• 101
    Best Websites
    for Writers

    Subscribe to our FREE email newsletter and get the 101 Best Websites for Writers download.

Celebrity Fender Bender

Categories: Creative Writing Prompts Tags: creative writing exercises, creative writing prompts, writing prompt.

While driving to pick up lunch, you accidentally bump into the car in front of you—a light fender bender—that pops open the other car’s trunk. When you get out to assess the damage, you notice that the driver of the other car is none other than your favorite actor. More important, you notice a dead body in the trunk. Who is the actor and what elaborate excuse does he give you to explain the dead body in his trunk?

Post your response (500 words or fewer) in the comments below.

Want more creative writing prompts? Consider:
The Writer’s Book of Matches

 

 

You might also like:

  • Print Circulation Form

    Did you love this article? Subscribe Today & Save 58%

32 Responses to Celebrity Fender Bender

  1. Emma says:

    Sh*t.

    Could this day get any worse? First of all, I overslept which means I’m late for work. Secondly, my normal route has been cut off, so by the time I get to work it’s going to be time to leave again. And now this. I crashed into the back of some guys Audi A4 Saloon, all because he can’t drive properly and put his brakes on too hard at the traffic lights. Now I’m going to have to get out and face the music. I put my hazards on and get out of my embarrassing Nissan Micra K11. I wave the other cars around us to let them know that this could take a while and shuffle my way up to the Audi. I take a look at the possible damage – it’s catastrophic. The boot is dented and the paint has come off and what’s more, the boot has popped open. It doesn’t look as though it will shut again anytime soon. As I approach the car I can hear the sound of an ignition failing. The person in the Audi is trying to get away. Should I take this as a blessing in disguise and just let them go? Or should I help them? I’ve clearly caused a lot of damage to their extremely expensive car. My conscience getting the better of me I edge towards the drivers window and knock. The windows are blacked out so I can’t see who’s inside – they always creep me out. I hear a female voice coming from inside the car, which sounds like she’s uttering every expletive she could mutter in a single breath. I knock again. Noticing my presence, the female went silent inside the car. A few seconds later, the car door opens and a slender stocking covered leg extends outside of the car. I can’t stop staring; I’m definitely a leg-man. The stranger emerged from the car and took off her sunglasses to look at me.

    “Thanks a lot, bozo. Now get out of my face.” the woman snarls.

    I can’t speak. Before me stands one of the most gorgeous women I have ever laid eyes on. Not to mention, I watch her religiously on TV every Thursday night at 10pm on channel 5. Wow. Candice Starlet. Now that’s a woman I’d like to… Ok ok, you get the picture. A day doesn’t go past where I don’t imagine us together.
    She saunters around to the back of the car to identify the damage. She begins to try with all her might to close the hugely bent boot, getting more and more frustrated by the second. She catches my eye and eyes the damage once again. It seems as though something clicks in her mind. Suddenly, she makes immediate headway for the open car door. I stand in her way, not wanting to leave a distressed (and yes, stunning) woman with a boot dangerously flapping in the wind as she drives.

    “Hold on, I’ll help. You’ll be on your way in no…”

    My words catch in my throat. I’m now standing in front of Candice’s boot, my hand still frozen in the air from my attempt to help her close it down. In the dark depths of my idols boot lays the body of a young man, no more than 30 years old. Looking at the state of him, he is definitely long gone. Pale and unmoving, his lifeless body is slumped amongst what looks like a weekend holdall and a series of shopping bags. I can’t move. She was trying to push me out of the way, get in front of me before I could see anything. Her tiny frame didn’t allow for this. I’m rooted to the spot, fear rising inside of me. I look into her eyes, which are now even more cold and uncaring – not like the woman I’ve watched every week for 3 years. She looks straight at me and then to my number plate,

    “If you say a word, you’re next.”

  2. Duckie05 says:

    My huge body flew forward. “You have got to be kidding me.” I said. This is was first accident I had ever caused before. I took a deep breath in and slowly let it out. ” It’s fine. Just relax.” I reminded myself as I got out of my car. I started walking towards the front end of the white, new 2013 Honda Civic that I had just plowed into the back of. I looked down at the bumper and saw half the bumper hanging by a thread on to the car and I noticed that the trunk was knocked open just slightly. I looked up to the driver side door and thought it was weird the driver of the car had not gotten out of the car yet to check the damage themselves. I hesitantly walked up to the drivers side window. The window slowly rolled down. All I could see was a man in a baseball cap and aviator sun glasses.
    ” Sir I am so sorry. It’s hard to see threw the rain.” The man didn’t anwser at first just sat there looking straight forward. I knew I had seen him before but couldn’t place him. ” Is there much damage?” He asked in a britist acent. He’s vioce…. I know that voice. ” Um…. well.” I nervously rubbed my neck not knowing how he was going to react when I told him the back end of his car was barely holding on. ” Yeah, it’s pretty bad. Your bumper is hanging on for dear life and your trunk is smashed in pretty good. I can close it for you.” I started to the back end of the car when I heared the man open the door in a hurry and slam the car door shut. As I reached for the trunk I opened it enough to get my grip on it to close it and looked inside. I jumped backwards and screamed. ” Oh my god!” The man from the car was now next to me and slammed the truck closed.
    “Shhh.” He said. He was right up next to me holding my elbow. I looked up at him and suddenly realized it was Tom Hardy. ” Holy crap. Your… your… your you.” I managed to get out. Tom slowly let to of my elbow and placed both of his hands on his hips. He nodded with his hand down. He looked up annoyed. ” What did you see?” He asked me. I couldn”t take my eyes off him until his question sunk in. I looked back at the trunk, then back at him. I could feel his stare on me. “I um. There.” I could barely speak. I wasn’t sure if it was due to his presence or the modifying image I saw in his trunk. “Nothing. I saw nothing.” I decided to go with that. Tom took his sunglasses off and walked over to me until his toes were on mice and his face was inches away. I sucked in a deep breath because it was hard to breathe just seeing him in persin yet alone being close enough to smell him and feel his breathe on my face. ” I don’t believe you.” He said grabbing my arm. He gave me a small tug. “Come on. get in the car. I have some explaining to do.” I followed behind him at first then stopped dead in my traces. He let go and looked at me. ” What about the accident? I mean. shouldn’t we call the police?’ I asked. Tom walked back over to me. “I forgive you. Now, get in the car. We have a lot of talking to do.”

  3. Joel H says:

    Hi,

    My name is Joel. I’m looking forward to checking out the forum here.

  4. moxiemoo2006 says:

    AEC
    Celebrity Fender Bender
    I picked up a cake at the market an article in the paper caught my eye. A celebrity was in town. I was meeting my granddaughter. Just the two of us planed the whole day. Suddenly I slammed the car in front of me. I had to think fast. Grabbing the registration saw the trunk was open. The impact broke the latch. My mind was racing. A man stood next to me. My jaw dropped, mind stopped. My favorite actor in the world stood in front of me.
    “Are you alright?” He said.
    Richard Hatch.
    I nodded my head grabbed hold of his strong arm. Just being this close to him felt like a dream. I had to keep hold of him for fear the dream would turn into a cruel reality.
    “Are you all right?”
    I heard him say again. His eyes held me mesmerized.
    “Yes.” I finally managed.
    “You sure? Because you seem like you’re in a daze.”
    “Of all the people I could have run into today Mr. Hatch, you are the one person I never hope to meet like this.”
    He smiled that dreamy smile I love so much. “Yes well I’m flattered but I am in a hurry. Now we have to wait for the police. This was not in my plans at all.” He was angry.
    I had ruined everything for both of us. He reached passed me to close the trunk. I looked in as the lid came down. A body. Not a manikin. My arm caught the lid before it shut.
    “You, have a body in there.” I stammered.
    He froze. “No it isn’t. It’s a prop for the movie I’m doing.” He tried again to close the lid.
    I really did it now. “What movie would you be doing in Payton Place U.SA? This is the worse place on Earth. How did you ever get the Harper Valley Hippocrates to agree?”
    “I like the landscape here. It fits the scene I’m doing.”
    “Dead bodies here? What is it? A disaster movie?”
    “Those are popular now. Everyone craves disaster movies of one sort or another.”
    I couldn’t resist the urge to touch the body. Hollywood makes things look so real. I had to know for sure. It felt warm, life like. Blood clung to my fingers. I jerked away suddenly. “That’s real like its alive.” It was spooky.
    My phone rang. I ignored it.
    He slammed the lid hard. It stayed shut. “I told you it’s a cylon prop. That isn’t real blood.” He snapped.
    I swallowed hard feeling the sticky stuff on my fingers. “A cylon?” I wasn’t sure what to believe.
    He handed me a card. “We’re filming at this address. I’ll show you at the set. Stop by later and you’ll see.” Then he was gone.
    I was stuck waiting alone to make the report. Worse I felt like a fool not sure if I should tell them about the trunk.

