George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
But he was nothing compared to the blundering cabin boy.
That kid was a total disaster.
The captain was constantly shouting “I’ll have your guts for garters!” at him.
This gave George an idea.
One night, George kidnapped the cabin boy and took him to a tailor.
“Can you make garters out of his guts?” asked George. “It’s for a gift.”
The tailor refused. As did every other tailor in town.
So, George made an ashtray out of the cabin boy’s skull.
“But I don’t smoke,” said the captain.
Weekly Challenge #870 – PICK TWO Put that thing down, Spycam, Pew, Evidence, March, Thick
(imagine a cat here)
TURA
Spycam; Pew
———
I walk through the churchyard, stamp my snow-covered boots in the porch, and enter to take my usual pew. I nod coldly at the spycam that I believe to be mounted under the pulpit.
I play the part of a believer, but my mind is focussed on the messages concealed in the hymn board, the Bible readings, and the sermon. The numbers indicate the words and sentences to listen for.
After the service, we file out, each exchanging a few words with the minister. I secretly acknowledge the message received, and we part.
Or, so I like to imagine.
NORVAL JOE
In an attempt to obscure the evidence that he and Linoliamanda were actually floating above the sidewalk, Billbert pumped his legs like he was running. He knew the bullies were probably too thick headed to notice, but someone they passed might. Rounding the corner onto Anaheim Avenue, someone did.
Sabrina’s grandmother stood in their path. She gritted her teeth. “Put that thing down,” she growled.
Billbert de-levitated and skidded to a stop. “How rude. This is my friend. She’s not a thing.”
The old woman shook her head. “Anyone who interferes with Sabrina’s progress is a thing I will eliminate.”
DUANE
This Christmas I will expose the big-Santa industrial complex. St. Nick, the puppet of the toy makers, will be made to answer for years of consumer manipulation.
Spy cams have been set up on the rooftop and near the fireplace and tree. If Santa samples the milk and cookies there will be DNA evidence to identify him.
Their endgame is to get you used to having lots of presents at Christmas. As you get older they deny the existence of Santa. It’s then up to you to buy Christmas presents and stocking stuffers for everyone, so the capitalist cycle continues.
SERENDIPIDY
I know you’re watching me.
I know about the spycam in the television. I know you have my phone bugged, and I know you’re firing microwaves at my brain to read my thoughts.
Of course we’re not! Show us the evidence.” They say, “We just want to help you!”
But I know the truth.
Because the voices tell me.
And the voices are never wrong.
So, I won’t believe your lies, and I won’t take your pills, and I’ve no interest in your ‘help’.
The voices know best. The voices know everything.
And the voices told me where you live.
RICHARD
Enemy
It was sometime in the afternoon of the third day of the march that we came upon the checkpoint.
March, is probably something of a misnomer: If you could call the shambling, stumbling, trudge through the snow and barren countryside anything, a march it certainly wasn’t.
Today was Christmas Day, and fate had seen fit to gift us with the enemy: Oblivious to our presence, and with their guard down.
When we appeared from nowhere, he raised his rifle, panic-stricken.
I smiled at him, and held out a bar of chocolate, “Now, put that thing down”.
Enemy?
Not today.
LIZZIE
“Put that thing down now,” the owner said.
That thing was the spycam, the evidence of foul play.
It was all over the news.
They found cameras in all the rooms. The hotel was closed and the police ripped every mirror and every lamp off the walls. They tossed the furniture aside. They emptied the drawers and shoved them onto the floor.
It was their job, they said.
“This will cost a fortune…”
Well, not really.
The manager held “that thing” up.
“They missed this one. And it has the footage of the cops destroying everything.”
“Blessed be the taxpayer.”
LISA
I believe…
Reuben had been working on his project since March. He was about to prove that Father Christmas was a hoax. It was the big night, Christmas Eve, all quiet in the house except a little mouse stirring his midnight cup of tea.
Reuben had fallen asleep but the Spy Cam was set up and trained on the Fireplace, where a pair of boots appeared and then the man himself.
