George outsourced

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
Which is why the captain teamed him with a group of H1-B foreign workers, who asked him a lot of questions and took a lot of notes.
“You’re going to outsource my job, aren’t you?” George asked the captain.
“No, I’d never do that” said the captain.
Instead, he replaced George with a robot.
The foreign workers programmed it with everything George did.
The problem was, George did everything wrong, so the robot did everything wrong.
When the robot fell overboard, unlike George, who could float, the robot sank.

George is bad cargo

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
One day, he and his shipmates took over a cargo vessel, filled with wooden crates marked “covfefe.”
“Did they just spell coffee wrong?” asked the captain.
“I don’t know,” said George. “Maybe we should open one of them?”
The captain agreed, and George got out a crowbar to open a crate.
That’s when he heard… something… something strange.
Claws scratching on wood. The snarling of a wild beast.
Two days later, the Royal Navy found George adrift in a lifeboat, covered in blood.
All he could say was “covfefe.”

George the dancer

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
He worked off his frustrations by performing interpretive dance.
Along the pier, he’d twirl and leap and tumble, throwing his hands to the sky and screaming.
After a while, he got pretty good at it.
Pirates from all around would dock at the pier and watch George, and they’d applaud and give him money.
They became big productions, with a full stage, set designers, stage lighting, and a full orchestra.
It caused George so many headaches and frustrations.
So, he worked off his frustrations by being a pirate again.

George the fake

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
Some suggested that he was some sort of agent, spying on pirates for the Royal Navy.
Which would explain George’s lack of pirating skills.
And the Royal Navy tattoo on his arm.
Oh, and the fact that all his mail was addressed to “Undercover Royal Navy Agent.”
George would take that mail and say “Oh, that must be a mistake. I’ll bring it back to the post office.”
He’d write notes in a little notebook, and take pictures of things.
“It’s an exchange program,” said the captain. “Don’t ask”

George loves Mondays

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
But he more than made up for it with enthusiasm.
Unlike other pirates, who moaned and groaned about Mondays, George wished every day was Monday.
He’d jump out of his bunk, ready to face the day’s challenges.
Not that Monday was any different than any other day of the week at sea.
Pirates don’t get weekends off.
Nor do they get holidays or sick time.
It’s not that pirates weren’t unionized or organized.
They just weren’t good at reading calendars.
Not that George cared. Every day was an adventure!

Weekly Challenge #987 – Visceral

The next topic is PICK TWO Give it all, Empty, Churrasco, Fiendishly difficult, Click

NORVAL JOE

Billbert’s mother, her superpower being incredible efficiency, asked, “Have you spoken with her?”

He felt a conflict deep inside himself. How could he not lie to his mother and also be true to Sabrina. He couldn’t. “Yes. She said she wants to be left alone.”

Calabassa perked up. “You know where she is?”

Billbert folded his arms. “Yes. But I’m not going to tell you where.”

“Billbert,” his mother said firmly. “They have a placement for Sabrina, and she can’t stay here.”

“Why not?” Billbert snapped back. “We have plenty of room.”

“Here I am,” Sabrina said from the hallway.

TOM

shoes of the fisherman

Timmy kicked a chunk of broken marble. There was a lot of broken marble. Small fires burnt through out Rome. In the shadow of a doorway a man was going through the motion of mass to no one particular. Timmy thought this could well be the most Visceral moment of this long trip in the city. That of course was indeed a sad play on words, because the man in the doorway was Pope Visceral the V. And much like the priest is Graham Green novel had lost all but the nagging reflex of his faith. More motion that connection.

SERENDIPIDY

People think I get a visceral pleasure out of writing about gore, violence and the more unpleasant topics, and perhaps I do, but I really don’t think that’s a bad thing.
It’s just stories, after all. Right?
Well yes, and there’s no harm in that.
However, you should always bear in mind that we write about the things we know.
And I do have to undertake an awful lot of ‘research’ to ensure my stories are authentic.
I’ll be honest with you, writing about this stuff is a lot of fun.
But the real pleasure happens before I start writing!

