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Below is an example from a previous anthology our writers group did as promotion for a local bar. It shows how the writer combined several prompts into one story. This is reprinted with her permission. Prompts used:

Drew would like to drink Maker’s Mark Bourbon on the rocks with Johnny Depp and Mitch Hedberg. He wants to be an obnoxious drunk with "Fabio-like hair" in his violent comedy.

Michael (aka Pocketbook Boy, Johnny Dakota, George P and Neil Greco) would treat Ben Franklin to a beer or whiskey. His tall tale would feature Ben, in which he’d make a cameo. The story would start fun and ended horribly in December of 1943.

Junior (Big Boy) has been hanging out at the bar for five years and is still waiting to share a rum and coke with the Pope. He wants to be a terminator-like assassin in the future in his story.

Thomas James Kane was too drunk to tell us much about himself. Based on his behavior that night, we surmised that he had never been at the Green Room before and usually spends his time lying on the side of the road. In the story of his life, he plays the Gimp and look a bit like Ron Jeremy as he satisfies his friends' wives.

The Proprietor (Sister Sandra) when she is not running the bar, is running screaming into the ocean, awaiting her drinking partner Bilbo Baggins, and drinking Absolut Citron. She would like a story were she is an ass-kicking warrior princess in medieval times.

Arianna (a.k.a. The Beaver), 30, of Stratford, slings back Velvet Vaginas after working as a jailhouse nurse. In her story, she would be carrying on a secret love affair with the proprietor of the Green Room and they would finally succumb to their desires on the pool table.

Johnny Depp Wears Heels

By Jill Bodach

© 2006, Jill Bodach

Alex readjusted himself so he was sitting up a little straighter against the brick wall. He rested his guitar on his lap and stretched out his fingers in an exaggerated gesture that was meant to demonstrate to the people looking at him that he was a musician – a serious musician – who needed to first stretch his fingers before he could begin to play his instrument, and if they intended to listen they should perform some stretches of their own – stretch their minds perhaps – so they could wrap their brains around what he was about to play for them. And he would be taken seriously too – if he wasn’t wearing a long, flowing blond wig.

That aside, just when Alex had settled in for a night of entertainment on the streets of Bridgeport, he heard a voice from above him say, “Hey, aren’t you the cat who works here on Wednesdays and Saturdays?”

When Alex looked up to see who had spoken to him he was surprised to see Johnny Depp – not Pirates of the Caribbean Johnny Depp but Edward Scissorhands Johnny Depp with a little Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory Johnny Depp for good measure – staring back at him.

“What the fuck?”

Alex’s brain was having trouble comprehending what he was seeing.

“I knew that was you man. Ha ha, you like the costume? I love Halloween.”

Johnny Depp did not seem to think that there was a problem with his ensemble.

Alex was appalled. The man looked surprisingly like Johnny Depp except he was wearing bright red high-heeled shoes.

“What is up with the shoes bro? Johnny Depp doesn’t wear heels.”

Johnny Depp laughed.

“That’s my own touch. I’m dressed up as Johnny Depp dressed up as Edward Scissorhands dressed up as a Ed Wood dressed up as Willy Wonka. It’s a costume in a costume in a costume. And it’s a conversation starter. It’s crazy shit, right? Who are you? Axl Rose?”

Alex looked over at his recently discarded wig and shook his head again.

“No. I’m Fabio.”

“Oh. Does Fabio play guitar?”

“No.”

“Then why are you playing the guitar?”

Alex didn’t really have an answer other than that it was his night off and he played guitar on his nights off and it was Halloween so he was dressed in the cheapest costume he had been able to find at the eleventh hour.

“Cuz I’m me dressed up as Fabio dressed up as me.”

“Fucking awesome,” Johnny replied and leaned over to tap Alex on the knuckles. “That’s so fucking cool. See you inside man. Rock on.”

Alex tapped knuckles back and watched Johnny being Edward being Ed being Willy.

“Fucking weirdo,” he said.

With Axl Rose on his mind, Alex strummed the first few chords of “November Rain,” a depressingly long song that should take an adequately long period of time to play, perhaps long enough that when Emily arrived it wouldn’t appear that he was waiting for her.

He was just getting into it when he heard, “Alex, is that you man?”