  5. bjamison71 says:

    The squeal of tires on pavement was followed by the crunch of folding metal as I plowed into the ass end of the car in front of me. Peering out through the chunks of salad that now covered my windshield, I cursed under my breath as the driver’s door of the other car swung open. I climbed reluctantly out of my own car and moved to inspect the damage.
    I noted the twisted, dangling bumper and scarred paint of the midnight blue luxury sedan, while my old rust bucket showed no visible damage.
    “I am SO sorry,” I implored, attempting to wedge the fallen bumper back into place. I must have triggered the trunk mechanism, because the lid suddenly popped open. My eyes flew open wide, and when I finally turned my gaze to the other driver, my mouth fell open as well.
    “Jack Nicholson?” I asked, incredulous.
    “Heeeeere’s Johnny!” he crowed with a maniacal grin, evoking his sadistic character from the movie The Shining.
    “You’re Jack Nicholson,” I repeated, hoping that knew that. “And you have a dead body in your trunk!”
    “Define ‘dead’,” Jack rasped. “We live, we die, and the wheels on the bus go round and round.”
    “That was your character’s line in The Bucket List,” I reminded him. “Not your best work, by the way.”
    He shrugged, conceding the point.
    “May I ask WHY you have a dead body in your trunk?” I ventured.
    “I don’t want to be a product of my environment,” he explained. “I want my environment—”
    “—to be a product of me,” I cut in. “Frank Costello, in The Departed. I’ve seen all your movies, Jack.”
    “Geez, Louise,” he muttered. “Cut a guy a break, would’ya?”
    “Jack, it’s a dead body,” I said. “You can’t lie your way out of that…”
    “I have never lied to you,” he said earnestly. “I’ve always told you some version of the truth.”
    “Something’s Gotta Give, opposite Diane Keaton,” I said, rolling my eyes. “C’mon, Jack. Just tell me truth.”
    “YOU CAN’T HANDLE THE TRUTH!” he bellowed, tiny droplets of spittle spraying me in the face.
    “A Fe w Good Men,” I said wearily.
    “Fine,” he gave in. “See, it’s like this—there are two kinds of angry people…”
    I listened with false intensity as he finished his line from Anger Management. When his monologue was through, I dug a bungee cord out of my car and fastened his trunk lid closed, concealing the body within. I shook his hand and wished him well with… whatever he was up to.
    Jack Nicholson leaned in and kissed me softly on the lips. He swept the hair back from my face as he gazed intently into my eyes, and when he spoke, it was with such genuine ardency and affection that I nearly fell in love with him right there.
    “You make me want to be a better man,” he said huskily, and it was then that I realized that Jack Nicholson is completely insane.

  6. blu says:

    “Juuuuust leeeeet my love, just let my love adorn you!” I sang as loudly as I could. This was definitely my new jam, I was on my lunch break, on my way to the mall to get my boyfriend the new Derrick Rose shoes when it came on the radio.

    I was channeling my inner theater side as I began to pantomime with a mic as if I was on stage. I started daydreaming as I often did while driving. I was looking into the eyes of my audience they were screaming my name, Layla! Layla!…BOOM! A loud cracking sound jolted me out of my daydream and threw me into reality. And the reality was I had just rear ended the Mercedes Benz in front of me. I hopped out and noticed the trunk to the Benz had popped open, without glancing in it, I rushed over to the drivers side to make sure the driver was ok. The door opened and out came the most gorgeous man I had ever seen over the age of fifty-five, he also happened to be my favorite actor.

    “Are you okay?” He asked me. I couldn’t answer, I couldn’t do anything. This is the man I had made a list of things I would do to if I ever saw him and here I was seeing him and wasn’t doing any of the things on that list! “You’re…you’re…you!” Was all I managed to get out. He chuckled, “Yes, that I am.” In total shock I began to look around, my eyes landed on his open trunk, without much difficulty I peeped inside and my stomach sank.

    A body. A dead body. I felt like I was watching the First 48. I looked up in horror. “Denzel, what is that?” “Layla, I can explain.” “Wait…how did you know my name? I didn’t tell you my name!” I was freaked out, Denzel just sighed and looked away shaking his head. “It’s a long story, but if you have time”-

    ‘Juuuust leeeeet my love, just let my love adorn you.’ I jumped up in my bed and hit the snooze on my alarm, silencing the music. A dream, it was all just a dream.

  7. lflor010 says:

    “Johnny Depp?….!?!”…I was excited…until I saw stiff fingers hanging out of his trunk!
    —Unsure if the shock came from my hunger pangs knowing I have exactly 30 more minutes until I get written up at the office if I came back late…or the gut wrenching disbelief that THE Pirate of the Caribbean has his own unfinished conquering to tend to.
    “Ye.a…Tis me” Peering at me closely as he attempts to smash the trunk closed.
    Despite it remaining ajar due to the impact a finger flies out. “Uhm…Besides being the one who’s insurance is going up, and you are?” He asks me with a rather questionable slyness-as if nothing happened…I was sure this was a trick question.
    Although he is fine…even more gorgeous in person, eyeliner and all he may just be as crazy as most of his roles–especially in The Secret Window.
    I muster up the courage to sputter to Edward Scissor Hands Himself…”L-Lizz what’s in the trunk, Johnny?”
    “Oh that?..(In my head of I’m like yea that stiff dead person you got in your Bentley).That’s just a prop I got from the set…See I am starring in a new suspense film with zombies….So in order to provide a performance of my caliber I must become one with my character…”
    “So you’re taking home zombies…” I raised my eyebrows skeptically.
    He and I both knew…it was not convincing.
    Is he acting…?
    “No…really,” I point to the body as hand sticks out and a crack of light highlights a blow to the head.
    “Ok Kid…How about we don’t get our insurances involved?….I have to rush to go back to the set…before anyone knows I took this…per-prop.” Hastily smiling…”I give you an autograph, or you can swing by the set yourself…I got passes…” With an enticingly sinister smile. Almost like Jack Sparrow himself. All that was missing were the dreads and shiny gold tooth.
    “And no one knows you took this….erm zombie as you say…” I get a little closer to the trunk….
    Not noticing that the street has filled itself with solace. The lunch hour ending all the busy bodies are back to work and my silent phone vibrating in my purse…8 missed calls…
    “I don’t know…that looks super real man…” Reaching out to touch the stiff fingers….”Hey!….He yells losing his cool for a second…Regaining back his composure almost instantly…Like madman…Criminal Minds…Instantly…”You might…[quickly thinking on his feet] ruin the material…stay away…!!” He jumped in front of me… Eyes slowly becoming quietly crazed….
    I felt my stomach twist…*I didn’t even know what multitude of danger I was in* ….as he closed in on me… Grabbing me by my throat with enough force to cut the oxygen and choke me into unconsciousness…

    ….I awoke startled to the sound of metal clanking…my head aching…darkness being thrown to and fro…I WAS IN THE TRUNK!…WITH THE COLD BODY…I frolicked and panicked attempting to escape when all I see is a ferry moving away and I sign saying…

