Exquisite Corpse

This is a great idea! Thanks Matt... There is a writing exercise that is terrific for the blogosphere (perhaps the worst word ever etyomologized). It's called the Exquisite Corpse; its origins are in the Surrealists where different collaborators add onto a piece. A bunch of big named mystery writers did one 10 years ago entitled Yeats is Dead and it was hysterical. Each writer tried to write the next contributor into a corner, forcing the next contributor to come up with fantastical additions and plot twists. I'm proposing we try something similar.
Since we are mostly essayists in our group, I propose a first person point of view and let's see where it goes. Don't worry about style or quality-- the idea is to screw it up creatively! A couple of rules: title your posts 'Exquisite Corpse', first come first serve so don't work too long on your contribution, keep your posts to under 700 words (sorry Liz), no f-bombs, employ funny euphemisms during love scenes, and remember to obscure your characters to protect the innocent (or guilty, for that matter). Here we go... have fun with it (if you want to)!

The Exquisite Corpse
CHAPTER ONE
Dead? This is what dead is like? It's like eating a salad without dressing or drinking warm beer-- it's not worthless but dang close. Forty six years-old next month and now I'm dead. The autopsy was the worst bit. I could have done without seeing that. At least I didn't die boringly. Venucci, the county coroner, really had to work for me. Ha! Never liked him anyway.



"That's a nice suit," said Jennifer looking down at me. She was wearing one of her little black dresses, the longer one so she wouldn't look like she was on the prowl at her own best friends' wake, but she was. Jennifer was always on the prowl.
She was looking down at me in the casket and all she could think to say is that they put me in a nice suit. Hello! Wasn't like I died quietly in my sleep, Jen! But that's okay. At least I'll look good as I turn to dirt.
It was still early for the wake and there were just a few groups of people in the viewing hall. The real crowd would be coming after six o'clock. This was just prelude with my closest friends. There really weren't that many of them. I'm not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing. But Jen, she was the closest. I will miss her shallowness. She could make anyone laugh, even at a funeral. Ha! She made me laugh at my funeral.
Kurt came up behind Jennifer, put his hand on her shoulder and gave a reassuring squeeze. Kurt was like a little brother to me. He looked down at me with a lipless half smile that people use when looking at a dead person in a coffin. Death wasn't new for Kurt. He served in both Iraq and Afghanistan. The real deal. I think it was why he became a cop. He knew how to be around tragedy and get through it.
"Shannon looks good," he said to Jennifer.
Jennifer nodded. "It's a nice suit."
Kurt gave her another squeeze.
"No luck on the uniform?"
Jennifer shook her head. "They wouldn't allow it, because... well, you know why."
Kurt nodded. Of course he knew. Everyone knew. It was silly for Jen to try.
Kurt said, "The boys will be here any minute. Can I get you a drink?"
Jennifer smiled. "Yes, I'll go with you."
Well, that didn't take long Jen. A few friends came up and gave me the lipless smile. George, the super at my building said a Catholic prayer in Spanglish and put a cross in the casket. Jewish, George! Jewish!
The life of the party showed up not long after that. The doors banged open and Billy, Sissy, Vince, and Captain O'Shea came into the room. The volume went up instantly.
"Isn't this supposed to be a party?" yelled Captain O'Shea. Underneath his arm was a case of single malt scotch. Billy was carrying a case of Saranac. They brought the good stuff. It made me smile.
"Yo, bring that over here," Kurt yelled. "Let's get this thing going."
Behind Captain O'Shea came about two dozen of Boston's finest, in their dress uniforms. Daniels was even there. The snot-nosed rookie even had his shoes shined. It was a miracle that gangly moose of a kid could dress himself in the morning. Kurt looked out for him but Daniels was going to shoot his own foot off one of these days and everyone knew it.
Fifty conversations sprang up and my solemn occasion wasn't so solemn anymore. Finally!
Kurt, Jennifer, Captain O'Shea, Billy, Sissy, and Vince gathered around and looked down at me. Captain O'Shea lifted a shot glass with three fingers of scotch in it.
"Here's to ya, Shannon!" He took the shot like the professional drinker he was. Billy and Sissy from the old neighborhood followed O'Shea's lead and Vince, who didn't drink, gave me an awkward mock salute.
Daniels poked his head over Vince's shoulder and showed me the dead-person-lipless-half-smile. He shook his head and said, "I still can't believe Shannon's dead because of a damned dog."
Wait! What?! What dog?