If you’ve been bad, they send you to The Gooch.
Nobody can spell her name or pronounce it right, so we all just call her The Gooch.
Even the teachers call her that.
“That’s enough out of you,” they say. “Go see The Gooch.”
Nobody ever actually saw The Gooch.
She kept her office dark.
And there was a desk lamp, shining right in your face.
Maybe if you squinted, you could see her fingernails clacking on her desk.
When she was happy, she’d smile, and you’d see the whites of her fangs.
Or, if angry, her glowing red eyes.
Dressing the part
Ned is cheap.
He wears a Santa Claus suit as a costume for Halloween.
“Christmas is two months away,” we tell him.
“Plenty of time to party then!” he’d shout, and throw back another shot of whiskey.
He’ll drink himself under the table soon enough. Always does.
I can’t blame him for dressing up like Santa, though.
I mean, he really looks the part. Fat with white hair and a big white beard.
And he never has to throw a Christmas party. He gets invited to all the parties as the Santa.
In spite of being a cheap drunken wretch.
Writing stories for the season
Every year, I try to write Halloween stories for October and holiday stories for December.
I also try to write pirate stories for September, but those are easy to write any time of the year.
Halloween stories need inspiration from horror and Halloween seasonal stuff, and that only comes around Halloween.
At least with Christmas, the Hallmark Channel plays Christmas in July stuff.
Not that I can stand watching that mawkish formulaic stuff.
It’s all about some chick or guy going to a small town, finding love, and settling down.
Which I find horrifying… almost enough to inspire Halloween stories.
Variety
I remember when there were just plain M&Ms.
Then came peanut M&Ms. They were great.
After that came almond M&Ms, but only for a limited time.
And then, they seemed to come up with a new flavor or variety every week.
I like to get different varieties of them, mix them up in a bowl, and put them in a candy dispenser.
It’s total chance what kind you’ll get.
A bit of this, a bit of that. A handful of mystery and surprise.
And, because it’s guaranteed to trigger any possible allergy, i leave out a stack of epipens, too.
Fred the Mummy
Freddy loved Halloween.
From the Trick or Treating to the costumes and apple-bobbing, he loved it all.
Every year, he dressed as a mummy, and you could almost swear he was a real mummy.
Then, one day, Freddy died.
His will left explicit instructions to authentically mummify him.
Experts were brought in to perform the proper rituals and procedures, even hooking out his brain through his nose and putting his innards in canopic jars.
And sure enough, the next Halloween, Freddy was out there, joining in the Halloween revelry.
Some say we’re cursed by Freddy, but I say we’re blessed.
Shoveling job
Teddy earned a buck every time he shoveled the driveway.
So, he shoveled the driveway five times a day.
Even in the summertime.
“That’s not how it works, Teddy,” said his dad. “If you want to earn more, go shovel other people’s driveways.”
So, Teddy did. And he came back to his dad looking to get paid.
“That’s not how it works, either,” said his dad. “They need to pay you for shoveling their driveways.”
So Teddy attacked his dad with the snow shovel.
Now Teddy shovels the driveway at the reform school.
And they don’t pay him a dime.
Weekly Challenge #703 – SMUTTY
- Lizzie
- Tom
- Richard
- Serendipidy
- Norval Joe
- Kristin
- Planet Z
RICHARD
Chatty
Back in the Second World War, in Britain we used to have posters, sternly advising that ‘Careless talk costs lives!’
I’ve no idea whether they were successful in preventing German spies from gaining sensitive information – that’s something I’ve never been able to find out.
A life is a high price to pay for careless talk.
And yet, these days, people keep telling me that ‘talk is cheap’.
And, trust me, I can also tell you from personal experience that is absolutely not true… These premium rate sex lines charge crazy rates.
Smutty talk, it seems, costs a bloody fortune!
TOM
Banned In Boston –
In more genteel times books such as “God’s Little Acre” and “Peyton Place” were lumped under the pejorative heading of “Smutty”. Wild people doing wild things wildly. Not what respectable folk should be reading, well actually they did, and a lot. Still it was more a guilty pleasure that didn’t get spoke about in respectable company. Forward the clock during a UU Sunday service a member gave a glow recommendation for “The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo.” OK. Then my mom, my mom tell me she just finished “50 Shady of Gray”. I so didn’t want to know that. Smutty
LIZZIE
“So, here is where he writes his smutty books.”