    “Welcome to Little Hall’s Pond Cay…”

  8. RoxieXReal says:

    “Oh my god! I am so sorry sir!” I swiftly got out of my car to see the deal of the damage. Instead of anything sever i notice a dead body in the trunk. Slowly my stomach started to turn, I reach in my pocket to slowly take out my motorolla android smartphone, making sure my cute humming bird charm didn’t make its dangling noise and tried to dial 911 before i recognized the other driver’s voice.
    “I would not do that!” Nicolas Cage’s car door slammed shut and before i knew it he was right behind me knocking my phone out of my hand and breaking on the black topped road.
    “Nicolas…Cage….OH. MY. GOSH!” I exclaimed in excitement then made my eyes grow huge after trying to say and having Nicolas’s hand on my mouth to keep me from yelling it, “You killed someone!” i muffled in his hand.
    “No, Uh, you see, uh, i didn’t kill him, i defended myself, You see, he tried to kidnap me and tried to shoot me with a 47/8 pistol but i knocked it out of his grip and warned him not to attack me and run free, but he didn’t listen, he fought me with his surprised back up crew, so I shot him, but his men ran away. I’m taking his body to the undercover agency right now. He’s a wanted man.” Nicolas explained.
    “Oh really? the FBI? Why does this sound like a familiar movie you played in?” I put my hands on my hip and gave him the eyebrow, “And what about my phone, eh? You going to pay for that?”
    Nicolas broke a sweat, “Oh, well, i understand it does, why don’t we go together? I’ll buy you lunch afterward, and even give you my autograph if you want.”
    “Really? In your car? You and I?” I thought for a moment and gave the body a look and my stomach clinched, “Where did this scene happen anyway? I don’t suppose you have proof. Did this actually happen? Is someone pulling a prank on me?” I looked around nervously.
    “No. No its real. It happened in my hotel room about 4 hours ago. I’m booked for an appearance at the mall in which i have to be at in 2 hours, oh man, why did you have to bump into me?”
    “Me? I’m not the one carrying a dead body in my car, none the less, i don’t even have a nice car. I’m not even suppose to be driving this piece of dump!” I gestured to my car while pointing one finger up at the guy. Favorite actor or not.

    Nicolas used both his hands and pushed my hand out of his face slowly and looked in my eyes in all seriousness, “Miss, you’re being ridiculous. and Hm? you’re not suppose to be driving? Say, what would happen if you had called the police on me? wouldn’t you get in trouble not me?” Nicolas smirked knowingly.
    My left eye twitched and my palms started to sweat, “What are you saying…”
    “I’m saying, get in my fender-bender and lets go before we attract the police!” Irritated he grabbed my hand and pulled me over to the passenger side of his shiny black car, opened the door and pushed me inside and before i could object slammed the door in my face.
    “Now, buckle up and don’t say a word.” Nicolas said, “I don’t want to hear anything more about the body or where were going.”
    “But what about my car?! You do know that someone is going to find it and trace it back to my folks! Just what kind of actor are you?! You’re an evil maniacal man, I can’t believe i even liked your movies! Horrible!” I crossed my arms and huffed, “That dead guy should have killed you.”
    Nicolas started the car and full speed ahead, I forgot to buckle my seat belt and felt myself jolt forward and hit my head on the dashboard, “Hey!” and then “ouch!” Only made the actor laugh at my pain and say, “told you to buckle in.”
    “No you said, ‘buckle up’ but I’ll have you know that buckling up is impossible.” I huffed again hooking my seat belt in its guard safely.
    “Ha-ha! most people in these situations would just nod, obey and go with the flow, why can’t you do that? I don’t even know your name!” Nicolas ran his cool hand through his handsome acting hair as he drove.
    After some silence, I sighed and gave in, “Fine, its -” I spoke my name but over the sound of the passing semis and traffic sounds, he didn’t hear me.
    “I said i don’t even know your name!” Nicolas yelled at me over the noise.
    “I just told you, it’s-” The semis passed again over the sound of my name.
    When we parked I blurted out, ” It’s Casey!” but there were no loud passing cars or buses and I just yelled in a famous actor’s face.
    Embarrassed I sunk in my seat, “Sorry.” I mumbled.
    “Your face is red. are you okay? you’re not sick are ya?” he smiled his award winning smile and shut off the engine. “We’re here.”
    I peaked out the window and squinted my eyes at the unbelievably tall building that matched the color of his fender bender. While my mind kept fluttering back to my family and my boyfriend and all the life i had before this moment, the passenger opened and Nicolas Cage grabbed my hand and jerked me out of the vehicle.
    “Where are we?”
    “Are you blind? were at the undercover agency like i said.” Nicolas Cage answered walking to the back of his car realizing he forgot to shut the trunk before we left and noticed the body wasn’t there.
    “Oh, my god, the dead guy is gone!” I exclaim with shock.
    “Naw, he’s actually invisible!” Nicolas slams his trunk shut, “They are not going to be happy. Not one bit.”
    “We’re going to jail. Oh man what was i thinking?! I could have had it all! My family loved me, my boyfriend loved me, my cat was a pain in the pooper! Oh, Adele is just right all the time with these things!” I actually started to cry.
    “Bailey…” Nicolas said.
    “No, no! you don’t have to say, we’re already done for.”
    “Bailey look out!”
    I turned around swiftly but it was already too late, Mister dead guy, the zombie, had me in his grasp and tore open my head.

    The next morning, I woke up, sweating like wet grass, What a terrible, terrible dream. If only that dead guy had offered me doughnuts for breakfast instead of eating me alive. Alas, I realized i was in a hospital bed and Brandon, my boyfriend, that sweet, good looking was holding my hand and instantly asking me how i was feeling. Well, Geez, if only i felt like a bazillion bucks right about now…

  9. stevencasablancas says:

    It’s so strange to see a comedian angry. They’ve made you laugh for years, removing the tension from your body with gut busting routines. Hours passed in dark rooms full of marijuana smoke and your favorite friends, movies and munchies late into the night. Now here came Will Ferrell striding towards me angrily.

    “You hit my car ass! Why are you such a loser!”
    “I’m sorry, I know, I know, it’s my fault, I’m sorry,” is all I can muster. Obviously I can see it’s Will Ferrell but I’m not going to say that.
    “Give me your license loser!”
    “Are you okay? Is everybody fine?
    “It’s just me asshole.”

    I look at the damage to his black Lexus LS. The bumper was only slightly dented, but it was a new car, now ruined. It would never feel the same again. I check to see if it’s the hybrid model, the really expensive one. Isn’t Will Ferrell loaded? It’s not. It’s just the normal engine, although with the long wheelbase. Ferrell is a couple inches taller than me and I’m 6’2″. I move closer to inspect his car and see the trunk is loose with the Lexus badge half-falling off. I move the lid a couple of inches but he slaps it shut. He gets right in my face, smelling of vodka and cigarettes, and slowly pulls off his silver Ray-Ban aviators.
    “Don’t fuck with me loser,” he pokes me in the chest. “Go to hell.”

    He gets back in his car and drives off. I wonder if I should call the cops and tell them what happened. I wonder if I’m still liable since he was drunk. I wonder why he’s drunk at two in the afternoon and I wonder if it’s because he has a hard life. I’m sure he spends hours and hours writing material and has to travel a lot. I get so constipated when I travel. What’s it like to be constipated for months on end? I wonder if he cares when people stare at him, and maybe that’s why celebrities wear sunglasses. I wonder if people invite him to parties a lot and if he worries about what to wear, but mostly I wonder why he had Zach Gaifiniakis’ head in the trunk.

  10. “No, Cyntha, I do NOT want you to sell the – SHIT!” I screeched into the phone. I heard my PA squawk indignantly as I dropped my cell, slammed the car into park, and flung open my door, all in one seamless movement. “The hell did that car come from?” I muttered to myself, already revising history as the other person became the obvious reason the accident happened. I was stalking up to the other car, patented lecture on safe driving forming on my lips, when I saw the other driver sinuously extract herself from the black mini cooper. I froze, mouth open to deliver the scathing report I suddenly couldn’t remember.

