing, I breathe, some people run, Tom floats over the clouds. It’s useful for views, I guess, Tom guesses, if you need to see real far. But then there’s the dangers, airplanes, helicopters, power lines galore. Tom is the only man registered with the FAA. No, it’s not very useful, floating over the clouds, you just rise and you fall. You don’t go anywhere, you don’t see anything, it’s really nothing. Ringling Brothers wanted to hire him once, said he could make some money, make a racket. But Tom never liked circuses, one of those many people who are afraid of clowns. So he turned them down and lives his life, the nothing special guy who can float over the clouds.


The Fuck Poem

Turn one emotion into another (this one is anger into comedy). Explore, and don’t hold back.

Warning, lots of bad language to follow:

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