Author: R.

Mentat

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In the novel “Dune” Frank Herbert described a post-computer world where “mentats” performed rapid and complex calculations for the noble houses of humanity.
These specialists were not just raw computational experts, but they were valued for their ability to sift through mountains of data to provide vital analysis.
When noble houses warred, assassinating the enemy’s mentat was a priority.
That is why the messenger was killed and searched thoroughly. Then analyzed for poison.
“It’s safe,” I say. “Just plain paper.”
I hand the mentat the message, and he has a stroke and dies!
What? How?
“Divide by zero,” it says.

Flotilla

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It sounded like a good idea at the time, really.
Load up with relief supplies, get on some boats, and try to deliver the supplies to the poor defenseless children trapped inside.
How wrong we were.
Once we boarded and got underway, that’s when they started blasting music at us…
“It’s a small world after all…”
Surrounded by singing jeering puppets, we tried to paddle back to port, but the boats kept moving on and on.
We’d been set up. It was a trap.
We threw the boxes ashore, covered our ears, and screamed prayers for this nightmare to end.

The Pesto Pest

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When life hands you lemons, make lemonade.
But life handed me basil, so I made pesto.
I even built a hothouse to grow basil year-round.
Just harvest, wash, crush, mix, and serve.
The problem is that I am growing far too much basil for myself, so I give away a lot of basil leaves and pesto to others.
Maybe too much?
Now people turn off their lights and shut their windows when they see me coming.
“There’s that crazy Pesto Pest,” they whisper to each other. “Just be quiet and he’ll go away.”
So I hang it from their gutters.

You’ve Got To Know When To Fold ‘Em

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Because of a shortage of buglers, military funerals often use a recording of a bugler performing Taps.
However, there’s no shortage of flags, so there’s always flags available to drape over coffins for folding and presentation to the next-of-kin.
The flag is folded by the honor guard in a specific order so that it results in a small blue triangle with white stars.
Some potheads have been known to employ their knowledge of the Japanese art of Origami to come up with more interesting shapes.
The rifle party handles those jokers by beating them with the butts of their weapons.

The Socks

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After years of blisters and other problems with my feet, I changed from ordinary cotton socks to special space-aged wicking socks.
They draw moisture away from the feet while providing extra padding.
Don’t ask me how they work. All I know is that they work.
No blisters since.
However, you’ve got to be careful with them. Going to sleep with a pair on will suck some water out of your body.
Going to sleep with 14 pairs of them on your feet and hands will leave you a desiccated husk.
So, any other questions about the mummies in this exhibit?

Lazarus

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Tradition says that the priests pondered putting Lazarus to death because of the miracle which returned him to life, but other stories tell of him living out his life as a bishop in Cyprus.
Neither of the tombs in Bethany or Cyprus are his.
He is nothing more than an ancient blind husk, curled up into himself on the seabed, unable to drown.
Every so often, he snatches a fish to chew on with empty jaws.
As do many, he waits for Christ’s return, but not for salvation.
Yearning for release, the rest of death denied him for so long.

Weekly Challenge #216 – Good Lord, That’s Not Pie! and Motion

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Welcome to the Weekly Challenge Number Two Hundred and Sixteen, where I post a topic and then challenge you to come up with a 100 word story based on that topic.
The topic this week was… was…. um…
It’s Good Lord, That’s Not Pie! and Motion!
VOTING

Which were the best stories this week?
Zachmann
TJ
Brad
Steven
Jeffrey
Justin
Norval Joe
Planet Z
  
Free polls from Pollhost.com

Go ahead and listen to them and then vote for your favorites (multiple selections are allowed):

Zachmann

Kevin, a pure hearted and naive young man, went to an Inn that was famous for its great food. Although Kevin had not been told it was also famous for being a brothel. Kevin had received his food and when his waitress walked away he noticed she looked walked like art in motion. Kevin was pure of heart but still a man. The waitress asked Kevin if he wanted to join here in another room for desert which he thought an odd custom. She closed the door behind them. Soon you could hear Kevin say Good Lord, that’s not pie.
zackmann

TJ

Myrna, God bless her, has not held up well. A stroke at 70 and a second at 83 had no effect on her passion for baking but left her judgment seriously impaired. Her contributions to the church social had dipped from “ooh!” to “eww.” Her latest efforts … well, the pale top crust suggested to Sylvia that Myrna had forgotten to turn her oven on. But there was .. motion, and then one, then two waving antennae peeking through … “Good Lord,” Sylvia crossed herself. “That’s … not pie …” as Myrna burbled “Who wants to try my cricket pie?”