“He writes smutty books, the vicar?!”
“You didn’t know?!”
“No!”
Silence took over the whole room. They crossed their arms in sync and tilted their heads.
“The desk is huge.”
“It is.”
More silence ensued.
“I wonder how long it would take to destroy it?”
“A few minutes?”
They nodded.
“We need to find a creaky window.”
“Boring.”
“So… What then?”
Silence.
“OK, grab his books. We can read them out loud during mass.”
And the two glided on to the next room, sneering. This Halloween promised to be great fun.
SERENDIPIDY
Smutty, Salacious, Kinky, Stinky, Buggery, Thuggery and Cock: The seven alternative dwarves that somehow never made into the story books.
Forced to scratch a living from the seamier side of life, they finally found employment as key players in my crime syndicate, doing my dirty work and – no doubt – enjoying a few carnal pleasures along the way.
And, speaking of carnal pleasures, I have needs too.
Needs that are well attended to by my seven minions, and trust me, their stature isn’t replicated where it matters!
Don’t look so shocked – after all, I’m no Snow White!
NORVAL JOE
Ms. Frunsio’s mouth dropped open. “You boy’s with your smutty thoughts and behavior. And you admit that you took advantage of that innocent girl.”
Billbert blinked and shook his head. “No. I didn’t take advantage of Linoliumanda. I took advantage of the situation. She wanted me to kiss her.”
The principal shook her finger at him. “Don’t try to justify your behavior. You can’t know what she wanted, unless you can read minds.”
Billbert couldn’t help himself. “I did know what she wanted. She kissed me first.”
Frunsio gasped in shock. “How dare you cast aspersions on that poor girl.”
KRISTIN
he secret to happiness?
Suffering. Gotta suffer before you smile.
Me? It started with a cough. Mucus, then blood.
Next day, I barely breathed. Doctors said it grew up my windpipe in threads.
Week later, it swelled into white, hard buds on my neck.
Couldn’t breathe, couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat. Wanted to die.
Then one morning, I felt threads growing, spinning webs under my skull. A flash. Then, the pain in my head disappeared.
Now? I feel good. Only my smile hurts. The whole world should feel this way.
So come on, nurse. Open up. Let’s spread a little happiness.
PLANET Z
Jim Jackson was the greatest comedian.
He would have made for a great sitcom guy. Or even a talk show host.
But the mouth on him! The shit he’d say!
Sure, Carlin went from his curseword-filled act to Shining Time station, a kids show, but Jim? He was toxic.
Even the streaming services gave him a pass, too. Maybe they’d shoot his act for a special, but a sitcom or a talk show?
No, not Jim. They’d never get him off tof he road
“Fine,” said Jim. “If I can’t have the pussy come to me, I’ll go to it.”
Scared straight
The school district has a horrible dropout rate.
And the county’s crime rate is awful.
We tried one of those Scared Straight programs.
That’s where you send the bad kids to visit a prison to scare them into obeying the law.
That didn’t work. It only made them worse.
So, we sent them to Hell.
We medically stopped their hearts, let them stay dead for a bit, and then revived them.
The ones who didn’t come back, we assume gladly stayed in Hell.
The ones who came back gave up their wicked ways.
For fear we’d send them back. Permanently.
Happy Mother’s Day
The creature in the basement gathered up the remains of it’s food, piles of its shed fur, and various other materials strewn about its prison.
From these, it constructed a gory contraption, an intricate flimsy horror.
Trudging up the stairs, placing the thing at the top of the stairs, and crawling back down to its pit.
Feeding time came around, and the door to the basement opened.
A hand poked the contraption.
“Happy mother’s day,” moaned the creature.
The hand shoved the thing away, shattering it on the stairs.
Another dog carcass was tossed in, and the door slammed shut.
That moment
Her birthday was on the ninth.
Mine was on the tenth.
Waiting all day for that moment to come together.
We’d go out to the woods. in the moonlight, and share a kiss at midnight.
A gift to each other: “Happy birthday to us.”
Making it want to last forever.
But nothing lasts forever.
It passes so quickly, and then it is gone.
And, with her hand in mine, we’d walk home.
Tonight, I will walk out to the woods.
And stand where we used to stand.
Waiting for that special moment.
And it will pass in silence and tears.