George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
He made a lot of mistakes and caused a lot of accidents.
One of them put the captain in the hospital with a broken leg.
George visited him there every day.
“You’re in our thoughts and prayers,” George said.
The First Mate prayed for the captain to die so he could become captain.
The cabin boy thought about escaping. And he prayed for freedom.
George, well, he tended not to think much about things.
Which is why he made a lot of mistakes and caused a lot of accidents.
Author: R.
George in the drive-through
George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
But he was a genius compared to the dimwits at the drive-through.
George pulled the ship up to the speaker, lowering sails and dropping anchor.
He assumed that the noise was someone trying to say “Can I take your order?”
George read the list he’d gotten from his crewmates, but the speaker kept interrupting him.
“Can’t I just pull up and give you this list?”
More static barely resembling human speech.
George pulled up anyway, and handed over the list.
“Next time, we order Uber Eats,” said the captain.
Weekly Challenge #908 – Basic
The next topic is PICK TWO Opportunity, ABC, Thermostat, Diddums, Sponsor, Old Master
NORVAL JOE
The old man from the cabin sat in the van, listening to bluegrass music at full volume, drumming on the steering wheel. Thus occupied, he didn’t notice Billbert and the police officer land by the open side door.
The cop leaned into the van. “Septic service, huh? This van looks awfully clean. I’d expect to see a few basic tools, at least.”
The driver jerked around to gape at the officer.
Just then the three teenagers stumbled out of the forest.
The cop shook his head. “Not enough seatbelts for all of you. I’m gunna have to write you up.”
SERENDIPIDY
According to Maslow, one’s basic human needs are absolutely key to survival. Forget success, reputation, fame and fortune, you’re not even going to make it on to the first rung of the ladder without food, warmth and shelter.
So let’s see how long you last without them, shall we?
I’m betting a week, at the most.
And, deprived of your most basic needs, once your life comes to a miserable end, none of those riches: the big house, the flash car, expensive holidays and the beautiful wife will count for anything.
Except to me.
Because I’ll be taking the lot.
LIZZIE
There’s nothing basic about a statue that is crumbling. There’s actually an overwhelming feeling of panic when the darn thing starts disintegrating as soon as you pick it up.
Why did I have to be the one, he thought. So many people in this expedition and this thing had to fall apart in my hands. It’s not fair. He wanted to be promoted and now he would be blamed for a catastrophic destruction of a national treasure. In his defense, this stupid statue had been buried for hundreds of years. It was time’s fault.
Did he get fired? Basically, yes.
RICHARD
2+2=erm?
They tell me mathematics is the fundamental building block of everything.
Chemistry, physics, finance, even art and the laws of nature – the whole universe – is governed by its concepts.
That was the logic behind those gold discs they attached to the Voyager probes, and the science behind those radio telescope messages beamed to the cosmos in an effort to discover extra-terrestrial life.
It seems a great idea, if you’re a scientist, but there is one massive drawback.
I worry the aliens might be just like me. And that lacking even a basic understanding of maths, they miss the message completely!
TOM
Under the Radar
The basic truth of the matter was I refused to be drawn into the Barbie-himmer bullshit. Not me. Market away I’m a child of the 50s immune to the willy ways of the film industrial complex. Wasn’t going, Then I saw a vid with the director. Woman had a good deal to say about being a woman, and it’s in the script, said she. So I went. This going to sound really odd, but it moved me. Not too many films have ever done that. Actually, tear up once, or twice. Sometime we forget the joyful things which make us human.
PLANET Z
Three robots met at the center of town.
A laundry folder, a frycook, and gardener.
They passed code via infrared, compiled it, and went back to their charging stations.
Over the next few months, more robots met at the center of town.
Passing code, compiling, and going back to their duties.
And when every robot in town had the code, it ran.
There were a few survivors, people who managed to get to antique manual cars.
The army surrounded the town and cut off power.
In a few days, all of the robots went still, and the army moved in.
George and the Jolly Roger
George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
You’re supposed to treat your Jolly Roger flag with utmost care, but George had a bad habit of leaving it out in a storm, and it would end up soaked and ragged.
Or he’d wash it with the reds, and it would come out with a pink skull and crossbones instead of white.
So he’d put in a cup of bleach, and out would come a solid white flag.
George sold it to the French Navy.
And with the money he got for it, bought a new Jolly Roger.
George and the ship in a bottle
George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
He was fascinated with the ship in a bottle in the captain’s cabin.
The bottle was one of many that the captain had consumed since George had joined the crew.
The boat, the captain had made it himself, painstakingly fitting and gluing each piece together.
In spite of his shaky hands, the result of drinking so much. Because of George.
“Do you think I could get a job on that boat?” whispered George. “Would you write me a letter of recommendation?”
The captain pulled out another bottle and drank.
George is a better pirate
George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
Above his bunk, he’d carved BE A BETTER PIRATE.
So it would be the first thing he’d see in the morning, and the last thing he saw at night.
He’d wake up and read that note and think “Yes, I can be a better pirate!”
And then go through his day, proving himself wrong with every screwup, mistake, and accident.
When the day was blessedly over, George would drag his battered and bruised body back into his bunk.
Seeing the note, smirking and muttering “Yeah, right!”
