We spend billions and billions of dollars to build the probe.
So many tests and fixes and re-tests.
Hauling it up to the rocket and fitting it.
Launching it, and slingshotting it from planet to planet.
Parking it in orbit with the gentlest and most cautious braking rocket thrusts.
Success! Success!
We all cheer!
Time to work.
It takes 90 minutes for commands to reach the probe.
And 90 minutes for confirmation to return.
A billion miles away, we wait for the images to appear.
Black. More black. Endless black.
Only then do we realize… nobody took the lenscap off.
The barbershop singers
They were a strange barbershop quartet.
All four men were bald.
And not clean-shaven bald, but patchy and scruffy bald.
With unkempt beards and mustaches, looking like savages and wildmen.
They couldn’t sing.
They screamed and hollered and shrieked.
There was no musical quality to what was coming out of their mouths.
They also varied in numbers.
Only rarely were there four of them.
Three, Five, Two, Twenty… who knew how many of these strange men would show up to yell and moan together.
The barber called the asylum to pick up their patients.
My how the butterfly nets flew!
Bad moose
My moose is a very bad moose.
I won’t just leave my moose at the pound.
So he ends up someone else’s bad moose.
A cycle of badness, not good for the moose.
Or let him loose.
A bad moose on the loose?
Very bad.
So, I took him to moose school.
To learn to be a better moose.
The best instructors teach at moose school.
Moose experts, each and every one.
They teach moose to be better moose.
They use the latest moose teaching techniques.
None of them are abusive.
Abused moose are bad moose.
And they never learn.
The mailing lists
The great thing about this lockdown is that I don’t feel like I’m missing anything.
I used to get spam from Ticketmaster, promoting concerts and sports events and local art shows.
And the restaurant guides would fill my inbox with so many places to eat.
Sometimes, I’d think about one or two of them.
Maybe even look them up on a map.
No, I never went to any of these.
Never had the heart to unsubscribe from the mailers, either.
Because, what if… maybe… nah.
Who am I kidding?
Now that everything is closed down, the lists went mercifully silent.
Knock on my office door
It’s been a while since someone knocked on the door to my office and walked in anyway.
No waiting for me to say come in. Or to say I’m busy with something.
Or them asking what I’m working on.
It never ends well.
Now, I’m working from home. Everyone is working from home.
We’re connected via a Slack messaging platform.
So, they now ping me with a message of “Hi.”
Not what they need. Just a “Hi.”
It’s bait. So I wait.
Eventually, they ask for what they need.
“Thinking. I’ll get back to you on this.”
Maybe I will.
A trip to the dentist
The dentist gives out lollipops to all the kids.
Grape, cherry, strawberry, bubblegum.
It doesn’t matter what flavor, really.
They all have that little special extra ingredient.
One that rots kids teeth.
Not sugar. They’re sugar free.
But there’s an enzyme that promotes bacteria growth and inhibits calcium production.
So their teeth practically melt away.
And the only thing that can stop the rotting?
The dentist. Frequent, painful visits to the dentist.
Then, an assistant talked to the cops.
They found her in the empty office, mouth stuffed with lollipops, with a toothless grin.
Or was it a silent scream?
Weekly Challenge #811 – PICK TWO Vase, Rub, Top, Spring fresh, Chime, The End, Crop
LIZZIE
“The End”.
She put the pen down, happy.
The book was published. But she abhorred the cover. And she was very vocal about it too. No one listened because the book was a success, “a huge success” as the publisher always made a point of stressing.
OK, fine! So be it.
Her next book was called “The Fool”. And she loved the cover, a photo of a foot sticking out of the ground. She had taken it herself with her cellphone. It was much cheaper than hiring some top designer.
Buying the gun, however, did mess up her whole budget…
RICHARD
The end of the beginning
The end!
I know it’s a weird way to begin a story, but the fact is I struggle to come to a satisfactory conclusion to anything I write.
However, I’ve never had a problem with beginnings, so now I work to my strengths and end my stories in the opening paragraphs. It brings an added bonus that, after working my way through to a logical conclusion, I don’t have to come up with a great ending.
Because I’ve already done it: At the beginning!
I’ve done it with this story too…
You’ll find the end, right at the very top!
SERENDIPIDY
You really don’t want to rub me up the wrong way; I’m not one to tolerate being messed about, as many have found to their cost.
I refuse to feel any guilt about it. After all, you can’t say that I haven’t given you fair warning, and if you choose to ignore it, then you’ve only got yourself to blame.
And, I think you should know, you’re already pushing your luck by asking me to explain myself in this way.
