George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
When a massive waterspout appeared in front of the ship, George failed to steer clear of it.
The ship spun up into the funnel and came crashing down on a town full of midgets.
After looting the gold and jewels from the ruins, George followed a yellow road for hours
He killed a dancing scarecrow and a lion before reaching a strange green castle.
Inside, he found an old man with a hot air balloon.
George hijacked it, and flew for hours.
Below, Krakatoa began to smoke and rumble.
Weekly Challenge #873 – Your Honor
… and next week’s topic is Diet
SCRIBBLING WREN
The Dark Stranger
“No further questions your honour.”
Everyone on the jury knew Peter was guilty. They’d known as soon as they saw him before anyone had said anything. Their deliberation would be over in record time. An instant unanimous decision, I mean, despite the lack of evidence he’d admitted he’d done it.
And so he was found guilty.
A sentence passed that meant he would never, school sports day or not, find himself in a field again.
Unlike his older brother, Doyle who never visited, continued to work as a PE teacher and never once said thank you for taking the rap.
JARED
Rachel knew she was onto something big. Huge. It’s the only reason she would ever be at a football game, naked but for a trenchcoat and sneakers, trying to be inconspicuous. Her informant set up the meet: streak the game, get caught, meet the go-between.
A whistle, a flash of yellow, and everyone’s attention was focused on the other side of the field. This was it. She threw off the coat and sprinted for the field.
She was tackled by two security guards almost immediately. She felt the one holding her by the legs slip something into her shoe. Success.
RICHARD
Judged
Judge Nicholson was a tyrant. We all hated having to appear before him. Whether prosecuting, or appearing for the defence, you knew you were in for a hard time.
He would berate, belittle and abuse you in court, and act up, putting on a show for the jury, spectators, and the press.
We all hated being there.
But, not today. Today, we’ve all crammed into the courtroom, both as professionals, and filling the public gallery.
Judge Nicholson was being tried for public indecency, and we were there ensuring he got everything he deserved.
So, how does it feel, your honour?
LIZZIE
“Your Honor, I must protest.”
“Object?”
“Ok, object.”
“Grounds?”
The lawyer shuffled through his papers.
“Your Honor.”
“Counselor.”
“The thing is…”
“Yes?”
The lawyer shuffled through his papers again.
“Your Honor, I…”
“Counselor, I am losing my patience. If you object, you must specify the grounds for your objection.”
“The footage is inadmissible.”
“Why?”
“It’s a film reel. How are we supposed to…”
“Is that my problem, Counselor?!”
“I must protest, your Honor.”
“Object, Counselor, object. Get out of my courtroom. Out!”
And off the lawyer went, protesting all the way. He should’ve paid more attention at Law School indeed.
SERENDIPIDY
You’ve probably heard it said that there’s no honour among thieves, but that’s not strictly true.
It may be the case for those common petty thieves and robbers that clog up our prisons and pollute our neighbourhoods, but amongst those of us with more specialist skills – those of us in the business of stealing the life force from our victims – you will certainly find honour, and respect for each other.
It’s purely practical, of course.
For very obvious reasons, you really don’t want to upset somebody whose business is killing – it’s simple self-preservation.
Your honour, is your life insurance!
TOM
the instruments of question
What I do isn’t exact who I am. Who, goes around will a calling card saying Where from the Grand Jury we’re here to help. Further I’m what you would call a Juror Wrangler. Get alone little inquisitors. You, can not image how easy it is to get into major trouble indecorously opening your frilling mouth. As much as I try, someone, at some time, will say the worst thing possible. Then I find myself in the Judge’s chambers firing off a string of: Yes your honor, Yes your honor, never again your honor. I real should get a taser.
NORVAL JOE
Sabrina pushed her half eaten bowl of ice cream away, held up her spoon, and sat up straight. “On my honor as a junior member of the weather witch’s guild, I’m telling you that the clouds have revealed it to me that you are to be my lifelong companion.”
“Your honor?” Billbert asked. “You may be a junior member of the whatsit guild, but that doesn’t mean the clouds can tell you anything.”
She put down her spoon. “Don’t you see? When we touch, you make my powers so much stronger, I don’t even need the clouds to confirm it.”
George and the details
George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
Sometimes, when he was performing a task, like making his bunk or swabbing the deck, he got fed up with all of the nitpicky details and steps.
“This is like playing Jenga with cow turds,” he growled.
So, he’d skip steps and get the job done quicker.
This was fine-and-dandy for simple things, but when it came to cleaning the cannon or arranging the powder room, one mistake could cost lives.
“What about two or three mistakes?” asked George.
As if in response, the ship exploded and blew apart.
George’s talents
George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
Because of all the problems George caused, the captain suggested that George train for the Winter Olympics.
So, George packed his bags and headed to the gym.
He worked out constantly, and his trainers got him into the best shape of his life.
However, George had an aversion to the snow and cold.
And he wasn’t all that good on skis.
Eventually, George found the perfect place for his talents.
“Welcome to McDonalds!” said George, in his nice new uniform at the Olympic Village. “May I take your order?”
Telecommuting George
George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
The wave of the future was telecommuting, and George suggested the idea to the captain.
