Weekly Challenge #833: Mice Cream

No, Carol didn’t tell her to look at the flowers…

LISA

A new business venture…

There were sixteen tubs of vanilla ice-cream melting on the kitchen worktop and there was no room to butter my toast.

“Can you check the traps again? I just need four more…” He shouted as he pulled another roasting tray from the oven.

I exhaled slowly, choosing my words really carefully. “Could we chat later? I really need to get to work and I’m not sure Mice Cream is the answer you hope it’ll be”

He replied dropping the roasted mice in the blender with ice cream “Pet food is big money.”

Our own cats were nowhere to be seen.

RICHARD

Mice cream

They said it would never work.

It didn’t matter that we’d scientific proof that pulverised mice, mixed with a specific quantity of other, ingredients – which for the time being, will remain a commercial secret – would produce a creamy, pink lotion, which when applied to the skin could significantly reduce the signs of aging.

The difficulty, of course, lay in the marketing. Nobody could bring themselves to try mice cream.

So, we went back to the drawing board, renamed it butyliceric-isomer amino-propylate, and tried again.

It sold like hot cakes, and we made a killing.

It tastes great in sandwiches too!

LIZZIE

“Mice? No, no. Forget about that.”
The man stood at the entrance. He hesitated. The smell was obnoxious but the hunger… oh, the hunger.
“With carrots. A carrot creamy soup. Much better than with mice.”
Someone murmured in agreement.
He ventured inside. Two men were skinning mice. It was disgusting.
“Add some spices. Oh, yes? Are you hungry, my friend?”
He didn’t know anymore.
“Have some soup.” The man smiled.
His stomach growled, so he did. It was not that bad.
In the bowl, he found a large chunk of bone.
“Mice?”
The men looked at each other and sneered.

SERENDIPIDY

Hickory dickory dock, those mice are driving me mad, around the clock.

The whole house is infested with the vermin, and nothing I’ve tried so far is doing the trick.

They avoid the traps, seem to be completely immune to poison, and they’ve driven the cat away.

So, now it’s just me and the mice.

Well, not strictly just me. There’s also an opened bottle of Jack Daniels at my side, next to which lies my favourite semi-automatic pistol.

I swallow a mouthful of Jack, before taking aim, quietly muttering, as I pull the trigger:

“Hickory, dickory… Glock!”

Mice cream!

TOM

What Could Go Possibly Wrong 032

From the weathered landing Bender gave Ford a knowing look. Ford maintained steely contact with the raven-haired man. There was no varnishing over the fact the only explanation for his presence was at the pleasure of her royal personage. “Preventative Maintenance,” whispered Arnesto,” let it go brother.” He’d let it go years ago take the path of the scholar. All the same when you are staring into the eye for reason for that course change, it doesn’t blunt the blow. “Say it Fort,” prompted Cervantes. Ford drew breath and raise his voice in respected.” Salutations to the 2nd Time lord. “

What Could Go Possibly Wrong 033

When Molly had made her way into the hack of the ship, she saw the strangest emblem on the surface of the inner hull. A gray rodent lapping at a bowl of what appeared to be snow white diary. “Mice Cream,” she laughed. As always, your humble narrator is at your ready to fill in the fine points of the author internal thought process. Mice is M I C E Masters In the Court of Elizabeth. You may ask who and what, but I would council let the pose led you to that knowledge. But, maybe a hint, not good.

TURA

Contact; Explanation
———
From the Laboratory Manager:

I’ve found some very old bottles containing transgenic ichneumon larvae and preserved monstrous embryos of unrecorded provenance in the cleaners’ cupboard on floor 15 of the West Tower. I believe most of this belonged to Amelia Brackett, who left us twenty years ago. It’s almost certainly beyond use and unrelatable to any extant project. There are other names on some items— let me know if you think the materials might be yours.

I will destroy this material according to standard practice unless the owner contacts me immediately. The Aurors may assist in obtaining a full explanation.
———

Mice cream
———
There are always mice in here. Me, I’d just shut the place down for a couple of days and get fumigators in. But no, the owners can’t bear killing the poor wee things, although they don’t seem to have a problem operating a dairy processing plant. Anyway, my job’s to put out humane traps, and release the mice into a field. I can’t be arsed with that. I brought in an industrial blender, and just to spite them, how d’you think I get rid of the liquidised mice? People rave about the meaty flavour of our butter and double cream.

