Posts Tagged ‘caption booth’

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It was like the clouds parted and a choir of angels had burst out in song. Tyler's problem finding the last three members for the high school's latest drama production was about to be overcome.

"It's not every day you find three guys who can kick above their heads, in unison," he thought. "Now I just need to get them to agree to play the part of the gay, male Rockettes, and this will be the best high school musical EVER!"

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Dolores Umbridge was not having a good day.  In fact, she hadn't had a thing to smile about ever since that hack J.K. Rowling had first named a character after her.  It wasn't HER fault that little Jo Murray had nearly failed her writing examination while in the sixth form at Wyedean School – why did she have to go and brutally besmirch her good name in those "Harry Potter" novels?

Nowadays, she couldn't introduce herself without evoking a snigger from the people around her.  She could almost see their brains making the connection between her and the prissy, toad-like woman in those trashy stories.  Children in her neighborhood made fun of her behind her back, imitating her walk and precise diction.

Just as a flare of disgust at this thought ran through her head once again, an errant gust tugged at the umbrella in Dolores Umbridge's hand, snapping the cheap metal struts and flipping the whole mess of an umbrella inside out.  Amidst jeers and catcalls from the children on a nearby football pitch, she increased her stride and continued the walk to her flat, where she could wrestle indignantly with the umbrella in the presence only of the kittens painted on her fine china plates.

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Click on the link above to view the full-size photo.  Here's my first attempt at a caption booth entry for the Caption Booth groupContest #1 is going on right now…why don't you go pick out your own picture to caption?

(Note: Mine is on the long side of the word count – most will be shorter than this).

Wolfgang Amadeus Hollabeck was the best trumpet player the world had ever known.  The world just didn't realize it yet.  The best gigs he could get were in seedy bars in downtown Zurich, with a bumbling trio that could barely carry a tune, let alone carry one of his Gillespie-like solos.  He had tried to save up enough money to cut a demo, but between his bar tab and bus fares, he was left with barely enough money to cover the rent.

Wolfgang took a day job to make ends meet.  Now, decked out in lederhosen, he puffed and blew his way through a bevy of traditional songs on the alpenhorn outside a little cafe every day.  He put up with the jeering catcalls of spoiled American tourists asking if he had a cough drop for them, but the ones that really hurt his pride were the locals who visited to eat on a regular basis.  As the days passed, their polite smiles faded to indifference as they studiously avoided eye contact every time they walked past.

Wolfgang Amadeus Hollabeck shifted from the slow melodic notes of his current song into the the upbeat tempo of "A Night in Tunisia".  A couple people glanced his way and smiled before he caught movement out of the corner of his eye.  The cafe manager was coming out to speak with him about his musical choices, once again.  He sighed and switched back to the traditional folk song he had been playing, counting the minutes until he could get home and cut loose with a jazz solo that would bring down the house, if only he could find people to listen to it.

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