Seeking Flut: Learn to Flutter Like a Swan

Seeking Flut: Swan Flutter

Damn, settling all that pretty near took one damn whole exercise session.

Only thing left is tippy toe with flut.

Tippy toe is a whole new world.

Elephants don’t do point. So we’ll just skip that. Swan Lake will have to work around it. The choreographer will have to make allowances.

Flut will fly. Superior flut will win out.

So I ask the brain trust twins: “You know any flut specialists?”

And Miss Tread, caught off guard for the first time this whole session, goes “Huh?” all dumbo like.

And I says, “Flut! Flut! You know any flutologists?” Persons conversant in the arts of flut? Those coach a flut guys?”

And she wrinkles her brow and cocks an eye and brings a finger upside her nose like she could actually think. It’s so obvious this woman never heard of Linda Lovelace and if she did, she wouldn’t like her, much less the good work she does. The disdain is just there and present and showing all up like Mt. Everest; it’s that damn rhino in the living room nobody talks about.

“I think you’re on your own there,” she says.

And she smiles and disappears into the restroom to splash cool water upon her recently sweat sullied brow. Maybe perhaps also to dash deodorant under her moisty pitted arms and so fill the air with poofs of perfume which cause us allergic types to wheeze and youngsters to discover new substances to huff.

And that perfume smell? It’d gag Linda.

“Damn straight,” I mumble as I grind the goddam cardiac program right into the ground, just kick the groin right the hell out of it.

“Damn straight,” I say after I hit the finish line of Infarct Omega and jump off victorious and crash into a chair to relax and to hock up some fur balls.

And then while I’m recovering breath and body, and life, while slathering sweat all over hell’s half acre and stinking large and loving it and not so quietly and farting wide, hey, not giving not one hoot for all of it, I think to myself:

“Every woman I ever lusted after is already dead or presently wearing diapers.”


What a downer.

Where did THAT come from?

What a hell of an end thought.

And right there and right then, I did the most wonderful flut ever. Started as a shudder and then went flut.

It was magnificent.

I reached down deep inside and found the Chi of my life force and the move came to me in profound and perfect clarity.

I bang! jumped up and did one perfect flut all gorgeous and pretty: It was a super splendiferous flut with lettuce tomato and mayo.


Next season’s Swan was ready, man, totally and absolutely ready.

I got the move…

Other dance auditioners, give your soul to god because this year the part of Swan is taken.

That’s for damn sure.

About the Author

The short story Flut was written by Edward L. Beardshear, author of the humor novel, Viagro Blue. The book is now web available from his publisher, It also can be ordered through Additionally, Viagro Blue can be requested by walk-in at all local Barnes & Noble and Borders Book Stores. Ask for the title through the store’s POD publishing tie in with iUniverse. Mr. Beardshear wants Suddenly Senior readers to know he is, indeed, a certified geezer.

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