Weekly Challenge #756 – BOXER

Sofa hog

LIZZIE

Heal. The pain. Some pain. No… The darkness will stay for as long as I live, he thought. Fight for money, fight for food. Fight. Be nothing but a smashed up face everyone will have forgotten by tomorrow. Move on to the next town. Fight some more. The posters plastered all over. The money. The food. And onward he went. Town after town. They all looked alike. Until that day. Her kid, her dog, her smile. It’s complicated, she said. He didn’t think it was. It was actually quite simple. Heal. The pain. All of it. Just heal. And smile.

RICHARD

Integrity

My parents used to tell me to be true to myself, no matter what others think. A philosophy that they followed themselves.

We lived in a rough and uncompromising district, which made it tough for dad to indulge his passions for flower arranging and needlepoint, but he stayed true to himself, and oddly, the roughnecks in the neighbourhood gave him a wide berth.

I admired dad for sticking to his guns and to me it proved that even the toughest opposition will always respect integrity.

Although, on reflection, my mother’s reputation as a champion heavyweight boxer may have helped too.

TOM

Pretty Good Job

Nearly half a century ago I had the best joke a 20-something could have. When folk were making 3.50 I was pulling down 15.00 an hour. I worked in a natural food bakery packaging pastries: I was a boxer. We got paying 2 Cents a cookie. I could grab 20 cookies in a hand with one swing across a cookie parchment. The trick you learn when on piecework is never, I mean never tough a piece of paperwork. Anything remotely administrative is on a separate clock. When management push back we said ok put us back on the clock. Crickets.

SERENDIPIDY

You’re not really a proper serial killer until the press have seen fit to grant you a headline grabbing name.

But it’s hard to gain true notoriety anymore, because so many names, I’m sorry to say, are rather predictable.

It’s usually just a case of your location appended to your methodology… Like the Boston Strangler, Yorkshire Ripper and so on.

If I’d known I’d become famous, I’d have reconsidered my own methods.

The ‘Pondhaven Boxer’ is a crappy name.

It’s not because I punch my victims though.

It’s because I box up their remains and send them to the cops.

NORVAL JOE

A large man with a short black beard charged into the emergency room, and shouted, “Where’s Olive Oil?”
The squinky eyed sailor jumped up and bounced in place, his fists held up like a boxer.
A nurse appeard through double doors. “Linoliamanda?”
Her father escorted her to the nurse. He said to Billbert, “Don’t go anywhere. I’m not done with you, yet.”
As they dissappeared from view, two men in suits and dark glasses walked into the room and scanned the occupants. When their eyes fell on Billbert, they approached.
Without introduction they said, “Get up. You’re coming with us.”

RICK

Converted Southpaw

George was never gonna be the champ, but, he was a damn good boxer. Iron chin, decent uppercut, stiff jab, 4 or 5 combinations he could work righty or lefty.

George had a gimmick. A natural lefty, trained as a righty … A couple times a round George switched up …

Righty to lefty …
Lefty to righty …

Not just punching … footwork too!

While his opponent adjusted George had a tremendous advantage. He pounded them!

Beat them to a pulp!

His opponents bloody, bludgeoned body … motionless at his feet, face swollen, cut, bruised … it felt almost “erotic” …

… kinda “delicious”!

George couldn’t get enough.

PLANET Z

I loved playing Mike Tyson Punchout.
You’d progress through increasingly tougher and quirkier boxers until you ended up fighting Mike Tyson.
All it took was one punch and he’d knock your ass down.
And he’d knock your ass down a lot.
When I say you, I mean a scrappy little boxer, not Robin Givens.
Who’s she?
Mike Tyson knocked her ass down a lot, too.
I don’t play that many games anymore.
Arthritis. Bad stuff.
I do watch videos of gameplay on YouTube.
Let them pay for the game and put in the hours.
And I’ll ignore the commercial breaks.

The road to hell is paved with

They say the road to hell is paved with good intentions.
Lining it are trees watered by crocodile tears.
And under them, all the people you’ve ever wronged, they line up to watch you make your way to hell.
Some will scream at you.
Some will spit at you.
Some will pull stones up from the road and throw them at you.
I think back to all the people I’ve wronged.
That road’s going to be a long one.
And maybe if I wrong a few more people, that road will be so long, I’ll be walking that road forever.

Build a baby burger

Remember the Build A Bear stores in the malls?
You could pick out a bear skin, fill it with stuffing, and add clothing to make a bear.
Or a monkey. Or a kitty. Or other animals.
You could even add a sound recording that it could play.
Well, they’re expanded.
Now you can build a baby.
Spit into a tube, scan the DNA, and make a few changes…
Five minutes later, instant baby.
Just make sure that you don’t eat or drink anything before you spit.
A little bit of hamburger, and you’ve got a baby man-cow.
… and they’re delicious!

Linus stays up

Every Halloween, Linus Van Pelt stayed up late to wait for the arrival of The Great Pumpkin.
Every Christmas, he stayed up late for the arrival of Santa Claus.
Every New Year’s, he stayed up late for the arrival of the Baby New Year.
Every Valentine’s Day, he stayed up late for the arrival of Cupid the Cherub.
Every Easter, he stayed up late for the Easter Bunny.
Linus stayed up a lot, waiting for various mythical figures.
His parents took him to a psychiatrist, who prescribed anti-psychotic pills and said “Stop drinking so much coffee, you stupid little kid!”

