Author: R.

Cat allergies

My cat has allergies.
She gets half of an allergy pill every day.
Just pop it into her mouth and then squirt in some water.
She also is supposed to only eat special hypoallergenic food made from peas and ducks.
I found the dry version, but the canned is on backorder everywhere.
I asked for a substitute food, but that won’t be in for a few days.
So, I went to the park, caught some ducks, and beat the shit out of them.
Then I mashed them up with peas and fed my cat.
I should have bought a goldfish.

Weekly Challenge #724 – TINFOIL

Laptinny

RICHARD

Tinfoil

I covered my walls in tinfoil so my enemies couldn’t find me, but fearful that I needed more, I extended it throughout the house, and covered the windows and doors in a double layer.

Still concerned, I wrapped the garden, followed by the exterior of the house – you can’t be too careful, after all.

But I was still vulnerable in the outside world. So I tinfoiled my car, made tinfoil clothing and carried a roll of tinfoil with me wherever I went.

Within a matter of days, my enemies had found me.

“What gave me away?” I asked them.

LIZZIE

I recall the fresh sandwiches wrapped in tinfoil, the extra juice in a clear bottle, Agatha Christie’s books packed in twos just in case I could read a whole book in a few hours.
The stubborn folded chairs, the clean towels, and the golden sand, sneaking through the seams.
The waves, the wind, and the seagulls fluttering about, announcing a storm.
“It’s your turn,” someone said.
I look at my pieces and I have nothing but an apple. The tray beams with words, but my only thought is… The sun still shines. They are gone… But the sun still shines.

TURA

Tinfoil
———
Did you know that tinfoil isn’t actually made of tin any more? The aliens have got wise to it, y’see. They can’t broadcast thoughts into your head through tin, so they’ve replaced all the tinfoil in the world by this alien metal called al-u-min-um. What sort of word is that, ancient Egyptian? They’ve even put a whole fake history of al-u-min-um into Wikipedia. Still called tinfoil but it’s transparent to their thought control rays.

Anyway, I’ve got a source of genuine tinfoil, rarer than gold these days. Buy one of my proper tinfoil hats, wake up and see the Matrix.

SERENDIPIDY

They laughed at Old George in the ramshackle house at the end of the street, with his crazy theories and his tinfoil hat.

They’re not laughing now.

They laughed when he told them the government were beaming microwaves into our brains, frying our minds and controlling our thoughts.

They laughed even more when he spoke of the coming new world order, and how the reptile overlords in positions of power would one day compel us to be their slave drones.

Yes, they laughed at Old George in his tinfoil hat.

But, believe me, not one of them is laughing now.

TOM

Led Me To Your Taker

NORVAL JOE

You see that guy over there with the tinfoil on his head? It look quite fashionable, in a retro sort of way. No, why is he wearing a tinfoil hat? To prevent alien thought control from turning him into zombie meat puppet slave, who will blindly do the bidding of his overlords the Zorss. Come to think of it that might not be a bad idea. I’ll ask him if he has any spear foil. So Ruby wanders over to the guy. They talk. He come back all disappointed. What I ask. He said it boast the signal from his planet.

As Billbert approached the Fararri, Marissa and an older man, who looked like he might be her father, got out to meet him.
The man held out his hand, not to shake, but to stop Billbert in his tracks. “I’m Joey Albragetti. My daughter says that you can fly. Before I let you take her for a ride, tell me, how do you do it?”
Billbert cleared his throat. “I wear a plastic bag. It gives me super powers.”
Mr. Albragetti scoffed. “Right. And I wear a tinfoil hat to communicate with space aliens. Tell me the truth, boy. Now.”

PLANET Z

I remember when we had to wrap tinfoil around the radio antenna to get a better signal.
The same worked for the television antenna when we wanted to get a better picture
So, why were people wrapping their heads in it to block signals from the spy satellites flying overhead?
Based on experience with radio and television, you’d think people would realize that amplifies signals, not blocks them.
Instead of keeping the government out of their heads, they were making it easier for the government to read their minds.
Not that they had anything in there worth reading, mind you.

