George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
This wasn’t for a lack of planning, though.
George made elaborate plans for everything, writing up lists and working out contingency plans should something go wrong.
Of course, if those contingency plans went wrong, he’d have backup plans to those plans, too.
Keeping all of these plans in his head at once got confusing to George, and he’d end up just standing there trying to remember what he was going to do.
“What’s that smell?” said the captain.
Oh, thought George. I was on my way to the head.
Author: R.
George and the Flying Dutchman
George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
He’d heard tales of The Flying Dutchman, but he never quite understood the concept.
“So, it was a Dutch man who could fly?” asked George.
“No,” said the captain. “It’s a ghost ship that brings bad omens.”
“The ship is a ghost, or is it full of ghosts?” asked George.
“Both,” said the captain.
“Well, can’t ghosts fly?” asked George. “So, really, if the ghosts are Dutch, they’re flying ghosts of Dutch men.”
The captain smacked George’s head with a belaying peg.
“You’re really annoying,” he said. “And stupid.”
George the Brand
George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
He was more into branding himself as an information economy brand than as an actual provider of pirating services.
He had the logo, the website, the social media footprint, but he didn’t follow through with getting the job done.
“I have 15,000 followers and I generate a lot of likes and shares and contacts every day in my network,” said George. “Who needs results?”
The captain angrily ordered George to walk the plank.
As he walked the plank, George posted in Instagram selfie that got 92 likes and shares.
Weekly Challenge #906 – Mass
The next topic is Mustard Yellow
LISA
It’s a small unassuming word by itself.
One I’d not thought much about before.
Now it’s all I can think about. It’s taken over my life. It’s taken over my family’s life. I no longer have a work life. My son’s future potentially no longer features me.
I’m getting letters again, all from the hospital, all about this bloody mass: the arrival of the post man doesn’t thrill me like it used to. A short walk in the woods does. Coffee. Family. The sound of laughter- everyone’s very thoughtful around me but I wish they’d laugh more.
I miss normal.
RICHARD
Science Lesson
Science… I’ve no time for that nonsense.
I suffered through school science lessons. Forced to listen to rubbish about mass, atoms and chemicals, all of which went way over my head and left me completely baffled.
Although, it was fun blowing up the classroom, having failed to follow any of the teacher’s instructions.
Needless to say, I wasn’t required to attend science classes after that.
And I’m no worse off for it.
All you need to know is that the earth is flat, birds aren’t real, vapour trails spread cancer and the government is spying on you.
Who needs science?
TOM
Mass Not Weight
It takes some sideways thinking to move from weight to mass. It most like due to a limited view of reality. Basically, we are all stuck on the same rock. We don’t get to go to other rocks. And rarely do we travel between the rocks. Heavy does shift to the point we done function well. Further our scope in limited to size and how a really really large mass will cause a change in gravitation pull. If stuff orbited about us, that mass thing would be front and center. I guess density would have move friend sound to it.
SERENDIPIDY
Plague pits they call them. Vast communal graves filled to the brim with the dead. Unfortunate victims of the Black Death, laid to rest, hidden from sight, and often completely forgotten.
But that’s not all that was dumped in the ground. Festering within the mass of bodies, bacteria feasted and flourished, seeping into the soil from rotting corpses, thriving and mutating over the years.
And now, they’re digging up the roads, laying tunnels, burying pipes, disturbing the bones of the dead, and setting the ancient bacteria free.
Just a matter of time now, before they start digging new plague pits.
TURA
L’Homme Armé
———
The king has sounded his drum
And raised the armed man,
Shown him the enemy
That he is to kill.
Let all fear the armed man!
Soft as water
And hard as steel,
There is not the smallest chink in his armour.
All flee from his path
Praying he does not turn to follow.
Priests sing the Missa L’Homme Armé
That he may pass them by.
None can withstand him
Nor long outrun him.
None can reason with him
Nor sway his purpose.
The armed man will not stop
Until his enemy is dead.
Let all fear the armed man!
LIZZIE
He scribbled on a small piece of paper.
The church was dark and empty. But he didn’t feel lonely. He never felt lonely. The automatic on his back was more than enough.
He scribbled some more on the paper.
Then he placed it in his pocket. They’ll find it.
A few people started to arrive. He had 10 minutes to change his mind.
The church was dark and the voices became vaguely irritating.
