Weekly Challenge #760 – Plump

There’s a Squeakies over Bourbon Street tonight...

LIZZIE

The herb expert always had a suggestion and a word of advice.
“And to lose weight?”
Herbs. He took them all.
And then the cramps, the headache, the nausea, the vomiting.
He went to hospital.
“What did you take?”
“This and that,” he replied uneasy, “this and that.”
When he got home, he took some more. He wanted to be elegant and fit into those tight jeans he bought by mistake.
More cramps, more headaches. The nausea, oh, the nausea.
Herbs for this, herbs for that. Enough.
“Fuck the jeans,” he cried out loud. “Fuck the expert. I like plump!”

RICHARD

Plump

“Does my butt look big in this?” She asked, straining to peer over her shoulder at the mirror.

I tried being tactful.

“Well, perhaps a little, erm… Plump, maybe? Nobody is going to comment about it though.”

I may as well have told her she resembled a zeppelin, judging by the response I got.

“I just want to look good for my first day on the job”, she complained.

I reassured her: “You look absolutely perfect, and I can guarantee that, no matter how slim someone might be… Nobody ever looks their best when they’re wearing a bomb disposal suit!”

SERENDIPIDY

It’s a myth that witches who live in the woods steal children to fatten up and eat.

I never enjoyed my children plump – far too fatty and greasy for my liking. I much prefer them to be thin and lean.

They also produce the best kiddy bacon: Hang them up to mature for a few weeks, then slice them thinly and fry until crispy. You can’t beat it, sandwiched between two thick slices of fresh bread, with plenty of butter!

The trouble is, with all this good eating, it’s us witches who end up too plump for our own good!

TOM

Jes Sayn

The old man sat on the porch, full concentration on small piece of pine. Through the corner of his eye he saw Billy making his way down the dirt road, dust flying up from his feet dragging stroll. “Hey Billy.” Said Ven. “Hey Ven,” said Billy. “Where ya go-n?” “Water Hole.” Billy had a black bamboo rod over the shoulder, a near picture prefect posture of the first card of the Major Arcana. That would be card number zero to those not Arcanaicly inclined. “Go-n fish-n.” Ven slowly shook his head. “Son I think you’re plump out of luck on that one.”

NORVAL JOE

Dergle’s weiner dog began to growl from his hiding place in his plump owner’s overcoat.
Billbert cleared his throat. “Thank you, Mr. Vander Hoont, for speaking on my behalf, but, I know my rights. I don’t have to go anywhere with these jokers. Not without my parent’s approval. I came here with the Withybottoms and I’m going to wait here until Linoliamanda comes back out.”
One of the agents took Billbert by the arm. “Like it or not, you’re coming with us.” He marched Billbert toward the door.
A car pulled up to the ER and Billbert’s mother got out.

TURA

Plump
———
In my young days, I was a stand-up comedian. I’d rant on the stage in seedy underground bars, and if I spotted some plump, middle-aged, middle-class git in the audience I’d let rip at them until they left in tears. There’s nothing like it. You can keep your cocaine and heroin, hate is the best drug there is.

Then I got spotted for TV, got my own show, raked in the money, and here I am, a plump middle-aged git myself.

You think that changes anything? I just hate on the young skinny gits who think they’re proper stand-up comedians.

RICK THOMAS

Pleasingly Plump

Let me tell you something … A lot of guys go all crazy for them skinny little girls got no meat on them, no curves, straight lines, all the way from their chins to their ankles! Padded shoulders, padded bras, high heels … All give the illusion of curves where there ain’t none.

A big girl got curves … Girl curves!
A big girl can cook … Serves up a plate proper!
Big piles … tasty stuff!

When things get close … Hip bone to hip bone kinda hurts … I like a little cushion for the pushin.

If you don’t believe me now … You will someday.

PLANET Z

Ballpark Franks are probably the worst branded hot dogs at the store.
They taste absolutely bland. Barely any meat or protein in them.
You could almost call them Vegan.
And their marketing slogan is revolting: They plump when you cook them.
Just to let you know that the cereal fillers expand when cooked.
They also plump when you leave them out on the counter.
Not only do the cereal fillers expand in the moist air, but the miniscule meat content will putrefy and bloat.
Until they eventually explode from the casings.
I wouldn’t even feed these things to an animal.

