My laptop says that a new version of FireFox is available.
I remember getting excited over new versions of software.
Fixing frustrating bugs.
Making the user interface easier to use.
I’d check TuCows every morning and every evening, like a kid waking up on Christmas morning wondering what was under the tree.
Now, I dread new versions of software.
What things that I use a lot will change?
How many extra steps will it take to do the same thing?
What pointless bells, whistles, and upsells will they add to the thing?
I click Upgrade, and wait for an error.
Proof Denies Faith
The high priest wanted him dead.
The governor wanted him dead.
So, they killed him.
Tortured and crucified, stabbed in the side.
His body, placed in a priest’s tomb.
Washed and sealed, guarded by soldiers.
His betrayer, hanging from a branch.
The deed is done.
Or… is it?
An angel, in the middle of the night, pushed the stone aside and ran off the soldiers.
The body is gone.
Dragged off by wild dogs?
Or did he walk away?
Risen, and alive.
I set the coordinates in the console.
And sit down in the machine.
The time-field builds.
History awaits.
Heavenly Peace
Silent night, holy night.
That’s what the humans call it.
I called a feast night.
Going home to home, looking for babies to eat.
Always searching for the perfect specimen, one that’s both tender and mild.
Just like the song.
The song says that only the holiest of infants is tender and mild, but season them properly, any infant will do.
Slow roast is better than boiling.
As long as you don’t mind the screams, it’s just for a minute at most.
The meat comes right off the bone.
I am so full.
I think I’ll sleep in heavenly peace.
Candy Cane
Some people like peppermint candy canes.
I do too. So I bought a dozen.
Then I bought a dozen Oreo-flavored candy canes.
And then some Swedish Fish ones.
I figured I should sneak in some Red Hots canes.
They look like peppermint, but they’re hot.
And the bacon ones look like them, too.
After that, I kinda lost my mind.
Wasabi, Chicken, Pickle.
Although Pickle is actually kinda good.
Clam isn’t.
I put these all in a basket and left it out in the breakroom.
Unlabeled.
So, take your pick. Try your luck.
Everyone’s a winner.
Unless you get clam.
For better or worse bagels
I like bagels.
I especially like to toast bagels, then smear on some cream cheese, and snip some fresh chives and herbs from the garden for them.
The problem is, the better and more artisan the bagel, the more lopsided it is.
And it’s a bitch to slice cleanly to fit into the toaster.
So, you need a bagel guillotine. And a bagel toaster.
And a special bagel schmearer.
Screw all that. It’s six in the morning. I’m not fucking around, I just want something to eat.
The supposedly better and more authentic the bagel is, the worse it is.
WEEKLY CHALLENGE #711 – SASSY
- Richard
- Lizzie
- Tom
- Serendipidy
- Norval Joe
- Planet Z
RICHARD
S.A.S.S.Y.
Strategic Armament Systems: South Yorkshire – SASSY for short – an unassuming factory unit, situated on an industrial estate on the outskirts of Leeds.
Whilst the world’s attention focussed on the posturing of North Korea, the political machinations of Putin and the Chinese, and unknown Middle Eastern threats, the scientists and engineers of West Yorkshire quietly beavered away on the ultimate weapon.
Earth’s last day dawned on a drizzly, November Thursday and ended – accidentally – when Security Guard, George Orpington, in a moment of absent-mindedness, set down his mug of tea on the Big Red Button of Total Destruction.
LIZZIE
The waves drowned the sound of a phone ringing. It rang for a minute. Then, it stopped. Later in the day, it rang again. The waves sloshed softly in the background.
The police sent search parties, geared up in white protective suits. They quarantined the small town, but the buildings were empty.
Then, the phone rang one last time. A policeman answered.
“Find them, I dare you. And find me too,” the voice cackled with laughter.
They did find them.
Years later, the waves returned to the shore what belonged on the shore.
They never found the cackling voice though.