THOMAS

VISCERAL

Benny “The Cleaver” Reynolds had been the town’s butcher for forty years. His hands, thick as hams, bore the scars of countless cuts, his apron forever stained in shades of crimson. He knew every beast from hoof to hook, could split a carcass clean with a flick of his wrist. The cold room smelled of iron and sawdust, and Benny hummed as he worked, his knife gliding through sinew like poetry. He’d seen it all—thieves sneaking in for scraps, a man hiding a body in the grinder once. Benny said nothing. He just kept cutting. Business was business.

RICHARD

— Extreme —
My brother is a bit of a thrill seeker.
He’s into extreme sports. You know the sort of thing, hang gliding, base jumping, white water kayaking. Not so much sports, as dicing with death.
He says that it’s the adrenalin and visceral sense of fear and imminent danger that drives him; I say it’s his obvious insanity.
Even so, I encourage him – it’s good to have a hobby, and as long as he’s only putting his own life at risk, that’s fine by me.
It’s not that I don’t like him.
It’s more a case that I fancy his wife!

LISA

Everyday is a School Day

“Can anyone give me a definition or put the word into a sentence?” asked teacher, Rachael, pointing at the word VISCERAL on the board.
A hand raised immediately–
“I bought a visceral jumper at the weekend!” Polly said proudly
“That blue one? It’s acrylic!” replied her friend
“Nah it’s never made of nails.”
The rest of the class were concentrating on their phones so missed the exchange. Rachael had felt for a while she needed to find a new job. it was very definitely not a visceral feeling. She got her own phone out and registered with a recruitment agency.

PLANET Z

Two men with shields over their eyes, strapped to chairs and swords strapped to their hands.
Face to face, slashing each others faces without a flinch.
Hoping their wounds scar over to show their bravery and honor.
Those who fear the blade have surgeons give them scars, agreeing with others to lie about a duel to cover their fear and shame.
If the scar is not prominent enough, they pull at the wound to deepen it.
But not through the cheek to the teeth. That is too grim a look, even for the most monstrous of the dark army’s officers.

How is George doing?

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
How many pirates do you know that hand out comment cards while they pillage, loot, and burn?
“On a scale from one to five, how would you rate this pirate’s behavior?”
The problem isn’t that George fails to specify whether one is the best or the worst on the scale.
It’s that he never has a pen or pencil handy when the person asks to borrow one.
“I’m the one stealing from you, not the other way around!” snarls George.
And then he swipes the comment card from them.

George votes

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
He also wasn’t very informed on the election.
“Who are you going to vote for?” pollsters would ask George.
“I don’t think I can vote for either candidate,” said George.
Operatives from both parties wined and dined George, showering him with gifts.
“Vote for us,” said one party.
“No, vote for us,” said the other party.
And they spent even more on George.
When Election Day came, George didn’t vote, and he stayed home.
“I still don’t think I can vote for either candidate. Piracy is a felony, right?”

George’s accidents

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
The captain would have thrown him off of the ship long ago, if it weren’t for the fact that they were horribly short-handed.
Rusty Pete the gunner had retired.
Old Scutty had left to start his own crew.
That would have been manageable if it hadn’t have been for all the guys who’d gotten killed in raids and battles.
But then, they’d died because of George’s blunders.
Every one of them. Chalked up to “accidents” for insurance purposes.
As long as the insurance policies paid well, he’d keep George.

George and the reckless and young

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
When we were young, we thought we could do anything.
George, not so much. He knew his limits.
He knew he wasn’t immortal and powerful like we were.
As we were reckless and living life to the edge.
George would watch us with this sadness.
Not out of jealousy. Or envy.
But pity, because he knew.
He knew we were so wrong.
And as we died young, one by one, in battle, in bar fights.
Buried with eye patches and peglegs and hooks for hands.
We proved him right.