Tandem Writing Anybody?

I am sure that some of you (probably all of you) have had experience with Tandem Writing. If you are not experienced, it is a form of writing where one person starts a story--about whatever he wants--by writing the first paragraph. Then it gets passed onto the next person who writes the second paragraph. We've done it in the past with one sentence at a time. Let's see what we can do with whole paragraphs! It can be funny, or serious, romantic (please, no!), or whatever we want.

The only rule is that you must only write one paragraph at a time and you cannot add to the paragraph above yours.

Who would like to start? Just post your opening paragraph below and let's see what happens!

Edward Goodwing once woke up on a Saturday to a cheerful, bright morning where no man had the right to be unhappy. Yet, he was unhappy. Edward Goodwing had the right to be unhappy because he was not a man, but instead a mole who had to live in the suburbs. He was considered a pest partially because he enjoyed digging up the neighbor's garden in his free time, but mostly because he worked in a call center during the five to nine PM shift. Edward was unhappy because instead of digging in Arthur's turnips today, he would be going into work to make up for lost calls. This call center job was a necessity for Edward, but it was a downer, especially because his potential customers all told him to go back to India or wherever it was he came from. He wishes that he could go back to where he came from, but his old job of rooting around in the soil just does not pay like it used to.

He found it particularly strange that so many of his customers in the call center told him to go back to India. He spent his whole life in the small town of Charles Town, West Virginia, near the outskirts of town. He had never even visited Canada, which always gave his friends ammunition with which to poke fun at him. Instead, he just focused on his work and his digging (whenever the opportunity presented itself).

Like most work days, this one began with the bus. Edward, you see, didn't know how to drive. "I loathe the bus," he said under his breath while cramped between a gin-soaked stockbroker and a guy eating Twizzlers like they were the nectar of the gods. "Who the hell still eats Twizzlers?" Edward wondered. "Let me grab my cardboard and we can do some break-dancing during studyhall."

That sudden burst of sarcasm was very out of place for Edward. Silently he feared turning into a bitter old shrew. No self-respecting mole would even consider that a satisfactory scenario. He realized the call center job was killing him from the inside out. "I want so much to get back to my digging. I've got to figure out a way to make it pay, but how?" No sooner had he finished the thought when an advertisement caught his eye.

Edward, tired and angry, stepped off the bus, and approached the source of his anger. The Oliver North Tower had been designated a National Historical site due to its neo-modern architecture, and as such..the elevators could not be repaired until parts from the original manufacturer could be found. Damn shame that the company had gone "belly-up" some ten years ago. Edward slowly began to climb the 10 flights of stairs that separated him from the hell on Earth that he despised.

Today was different than most days, however..not only had someone stolen the leftover take-out he'd planned to eat at lunch (again!), but someone had also taken his vintage JVC "boom box" from his cube. Whether or not he could find a fresh piece of corrugated cardboard, his heart sank as he realized that there would be no break-dancing today.

Yet, on one of his frequent trips to the water cooler..he caught a rare glimpse out the window..and saw the advertisement again.

It was a gaudy, neon sign - the very kind of advertising normally despised by Edward. This time, though, it had his attention. "Joe's Metal-detectors. The Best Metal-detectors in the Universe! Discover buried pirate-treasure or your money back!" There was some small print, too, but Edward glazed over this in his excited state. In his mind, an idea was forming.

Unbeknownst to everyone in the call center, his neighbors, and even his beloved aunt Ruth, Edward was in fact...a CIA Mole. He had been placed in the call center surreptitiously and tasked with listening for chatter between members of "The Equator", a sinister organization bent on world domination. His reports had been meticulously filed, week after week, to his superiors warning of an attack on Metro City but nothing had been done. Edward knew he had to take action himself, and this metal-detector was the key he had been looking for.

(Off story here for a second... If you post a paragraph just after somebody else and we end up with competing paragraphs, should we delete them so the story make sense? Just a thought.)

(Might be good for whomever is writing the next paragraph to copy the final sentence from the paragraph they're following. Then let nature run its course. Perhaps we'll develop alternate realities for our pal Edward; paths which may cross in the not-too-distant future...)

Reaching for the metal detector, Edward was suddenly raped to death by dickwolves.

"Edward....Edward....EDWARD, are you having another flashback about the dickwolves again?" Trish, his cubemate, demanded as she gave Edward a firm shake by the shoulders. "Jebus, you gotta get some therapy or Xanax, or somethin' for that. You're freakin' poor old Minerva out."

Edward jerked himself awake; the memory of Dickwolves still seared into his consciousness. Finding himself decidedly not raped to death there was still the matter of this metal detector business... it had the feel of a poorly conceived dime store novel but yet, as the protagonist he simply could not ignore the developing plot lines... unless... YES... there was a chance....

There was Only one chance to get out of this deadend job that he lived in and to do something with his life. After listing to many of the people talk about cars in the office he decided to get his permit and try driving and getting car to drive on the weekends. There was one one car that everyone in the office would agree on for cars, the maita, the p70, or the e30. but no one could figure out which one was the best. serval people talked about being yuppys while driveing a e30, edward did was not sure if that was for him. The P70 was full sized and was more for a family which he did not have. The miata was a two seat and most fo the people that seemed to own them in the office where gay males or female. Thier was only one way to figure out which on he was going to get. He then placed a call to the worlds only pro racing clown to ask his advice.

and then they all had ice cream.