Author: R.

George’s fault

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
He caused a lot of accidents, and the entire crew hated him.
So, why didn’t they get rid of him?
Because they weren’t much better than George.
They just did a better job of hiding incompetence and blunders than George did.
“It was George’s fault!” they’d say. “George did it.”
Everyone agreed to blame George for everything.
Cannon misfires, torn maps, bent swords, and lousy food.
It was always George’s fault.
And when George would make a mistake, he’d say “It’s George’s fault!” too.
Even though that was him.

George and pronouns

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
While he plundered towns, he always said “sir” or “madam.”
But when he said “sir” to a transgender woman while looting her store, he caught hell for it.
The local paper was filled with angry letters to the editor.
Picket lines surrounded the ship.
The captain sent George off to sensitivity training.
Several weeks later, George returned and issued a public apology.
The next time George pillaged that town, he called the transgender woman “madam.”
She smiled and nodded.
Then George bought a purse and looted her store again.

George elected captain

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
There’s only one way that a pirate can become a captain of a ship:
The crew needs to elect him as the next captain.
The problem is, you need to get rid of the current captain first.
Oh, you could push him overboard… call for a mutiny… poison his food…
George was treated well by his captain.
Who else would put up with George?
Which is why George was very careful to put up guard rails, quell any dissent, and taste-test the captain’s food.
He threw up a lot.

George and nuns

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
For some reason, he couldn’t get the idea of “plug-in nuns” out of his head.
Why would he think of such a thing?
And were there nuns that ran on batteries, or nuns that you had to wind up or get started with a hand crank?
As George’s higher conscious functions obsessed on nuns, George’s subconscious and motor skills were left unimpeded, and he managed to get through the day without causing an accident, grievous injury, or some other calamity.
He never did sort out the whole nun thing.

Pregnant George

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
As he sat in his prison cell, awaiting execution, he looked into the cell next to his.
Calico Jack’s wife Anne Bonny and her friend, Mary Read.
Also slated for execution.
Well, that is, until Anne and Mary both claimed to be pregnant.
The court took mercy on them both, and ordered their release.
So, George tried the same tactic.
“How can you possibly be pregnant?” shouted the judge, throwing him back in his cell.
Before Mary’s release, George strangled her, took her clothes, and escaped under her pardon.

George meets Dracula

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
One day, standing on the main deck, a bat flew up to George.
In a puff of smoke, a vampire appeared.
“Hi there,” said Count Dracula. “Mind if I borrow blood?”
George said no. “I kinda need it. Sorry.”
The vampire nodded.
“But we have probably will run across a ship and have a battle,” said George. “Lots of blood in those things, flying around.”
Dracula smiled. “That’s good news. Mind if I wait around?”
“No problem at all,” said George.
Dracula sat down in a chair and waited.

Weekly Challenge #1011 – Ending

The next topic is Half-missing

RICHARD

— Final thoughts —
I’ve always fancied doing that thing where you write a half-finished piece of prose foretelling your own impending demise, solely with the intention of leaving it on your bedside cabinet, for discovery on the eventual event of your death.
“How did he know?” They’d exclaim.
“Was it a premonition? Was it fate?”
No, not at all, just a little bit of fun on my part and a cunning ruse to make my death somewhat more interesting that it might otherwise be.
I might even use this piece as my ‘final’ thoughts.
I think it could make a fitting ending.

LIZZIE

No ending, no story, delete it all, he said. She frowned. Why not keep what has been written so far and put it on the back burner for a while, perhaps they’d come up with a good ending later. No, no, no, delete it all, he said. She then snatched the laptop away from him. He elbowed her aside. She fell but stuck her leg out and he tripped. He grabbed the laptop cord and wrapped it around her neck. She punched him right in the face. Oddly enough, this was part of their creative process. One ending coming up.

