Author: R.

Come to Jesus

Ted wasn’t a very good employee, and his supervisor constantly reprimanded him and gave poor performance reviews.
One day, the supervisor said “We’re need to have a ‘Come to Jesus’ moment here.”
Ted went back to his desk, put on a Roman centurion costume, picked up a spear, and went back to his supervisor’s office.
“I know you’re busy,” he said. “We’ll skip the whole crown of thorns, whipping, and nailing to a cross part, okay?”
And then he stabbed his supervisor in the gut.
There wasn’t a rock to bury the supervisor under, so Ted used a filing cabinet.

Sailor None

The best thing about Pluto’s demotion from planet to dwarf planet was Sailor Pluto being stripped of her status, too.
Literally stripped. All of the Sailors gathered together, and they slowly stripped the former Sailor Pluto until the hot young college student was left naked and powerless.
And then they took turns spanking her.
Never mind that Sailor Moon and Chibi Sailor Moon don’t represent planets. They represent the Moon, right?
Better strip them down, too.
Oh, and then they could all take a bath together, too.
And this is why Neil DeGrasse Tyson isn’t allowed to write fan fiction.

Weekly Challenge #695 – LADY

Black cat appreciation day...

NORVAL JOE

Billbert showed up for the dance on Friday night, having not spoken to Marrissa or Linoliumanda in days. He wondered if either would be there.
A lady at the door to the gymnasium checked his student ID before letting him into the large decorated room.
The lights were on.
Parents had worried their children would get up to no good if allowed to dance in the dark.
Therefore, no one danced. Instead, students lined the walls glancing nervously at one another.
Until someone requested the DJ play the Harry Potter Theme song.
On the dance floor, Linoliumanda danced by herself.

RICHARD

First date

I thought everything was going really well.
My date kept giving me flirty looks, laughing at my jokes and we were getting on as if we’d known each other years.

The restaurant was pretty good too – a little fancy compared to my usual haunts, but I wasn’t complaining, and the quality of the food almost justified the exorbitant prices!

Meal over, I leaned back in my chair and let out a satisfied belch.

“Well, that’s not very ladylike” muttered my date.

“Oh, I’m no lady”, I replied, surreptitiously rearranging the bulge in my underwear to a more comfortable position.

LIZZIE

The writer hammered the story on his laptop. The damn plot wasn’t working. His main character, Lady Whatever (name not yet settled), had just hidden the corpse of her husband under her bed. The writer tried to convince the character that that was a bad idea. Lady Whatever gave him the finger and continued with her merry life. He grinned. That character had to go. Lady Whatever, who was pretty smart, hid under her bed. The stench was so bad, that the writer gave up. Let her be, he thought. And the story was a success, believe it or not.

SERENDIPIDY

The Lady of Shalott, it is said, died of unrequited love for Lancelot.

He, oblivious to her yearning, spurned his king and his calling, for a tawdry, illicit affair with Guinevere, bringing civil war and an end to Arthur’s throne.

So much for chivalry.

However, Lancelot of the Lake wasn’t entirely to blame…

As they say, behind every successful man, stands a scheming woman, and I – the Lady of the Lake – hold that particular title in this story.

And, for me, it all worked out exactly as planned:

After all, in the end, I got my sword back!

PLANET Z

They say that Evel Kneivel broke every bone in his body.

That’s two hundred and six bones broken.

Rocket Rachel Ricardo broke her little toe.

But she broke it two hundred and six times.

She’d appear on talk shows and trip over a riser and break her toe.

Sometimes, just standing there, you’d hear a crack.

“Oh no,” she said. “I broke my toe.”

And the audience would laugh.

After a while, she’d had enough, and she had that toe surgically removed.

The next stunt, she was impaled by a piece of rebar.

But she didn’t break a single bone.

Posse of Clowns

When I win the lottery, I’m going to hire a gang of birthday clowns, and have them follow me everywhere like a posse.
A posse of clowns, in their makeup and baggy pants and floppy shoes, making balloon animals and squirting flowers and annoying the hell out of everyone.
We rough it up with other lottery winners and their posses.
Of mimes. Of Renaissance Fair fortune-tellers. Of chiropractors.
And we fight. Boy, do we fight.
We fight like… well… a pack of clowns.
There are a lot of casualties.
I pour out a forty-ounce of seltzer water on the curb.

Barbarians at the gate

People are always saying that the barbarians are at the gate.
Of course they are. It’s Barbarian Airlines, and everyone knows that you need to be at the gate at least 45 minutes prior to departure.
Oh, sure, they might have some trouble with Security, and parking is such a hassle, but as long as they’re at the gate 45 minutes prior to departure, they’ll be fine.
Now, the standby barbarians, those are the real problem. One or two get seats and upgrades, but the rest…
Close the door!
Push back from the gate!
And let’s get out of here!

