George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
He wasted a lot of time on things like Fermi’s Paradox.
“If there’s intelligent life in the universe, where is it?” asked George.
He drew up Drake’s Equation on a chalkboard and played with the numbers.
His conclusions were grim.
“By my calculations, there should be absolutely no intelligent life in the universe.”
“That’s nice,” said the captain. “But if you haven’t noticed, we’re trying to take over a Spanish galleon. Mind picking up a cutlass and helping?”
George picked up his cutlass and lowered the “civilization survivability” variable.
Weekly Challenge #915 – Detail
RICHARD
An Eye For Detail
Apparently, I have an eye for detail.
It’s both a blessing and a curse: Colleagues are always grateful when I spot their errors, particularly when it comes to reviewing important reports, checking figures on spreadsheets or the content of presentations.
Then again, it can be a pain in the butt constantly getting pestered by other people asking me to sense check their work.
Some days, it seems all I’m doing is sorting out other people’s mistakes, which means my own work is always rushed, and I rarely have time to do it properly.
Tha’ts whu its alwtys full o mistkes.!
LIZZIE
The doors to the art exhibition opened and a flood of enthusiastic visitors roamed the room. One piece in particular caught everyone’s attention. “The detail is remarkable,” they said. “Art is a remarkable… thing, isn’t it?” And someone replied “Yes, it is, remarkable!” People stared at three copper panels, a nose and two eyes, gigantic and kind of lopsided. “Just remarkable!” And this continued for hours, the word remarkable passing on from visitor to visitor like the plague. Suddenly, the eyes bulged and the nose sneezed on the stunned visitors who quickly decided that art wasn’t that remarkable after all.
SERENDIPIDY
You’ve heard the expression ‘the devil’s in the detail’, but I guess you’ve always taken it to be just an idiom.
Not so. If you look closely enough you’ll find that, hidden within the detail, the devil is indeed lurking and, what’s more, he’s looking closely at you too.
Wherever there’s complexity and confusion, he’s there, and the closer you look, the more absorbed you become, the closer he gets to you and the more absorbed into your life he becomes.
Until, finally, without even knowing it, you’ve become the devil…
And you’re screwing up the detail for everyone else!
LISA
The Search
The wall is full of more faces since you were last here. Fresh faces of women in their late teens and early twenties with the whole of their life stretching before them.
This is no casting couch. This is not the hunt for the star of a West End Production. We’re deep in the East End looking for their abductor, perhaps their killer, the reason why their loved ones haven’t seen them recently.
We’re convinced they’re all connected. And just need one tiny little detail, a miniscule clue that helps us link and ultimately find them.
It’s not looking promising.
NORVAL JOE
Because his vision had gone completely and his hearing was reduced, Billbert could only listen as Linoliumanda explained in detail how she had not followed anyone and the root of their problems was actually Sabrina.
All the while, Mr. Withybottom kept shouting, “Linny, get back in the car.”
Billbert sat on the curb.
Sabrina asked, “What’s wrong with you?”
Billbert sighed. “I can’t see anything.”
Sabrina scoffed. “You shouldn’t have left out that detail. It’s a classic Black Knight move.”
She pulled out her phone. “I’m calling my grandmother for help. Linnyninny, why don’t you listen to daddy and go?”
TOM
No Way Out
It was not so much Timmy was stupid as he was missing one important detail. Without it one would just wander down blind alleys. The missing detail was in plain sight. The man in the café saw to that. The man in the café was placed between a rock and hard place to kept Timmy in play in spite of those who were hell been to tube his career in the eyes of the high council and the elliptical reasoning of the protractor’s guild. The detail was flower in the vase: Semper Augustus. Timmy touched a petal absently. So close.
PLANET Z
I think the last time I played soccer was for the residential college’s team, where I was used as a scrub placeholder whenever a starter needed a minute or two on the sideline to catch his breath.
Another player took me out from behind, and I landed on my head.
I got up and ran back into play, yelling like a maniac… after being knocked out cold for two minutes.
Twelve men on the field. My last-ever yellow card.
And a Miller Lite in a bloody towel held to my forehead as I stumbled laughing to the First Aid Center.
George and the black skull
George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
Certainly not good enough for The League of The Black Skull.
You’ve never heard of The League of The Black Skull?
Well, that’s because George made it up.
George was always telling his crewmates about how he was being recruited for the secretive League of The Black Skull.
“Never heard of it,” they said.
“That’s because they’re so secretive,” said George.
“Well, if you’re talking about it, and they’re secretive, they probably won’t recruit you,” said the captain.
George slumped and sighed.
The captain fingered his Black Skull ring.
George and the doctor
George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
“Open your eyes, George, said a voice.
George opened his eyes, and he saw a doctor’s office.
“Why are you here?” asked the doctor.
“To make me a better pirate,” said George.
“Well, I’m here to make you better,” said the doctor. “But not a pirate.”
“I’M A PIRATE!” shouted George.
George felt strong hands hold him, and a needle slide in his arm.
His shouting became a whisper.
“I’m a pirate… I’m a pirate…”
He felt calm, like a ship on the water.
And he was a pirate.
George the Facebook pariah
George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
All the other pirates didn’t think much of George.
None of them were his Facebook friends.
He’d send friend requests out, but nobody accepted them.
They didn’t let him into the ship’s private group or let him post on the public page.
After a while, George gave up trying.
He became less enthusiastic about being a pirate.
He growled and scowled at his crewmates, sneaking more than his share of treasure.
And he occasionally treated their captives in a cruel manner.
“There’s hope for him yet,” said the captain.
George the cable thief
George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
He was sick of having to watch broadcast television shows, so he stole cable from the harbormaster’s office.