    I recognized her. As I was the leading professor of history at the only university worth mentioning, of course I recognized her. It was just impossible. “Please tell me you just look like her,” I breathed. She simply smiled and shook her head.

    “You’re really her. And, I just parked my Buick in your car.” She should have been annoyed by the restating of obvious facts, but she wasn’t. If anything, she was amused. “But… how? You’re dead! By, like, a long time dead!” I didn’t care that I was rambling. I didn’t care that I probably wasn’t making sense. I didn’t care that I couldn’t even speak grammatically correct sentences. I was speaking to one of the ten most evil women in history. Someone who was reported to have been hung in 1945. Someone who hadn’t changed from the picture taken of her at her sentencing. There could be only one explanation. Before I could voice the impossible, the hatch door popped open, and a body slowly plopped onto the street.

    Tearing my eyes from the body, I whispered, “you’re a vampire, aren’t you.”

    “How about I cut you a deal,” she asked in heavily accented English.

  11. DanieRo says:

    When “Roxanne” comes on the radio one can’t help but sing. With the singing comes some arm flailing and head movements. This is all fine, except for when it happens while you are driving. It was beyond me. I could not help it, the groove was in me.

    “You don’t have to sell –”

    I feel a thump that thrusts me out of my rhythm. I realize that I just hit the car in front of me. My first thought was how embarrassing this is. I could try to explain what happened and I am sure that any reasonable person would understand. Said person has probably been there before.

    I get out of the car slowly and walk around. I notice that the crash caused the trunk to open. I thought I saw something in there. I figured it was just garbage or shoes; the same things that can be found in my trunk. I look a little more closely. There is something faintly resembling a hand in there and I am pretty certain that there is something dead in there. I am also pretty certain that because of this I will be let off the hook. Of course I should have been thinking about the body, but my first thought was a selfish one.

    I see stepping out of the car a man in a suit. A thick head of hair. He looks like a president from the back. Someone like Reagan, not Bush. He turns around. What I see makes me the happiest girl in the world. There is my love Alec Baldwin. The fact that there is a dead body in his trunk does not dawn on me until minutes later. I am basking in the sexy glow. As soon as I realize the predicament I am in I realize that I am not that surprised that Alec, I call him Alec, has a body in his trunk.

    “ Hey there sweetie”. he says regally.

    “ Eh, erm, uhm, you’re, you are, do you know who you are? You are Alec Baldwin!”

    “Yes, thank you, I am aware.”

    I am thinking that I am not going to mention the body. It just doesn’t seem polite. “ I am so so, uhm, so sorry about bumping into you. Roxanne was on.”

    “ I understand. Don’t worry about it. It happens to the best of us.”

    I knew I loved him. Although it is possible he was trying to keep me on his good side. I had the biggest leverage of them all.

    “ Doesn’t it?”

    He doesn’t even try to explain. The fact that he has committed some sort of crime is not something he can be bothered with. Alec never feels the need to explain. He is Alec. He just keeps smiling at me. One hand in his pocket.

    “ It’ll be our little secret, kid.” He winks, and gets in his car.

  12. Roshambo7 says:

    I had just finished an article for the New York Times before heading to my favorite sushi joint on 7th avenue for lunch when I had bumped into the rear end of a black Chrysler 300.
    “Damn it!” I thought to myself as my head dropped onto the steering wheel.
    I was shocked at how busy the street and how I was the only one to see the bloody body half-encased in a garbage bag. A man in a white suit with black pin stripes got out and quickly shut the trunk.
    “You didn’t see anything got it?” the man said.
    “Umm uhh duhh” I nervously stammered.
    “Got it?” he asked again, sounding increasingly irritated.
    At that moment I recognized his voice. It was Sam Warwick, one of the best upcoming young actors! He had just been in my office two weeks ago for an interview.
    “You’re Sam Warwick!” I exclaimed.
    “Shut up!” Sam said in a harsh whisper.
    “What the hell is a dead body doing in the trunk of your car?” I asked trying to hide the nervous fear in my voice.
    “There isn’t. I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He said flatly.
    “I friggin saw it! Tell me or I’m calling the police,” I said pulling my iphone.
    “Whoa slow down buddy, alright you win I’ll tell you. How do you think actors really get their breaks in show biz?” he asked hinting at a bigger picture.
    “Well from what I’ve seen today it’s taking out the competition, haha,” I said, laughing uncomfortably.
    “No,” he answered abruptly, “Most young actors get there big breaks from doing their agent’s and producer’s dirty work. This poor bitch turned up dead at one of my current director’s house parties and we can’t have that on his record so it’s my job to clean up.” Sam explained as if teaching someone some menial task.
    “Whoa, I had no idea. So the Hollywood underground isn’t just a rumor?” I asked.
    “That’s precisely what it is and if this story appears on so much as a tabloid article you’ll be next.”
    “Oh well uhh, maybe we can come to an agreement?” I asked trying to disguise my mounting fear.
    “Well since you now know what really happens I guess we will have to integrate you into the loop, tell you what I will dispose of the body and meet you at the sushi place on 7th and we can discuss this further, you do like sushi right?”
    “Yes I love sushi,” I replied.
    “Good, having you help cover our tracks from the media will help a lot, I think Danny, my agent, will like you.”

  13. As I eased up to the red light, my mind was elsewhere, and I ended up bumping into the car in front of me. It couldn’t have been that bad; I was going slow, but the impact was enough to pop open his trunk. Nonetheless, I cursed myself as I exited my car.

    The driver of the car slid out slowly with his back to me. He was an older guy with brown hair and wearing a dark brown leather jacket. My breath caught in my throat when he turned around. It was Liam Neeson. As he slowly walked towards me, I grew extremely nervous. My eyes darted away from him and—unfortunately—focused on the open trunk. What I saw there made me even more nervous: it was dead body.

    I looked back up at him as he kept approaching, never taking his eyes off me. He ran his hand along the side of the back window and over the trunk, closing it with his hand.

    “Mr. Neeson, I’m really sorry for bumping into you,” I said, hoping to take any focus off of the trunk—and the body inside. He continued to stare at me. “I’m willing to pay for any damages, Mr. Neeson.”

    He leaned his upper body towards me and asked, “Why do you keep calling me Mr. Neeson?”

    “Because you’re Liam Neeson.”

    He leaned in farther. “I don’t know who this Neeson fellow is, but I’m not him.”

    “Um, okay. Then who are you?”

    “Who I am is not important. But who you are is very important to me.”

    “Oh, right … because I bumped into you. You need my information for the accident.”

    He relaxed his stance. “Yes, exactly.”

    I handed him my license so he could write down my information. Instead, he pulled out a micro-camera and snapped a picture of it and gave it back to me.

    “So,” I said, “should I call the police or you?” His eyes widened. “You know, for the accident report.”

    He leaned in again, his hand firmly on the trunk lid. “I think it’s best if we left the police out of this, don’t you agree?” He drummed his fingers one time on the trunk lid.

    I barely managed not to look; I held his stare. “Um, yeah, sure. That’s fine,” I stammered.

    He leaned in once again, his eyes boring holes into my skull. “And if you have second thoughts about that—“ he said my full name and address from memory “—I just want you to remember something: I have a very particular set of skills; skills I have acquired over a very long career. Skills that make me a nightmare for people like you. I can easily make a person disappear and never be found. Are we clear on this?”

    I swallowed the lump in my throat. “Yes.”

    “Good.” He turned, got into his car, and left.

    I never told anyone, except for just now.
    Damn, I hope he doesn’t see this.

  14. fuego says:

    Silly me! I said angrily after hitting the car in front of me as I approached a red light on my way to lunch. Not knowing how the other driver was going to react, I had already started rehearsing the mea culpa speech when I noticed the impact had popped his trunk open.

    Geez, this is serious! I thought, shaking my head in disbelief.