Failure

Failure is not an option. Failure is not an option. Failure is our goal.
Failure, Idaho may not sound like a great place to live, and you’d be right.
It’s a horrible place to live.
The water is poisonous and the air is toxic.
That’s why we brought water and breathing masks.
We get in, grab as much of the money left in the bank’s vault, and get the hell out.
If anybody’s guarding it, they weren’t going to last much longer. Killing them is a mercy.
What if they want to come along?
We’re robbers, not the Red Cross.

Columbus

“Are you staying in Atlanta?” asks the stewardess.
“No,” I say. “But I wish I was.”
We’re flying to Columbus.
I spent ten years there.
I never wanted to go back.
But there’s a conference there and I couldn’t get out of it.
The Visitor’s Bureau consists of one big sign that says “WHY?”
If you can see it through the pollution.
I ask for a ginger ale.
“Sure you don’t want something stronger?”
Maybe if she comes back this way, I’ll get a bottle of Jack.
By the time you feel the smooth whiskey burn, the bottle is empty.

The Twins

John and Joe look the same, but they’re not twins. They’re not even related.
Joe’s adopted. But their parents made him undergo a bunch of plastic surgeries to look like John.
You can hardly see the scars.
Well, the surgery scars.
Their parents used to beat John whenever he acted up, or didn’t do things exactly like John.
When the drugs wore off and he chewed through the gag, how he used to scream at night.
“Your name is Joe,” they said. “Say it.”
“My name is Linda!” Joe would shout.
More drugs. More surgeries.
John watched, and he laughed.

Small Stuff

Dr. Smith says not to sweat the small stuff.
Then he says “It’s all small stuff.”
Of course, Dr. Smith says it’s all small stuff.
Everything is small compared to Dr. Smith.
The guy is almost seven feet of solid muscle.
Plus, he keeps his office cold. Meat locker cold.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen him sweat,
If he did, it would freeze like an icicle.
So, I take my pills and come to my sessions.
And I always answer his questions politely.
Because, to him, I’m also small stuff.
And he wouldn’t even break a sweat crushing me.

Weekly Challenge #694 – SPEED

Laundry

RICHARD

Relatively speaking

The Theory of Relativity, so I’m told, states that the nearer the speed of light that you travel, the slower you age.

That’s clearly nonsense!

If that were the case, then surely the nearer the speed of dark you travelled, the faster you’d age?

And what if you travelled at a speed exactly half way between each of those two extremes… Would you simply remain at the same age forever?

It’s all a bit pointless anyway – too fast, and you’ve no time to enjoy it; too slow, and you’re dead before you can.

And stuck in the middle?

Boring!

LIZZIE

Flying at an average speed was his skill. He did it easily. The day he decided to get rid of her, they jumped on his small plane and took off. She was looking forward to this adventure. He saw that in her annoying little beady eyes. “The plane doesn’t have doors, how cute,” she said as they flew higher and higher. Yes, it is very cute, he thought, especially now that that damn flock of whatever birds they were was flying too close to his plane. Silence. Good thing he had a parachute on. Did she have one too? Nope.

SERENDIPIDY

Speed kills, so they say.

I decided to test the theory, but so far I’ve had no luck at all in proving it.

It doesn’t matter how fast you’re travelling, your body is more than capable of dealing with it.

However along the way I’ve managed to prove that there’s a host of other things that can kill you pretty effectively – excessive acceleration and rapid deceleration, air turbulence, oxygen deprivation, friction.

You don’t even have to be moving: anything coming your way at speed is a highly effective weapon…

A bullet, for example.

Now, let’s see you run!

TOM

Speed is such a relative perception. While 100 in a car is bit dicey on a long rail 1000c Harley Hog is nearly a transcend experience. I was 17 at the time. My high school friend who had own a whole mess of motor cycle before he got the hog, took me on its maiden ride. We headed out to Governs hwy one truly over constructed patch of level and straight road. I watch the speedometer needle move past 100. Then I made the mistake of turning my head. Wind ripped the glasses off my face, and explode on the road

NORVAL JOE

Since he’d missed his bus, Billbert had to walk home. He could call his mother and tell her what happened and she would hurry to get to him. But then, she would probably speed right into the principal’s office to file a complaint. He’d rather deal with it on his own. Walking would give him time to think.

“Junior high sucks,” he grumbled while counting the number of enemies versus friends he’d made in the last week.

“Rodrick, Marrissa, Tony, and now Linoliumanda. What about Wanda? Who’s side is she on?”

Those were the enemies. Did he have any friends?

PLANET Z

My television had a volume knob and a channel knob.
You pulled out the volume knob to turn the television on, and pushed it back in to turn the television off.
There were no Blu-Rays or DVDs or video tapes.
No fast-forward or reverse.
You saw and heard it at the speed of time.
Everything was when it was, when the programmers said it would be.
And only that which they’d let you see.
In between the commercials.
Or the news breaks.
Which were just teasers.
Commercials for the news
Which will just be noise in between its own commercials.