Ned Nedimire’s Nail Came Off

F. Ulanoff

The truth of the matter is, it had flourished for years as the king of his extremities.
Even as a baby, he would hold it high, along with his other fingers, in order to clutch his baby bottle to his lips.
But this was not to remain so.
When he grew into a boy of five and entered school he held it low under his seat. Until the teacher prodded the class for answers to her many lessons, to which Nedeimier, didn’t have any. It was at that point his pinky turned. Even if he knew an answer, the prized appendage on his left hand would not let him lift it any higher than the seat of his pants. Therefore he never did well with his studies.
After losing control of the rouge pinky, his soon discovered most of the skin on his body was white, and remained that way during his growing years and well into manhood, his left hand, the one of which was the owner of its prized pinky, he barely noticed when the pinky turned dark purple and became rough to the touch.
Its knurly exterior, he assumed, was from the manual labor he had undertaken, because of the lack of education, which was solely the pinky’s fault. Also because of its negative participation in Ned’s education, which was cut short, because of the failure to meet the criteria toward graduation, from any institution.
It was not surprising that Ned felt the need to work hard, but again, because of his pinky, he did not succeed even in the only job he could secure as a day laborer.
Since the pinky was not of the finest kind Ned was not as careful with it as he should have been the day it happened.
Driving down a hammer was a simple job, but not for Ned or his appendage, so the day it happened was no surprise to either one.
Ouch! You hit me the pinky thought and did not let Nedimier continue his job, in fact it was his last day.
Walking off the construction site rubbing his hand was the only solution that made any sense to him.
Failure became a familiar friend to Ned as he drifted from one shelter to the other, until the nasty nail fell off, just as he was opening the last gift the Salvation Army had provided for the holiday.
Yes. The skin around it nail gave way and had pushed it out onto the cement floor, next to Ned’s cot.
The very next morning Nedimier noticed a bit of new growth at the very end of his pinky’s nail bed. Then, after a week it was full grown and of a light healthy hue.
Nedimier rose from bed and decided that perhaps this life was not for him, so he decided to speak with a career counselor.
After months of deliberation and no negative feelings from his left hand he sat in a GED classroom and when any question was posed, his hand shot up and he answered with the correctly.
Nedimier, finally rid of his demon, went on to become a successful college student, and e author of the book, aptly titled Behold You’ve Got the World in You Hand.
Nedimier penned his original manuscript first with his left hand then transcribed it into the computer.

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True Friends

Your knee snaps out of place and you take a short walk to push it back in. It works every time.

When ever this happens, you can depend on it.


That hot flash, during a diner party when you are freshly bathed perfumed and clothed in your newest couture outfit, it comes.

The heat rises from your waist to your head in a matter of seconds.

When ever this happens, you can depend on it.


Or you are at a rock concert, standing up and swaying to the beat, singing along with your arms above your head, and it comes, the aura begins in back of your eyes, reaching out and almost blinding you. Until you realize this is your warning to med up and stave off a migraine.

When ever this happens, you can depend on it.


Maybe you recall standing at a pet store at the mall and kneeling down to pet the cute puppy.

You pet him and smile at each other. Then rise to your feet and feel dizzy.

When this happens, you can depend on it.


There are many instances I can document here, but my memory is not at its best now.  When this happens, I can depend on it.

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  • System Restore helps you restore your computer’s system files to an earlier point in time. It’s a way to undo system changes to your computer without affecting your personal files, such as e mail, documents, or photos. Sometimes, the installation of a program or a driver can cause an unexpected change to your computer or cause Windows to behave unpredictably. Usually, uninstalling the program or driver corrects the problem. If uninstalling does not fix the problem, you can try restoring your computer’s system to an earlier date when everything worked correctly.

There you are full of vim and vigor. Then the next week you’re down in the dumps.
What went wrong?
No need to worry because the answer is finally here.
It can be at your finger tips before you have had the time to wallow in self pity.
Do you ever go to your computer and things are not what they were one week ago and no matter what you do, that dialog box pops up and will not disappear.
Most people know what to do next: Restore. Of course, Restore to the day, week, or month, before the hideous square shape entered your cyber life.
Now through extensive testing and research it here for you in one simple app.
This app will set your body right. It will not only make you feel as you did the day, week or month before. It will keep you that way until you need to Restore yourself the next time.
A miracle you say. Well perhaps. But this simple application can be purchased for mere pennies a day. Just fill out the form on your screen and we will rush you this wonder product.
Go to, fill out the short form and for as little as $19.99 plus SH we will rush this app to you. And soon you will be the person you were.
When you receive this wonder product all you need to do is to install the disk into your desktop or laptop and click on accessories, then Restore.
Caution: While applying, be careful not to remove your hand from the mouse, because it is imperative to keep a natural link between you and your computer. After following the directions included, you will feel like yourself again and you will have crept out from under your funk.