    As I stepped out of my car the other driver rushed out to close the trunk. That’s when I noticed something very disturbing; a body, with its arm sticking out of the trunk – I was rendered speechless.

    The driver’s raspy voice with a New York-Italian accent interrupted my spell.

    Hey sorry about this, it is not what you think. By the way, my name is Al. He said while he reached out to shake my hand. It seemed almost like an eternity when I finally mustered the courage to clear my throat and stutter a few words.

    Ahem… Ex… Excuse me, A… Al who?

    He gave me that Machiavellian grin from the Devil’s Advocate, stared deeply into my eyes and said loudly. Al Pacino, pleasure meeting you, my most sincere apologies about this. What’s your name pal?

    I took a quick glimpse of his bumper and there were blood drops on it. It had to be from that body I just saw, I thought. There was no doubt in my mind. Still shaken, I replied nervously. Uh, I’m Tony, pleasure…

    He quickly interrupted me. Hey Tony, the pleasure is mine. Listen, about this ordeal, let me explain. It’s not what you think. Trust me! You see, some of my pals and I are in town for a big Halloween party. DeNiro thought it would be a great idea to borrow a few fresh, unclaimed bodies from the local morgue to give it a more real and scarier feel. You follow me so far?

    My jaw dropped. He pressed forward…

    So here we are the three of us, loading bodies into the minivan and it gets full. DeNiro looks at me and tells me they could put more bodies in my car’s trunk because it is a big one. Pesci concurred, and who am I to object to that? Those damn fools made me an offer I could not refuse!

    Police lights flashed as they approached to check what was going on. Al Pacino’s eyes grew larger. He grabbed me by the arm; the side door opened, he shoved me inside the car, jumped into the driver’s seat, shut the door and sped away.

    By the time I realized what was going on DeNiro and Pesci, who were riding in the back, stared at me and signaled me to remain silent as they winked.

    Now it was a hot pursuit and the police was closing in. Are you guys freaking crazy? I screamed. Al Pacino lost control of the car when the police cruiser clipped us. We hit a tree and that’s when I was knocked unconscious.

  15. mcdonaldy says:

    “Who is this fool driving in front of me?” Sarah yelled at the driver of a fire engine red Lamborghini Countach Coupe that veered off the Santa Monica Freeway in front of her. Sarah knew cars. As a Hollywood resident, she appreciated what money could buy, even though as a struggling “wanna be” actress, she was far from walking into the showroom of a luxury car dealership. She was content with living vicariously while praying for a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame. She quickly glanced down at the clock, 12: 30 pm. She had 30 minutes left; why didn’t she wait until after work to pick up her laundry. She sighed. McDonald’s for lunch, again; that’s the third time this week. Well, at least they are quick and convenient.

    Suddenly, the driver stopped and she rear ended the Lamborghini popping open its trunk. “Oh My”… she gasped as she put her car in park and watched the petite blond emerge. She looked in the rear view mirror and noticed the lane was empty and cars were moving to the left lane to avoid hitting them. She looked ahead, then she froze, shocked that she had hit Lindsay Lohan, her favorite actress, fashion designer, model and recording artist. She had been a fan since Lindsay was a 10 year old on the soap opera, Another World.

    Lindsay stumbled to Sarah’s car and leaned into the driver’s side. She reeked of alcohol, marijuana, and expensive perfume. This must be a clone, Sarah believed. Surely, the rumors circulating across the news wires could not be true.

    “Lindsay,” she gushed. “Are you o.k.? I didn’t hurt you, did I? How’s your car?” Sarah pushed open her car door as traffic whizzed around them. Traffic horns blasted as Lindsay staggered back to the car and struggled to close the open trunk. Then she sat on the trunk.

    Sarah pulled her off the trunk to survey the damage. As she pulled Lindsay up by her left arm, the trunk popped open and exposed a man’s body. Dead eyes stared at her. Sarah looked at Lindsay for an explanation.

    “I can explain” Lindsay began. “This is a friend of mine, Jose Vargas, a painter. He was painting the railings on the third floor of my house when he fell off a ladder.”

    “He’s dead, Lindsay”, Sarah stammered. She knew that she was stating the obvious, but this was as close as she had ever been to a dead body or a real actress and she was at a loss of words.

    “I know” Lindsay stamped her foot as she pouted. “I don’t want to … can’t go back to jail”.

    At that time, a black and white LAPD cruiser with flashing lights pulled up behind Sarah.

    “Looks like you may not have many options” Sarah said as two officers approached them.

  16. Dud says:

    “They’d better have my thin crust pizza made WELL DONE,” I screamed driving through the per usual lunchtime-funtime traffic. They won’t do it, I thought. I think they purposely cook it medium to spite me. Realizing my conspiracy theory was nutty, at best, I laughed to myself and began to switch the radio. “Ah, can’t hear this one enough, what the…dammit, my streak is over. Forty years with an unblemished driving record down the tubes.” My thoughts were racing. I got out of the car. Who was it? None other than Don “Sonny Crockett” Johnson; no introductions necessary. “Mr. Johnson, I’m sorry, sir. All my fault. Completely my fault.” Don Johnson provided so much entertainment for me in the eighties that I didn’t care how pathetic I sounded. “No worries, my friend. Normally, I’d lose it on you, but as you can see here I’m transporting this dummy to the set of my new show. No time to get upset. We’re using this for a chase scene as soon as I get there.” Looking down, I noticed some “minor” discrepancies that might have refuted Mr. Johnson’s description of “dummy” in the trunk: some twitching of the “dummy’s” arms, possibly a low moan or seven and several scrapes that appeared too real. Also, why wouldn’t a set person be in charge of dummies? But, as I knew and know, the man’s provided me with great entertainment. Never mind that he has no show therefore it may be a “dummy” set he’s carrying his “dummy” to for his “dummy” scene. Hey, I’ve got a pizza waiting. Civic duty? My guilt will hit me three slices in; I’ll make a call to the authorities. I’m a good person. I just know no good can come of confronting Don here. Cowardly? I’ll probably fight my shame later tonight in addition to calling a buddy police officer I know. That’s a second call; thereby, assuaging my guilt. “Take care, Mr. Johnson,” I shouted. While not certain, I think he replied, “Dummy up, buddy!” as he sped off. No way he could’ve said that. Forget pizza. Never mind the phone call. The eighties are over. Why didn’t he ask me for my insurance information? Don Johnson just earned himself a tail. How long? As long as it takes and wherever it takes me. Funny, I think “Sonny Crockett” uttered that line twenty-five years ago.

  17. katweyer says:

    God, I hope nobody sees me.

    My requisite Hollywood slim body hid behind a heavy cushion of a body piece that made me three times my normal size, complete with sagging boobs. My red hair was cinched down under a wig of curly white. I had itchy plastic on my face with wrinkles and age lines. I was hot, heavy, cranky, and anxious.

    My agent had overplayed me to audition for a role in All Fouled Up, a hot new Detective series, and I was late. I was desperate and sick of schlepping drinks to middle aged salesmen at the Oak Barrel. My roommate was a makeup artist; hence the getup. She was just as anxious as I to make rent this month and swiped stuff from various dressing rooms to help me get the part.

    At a stoplight, the beat up Honda in front of me started to slide back and tapped me on the front bumper. No biggie, but the driver got out of his car and slammed the door. I could tell he was agitated. “What the F—.” He stopped himself before he could utter the word, one that I used often, as a matter of fact, when he saw me as I sat primly behind the wheel of my own beater. “Sorry, ma’am.”

    I recognized him as Tommy Baja, legendary bad boy. His antics were tabloid fodder for fights, DUI’s and trashing hotel rooms. He pitched forward onto his toes and then back on his heels quickly, like a socker-bopper. He tried to focus his eyes. No go.

    This is going to be interesting.

    I put on the voice I had practiced all week. “You know you rolled back into me, don’t you, dear?” Pitch perfect.

