George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
This didn’t stop him from joining The Secret Pirate Club.
He’d slip into the alley, knock on the door, and a panel would slide open.
“What’s the password?” whispered a voice.
“Dead men tell no tales,” whispered George back.
“Your password has expired,” whispered the voice. “Please select a new password.”
George tried to, but the voice insisted that the password needed a capital letter, a symbol, no spaces…
Then it insisted on two-factor authentication on a thumbprint-secured smartphone.
George grumbled, pulled out his iPhone, and searched for signal.
George’s Party
George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
He was never on the guest list of the big pirate parties.
“I’m George,” said George to the bouncer at the gate. “George the Pirate.”
The bouncer checked his clipboard. “Nope. Sorry.”
Then he’d unlatch the velvet rope to let Blackbeard or LaFitte pass.
So George saved up his money and threw his own big party.
He got the word out, but didn’t invite anybody.
All smug and full of himself, George arrived, but the bouncer refused to let him in.
“Shit,” said George. “I forgot to invite myself.”
Weekly Challenge #879 – PICK TWO Style, Figure, Balance, Schism, Flower basket, Double
The next weekly challenge topic is: Range
RICHARD
Dress sense
In no way could you possibly consider me a style icon. Unless your idea of style is messy, comfortable slobbishness!
Fashion is certainly not my forte, and anything even remotely stylish in my wardrobe owes more to luck than judgement.
Most of the time, it’s jeans, and crumpled t-shirt. Despite that, I think I cut quite a dashing figure in a suit. That is, when I can be bothered, or the situation merits getting dressed up.
And it doesn’t happen all that often.
Usually, somebody has to die.
But, when they do, I’m always the best-dressed at any funeral.
LIZZIE
They made her wear a long checkered coat that matched the background.
“Color. Style. It’s intentional, darling,” said the director.
The multitude of patterns gave her a headache.
Then, they added a huge hat. “For balance,” they said.
“This is very Alice-like,” she muttered.
The director smiled a condescending smile.
“Ever directed a play, darling?”
“No.”
“Well then… This stage. It’s different! New!”
“What?! It’s a ripoff from Burton’s!”
“Out,” shouted the director. “Out, now!”
OK, time to call Mr. B and let him know he was right. This copycat wouldn’t be calling anyone else “darling” for a long time.
TOM
Flower Schism
The deadliest of our species are members of the Ladies Church Flower Guild. Lightning fast to act, with no compunction to rain-down rigorous death on usurpers. I have seen bishops brought to their knees. Vatican Emissaries shipped back to Rome in boxes. But nothing compares to the Flower Schism of 1968 when Mary Elizabeth Murray went after Mary Margret Edwards. It was biblical throw-down. When the dust clear only a handful of altar boys were left. My last act in that church with ecclesiastical vestments dripping read, was to place the remaining flower on the bodies outside the burning church.
my absence
My friend, god rest his soul, oped-in on Starlink beta test. Little did we know that that account was connected to a credit card that had been seriously max-ed out. So Starlink killed the service. I spent hours searching the Starlink web site for any form of customer service. Then any billing department links. Then any email at all, none. A company with no functioning contact information, not even a PO Box. There was no one and no way to get the service moved over to a new card. What kind of idiot starts a company with no billing department, oh Elon Musk.
Flower Schism
The deadliest of our species are members of the Ladies Church Flower Guild. Lightning fast to act, with no compunction to rain-down rigorous death on usurpers. I have seen bishops brough to their knees. Vatican Emissaries shipped back to Rome in boxes. But nothing compares to the Flower Schism of 1968 when Mary Elizibeth Murray went after Mary Margert Edwards. It was biblical throw-down. When the dust clear only a handful of altar boys were left. My last act in that church with ecclesiastical vestments dripping read, was to place the remaining flower on the bodies outside the burning church.
SERENDIPIDY
Slowly, you become aware of your surroundings. The pain in your head is severe and you feel the warm, stickiness of blood matting your hair.
There’s a ringing in your ears and you feel detached from your surroundings as you struggle to focus on the things around you.
