Author: R.

Vanilla

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It’s another twisted bit of verse from out old friend Caleb Bullen from the Black Tie Martini Club Oddcast…

I’m growing bored with bondage
And sodomy’s the same
I’m not wishing for submission
That’s such a tired game.
I need to find a new kink
To keep me in the pink
Vanilla, vanilla my new kink is vanilla
From Kurachi to Manilla the brand new thing
Is vanilla
It’s the best form of rebellion
To stop being such a hellion
It has filled in all I lack
To give away my leathers black
When you’re bored with whips and being scary
Why not try it missionary
When you’re tired of dressing like a guerrilla
Try the new kink
Vanilla

Party Time

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First, it was the rope. Damn thing was dry as dust and broke clean in half. We ended up using that bungee cord stuff.
Then there were the crosses. Nails kept falling out of the wood and all we had was sticks.
They wouldn’t burn, either. Wood was wet all the way through, so the kerosene wouldn’t catch.
We did manage to start a fire, though. Some kerosene got splashed Grand Kleagle’s robe at some point, and that bastard is in the burn ward now.
I gotta tell you, it was the worst goddamned lynching party I’ve ever been too.

Happy Coup Year

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I gotta tell you, it’s good to be king.
Man, what a party last night. Whole country was out saying goodbye to the old year and ringing in the new year.
Of course, those party-pooper rebels had to shoot up the decorations and my security guards.
Why do people insist on firing guns on New Years? Don’t they know that people get hurt that way?
It didn’t last long. My troops overwhelmed the guerrillas and they’re now in jail.
All I need to do is…
Ha ha ha… caught myself dating a death warrant with 2006.
Happy New Year, everyone.

Christmas Story

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When I was ten, I wanted a Red Ryder for Christmas.
Miss Shields made us write a Christmas theme. I wrote five pages on the glories of the Red Ryder. She gave me a C, said I’d put my eye out.
Santa Claus at Higbee’s Department Store? Same thing.
For weeks, I dropped “subtle” hints around the house. Must’ve driven Schwartz, Flick, and Kissel nuts at school. I was obsessed.
But when Christmas came, I got it!
Of course, within ten minutes, I had put my eye out. But I loved my Official Red Ryder Carbine-Action Two-Hundred-Shot Range Model Icepick.

Existential Ants

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Caleb Bullen of the Black Tie Martini Club gets metaphysical with the arthropods today…

The ant colony at the end of the driveway prayed to Billy for mercy. But Billy stomped on any ants he saw on his way to school.
The ant colony at the bus stop also prayed to Billy because he regularly dropped whatever unfinished snack he couldn’t take on the schoolbus.
One colony knew that their god loved them and regularly answered their prayers with mana from heaven while the other resigned themselves to the knowledge that Billy’s plan is mysterious and ultimately good.
When Billy went to his Uncle’s farm during Summer Vacations, both colonies felt abandoned until September.

The Wacky Adventures of Abraham Lincoln 68

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The war had not gone well, and Lincoln was glad to see 1861 come to a close.
“I do not feel like celebrating, but we might as well ring in the new year,” he said.
“Drunks!” growled Mary Todd. “Nothing but drunks out there!”
“If we take habitual drunkards as a class,” said Lincoln, “their heads and their hearts will bear an advantageous comparison with those of any other class.”
A drunk stumbled up the steps of the White House, groaned a “Happy New Year” and promptly keeled over, dead.
“Their horribly abused livers are another matter entirely,” said Lincoln.

Weekly Challenge #37 – Football/Referee

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Welcome to the thirty-seventh Weekly Challenge, 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 supposed to be selected by K-Nine from Dead Dog Walkin’, and it’s football/referee.
Seven stories were submitted this week. Only single digits.
One rookie this week? Yay!
Planet Z is currently in retrograde and reliable communications have not been reestablished.
Go ahead and listen to them by clicking on the grammophone thingy there in the left column and then vote for your favorites (multiple selections are allowed):

Who had the best story in the 37th Weekly Challenge?
Tom from Footnote
Brother Osric from Brother Osric’s Scriptorium
Lisa from Lemons and Lollipops
Caleb Bullen from Black Tie Martini Club
K-Nine of Dead Dog Walkin’
Andrew Ian Dodge from Dodgeblogium
Laieanna at Hodgepodge Point
  
Free polls from Pollhost.com


WE GOTS PRIZES:
I will be sending the winner the cost of a cup of coffee through PayPal. And who’s on the five dollar bill? Heh heh heh…
So listen, vote, and tune in next week to find out who won!

The full text of each story:
TOM

The line surged.
WAPP!
“There’s a flag on that play,” intoned Dan.
On the field the ref squared his legs, rocked back and forth while pumping balled fists Parallel to the turf.
“What the hell does that mean?” crackled Dick franticly flipping through the referee’s hand signal field manual.
“Illegal uses of the groin, number 69”
echoes Billy “The Blind” Baxter head referee.
“That’s got to hurt America’s Team.”
“Yup, Carl “Steel Cojones” Clayton really stuck it to Oscar “Wienerman” Wilde.”
“That’s a 7.5 yard penalty.”
“I thought it was longer Dick?”
“No Dan shortest personal penalty in the game.