    “Oi did?” Being an old lady had advantages, apparently. There was to be no argument.

    I watched as the trunk in front of me slowly, and with a loud creak, inch by inch, rose to expose a man, all scrunched up, knees bent. His eyes were open, staring to the heavens he had already joined. I recognized him as the aging rocker that had been reported as missing several days ago and found I was not surprised at his demise. It had been predicted for years.

    “That’s my best mate,” Tommy said, pointing at the body. He was so out of it his finger actually blessed the body; Father, Son and Holy Ghost, as he pointed to the crumpled mass that was turning gray. “I’m tiking him to reheb. He really needs some help.”

    “I don’t think rehab will fix him, dear,” I said, as I adjusted my white lacy sweater around my shoulders. “That boy’s dead.”

    He looked down at the body, put his hands in his pockets, went up on his toes, back on his heels, and said, “Crikey.”

  18. Heart2Heart says:

    The cell phone springs upward and then topples to the floor mat in one swift motion – a foul ball in play. The Subway Sandwich menu spirals downward to join the party. There is a crunch of metal and my body presses into the steering wheel and then is thrown back against the seat. The hunger for a Spicy BMT on sourdough is gone, replaced by shock and nausea. A few seconds of eyes-off-the road rage register. I shake my head “no”, as if that will erase what took place. I exit to assess the damage, not wanting to hear what the driver in front of me will say. I brace myself and look into the other driver’s eyes for the first time, not sure of what I will see. There is a large white duck standing there. He is a rather assertive duck and I recognize him immediately. I am in awe of this duck. I pause and replay his commercials when I am watching TV at home. Shy, I glance to the car he exited. I see the impromptu accordion trunk that has sprung open. The dead body of Flo, the Progressive Insurance Spokeswoman, is stuffed inside. Her blue headband isn’t straight and her hair looks disheveled. My eyes go from Flo to the duck for an explanation. The duck stares me straight in the face and quacks his familiar “Aflac” before he offers up, “Guess you just lost your good driver discount.”

  19. EricE says:

    A summer day without air conditioning on a Los Angeles freeway is a tragic affair in more ways than one. Primarily, it’s the sheer heat, which makes you sink in a puddle of your own perspiration while doing nothing but sit in traffic. But in an absurdity of California lifestyle, and almost as important as the discomfort itself, is the embarrassment of looking at the occupants of cars around you, with windows rolled up tight, cool and comfortable in their vehicles.
    This was Ben’s day; 101 degrees in August 2012, stuck on the raised portion of the 105 freeway above Compton, and heading east, inland, and directly into even more stifling heat. Next to him was a minivan with an attractive woman at the wheel, her AC on high no doubt, as he could see the front of her dark brown ‘big hair’ blowing as if the she were in a convertible.
    He saw an opening in front of the woman in the van and angrily hit his accelerator, while letting out the clutch too quickly. He lurched forward, BAM!
    “Oh shit!”
    He had bounced into a black Porsche Carrera which was making a move for the same opening.
    “Son of a bitch!”
    He pulled his wheel to the right and drove off the freeway to the side, and the Porsche followed. Both cars were drivable, but in his mirror he could see that the damage to the Porsche was significant and the front trunk compartment was ajar. He squinted hard at the trunk compartment.
    “Is that what I think it is?”
    There appeared to be wisps of straight blond hair, blowing in the wind as the cars pulled off the freeway. He looked into the windshield of the trailing car.
    “Is that who I think it is!?”
    “No it can’t be,” he said aloud.
    “What would Brad Pitt be doing on the 105 at 3:30 on a Tuesday?”
    He turned his focus to assessing the damage to his own vehicle, then to the Porsche as it pulled up behind on the shoulder. As the car approached, Ben could see that what he had thought were strands of blonde hair were in fact, strands of blonde hair, and the driver of the car was in fact, Brad Pitt.
    Pitt stepped out looking every bit the star that he was and strolled coolly to the front of the car where Ben waited, his mouth open. Pitt leaned on the car and lit a cigarette, then looked at the obvious tufts of hair poking out from the trunk.
    “She wouldn’t leave me alone,” he said emotionless, puffing a Marlboro and waving at the women who drove past gawking.
    “Besides she was a bad actress. I mean, after Friends what has she done, did you see that thing she did with Sandler?” He puffed his cig and continued to wave and smile at the line of onlookers.
    “Straight to video.”
    He looked at Ben, “So what do you want to keep this quiet.”

  20. Chilo says:

    Lulu had just pulled out of the building she attended traffic school for the second time. One day and the ticket clears off her record… again. If only she were able to be a bit more responsible with her driving, she wouldn’t have to enroll in any more. I mean, she drives a beat up Volkswagen beetle with the top almost chewed to bits. But like her dear daddy always says, “Lulu, you’ve gotta save, save, save, ‘cuz nothin’s free in life.” Only daddy didn’t know about the new purse she spent her paycheck from the Panda Express on or the new smartphone she eyed at the mall.
    Those were the thoughts that staggered in her mind the minute her car hit the rear bumper of the black Cadillac up front- a light fender bender. The tinted windows spelled out R-I-C-H and she knew this would not bode well on her own car insurance. But I get ahead of myself; Lulu did not cause the accident. You see, the Cadillac stalled to move ahead on a green light; instead, it backed up and ran right into Lulu’s beetle, which made its trunk fly open.
    Lulu clutched the steering wheel and bit her lip, “Get a grip.” She turned off the engine and unbuckled her seatbelt, “Emergency lights,” she reminds herself to press the button and to make sure and assess the damage. She steps out of her car and at the same time, a tall man comes out of the Cadillac.
    Lulu covers her mouth, “Oh, man, oh man oh man.” She lifts her finger from her free hand, “You’re… you’re…”
    The tall man sprints over to her and lowers her hand, “Shh, young lady. Don’t you know it’s not polite to point?”
    “But… but you’re Nathan Fillon from Firefly and Castle!”
    Nathan wipes his forehead and his eyes shift left and right, “Okay, tell you what, I’ll let this slide -”
    “What?” The shock of standing in front of her favorite actor began to wade, “This was not my fault…” she gulps saliva down her throat, “You backed up into me.”
    “I know, but we don’t have to call the police… here,” he hands her a card with his name and contact information, “Why don’t you swing by and we can talk this over, hmm?”
    Lulu gets hold of the card and stares at it blankly, almost melting. She begins to feel dizzy from being this close to Nathan Fillon that he catches her.
    “Are you okay?”
    “Yes, yes, it’s just…” and that’s when she saw it. It by the way is a body lying inside the trunk of his car. “What’s that?”
    Nathan smoothens out her blouse’s shoulder ruffles, “What?”
    “That!” Lulu points to his trunk.
    “Oh, that that.”
    She leans closer and yelps, “That’s Bruce Campbell from Army of Darkness and Burn Notice!
    Nathan begins to nod nonstop, “Yes, yes he is… let me explain.”
    “You killed him?”
    “No, but let’s get this straight,” he places his hand on the top of the Cadillac, “I’ll let this slide, hey, why not?” He shrugs his shoulders, “But on one condition,” he raises his finger.
    Lulu’s eyes widen, “What?”
    “You forget about this thing and I’ll pay for any damage to your car.”
    “May I?” Lulu notices Bruce’s chin and dark hair, and he seems to be without ropes.”
    “Okay,” Nathan closes the trunk door, “Bruce’s last wish before his heart attack was to take him in the trunk of my car to the hospital.”
    “Really?”
    “Yes, we’re on our way… you know… gonna pay my respects there.”
    Believe me when I tell you that Lulu was confused. Why would anyone make a dying wish like that is beyond her. “Well, in that case, you have nothing to worry from me.”
    “I knew you’d understand. I knew the minute I saw you.”
    “Yeah, well…”
    “Here,” he hands her four hundred dollar bills. “This should be enough to cover any expenses. If not, give me a call… um?”
    “Lulu.”
    “Lulu. Thank you.” He smiles and walks back in to his car and revs up the engine. He waves goodbye as he drives off.
    “So, did she buy it?” Bruce sticks out his head from inside the trunk through the seat cushions.
    “I think so.” Nathan turns on the GPS, “Where to now?”

