There is a series of cartoons of a monkey in various outfits that sells for millions of dollars.
But in spite of people owning an NFT license for them, anyone can copy the image
Me, I own a real monkey, to dress up in various outfits.
Unlike the cartoons, I don’t sell licenses for the monkey.
I’ve got a license to keep the monkey, but I don’t sell licenses.
Or tickets to see the thing. It’s fucking dangerous.
It rips off the clothes and attacks me and throws shit all over.
Which is what those stupid NFTs are really worth.
Mayor Danny
Danny is the mayor.
It’s not a big town, but he’s not a big guy.
Maybe five foot one, five foot two with those boots he wears.
But he’s got big ideas for the town, big plans.
Which is why Tania is running for mayor against him.
Tania wants to keep things the same.
“I want everything to stay the same,” she says at the debate.
“Well, what about the mayor?” says Danny. “If you become mayor, that’ll change.”
Tania thinks about it a bit, then steps away from the podium.
Danny wins.
Sure, the guy talks big, but never delivers.
Weekly Challenge #924 – Pillows
LIZZIE
These pillows are good quality, she thought. The price was acceptable. So, she bought them. She placed them in her garden, dreaming of perfect soireés with her super elegant friends dressed in their pricey clothes, smiling fake smiles, dragging along bored little husbands with perfect bank accounts that they spent in perfectly useless facial creams. Argh! She hated them. The pillows. Good quality. Well… Would they endure something rougher, she wondered, something a bit more… But then she remembered her mother’s words “a clean conscience makes a soft pillow”. Perhaps she shouldn’t have wiped those perfect smiles off their faces.
RICHARD
My bed!
Pillows, magazines, computer keyboards and laptops. These are all perfectly acceptable surfaces to sleep on… If you’re a cat.
The general rule is to select a space that will be the most inconvenient and inappropriate for one’s owner, and occupy it in a manner that is so cute and adorable that only the most heartless of people would consider summary eviction.
Which clearly makes me a very bad person, if the resentful feline stare currently fixed on me is anything to go by.
I won’t be long, I promise.
And once I’ve typed this story, the keyboard is all yours.
SERENDIPIDY
I’ve never believed you can smother someone to death with a pillow.
Let’s face it, if pillows were that dangerous, they’d be covered in health warnings, and every time you went to bed you’d be in imminent danger of inadvertently committing accidental suicide!
They also don’t work for muffling gunshots to the head. I’ve tried it, and it makes no difference at all.
However, those polythene bags that new pillows come in are a different story altogether.
Capacious, easy to carry and dispose of, and totally airtight -fatal every time.
You end up with a lot of spare pillows though!
TOM
While sleeping not good to stop breathing.
I remember going into the Cpap Store. There was this deck top poster of a guy, 50ish, gray temples; faced forward wearing a knowing hint of a smile, and a full Monty mask. Think it was a ResMed AirFit F20. Lots of rigid plastic giving off a Bane/Hannibal vibe, that in fact lacked the high wattage personality of either. No one in the history of Cpaps didn’t look stupid to down right silly. To uses the damn thing, you have to value over this hurtle and embrace your going to look stupid. So, in that sprite I ware Air Pillows.
841 – 972
Angel of Death
Major Cristen Larson was mentally extremely flexible in abstract think. The product of A FEW Thousands of years of diligent breeding. Her Count Zero plan terrified the war college. The general consensus of the high council was this experiment had gone too far. They promptly locked the Major in a Virtual reality matrix. From within Larson hacked the central computer and collectively fried the entire council. Her matrix then knifed through the Emperor’s ice field to stand before the throne of Shadus the Five. “Very resourceful,” quipped the Emperor. This was how Major Cristen Larson became LT. Colonel Cristen Larson.
LISA
Outside
It’s a kitchen that he’s led Pippa into. Ceiling high sash windows reveal deep snow outside and she blinks against the brightness. He asks her what they need and ‘Freedom’ comes out as ‘Pillows’.
She doesn’t want to be their spokesperson. She stares past him; out of the window at the snow. Escape would be futile. It’s drifted, deep and seems to stretch forever. Something unspoken hangs between them and she fills the silence by repeating the word Pillows, then adds a ‘Please’.