One bullet was all he needed.
But the voices of joy… This annoying cheerfulness…
He did have more than one bullet.
That’s when he changed his mind.
NORVAL JOE
Linoliamanda opened her mouth to respond to her father when he suddenly looked away, across the lawn.
Billbert followed the man’s line of sight to see that a mass of bulky, yellow-toothed, teenagers had burst from the treeline and stood gawking toward them.
Linoliamanda blinked myopically and pointed. “Look Daddy. Those people kidnapped me and held me ransom until Billbert came and saved me.”
The policeman scoffed. “That’s a wild tale. I suppose next you’ll tell us you grew wings and flew away.”
Mr. Withybotham poked a massive, meaty finger at the cop. “Don’t you call my daughter a liar.”
PLANET Z
Danny took a break from college to work the independent wrestling circuit, Long Island and Pennsylvania.
Folding chairs on fire and barbed wire.
An ambulance crew waiting, one crew wasn’t enough most nights.
Atlanta saw his tapes, and Danny went to the big time.
Masks and bimbos with big racks.
When he wasn’t in the ring, Danny helped the video crew write and film promos.
Bringing out the characters, building a relationship with the audience.
Ratings went up. Toy sales skyrocketed.
The company offered him a marketing job.
Danny graduated early, and wrestled only with those bimbos in hotel rooms.
George’s Ark
George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
There was the time when his ship ran across a massive wooden ark.
The pirates boarded the vessel, and this old bearded freak was yelling about God’s judgment and other nonsense.
They looked in the cargo hold, and found a zoo’s worth of animals down there.
“Oh good,” said the captain. “We’ve been running low on supplies.”
They cooked and ate the unicorns and dragons.
Around then, George up in the crow’s nest shouted “LAND HO!”
But he turned out to be wrong, so they ate the dinosaurs, too.
George the heavy sleeper dumped overboard
George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
His crewmates wrapped him in white rags, and laid his body on a wooden plank.
Then, after a prayer, they tilted the plank and his body slid into the ocean.
“Amen,” they said.
The cold water woke George, and he realized that he’d been dumped overboard.
“Well, that’s nothing new,” he tried to say.
But he couldn’t. Because his mouth was full of water.
And he’d been bound and gagged.
“I hate being a heavy sleeper,” thought George, as he sank deeper and deeper into the water and unconsciousness.
George gets a bath
George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
Nor was he being given a bath by the cannibal who’d found him washed ashore on the beach.
“This water’s too hot,” complained George, splashing around. “Oh, and I’d like soap and a washcloth.”
Instead, the cannibal dropped in chopped vegetables and herbs.
“I’d rather wait until I’m finished with my bath before I eat,” said George.
Somehow, the fire under the pot ignited the cannibal’s grass skirt, and he ran off screaming.
George got out of the pot, reached in for a vegetable, and sat down to eat.
George’s Giving Spirit
George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
Instead of plundering and looting, he tended to give things away.
“You didn’t give away the cannons again, did you?” said the captain.
“That would be stupid,” said George.
“Or the cannonballs?” said the captain. “We kinda need those to use in the cannons.”
“Do you think I’m some sort of idiot?” said George.
“Yes,” said the captain. “What about the gunpowder?”
“Oh, come on,” said George. “I’m not doing that again.”
The captain ran down a list of supplies, not noticing that they were adrift without an anchor.
George’s Special Map
George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
The rest of the crew never could figure out why the captain kept George around.
“Maybe he has a treasure map tattooed on his head?” said Rummy Bill.
“Well, then wouldn’t the captain just scalp George and get rid of the rest?” said Old Lefty.
After a few drinks, they decided to shave George’s head.
Surprisingly, George allowed them to do it, and when they were done, they found nothing.
George was relieved they didn’t ask for him to drop his pants to reveal the map on his ass.
George at the Ritz
George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
Winds fill your sails, but they can also blow you off course.
Or, in George’s case, into the rocks.
George crawled from the wreckage, shouldered his duffel bag, and walked ashore.
“Where am I?” George asked the couple laying on the beach.
“Fort Lauderdale,” they said. “The hotel is right over there.”
A uniformed man held the door and welcomed George to the Ritz-Carlton.
“How long will you be staying?” asked the concierge.
“Oh, as long as it takes to empty your safe into my bag,” said George, grinning.