A man appalls a gal and karma falls fast. What a sad clash. Man gasps as mad lass calls man a bastard and says scram. A sharp cataclasm gnaws at small man. All that man asks: grant that a match as warm as that manís and that galís canít fall flat. That man wants a talk, a pass, a patch, and asks that all flack stand back as that man acts fast and transplants all attacks. A flashback warns that gals can attract an armada: past fans that can jab fast and act gallant. As all warmth draws back, man asks a last waltz. Canít a man say thanks? Gal stands back. And thatís that.

Whenever they were free, heíd see her resplendence. Heíd even let her melt the pretend cheerlessness he expressed. Nevertheless, when she stressed presence, he left. Wherever he went, he remembered her perfect, velvet slenderness, regretted the present sexlessness.

Dejected, he resembles sleepless elders. He repents. She vents. She feels her needs were never met. She even expected these events, she expresses. These stresses between the sexes were senseless, he tells her. Her shrewd temper detects pretense. He relents. He expresses deepest regrets. She detests whenever men beg. Heís perplexed when sheís left.

In picnics his grinning mirth is fitting. Smiling girl is liking his schtick till his drifting sight finds jiggling tits. It isnít right, girl thinks: this dick is thinking with his prick. Girl finds it victimizing. This schism flings this bright picnic amidst misgivings. His insight is blind, missing girlís sinking spirits. Whilst his sight flits, girl mimics it with illicit flirting, criticizing his hijinks. His simplistic mind isnít gripping it. With firm will, girl insists in dismissing him. His childish whining brings cringing, whilst girl ó with stiff tidings ó is ditching him.

Blonds from town smooch boys from town, not clowns who sport long locks or old socks, who donít know how to form words. Blond snobs toss cold nods; so poor boys know loss.

Long months follow. Old blonds know poor boys do good work so plot to form bonds. Poor boys, now not fools, know honorís not lost, vow to conform. O, how wrong.

Downtown, poor boy looks on blond who shows off. Both go for good food. Blond cooks pork chops; boy opts to go to shops known for gowns, plots to concoct songs to woo, sows crops for gold.

Old boy from school shows blond how cool jocks romp. Oh no. Poor boy jogs off, vows not to show blond gold. Vow wonít do now. Poor sot.

Dumb schmuck trusts lush, chugs much rum. Ugh. Lusty slut rubs schmuckís butt, pumps cups (DD), murmurs untruthful stuff. Such chumps blush but suck up such lustful stunts. Chump succumbs: humps slut, ruts, thumps, fluffs slutís fur, hugs. But such funís much tumult. Slut dumps schmuck; schmuckís dumbstruck, shuts up. Such stuff just hurts.

Here are the rules: 1) Five failed relationships, five vowels 2) Each of the five stories had to deal with a failed relationship. 3) Each story could only employ one vowel. 4) Yís could be used as consonants only (words like yuck, you, young; not words like try, rhythm, psych) 5) The narrative had to make sense.

This experiment (called a univocalic lipogram) was inspired by Christian Bok, who wrote a book called Eunoia, which blows my feeble attempts out of the water. Itís an enjoyable exercise, though. I had the most fun with E, maybe could have done even more with that one. It turns out that U is a pretty vulgar vowel, hence the relatively licentious narrative for that section. And I is no prude either. Iím sorry.

Try your own lipogram below.