Author: R.

• Lizzie
• Richard
• Serendipidy
• Tom
• Lisa and her new Substack!
• Norval Joe
• Planet Z

The next topic is Crack

TOM

Drive to distraction

My wife is a Family Nurse Practitioner. Damn good one imho. Early in all FNP careers’ is the lure of the prescription pad. The power to be a min drug cartel. The perks. In the old days lavish amounts of food delivered by perky drug rep-s. Enough Chinese takeout to chock a bull moose. And the industry itself in the veiled cover of a “lecture presentation” where samples are shelled out like gum balls. At some point the lure fades. This is driven by how most patients will pester them to death to get the goodies. Yes the lure fades.

The Big Board

There are few Scoreboards in the country that bring deeper reverence then the scoreboard in Wrigley Field. Watch the crowd after ever major play. All eyes inward and in a beat all eyes at the scoreboard. In Chicago it isn’t real until it’s on the scoreboard. The coolest part of the board is knowing ever change in a game near or far is shown on 35 pounds plates turned by hand. In the age of electronic, keeping score by hand gives considerable charm to the Wrigley experience. My dad was born in the shadow of that nearly century old scoreboard.

NORVAL JOE

They all followed Linoliumanda across the meadow. Sabrina alone, sneered. “That is so stupid. How can you be pestered by people using your given name?”
Linolimanda’s cheeks reddened. “It’s not stupid. Everyone should have the right to be called what they want.”
Just then, high pitched barking stole their attention. They all turned to see a little brown and beige dog that looked as much like an ewok, running toward them.
It was then that Billbert saw the Black Knights climbing from the sink hole.
Buhmilda clapped her hands and shouted, “Good dog, Mr. Trump! Everyone. Get the Black Knights.”

LIZZIE

Those YOU posters… YOU must apply. YOU must, YOU.
Wear something proper. Speak correctly. You don’t want to sound like a moron, do you?
No. But he didn’t want to be pestered all day long about a job he didn’t want either.
Look at that, the future of our nation, that poster says it all, aren’t you proud?
He was annoyed. Proud? No. So, he spent the whole night slashing them. The scandal! That’s how the I’m-Not-An-Asset movement started.
100 years later, employees were still an asset, in the worst possible way… He went from annoyed to angry, murderously angry.

SERENDIPIDY

I have one of those cards in my window, politely asking religious callers, salespeople, canvassers and politicians not to pester me.

It makes no difference of course. Either people can’t read, or choose to ignore my wishes.

That’s just rude.

So, I have no qualms about backing up my request with machine guns, machetes, and the pit of spikes beneath the welcome mat, should anyone choose to press their luck.

What’s more, nobody can say they weren’t warned.

It’s all covered in full: there, at the bottom, in the fine print.

Although, you probably didn’t bother to read that either?

LISA

A big ask

We realised shortly after asking for the pillows that he wasn’t the big bad wolf after all. We could just ask him for things. For many of us, used to pestering parents for bits, this was better than at home. Here we were seemingly getting every desire granted.

It was the natural next step really and this time I was nominated spokesperson, it was a wish we all shared. I thought long and hard about choosing my moment but then just blurted it out when he came down the next morning:

“Can we come out of the basement please? “

RICHARD

Leave me alone!

Internet ads don’t bother me, neither does spam email, mainly because I rarely see either. All taken care of, thanks to decent ad blocking software and spam filters.

Internet bliss!

The same can’t be said for my computer desktop. It seems that every app and programme feels the need to bombard me with nag screens on start-up, shutdown and random intervals during use.

If I want to upgrade, subscribe or trial new software, then I’ll do so – I don’t need you to pester me constantly.

In fact, the more you hassle me, the less inclined I am to do it!

PLANET Z

If I sit on the sofa for more than a minute, my cat runs to the sofa and jumps on me.
Claws out. Not good.
She will cling to my shoulder or circle a bit before laying in my lap.
It makes it hard to type or reach the remote or a beverage.
So I say GET DOWN and shove her aside.
She scampers off for a bit, then comes back.
This repeats until I put down treats or whipped cream on a plate.
She’ll eat, then find somewhere to nap.
Usually on my lap, repeating the cycle once again.

CHATGPT

In the desolate town, whispers of a cursed word, “pester,” echoed through the chilling winds. Locals spoke of a haunted book, its pages filled with unsettling tales. Curiosity consumed Tom as he uncovered the ominous volume in an ancient library. Ignoring warnings, he read aloud the forbidden passages, unknowingly inviting a malevolent force. From that moment, eerie shadows lurked, and unseen hands brushed his skin. The word “pester” etched itself on his nightmares. As Tom spiraled into madness, incessant whispers surrounded him. The town, now void of life, echoed with a sinister laughter—a haunting reminder of the relentless entity that pestered his very soul.

