Weekly Challenge #667 – Pick Two – judge, delivery, your, lion, unicorn, cherry, Incense, if

This is the Weekly Challenge, where I post a topic and then challenge you to come up with a 100 word story based on that topic.



Your Lion
The family of sheep grazed placidly. Their life was simple. They slept, they ate, they slept, and everything in between. It was a normal sheep life.
Except for that black one. There’s always one who thinks he’s different.
The family rolled their eyes each time he tried to roar. The neighbor sheep laughed and called him “your little lion”. Mother sheep was absolutely furious.
The day the neighbor sheep were taken away to be slaughtered, begging for mercy, the little lion roared. The humans smiled and thought that was so cute, and spared the family’s life.
Who’s laughing now, huh?


Reality, not myth.

Don’t be too hard on me. It’s not like I’m that dentist who shot Cecil the lion.

In fact, I don’t endorse the needless killing of any animals – hell, if I didn’t enjoy eating meat so much, I’d even consider becoming vegetarian, (as long as I could still have bacon… And maybe, steak… And chicken).

But I’ll make an exception for unicorns.

Miserable, evil, smelly creatures: They deserve everything they get, and more besides.

Mythical is too good for them – I wish they were all extinct!

So yes, I shoot unicorns.

And dragons…

Don’t even get me started on dragons!


Raising The Dead

“Judging by the placement of the lion we know the lineage and judging by the unicorn we know the family but the present of the cherry gives us the royal personages king Author the Deliverer of lesser Britain in the year 2516. Lost in the incense and peppermint of time we call on your most noble name.”

“Did anything happen, Bruce?”


“Oh fuck, get me another parchment.”

Bruce tossed the pervious page in the corner and removed another from the gilded oak table. “Oh a three head squid and a marmot. This looks promising.” Chime the archbishop of Canterbury.


I signed up to Amazon Prime. I needed a service that would deliver on time, and according to my instructions.

I’d tried other options in the past, but the sort of things I order really can’t be left with a neighbour; not if you want to remain on good terms with them, or for that matter, still have neighbours. Neither could I afford to have parcels thrown over fences, or left unguarded on the porch.

Unfortunately, Amazon suspended my account.

Somehow, despite the ridiculous amount of packing materials, my lion escaped whilst in the van, and ate the delivery driver!




Jon DeCles

The scent of the incense offered to nonsense was all that prevented Alice from being forced to judge between the Lion and the Unicorn in their fierce competition for the position of Laureate of the Kingdom of Hearts.

“The lovely breeze, your Majesty, provides a delivery of the scent of your cherry red roses exceeded only by the splendor of your Majesty’s presence!” Alice said, in the manner that her sister had taught her for kissing up to authority figures.

“Shall we have Cook make us some cherry tarts?” asked the King, timidly.

“Off to croquet!” cried the Queen.


#667 Lion and Unicorn

The lion and unicorn were playing in the field behind the house yesterday just before sunset. I know because that is when I take my evening walk around the two acre wood. I get to talk with my imaginary friends then. I don’t often see lions in this field and I must admit that I have never seen a unicorn. My friends agree. Pooh Bear, Piglet, Eeore, and Tigger tell me they have not seen a unicorn here before. I must go back now because if I don’t they will put me in that jacket that makes me hug myself.


Pick two: judge & incense
Music by Aitua

The judge walked back and forth between the two pedestals.  On each stood a single stick of incense.  He had paced steadily for hours.  As he reached one stand the defense stiffened and their eyes would bulge.  As he approached the other, prosecutors would wipe the beads of sweat from their brow.  All eyes would follow the judge back and forth.

Back and forth.

Well after midnight the judge stopped, reached over and lit the incense before him.  The whole room sighed in relief that it had finally been decided.  It was the waiting and not knowing that was worst.


Just because you have one talent, one skill, something no one else
possesses doesn’t mean flaunt it.  When people thought I was crazy for
receiving alien messages directly to my brain, I was one in ten
thousand.  When they figured out it was true, I was a one and only.
The Buglorforbekup race had a lot to say to everyone, giving every
country advice and assignments, and the world followed orders, all to
make a safer, better place.  Our own utopia.  But in our desperation
for that improved life, we and really I, ultimately created
complacency for an easy invasion.