Andy’s girls

When they were fifteen, she and her twin sister took a bus to New York City and joined Andy Warhol’s gang of creative misfits.
She called herself Ann O. Rexia and her sister called herself Boo Lemia.
Ann and Boo painted and appeared in films.
Some of the films could barely be called art.
“They said they were nineteen!” shouted the director as the cops dragged him off.
Ann and Boo ran away before their parents could get to New York to claim them.
Nobody’s sure where they are now these days.
And Andy’s not telling anyone, because he’s dead.

Queen Anne

What did they call Queen Anne’s Lace before Queen Anne?
Some call it wild carrot. Others call it bishop’s lace.
“I’ll take that wild carrot, if you don’t mind,” said the young Queen Anne to a bishop.
And she plucked the lacy white flower with red buds from the bishop’s hands.
“So lovely,” she said, twirling it in her hands. “I think I will name it after myself.”
The bishops protested, so Queen Anne had them all executed, their blood staining her gown.
But the legend of the red buds was changed to her pricking her finger while making lace.

Meaning in every day

I’m not one for birthdays.
When I see one on my timeline, I hide the post.
And I hide mine from my profiles.
Those who matter, know.
Those who don’t matter, don’t know.
They post all kinds of garish animated GIFs and empty sentiments.
And then they forget me for the rest of the year.
I prefer the quiet to the meaningless token displays.
Wake up, go through my routine, and make it through the day.
Be grateful for each day, and don’t wait for meaningless milestones to be grateful.
To think, to feel, to learn… this is life’s meaning.

Yosemite

Yosemite Park got its name from the Miwok word “Yohhe’meti.”
It means “They are killers.” And it refers to the violent Pai-Ute tribe who fought with the Miwok and the Ahwahnee.
As Ken Burns wrote his documentary series about the national parks, he looked over the piles of research and smirked.
It didn’t his narrative of white people being the source of evil in the world.
“I’ll just put the meaning after white settlers slaughter the natives,” said Ken. “It will sound like it refers to the settlers.”
Peter Coyote let the booth know that he was ready to record.

The Miners

With the rise of digital currencies, like bitcoin, the miners of those digital currencies compete to throw raw computing power at earning those currencies, whether its their own or servers that they’ve hacked and taken over.
They don’t completely take over a server’s resources, because that would alert the owner to their presence.
Instead, they use all of the unused resources, so there is no performance loss.
When the administrator logs in and performs any tasks, the mining program hides and sleeps, until the admin logs out.
They start back up and begin once more to mine for more coins.

Drogo

Every prince wants to one day be king.
And Prince Drogo was no exception to that.
His father, King Grond, who taught him well.
As well as Drogo’s brother, Prince Victor.
A year older than Drogo.
When Grond died, Victor took the crown.
Drogo did all he could to get it for himself.
Assassins and poisons aren’t cheap.
Victor’s wives and children died, but Victor survived.
And then, the crown was Drogo’s to take.
He took it off of his brother’s corpse and put it on his head.
“Oh shit,” he said. “The poison. I forgot to wash it off.”

Weekly Challenge #723 – PICK TWO: contest, hop to it, toys, pain, treading water, protect

Vet

LIZZIE

The End of the Rope

“Tie a knot and hang on… I’ll tie a knot around their necks. Be happy and blah blah blah…”
She was grumpy all the time. The neighbors would always scatter away in all directions, hiding from her.
And then came a bird. She scared it away, but the bird came back, again and again. And it brought a little twig, then another, and soon there was a nest. And baby birds!
She opened a bit of the window and gave the mommy some seeds she had bought.
No one could believe it when, one day, she simply said “Good morning!”.

RICHARD

Hot stuff!

She suggested ‘spicing things up a little’ to restore our flagging relationship. I, being naive, surprised her with a meal at a Thai restaurant: Apparently, not the sort of spice she had in mind.