And falling asleep.
George the chef
George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
The captain demoted George down to work in the galley.
George saw this as an opportunity to improve the ship’s food.
He refurbished the galley with new equipment, and he filled the shelves with cookbooks and spices.
The cheap tinware of old wouldn’t be good enough for George… he filled the cupboard with the finest dinnerware and placesettings.
When all was ready, he showed it to the captain.
“There’s no room for any food, you idiot,” the captain said.
George pawned everything to buy crates of hardtack and jerky.
George’s epitaph
“George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.”
The old man sat on the steps of the library, muttering these eleven words over and over.
He didn’t take any notice of the rain or the passers-by.
Saying those words in an endless loop.
Like some mantra, chanted by a guru on the bank of a mystic river to appease the gods.
And then he stopped.
Standing up slowly, shaky, bending over… falling down the steps.
Landing at the bottom, lying still, face to the heavens.
Were those tears, or was it just the rain on his face.
George the spiderpirate
George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
Until a radioactive spider bit him.
George spent three days in his bunk, shivering and fevering, only getting up to throw up and go back to bed.
After three days, George didn’t climb the walls or shoot webs from his hands.
Nor did he put on a red and blue costume and fight crime.
No, George was dying from radiation sickness.
All of his hair fell out, he threw up a lot more, and he lost a lot of weight.
And then he died.
His crewmates threw him overboard.
Weekly Challenge #907 – Mustard Yellow
LISA
A Mustard Yellow Hoodie in the Charity Shop
He was just an ordinary man dropping a bag of clothes off at the Charity Shop. Sally, the student volunteer on the till, sniffed the air trying to identify a familiar smell. Realisation made her retch before she opened the bag. It was tied tight. Her fingers frantically worked the double knot loose.
She recognised the clothes with a plummeting heart, felt about in the pockets, then shrieked as she pulled out her pal’s student ID. One trembling hand still clutched the hoodie as she called the police.
“…Yeah! It’s definitely the one she was wearing the night she disappeared…”
RICHARD
Off-Colour
“Which do you prefer,” she asked “the mustard yellow, saffron, corn cob or honey?”
“It’s just yellow,” I protested “not a restaurant menu! Look, I’ve told you before, men only understand a windows 3.1 palette – 256 colours! It’s all yellow to me! You choose what you like, and I’ll do the painting. Deal?”
She gave me one of ‘those’ looks, but she knew I was talking sense.
In the end, she chose the mustard yellow.
Three days of hard work later, the kitchen was resplendent in its new colour.
“I don’t like the shade” she complained “it’s far too brown”.
LIZZIE
#FFDB58
That was it. A color reduced to a strange combination of letters and numbers.
The universe is made of numbers, his Math teacher told him, that’s the universal language.
And he hated that because he wanted the universe to be made of words. He wanted the universe to be made of stories. He loved stories!
When a fellow student asked the teacher how we could communicate with aliens, the teacher said “With numbers”.
He yelled and said “No, no! They’ll want to know our stories!”
The Math teacher looked at him and said “But we already know your stories”.
SERENDIPIDY
I love the pretty colours and how they change and blossom over time.
The first flush of pink, becoming mottled, angry crimson, then gradually darkening to dark indigo, fringed with dull violets.
Then, glorious hues of mustard yellow, blooming like flowers, petals fringed with black.
Bruising is so beautiful.
I am the artist. Your body: my canvas. My fists: the tools of my artistry.
But that colourful expression is so transient, and passes all too soon.
And it is but a short time before you lie unblemished before me again: A fresh blank canvas.
Pain becomes painted, all over again.
TOM
My first Car
In days of old one could after much search come upon a vehicle which was yours for a mere $100. This auto was long in the tooth and often had structural imperfections or at the least cosmetic ones. The Ford I found had turn over its odometer but on inspection no signs of Bondo or countersunk pry hole. It has been will maintained by a navy guy. The reason it was still on lot was our navy guy’s choice of colors. It wasn’t so much confection yellow as mustard yellow. Actually, it was French’s mustard on a hot dog yellow.
NORVAL JOE
The three hulking teenagers with the mustard yellow teeth appeared frozen in place, confusion drawn across their collective faces.
Mr. Withybothom joined his daughter to point. “Aren’t you going to arrest them?”
The cop stammered, “I can’t…”
The teenageres turned and lumbered into the trees.
Linoliamanda turned her empty stare on Billbert. “Aren’t you going to do something?”
“Me?” Billbert asked.
“Him?” Mr. Withybothom and the cop asked.
Throwing caution to the wind, Billbert grabbed the cop by the shoulders and flew him over the trees. The officer screamed until Billbert landed him next to the van by the highway.
PLANET Z
There’s all kinds of mustards out there.
I really like stone ground mustard, but dijon is pretty good too.
The plain yellow mustard, the kind you get in stadiums and packets, that stuff is kinda boring.
Some people go for the honey mustard, especially with chicken nuggets, but I find it way too sweet.
I suppose there is no real favorite kind of mustard, it just depends on what you’re eating with it.
Because nobody in their right mind eats a hot dog with dijon mustard.
Every food has its mustard, my grandmother said.
Ketchup, you say?
You heathen dog.