The Contest

The radio station held a contest.
Ten men sat up on a billboard and the last one up there would win a million dollars.
One by one, they came down until it was down to two men.
And that’s when the fight happened.
The whole town, watching the two men wrestle on the ledge of a billboard.
They threw punches and kicks and beat each other with their latrine buckets.
Both men fell from the ledge and struck the ground, dead.
The station split the prize in half, paid off the next of kin, and never ran a contest again.

The Rock God’s Smile

Once upon a time, back in the days of gods and monsters, Silas the Rock God lost his smile.
“Go!” shouted the Reverend Sasquatch. “Find the Rock God’s smile!”
His worshipers searched far and wide for it, but it was nowhere to be found.
“We must make him a new one!” shouted the reverend.
No dentist was worthy of the Rock God, so a blacksmith was called upon to forge a new smile from the finest steel.
“Here,” whispered the exhausted blacksmith, handing over the appliance.
The Rock God put it in his mouth, picked up his guitar, and grinned.

Silas the Madman

I once knew a crazy man who rode a motor scooter from a Greek island to Scotland.
He came down with cancer, and he figured that he could claim Scottish citizenship from his ancestry and get free medical care.
He sold everything, including his custom-made boots, bought the scooter, and made his way across Europe in flip-flops and jeans.
He posted photos of the beautiful scenery and his progressively-worsening toes, all bloody and sore from road debris.
Eventually, he got to Scotland, became a citizen, and was cured.
Until the he relapsed three years later and the cancer killed him.

She looks good in black

Black lipstick, black eyeshadow.
Black dye in her hair.
Everything she wore was black.
She looked good in black.
She even wore black to her three weddings.
And the three funerals for her late husbands.
Her furniture was white, with white wall-to-wall carpet.
She stood out like a burnt pixel on a television screen, a clot of hair in a bathtub.
She took three black betties and went to sleep.
The next day. I found her in the tub.
The coroner came and laid a white sheet over her.
“No,” I said. “Zip her up in a black body bag.”

Cat time

what is
daylight savings time
to a cat?
a happy cat
a cat has
a sleep time
a drink time
a sleep time
a lay in the sun time
a poop time
a sleep time
an eat time
a sleep time
and claw things time
oh and more
a sleep time
you have so many times
too many times
not enough time
for all your times
be more like cat
you sleep
you lay in the sun
you drink
you poop
you eat
you claw things
no more
nothing else
just do that
and you will be
happy like cat

Lifetime warranty

Bob bought a gun safe for his guns so he could lock them up so they’d be safe from burglars.
The gun safe came with a lifetime warranty.
The manufacturer would fix any issues free of charge.
One night, a burglar broke into Bob’s house, opened the gun safe, and shot Bob.
As Bob lay bleeding on the floor, he wondered how the burglar got his gun from the safe.
Bob’s son inherited the gun safe, but the manufacturer refused to fix the lock issue.
“The owner died, didn’t he?” they said. “His lifetime’s over, and so is the warranty.”

Weekly Challenge #759 – Revolution

Box kitty

LIZZIE

A giant creature moved forward sluggishly, its head bowed down.
They knew it was coming. They thought they had enough time to prepare themselves.
They drafted a plan. They created the trap.
They didn’t monitor its growth. It’s OK, some said, it’ll be fine.
When they saw it, they knew they were in trouble.
Who’ll be the sacrificial hero? Who? No one wanted to be a hero.
Arguments, fighting. Some died. Let’s feed those to the beast.
No, no respect for the dead.
Some were imprisoned.
Yes, let the revolution begin now… before everyone gets killed, one way or another.

RICHARD

Come the Яevolution

Come the revolution, things are going to change around here.

No more of your Western decadence, your relentless consumerism and your immoral, self-serving lifestyles.

Come the revolution, the glorious leader will rule with an iron fist and your capitalist ideals will be trodden underfoot.

And, come the revolution, I will stand at the forefront, proudly hoisting the glorious flag of the hammer and sickle.

