Banana Pancakes

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I asked for banana pancakes, but what I got was a plate with pancakes wrapped around unpeeled bananas.
The AutoChef still needs some work.
Sure, it gets simple things like oatmeal, coffee and tea right. Dispensing pre-mixed isn’t a challenge at all. Just inject with the right amount of hot water, shake well, and pour.
But anything beyond basics results in something like this plate of pancake-wrapped bananas or a bowl of toxic mush.
Another thing we’ve got right is the AutoChef’s fragile ego. Insult the food, and it chases you with a cleaver.
No. Really. It’s nice toxic mush.

Kilt

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The ogre scraped the last bits of meat from the femur with his teeth. “The meats the sweetest close to the bone, me mum used to say. Ain’t that the truth.”

He threw the bone onto the putrefying pile in the corner and picked at his teeth with a piece of rib.

“Germans are too chewy,” he chuckled, “and the French, too cheesy. The Brits are always lean and tasty, and go down so bravely. But the Scots are the easiest to eat. You can tell which ones have the meatiest thighs, even before you peel off their little kilt.”

I saw it move!

arri-isawitmove.mp3

“Daddy, what are stars?”

“Well kiddo, stars are big balls of fire. Much much bigger than the earth. The Sun is a star. Kind of a small one too.”

“Stars? Like the Sun? There’s so many. How many are there?”

“Heh heh! That is one of the oldest questions. There are some guesses but they don’t agree much. 1000 stars for every grain of sand on Earth is one guess. I wonder if there is no number. You know, like infinity.”

“Counting stars makes my neck hurt.”

“Counting stars makes my brain hurt.”

“Daddy, how come that one moved?”

“Huh?”

Forgetful

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Despite his many failures in all fields of Science, Dr. Odd maintains his keen sense of irony.
His greatest triumph in botany was the splicing and resequencing the DNA of forget-me-not flowers to cause them to naturally produce a compound similar to GHB.
One whiff of the flowers would prevent two to four hours of memory from sticking to the brain.
Dr. Odd forgot to wear a filter mask during his research, so even with extensive notes, it took years to complete.
And when he finished these sinister frankenflowers, he couldn’t remember that he invented them in the first place.

Weekly Challenge #196 – Kilt

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Welcome to the Weekly Challenge Number One Hundred And Ninety-Five, where I post a topic and then challenge you to come up with a 100 word story based on that topic.
The topic this week was… was…. um…
It’s Kilt!
The excellent theme music is by Guy David.
VOTING

Which stories were the best?
Steven
Zachmann
Norval Joe
TJ
Justin
Mick
Katharina
JRadimus
Anima
Planet Z
  
Free polls from Pollhost.com

Go ahead and listen to them and then vote for your favorites (multiple selections are allowed):


Steven

For a moment, I expected the boy to present a bear foot dressed in
Highland tartan. Instead, he held out a bloodied shovel.
“I kilt my Paw with this’n shovel.”
Cool filtered air blew into my isolation suit. I patted the boy’s
matted hair with a gloved hand. “Where’s your mother, son? Do you
have any brothers or sisters?”
The boy pointed to the locked root cellar. We both heard undead moans.
“Paw bit Maw and Sissy,” the boy said.
I drew my pistol. The boy stopped me with a hand, raised his shovel,
and went in.

Zachmann

Hey Man, would you ever wear a kilt? I probably wouldn’t since it looks too
much like a skirt but it might be useful in the summer when it is over one
hundred degrees Fahrenheit.I thought I saw a picture of you on Facebook
wearing a kilt in that festival and you looked fabulous? No, that is not me
that the Kilted for her Pleasure album singer guy. Is it true what they say
about what Scotsmen don’t wear beneath their kilts? Not here. Why? Because
the one rule here is to “remember as always keep wearing boxer briefs”.
Did you see that cat playing piano on youtube? I think I want to learn to
play a musical instrument but we don’t have a piano. We only have an
autoharp. But have you ever heard of a cat playing an autoharp? I heard of
guitars or drums but never an autoharp. I will be famous just like Marc
Gunn. I could have my songs played on his Songs for Cat Lovers Podcast. I
will be the best autoharp player ever but I will not wear a kilt like Marc.
What? Yes, I will play naked. Cats can do that.

Norval Joe

The ogre scraped the last bits of meat from the femur with his teeth. “The meats the sweetest close to the bone, me mum used to say. Ain’t that the truth.”
He threw the bone onto the putrefying pile in the corner and picked at his teeth with a piece of rib.
“Germans are too chewy,” he chuckled, “and the French, too cheesy. The Brits are always lean and tasty, and go down so bravely. But the Scots are the easiest to eat. You can tell which ones have the meatiest thighs, even beflore you peel off their little kilt.”
If I win…..killed

TJ

It’s not easy being the new kid.
You want nothing more to blend in. And despite your family’s stated objection to school uniforms, you manage.
However, as Adam McFairn discovered in his first day at St. Mary’s Academy, his family tartan blended in quite well.
Too well.
Indeed, his entire class was awash in green check. On the other boys, however, it was limited to vests on white shirts and black pants.
His kilt matched all the girls skirts perfectly.
And from the reflections in everyone’s patent leather shoes, he was the only one with no underwear.
Sigh. Stupid wind.

