Every Halloween, Linus Van Pelt stayed up late to wait for the arrival of The Great Pumpkin.
Every Christmas, he stayed up late for the arrival of Santa Claus.
Every New Year’s, he stayed up late for the arrival of the Baby New Year.
Every Valentine’s Day, he stayed up late for the arrival of Cupid the Cherub.
Every Easter, he stayed up late for the Easter Bunny.
Linus stayed up a lot, waiting for various mythical figures.
His parents took him to a psychiatrist, who prescribed anti-psychotic pills and said “Stop drinking so much coffee, you stupid little kid!”
We are backups
They take snapshots of everyone’s memory every hour.
A backup, in case of accident. Or emergency.
What they can do with those backups, well, not much.
They can’t exactly put you back in your body. Or a new one.
They’ve tried to upload them to a brain simulator.
We can ask them questions, they answer.
But are they alive in there? Like they would be in a body?
Nobody is sure unless they’re in there themselves.
We ask them, and they say yes.
They are blind, deaf, unfeeling.
Endless though, and nothing else.
We shut them down as a mercy.
Assholes on the half-shell
Apparently, if you are in imminent danger and you can’t openly call 911, you’re supposed to call 911 and order a pepperoni pizza.
This is a secret signal to 911 that you’re in imminent danger, and that they should send help.
Unless the imminent danger is a pack of Teenaged Mutant Ninja Turtles.
Because they like pepperoni pizza, and you can offer them the pizza.
Then, while they eat the pizza, you can run away.
Of course, it takes up to thirty minute to deliver the pizza.
So, in the end, you’ll end up feeding the assholes who killed you.
How long has Jimi been dead?
It’s been a strange few days… few weeks… few months…
When has it not been strange?
Or maybe I’m what’s strange.
I see the world through strange-colored glasses.
And I can’t take them off.
How long has Jimi been dead?
How long has Jim been dead?
They say they live on through their music.
But that’s all the music there is.
Maybe some stuff in the vaults and studio sessions.
Things they wouldn’t have released themselves, but we still want more.
So, they give us more, until there’s no more to give, no more blood to squeeze from the tombstone.
Weekly Challenge #755 – MONEY
- Lizzie
- Richard
- Serendipidy
- Tom
- Norval Joe
- Planet Z
LIZZIE
Just doodle a few things on that piece of paper and you can charge a million for it. Just throw in something strange, something mysterious, something… unusual. They will buy it. We can pretend we’re millionaires. And we can sail around the world. It’s not that easy? Come on, don’t be like that. Here, a paper and some crayons. Just draw something, anything. I want the money. We can go on a shopping spree, buy jewelry until we drop. Oh, come on, don’t be like that. Don’t walk away. Don’t you dare. I want the money. You can do it…
RICHARD
Timely investments
There’s nothing noble or altruistic about my time machine project. I’ve only one objective in mind, and that’s to make a huge amount of money.
You see, with all the accumulated knowledge of history at my disposal today, I can go back in time and make a few astute investments
Buy a few Van Gogh’s for pennies and keep them safe… Place accumulator bets on every major sporting event in history, and win big-time… Buy stocks and shares in Microsoft, Apple and Walmart, before anyone knew who they were.
Unfortunately, first I need the money to build the thing!
SERENDIPIDY
They tell me that the love of money is the root of all evil. I find that hard to believe, because I’m as evil as they come, and money is of no consequence to me.
I aspire to higher goals: For me it’s all about the purity of the act, and money, by its very nature tends to soil purity in all its forms.
Just give me a sharp knife, a quiet location, plenty of time and a sobbing, pleading victim, and I have everything I love, all in that special moment.
Rich, or poor, you all bleed the same.
TOM
Did you know the drumer from Iron Butterfly came from Pekin?