BROTHER OSRIC

“…that Rod Usher, Ulthar State cornerback, is today’s game MVP!” Cheers thundered throughout the stadium.
Phyllis hugged her sweetheart. “Go on, baby. You deserve it.”
“No,” Rod protested. “You come too. You’re my inspiration; I couldn’t have done it without you.”
She smiled. Together they mounted the platform, where Rod shook hands with the opposing team’s captain. “Good game,” mumbled the latter.
“Thank you,” said Rod, plunging the ceremonial dagger into the other’s abdomen and slashing upward. He reached in and extracted the heart, but instead of taking the first bite he offered it to Phyllis. “My inspiration,” he repeated.

LISA

Judy had it. When Fred forgot their anniversary and spent it watching football with the guys, she decided it was time to extract some “Football Widow” revenge.
A bad call in last week’s game had Fred bitching all week about that “idiot referee”. Judy decided to use this, after learning that very referee would be officiating the game they’d be attending together on Saturday.
During half-time, she made her way to the referee’s change-room, and as she was scoring her own “touchdown” with the offending ref, the reporters came in with a live-feed to the JumboTron for an interview.
Perfect.

CALEB

I went to the world cup in germany
While I was there I happened to see
A man taking pictures named Drew Carrey
My eyes they boggled till I had to pee
Didn’t he used to be funny
Three shows on TV and lots of money
Now he’s at a football match
With his camera going snap snap snap
I found him at a bar after the game
I learned he sells his pictures under an assumed name
He doesn’t want them to be bought because of his great fame
Drew Carrey has gone insane
The Ballad Of Drew Carrey

K-NINE

Bowl game day at the bar, and all the Miller Lite girls were dressed as referees. Mark walked up to the redhead.
“If I gave you my number, would you call me for holding?”
She barely glanced in his direction, “You’re out of bounds, pal”
Mark suddenly made illegal contact.
In the blink of an eye she whirled. The blinding flash of pain told him that the kick was good.
As Mark lay gasping, he saw her whisper “personal foul” to the bouncers. They dragged him towards the door where Mark was sure there would be roughing of the passer.

ANDREW

I dubbed us the Strangers XI.
The natives on the island the cruiseship birthed at for repairs from a “freak” storm, were keen to play us at the English game. The poor sods didn’t know that most of our side were either ex-division footballers or keen-amateurs. The lads didn’t even mind that the priest was ref.
Not a good ref, ignoring fouls but our lads didn’t care one jot. He couldn’t hide his contempt when we won.
He was incandescent with rage.
As we departed I could hear men’s screams of pain as we headed out to sea…and absolute terror.

LAIEANNA

Old man Jones didn’t know how to handle security when a major football game finally took place in our small town. The professionals pushed him aside so he decided to guard by the sidelines.
When a referee ran out giving signals, the 98 year old man charged down the field. Everyone cheered at the superb tackle. Seems Jones confused the referee with an escaped convict.
The spectacle was such a crowd pleaser that he was allowed one football spike. Unfortunately, it bounced back into his chest and he fell dead from a stopped heart. Still it was a great game.

Thanks to everyone for sending in their stories, and I look forward to what you’ve got to write (and say) next week.
The theme for next week’s Weekly Challenge will be posted shortly.
(In case you’re interested, I’ve settled on “Clair de Lune” as the opening music and “Moonshine” by Michael Oldfield from the Tubular Bells II album.)

Airport 2006

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We’re still not sure why, but the investigation concluded that the airport manager secretly replaced the supply of de-icing agent at Jefferson County Airport with Folger’s Crystals.
It didn’t take long to find out what would happen. Two executive jets froze up and crashed, and a third barely managed to get back on the ground.
The airport manager stuck a microphone in the pilot’s face. “Did you know that I substituted your de-icing agent with Folger’s Instant Crystals? Could you tell the difference?”
He’s in an insane asylum now, receiving plenty of medication.
And no instant coffee whatsoever, thank goodness.

Profit And Prophet

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Jerry Bruckheimer finished his pitch.
Sumner Redstone raised an eyebrow and imagined the protests and burning.
“No,” he said “Hell no.”
“But he helps the police solve crimes no one else can,” said Bruckheimer. “And he’s a prophet.”
“We are not doing CSI: Mecca,” said Sumner. “Not after all that cartoon crap in Denmark.”
“Not the same,” said Bruckheimer. “We won’t film his face. We’ll film over his shoulder, or just his shadow over the desk and casefiles.”
“No,” said Sumner.
“And we’ve got Tony Shalhoub signed up for it,” said Bruckheimer.
Sumner leaned forward and smiled. “Tell me more…”

Refrigerator magnets

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Lois looked at all of the refrigerators and compared their features, but she couldn’t make up her mind which one of them to buy.
The salesclerk said, “I think I can help you.” He led her to a circular room with refrigerators of every brand and model along the perimeter.
Then, he handed her a refrigerator magnet.
“Close your eyes and spin!” he commanded.
She did so.
“Now… throw!” he shouted.
She threw the magnet.
“Stop and open your eyes,” he said.
She’d thrown the magnet at the door they came in through.
“Just buy the damn Whirlpool,” he sighed.