Weekly Challenge #1017 -A melted chocolate bar

The next topic is PICK TWO
It burns!
Fare
Value-added
Horse glue
Evolution

NORVAL JOE

The Five Star Sister’s coven sat around a campfire in the sand. Waves crashed on the shore a dozen yards away as they toasted marshmallows and assembled smores.

After an hour of enjoying the tasty trifecta of graham cracker, marshmallow, and melted chocolate bar, one of the women said, “Do you hear that sound?”

“I can’t hear a thing, Marsha,” another replied.

“That’s just it.” Marsha said, stood and looked at the ocean.

Where waves had been crashing on the shore was only wet sand and seaweed. The ocean had withdrawn a hundred yards out to sea.

“Uh oh,” Marsha said.

TOM

The dwarf, the elf, the man, and the Wizard noted the swinging sign over
the ramshackle tavern. The elf asked: “Safe?!” The wizard replied: “Seem
so.” Upon entering the drinking establishment the man inquired about the
lore concerning the name outside the door. A world-weary barkeep said:
“We have an agreement with the arch-mage of the School of Magic
Confections to serve their student magus.” Just then a misspoke chant
rose from a table. The room was engulfed in Sugar Fire. All within were
completely covered in brown goo. Aye Melting Chocolate Bar. Licking a
finger the dwarf said: “sweet”

SERENDIPIDY

By the time I was done, his face resembled a melted chocolate bar.
That is, if you like your chocolate burned, bloody and full of broken bone fragments.
Coming to think of it, maybe a melted chocolate bar was a poor analogy. Think instead of that end scene in Raiders of the Lost Ark, when those Nazis had their faces blasted away when the ark was opened.
Either way, you get the general idea, right?
Did he have it coming? Probably not; he just happened to be in the wrong place, at the wrong time.
Right time for me though!

LIZZIE

With a melted chocolate bar, he said. The barista turned around. Melted? Yes, his teeth, he mumbled. I don’t want to be judgmental, she said, but perhaps chocolate isn’t a good option. He shrugged. With milk, please. She grabbed a chocolate bar from the counter and dropped it in the cup with hot milk. Anything else? No, he said. Are you OK? He smiled the saddest smile she had ever seen. Go sit down, now, I’ll come over and chat. I’ll even make a melted chocolate bar cup of milk for me! And this is why he’s still alive today.

LISA

The Joy of New Jeans.
I’ve been shopping. I got new jeans. White! I know… who even am I? Anyway, I’m feeling great. I think it’s changed the way I’m walking or my expression or something because it feels like everyone’s staring as I walk for the bus.
I’m sure I heard them whispering about me when I got off the bus too. I think I must be imagining it. I mean, it’s just a pair of jeans. Right?
When I get home I realise people have been talking: a melted chocolate bar has somehow spread it’s delight all over the back of the jeans.

RICHARD

— Melted —
I’ve never understood people who keep their chocolate in the fridge, and I can’t abide it.
For me, chocolate should be served at room temperature, better still, slightly above -soft and creamy- just on the point of melting.
And let’s not stop there. The ultimate indulgence for me is to pop a piece in my mouth, and let it slowly melt over my tongue.
Sometimes, I’ll stuff a bar in my pocket, just to bring it up to the perfect temperature for eating.
But, often I forget it’s there.
And end up with a melted chocolate bar.
Best thing ever!

PLANET Z

Some people credit Perry Spencer for inventing the microwave oven.
He was a Raytheon employee who noticed that microwaves from a radar set he was working on melted a candy bar he had in his pocket.
Later, he tested the effect on popcorn, and then on an egg.
Other engineers performed experiments and confirmed Perry’s findings.
They worked up a proposal and brought it to management.
Who rejected it.
“What fool wants to be cooking food in their pockets?”
It’s when they put the food in a bowl and inside a box with the microwaves that the management were convinced.

Pixies

A few decades ago, some dude took out an insurance policy on his two kids.
Then he spiked some Pixie Stix with cyanide.
He gave it to his kids and some neighbors.
In the end, only one kid actually ate the candy… his youngest.
Ever since then, paranoia about poisoned candy, razor blades in apples, and other evil fills the news.
Even though incidents of such tampering are few and far between.
The candy is quite safe these days.
As kids go around in black witches cloaks and grim reaper robes on unlit streets.
And get run over by cars.

Survived by

I used to wonder about obituaries that appear days or months after the person had died.
When my sick evil father died, I wondered what pack of lies and bullshit would appear in his obituary.
So, after a few weeks, I searched for it.
And didn’t find anything.
Well, I wasn’t about to write one.
And my brother wasn’t either.
His widow? A dementia-ridden crone only capable of digesting expensive food and shitting everywhere.
Whether prompt or delayed, they all still say “survived by” in them.
When the actual survivors of evil scumbags like him never write them at all.

99

My grandmother lived to ninety-nine.
Her husband, a drycleaner sued into bankruptcy by workers poisoned by carbon tetrachloride, left her broke.
She remarried. The stepfather of a real estate mogul.
But he died, leaving her broke again.
Her younger daughter took her in, stole all the heirlooms.
Then her eldest daughter, my mother, took her in.
I was told my grandmother died of old age.
But I was lied to.
She drained my parents’ assets dry, and my mother harassed and tormented her for it.
So she starved herself to death.
And her murderer keeps her ashes on the shelf.

