Giggle. I can’t say “Part Deux” without thinking of those Airplane movies. Weren’t they the ones that did that? Ah, Leslie Nielsen. Or was that the Hot Shots movies? But I digress.
So. If you weren’t paying attention back when I wrote about the gauntlet being thrown down, I’m in a (now) 4-way bet with three other authors over the Kentucky Derby. The loser(s) have to write a short story with a title of the winner (in front of them)’s choosing (err, go read Catherine’s description, she’s already laid it out nicely.). The chances of that title being quite, erm, precocious? Pretty darn good. I kinda want to lose. And I am sorely tempted to write it like Harlan Ellison used to do (as Brian Farrey reminded me of) though I’m not sure I could find a place to do it in. Maybe I’d just have to make a spectacle of myself in a coffee shop.
It could happen.
I used to live in Louisville, Kentucky (a few year ago, and just for 2 years). We lived within walking distance of Churchill Downs and we went to the Derby, drank our fill of mint juleps, and did all the other Derby-related stuff. Because, while the Derby may be one race, the whole festival around the Derby goes on for weeks. Seriously. Weeks.
It was the best thing about Louisville.
You’d think this might give me a leg up in figuring out which horse to bet on.
You would be entirely wrong.
I picked my horse — Uncle Mo — based entirely on his name. I mean, hey, it’s Uncle Mo. UNCLE MO.
It’s like a sign from Uncle Mortie.
Which should have prepared me. Apparently, my horse is suffering from “gastrointestinal distress.” I won’t find out until tomorrow whether or not he’s actually going to race. Though, strangely enough, he’d actually be fairly high up in the rankings if it weren’t for his tummy troubles. Except that he’s also been assigned the dreaded post 18, which hasn’t seen a winner in a long, long, long time.
Which means, all in all, that you should expect a strangely titled short story from me in the not so very distant future.
Oh, and by the way, if you’re curious, the latecomer to our party is Andrew Smith, author of The Marbury Lens.
UPDATE: Uncle Mo has been scratched! AGH! So I’m choosing now between Comma to the Top and Mucho Macho Man…who’s your pick? And if you vote? I’m going to pick one of the voter’s names to include either in the short story that I’m going to have to write (because, let’s face it, I’m probably going to lose) OR (in the extremely unlikely situation that I win) in the short story title.