Weekly Challenge #712 – The F Word

Lapmyst

RICHARD

The F Word

I was only doing my job!

And, look where it gets me – hauled up before the governors for gross professional misconduct!

All because some idiot kid reported me to his parents who – rather than check out the facts first – jumped to the wrong conclusion.

“Mr Smith, the child told his parents you were teaching the ‘F-word’ in class. What do you have to say about it?”

“Well yes, that’s what I was doing?”

“Seriously? Explain yourself.”

“Well, last week, we started with ‘A, is for Apple; then B, is for Ball…”

“And yesterday… F, is for Frog!”

SERENDIPIDY

Four letter words

Four letter words.

I hear them all the time.

Uttered during the throes of agony, and directed at me in anger and rage as I tear apart people’s lives and bodies, piece by painful piece.

I’ve been called everything… the B-word, the F-word, the C-word; but, they’re just words, and as the saying goes, ‘sticks and stones may break my bones, but words… will never hurt me.’

I will hurt you, with sticks, stones and far, far worse.

And let’s wait and see what you have to say.

Will you be screaming the F-word?

And by F, I mean, Final!

LIZZIE

Never say the F-word, her mother had told her when she was a child.
The day she boarded that plane, the prospective of enjoying two carefree weeks in the sun was all she could think about.
Halfway through the flight, a storm hit the plane. She felt like saying the F-word often, especially when the plane started diving uncontrollably. But she didn’t.
When the pilot managed to control the plane again and they landed safely, she stepped out of the plane, calmly and composed, raised her arms and yelled FUCK YOU! Then she looked up and smiled “Oops! Sorry, Mom!”

TOM

WTF

When I was young I never swore. My parents were major Catholics, so it never happened in my home. Now I just about punctuate every sentence with CF. Which is pretty accurate description of how reality is working out. Some say the uses of vulgar language is a sign of a lack metal capability. Without equivocation I can state it is my deeply held belief that in fact the f-word is the proper word. Show me a term with more impact and emotional strength and I’ll use it. The question is it consensual or is the work just fucking with you.

NORVAL JOE

Linoliumanda had said it. They flew back from the dance.

Flustered, her father frowned. “You Flew? Even for our family that’s a little far fetched. I fear your fellow is too friendly and I’m fairly certain he influenced you to forsake the festivities to find yourselves secluded in the fogginess of night.”

“Forgive my forwardness, Mr. Withybottom,” Billbert said. “Your fable is more fantastic than Linolumanda’s confession of flight. I find your daughter fair and fascinating. As a faithful friend, I would never be false or fickle with her.”

With a feeble smile, Linoliumanda said, “Enough with the f words.”

TURA

The F word
———
“How many F-words are there?” my girlfriend asked.

“Um, context?” I replied.

“It’s this crossword clue, ‘The mostest F word’, four letters. Begins with F.”

“That seems plain enough,” I said. “Why is obvious answer not obvious answer?”

“Not in this newspaper,” she said.

“Maybe the crossword compiler just got sacked?” I suggested.

“Hang on, I’ve got the second letter now. It’s also F. Makes no sense.”

“Ah,” I said, in my most smugly knowing manner. “You don’t read music, do you?”

She knows my ways and waited for me to drop the other shoe.

“FFFF!” I roared, fortississimo.

PLANET Z

When my wife goes to visit her sister, the cats only have me around.
Which is fine for Tinny.
She is a clingy cat and loves to sleep on me when I am on the sofa.
The problem is Myst.
She tends to sleep under the bed, and comes out to eat, poop, and scream to be let outside to roam.
She usually expects to go outside around when my wife gets home.
But seeing as how my wife is off at her sister’s, I get to deal with the little shit.
Guess who’s staying inside for a whole week?

The Last Place

According to the maps, the first place to celebrate Christmas is Samoa.
The last place is Howland Island, which is uninhabited, so there’s nobody to celebrate Christmas there.
Or notice that’s where Santa dumps any leftovers from his sack.
Modern companies like Amazon spend billions of dollars on research to develop advanced infrastructure.
But Santa’s a traditionalist. So, there’s a lot of error in production, logistics, and contact management.
Some kids who send wish lists don’t make it to Christmas.
Cancer. Genetic diseases. Accidents.
Sad, really.
Oh well. We’ll wait until his sled takes off before we grab the loot.

The Upgrade

My laptop says that a new version of FireFox is available.
I remember getting excited over new versions of software.
Fixing frustrating bugs.
Making the user interface easier to use.
I’d check TuCows every morning and every evening, like a kid waking up on Christmas morning wondering what was under the tree.
Now, I dread new versions of software.
What things that I use a lot will change?
How many extra steps will it take to do the same thing?
What pointless bells, whistles, and upsells will they add to the thing?
I click Upgrade, and wait for an error.

Proof Denies Faith

The high priest wanted him dead.
The governor wanted him dead.
So, they killed him.
Tortured and crucified, stabbed in the side.
His body, placed in a priest’s tomb.
Washed and sealed, guarded by soldiers.
His betrayer, hanging from a branch.
The deed is done.
Or… is it?
An angel, in the middle of the night, pushed the stone aside and ran off the soldiers.
The body is gone.
Dragged off by wild dogs?
Or did he walk away?
Risen, and alive.
I set the coordinates in the console.
And sit down in the machine.
The time-field builds.
History awaits.