You’re seeing double, and the world has become unclear and very distant.
You become aware of a blurry figure stood before you, and slowly, horribly, realisation dawns.
I raise the shotgun again, you’re staring down the barrel, and – as if from a great distance – you hear my voice…
“Ready for round two?”
NORVAL JOE
Billbert figured he could double down on acting confident and he thrust out his hand. “Here. Let me look at that scroll.”
The old man almost fell for it but jerked back the brittle role of parchment before Billbert could see what was written on it.
Billbert shook his head sadly. “Give me some help here, Sabrina. You’re the witch after all.”
She began to open her mouth, but the old man cut in instead. “She may be the witch, but she’s a weak one, except when in contact with you. You, young man, magnify and balance the witch’s power.”
PLANET Z
She balanced the flower basket on her head as she walked down the street.
A sign in the basket… roses for sale.
And a rose clenched between her teeth.
She’d motion for the tourists to put the money in their mouth.
And slowly, hands at her sides, she’d pass them the rose while taking the money.
By the time she got to the end of the block, her basket would be empty, and her pockets were full.
She’d walk into the bar at the corner and wash her mouth out with a glass of whiskey.
Filthy tourists. Do they brush?
George and George
George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
No, not that George. That guy’s a decent pirate.
I’m talking about the other George. The one who isn’t a very good pirate.
Maybe it’s in the tone of my voice?
You can tell when I’m talking about the good George and when I’m talking about the bad George.
Then there’s Jorje. That guy… wow, what a pirate!
Not only does he have the moves, but his accent is incredible!
Leaves those other two Georges in the dust.
Especially George.
(See how I change the tone of my voice?)
George at the end of his rope
George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
He wasn’t even good at the basics, such as tying knots.
He had many diagrams to study from.
But he just couldn’t master the art of connecting a rope to something else, or connecting a rope to another rope.
The other pirates made fun of George for this, and they mocked and ridiculed him constantly.
Despondent, George threw a rope over a crossbeam, made a hangman’s noose, and put it around his neck.
The crossbeam splintered and cracked, bringing down the roof.
George wasn’t good at building houses, either.
George’s ship swap
George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
He was in charge of supplies, so when the ship ran out of food and water and everything else, George was in a bind.
“I have an idea,” he said.
So, the captain sailed right up to a British Navy vessel and surrendered.
As the British captain ordered his men to board, the pirates snuck on to the British ship and took it over.
And then sailed away, laughing.
The British discovered that the pirates had taken the sails with them.
But they hadn’t taken George.
“Oops,” said George.
George and the cookies
George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
The captain ordered the crew not to sell Girl Scout cookies for their daughters, well, the daughters that they knew about, but you know pirates.
They’re always breaking the rules.
Even the captain would pass around an order sheet, and everyone knew that he didn’t have any children.
George signed up for all of them, but when it came time for delivery, George never got his cookies.
There was some kind of mistake at the warehouse or distributor or something.
To tell the truth, George didn’t really like cookies.
George pads his resume
George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
When he first applied for jobs, he didn’t have much experience, so he padded his resume a bit.
George figured that what he didn’t know already, which was a lot, he could learn on the job.
Pirates aren’t good at checking references, and they tend to be a boisterous and boastful lot, anyway.
Always shouting about Davy Jones’ Locker and treasure maps and crap like that.
So, George got the job, and he started immediately.
And he started causing problems immediately.
He never did learn much on the job.
George the Olympian
George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
Still, he was proud to be a pirate, and when he competed in the Olympics, he wanted to walk behind the Jolly Roger, not behind the flag of any nation.
And certainly not the flag with the five Olympic Rings that they used for stateless individuals or refugees.
He might not have been a very good pirate, but he was a pirate none the less.
The Hosting Committee winced.
“Well, he is competing on a yacht,” said the committee chairman. “But the rules should be clearer about ship-to-ship combat.”
Weekly Challenge #878 Scroll
The next weekly challenge topic is: Style, Figure, Balance, Schism, Flower basket, Double
LISA
Lonely Hearts
His flat overlooks the city but Paul isn’t looking at the view.