SERENDIPIDY

Don’t think of this as an ending; consider it a beginning.
Certainly, there’s a finality to it… How could there not be?
Your breath will falter and fade, the colour will leave your face as your lifeblood drains away, your body will slump to the floor and your heart will cease beating.
You’ll die. It’s that simple.
It’s just a new beginning.
Soon, you’ll join me and commence a whole new chapter.
So, don’t be afraid.
Come to me and give me your neck to drink from.
And soon, you’ll join me in drinking the blood of our next victim.

LISA

Harvest
Orion was still watching over us; crisp leaves rustled above ready to fall. The menfolk had just cut the last sheaf standing in the harvested field. They’d called it the Maiden and thought the spirit of the harvest was inside it. So, before the sun came up, they’d thrown their scythes at it from a distance hoping to not upset their chances for next year’s harvest; it’d be made into corn dollies later. I joined the families on the field until the gleaning bell rang again at seven to tell us our time to gather any leftover grain was ending.

TOM

When it rain it rains ….

As a rule, I like my movies to have a happy ending. Boy gets girl. Bad guy gets whacked. Dance party as the credits roll. Sure, ¾ of the cast can die in the 2nd reel, but someone perky makes it through. Then there’s Pennies From Heaven. Both the British with Bob Hopkins and the American with Steve Martin a happy ending in spite of the fact it defies credibility. The only thing that could save our hero is an alibi from a once up-stand woman brought low by the hero himself. But Tom, is it a Musical after all.

NORVAL JOE

“What do you mean by people of power,” Mandi asked Bobbi.

Bobbi leaned back on the couch and stretched out her legs. “You know. Spiritual groups, like the one Sabrina was in, until her grandmother got killed. She and the old lady were the only ones with real magic. With her dead, that bunch fell apart.”

“The Black Knights were behind the shooting in the meadow?” Mandi asked.

“That’s right,” Bobby nodded. “Now, the knights are after a group in Arcadia and I think Patrick is using your friends to eliminate them. I can see them all ending up dead.”

PLANET Z

Lots of ribbons.
Lots of paper.
Coffee, crackers, and cheese.
Bentley pecked away at the typewriter for hours without interruption.
He didn’t bother with a wastebin… he just yanked out the bad pages and crumpled them up before he threw them on the floor.
Which would he run out of first… ribbons, paper, coffee, crackers, cheese?
Ideas. He ran out of ideas first.
Sitting there, staring at the blank page.
Another bite of a cheese cracker, sipping his coffee.
Sometimes, he would stack the crackers like cards.
And knock them down.
Stacking them again. And again.
But no ideas came.

George lighthouse

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
His most recent personnel review had branded him a coward, so George set out to prove his valor and bravery.
He volunteered to take the morning shift at the wheel, and when he saw a light through the fog, he called for all cannon to be loaded, full sail, and he steered to close the distance.
“FIRE! FIRE!” shouted George, and the crew launched a full volley…
At the Charleston Lighthouse.
His next review branded him an idiot.
“But at least I’m no longer a coward!” beamed George happily.

George the rapper

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
The other pirates sang sea shanties.
George rapped. Badly.
And not just White Guy Badly.
Imagine Pat Boone rapping.
No, imagine Bob Hope rapping.
Cue cards and Alzheimers and that glassy, lost thousand-yard-stare.
Well, George was worse. Much worse.
“Yo, Scurvy Dog” was his first attempt at a song.
They smashed his boombox.
They threw his scratch turntables overboard.
They tried to string George up by his microphone cord so many times, he switched to a wireless one.
West Coast, East Coast, Barbary Coast. No crew would have him.

George and the synagogue

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
Every time his crew raided a town, he’d draw his cutlass and roar “The synagogue’s mine!”
His crewmates thought he was some kind of bloodthirsty anti-Semite, and they’d go “Sure, George, whatever you say.”
George would run to the synagogue, bolt the doors shut, and heave a sigh of relief.
Sometimes, there’d be locals praying for protection from God, and George would try to reassure them that it would be okay.
“Just help your neighbors rebuild,” he say.
And when the raid was over, he’d return to the ship.