Heavenly Peace

Silent night, holy night.
That’s what the humans call it.
I called a feast night.
Going home to home, looking for babies to eat.
Always searching for the perfect specimen, one that’s both tender and mild.
Just like the song.
The song says that only the holiest of infants is tender and mild, but season them properly, any infant will do.
Slow roast is better than boiling.
As long as you don’t mind the screams, it’s just for a minute at most.
The meat comes right off the bone.
I am so full.
I think I’ll sleep in heavenly peace.

Candy Cane

Some people like peppermint candy canes.
I do too. So I bought a dozen.
Then I bought a dozen Oreo-flavored candy canes.
And then some Swedish Fish ones.
I figured I should sneak in some Red Hots canes.
They look like peppermint, but they’re hot.
And the bacon ones look like them, too.
After that, I kinda lost my mind.
Wasabi, Chicken, Pickle.
Although Pickle is actually kinda good.
Clam isn’t.
I put these all in a basket and left it out in the breakroom.
Unlabeled.
So, take your pick. Try your luck.
Everyone’s a winner.
Unless you get clam.

For better or worse bagels

I like bagels.
I especially like to toast bagels, then smear on some cream cheese, and snip some fresh chives and herbs from the garden for them.
The problem is, the better and more artisan the bagel, the more lopsided it is.
And it’s a bitch to slice cleanly to fit into the toaster.
So, you need a bagel guillotine. And a bagel toaster.
And a special bagel schmearer.
Screw all that. It’s six in the morning. I’m not fucking around, I just want something to eat.
The supposedly better and more authentic the bagel is, the worse it is.

WEEKLY CHALLENGE #711 – SASSY

Zzzzzzzz

RICHARD

S.A.S.S.Y.

Strategic Armament Systems: South Yorkshire – SASSY for short – an unassuming factory unit, situated on an industrial estate on the outskirts of Leeds.

Whilst the world’s attention focussed on the posturing of North Korea, the political machinations of Putin and the Chinese, and unknown Middle Eastern threats, the scientists and engineers of West Yorkshire quietly beavered away on the ultimate weapon.

Earth’s last day dawned on a drizzly, November Thursday and ended – accidentally – when Security Guard, George Orpington, in a moment of absent-mindedness, set down his mug of tea on the Big Red Button of Total Destruction.

LIZZIE

The waves drowned the sound of a phone ringing. It rang for a minute. Then, it stopped. Later in the day, it rang again. The waves sloshed softly in the background.
The police sent search parties, geared up in white protective suits. They quarantined the small town, but the buildings were empty.
Then, the phone rang one last time. A policeman answered.
“Find them, I dare you. And find me too,” the voice cackled with laughter.
They did find them.
Years later, the waves returned to the shore what belonged on the shore.
They never found the cackling voice though.

TOM

So Long Ago and Far Away –

Sassy LaRue wasn’t. She was graceful and poised. Had that old moneyed air about her. Married deep in the Mississippi gentry. Junior Leaguer, A-lister, tight with the inner circle in the outer beltway. Should have gone to prison with the rest of the president’s men, but she was always a step ahead and to one side. I know her is passing. Spent an evening drinking shot of gold watching the Potomac roll by. As I remember she had a passion for skeet shooting. Her grandpa taught her. Oh, how she get the moniker. Her little brother couldn’t pronounce her name.

SERENDIPIDY

Sassy Strychnine: My best friend forever. She’s never let me down, never been found wanting in a time of need, and is always dependable.

Not like that bitch, Suzie Switchblade! Now there’s a girl you don’t want to trust… Given half a chance, she’ll turn on you and stab you in the back. You’re never entirely safe while she’s around.

As for Bessie Bullet… Forget it, she’s noisy, crass, and leaves a mess wherever she’s been!

But Sassy: She’s cool. She slips in quietly, almost unnoticed, gets the job done, then quietly fades into the background.

My kind of girl.

NORVAL JOE

Linoliumanda’s father had just asked if they had walked home from the dance. Billbert shuffled his feet. “Yes, sir. We just walked up from next door, right now.”
“Don’t get sassy with me, boy. I just got a call from the school telling me about the fire alarm. You two got home pretty fast for something that had just happened.”
Billbert swollowed. “Um. We called an Uber?”
Linoliumanda took hold of her father’s arm and shook him. “Come on, Dad. Relax. We used magic and flew back from the dance.”
“Now you’re getting sassy with me, Linnie?” her father growled.

PLANET Z

I remember my first cat Sassy.
She liked to walk through the bookshelves, knocking books to the floor.
If you left anything on a table or a counter, it ended up on the floor, along with the books.
We tried to train her not to do this, putting pennies in containers with the hopes of scaring her, but she knocked them down, too.
One night, we’d left a lit candle on a table, and Sassy knocked it off, starting a fire.
She’d burned the house down and everything in it.
Insurance covered the loss, and we eventually got a dog.

Christmas mattress ads

You can tell what time of year it is by the stupid dad jokes that mattress store commercials use.
The worst are during Christmas, because they all mention sleeping in Heavenly peace.
Only when Christmas is over do you get a week off from the inanity.
That’s when the end-of-the-year clearance sales take place.
They need to clear the inventory to avoid the tax liability or something.
Never mind that the stores never actually stock the mattresses.
They get them from a distributor and they take weeks to deliver.
While they sleep in Heavenly peace… with all of your money.

Christmas lists for the kids

I gave each of the kids a stack of post-it notes and a pen.
“Write up your Christmas wishlists,” I said, and I left the room.
When they were done, I had them go outside and put the notes on the garage door.
“Put them in order,” I said. “From the one you want most to the one you want least.”
When they were done, I looked at the lists and nodded.
And the garage door started to open, scattering the kids and post-it notes as my wife pulled into the driveway.
I guess it’s sweaters and socks for everyone.