Alex looked up to see the face of his friend, Michael, a.k.a Neil, a.k.a. Johnny Dakota, a.k.a George staring back at him from under a wig of grey unruly hair.

“Jesus H. Christ, Michael. Who the hell are you?”

Michael looked angry and pulled a light bulb out of his pocket and held it over his head.

“I have a brilliant idea,” he said.

“Oh yeah,” Alex replied. “What’s that?”

“No douche bag. I’m giving you a clue.”

“I hate clues.”

“Wait, just one more. My idea is electrifying.”

Alex pulled his blond hair into a ponytail.

“I’m not playing this game with you asshole.”

“God, are you stupid? I’m Benjamin Fucking Franklin.”

“That’s the dumbest costume I’ve ever heard of. And besides Thomas Edison invented the light bulb, not Ben Franklin, you moron.”

“Oh yeah? Who are you supposed to be? Axl Rose?”

“Fuck Axl Rose. I’m Fabio.”

“I’d rather be Axl Rose. Much more heterosexual.”

“Okay Benjamin Fucking Franklin. Think that guy got laid a lot?”

“Dude, he invented fucking electricity. Hell yeah he got laid. Wouldn’t you want to lay the guy who invented fucking electricity? I would.”

“I am not you.”

“You comin’ inside or you just going to strum your gee-tar out here all night long?”

“Was thinking of strumming my gee-tar. That alright with you?”

“Whatever. More ass for me.”

Alex tossed up his hands. “The ass is yours for the taking.”

Benjamin looked over both shoulders and then leaned in close to Alex as if he had something very important to tell to him and him alone.

“I heard that Emily might be here tonight.”

Alex pretended not to care as he again resumed strumming his guitar, changing the song to one by Van Morrison as to deter any further Axl Rose comments.

“Don’t act like you don’t care.”

“I’m not acting like I do or I don’t.”

“You might as well have just said, I know you are, but what am I? That is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”

“What do you want me to say?”

“What would you say if I told you I heard she was dressed as Jessica Rabbit?”

Alex continued to strum.

“Fine. Have it your way. I’ll be inside…lighting the place up.”

He walked away, chuckling at his own joke.

Alex did not laugh.

Emily. That was a name that ran through his mind at least fifty times a day, and at least ten of those times were followed by some alone time in the bathroom. It was inconvenient and not always a pleasant experience, but he couldn’t help himself. It was just what she inspired in him. He had been after her for six months. It was a sad six months to be sure because his attempts were mediocre at best and usually resulted in her laughing at one of his poorly timed jokes while hitting his arm and saying, “Oh Alex.” He had become her confidant and the pourer of her favorite drink, which also happened to be his favorite drink: Maker’s Mark Bourbon on the rocks. He should have asked her out the first time she’d come into the bar but he had been too shy that time and the eight or so times that followed. After that, it had become that weird place where it’s too late to say anything, like when you’re in the car on the way home from dinner and you are still contemplating whether or not to tell the person you’re with about the big piece of lettuce between her two front teeth.

Still, her name excited him in a way that nothing had since he saw Elizabeth Berkeley in Show Girls. It was too much to handle, particularly if she was dressed as Jessica Rabbit. He put his guitar back in the case, straightened his blond wig and stood up.

“If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em,” he said under his breath.

The inside of the bar was a cesspool of movie stars, politicians and mascots of various sports teams. There was even someone dressed as a donkey being led around by someone dressed as Shrek. Alex remembered why he hated Halloween.

He was an intellectual although his tattoos and often in-your-face approach led most people to think otherwise. He liked to read and was even pretty good at writing poetry. He was also good at sarcastic one-liners and could throw a person out of the bar and insult their intelligence all before they knew what had happened. He knew a lot about music, a little about politics and knew how to cook a pretty mean jambalaya. These were all things he thought might impress Emily, if he had the chance to share them with her. Instead all she knew was that he worked at the bar and played in a band on the weekends. A band that was not bad but wasn’t going to go anywhere unless Alex spent more time writing music. Only he was scared to write music. What if people didn’t like it?

He went to the bar and got right behind it; working or not, he didn’t like it when anyone else poured his drink. Besides, the bar was like a second costume. He took on a different persona from back here and all his inhibitions, like the one that told him he was never going to be good enough for a girl like Emily, went away. Back here, he was comfortable and safe and had a certain degree of control over everyone else. He liked it. As he started to prepare his drink he was immediately assaulted with phrases like:

“Hey Axl. Where’s the rest of your band?”