With a brisk efficiency Santa drained the sherry glass, enjoyed the mince pie, stashed presents in stockings, straightened a picture, deleted the evidence off the camera and returned up the chimney.
PLANET Z
As an answer to St. Patrick’s Day revelries and mayhem, Father O’Reilly came up with Christmas in March.
Despite promoting the sermon as best he could… I mean, two trays of Oreo cookies instead of one… well, the pews were more empty than usual.
So, the next year, he got a bunch of kegs and pizzas, throwing a St. Patrick’s bash.
The next morning, the church was a mess.
Trash, vomit, clothes everywhere.
But the collection box was stuffed to overflowing.
O’Reilly committed to a sermon-party every Sunday.
And the pews were removed to make room for the dance floor.
Obsessed with George
I’ve written dozens of George stories.
So many, I can’t write anything else now.
Every time I try to write something else, those eleven damn words appear…
“George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.”
And I end up writing yet another stupid George story.
Heck, those words appear in William Shatner’s Shatoery app, too.
Well, you have to use was not instead of wasn’t, but it still works, right?
My subconscious wants me to write a children’s book, doesn’t it?
I’d better load up these stories with sex and violence to thwart my damaged brain’s meddling.
A safe place to sleep
One of my cats changes the spot she sleeps every few days.
And you can’t tell her where to sleep, because she’ll get up and walk back to the spot she’s chosen.
She’s asleep on a small wooden footstool in the bathroom right now.
So, I woke her up with a kiss between her ears, picked her up, and set her on the floor.
I pet her for a minute, all while reaching for a towel.
I laid the towel on the wooden bench and smoothed it out.
The cat stretched, got on the towel, and curled up to sleep.
Stamping from afar
People rarely send letters these days.
It’s all electronic now.
The only things that end up in your mailbox are the very important, like official documents, and junk mail.
Tom shuffled through the campaign material, the credit card offers, and local business advertising… tossing it in the trash.
But then there was… the letter.
Plain white envelope, but no return address.
And a Martian stamp, express.
Very rare.
Must be important, because sending anything physical… it must have cost a small fortune.
He opened the envelope, but it was empty.
So, he had it framed to show off the stamp.
The evil clown
Who is the most evil clown on television?
Some say it’s Pennywise from It, who lures children into the sewers to kill them through gruesome pranks.
Others say it’s The Joker, who is constantly threatening Gotham City with deadly terror attacks, which sometimes aren’t stopped in time by the Batman.
I think it’s Ronald McDonald, who has peddled his hamburgers, fries, and shakes to billions of people.
Unleashing an epidemic of heart disease, obesity, high blood pressure, and diabetes across the world.
Well, there’s also that clown in the Spawn comics and movies, but nobody reads or watches that crap.
Down on Main Street
You might find this weird, but our little village has two Main Streets.
The brothers who founded the town had a falling out, and each built a Main Street.
So if you’re looking for something on Main Street, you might need to walk over to Main Street.
We call them Benson’s Goods and Mortimer’s Bar, based on the grocery and the bar on those streets.
Main and Main is easy enough to find, that’s where the village hall is.
And Winston Park.
As opposed to the other Winston Park.
(Which is further down Main Street… no, the other Main Street.)
Pudding after pudding
I’m scheduled for major dental surgery next week, so I looked over the suggested foods list, removed the ones that aren’t good for my other health issues, and went to the grocery store.
Milk, apple sauce, popsicles, soups, mashed potatoes, and other foods that are soft and mushy and cold.
Well, the soup will be cold after I cook it and then chill it.
When I got to the car, I realized I hadn’t gotten pudding.
Do I go back in?
No way. I’ll look like an idiot.
So, I went to the grocery store across the street for it.
Carless and stupid
I’m careless and stupid, and I don’t stick to diets and exercise plans well.
Getting a cashback card for restaurants year-round was a huge mistake.
I go from size 36 jeans to size 42 and back again almost annually.
Since I don’t have much closet space, I end up donating the ill-fitting jeans in Christmas drives.