• Lizzie
• Richard
• Serendipidy
• Tom
• Lisa
• Norval Joe
• Planet Z

The next topic is Pester

LIZZIE

These pillows are good quality, she thought. The price was acceptable. So, she bought them. She placed them in her garden, dreaming of perfect soireés with her super elegant friends dressed in their pricey clothes, smiling fake smiles, dragging along bored little husbands with perfect bank accounts that they spent in perfectly useless facial creams. Argh! She hated them. The pillows. Good quality. Well… Would they endure something rougher, she wondered, something a bit more… But then she remembered her mother’s words “a clean conscience makes a soft pillow”. Perhaps she shouldn’t have wiped those perfect smiles off their faces.

RICHARD

My bed!

Pillows, magazines, computer keyboards and laptops. These are all perfectly acceptable surfaces to sleep on… If you’re a cat.

The general rule is to select a space that will be the most inconvenient and inappropriate for one’s owner, and occupy it in a manner that is so cute and adorable that only the most heartless of people would consider summary eviction.

Which clearly makes me a very bad person, if the resentful feline stare currently fixed on me is anything to go by.

I won’t be long, I promise.

And once I’ve typed this story, the keyboard is all yours.

SERENDIPIDY

I’ve never believed you can smother someone to death with a pillow.

Let’s face it, if pillows were that dangerous, they’d be covered in health warnings, and every time you went to bed you’d be in imminent danger of inadvertently committing accidental suicide!

They also don’t work for muffling gunshots to the head. I’ve tried it, and it makes no difference at all.

However, those polythene bags that new pillows come in are a different story altogether.

Capacious, easy to carry and dispose of, and totally airtight -fatal every time.

You end up with a lot of spare pillows though!

TOM

While sleeping not good to stop breathing.

I remember going into the Cpap Store. There was this deck top poster of a guy, 50ish, gray temples; faced forward wearing a knowing hint of a smile, and a full Monty mask. Think it was a ResMed AirFit F20. Lots of rigid plastic giving off a Bane/Hannibal vibe, that in fact lacked the high wattage personality of either. No one in the history of Cpaps didn’t look stupid to down right silly. To uses the damn thing, you have to value over this hurtle and embrace your going to look stupid. So, in that sprite I ware Air Pillows.

841 – 972

Angel of Death

Major Cristen Larson was mentally extremely flexible in abstract think. The product of A FEW Thousands of years of diligent breeding. Her Count Zero plan terrified the war college. The general consensus of the high council was this experiment had gone too far. They promptly locked the Major in a Virtual reality matrix. From within Larson hacked the central computer and collectively fried the entire council. Her matrix then knifed through the Emperor’s ice field to stand before the throne of Shadus the Five. “Very resourceful,” quipped the Emperor. This was how Major Cristen Larson became LT. Colonel Cristen Larson.

LISA

Outside

It’s a kitchen that he’s led Pippa into. Ceiling high sash windows reveal deep snow outside and she blinks against the brightness. He asks her what they need and ‘Freedom’ comes out as ‘Pillows’.

She doesn’t want to be their spokesperson. She stares past him; out of the window at the snow. Escape would be futile. It’s drifted, deep and seems to stretch forever. Something unspoken hangs between them and she fills the silence by repeating the word Pillows, then adds a ‘Please’.

She wants to get back to the basement, back to the others and away from his stares.

NORVAL JOE

Scowling, Sabrina crossed her arms like Linoliumanda’s presence was a personal affront.
They gathered around the sinkhole and stared at the jeep, sitting in the mud at the bottom. The oozy slime wasn’t as cushy as pillows but must have softened the jeep’s landing, as the Black Knights didn’t appear to be injured.
Linoliumanda continued to walk away.
“Linoliumanda,” Billbert called.
“Linoliumanda,” Buhmilda repeated.
“Linoliumanda?” Sabrina asked.
Linoliumanda turned and shouted, “Stop calling me that.”
Billbert scratched his head. “Why? That’s your name.”
She stomped her foot. “I know. But it’s too long. I wish people would call me Mandi.”

PLANET Z

Dave is a discerning fellow.
Dave shops for pillows by asking the salesperson to lay on the bed.
Then he holds the pillow over their face and holds it down until they suffocate.
Oh, Dave isn’t a serial murderer… he is a buyer for a major hotel chain.
People expect a comfortable pillow, but they also expect a functional pillow.
If the salesperson doesn’t suffocate, he doesn’t buy the pillow. And runs from the store.
And if they do, he orders thousands of the pillow for all the hotels in the chain.
From another salesperson, obviously. One that isn’t dead.

CHATGPT

In the quaint town of Fluffington, a rebellion was stirring among the pillows. Tired of being squished, fluffed, and flung around, they decided to stage a protest. The Pillow Union demanded better treatment and softer cases.

The leader, Sir Squishington, organized a pillow parade down Main Street. Feathers flew as they chanted, “We won’t be sat on, we won’t be tossed, we demand respect for the fluff we’ve lost!”

The mayor, a weary old cushion named Cushy McSoftface, tried to negotiate. In the end, a compromise was reached: a mandatory daily fluffing session and a ban on pillow fights. Fluffington finally rested peacefully, one pillow at a time.