Weekly Challenge #785 – List

Tin Time


The List

He’s making list, checking it twice; gonna find out who’s naughty and nice…

What, you thought Santa gets to put his feet up all year and only starts work on the list sometime in mid-December?

Don’t be ridiculous! We can all put on a nice act for a couple of weeks in the run up to Christmas… Kinda defeats the object of having a list at all.

So, Santa starts recording the Christmas tantrums on Boxing Day and compiles the list throughout the year.

‘Cause no-one can be nice that long.

And Santa saves a fortune on buying gifts!


“Attention! Today’s specials!” said the innkeeper.
The room lit up with enthusiasm.
“Fish and apples!”
A murmur of disappointment…
“Fish, apples AND seagull!”
The crowd went back to the usual chatter, uninterested.
“… and RUM!”
A roar of eagerness thundered throughout the room.
“The fish is fresh and..”
Everyone laughed.
“Well, the rum is OK…”
A round of lively applause.
The innkeeper was sweating profusely by then.
In fact, the rum was the cheapest he could find.
Let’s just say the evening ended with him bobbing away inside a barrel, doused in his own rum.
Luckily, they didn’t light him up.


I decided to make a bucket list: You know the sort of thing – a bunch of aspirational goals to achieve before I die.

But you just had to make fun of it, didn’t you? Saying I was wasting my time with ridiculous and childish pursuits, that I was unlikely ever to achieve.

That hurt.

So, I’m going to hurt you right back.

And I’ve decided that I need to make a brand new bucket list, with just that single aspirational goal.

Only this time.

I aim to achieve it, before you die.

Which will be very, very soon indeed.


It Often Starts Simple.

I have this list. I start it when I was very young. My grandfather had
just died. At the wake a close friend of my father’s (whom I believe gave
be herpes when I about four, but that is another story) told me if you
write a love-one’s name down on paper they will live on. This is how the
list began. The scope expanded to people I respected. After 63 years the
list had grown very long. I image I will be the last name on the list.
Then again there might not be anyone left to pencil it in.


I once made the Dean’s list.
No, I never made the best dressed list.
I’ve trimmed my bucket list to you and me, and
I won’t be happy till I make your wish list.

I’ve been on the short list.
I’ve been on the shit list.
I’ve been on both the naughty and nice list.
For all I know I might even be on the no fly list.

I’ve whiteboarded the pros and cons of you and me, and
Since you can’t legally put love on your shopping list,
I won’t be happy till I’m on your to do list.


A Bad List

The battle had been apocalyptic; Captain Stubbing’s Man-of-War was listing badly to starboard. But he knew his nautical foe and taken more than he had given. Despite the damage to both ships, neither captain was willing to cede.

“Shift the ballast to port and come around!” Stubbing ordered. Dutifully, they set to as well as they could muster.

Stubbing could hear his counterpart’s orders. Without discerning the words, he knew what they were. The scalawag was coming about to offer his own broadside.

“Fire!” sounded from both captains. The chaos of smoke, fire, thunder and destruction erupted on both sides.


Mr. Blanketmaker let go of Billbert’s arm and stomped after Mr. Withybottom. “Now, listen here.”
Billbert’s father had always seemed tall to his son. But at five feet ten inches and 175 pounds, he looked like a twig compared to Linoliamanda’s father who stood probably six four and a muscular 300 pounds.
Mr. Blanketmaker didn’t care. He pointed his finger right up to the big man’s nose. “Tin hats and protective helmets? Add this to your list. A straight jacket and a psych eval. You pompous megalomaniac.”
Billbert’s father grabbed his son as he charged back to their Air Bnb.


Tristan made an appointment with her doctor, waited a week for the test results, and got the news nobody ever wants to hear.
“Can you make a list of all the people you’ve been with in the past year so we know who might also have been exposed?”
So, Tristan got to work.
She pulled out the phone book and went over it with a highlighter, marking every name.
The highlighter ran dry, so she picked up a pack from the office supply store.
The doctor looked at the phone book and winced.
“They still print phone books?” he said.

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