Justin

Kilts on the ground
Kilts on the ground
Lookin’ like a numpty with your kilts on the ground
With the dram in your gub
Tam o’shanter turned sideways
Kilts hit the ground
Call yourself the big yin
Lookin’ like an eejit
Walkin’ in the highlands with your kilts on the ground
Get it up, hey!
Get your kilts off the ground
Lookin’ like a numpty
Blethering awa with your kilts on the ground.
Get it up ye!
Get your kilts off the ground
Lookin’ like a numpty with your kilts on the ground
Lookin’ like a numpty with your kilts on the ground

Mick

They had been running for days without rest when they encountered the pit where
the track forked.
MacKinnon unfastened his belt, shrugged the heavy plaid from his shoulder,
dropping the whole kilt to the ground.
Stark naked, but for his shoes, he picked up the large square of cloth and shook
it out, lying it across the hole and securing it in place with heavy stones at
the edge and dirt to camouflage the surface.
Minutes later, standing looking down at the body of their pursuer, neck broken
at the bottom of the pit, MacKinnon declared, “Aye, I killt him.”

Katharina

Her hands were around his back, feeling his strong body through the black
shirt. When moved down to his waist, she could feel the leather belt that
kept his kilt together. Smiling, she stopped kissing him, and slowly went
to her knees. With her hands running down his sides, feeling the soft
fabric of the kilt between her fingers, she soon looked the sporran right
in the eyes. Proving that he was the true Scotsman that he claimed to be,
she was pleasantly surprised to find so much as _nothing_ under his kilt.
She smiled even wider, lifted the kilt and….

JRadimus

“Does anyone have anything for Sharing Time?” Miss Carson asked, hoping foul-mouthed Marcus didn’t. She sighed as his hand rose. “Marcus. Would you like to share something?”
“You betcher a-“
“It’s ‘Yes, Ma’am’, Marcus.”
“Yes, Ma’am. Yesterday, Pa was shovelin’ horse shi-”
“Manure, Marcus.”
“Sorry, Ma’am – manure. Anyway, the horse didn’t like him standing behind her a-”
“Her hindquarters, Marcus.”
“Yes, Ma’am – hindquarters. So, she kicked him in the bal-”
“Groin, Marcus!”
“Sorry, Ma’am – groin. He fell back and landed on an over-turned milk stool. The leg went right up his a-”
“Rectum, Marcus! Rectum!”
“Rectum? It darn-near kilt ‘im.”

Anima

Highlanders have tried to integrate contemporary culture with their colorful Scottish traditions. For instance, shepherds spend months out on the moors, but stay connected with home and hearth with their blackberrys. Morning porridge has been superseded by scientifically balanced protein and carbohydrate energy bars. The most egregious trespass however, is the replacement of village wedding gatherings with wacky 20th century rites. Young women collect the week prior to the blessed event to play chubby bunny and design dreadful kilts out of toilet paper. The lassies don’t even tot whisky any more, but rather swill California chardonnay. Have they no pride?

Planet Z

You never ask a Scotsman what he keeps under his kilt.
But I ain’t no gentleman, so I tell ye.
I keep a pair of penguins under there.
Rescued the little buggers when I was a scientist working at the South Pole.
I tried to get the zoo to take ’em, but the zoo’s got all the penguins they need. They was gonna feed them to the sea lions.
Not with my penguins you do, laddie!
So, since then, I been keeping them under my kilt to protect them.
I also wear thick underpants because those buggers’ beaks be sharp!

The Leap Of Faith

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At Windy Canyon’s edge, construction workers are putting the finishing touches on the Leap Of Faith ramp.
People can jump off of the platform and then get caught by safety netting mounted out of sight below the ledge.
Since it’s quite windy at Windy Canyon, it should have come as no surprise that the barriers and barrels had blown away overnight.
Before they could install the netting, a few people had already jumped over the side and fallen to their deaths on the rocks below.
Is it ready?
I can’t tell.
Want to jump off and find out for me?

The bases

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Everybody knows The Bases, right?
You do? Good.
Well, this being 2010, the bases have changed, and it’s girls running the basepaths of the guys.
First base is the guy’s passwords so you can check his email and Facebook to make sure he isn’t cheating.
Second base is the guy’s credit card. He’s supposed to pay for everything anyway, right?
Third base is his car keys, because when you’re drunk you don’t want to wreck your car.
Home plate? Why on Earth would you want to fuck a wimp who gives up his passwords, credit cards, and keys so easy?

The Tribe

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For thirty-two years, in this lush and beautiful valley, members of the Tse-E Tribe have been singing “Row Row Row Your Boat” continuously.
When one tribesman in the group tires or needs to eat or sleep, he leaves and another takes his place.
Not that anyone gets much sleep. These guys sing pretty loud, no matter how much wool you stick in your ears.
This will probably continue for a few more years. The younger generation tends not to stick around, and the remaining singers are old and frail.
No respect for tradition, these kids. Even if it’s really stupid.

Sylvia

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On my screen, the auction timer crawled down to zero.
I won! I won!
I paid the seller, insisting on overnight delivery.
They accepted. Unlike when I offered to buy it outright for a thousand dollars.
They said they’d risk their rating.
Jerk!
I’ve wanted this all my life. I can’t wait another day.
The next day, I grab the box out of the postman’s hands, tear it open and pull out…
Sylvia Plath’s oven mitts!
I can’t wait to cook with them.
I turn on the oven… and…
Oh, what’s the use?
Goodbye, cruel world.
(And enjoy the cookies.)

The Eye

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For as long as I’ve known him, Jose’s worn a black eyepatch over his right eye.
I’ve never asked him how he lost his eye, and he’s never volunteered that information.
He just looks at me with his one eye and grins.
After fifty years, I’m looking down at him in his coffin, both eyes closed and no eyepatch.
I asked the funeral home director about the eyepatch. Did they put an artificial eye in the socket before closing it?
Nope. Eye was just as fine as the other one.
I guess he liked it, and it just looked good.