Billbert waited for Roderick to leave before turning to Linoliumanda. “What? Are you mad at me?”
She shrugged and looked away. “No. Not mad. You shouldn’t judge what I’m going to say before I speak. If you’d given me a chance you’d see I wasn’t going to tell your secret.”
“I’m sorry. I guess I panicked.” He picked up Linoliumanda’s cherry red backpack, decorated with dancing unicorns and gryphons and handed it to her. “Thanks for standing up for me.”
She leaned close to him. “You can be sure. I’m not letting out the secret of my own private superhero.”


The men could smack Jill around and say the most horrible things, but when it was time to fuck, she had to be on top.
“They can’t choke you that way,” she told her pimp.
The Russians came to town, looking for a party.
All of the girls were there.
One guy got a little carried away with the blonde kid from Omaha, his hands squeezing her throat, and Jill walked in on them.
He shot them both.
When the pimp buried their bodies in the woods, he threw in the kid, then Jill.
“Jill always on top,” he said.

Doctor Odd vs The Author

The famous writer Herbert Tosspot says never to piss off a writer, because they can torture and murder you over and over in their writing.
You should also not piss off famous mad scientist Doctor Odd, who invented a machine which tortures and murders people, then resurrects the victim back to a living, healthy, and conscious state.
Only to torture them again.
Herbert wrote a nasty biography of Doctor Odd.
So, Doctor Odd put Herbert in his machine, and it tortured and murdered Herbert over and over again.
The publisher, afraid for his own life, quietly burned all the books.

Home Theater

It costs five more dollars to see a movie in the super big screen theater.
Not only do you get the super big screen and an ultra digital high resolution picture, but the audio is diamond-clear surround sound. And the seats are the most relaxing and comfortable seats you have ever sat in.
But the popcorn is stale, the Cokes watered-down, and the bathrooms are disgusting.
Want to solve all that?
Watch the damn movie at home with a decent home theater system.
You can hit pause when you have to go to the bathroom.
Unless your seat’s a toilet.

The spiderman

Have you seen the spiderman.
No, not Spiderman. The spiderman. Lower case S.
He’s a homeless guy who hangs around Third Avenue.
Why is he called the spiderman?
Because he’s got spiders crawling all over him.
But don’t stare at him. Or take photos.
Because he’ll scoop up a wad of spiders and throw them at you.
It’s funny when you see him doing it to someone, throwing spiders at them.
Screaming and running all crazy, trying to swat the spiders away.
Until he catches you starting at him.
So, can you help me get these spiders off of me?

The fred

The Fred could fill a stadium.
Usually, he filled it with people, and they all cheered for him.
But one time, The Fred demanded that the stadium be filled with pudding.
Was there enough pudding? How much would it cost to make and transport to the stadium?
The Fred didn’t care. He demanded that this be done.
Charities condemned The Fred for his wastefulness. “What about the starving masses of the world?”
“Bring them to the stadium!” he said, “And bring plenty of spoons!”
And so, the stadium filled with people, waving their pudding-covered spoons as they cheered for him.

Pray for

After every terrorist attack, social media erupts with “Pray” hashtags and calls for peace.
So, when the police caught a bomber, they brought him to the interrogation center.
Locked in a cell, the man shouted Koranic verses.
Then, he shouted for a lawyer.
After that, he shouted for food and water.
Outside the door of his room, guards sat and prayed.
“Aren’t you going to do anything?” said guards from the next shift.
The guards invited them to join in prayer.
So, they did, and after a few days, the shouting and screaming stopped.
“Finally, some peace,” said a guard.

Hell on

People say she’s really Hell on Wheels, but she’s more like Hell on Furniture Casters, sliding around the dining room floor and scuffing up the hardwood.
If Hell has frozen over, you could say someone was Hell on Ice Skates, or maybe if it’s snowed there, you could try for Hell on Skis or Hell on a Sled.
A flooded Hell could be Hell on Waterskis. Or Hell on Pontoons.
Maybe a Hell on a Raft.
But one day, maybe Hell on a Hoverboard will be possible.
And it’s not like anyone would care if it catches on fire, right?

Weekly Challenge #666 – THE DEVIL

This is the Weekly Challenge, where I post a topic and then challenge you to come up with a 100 word story based on that topic.

Bag Tinny


There’s the Devil, on that cake!
She looked around to see if anyone saw him too.
The cheeky Devil went from the cake to a pot of jam.
Why, you little…
The Devil looked at her, motionless.
She couldn’t believe no one was freaking out.
The Devil took a few steps aside, enjoying the jam.
“Well, would you like some bread to go with that?” she exclaimed out loud.
Everyone looked at her and she pointed. They laughed and laughed. No bloody Devil.
But she could swear, she saw the Devil again, the next year, mocking her from afar.