“Hey dude. Nice hair.”

Alex ignored it all and poured his drink, careful to fill it to the right spot.

“The perfect pour.”

Alex looked up and saw Emily dressed in sultry Jessica Rabbit perfection, complete with the tight red dress and, he guessed because he could not see them, red high heels, comparable to the ones worn by Johnny Depp.

“Hey Emily. Nice ensemble.”

“Thanks. You too. Love the Fabio wig.”

“You’re actually the only one who’s gotten that right,” he said smiling.

“What? Really? It’s obvious. People are dumb.”

She pointed to his glass. “Can you pour one for me with those magic hands?”

If only you meant that, Alex thought.

“Anything for you, Jessica.”

Emily made rabbit ears above her head and smiled.

“Thanks Fab.”

I bet Fabio never had a problem asking a girl out. Hell, even Benjamin Franklin apparently got laid more than me. Maybe I need to invent something. He had once thought of developing a toilet seat that put itself down. This had been after an ex-girlfriend had made him pee outside after never remembering to return her toilet lid to the closed position he had found it in.

“Hey, who’s dressed as Mitch Hedberg?” Emily asked.

Alex looked up across the bar and saw the distinctive sunglasses of his favorite comedian. He squinted.

“I have no idea. Pretty realistic costume though.”

Emily took a small sip from her drink and started to walk away.

“Don’t forget to have some fun tonight, Alex,” she said.

He looked up at her and smiled.

I only wish you could help me with that, he thought.

Alex tucked his guitar case under the bar and thought about going out into the crowd but changed his mind.

Alex sipped his drink and thought about how the principles behind Halloween should be ones that people embraced all year long. People loved Halloween because it gave them the chance to be other people. Why didn’t they just do what they could to be those other people all year long? Live like they were dying, Carpe diem and all that shit. He included himself in all of this. There was so much more he wanted out of his own life but he was usually too afraid to get it. That was why he couldn’t ask Emily out. He didn’t want to ask her out until he was the person he wanted to be. And he wasn’t sure how long that was going to take.

“Hey man, I think Mitch Fucking Hedberg is here.”

Alex’s contemplation about life was interrupted, as it often was, by Junior. Alex didn’t know his real name and never really thought to ask. The guy had been coming into the bar everyday for as long as Alex or anyone else there could remember. His favorite drink was rum and coke, a boring drink, Alex thought. Tonight Junior was dressed as Arnold Schwarzenegger in The Terminator movies but Junior, being Junior, looked more like Arnold circa Kindergarten Cop.

“Yeah, it’s a great costume,” Alex said, automatically refilling Junior’s glass and hoping that would be all it took to get him to go away.

“No, man. I think it’s really him. It sounds like him and everything. And he hasn’t come out of character yet.”

Alex wanted to say, “Mitch Hedberg is dead, you idiot. But instead he just shrugged and said, “Some people get really into Halloween.”

“Who are you?” Junior asked. “You look like a male version of Barbie.”

“I would have said Axl Rose,” a voice from behind Junior said.

It was Thomas who was dressed as Ron Jeremy. Alex couldn’t think of a more unlikely comparison to the 42-year-old man before him than Ron Jeremy. Even Thomas must have thought it was a stretch.

“And both of you would be wrong,” Alex said.

Under his breath he muttered, “Fuckers.”

“What do you want champ?” Alex asked Ron Jeremy.

“Anything on ice,” he replied.

Fucker, Alex thought again.

“So did you see Emily?” Arnold Schwarzenegger asked as he drank his rum and coke. “She looks pretty foxy.”

“She’s a rabbit,” Ron Jeremy said.

Alex wanted them to stop talking. About Emily. About Mitch Hedberg. About everything.

Alex methodically poured four shots of baby Guinness.

“Who’s the fourth one for?” Arnold asked.

“Mitch. Can you bring it to him?”

“Sure thing man. Cheers.”

Alex took the shot with Ron and Arnold and then watched as they walked the last one over to Mitch. He watched as Mitch took the shot, raised it in Alex’s direction. Alex raised his hand.

Damn, he thought. That really looks like Mitch Hedberg. It made him sad that his favorite comedian was dead.