Mark my words, the day is coming soon!

What?

What do you mean the revolution already happened?

You say I missed it?

Remind me – never to rely on communist newspaper for latest information again.

SERENDIPITY

It has always fascinated me how the smallest, incremental movements can have the most devastating results.

Like how the slightest squeeze of a finger on a trigger can bring about instant death.

Or, let’s consider the position you find yourself in now.

Limbs secured and stretched to their limit, sinews straining, muscles taut.

And all it takes is for me to turn the wheel through just a fraction of a revolution to cause the most extreme and intense pain that can be imagined.

And, just imagine if I gave it a full turn?

Except, you don’t have to imagine it!

TOM

Pictures of Chairman Mooow

I saw the topic and immediately thought of the Beatle’s song. Problem is four day of news feds, dead tired. I’m trying to remember what it was like to be a 15 year old kid watching a nation pull itself apart. Revolution, the song, pissed a lot of adults off. What they missed was song was posing the question: Show me a better way. I still see it as a love song to possibility. Just as a lark I took a look at my 45 collection, there it was. With that spit apple background, Hey Jude on the flip side.

RICK THOMAS

Karma Revolution

There’s a common thread that runs between God and the devil, right and wrong, yin and yang, darkness and light. It creates a thin but definable line.

As we sow … so shall we reap.

Karma comes in all shapes and sizes … but … sometimes karma is slow, so I lend a hand. Oftentimes a digital photo in an email, or a well-placed rumor worked as well as a slashed tire … Or injury.

“For the greater good”!

In a county of small towns … tales of bad karma travel … and folks buy into it. We have built a real nice community here!

TURA

Revolution
———
Vinyl discs at 33 rpm are the perfect form of music reproduction. You can keep your CDs, yes I know you can get scratches and cat pee on them and they’ll still play, but what sort of quality is that? And digital files that play identically every time, completely soulless. An LP is a living thing, whose hisses and crackles are mementos of the owner’s relationship with it. Playing an LP is like making love, compared with which an MP3 file is like a whore off the street.

At least, that’s what I told myself until I got an iPod.

NORMAL JOE

The two agents moved in on Dergle, one on each side, acting aggressive. “Look, Weiner Dog man. We’re the legitimate authority, not your crowd that play’s at keeping the law and order.”

Dergle tried to look at each agent at once, ending up looking cross eyed. “Does legitimate authority try to take a minor against his will without his parents or other legal guardian?”

One of the agent’s shook his head. “You supers think you’re going to start a revolution and recreate our national intelligence agencies.”

Dergle laughed. “We’re not trying to recreate anything. We just want to augment it.”

PLANET Z

Nobody has seen the King for years.
Decisions are still being made by “The Palace” but nobody has actually seen the King or heard anything out of him.
It’s just “The Palace” making the decisions, say his advisors.
If you demand to see the King, you’ve turned away by the guards.
The guards, the servants, the advisors… everyone is silent.
I got a job as a cook, managed my way into the King’s chambers.
Laying on the bed, wires all throughout his body.
“I am the palace now,” says a voice.
And I ran. And I haven’t stopped running since.

Not everyone is as spiteful as I am

After she quit her job, she left the tree in her office.
The one I gave her as a wedding present.
In fairness, she did take the clock and the pitcher I gave her.
So, it wasn’t something out of spite.
Just convenience.
I could ask her. I have her address, right?
But I won’t.
I dragged the tree to the hallway.
It’s outside our office pod door.
The red birdie sits in the branches.
I squeeze it, and the batteries still work.
The shrill chirp of the cardinal rings through the hallway.
I smile, and go back to work.

The quiet birthday

I knew I’d fall asleep before she got home.
So, I wrapped up the shirt she wanted, left the package next to the jar with the flowers I picked up at the grocery store, and leaned a pair of cards from me and the cats against them.
By the time I woke up, she was already asleep.
It’s like this, so often. Living alone together.
On the weekends, we’re quiet.
Football or baseball or basketball or something on the television.
She reads, I’m online doing something or another.
As long as the cats get fed, they don’t mind at all.