She wants to get back to the basement, back to the others and away from his stares.
NORVAL JOE
Scowling, Sabrina crossed her arms like Linoliumanda’s presence was a personal affront.
They gathered around the sinkhole and stared at the jeep, sitting in the mud at the bottom. The oozy slime wasn’t as cushy as pillows but must have softened the jeep’s landing, as the Black Knights didn’t appear to be injured.
Linoliumanda continued to walk away.
“Linoliumanda,” Billbert called.
“Linoliumanda,” Buhmilda repeated.
“Linoliumanda?” Sabrina asked.
Linoliumanda turned and shouted, “Stop calling me that.”
Billbert scratched his head. “Why? That’s your name.”
She stomped her foot. “I know. But it’s too long. I wish people would call me Mandi.”
PLANET Z
Dave is a discerning fellow.
Dave shops for pillows by asking the salesperson to lay on the bed.
Then he holds the pillow over their face and holds it down until they suffocate.
Oh, Dave isn’t a serial murderer… he is a buyer for a major hotel chain.
People expect a comfortable pillow, but they also expect a functional pillow.
If the salesperson doesn’t suffocate, he doesn’t buy the pillow. And runs from the store.
And if they do, he orders thousands of the pillow for all the hotels in the chain.
From another salesperson, obviously. One that isn’t dead.
CHATGPT
In the quaint town of Fluffington, a rebellion was stirring among the pillows. Tired of being squished, fluffed, and flung around, they decided to stage a protest. The Pillow Union demanded better treatment and softer cases.
The leader, Sir Squishington, organized a pillow parade down Main Street. Feathers flew as they chanted, “We won’t be sat on, we won’t be tossed, we demand respect for the fluff we’ve lost!”
The mayor, a weary old cushion named Cushy McSoftface, tried to negotiate. In the end, a compromise was reached: a mandatory daily fluffing session and a ban on pillow fights. Fluffington finally rested peacefully, one pillow at a time.
Cake is the painkiller
The nurse asked if I needed painkillers, I didn’t need any, so I said no.
But I should have asked for some cake.
Because, seriously, I wouldn’t mind a slice of cake.
And it doesn’t have to be a big slice.
A small one would do.
I really just want that first fork of it, taste it, feel it.
Everything after that is just gastronomic dry humping and pushing rope.
That’s how the senses work, you know.
Too much of something, and you desensitize to it.
If anyone that worked with feeling dumb after every stupid injury I cause myself.
The proper burrito
Burritos need to be wrapped like they’re about to be loaded into the back of a coroner’s wagon.
The rice needs to be so Spanish, when I walk into the restaurant, it puts me on the rack and makes me confess and convert.
The onions grilled to the point where they make themselves cry.
The refried beans need to be cooking for a decade in a pot that’s never been cleaned.
The kitchen needs to be an animal carcass horror show designed by Toby Hooper.
And when you stick in your fork, it bursts like the chef facehugged John Hurt.
Blanketing
It’s 49 out.
So the heat is on.
I wear a blanket… I’ve got lots of blankets.
But none of the fucking things is Goldilocks JUST RIGHT.
Some too light.
Some too heavy.
Some too thick and warm.
Some have bad memories associated with them, but I can’t bring myself to donate them or give them away or throw them out.
So, I put on a thick warm blanket, and I’m too hot.
I turn on the fan, and it’s now blowing too hard on my face.
I’m cold. I’m hot. I’m tired.
I curl in a ball and cry.
Walk for exercise
I walk for exercise.
My Apple Watch tracks my distance and pace, and lets me know when I’ve walked for 45 minutes for the day.
I try for more than 60.
Then, I sprained my knee.
Siri kept pestering me about closing my activity rings.
In spite of my being crippled.
So, I turned off the notifications and got rid of the activity watchface.
Now, I have a timer watchface.
Fifteen minutes for putting on ice.
30 minutes to take off the ice and put the pack in the freezer.
Repeat those steps until I can do my walks again.
Boil water notice
There was a power outage at the water treatment plant.
The redundant transformers worked brilliantly… they both failed at the same time.
The pumps stopped, and the water pressure dropped for a few minutes.
It took a few hours for the city to issue a boil water warning text messages.
So, I boiled water and filled up some pitchers.