Alex spent the rest of the night pouring drinks for people he both liked and hated, drinks he knew would make them feel good and drinks he knew would make them sick tomorrow. He fielded more comments about Axl Rose and Mitch Hedberg, and counted the number of people dressed like someone from one of the Harry Potter movies. He kept a close eye on Johnny and Ron, realizing that they could be fodder for something he wrote later. His brother, Todd, had called last week and begged him to come to California.

“Dude, I never see you, and what do you have going for you out there?”

“My band. My job.”

“Are you the fucking Goo Goo Dolls?” Todd had asked.

“What?”

“I said, are you the fucking Goo Goo Dolls?”

“No, we’re not the…”

“Okay then. Unless you’re the fucking Goo Goo Dolls don’t stay in shitty Connecticut for a band. Next. Do you work at the Viper Room?”

“No I don’t work at the Viper Room.”

“Then come to fucking California man. There’s ass out here.”

The Viper Room. That reminded Alex of Johnny Depp. He peered over the edge of the bar and saw that the bright red heels were still on the feet of good ‘ol Johnny. That’s dedication, he thought.

Before it was even midnight, the official end of this silly holiday, Alex was ready to call it quits and go home. He was tired of being himself and tired of being himself being someone else when he heard, “Hey, what are you doing here?”

Alex was refilling his already half-empty bourbon when he saw Xena, the Warrior Princess approaching. It took him a minute to figure out it was really Kate, the proprietor of the bar.

“Everyone is taking this Halloween thing way too far,” he said.

“It’s Halloween, honey. The night when things are supposed to be taken way too far while we’re dressed as other people so we don’t feel as embarrassed the next day.”

“I guess.”

“That’s the only way I can explain what just happened to me,” she said sliding her empty glass across the bar.

Without even having to ask, Alex began filling it with Absolute Citron.

“What happened?” he asked.

Kate leaned across the bar and exposed way more of her warrior princess self than Alex was prepared to see.

“Lean closer. I don’t want anyone else to hear.”

Alex leaned in closer and so did Johnny Depp although it was clear that he was pretending not to listen but he had lowered his drink and was staring straight ahead of him.

“Emily just tried to kiss me.”

Alex lost his grip on the Absolute bottle and it went crashing to the floor.

“Jesus Christ, Alex!”

“Jesus Christ what? You just told me that Emily tried to…”

“Keep your voice down!”

Alex angrily wiped at the spilled vodka. Some of it had gotten in his hair. He thought about just taking the wig off and mopping the liquor up with that but decided against it.

“Our Emily is a lesbian,” Ron Jeremy said. At some point during the conversation he had joined them.

“Apparently,” Kate said as she adjusted her shield.

“No way,” Alex said. “She can’t be. There’s no way.”

“Of course there is a way Axl,” Ron Jeremy said with a grin. “Do you want us to explain it to you?”

“By the way,” Johnny Depp interrupted. “Is that really Mitch Hedberg over there? No one seems to know who that guy is.”

“No you idiot. Mitch Hedberg is dead. As a fucking doornail.”

He turned back to Kate. “I mean, there’s a way. Of course. But Emily? She’s too…too…”

“Too sexy?” Kate offered. “You need to get out of the mentality that all lesbians are butch. What’s the woman who was with Ellen Degeneres?

“Anne Heche,” Johnny Depp offered, taking a slow sip of his Corona.

“Yeah. Her. She was the most delicate lesbian I’d ever seen.”

“But isn’t she really straight?” Ron Jeremy asked.

“I don’t know. Is she?” Kate pondered.

Alex fumed. How could they be making pop culture references at a time like this? He went back through all of his conversations with Emily. She had mentioned other men, hadn’t she? He thought back and realized that while she had talked about men, she had never actually talked about them as something she was interested in. Usually the conversations were about how distasteful it had been when someone was hitting on her or how awful it was to get cat calls while she was out jogging. Had he missed all the signs? The theme from The Crying Game started to play in his head.

“I gotta get outta here,” he said. “Sorry about spilling the vodka Kate. See you Wednesday.”

“Hey! Where are you going? They haven’t even given out the prize for best costume yet.”

“You can tell me about it Wednesday. I’ll be back then. I gotta go now.”

He came out from behind the bar and gave Kate a quick kiss on the cheek.

“Sexy costume. Hope you win.”

“Bye Alex. Take care of yourself.”

