This is the defining moment in the story, joke, lecture, etc. that you have been trying to work into the conversation for hours at which you realize that all of your hard work, your intricate details, your subtle explanations, are coming together to form one giant tangled mass of words that lead your audience steadily away from anything resembling a point.

You have many options in this situation. You can:

a) Stop your story immediately and admit that you are an incoherent fool.

b) Keep talking, eventually causing everyone to leave the room as your point becomes more and more distant.

c) Make up something interesting that is completely untrue (my personal favorite).

d) Run.

Re: Part C:(Make up something): I was discussing this last night at dinner with a few friends. We came to the conclusion that the best solution when you know your joke or story is going nowhere, and it's going to die fast, is to just say "and then I found five bucks!" Simple as that.

So we were walking down the street the other day, and this guy looked at us and said, "can I shine your shoes?" We politely responded "no" and continued walking, then I started thinking about what to make for dinner. But then I found five bucks!

It just kinda makes the story worthwhile, because hey, you found a fiver!

It was all so perfectly laid out.

The planning.

The waiting.

The timing.

The anticipated reaction.

You never moved too soon. It was a double life, in all its effect, glory and splendor. There were slips here and there but they made simply cracks in a foundation that would never be shaken. I was here, she was there. I was the morning, she was the weekend. I never thought that I would be in this position. You hoped that she was doing the same. There had always been suspicions but never any concrete evidence. It became an ambition, a project. The half-truths and precision became more and more of an importance as time went by and this got bigger and bigger. Shit sticks to a rolling stone.

And then, suddenly, we didn't have anything else to go on.

Too much had been left behind.

I think she knows.

There he was again, tall, lean, long body and hard stomach. Her eyes fastened on him as he walked by to the dumpster for the second time this morning. He had classic chiselled features, strong jaw, sharp nose, prominent high cheekbones and black piercing eyes that made her avert her gaze when he turned his head toward her. His straight jet black hair brushed along his shoulders. He had the look of a proud Native American like the one she had read about in one of her cheesy romance novels.

She had observed him surreptitiously over her book every morning for the past week. She had imagined him walking over to her (in slow motion, surrounded by the magic shimmer like heat distortion off hot black pavement) and whisking her out of her chair, carrying her away to the river bed to whisper his tales of wild carnal knowledge.

She romanticized him no doubt. This is how he should sound, this is how he would speak. He was strong, proud, and wise, the ideal man. He would sweep her off her feet.

At the pool, he dove into the water with amazing grace. He slid through the surface like a seal, smooth and fluid. Her eyes glued to him as he emerged from the waters, droplets clinging to his form as if they were loathe to let him go, lucky beads of liquid. He smoothed his hair back with his hand, squeezing out the excess water, then he looked up with a slow broad gleaming white smile.

She was hardly aware she had stopped breathing when he paused next to her,...

hocked a loogie, and spit it onto the white cement two feet away. She was startled. Her built up Adonis then opened his perfectly formed lips and began to speak.

"I'm going to get fucking drunk, seriously man"

He was grinning at his buddy who was sitting in the chair right behind her. The whining and the belly aching started. Complaints about this chick and that boss and that "asswipe" down the street tumbled across that mouth. Each phrase punctuated with "fuck" this and "full of shit" that.

"I'm going to get so wasted, it's going to be fucking beautiful man!"

Suddenly his appeal vanished, bubble burst and he stood before her as he really was - an uncouth punk-mouthed kid. She packed up her things and headed out of the pool area, tossing the trashy romance novel into the trashcan, spinning the lid for good measure.

Log in or register to write something here or to contact authors.