TOM
So Long Ago and Far Away –
Sassy LaRue wasn’t. She was graceful and poised. Had that old moneyed air about her. Married deep in the Mississippi gentry. Junior Leaguer, A-lister, tight with the inner circle in the outer beltway. Should have gone to prison with the rest of the president’s men, but she was always a step ahead and to one side. I know her is passing. Spent an evening drinking shot of gold watching the Potomac roll by. As I remember she had a passion for skeet shooting. Her grandpa taught her. Oh, how she get the moniker. Her little brother couldn’t pronounce her name.
SERENDIPIDY
Sassy Strychnine: My best friend forever. She’s never let me down, never been found wanting in a time of need, and is always dependable.
Not like that bitch, Suzie Switchblade! Now there’s a girl you don’t want to trust… Given half a chance, she’ll turn on you and stab you in the back. You’re never entirely safe while she’s around.
As for Bessie Bullet… Forget it, she’s noisy, crass, and leaves a mess wherever she’s been!
But Sassy: She’s cool. She slips in quietly, almost unnoticed, gets the job done, then quietly fades into the background.
My kind of girl.
NORVAL JOE
Linoliumanda’s father had just asked if they had walked home from the dance. Billbert shuffled his feet. “Yes, sir. We just walked up from next door, right now.”
“Don’t get sassy with me, boy. I just got a call from the school telling me about the fire alarm. You two got home pretty fast for something that had just happened.”
Billbert swollowed. “Um. We called an Uber?”
Linoliumanda took hold of her father’s arm and shook him. “Come on, Dad. Relax. We used magic and flew back from the dance.”
“Now you’re getting sassy with me, Linnie?” her father growled.
PLANET Z
I remember my first cat Sassy.
She liked to walk through the bookshelves, knocking books to the floor.
If you left anything on a table or a counter, it ended up on the floor, along with the books.
We tried to train her not to do this, putting pennies in containers with the hopes of scaring her, but she knocked them down, too.
One night, we’d left a lit candle on a table, and Sassy knocked it off, starting a fire.
She’d burned the house down and everything in it.
Insurance covered the loss, and we eventually got a dog.
Christmas mattress ads
You can tell what time of year it is by the stupid dad jokes that mattress store commercials use.
The worst are during Christmas, because they all mention sleeping in Heavenly peace.
Only when Christmas is over do you get a week off from the inanity.
That’s when the end-of-the-year clearance sales take place.
They need to clear the inventory to avoid the tax liability or something.
Never mind that the stores never actually stock the mattresses.
They get them from a distributor and they take weeks to deliver.
While they sleep in Heavenly peace… with all of your money.
Christmas lists for the kids
I gave each of the kids a stack of post-it notes and a pen.
“Write up your Christmas wishlists,” I said, and I left the room.
When they were done, I had them go outside and put the notes on the garage door.
“Put them in order,” I said. “From the one you want most to the one you want least.”
When they were done, I looked at the lists and nodded.
And the garage door started to open, scattering the kids and post-it notes as my wife pulled into the driveway.
I guess it’s sweaters and socks for everyone.
Christmas elf climate
The truth is, elves are forest creatures, so keeping a bunch of them up at the North Pole is kind of a dick move on Santa’s part.
But with deforestation and the loss of habitat, elves really don’t have much else place to go these days.
And Santa does teach them a trade in toymaking and logistics, even if the pay is for shit and the benefits are nonexistent.
It’s not like Santa needs guards or fences to keep them in.
One step outside of the factory dormitory, and they freeze their asses off.
No wonder why they’re so jolly.
Naughty and nicer lists
Santa’s Nice List was growing.
His statisticians showed him the chart.
“What about the Naughty List?” he asked.
They ran the numbers… and it was growing much faster than the Nice List.
When Santa did the analytics, he found that when normalized for population growth, it was actually shrinking.
And people were moving from the Nice to Naughty at an increasing rate.
Santa needed to do something quickly.
“Poison the lumps of coal,” he ordered.
Santa went back to his office and looked at his Nice List.
His own name was gone.
“On second thought,” he said. “Cancel that order.”