Dave Fragments
web page
Fragments.ws is devoted to adult-themed transformation stories.
I've been posting my unpublishable slushy stories on this website. It's my fun page of fiction.
Here is a Chronological list of Stories with the type of transformation involved in each story.
I write a blog of story ideas that I am working on or thinking about.
My BLOG
You can reach by replacing the "@" in this email address
dave at fragments.ws or by commenting on my blog.
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Welcome to my slush pile of stuff I write in my spare time that turns out to be unpublishable silliness for some reason or another.
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The Rejection
Dear Mister Colonaphan:
You are no longer being considered for the position we offered in the local press. There are several reasons for our decision.
First, you refused to remove that rotted, polyester imitation of dead beaver from your head. It's not hip. Second, it is no longer cool to snap your fingers on the main beat, the half beat or the syncopated beat. You ain't got rhythm. Third, your facial peel didn't remove the liver spots or the crateriferous pock marks. You still look like Mons Olympus.
Those items gave us doubts so we sent a team to your old workplace to interview your old coworkers. Your bosses referred to you as the most embarrassing butt-kissing weasel ever created and your office mates created a "shrine of shame" in your memory so no employee -- past, present or future -- will ever behave like you again. They will complete therapy sessions within 24 months.
One item we particularly shrank from was the Capri Pants Celebration that you insisted on having total employee participation. We have determined that Disco is dead and Capri pants should be dead unless you're a creepy pervert, serial rapist or Charles Manson. Is it possible that you are related to Eve Black or Hannibal Lechter?
Additionally, your former staff told us that you gave them special assignments that no one in the Division was prepared for. They said that you took no blame for the subsequent failures merely let your workers, to borrow a phrase, twist slowly in the wind. The least of your sins was serving them white chocolate with minty bits and claiming that your wife handmade the treats especially for them. That was a lie. Lady Godiva had a sale that week.
And last but not least, Devo was never a rhythm and blues band.
Therefore, we pronounce you insufficiently groovy. We cannot hire you but we can stamp you "returned for regrooving." We are an avant-garde, cutting edge dot com. You are an embarrassment to life everywhere on the planet. Your elevator never let the basement. Perhaps you can find a 12-step program for losers. We pity them. Please, never darken our doorstep again in this millennium or the next.
Sincerely,
Ukifah Heep
New Story
1 January 2010
GRAY WOLF
- A dress-up party, an elaborate costume, and a traffic accident...
In the OTHER Folder
Christmas Poem
Twas the night before Christmas and what do I see,
My girlfriend is handing a package to me,
It's not what you're thinking,
It wasn't bright red or green, or sparkly bright silver,
Twas brownish and lumpy and smelled kind of (that word doesn't rhyme),
Her eyes, how they twinkled, Her boobs how they squiggled,
Each flouncing and jouncing releasing tiny new temblors.
Her poofy lips, all lusciously red, spoke softly and gently and filled up my head,
She said don't open it, at least not today,
Then she ran out to the lawn and sputtered away,
Faster than eagles and quick as a termite,
In a red, jacked up beamer with cobalt blue flames and the number 7.
I puzzled and mused from the porch to the lawn,
What could this gift, this missive of brown,
What could possibly be concealed inside?
A Dalek? A Fembot? A live Jar Jar Binks?
My mind was a jumble of nixed metaphors,
My fingers, a fumble of not opening before,
A then in a twinkling I had such a flash,
My brain lit up three blocks of the city at last,
With a wink of my eye and a swish of my wrist,
I opened the package, and stood right aghast,
More dastardly than dog poo,
More ig...no...minious than whoopee cushions,
All roundish like dog's bollocks and squishy like jelly,
It's beating...
That brings back the words of men wiser than me,
Now dash away, dash away, dash away all...
Previous Stories
November 1, 2009
My Heroes Were Rovers
- A new drug is making its way through society by providing metalized highs. Men are being turned into metal fighting machines.
In the METAL Folder
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STORY LINKS
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FURRY and Animal
STONE and Statue
Science Fiction
METAL and Robots
OTHER
HALLOWEEN
TRANSGENDER
WHAT'S NEW
My BLOG
LINKS
SPORTS STUFF
Penguins
Steelers
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