U.S. Senate: Senator Everett McKinley Dirksen once said: “A billion here, a billion there, and pretty soon you’re talking real money.” Because he came from Illinois even as kid he was on my radar. He grew up in Pekin just down the road from where I grew up. He died at 73. As a Kid he seemed so old. Now I’m just six year under that. Am I’m equally so old to. If I make it to 73 good chance my net worth with a million. A million here a million there and pretty soon you’re talking real money
NORVAL JOE
Billbert helped Mr. Withybottom explain to the triage nurse how Linoliamnda got hurt. She looked at the group of them like they had all come from a Comicon, and told them to have a seat. Linoliamnda held an ice bag against her head.
Mr. Withybottom turned on Billbert. “You know, we’re going to sue your family for expenses and emotional damage.”
Billbert swallowed. “Um. Okay. Well, my family doesn’t have a lot of money, but, I can start mowing lawns and washing cars to earn what I can.”
Linoliamanda rolled her eyes. “Don’t worry Billbert. Daddy is such a kidder.”
PLANET Z
Dollar Bill K.
A dollar a ball, a dollar a hole, a dollar a pin.
After he hung up his cues, clubs, and shoes, he drycleaned a dollar a shirt.
Or you could bring uniforms in by the cart and he’d charge by the pound.
(Including the cart. A guy’s gotta make a buck.)
Times were good.
Until everyone started dropping like flies from the carbon tetrachloride they used.
It got him, too.
As many times we went there, played with the boxes of lost buttons, maybe breathing that crap fucked me up a little.
I never kept any buttons.
The Tipping Point
The family next door just came back from a funeral.
Their kid tipped over a dresser and it fell on him, crushing him.
They sued the furniture manufacturer, like so many others have.
“Use the wall mount,” the company said.
Never kind that you have to mount the dresser to a wall stud.
And know basic carpentry skills.
Things that cheap furniture customers don’t have.
So more children die, and the companies do nothing.
Until…their own children start dying.
A serial killer was on the loose, hunting the families of furniture executives.
Mounting their children to walls with a nailgun.
Bottled Ghost
I bought a ghost.
It’s supposed to be a famous ghost.
But they say that about every ghost.
Who’s ghost is it?
Or, I suppose, was.
Who’s ghost was it?
No idea.
And it’s not like you can ask the ghost.
Open the bottle, and it escapes.
Ghosts don’t hang around.
Especially near the bottle that held them.
They get as far away from it as they can, as fast as possible.
So, there’s no telling who it was.
Or if there even is a ghost in the bottle.
I’ll just hold on to it.
And, some day, sell it.
Library Skins
When you think about the Library at Alexandira, what do you imagine?
Shelves and shelves of scrolls?
Couldn’t be further from the truth.
Sure, back then, the Egyptians had papyrus, but you know the saying “Life is cheap.”
They would write things on their slaves, skin them, and then stack the skins on the shelves in the library.
Kinda gruesome, but properly-preserved skin had a longer shelf life than papyrus.
And it also provided an incentive not to piss off the librarians with a late return or lost book.
You’d have your library card taken away. And your skin, too.
The last of the hunted
She opened the french doors, stepped out to the balcony, and howled.
And waited.
There was no reply.
Too many hunters in the forest.
There had been a treaty.
The woods belonged to the wolfkind.
But too many men went into the woods to hunt.
For sport, not food.
They had enough grain and livestock, why hunt for sport?
And the wolfkind defended their territory.
So many more men came to hunt now.
Hunting the wolfkind.
And now, were none left to hear the call? Was she alone?
She stepped back off the balcony, closed the french doors, and wept.
Thank you for Halloween
Gratias Tibiago was the most grateful man in the world.
He thanked everybody for everything.
Even if they did him harm, he’d find good in what they did, and he’d thank them.
This annoyed the bullies and sociopaths who did him harm, so they tried to harm him worse.
And Gratias would thank them that much more.
One day, a bully killed Gratias.
His ghost thanked the bully.
“I no longer need to thank anybody anymore,” said Gratias. “Thank you for that.”
The ghost thanked the bully over and over again, driving him mad.
Oh, and thank you for listening.