No angel he was

They say he was getting his life back together. A new, fresh start.
You know, just like they said after the last eight times he’d been released from prison for drugs, stealing, and beating up women.
What makes this time any different?
This time, the cops didn’t put up with his bullshit.
He got high, like he always did.
He passed a bad twenty, and when the cops got called, he fought back.
Like he always did.
And they killed him.
Somewhere out there are all the women he’d have beaten.
Whoever they are, they all should thank the cops.

Such a bird she is

Achmed fell in love with the figure in the window.
All he could see was the burqua, the Islamic robe that covers women from head to toe and reveals absolutely nothing.
Her modesty was her beauty.
Every day, he would walk by the window, bow to the figure, and walk on.
She stood there, unmoving.
Sometimes, he thought he heard whispers.
And each time, his heart beat stronger.
Until one day, he worked up the courage to ask the shopkeeper.
The shopkeeper laughed, and lifted the burqua… revealing a birdcage beneath.
So, Achmed bought the bird and the burqua anyway.

Faves

I don’t get worked up over favorites on Flickr.
Some folks don’t have a Flickr account.
Others are in locations that won’t allow smut on the Intenet.
And then there’s the ungrateful fucks. Bless their heats.
Out of every show, maybe there’s one above-and-beyond photo, if at all.
One that captures the emotion and motion of the act.
The other 30 or 40 are serviceable.
And then there’s the hundred or so I trash because a good photographer is just one who deletes their shitty shots.
(I’ll never be a great one, because I keep posting those 30 or 40.)

The sportsman

My grandfather was a sportsman.
All he wanted was a son to share his love of sports with.
Golf. Bowling. Pool.
But he had two daughters.
And all they did was eat.
Well, my grandfather loved to eat, too.
He was huge. But not as huge as he’d been if he didn’t golf, bowl, or shoot pool.
When he finally had a grandson, he was thrilled to be able to share his love of sports with him.
But, by then, he was too fat to golf or bowl.
Shooting pool, however, he could still do.
And, with us, he did.

Weekly Challenge #1016 – Listed

The next topic is A melted chocolate bar

SARAH

I’ve always been ambitious, one who sets their sights on achieving the almost impossible, and my current objective could be challenging.
You see, I’m determined to get myself listed on the FBI’s most wanted list.
The competition is stiff, but I reckon I’m up to the task, it’s just a matter of coming up with the right strategy.
Should I become a serial killer, a terrorist, a cyber-criminal or fraudster?
So many interesting options, it makes it hard to decide.
Consequently, there’s really only one choice as far as I’m concerned.
I’ll simply have to do the whole lot!

LISA

Doing their bit for charity
Pete’s latest Charity shop find was an old looking pottery Spaniel. The volunteer laughed saying they’d had another one donated overnight.
A pair! He nearly dropped it in his excitement.
“I’ll take the other one too!” and haggled the price down.
He listed the pair on eBay as soon as he got home. The final bid was four figures.
A disgruntled buyer contacted Pete a week later – the Maker’s Marks had rubbed off so he’d reported Pete for selling fakes.
Pete’s account was closed immediately but the mystery donor continued adding clever little sharpie marks to their items before donating.

LIZZIE

Not listed?! He was furious. They had rejected his book. Years of work had been snubbed by pseudo-intellectuals who had nothing better to do than to scalpel every detail of his story. Yes, he got the color of his main character’s eyes wrong once, so? We could argue that it was a matter of perception, a symbolic overview of the character’s rage. But no, they had rejected his masterpiece without a second thought. Breathe in and out. Calm down. He stood at the door of the jury room, holding a katana and thinking he’d do much better than his character.

TOM

The Grand Index

“Mr. Franklin you don’t seem to be listed in Category B,” stated the clerk. “Please try Cat C,“ replied the priest. Lines scrolled across the screen. “Not there, Father. Should I go into File 140?” A quiet nod and the clerk open the iron cabinet. A shuffle of folders. “Nope not there. I think we’ll need to go down in the cellar and check the parchments. Down the marble slabs. The clerk unrolled the oldest sheep-skin. “Here. It says check the Stone. With flashlight in hand the two enter the crypt. On the Great Arch was the rune for Franklin.

NORVAL JOE

“If I listed every way their competition has complicated our efforts, it would take all night,” the man growled. “Suffice it to say, the Black Knights are malicious enough to rule the pacific northwest all on our own.”

The man seemed happy enough to brag about his capabilities that Billbert tried to keep him talking. “How could Sabrina do anything to them, wherever they are.”

“We know where they are right now.” He grinned. “A little wave from Sabrina might crash on the beach. But with your help, a tsunami will wipe them away.”

PLANET Z

We’ve been working around the clock to get the app ready for launch. Last minute testing and design changes, the beta program brought in a few more bugs and tweaks. Letting it run for a while, confirm that it was stable and working. Everyone gathered in the auditorium as the timer counted down and when it hit zero, everything stopped and then vanished.

Fred halted the worker processes and ran the image duplicator. The software development team artificial intelligence module is a complete success, bug free, and he knew he’d never have to write another program for himself ever again.

Cinco no mayo

Most secret sauces include mayo.
Most special sauces include mayo.
I’m allergic to eggs, so I’m allergic to mayo.
I used to love mayo, but now I despise it.
I fear it. I loathe it.
I truly detest mayo and what it does to my body.
If I say no mayo, I mean no mayo.
NO MAYO! IN ANYTHING!
No mayo, no mayo sauces, no mayo dressings, no mayo anything.
If your clothes are made out of miracle mayo fiber, you’d better be bare-assed naked when you hand me my burger.
With no mayo on it.
Or secret special sauce.