  21. cfitch says:

    I knew I should have quit smoking, but it’s the one and only vice that I have left. As I perform a Cirque du Soleil move to catch the red hot cigarette stub before it melts the carpet in my 2001 Sport Trac, I hear a loud thump as I am jerked back into my seat. Could this day get any worse? Judging by the disgruntled look on the handsome, scruffy cheeked male stepping from the Prowler in front of me; it’s not his day either. While the dark sunglasses veil what I’m sure is the look of death, I must admit that this man is a sweet piece of eye candy from his angled chin to his musculature evidenced under his shirt and designer jeans. Finally, I find the ember that caused the commotion and pour a few drops of iced coffee over it to keep from setting my truck ablaze. I’ll have to clean that later. Then, I gingerly step out to meet my fate with Mr. Hot Stuff who is coming toward me like a panther stalking his prey.

    As we converge on Hot Stuff’s bumper to gauge the damage, his trunk pops open. Oh my God! Are you kidding me?! There is a flipping redhead in his trunk and she doesn’t look lively if you know what I mean. How do I get myself into these situations? Did I take the much populated interstate? Why, no, that would have been the smart move when damaging a psycho killer’s prowler. Instead I opted for the less traveled back road so that I could stay within the confines of a 45 minute lunch break. Something tells me that I’m not going to be making it back on time.

    At that precise moment, Hot Stuff flashes his million watt smile. Note to self – do not fall for hot psycho killer. Then, Hot Stuff commences to remove his sunglasses. Whoa – now here’s where the story gets interesting (as if I encounter psycho, dead body in trunk, toting hotties daily)…it’s Ben Affleck. Yes, you heard that right, the one, the only, Ben Affleck, in the flesh.

    At this point, my voice has abandoned me, my legs are cemented to the pavement and I feel as if I have had a recent lobotomy. Our conversation goes something like this…

    Ben (aka Hot Stuff): “We seem to have had a fender bender.”
    Me: “Uhhhhhh…..”
    Ben: “Are you ok?”
    Me: (Drool, blood pressure registering dangerous red zone, what comes out…)
    “Uhhhh….”
    Ben:
    “I’m really sorry, but as you can see I have the props in my trunk for our latest thriller and I really need to get our blow up doll, “Red” to the set. If you’re ok, I can cover this and we’ll just call it a day.”
    Me: (Nodding)
    Ben: “Ok, well, I’ll see you later. Have a great day!”

    Then, he closes the trunk and speeds off as I return to the mundane world of accounting.

    The End

  22. Montanna9 says:

    I was in the delivery truck, on my way to the Plaza Hotel to drop off their lobsters. I was pushing because I still had another delivery in the Bronx. The light turned yellow and I sped up to make the light. The Mercedes in front of me came to a stop and I hit it hard enough to pop the trunk.
    We were on the corner of 3rd Ave and 52nd Street. It was a cold, winter day but the sun was out. I got out of the truck, pulling on my jacket. The other driver was shorter than five feet. He was wearing sunglasses and a Hawaiian shirt, but I recognized him instantly.
    I said, “Hey, you’re Danny Devito!”
    “Look pal, I’m kinda in a hurry.”
    I apologized several times while he tried in vain to close the trunk. There were dozens of pedestrians standing on the corner, waiting for the light to change. Danny was cursing and muttering, getting emotional. When I offered to help, he pushed me back. His breath smelled like cranberry juice, and his crying had all the earmarks of Grey Goose Vodka.
    I looked in the trunk of his car and said, “Arnold Schwarzenegger?”
    “I’m just taking him to the hospital. It’s not what you think.”
    “He’s got a knife in his chest.”
    “He’ll be all right, so don’t get excited.”
    “Danny, he’s dead. Look at him.”
    “I’m just taking him to the hospital.”
    “In the trunk of your car?”
    “I didn’t want to get blood on my seats.”
    “Huh?”
    “It’s an expensive car. I’m just taking him to the hospital.”
    “Jesus–”
    “I didn’t do it! I swear.”
    “Danny–”
    “I just found him like that!”
    “It’s okay.”
    “It was an accident!”
    Danny wiped his tears with the back of his hand. People walking by looked at the dead body and, not wanting to be late for work, kept walking. I knew Danny was lying, but what could I do? I always loved his character on Taxi. And after what Schwarzenegger did to the state of California, it seemed like a fair exchange.
    “Look,” I said, “I’ve got some deliveries to make in the Bronx. If you want, I can take care of this.”
    Danny stopped crying and said, “What?”
    “We’ll put Arnold in an empty lobster tote. There’s a swamp on the other side of the Throggs Neck Bridge.” I winked at Danny. A sly smile spread across his face. “Just leave everything to me.”

  23. suz4505 says:

    Celebrity Fender Bender

    I should have been watching the car in front of me instead of the light that turned green. I pressed the accelerator only to bump into the Buick that hadn’t moved.

    Damn, I thought as I climbed out of my car. The guys at the shop are going to be angry that their lunch is late…again. At least that was what I thought until all thought flew from my head. The trunk had popped open and there was a body, dead in the trunk. At least it looked dead. How would I know?

    Pulling out my cell phone to call the cops, I stayed back by my car as the driver of the Buick climbed out of his. That wasn’t Jim Carrey. No, this stuff didn’t happen to me. Jim Carrey with a dead body in his trunk? Nobody was going to believe me. I put my phone back in my pocket.

    “Hi,” he said cheerfully as he closed the distance between us. “I didn’t damage your car, did I?”

    “Uhm, nooo.” I couldn’t think and my eyes wouldn’t leave the body in the trunk that still hadn’t moved.

    “Good. I apologize.” He was so cheerful. “I was talking to my producer on the phone and wasn’t paying attention.” I glanced at him as he pulled some money from his pants pocket. “It’s just a scratch but, here let me give you some money for your aggravation.”

    I barely glanced at his outstretched hand – a couple of hundreds. “But,” I waved at his trunk. “Uh…” not knowing what to say.

    He looked toward his car. “Oh, that.” He waved it away as if it was an everyday occurrence. “I gotta get that body to the site. Don’t worry.” He laughed. “Its not real.” He waved me toward him. “Wanna touch it? They look real don’t they?”

    I chuckled nervously. “Uh, okay. Yeah, sure looks real to me.” I headed back toward my car. “I, uhm, gotta go. I’m getting lunch for the shop.” I climbed into my car, confused and not really thinking. Before I drove away, I rolled down my window and said, “I love your movies,” to the guy still standing at his open trunk. Was it Jim Carrey?

    I stopped for the light that was red again and looked in my rear view mirror. He was reaching into the trunk. As the light turned green, I saw the dead body and the actor standing at the back of the car, laughing outrageously.

    I didn’t explain a thing to the guys at the shop that day. Or, when two month later, I received two tickets and a personal invitation to the local premier of Jim Carrey’s latest movie.

  24. Chrisgiraffe says:

    I felt queasy. I just smacked into the back of a spotless Aston Martin DB5- the car James Bond drove. I was in LA and it wasn’t a fake. I suddenly dreaded those words I said on an hour earlier. ‘Additional coverage? Some people bump into cars… I don’t.” I hoped it was a scratch, then I saw the trunk- it wasn’t. A man in a fedora and sunglasses quickly came back.

    ‘Eh, it’s nothing.’

    Even though I was probably off the hook and should have kept my mouth shut I had to add, ‘I’m very sorry, if there’s anything…’

    Then something unexpected happened. The lid popped open. I jumped back in shock. The driver looked around.

    “Is that who I…”

    “Kid, this isn’t what you think.”

    “Are you?”

    “Kid” he began to say but I was too quick.

    “Harrison Ford?” It was. Han Solo was driving Bond’s car with George Lucas in the trunk. My head was spinning. I needed to sit down. Ford looked around.