I’ll never forget the night she introduced me to her new ‘toys’ – for all the wrong reasons.

I can still remember the sickly sweet smell of lubricant, and the slimy feeling as she applied it in places that I myself would only venture from necessity.

But, above all, the horrific pain as we realised she’d mistakenly applied chilli oil instead of lube…

Now, that’s spicy!

TOM

In The End Its Really About the Toys —The contest is simple: He Who Has The Most Toys Wins. Now simple in no way represents easy. And one man’s toy might well be greater than the net worth of a 3rd world country. Some argue tools are toys, but I don’t ascribe to this point of view. A good toy lack any functional purpose, or useful interface which allows fundamental alteration of local reality. Further it must maintain some level of childish glee that would cause a six year old to smile, giggle and clap. I’m sure Eli Musk does all three when he lights up a rocket.

DAVID

Snow fell gently. deadening the sounds of the forest like a tomb. I withdrew my sword without effort and stared across the white field to my nemesis. Enraged, I charged at my opponent. “Fill your hand, you son of a bitch,” I screamed! Our blades crossed and clanged as our footwork crushed the snow. Each of us furiously slashing to preserve one another’s life. I was quick. I was skilled. I was not the victor. The pain in my gut exploded as her reddened steel was pulled from my side with a boot kick. Who will protect my family now?

NORVAL JOE

Completing another loop around the block, Billbert’s mother pulled the car into the driveway. “I don’t know anyone in our neighborhood named, Balloni or Rigatoni. You don’t mean Albragetti, do you?”

“That’s it. I knew it was some kind of pasta. They’re still behind us, Mom. What am I going to do?”

His mother shook her head. “As a mother, I’d love to protect you from pain and embarrassment. But, you got yourself into this predicament. You’ll have to get yourself out. Hop to it, now. Go confront this girl.”

Billbert dragged his feet as he walked toward the Fararri.

TURA

Toys; pain
———
I found Jackie torturing her toys again. She’d pulled the back legs off the dog robot, and it whined as it struggled to drag itself away. The boy robot had a screwdriver jammed through his neck and twitched painfully.

“Stop that at once!” I screamed.

“They’re robots,” she said, “they don’t care.”

“How will you ever care about your baby brother if you can’t care about your toy friends?” I pleaded.

“He’s fake too,” she said, twisting the cat robot’s body to make it snarl. “Daddy told me he bought it for you because you couldn’t have any more children.”

SEREDIPIDY

You’ll thank me for the cold soon.

Watching you frantically treading water, from my sanctuary in the lifeboat, I see your exertions slowing as cold and shock set in: But, don’t worry, I’m not going to let you drown – your wrists are lashed firmly enough to the dinghy to assure me of that.

And that freezing water really is a blessing in disguise. Trust me.

You see, the sharks will come soon, and when they do, they will tear you limb from limb, piece by piece.

Then you’ll thank me for the cold…

And how it numbs the pain.

PLANET Z

Klaus the Toymaker likes to make toys for the children of the village.
And the children love the toys.
But he is only one man, and the village has grown so much in the past twenty years.
And then there’s the toys that the children break. The repairs, the wear-and-tear.
That takes time, too.
Now, there is a lottery.
The children who want toys draw tablets from a kettle.
And they swallow them.
Those who wake up the next day get toys.
And those who don’t, well, they should have taken better care of their toys.
Or read more books.

The Islamic State

My Muslim friend tells me that ISIS isn’t really Islamic.
Despite the fact that they’re called the Islamic State.
Despite the fact that they quote the Q’ran as they behead people.
Despite the fact that they’re forcing people to convert to Islam or die.
Despite the fact that when they’re captured, they demand Q’rans, prisons, imams, and halal meals in prison.
Despite the fact that Muslims protest that the prisoners are treated badly, or that it’s a War On Islam.
So, I took out a massive scimitar, and beheaded my friend.
“I guess I’m more Islamic than you,” I said.