Here's one I made (partly) earlier. Feel free to finish it off!
"2,000 Ways to Cook Your Goose" by Dan Sullivan
This river wasn't running dry.
Billy Deltaflaps was locked in a more passionate embrace than he'd ever found with any 21st century women. Fifty shades of bathing in Wotsits, indeed.
He pursed his lips around his tender prey, hoping they would find him as irresistible a bastion of machismo as he'd consider them the ultimate in sweet female attitude, and with a nanosecond's pause for breath he began this most passionate kiss. That Norman Hunter versus WAG genocide complex..
And he was kissing his daughter's poster of Brad Pitt.
It was one of those clean October nights, compared to the damp, smelly, grimey mess Cashew-on-Thames was doused in 300 days per year. The window was five per cent ajar and although it would have not hurt a fly, the gentle breeze whisked his back and it hit him like an express train. A typewriter rhythm to make the blood run cold. Once you made a mistake, it was written in stone. You couldn't just go back, cut and paste and pretend it never happened.
But he did this all the same. He gave a very familiar quote some very eloquent butchering.
“The first.. rule.. of.. this.. is.. pretend this never happened!”
Billy stuck his head out of the window, breathing in the toxic 5 am air. He stared at the self-styled Hollywood hunk his daughter swooned over before she ran off with Alex Mack and Carmen Sandiego. Didn't look much different to a slightly younger him.. ripped, toned, immaculately groomed hairstyle, the perfect blend of boyband and butch, and the one the girls swooned over once upon a time when they weren't preoccupied with memorising the lyrics to Buffalo Stance. Perhaps he was just making love to his ego?
“Fucking shit, fuck, fuck, fucking arsehole bastard wanker tosspot twatface!”
“I'm not gay. I like women. I like women. I'm not, I'm not gay. I'm not. I'm too.. smelly to be gay”
Bob bombed down the staircase and made for the garage. Slightly whacking his head when it raised up, he stuck the keys in the ignition and set off in his car.
But where? Was he going anywhere?
Everyone had gotta be somewhere.