“I could work from home in my pajamas,” said George.
“What the hell do you mean?” said the captain. “Your home is on the sea.”
“Fine,” said George. “But can I still wear my pajamas?”
George had never been very good at hand-to-hand combat, and the full-body bunny pajamas with the floppy ears made him look like a total idiot, but somehow he managed to use the surprise in his enemies to his advantage.
George’s parrot
George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
He had a bad track record with pet parrots.
So, he went on Amazon and bought a fake parrot.
It was made of styrofoam and fake feathers, and it had an electronic voice chip to make sounds.
There was a strap that he could loop around his arm to hold it in place.
He had to tight it tightly, and it cut off circulation to his arm.
In the middle of battle, his hand went numb, and he dropped his sword.
The parrot laughed, and George stomped on it.
George’s gingerman
George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
He spent a lot of time in bars, drinking.
A new tavern opened up with an entire wall of taps.
Each one different.
George’s crewmates challenged him to drink the wall of taps.
So, he did.
It took him several months and all of his money, but he did.
Then, one day, he opened a door that he thought was to the restroom, but it was to the back office.
He discovered that every tap went to one large keg.
Disgusted, George dragged the safe out the back door.
George and the ear rings
George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
Usually, pirates would exchange their loot for gold, which they’d have melted down into earrings.
George didn’t have any earrings. He didn’t like the idea of getting his ears pierced.
“What if it gets infected?” George asked the ship’s doctor.
“I think an earlobe infection is the least of your concerns,” said the doctor, trying to figure out how to dislodge George’s sword from his abdomen. “How the hell did you do this to yourself?”
“Please try not to break my sword,” said George. “It cost me a lot.”
George’s mittens
George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
His wool mittens were clipped to the sleeves of his coat so he wouldn’t keep losing them.
The mittens dangled and swung around constantly.
The other pirates made fun of this, and they laughed at George.
“You’re such a loser, George,” they said. “Why can’t you be more like a normal pirate?”
But when it got cold and they couldn’t find their own mittens, they stopped laughing.
Until George would try to light a match to fire a cannon, and he set his mittens on fire.
That was hilarious.
Weekly Challenge #872 – Exposed
SCRIBBLING WREN
Cara
My bag got stolen, snatched last night as I got off the bus but that’s not the moment of change in today’s story. Obviously, it’s a pain, stopping cards, the loss of the money – my tips were in there. And my make up bag, this is the biggie.
Right now, I’m on the bus without a mask of foundation, eyes undefined with liner, squirming with embarrassment not wanting anyone to look.
The juddering window exposes my naked face and I see me. I see me like it’s for the first time and I realise it’s OK. This is my face.
LIZZIE
The vase in the shape of a giraffe was the reason for many arguments in the Employees (the gang) Only room. Some said it was a deer, others a dog, others whatever. Though the “whatevers” would frequently win, she insisted it was a giraffe. She enjoyed being a nuisance, the vortex of all disagreements. When management decided she had to be promoted, the gang threw the giraffe in the garbage out of spite. That’s when they discovered a mic. This is how you go from being oh, so happy for being a nag to… oh my god, I was fired.
RICHARD
Exposed
We found the old camera whilst clearing out my grandfather’s attic. It was in a box marked ‘grandad’, scrawled in my grandfather’s curly script, and we figured from the newspaper packing, that the contents had belonged to his grandfather… My great, great grandfather!
It still contained a roll of exposed film, and my hands trembled at the thought of what treasures from the past it might hold.
“That’s cool!” Whooped my twelve-year old son, snatching the camera from me, opening it, and unspooling the film, holding it up to the brightly sunlit window.
“Nothing on it” he said, frowning.
TOM
Weather Will Kill Ya
There is a rite of passage in Chicago. As a kid your actively bundled by parents to not freeze to death. Deep layers of clothing insured you would make it to at least the age of 14. The winter of your freshman year peer-pressure left you sorely exposed to the elements. No boots, No hat, No scarf. Just jeans and a Letterman leather jacket, not exactly Arctic wear. And worst for the girls, in skirts. We were having none of that and forced both the official and unofficial school dress code into the 20th century
SERENDIPIDY
Don’t believe a word of it!
We don’t sleep in coffins, you can’t kill us with a stake through the heart, we don’t turn to dust when exposed to sunlight, and we certainly don’t have sparkly skin or enjoy a bad relationship with werewolves.
It’s all nonsense.
Except the part about drinking blood.
We definitely do that.
But, none of the rest of it, just to be clear.
We look, sound, act and behave just like anybody else.
We could be your colleague, or neighbour, or cousin.
Even you could be one!
Maybe you should give drinking blood a try?
NORVAL JOE
As Billbert and Sabrina walked from the movie theater to the ice cream shop he kept an eye out for her grandmother. Earlier in the day when she had coerced Billbert to take her granddaughter to the movie she made it clear she didn’t want her part in the activity exposed.
Sabrina smiled at him over her banana split. “I’m glad you’ve come to your senses and see that I am the girl for you, and not that Linoleum girl.”
Billbert dug half-heartedly at his hot fudge sundae. “I’m thirteen years old. I hardly think there’s any girl for me.”