Blurred vision

The devil is in the detail, or so they say; so I do whatever it takes to avoid running foul of that chap.

My life has been one long, paranoid round of glossing over details, although I can’t say it’s been a particularly pleasant experience.

I never check the small change, read the fine print or review agreements – you can imagine the problems that causes.

And – just in case – I wear spectacles of the wrong prescription, so I live in a blurry world, devoid of fine detail.

So even if I run into the devil, I won’t recognise him!


Devil (Music by James Kibbie)

It isn’t easy being the Devil these days.  I can’t keep up anymore.  I was great at tempting people back in the day.  Remember Eve?   Now, when they say a person is evil, they call them Hitler or Stalin or Nicholas Cage.  Hell, even social media is better at tempting people.  I could never have gotten teenagers to eat Tide pods, or to back up just another step for that selfie.

I think it may be time to throw in the towel.  I thought about getting out of Hades and moving to Florida, but Hell, have you seen Florida lately?


I know you all have heard about the Devil. 

You don’t even have to be a church going evangelistic to know who he is.

Bart Simson tells us “The Devil made me do it”.

The movies tell you all about him. Hellboy, Constantine, Little Nicky, and of course The Omen.

Lots of movies. 

In fact I challenge you to turn on cable, all 250 channels of it, and not find a movie about the Devil on somewhere.

I wonder how much stock the Devil owns in the entertainment industry?

And, yes I found Little Nicky to be a funny movie.


They say that I’m the devil in disguise.

The townspeople speak in hushed voices when I’m about; they lock their doors, and hide their children away, and whenever the worst occurs, it’s always at me that the finger of blame is pointed.

A death, disaster, injury or loss: It’s always my name on people’s lips as they seek to apportion blame.

You might think that I’d be bothered by what people think, but it’s no concern to me at all.

Because, in truth, they’re absolutely right!

They say that I’m the devil in disguise…

And they’ve seen right through it.


In a Jam


Jon DeCles

I believe it was the Sheep who told Alice: “Jam every other day.  Jam yesterday and jam tomorrow, but never jam today.”

Isn’t that the promise of both religion and politics?

Yesterday was wonderful, tomorrow will be better.  Ignore the fact that today is shit.  Whatever you do, don’t complain about how things are, or you won’t get any jam tomorrow and we may even take away your memory of the jam you had yesterday.  Or did you actually have any jam yesterday?

Theater is clearly different.  It is always jam today.  As for tomorrow: yesterday may yet be shit.


Memo #666

The Devil is in the details. Take the use of the terms accurate and precision. Most folk use them interchangeably trying to describe a state of closeness, an approximate if you will. In one case the fineness of the operation is in question. In the other it’s a matter of performing the same task exactly. It could be a quite raw procedure. The other is concerned with producing an outcome within the limits of some measurable tolerance. Your job young demons is to do both. Here are your tools, your clients await your due diligence.

Yours In Eternal Darkness

The Satan 


Linliumanda stepped forward pointing her finger right up to the bully’s nose, and said, “You should leave Billbert alone, because,”
Billbert jumped in and cut her off. “Because, I might be a hemophiliac and if you hit me I might get a hematoma and bleed to death. You could be convicted of first degree manslaughter.”
Roderick stepped back and nodded his head slowly. He laughed while he said, “Yeah. I wouldn’t want that to happen.”
Billbert turned back to Linoliumanda who stood with her arms folded, scowling.

Black Lives Matter

They call themselves Black Lives Matter.
And demand that nobody say All Lives Matter.
They say that’s racist.
Even though only saying Black Lives Matter is the racist statement.
Because it focuses on a single race.
They say you should assume it really means Black Lives Matter Too.
Or Black Lives Also Matter.
But if that’s the case, why don’t they add those words?
Once again, they say that’s racist.
Just as they say it’s dangerous to put deadly force in the hands of police,
I think it’s dangerous to put deadly accusations in the hands of activists like these.

No hell below us

The Declaration of Independence states that all men are endowed by their Creator with certain inalienable rights.
The problem with this arrangement is when you realize there’s no Creator, and your rights become moot.
Or, if you allow for the existence of a Creator, there’s no mechanism in place by which these rights are guaranteed.
So many claim agency on behalf of the Creator, but if the Creator can create people, the Creator can create a means of testing an agent’s legitimacy, right?
Further proof that there is no Hell below us, just the one we make for ourselves here.