Brad

She was a grand ship, a three master and being a son of a son of a sailor I was ready for the adventure. I was up in the rigging as she went out into the bay. Is one of those moments I won’t forget. Fair skies and steady wind.
So, ummm what ye doin here?
Storm hit us outside the bay. Found out I have motion sickness.
Least ye is able to serve up some grub.
I guess. So did you save room for dessert?
Aye, give me the house special.
Here ya go.
Good Lord, that’s not pie.

Stephen

“I’m tired of only getting the scraps and leavings of your affection.”
She threw his dessert on the table hard enough for the saucer to
ring.
He looked up from his laptop, brow furrowed. “That’s not pie. What is that?”
“Leftovers,” she said. “It’s symbolic.”
“Feh.” He pushed the plate away, turning back to his computer.
She blurred into motion, knocking him and the laptop to the ground,
dinner’s steak knife dripping with A1 at his throat.
“You’ve been starving me of affection,” she said. The knife pressed
into his skin. “And I’m hungry.”
He didn’t feel the first bite.

Jeffrey

It was a rather grim scene but I knew there was nothing to it but to dive in.
“Alright, Bubbles what happened?”
“Binky’s hand was in motion before we could stop him, before we knew it, it was sailing though the air. Then everything slowed down, it was like slow motion. There was nothing we could do about it, but watch. It was not until it was half way there that we realized there had been a mistake. Good lord that’s not pie, I had screamed.”
She stared at the brick on the floor next to the deceased Mr. Beezo.

Justin

Doctor Despicable gazed into the cavern. He’d heard from a fellow villain there was a cache of pies inside. The swirling shadows were terrifying and he didn’t want to go in, but he had to have pie. All alone, Despicable entered.
Each step plunged him further into darkness, but smell alone led him to the pie. Finding it on a cart, he pushed it back into the light. He pulled off the sheet that covered it to reveal some detectives and and a dog, stained with cherry filling. He’d have eaten pie if it hadn’t been for those darn kids!

Norval Joe

With a unified motion, like Moses parting the red sea, he crowd separated, leaving a clear view of the judge.
A wave of his hand, he silenced the anxious audience.
He spoke, “By appearance, texture, and aroma, we have narrowed the field to just two pies. Each of the five judges will now sample them and vote.”
He smiled. “As a side note, the final tow contestants are twin sisters, heiresses to their family fortune.”
A single bite of the first pie and all five judges were dead.
The two women said as one, “Good Lord, that’s not my pie.”

Planet Z

When integrated with your AutoPantry and CyberFridge, the Magic In Motion Robotic Chef is the solution to all your culinary needs.
We highly recommend the Service Package so that everything you need is automatically ordered and delivered with our zero-emissions supply vehicle systems.
And by connecting to FoodNet, you’ll be able to participate in Neighborhood SocialDinners, broadcasting and receiving news of meals being prepared in the area by your friends. Invite yourself over, or open the door for others.
In the case of bar code misc-scans, laugh it up by submitting errors to Good Lord That’s Not Pie Dot Com.

Oops

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My kindergarten teacher had a cat named Oops, solid black with a white O on his chest.
She lived next to a maple tree farm, and every year she took classes there to see how syrup was made.
Oops wandered around the woods, but the moment he spotted a class coming through, he’d run off and hide.
That was over thirty years ago, and the teacher is long gone.
The maple syrup farm is gone too, but the trees remain.
A black shadow crosses my path.
After all these years, how can…
I see two glowing red eyes. And…
Oops!

Home

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Lincoln said that it is not the years in your life, but the life in your years.
Drifting between the stars for centuries, solar sails and cargo pods.
In the control center, two brains wrapped and connected with millions of miles of nanocircuitry.
Ours. Together.
So many years ago, frail and weak from disease, we volunteered.
We had nothing to lose but each other, and this way, we could have more time.
It has been over eight years since she last told me that she loves me.
She is gone.
I change course, and we sail into a star.
Home.

The Good Place

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After days in the library and on the Internet, Bobby turned in his paper.
Time and time again, rich people have treated poor people like crap with the promise of eternity in a good place if they put up with that crap.
The threat of eternity in a bad place prevents the poor people from treating the rich people like crap.
Priests are paid by rich people to come up with a lot of crap about the good place and the bad place, then shovel it at the poor.
Miss Krabapel sighed, lit another cigarette, and gave it an A.