Captain Blake came up with his best ideas while he was falling asleep.
So, he kept a notepad on the nightstand.
The problem was, he’d fall asleep before he could reach his notepad.
Or he’d stab himself in the leg with the pen.
He tried a voice recorder, but all it captured were his snores.
Same thing with his smartphone.
The one with the voice commands.
But even if he got a few words out, the digital assistant wouldn’t get them right.
And Captain Blake would wake up with a reminder to milk a rhinoceros or tumble-dry seventy-seven times.
Scale of Scale
I bought a new bathroom scale.
It measures body fat and bone mass and other things beyond weight.
Stuff that I don’t care about, but I probably need to know.
It also has bluetooth in it to communicate with my phone.
So it can send all those things it measures to other applications.
Then it will nag me about what I eat and how much exercise I get.
My treadmill talks to my scale, which talks to my grocery list, which then talks to the grocery for instant pickup.
At what point do I get to live my own life?
Which Baldwin Are You?
On stage and screen, they called Ted the greatest actor of our generation.
There was no limit to his range.
From hero to villain, he brought depth and humanity to every role.
Except for one.
His portrayal of the unpopular President Dan Baker was a cruel and twisted caricature.
A slander ten times greater than Shakespeare’s Richard the Third.
Baker condemned it, earning Ted all that many more Hollywood accolades.
Then, the reports came out about Ted’s ex-wife.
The abuse. The beatings.
Ted’s publicist demanded that people respect the hypocrite’s privacy.
President Baker quietly thanked the FBI for their efforts.
Angel Five
The commander didn’t just shout his callsign but screamed it ANGEL FIVE ANGEL FIVE before the radio cut out and his fighter dropped from the formation trailing smoke and fire and another fighter took his place at the lead before he took on heavy fire and followed the commander to his death so the rest broke formation and fired at anything they could see but at night with no moon and mountains on their first mission after training sent fighter after fighter into a tailspin trailing smoke and crashing into the mountains with not a single parachute to be seen.
Podcast app
Every time I fly somewhere, I load up my phone with podcasts such as Stuff You Should Know or Gilbert Gottfried’s Amazing Colossal Podcast.
They’re long, good, and interesting. And they chew up a lot of time pretty well.
I used to rely on the Apple Podcasts application, but it wasn’t good at retaining podcasts in its cache, and I would be left with an empty phone on a long flight.
So, I switched to Stitcher and I migrated subscriptions over to it.
It’s been working reliably for me ever since.
The plane I’m on, sadly, isn’t.
MAYDAY! MAYDAY! MAYDAY!
Whacked
My brother buried me in the snow.
I was six, he was eight or nine.
He whacked me over the head with a snow shovel, dug a hole, and pushed me into it.
Then he covered me up with snow.
Thing is, I deserved it.
I had buried his rare metal toy soldier collection in the snow.
He whacked me on the head after I tried to find where I’d buried them, but I’d covered my tracks too well.
“We’ll find them when it thaws in the Spring, right?” I said.
That’s when he whacked me harder and buried me.
Weekly Challenge #760 – Plump
- Lizzie
- Richard
- Serendipidy
- Tom
- Norval Joe
- Tura
- Rick Thomas
- Planet Z
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.