We are backups

They take snapshots of everyone’s memory every hour.
A backup, in case of accident. Or emergency.
What they can do with those backups, well, not much.
They can’t exactly put you back in your body. Or a new one.
They’ve tried to upload them to a brain simulator.
We can ask them questions, they answer.
But are they alive in there? Like they would be in a body?
Nobody is sure unless they’re in there themselves.
We ask them, and they say yes.
They are blind, deaf, unfeeling.
Endless though, and nothing else.
We shut them down as a mercy.

Assholes on the half-shell

Apparently, if you are in imminent danger and you can’t openly call 911, you’re supposed to call 911 and order a pepperoni pizza.
This is a secret signal to 911 that you’re in imminent danger, and that they should send help.
Unless the imminent danger is a pack of Teenaged Mutant Ninja Turtles.
Because they like pepperoni pizza, and you can offer them the pizza.
Then, while they eat the pizza, you can run away.
Of course, it takes up to thirty minute to deliver the pizza.
So, in the end, you’ll end up feeding the assholes who killed you.

How long has Jimi been dead?

It’s been a strange few days… few weeks… few months…
When has it not been strange?
Or maybe I’m what’s strange.
I see the world through strange-colored glasses.
And I can’t take them off.
How long has Jimi been dead?
How long has Jim been dead?
They say they live on through their music.
But that’s all the music there is.
Maybe some stuff in the vaults and studio sessions.
Things they wouldn’t have released themselves, but we still want more.
So, they give us more, until there’s no more to give, no more blood to squeeze from the tombstone.

Weekly Challenge #755 – MONEY

Out and about a bit

LIZZIE

Just doodle a few things on that piece of paper and you can charge a million for it. Just throw in something strange, something mysterious, something… unusual. They will buy it. We can pretend we’re millionaires. And we can sail around the world. It’s not that easy? Come on, don’t be like that. Here, a paper and some crayons. Just draw something, anything. I want the money. We can go on a shopping spree, buy jewelry until we drop. Oh, come on, don’t be like that. Don’t walk away. Don’t you dare. I want the money. You can do it…

RICHARD

Timely investments

There’s nothing noble or altruistic about my time machine project. I’ve only one objective in mind, and that’s to make a huge amount of money.

You see, with all the accumulated knowledge of history at my disposal today, I can go back in time and make a few astute investments

Buy a few Van Gogh’s for pennies and keep them safe… Place accumulator bets on every major sporting event in history, and win big-time… Buy stocks and shares in Microsoft, Apple and Walmart, before anyone knew who they were.

Unfortunately, first I need the money to build the thing!

SERENDIPIDY

They tell me that the love of money is the root of all evil. I find that hard to believe, because I’m as evil as they come, and money is of no consequence to me.

I aspire to higher goals: For me it’s all about the purity of the act, and money, by its very nature tends to soil purity in all its forms.

Just give me a sharp knife, a quiet location, plenty of time and a sobbing, pleading victim, and I have everything I love, all in that special moment.

Rich, or poor, you all bleed the same.

TOM

Did you know the drumer from Iron Butterfly came from Pekin?

U.S. Senate: Senator Everett McKinley Dirksen once said: “A billion here, a billion there, and pretty soon you’re talking real money.” Because he came from Illinois even as kid he was on my radar. He grew up in Pekin just down the road from where I grew up. He died at 73. As a Kid he seemed so old. Now I’m just six year under that. Am I’m equally so old to. If I make it to 73 good chance my net worth with a million. A million here a million there and pretty soon you’re talking real money

NORVAL JOE

Billbert helped Mr. Withybottom explain to the triage nurse how Linoliamnda got hurt. She looked at the group of them like they had all come from a Comicon, and told them to have a seat. Linoliamnda held an ice bag against her head.
Mr. Withybottom turned on Billbert. “You know, we’re going to sue your family for expenses and emotional damage.”
Billbert swallowed. “Um. Okay. Well, my family doesn’t have a lot of money, but, I can start mowing lawns and washing cars to earn what I can.”
Linoliamanda rolled her eyes. “Don’t worry Billbert. Daddy is such a kidder.”

PLANET Z

Dollar Bill K.
A dollar a ball, a dollar a hole, a dollar a pin.
After he hung up his cues, clubs, and shoes, he drycleaned a dollar a shirt.
Or you could bring uniforms in by the cart and he’d charge by the pound.
(Including the cart. A guy’s gotta make a buck.)
Times were good.
Until everyone started dropping like flies from the carbon tetrachloride they used.
It got him, too.
As many times we went there, played with the boxes of lost buttons, maybe breathing that crap fucked me up a little.
I never kept any buttons.

The Tipping Point

The family next door just came back from a funeral.
Their kid tipped over a dresser and it fell on him, crushing him.
They sued the furniture manufacturer, like so many others have.
“Use the wall mount,” the company said.
Never kind that you have to mount the dresser to a wall stud.
And know basic carpentry skills.
Things that cheap furniture customers don’t have.
So more children die, and the companies do nothing.
Until…their own children start dying.
A serial killer was on the loose, hunting the families of furniture executives.
Mounting their children to walls with a nailgun.

Bottled Ghost

I bought a ghost.
It’s supposed to be a famous ghost.
But they say that about every ghost.
Who’s ghost is it?
Or, I suppose, was.
Who’s ghost was it?
No idea.
And it’s not like you can ask the ghost.
Open the bottle, and it escapes.
Ghosts don’t hang around.
Especially near the bottle that held them.
They get as far away from it as they can, as fast as possible.
So, there’s no telling who it was.
Or if there even is a ghost in the bottle.
I’ll just hold on to it.
And, some day, sell it.