So, either piss off, or prepare yourself for the worst.
Because I’m rapidly coming to the end of my tether!
DUANE
Pick two: Vase & Rub
The end of the aisle on the bottom shelf Dean saw the old vase.
“It could have once held a genie,” he joked to Ann.
“No, silly. Lamps hold genies, not vases.”
At home Dean noticed a smudge he hadn’t seen at the store. He added some goo remover and started rubbing. The vase shook and smoke came from the top. What appeared wasn’t a genie. It was a very angry old lady from New Jersey.
Rather than granting wishes, she just complained and criticized everything. She didn’t stop complaining until Ann sent the old lady home in an Uber.
Since Records Began
Every morning at dawn Ohg would set a stone at the front of the cave entrance to show another peaceful night had passed. He didn’t know how many stones he had gathered since numbers had yet to be invented. There was a stack of stones. That was all he understood.
One day the hill people from across the river attacked as Ohg was placing his morning stone. Picking up and throwing rock after rock he was able fight off the invaders and drive them back across the river. The next morning Ohg placed one stone in front of the cave.
TOM
What Could GO Possible Wrong 011
Ford’s first thought was Cervantes had transmogrified into the bar. He grabbed brass handle and swung the door open. He saw how wrong he could be. The place was filled with Roundheads. “1600’s” he cursed. While is traditional Oxford growns, he could easily pass as a time local, he had in the past encounter some the same men in the room. Not good. Worst Molly Fields was crossing the floor toward him, having abandoned the captain of the company. Not good thought Ford. Molly smiles and whispered in his ear,” How’s bout a top rub dearie?” Then it got worst.
NORVAL JOE
“That’s interesting,” Billbert said. “Will you share this family secret with me?”
Sabrina laughed. “Most family secrets in Humbolt county is their hidden marijuana crop. For us, it goes back even before the pot came here. But, in the end, it’s come down to me to carry on our tradition.”
“Okay,” Billbert said. “Are you like, the last witch in your family line?”
She shook her head. “We’re not just regular old witches. We’re weather witches.”
“It’s rained non-stop since we moved here,” Billbert said. “Is that because of you.”
She shrugged. “We like the spring fresh smell it brings.”
JARED
Synesthesia
She turned on the faucet and let the water run to warm up for her shower. She noticed that she could smell the temperature of the water. At first, it had a mintiness. She held her hand in the spray. It became tepid and the mint began fading and she smelled a grassiness, then fresh herbs, and then floral notes. It was nearly warm enough and she could smell soil. She closed her eyes and the Spring-fresh bouquet transported her to the fields of new crops of her past. She stepped into the shower, and began weeping, smelling her childhood.
PLANET Z
The Ghost Dance promises a blanket of fresh soil and grass over the broken, barren lands.
To bury the treacherous white man and his broken treaties, to welcome the buffalo and horses back to the plains.
We will together, all tribes, together, hunt and ride and plant and laugh in freedom.
The birds will sing, and we will sing with them.
I know the Ghost Dance is a lie. We have lost, and will keep losing.
But the Ghost Dance scares the white man, so we dance it.
The Army threatens us. The missionaries threaten us.
But we dance on.
Laundry wagon
I had my rolling laundry hamper for years.
It wore out, and I needed a new one.
So, I got another one. A round one with little wheels.
Which, after a month, broke easily.
So, I got another.
It had flimsy support rods in the sides.
So, I got another.
And another.
And another.
They all were broken easily.
Then, I got a folding beverage wagon.
The kind that you use on the beach for ice and drinks.
And I got plastic laundry baskets to stack in it.
It works great. When I can keep the cats out of it.
My cats let me live with them
Since the pandemic began, I’ve worked from home.
I have two cats, and as much as they like me giving them attention, they think of home as their space, not mine.
So when I stay at home all day to work, I’m intruding on their space.
They follow me around. They jump on me and rub their faces against my face.
When I go outside, they want to be outside with me.
And then, at some point, they go off to their own spots to sleep.
I look for them, and they chirp in indignation, and go to sleep again.
Above ground
The old saying goes that every day spent above ground is a good day.
Except for unemployed miners. They want to be underground, working.
But they’re unemployed, so they’re stuck above ground.
And then there’s skydivers with parachutes that don’t deploy.
They’re above ground.
But they really don’t want to be above ground, falling towards it.
Don’t worry, though. They won’t be for long.
They’ll hit the ground soon enough.
Maybe even fall on that unemployed miner.
If the ground is soft enough, might even knock him into the dirt a bit.
And neither will be above ground at all.