Author: R.

Weekly Challenge #1003 – Pawn

The next topic is Snot

RICHARD

Grandpa

When grandpa retired, he was a rich man. He’d started small as a young man, and over the years, he’d created a mini empire of pawn shops. And the money came rolling in.

He was an expert at valuations – or more accurately, he was an expert at acting. He could convince an expert that a diamond was glass, and gold was brass.

You’d never know it. Such was the calibre of his acting.

And, when he retired, he gleefully shocked all the ladies at the retirement home, telling them that he’d spent his whole life as a pawn actor!

TOM

Grandpa

When grandpa retired, he was a rich man. He’d started small as a young man, and over the years, he’d created a mini empire of pawn shops. And the money came rolling in.

He was an expert at valuations – or more accurately, he was an expert at acting. He could convince an expert that a diamond was glass, and gold was brass.

You’d never know it. Such was the calibre of his acting.

And, when he retired, he gleefully shocked all the ladies at the retirement home, telling them that he’d spent his whole life as a pawn actor!

LISA

We’re not just end of the month poor but nothing left to pawn poor and currently checking down the sofa, at the bottom of bags and in coat pockets for change. We scrape together a pound made up of 24 coins. Deciding it’s our lucky day we buy a scratchcard and win a pound. It’s tense as the winning card is swapped for another. With everything scratched but one tiny square we could win £100 or £100,000 or lose and stay hungry. The penultimate scrape takes off half the silver to reveal a pound sign, a one and two noughts…

SERENDIPIDY

Grandpa

When grandpa retired, he was a rich man. He’d started small as a young man, and over the years, he’d created a mini empire of pawn shops. And the money came rolling in.

He was an expert at valuations – or more accurately, he was an expert at acting. He could convince an expert that a diamond was glass, and gold was brass.

You’d never know it. Such was the calibre of his acting.

And, when he retired, he gleefully shocked all the ladies at the retirement home, telling them that he’d spent his whole life as a pawn actor!

NORVAL JOE

Grandpa

When grandpa retired, he was a rich man. He’d started small as a young man, and over the years, he’d created a mini empire of pawn shops. And the money came rolling in.

He was an expert at valuations – or more accurately, he was an expert at acting. He could convince an expert that a diamond was glass, and gold was brass.

You’d never know it. Such was the calibre of his acting.

And, when he retired, he gleefully shocked all the ladies at the retirement home, telling them that he’d spent his whole life as a pawn actor!

PLANET Z

Grandpa

When grandpa retired, he was a rich man. He’d started small as a young man, and over the years, he’d created a mini empire of pawn shops. And the money came rolling in.

He was an expert at valuations – or more accurately, he was an expert at acting. He could convince an expert that a diamond was glass, and gold was brass.

You’d never know it. Such was the calibre of his acting.

And, when he retired, he gleefully shocked all the ladies at the retirement home, telling them that he’d spent his whole life as a pawn actor!

George eats hot dogs

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
He was a pretty good competitive eater, though.
Every Fourth of July, he’d sail to Coney Island to compete in Nathan’s Famous Hot Dog Eating Contest.
He’d soak the bun in water, chow it down, and then eat the meat.
Repeat a few dozen times.
The problem was, George would build a huge lead quickly, often breaking the record, only to vomit everything up and get disqualified.
He changed his strategy to vomit all over the other contestants, trying to make them vomit.
“At least I’ll tie,” said George.

George and funerals

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
On his days off, he’d walk around the local cemeteries, looking for groups of people.
The bigger the group, the better.
“He was such a good man,” he’d say to the widow, or whatever was appropriate for the deceased. “We knew each other in high school.”
Then, he’d grab a free lunch from the reception, stuffing his pockets with shrimp and other goodies.
He’d also grab some flowers, because the ship needed some color, or to make a good impression with one of the prettier wenches at the tavern.

George and the paddleboats

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
He liked to go to the city park and rent one of those duck-shaped paddleboats.
Then, he’d paddle around the pond, threatening to board the other boaters if they didn’t hand over their loot and precious cargo.
“We have some frozen yogurt,” said the couple in the other boat. “Oh, and some stuff from the gift shop.”
George took their stuff, laughed, and paddled away.
“He couldn’t have gone far,” said a park security guard, who looked a lot like George.
The yogurt was strawberry flavor.
It was delicious.

George loses his word

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
Every now and then, in the middle of a battle, he’d misplace his sword.
“It’s on your belt!” shouted the captain, slashing a British naval officer.
When he’d lose his sword, he’d loot corpses, picking up a sword and giving it a test swing.
“I don’t like the balance.”
“The edge is dull.”
“What a gaudy handle.”
“Just grab a belaying peg!” shouted the captain.
“Those are for losers,” whined George.
The captain stared at George.
“You’re so mean,” said George as he grabbed a wooden club and pouted.

George winds die down

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
Out on the deep ocean, the winds calm, the waves are still, there’s little to do and all day long not to do it in.
George would practice with his sword, or tie different kinds of knots.
He’d work on his diction, his “ahoys” and “avasts.”
Lots of chortling, too.
Running cannon drills, loading, reloading.
Swinging on ropes.
The other pirates would watch George and laugh, and go back to drinking… playing cards… whatever they did.
The wind would return, and off on the trail of adventure they went.

