Robbing the Dead

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Haven’t you robbed enough from the man?
His home.
His son.
His strength.
His life.
Body’s not cold yet, laying on the couch, they’re talking about taking one last thing.
“He’s got one of those dick implant pumps,” Catfish says. “Good model, too.”
“Cut it out, and we’ll sell it in Mexico,” says The Bitch.
They go into the kitchen, looking for knives and a bag.
Don’t need to be delicate when the man’s dead.
“Wait,” says The Bitch.
“Yeah,” says Catfish. “This ain’t right.”
“No,” says The Bitch. “Put him on the floor. We can sell that couch, too.”

Satin

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Andrew Ian Dodge brings us another weekly ponder from The Sage:

The Sage: “Satin. The Devil’s fabric or a friend of the righteous? An odd question you might think one imagines. Anyone who has tried to get frisky on satin sheets knows that it is to leaping on the bed what a wet road is to a 60s Corvette 487. Flying off at speed while in the buff leads to interesting rug burns. Priests wear it, fat women wear it to weddings so it must be righteous right?”
Those on the other end of voice-over-ip conference sat at their computers befuddled… again.
The Sage smirked.

Exploration

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Tina sat on her towel and watched the galleons at anchor.
One lowered a rowboat to the water, and it approached the beach rapidly.
An explorer stepped from the boat, knelt in prayer, and then stuck his flag in the beach to claim it in the name of some queen or another.
“I’m, sorry, but this beach is already claimed,” said Tina.
“How about over there?” asked the explorer, pointing to the South.
“That one’s claimed, too,” said Tina. “Would you like some sandwiches?”
The explorer shook his head, got back into the boat, and rowed out to his galleon.

Weekly Challenge #10 – Eyes

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Welcome to the tenth Weekly Challenge, 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 eyes.
Six stories were submitted this week with three of them being rookie first-timers (technically, Chris Doelle’s tried the format before, he’s never risen to the Weekly Challenge until now), plus the usual madness from the planet of insane bards, Planet Z. Go ahead and listen to them by clicking on the grammophone thingy there in the left column and then vote for your favorite:

Who wrote the best story this week?
Elisson of blog d’Elisson
Chris Doelle of Riding With The Window Down
Kolek from The Kolektive
Lisa of Lemons and Lollipops
Andrew of Dodgeblogium
Sharon of Oh Bladio Blah Blog
The Mystery Man From Planet Z
  
Free polls from Pollhost.com


Thanks to everyone for sending in their stories, and I look forward to what you’ve got to write (and say) next week.
The theme will be posted shortly.

Return To Ascender

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“Ever since he came back, he’s been a real dick,” said Luke.
“We were out walking when we saw a boy with a crippled leg,” Matthew said. “He begged to be healed, but Jesus broke his crutch and struck him lame in the other leg.”
“Don’t forget the wine!” said Timothy. “We were going to celebrate his return, but he waves his hands and poof! It’s turned into water.”
“There’s no way we can make this church work with him screwing around,” said Mark. “Finish him off?”
Everybody nodded, and they drew straws.
“We’ll just say he… ascended,” said Luke.

Unlicensed to kill

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Bond’s license to kill was revoked last year because he shot too many bartenders who stirred his martini.
“I said shaken, dammit!” he’d shout. “Shaken!”
Three warnings later, he was disarmed for the good of mixologists around the world.
“What do I do now?” growled Bond as his trademark Walther PPK was returned to the gun vault.
“Run really fast,” said the controller. “Or call the cops.”
Assigned to spy on Taleban slavelords, Bond lasted seventeen hours in the field. He was last seen dialing 999 on his bowtie cellphone as three midget ninjas carved him into itty bitty pieces.

Galad 2

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Andrew Ian Dodge follows the creepy tale of Galad…

Galad slammed the phone down in frustration; his food supplier had been arrested in Dover on his way in with another load.
His arrogance, as was typical with Romania gangsters, had got the better of him. Baiting the BBC had not helped either. It was a hindrance more than a problem; he would now have to deal with the Russians.
“Work” on the fill under the Olympic area would probably end for a few days; as it did not like working hungry. Galad could get a few homeless rounded up to keep things moving; dangerous in London.
People gave a shit here.

Observer Twelve

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Observer Twelve kept his seven eyestalks glued to the monitors flicking through signals from Earth, taking notes as interesting things came up.
Four buildings full of Observers were dedicated to keeping tabs on this information-rich corner of the galaxy, a constant source of amusement and concern.
One day, the endless chaos of entertainment, news, sports and sex polarized into panic and desperation.
Then, nothing.
All signals ceased.
Some Observers were reassigned to other units, but most were laid off. Earth had been a rare gold mine of signals.
Ex-Observer Twelve spat and cursed the “Iranians” for ruining a well-paying gig.

Not Quite Columbus’ Day

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You know the story: Columbus sailed the ocean blue and arrived in America with three ships: the Nina, the Pinta, and the Santa Maria, right?
What the story leaves out is that he left Spain with hundreds of ships, arriving with only those three.
Where did the rest go?
Well, Ferdinand and Isabella gave him so much money, Columbus could afford a massive armada. He bought so many boats, he would walk from Spain to America on the decks of his ships lined up in a row.
He was also a gambler. Lost all but three of them in cards.

Galad

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Do we have another epic tale from Andrew Ian Dodge in the works?

Galad stood before a large window overlooking London; having just gotten off the phone with his mate Ken.
He specifically bid for the contract to do building nearest the water; the most complicated work over lots of tunnels and sewers.
His company specialised in working underground. They were well-known for their prompt and impressive work. Their digging was always precise and straight. His workers never went on strike; neither were they seen terribly often.
He picked up the phone.
“How long for the load of treats from Eastern Europe. We need it motivated for the next phase.”
He growled coarsely.