“I will.”

He reached back around the bar for his guitar case and headed for the door.

“Mind if I come?”

It was Johnny Depp. Alex didn’t really want anyone to come let alone Johnny Depp but he didn’t have the energy to argue.

“Sure. Let’s go.”

Alex had driven his car to the bar but he felt like walking for awhile so he put his guitar in the backseat and headed down the road. Johnny Depp followed.

“You liked Emily didn’t you?” Ron Jeremy asked. “You know what always helps me?”

“What?” Alex turned around and, at first, he didn’t see Johnny anymore. “Where the fuck…”

He looked down and Johnny was lying on the side of the road.

“What the…”

“I know it looks strange but you should try it.”

“Try what? You’re going to get killed man.”

“That’s what I mean.”

“What? You mean I should try to get killed?”

“No, I mean you should lay here for a minute. C’mon. Just do it.”

Alex felt like he was back in grade school and a classmate was challenging him to run up behind the teacher and put a “kick me” sign on her back. Alex had gone to Catholic school so not only would an act like that have been frowned upon but it would have also held the promise of extra Hail Mary’s, Our Father’s and, of course, the threat of the eternal damnation of his soul.

Whatever.

A car whizzed by and Alex was sure that Ron was going to lose a body part, at the very least a finger, as his arms were spread out to his sides like he was making an asphalt angel.

Johnny sat partially up so that his head was no longer against the pavement.

“Alex. Lay down. Don’t you trust me?”

“Actually, no. I don’t. I hardly know you.”

“Then I have no reason to lie to you.”

Alex knew this was faulty logic but again found himself lacking the energy to argue. He lay down on the pavement in front of Ron, his feet nearly touching the other man’s.

“So what am I supposed to be feeling exactly?”

“As if at any moment, your life could be squashed out of you by the wheel of a pickup truck.”

“That’s fucking great.”

“No, seriously. Think about it. From down here, everything that matters when you’re vertical doesn’t matter anymore. Like that girl…what’s her name?”

“Emily.”

“Emily. It doesn’t matter that she’s a lesbian. You have bigger things to worry about.”

“Like being squashed by a tractor trailer?”

“Precisely!”

Strangely, Alex thought he was starting to understand.

“You do this a lot?” he asked Johnny.

“At least once or twice a week.”

“Ever get caught?”

“Once. The cops took me to the hospital. They thought I was suicidal.”

Alex understood how they could think this.

“But no other times?”

“Nope. Most times people just think I’m crazy. Or drunk. Or already dead. It’s the great thing about living in America, this part of it anyway. It’s the only place in the world where people are relieved to think you might already be dead. That way they don’t have to try and save your life or waste their time calling an ambulance or something.”

This Alex understood as well.

He thought about all the time he had spent thinking about Emily. It was time he could have spent writing music. He now knew that Emily had not spent time thinking about him.

“I hear ya. It’s like no one cares about anyone else anymore,” he said.

“Yep,” Johnny said. “But when you’re down here you realize that you are actually more insignificant than you think you are. I mean, why should people care about me? They have their own lives and problems.”

“Which are also insignificant!” Alex said, finally truly understanding. “They just don’t realize it.”

“Exactly bro. Exactly.”

“When you’re down here,” Alex continued. “No one matters more than anyone else. We’re all small. Everyone matters as little as everyone else.”

“I dig it man,” Johnny said. “The way you see things.”

Alex was beginning to dig the way he saw things too.

Just then, a car passed by and Alex sat partway up to look at it and a familiar head of dirty blond, greasy hair in the driver’s seat. An arm fell out of the window in a half wave as it went by.

“Thanks for the drink man,” the person behind the hand called.

“Dude, I think that really looks like Mitch Hedberg,” Alex said.

“See, man. What did I tell you? Things just look better from down here.”

Alex, whose head was being cushioned by his blond Fabio wig, had to agree.

Alex settled in. He was no longer scared about being run over. Instead he focused on the street light and tried to count the number of moths swirling around it. He’d never noticed that before. He’d been too busy. He felt like he was on some sort of drug-induced trip. He liked it. Suddenly Emily seemed very far away and somewhat comical in her Jessica Rabbit costume.

He smiled.

He even liked Johnny Depp’s red high heels.

And he didn’t even mind if the people driving by thought he was Axl Rose.

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