NORVAL JOE

Sabrina held Billbert’s hand as they continued through the forest. The night was so silent that when Billbert’s stomach growled Sabrina heard it and commented, “Oh. I’m sorry. We left before you could have some of the refreshments. We could stop and get something on the way home.”
Billbert considered. “We could stop at Baskin Robins and get some ice cream.”
“Mice cream?” Sabrina asked.
Billbert laughed and asked, “They do?”
Sabrina blinked, “Do what?”
“Scream.”
“Who?”
“The mice.”
“What mice?”
Billbert could see that any humor from his original joke was long lost, so he gave up. “Never mind.”

PLANET Z

Up on the Olympic Peninsula, where lavender farms grow and the locals hold an annual lavender festival, I remember there being an ice cream stand with all kinds of flavors of ice cream.
Lavender ice cream was popular, for certain, but they had all kinds of unusual homegrown flavors.
There were a lot of marijuana grow farms out there, so marijuana-infused ice cream was also popular.
The employees were always mixing up the marijuana-infused flavors and the regular flavors.
Once, a mouse fell into the mixer.
It was a marijuana-infused variety.
“It’s a little crunchy,” said the perpetually-stoned store owner.

The Fred Cup

Fred and his dad didn’t have much in common except for soccer.
When Fred was a kid, his dad was his coach.
His dad stopped coaching when the league needed referees.
After a few years, Fred joined his dad as a referee, and they officiated a few games together.
Fred went on to college, and played on some teams for fun, but nothing serious.
They’d go to games together when he’d visit, and then they’d watch the World Cup at the rest home.
When Fred’s dad died, Fred has his ashes stuffed into a soccer ball.
It didn’t bounce well.

Buffers

Arthur opened the small wooden box, looked through the memory chips, selected one, and put it in the slot in his neck.
It takes a minute to download memories
The new generation chips are instant access, but these chips were only fifth-generation.
Prone to errors and data corruption.
Arthur had been meaning to upconvert and transfer, but never got around to it.
Chip after chip, he didn’t know how long it took.
Until the last memory has downloaded.
It’s downloading when you transfer to a chip, right?
Or is that uploading?
Arthur cleared his buffers, and closed the wooden box.

Warranty Void

If I were a nurse, I’d put a WARRANTY VOID IF REMOVED stickers on all my patients while they sleep.
So, when they wake up, they’d see the sticker and freak out.
Some of the stickers, I’d put in places that might take them a while to find.
Maybe stick them on while giving them a sponge bath or something.
Then they’d really freak out over them.
Although they’d probably wonder if it’s the stickers that shouldn’t be removed or if it’s the parts the stickers are on that shouldn’t be removed.
As long as they freak out, who cares?

The guitar case

Frank bought a guitar from the pawn shop on the corner.
Its case had stickers from around the world on it.
People would ask him about those places, and he’d make up stories about the restaurants, the streets, the people, the bars, and the gigs.
He’d play gigs and fill the room.
Never made it big, but still, he made a decent living from it with session work and teaching.
When he died, the guitar made it back to the pawn shop.
And another kid ended up buying it.
But, no bullshit stories. He got a new case for it.

The Journal

Do you fear what I fear?
What do I fear?
Read my journal.
My doctor told me to keep a journal of my fears.
So, I did.
When I filled the first one, I started another.
Filled all the shelves in my room.
I needed more shelves.
And a bigger room.
The basement was bigger.
So, I moved downstairs to the basement.
Filled it with shelves, and filled those shelves with my journals.
Writing more and more.
Write them in a computer?
Unlimited space to fill?
No. I’m afraid to lose it all.
I should add that to my journal.

Forgetful

Every time I go to the grocery store, I forget something.
I write lists on a magnetic notepad on the fridge.
But I forget a pen, and don’t mark things off as I get them, so I overlook things.
I tried a notepad app on my phone, but I’d forget to check my phone.
There was an icon-based grocery list program I used, adding and removing icons for things as I bought them.
Then, my sister-in-law distracted me with her constant talking, and I forgot things.
Now, I just get things through delivery services.
So someone else forgets for me.