At this rate, half the Houston homeless population wears my pants.
Well, the slightly overweight to very overweight average-height homeless guys.
I’m not a midget or a whale, you know.
I just feel like a whale… when the size 42s feel a bit tight.
Weekly Challenge #869 – Speed
RICHARD
Speed
The blue lights in my rear-view mirror weren’t exactly unexpected.
Sighing, I pulled over, wound down my window, and waited for the inevitable.
“Any idea why I’ve stopped you, sir?”
“I’m sorry” I said, “I know I was speeding, I’m late for an interview and thought I’d take a chance.”
He seemed pleasantly surprised I’d ‘fessed up, and following the obligatory breath test, which was negative, gave me the obligatory lecture and ticket.
With a final “Drive carefully, sir”, he let me go.
Honesty is always the best policy. Especially when you’ve a dead body stashed in the back!
SERENDIPIDY
Physics is important!
For example -terminal velocity: The maximum speed you’ll attain before you slam into the ground at over a hundred miles per hour. You’ll reach that in less than ten seconds.
Knowing that, I just need to find a good, high, cliff to throw you off. No need for the hassle and expense of chartering a plane and bribing the pilot, in fact, nobody else would ever need to know.
That’s apart from you, of course.
But, by the time you’ve figured out what I’m doing, you’ll have less than ten seconds to think about it.
Happy landings!
LIZZIE
It was great to live in a remote village. No hurry. No stress. And no pollution, they told him, a stern look on their faces. He got rid of the car, of course. He wouldn’t want to antagonize the villagers. One day, he dropped a knife on his foot (don’t ask) and there was no doctor close by. It looked bad… He wrapped his foot up and they said “take this, it’s fast”. Well… not. The darn moped died three times on him. And when he reached the doctor, there was an odd bird hopping behind him. No stress, huh?
DUANE
“Test of the new light-speed drive is ready to commence. May what we accomplish today be a testament to the ingenuity of all humankind. Coordinates locked in and we are awaiting your command, sir”
“Engage.”
“We over shot the planet by half a parsec, sir. Adjusting for time differential. New coordinates locked in. Awaiting command.”
“Engage.”
“Ok, that was a bit much the other direction. Adjusting. I have new coordinates locked. Awaiting comm…”
“ENGAGE!”
“Uh, just a little further and we should be near the planet. New coordinates are locked and ready, sir. Sir? I’ll just go ahead and engage.”
NORVAL JOE
The bully didn’t see Billbert flying toward him as he concentrated on throttling Sabrina. Billbert hit him, side on, at full speed, yanking his grip free from Sabrina’s throat.
“Get out of here,” Billbert yelled at the girls as he and the bully tumbled across grass, away from the sidewalk.
Sabrina didn’t waste any time and ran back toward the school office.
Linoliamanda stood there, looking confused.
Knowing the element of surprise would wear off, and the bully would pulverize him, Billbert ran to Linoliamanda, grabbed her around the waist, levitated a few inches and shot back down the street.
SCRIBBLING WREN
I believe…
Reuben had been working on his project since March. He was about to prove that Father Christmas was a hoax. It was the big night, Christmas Eve, all quiet in the house except a little mouse stirring his midnight cup of tea.
Reuben had fallen asleep but the Spy Cam was set up and trained on the Fireplace, where a pair of boots appeared and then the man himself.
With a brisk efficiency Santa drained the sherry glass, enjoyed the mince pie, stashed presents in stockings, straightened a picture, deleted the evidence off the camera and returned up the chimney.
PLANET Z
Every few months, I clean out the vacuum cleaner.
No, not the bags… it’s a bagless vacuum.
And I empty out the vacuum’s container after every use.
I clean out the agitator bristles and rollers, cutting tangled threads, scraping and dumping the accumulated junk into a wastebin.
It supposedly works more effectively if you get rid of the accumulated grime.
Sometimes, a big fuzzy clump of cat fur and spider webs gets lodged in there, and it sprays a cloud of dust on the ground.
Which means… I have to run the vacuum over it.
And the cycle begins anew.