Paul’s TV is on but he’s not watching it.
A pigeon flies into his window, dies instantly and leaves a dusty imprint that Paul barely notices.
He’s scrolling, scrolling a dating site, scrolling a long list of single women that are looking for a man.
Looks matter but that’s not what stops him. It’s something he can see in their eyes, imperceptible to you and me. He knows what he needs. He likes them damaged, desperate and downright sad.
He stops scrolling.
Clicks.
Paul’s next victim is chosen.
LIZZIE
“The scroll, please”
Amidst the perplexing disarray of intentions (everyone darted in different directions), one of the monks tripped.
“So?”
They said the turmoil was such that no one fetched the scroll.
“Considering the monk’s broken leg will stay broken for a while, someone, get the scroll.”
Everyone hurried.
After a while…
“There are two scrolls, Father. Which one…?”
He took a deep breath. There are two, they said… Two scrolls, one broken leg. And he felt like strangling someone and shoving a scroll down someone’s throat. Then, there would be only one.
Hell. That’s where he was heading, Hell.
RICHARD
Origami
The South Coast Regional Origami Learners List, otherwise known as SCROLL, seemed like a good idea at the time. An online community of people with a shared interest in origami, providing a forum for enthusiasts of all abilities and experience to share their knowledge, and show-off their creations.
Unfortunately, we’d over-estimated not only the number of origami fans on the South coast, but also the levels of enthusiasm, which – if I’m honest – was pretty much non-existent.
Frankly, the whole thing turned out to be a complete waste of time, money and effort.
In the end, inevitably, it folded.
SERENDIPIDY
They say there are great mysteries contained within the sacred scroll, and that profound truths about life, death and the universe can be found within its writings.
Some have even speculated that the nature of god can be divined from studying its hidden messages.
It’s been said that magical texts of great power are held within the scroll, and ancient secrets are woven throughout its passages.
But, nobody knows for sure.
Because nobody has ever read the sacred scroll.
They simply skip to the bottom, tick the box saying they agree, and click on the ‘Accept’ button.
Just like you.
TOM
Never knowing the moment
A few years ago some wicked publishing house print out the coolest run of Kerouac’s On The Road. Like the original, one long scroll of paper. Should have laid out the coin and bought it. I didn’t big mistake, along side not buying a wood cut copy of the The Rime of the Ancient Mariner. To honor the passing of my friend who actually met the man. I dragged out the old tractor feed Epson and printed the scroll out. He and it reduced to ash. Funny how a single book can change a whole generation. Forever on the road.
My Absence
In John Green’s the fault in our stars his hero reflects on the pivotal turning point in dying “There’s no way of knowing that your last good day is Your Last Good Day. At the time, it is just another good day.” That’s for someone on the inside. For we on the outside trying own damnest not to fill that last good day with the mundane needs of community management we wait too long. Which is why I didn’t ask my best friend what the passwords were while he lay with multiple tube pumping in and out of his body, because, he was coming home.
NORVAL JOE
The hunched old man scratched his head through his black hood. “Yellow teeth?” He took out his phone and scrolled through his photo gallery.
Billbert scooted up next to him. “Can I look at that? Sabrina said there were some dark knights in our homeroom class. I’d like to see who they are.”
“Right. I think not.” The old man put the phone away and turned to the youths. “Bring me the scroll.”
The girl brought him a yellowed tube of parchment.
He unrolled it and read, “Billbert Dimplepoker, for crimes against the magical realms, you are condemned to death.”
PLANET Z
The rule is simple: wizards can only cast spells from magic scrolls and priests can only cast spells from holy scrolls.
If anybody else tries to cast spells from them, bad things happen.
Egbert the warrior tried. That’s him over there, that pile of ashes.
The dead frog in that pile is Luthien the lockpicker.
The woman rolling around on that mess and screaming is Melody the bard.
She needs a cure insanity spell cast on her, and luckily enough, we have a scroll of it.
Or maybe ironically enough, since it’s the scroll that these three idiots tried reading.