Weekly Challenge #832: PICK TWO Weather, Varnish, Explanation, Preventative Maintenance, Contact, Landing

Patio Cat

LISA

Writing a thriller

It was remote, like really remote. But I’d felt I had to get away – the nearest neighbour was probably about ten minutes away by car and I didn’t drive. There was no one to hear you scream, you know? The weather got pretty scary out there too. It was awful really there he was in a thunderstorm up a ladder doing preventative maintenance (his words) while I was inside by the fire with a glass of wine. Honestly? I was just waiting for the rungs I’d sawn through yesterday to give way so I could enjoy my isolated writers retreat.

LIZZIE

“The landing was scheduled for eleven. What’s going on?”
The voice on the phone stumbled.
“I don’t care. Where are they?”
Some problem…
“Are they coming or not?”
Silence.
“If they aren’t coming, I need to dispose of these samples. You know how human samples deteriorate quickly and the fridge you left here is crap.”
A chuckle.
“Oh, funny, is it? You won’t find it so amusing when it’s your turn to do a tour here on Earth and have your crappy fridge stuffed with beers just because you don’t want them to think you’re an alien, which you are!”

RICHARD

Varnish

It’s all about preventative maintenance: The old ‘stitch in time saves nine’ philosophy.

That’s why I’ve spent the last ten years varnishing all my external woodwork, to protect against the worst of the weather.

Fences, decking, doors and windows have all received the treatment, and after all this time, it had better be worth it.

I never expected it to take quite as long as it did, but then again, I’ve no idea why the varnish comes in such tiny bottles.

The wife always buys it for me… She gets it from the same place she buys her make-up, apparently.

SERENDIPIDY

If you look out of the window at midnight, you’ll see them landing.

They’ll exit their spaceship and make their way slowly to the house, and – as always – I’ll be here waiting for them.

They’ll stare at me, from those dark, alien eyes, set in those grey, pallid faces, and then motion for me to follow them back to their craft.

Once inside, they’ll strip me, strap me to a cold metal table, and then…

And then, they’ll produce the anal probe.

Who could have possibly known that first contact would be quite so unsettling?

And yet, so much fun!

NORVAL JOE

Billbert charged away into the darkness. Sabrina ran to catch up to him and took hold of his hand.
“Slow down, Billbert. I’m trying to give you an explanation.”
He considered her hand in his. It felt warm. Warmer than his own, but he didn’t want to let go.
“Okay,” he said. “Explain what weather witches are and why I need to make daily contact with you. That doesn’t mean kissing, does it?”
Sabrina giggled. “Weather witches need to be polarized to be most effective. Therefore, we need daily contact with our counterparts. Kissing is a nice way to contact.”

PLANET Z

The landing areas were all far from the base.
So if a ship blew a landing, it wouldn’t damage the base with its wreckage.
Or if there was a problem with fuel tanks, the tunnel airlocks could cut off oxygen from the explosions.
Sure, it took a while to get cargo and people to and from the landing areas, but after one particularly nasty accident, the base design proved itself worthy.
Instead of killing thousands of workers and researchers and damaging priceless equipment, the company just had to string out a few replacement fuel lines and gather up the scrap.

Tall

Samuel Clemens had so many pseudonyms when he was young.
He wrote for his older brother’s paper under one.
And then, going down river to make a name for himself, made several on the bylines of his freelance writing.
They were all rather silly names.
But the one we all know the best is Mark Twain.
The call of the Mississippi riverboats to signal that the water was two fathoms deep.
“Two fathoms is twelve feet,” said Samuel. “And I am twelve feet tall.”
Yes, he was really that tall.
I mean, why else would they call them tall tales?

Famous Doug

Doug is famous, and he has a big entourage.
He’s got family and childhood friends always hanging around.
Then there’s the bodyguards. They keep an eye on things.
His manager and publicist are there to deal with the press.
A photographer snapping photos of everything.
Social media influencers to boost the likes and shares.
Accountants are always around to handle the numbers.
Drivers to drive everyone around.
Maids and servants all around his houses.
Bartenders and cooks to keep everyone fed.
Know what’s missing?
Doug.
Nobody’s seen him for weeks.
And as long as the party keeps going, nobody cares.