This product is not sold in stores and can only be applied to one computer and any additional applications must be ordered separately.
Order soon because quantities are limited.

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Writing Blindfolded

Writing Blindfolded


F. Ulanoff


            My appointment was set in stone as I popped two Valium into my mouth an hour before it was to take place.

            My mind drifted between the ordeal of two root canals and bliss.

            The bliss from the med,  which calmed my body and soul and the far away thought of what was about to happen within my mouth cavity, only one short hour away.

            Dressed and ready to go, my mate brought around the car to our driveway.

            I drifted into my coat and armed with my backpack and blank journal, I entered the automobile that was about to take me to my destiny.

            We drove for what seemed like five minutes until I realized the moment was upon me.

            I stumbled into the dentist’s waiting room on the arm of my mate, and then was ushered into the room where my procedure would soon take place.

            The surgeon came into the small confined area with his assistant at his side.  After introducing himself to me and making the smallest talk I’d ever heard, he administered, one at a time, what I perceived to be about five needles into my mouth.

            The small talk got lower as I opened my journal and with pen in hand guided myself to the page on my right with my left hand below it to steady the prose.

            With my mouth open and my eyes closed I started to write.

            At first there was little that came to the first page of this academic journey to the dentist except explaining to myself in print what was taking place, but after a while I eased into what I thought might be the beginnings of a story.

            Page after page got filled with my script.  It was as if someone had gotten hold of my hand and forced it through this nightmare.

            When the surgery was over I heard the dentist’s voice call out to me as I opened my eyes and placed my pen in its slot, and then closed my book.

            It took about, what I believed it to be at the time, an hour until we arrived at our house, where I stumbled out of our car, with again the help of my mate, into the living room where I plopped myself down onto our sofa and fell asleep, for a couple of hours.

            Curiosity got the better of me, until I reached for my journal just to see if I had actually written anything of value four hours before.

            To my surprise, the handwriting was so much neater than my conscious scribbling and there within the covers of my journal was an actual story, with a title, beginning, middle and end.

            So as I deduced, that the hand that wrote words was one from deep within my almost unconscious soul, and if I had to admit it I would say she had more talent than I even blindfolded.

The End



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Second Post Off the Cuff

In the window of a car before me propped up on its own
volition and buoyancy lay a mystery.

What holds its wrinkled soul in the stagnant air within an
empty vehicle?

Was it a forgotten memory of a happy celebration or did it
just drift in by some hap hazard breeze that came along on a not to sunny day.

Parking my car and eventually stepping out to get a better
look at the sad piece of inflation ,that was once probably a colorful
display.  I think about what it had been

Going back in fourth within my brain, I hoped for the best
for the little Mylar display.

But after exploring through the glass at its wrinkled
surface, I knew it was on its last breath and I felt sad, until I eventually
spotted a woman and a girl of about seventeen, and I overheard the older woman
say as she opened the back of the vehicle, “It’s time you took your balloon
from your graduation to your room before it falls onto the seat and we forget
its there.”

The girl nodded and I heard the word, “Okay.”

I smiled to myself and continued to the store with the
satisfaction of knowing that at least the fate of the sole balloon was a good

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Sample My Work



F. Ulanoff

            Lensky and Hammer were friends.

They belonged to each other as good people who care do.

The night it happened was a foreshadowing of an ill fated romance that was long in coming and short in life.

Lensky loved his job at the art institute.  It provided him with an artist existence without the struggle of marketing his talent.  While Hammer, a short curved man was always at his side.

You might call Hammer a flunky, within his duties, but he loved to provide Lensky with what ever he needed to get out their ever sought after trade magazine.

Everyone at the institute suffered through each month until deadline.

Since there were no ads in their publication, it was a simple task indeed to put it to bed.

The night of the big storm, all the traffic lights in the city had gone dark and their building was on auxiliary power until the next morning.

The overhead fixture dimmed, as Hammer snuggled on the floor beneath his overcoat as Lensky did the same with his.

The dark sky lit up followed by a crank of thunder, just as Lensky fell asleep.

The two men awoke for an instant, turned away from each other only to have revolved into a spoon position.

“Wait,” Lensky said.

“Pardon me,” Hammer answered as they turned away from each other and fell back to sleep.

The End

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