George The Game

“George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.”
That’s written in the center of The George The Pirate game board.
Players roll dice and move their ship tokens around it.
You can land on Treasure and pick up gold, Shipwreck Rock and lose a turn, or Port to resupply.
If you land on someone’s space, you have a battle.
Then there’s the Uh Oh spaces. You draw an Uh Oh card.
Lots of bad things can happen.
The captain looked over the game on the table.
“Cute,” he said. “But I asked you to clean the cannons.”

Weekly Challenge #1002 – You’re not going

The next topic is Pawn

RICHARD

— Something blue —
“You’re not going.”
She meant it. No negotiating. Mind made up.
Still, there was no way I was going down without a fight. I was determined to make a stand.
“C’mon” I pleaded, “it’s a one-off. I won’t get another shot at it. Surely I deserve one. Please?”
It didn’t work.
“No! You’ll spend the night gawking at strippers, get blind drunk and end up naked, tied to a lamppost at the other end of the country! I know what stag nights are like!”
“OK” I countered “then, I guess there’s somewhere else I won’t be going…”
“Our wedding!”

TOM

1001

All things pass through Chicago

Since we’ve passed into a new millennium, seems fitting to regalia all with a story at the dawn of podcasting. When I was doing seven podcasts a week, one of them was interviewing podcast authors. Emboldened by its success and at this point running out of authors I reached out to the author of the sci-fi novel The Sparrow. Mary Russell kindly set aside her morning to talk. I Asked a few questions no one had ever asked her about her work. About caring capacity. When the interview was over she send me limited edition of her book.

1002

Your not going home again.

Phil had worked for the college for 25 years. You would’ve thunk they would have gotten him a gold watch, a service pin, at the least a go away party. Nada, zip, zilch. Phil was cool about it. He would say when its time to go, better go. All the same some place with pull at your memories, such was the tiny college under the oaks. So on random Friday Phil walked the campus. He was pretty much ignored by even former coworkers. Its like Thomas Wolfe say you can’t go home again.

LISA

Short Tale about a short Skirt
Picture the scene. It’s 1986 and there’s a roller disco at the weekend. Wars have taken less planning. We’ve chatted about outfits for weeks. It’s been decided that everyone will get ready at mine & we’ll get the bus from there.
On the night Dad shouts ‘You’re not going out like that!’ from his comfy armchair. I’m equally humiliated and pleased. I say I’ll change. I know I must look amazing. It becomes a useful gauge – if Dad approves of the outfit I know it isn’t working. In time I become an expert at getting changed in small toilet cubicles.

SERENDIPIDY

I see you quivering in the corner, terror written in your eyes.
Both you and I know this can only end one way, and it’s not going to go well for you.
It never would: that’s the way the world works, and we both know that the odds are overwhelmingly in my favour.
It’s just a matter of time before I get bored, and you become paralysed with fear. And then, I make my move.
I’ll pin you down, my claws piercing your flesh, then move in for the kill.
Cat and mouse.
And, little mouse, you’re not going anywhere.

NORVAL JOE

Billbert turned to face the sound of approaching steps. Before he could make out who approached in the darkness, he heard from behind, “You’re not going anywhere.”

Like a gorilla had grabbed him by the neck, a jolt suddenly shook him before he lost consciousness.

The following morning, Mandi walked into the kitchen. “Mrs. Weinerheimer. I think Billbert is gone.”

Billbert’s mother put a hand to her heart and asked, “What makes you say that?”

She shrugged. “I went to ask him a question last night and he wasn’t in bed. This morning, I checked again and he’s not there.”

PLANET Z

Back in school, my mother would never sign permissions slips for fieldtrips.
“You’re being punished,” she said.
But she never said for what.
My friend Bobby faked her signature.
“There,” he said. “Problem solved.”
Except that my mother had called the school to make sure I didn’t go.
At least when I was being beaten for it, I knew what I was being punished for.
Years later, I pushed her wheelchair up to the zoo entrance.
“Ticket for one,” I said.
And I told her “Just for me. Because you’re being punished.”
And I left her at the zoo entrance.

George and the container ship

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
He’d been taking to long periods of melancholy and self-doubt.
Or he’d obsess on the most esoteric things.
“A container is a container because it contains things,” said George. “If it’s empty, is it still a container.”
“Well, it still contains nothing, right?” said the captain.
“Yes, but nothing is nothing,” said George. “I don’t think it counts.”
“What if a container has the potential to contain things?” said George.
As the two debated, their ship drifted closer and closer to the massive container ship they’d planned to raid.

George’s consultants

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
Consultants put together a focus group to figure out what was wrong with George.
“Why doesn’t he have an eyepatch?” said a housewife from Burbank. “And a peg leg. And a hook for a hand.”
“George is such a weak name,” said a lawyer from Thousand Oaks. “Maybe some color of beard could be his name?”
Others suggested that George be recast as a sidekick to a better pirate.
They prepared a report for George, who threw it in the trash.
Along with all of their invoices and bills.