    “Impersonators. That’s what this is.”

    I just sat, dumbfounded.

    “You OK?” he asked.

    “Sorry, this is all a little much.”

    “I can explain.” He was slightly panicky. “You know that fridge, the one that was nuked?”

    I tried to get my brain back down to Earth. “Oh! Yeah. Yes I do.”

    “Well, he wanted me to do a sequel. A baaaaad sequel. And my agent was all, ‘you’ve got to do this. It’ll keep your name on the marquee.’ Know what I’m saying, kid?’

    I just sat there trying to take it all in.

    “So what do you say? Can you cut a guy a little break?”

    I was still a little dazed but what was I to say? I hated the Star Wars prequels. “I guess so.”

    He let out a huge sigh.

    “On one condition.”

    He looked like I just put his balls in a vice. “Yes?” he croaked.

    “You come to my Christmas party as Han Santa.”

    He smiled. “Ho, ho ho, kid!”

  25. handyman43127 says:

    LOSING MY LUNCH

    Spending Saturdays at MacArthur Park outside of Los Angeles was normal for my girlfriend and I. Taking a short trip to a near bye McDonalds for lunch was also normal, she would stay at the park and I would go fetch.

    A large bag of to-go on the seat beside me I turned onto the roadway headed back to the park. Rehearsing the lines in my head for a small part in a movie I would be acting in, I lost focus on my driving and wondered off to another place.

    The impact summoned me back quickly! I had rear-ended a car stopped for a red light. Looking to my right and on the floor I peered at a tangled mass of fries and burgers scattered among the grains of sand left over from yesterdays trip to the beach.

    Exiting my car I surveyed the damage, not to bad just a fender bender. Placing my hand on the other car to lift myself from my knees, The trunk suddenly popped open. I stood staring at a mangled body encased in a clear plastic body bag. I found myself on my knees again this time with dry heaves.

    Feeling one hand on my shoulder and one in the middle of my back and a voice that was familiar to me, asking if I was OK, I composed myself and once again rose to my feet.

    Turning towards the voice I watched as Tom Selleck closed the trunk. Not sure of what was more shocking, the body or that Tom was standing in front of me, I stood silently.

    It’s not what you think, Tom replied.

    I don’t know what I think, I answered.

    Listen Tom stated. I have a friend doing a low budget murder mystery and another friend that is a professor at USC research university. I borrowed a cadaver for the murder scene to help keep the cost of production down. I was on my way to return the body back to the university.

    Listen said Tom, the car is fine don’t worry about the damage. I need you to be quiet about the body I don’t want my friend at the university to get in trouble. I am giving you my card, give me a call tomorrow and I will take you to the set to show you this is true. Who knows we may even find a part for you.

  26. dabbins says:

    I knew I shouldn’t have been texting and driving. My cell phone had become an unhealthy obsession. “Only in bad traffic,” I told myself. Yeah, once I rear ended that car in front of me, I’d never look at my phone while driving again.
    This was the last thing I needed. I was rushing to pick up my lunch. The lamb roganjosh I had ordered and had been craving would have to wait for another day. My stomach grumbled in reluctant defeat.
    Putting on my hazards, a hard boiled sense of dread came over me. Sure, it was a seemingly minor fender bender, but I hate confrontation. I hate being beat up even more. However, I needed to put on my grown up pants. I needed to take responsibility for my actions.
    After an eternity, with my heart in my throat, I was able to manipulate my shaking hand to first undo the seat belt. After another wave of panic and dread, I finally opened the car door.
    Tons of curse words and self-depricating insults popped into my head when I noticed the other car. It was a race-car green Audi. Not the low-end model, either. Oddly enough the trunk was open ajar, I didn’t think I hit the car that hard.
    I froze in my tracks as the driver got out. It was George Clooney. I suddenly wished I had hit the Audi hard enough to put myself into a coma. First I rear-ended a car, missing my window to pick up lunch, then come to find out the car belonged to my favorite actor. This was not my day.
    With a furrowed brow, and seemingly missing any of his famous charm, Clooney walked right past me to the rear of his car. I immediately followed.
    “Ah, damn it!” Clooney blurted. “The bumper’s scratched!”
    I bent over to examine it. Indeed, the bumper was scratched. Also, there was a hand and arm hanging out of the trunk of the car.
    Sure enough, there was a dead body in the trunk of his car. A woman, well made up, nails manicured and all. My eye twitched and I felt like I was about to faint, or throw up all over George Clooney’s moccasins. Instead, I just stood there, staring.
    “Hey now,” Clooney said, shaking my shoulder to bring me out of my stooper. “I can imagine this is bringing you all kinds of unnecessary stress to an already stressful day.”
    He left his hand on my shoulder. I’m not sure if it was to comfort me or as a warning.
    “Neither of us need this,” he said calmly, his grip tightening. “The way I look at it, you don’t need to pay more on your insurance and I don’t need to be caught with my pants around my ankles. Besides, it’s just a dummy.”
    “A dummy,” I heard myself say. I felt my head nod in agreement. It was a mistake. It had to be. It was just a prop, a very realistic prop. I never told anyone what went really went on that afternoon, or that I shook hands with George Clooney. I never wanted to.

  27. Just a first draft, and this is unedited. (time pressed here) but thought this was cute and wanted to run with it before heading out for the day…..

    I only glanced down for a second to read the caller ID on my ringing phone that sat in the console when I felt the jolt. I knew I was in a slow roll and almost at a dead stop but thought there was more distance between me and the light blue Lincoln town car stopped in front of me waiting for the funeral percussion to finish passing through the intersection. The front wheel of my Harley barely tapped the bumper and the trunk popped open. I could see everything in the trunk clearly including the body which was not wrapped in anything. It appeared to be dead.
    I barely had time to absorb the minor jolt and shock of seeing the body laying there in the trunk. I began getting off my bike when I was almost hit and run over when the Lincoln suddenly hit the gas leaving a ton of smoke in the air and an ear shattering sound of screeching tires and the smell of rubber burning against the pavement as the Lincoln banged a U-turn and sped off in the opposite direction up the one way street we had just come down. The force of the motion as it sped away had caused the trunk to slam shut once again.
    Immediate road rage over came me and I quickly jumped back on my bike and hit the throttle clicking through the gears as quickly as possible leaving my own little patch of rubber and smoke. I took a right thinking I could quickly head off the Lincoln at the block behind me which was congested with heavy traffic. I blew right threw the funeral percussion, zigzagging around a couple cars. The loud roar of my Harley spooked the team of horses pulling the wagon with the casket on it as I raced past them. This caused them to bolt into a frenzied full gallop that in turn jolted the casket off the wagon sending it crashing onto the pavement breaking the lid and causing the body to roll out onto the street and into the manure droppings left behind by the horses.
    I soon spotted the Lincoln and laid back at a safe distance, following so as to not be seen or noticed. Four block away it pulled into an underground parking garage where I planned to confront the driver. I was in shock and my rage suddenly subsided when I realized the driver was none other than my favorite actress Sandra Bullock.
    I just melted when she looked at my with those big beautiful brown eyes and smiled at me. “Can I help you she said”
    I said “Uhmmm, Yes, actually I, uhmmm….”
    That’s when she interrupted me and gave me the line in that sexy tone of voice from Miss Congeniality with a big smile.
    “Youuuuu like me. Youuuu think I preeetty. You want to date me Huh? That’s whyyyy you fooollowed meee huh?”
    “uhmm No” I said “I mean ya, actually, I understand you have a million dollars in the bank and your single, would you like to have lunch with me?
    She just smiled a huge smile at me and said “How about a picnic? I know where there’s a nice little secluded area that is very beautiful this time of year and it’s not far from here.” And that’s when I melted and fell head over heels in love with her.
    “I would absolutely love that Sandra. Just one little favor first though…. Can we stop and dump Jessie here in the trunk off somewhere first? It would feel a little creepy have the X tagging along.”

Leave a Reply