This severely limited the ship’s range, or it ended up yanking out the cable.
So, George stole a satellite television subscription.
Which wasn’t much use, because the boat rolled with the waves, disrupting satellite tracking.
George then stole a Marine VSAT dish, which tracked satellites automatically with computers and GPS.
“We be stealing television!” growled George. “Yarr.”
The captain reminded him about stealing treasure.
“That would be nice too,” said George.
George the pirate ghost
George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
He liked to cover himself with phosphorescent seaweed and wander around the ship, moaning like a ghost.
“Cut it out, George,” said the captain.
George stopped bothering his crewmates and sulked.
But that night, George roamed the docks and the streets, annoying the locals.
“I am the ghost of George the Pirate!” he yelled. “BOOOOOOOOOO!”
“Who?” asked a prostitute.
“George,” said George. “I’m a pirate ghost.”
“Whatever,” said the prostitute. “Five pieces of eight for this piece of ass.”
It was amazing what she could do with phosphorescent seaweed.
George the poor craftsman
George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
Just as a poor craftsman blames his tools, so does a poor pirate.
George was always blaming his equipment.
His sword didn’t have good balance, and it never kept its edge.
The trigger on his flintlock pistol kept sticking. Or it would get jammed, and he’d have to clear it.
His boots were too tight, or his hat was too loose.
“Just shut up and stand still, George,” said the captain. “Now everybody say cheese.”
All of the pirates smiled, except for George, and the captain took the photo.
Weekly Challenge #914 – PICK TWO Points, Vision, Fuel, It’s a pattern, Cheers, Refreshment
LIZZIE
Black and white. A vision of nothingness inside a vision of everything.And he points. No one knows.
And he moves forward, alone. The balloons he ‘s holding will be black. The stars hanging from them will be black.
And the more they fly, the less white he will see.
And nothing is there anymore. Just stars hanging from balloons, flying away in silence, ahead of him. No one knows.
And he stops. He wants to smile, but he can’t.
Three cheers and all that. Be brave and all that.
Black and white. A vision of everything ahead of nothing.
RICHARD
Caught!
If she points at you, you’re dead.
Your only hope is to stay out of her field of vision, make no sudden movements, and keep a low profile.
You might, just might escape her notice.
It’s not guaranteed though: She has eyes like a hawk, and few can avoid her gaze.
With these words echoing through my mind, I selected my position with care, keeping to the shadows, careful not to draw attention to myself.
Then, I sneezed.
Cover blown!
To my horror, her finger pointed straight at me.
Chosen by the teacher to answer the question on the board.
NORVAL JOE
“You want out?” Mr. Withybottom asked Billbert and unlocked the doors. “Cheers.”
Sabrina sat on the sidewalk side of the car, and Billbert asked her to open the door.
“I’ll come with you,” she said and got out of the car.
Linoliumanda quickly followed Billbert out, too.
Sabrina rolled her eyes. “It’s a pattern, Billbert. You can see that, can’t you? Everywhere we go, she wants to follow.”
Billbert watched as Linoliumanda’s eyes filled with tears of rage and she shook her finger at Sabrina.
Then his vision went black and the two girls’ voices were muffled as they argued.
TOM
flogging will continue until morale improves
They called the program F-T-V. The joke around the office was it stood for Fuck TV. 30 staff crammed into a tiny room staring at a Zoom screen. In bright primary colors the monitor read: Fuel The Vision. It was Sam’s idea to bring in a motivational team to boast productivity. The life coach was perky in the most detestable manor. Radiating a millennial affect that did not sit well with the senior staff. And I mean senior, most of them were Boomers long overdue to leave the work force. The last virus had taken out the under 40 cohort.
SERENDIPIDY
It’s all down to science. By examining the points where blood has pooled and spattered, one can deduce how the victim died, how violent the attack and where each individual wound was inflicted.
To you, it may look like a complete mess, but to an expert it’s a pattern as clear as any map.
Take this crime scene, for example: I can tell the victim suffered initial, violent blunt-force blows, scattering blood spots across the wall, and the fatal wound was a slice to a major artery.
Not that I’m any sort of forensic scientist.
I committed the crime!
LISA
October 27th 1978
The incident room smells of men. The incident room smells of men with creased shirts. The incident room smells of men with creased shirts and creased faces. It’s been a long monotonous day and is far from finishing.
A squealing wheel heralds the arrival of the tea trolley. The missing girls watch the tea being poured from their photos pinned around a local map. Pippa hastily swallows her digestive.
“Is there a Petrol Station on the B28?”
“Yup. Texaco.”
“It’s a pattern… Look!”
She points around the map explaining her reasoning feeling like, perhaps, today some progress has been made.
PLANET Z
The local grocery store chain offers fuel points.
It doesn’t have any gas pumps at any nearby location.
I have no idea where else I can redeem them.
For thirty years, I’ve been accumulating fuel points.
So, my card has like a million fuel points on it.
One day, I’m going to find a location with gas pumps.
And I’m going to stand out there, filling up everyone for free, and spraying gas everywhere and laughing.
What do I care how much it costs… I have a million fuel points.
Although, I’m going to need to buy a car first.
George the Kidnapper
George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
His captives would ransom themselves with checks, and then stop payment right after they were freed.
Or they’d give George their credit card number, and then cancel the card the moment they reached a phone.
“I’ll PayPal you,” one said. “What’s your email address?”
Eventually, George put his foot down, and wouldn’t accept anything but cash.
So when his captives would open their wallets and show they only have five or ten bucks, he’d take it and let them go.
“You know they have families, right?” said the captain.