Drinking. Cooking. Brushing my teeth.
And I didn’t shower for two days.
When the notice finally came out to stop boiling water, I was boiling water for tea.
I stopped. I looked at my phone and sighed.
And took a shower.
The next locker over
Danny can’t write poetry.
It’s just words that rhyme. Like a six year-old would write.
So he asked one of those machines on the internet.
And it wrote poetry for him.
Good poetry. Not great, just good.
Good enough, because when he wrote it in the card he gave to the girl with the next locker over, she smiled, and she kissed his cheek.
He kept the internet machine on his phone.
And it told him the things to say, to write, and to do.
The cheerleader had the same thing on her phone.
To tell her how to respond.
Weekly Challenge #923 – PICK TWO Aurora, Hard to believe, Contribution, Crew cut, Dealers, Dirty
RICHARD
Dave
Hard to believe that Dave is leaving the company after thirty years, the place won’t be the same without him.
We couldn’t let him go without an appropriate gift, so I was tasked to collect a small contribution from all his co-workers to buy something suitable.
It was tricky. What do you buy an accountant, with no apparent interests?
He was universally hated by pretty much everybody he worked with, which was reflected by how much his collection totalled.
Just enough to buy a ‘Sorry that you’re leaving’ card, and nothing more.
Serves him right, for being such a jerk!
TOM
The Plan
It is hard to believe that something could abide beyond are ability to descript it. But there hides in the leaves, swirls in the clouds, darts in the flames is: Atopy. A concept describing the ineffability of things or emotions that are seldom experienced, that are outstanding as original in the strict sense. Were as Profanity and vulgarisms can easily and clearly be stated, but by those who believe they should not be said, they are considered ineffable. Thus, it is the invisible battle between good and evil that rages about us. Only the Contribution of grace maintains the balance.
840
Just a guy from the north side.
My dad was a spook. The Navy Korean Conflict or as the guy in Naval Intelligent point out one beat away from World War Three. He was enlisted, pretty much a grunt. But he had a single grunt skill: printing. With a life long love of offset, he hoped to work for R.R. Donnelley after the war. Figured a tour in the navy would give him a leg up towards employment. The navy’s need for a printer was to process the mountain of incoming recon Images. So, at the tender age of 22 my father got a life-long security clearance.
LIZZIE
“My name is Aurora,” she said out loud over and over again. There were only a few days left till the end of the year. She was ready. Leave, she thought, leave. Go make your dreams come true. The dreamcatcher freed you from your nightmares. Just go. And she packed everything she had. A moment of hesitation made her stop. The door was open, just waiting for her to leave. She looked at the wall. “Come,” she said. “Come with me.” She took the dreamcatcher with her, an entanglement of past tears, hope and healing. “Aurora. My name is Aurora.”
SERENDIPIDY
You think you know me, but I have a dirty secret.
Trust me, it’s a secret that you’ll find hard to believe.
It’s not the body count, the horrors I keep in my cellar, or the way that people who cross my path mysteriously disappear.
You already know those things, they aren’t exactly secrets. After all I write about them every week in these stories.
My secret is far darker, so much more disturbing and goes way deeper than anything you think you know about me.
But I’m not going to tell you… because then it wouldn’t be a secret!
NORVAL JOE
Billbert scowled at Sabrina. “It’s hard to believe you could be so rude and turn your back on your cousin when we all came to Buhmilda’s place to escape the Black Knights.”
Just then a rusted and dirty jeep burst into the meadow headed for Linoliumanda.
Billbert levitated and shot forward hoping to grab Linoliumanda in time. He was afraid he was too late, when Buhmilda raised her hands, clapped, and a sinkhole opened before the jeep and it and its occupants dropped out of sight.
In tears, Sabrina shouted, “I don’t know why you like her more than me.”
PLANET Z
Deep in the Duchy of Yon, Castle Windbreak is a sight to behold.
Marble and onyx, pearl and gold and silver.
From the magnificently painted vault ceilings to the deepest dungeon, an exercise in opulence.
Those who break the laws of The Duchy find themselves in the greatest luxury.
For just one day.
The guards wake the prisoners up from their comfortable beds and drag them to… The Pit.
Rotting bodies, crusted-over bloodstains… and yet, it was magnificent somehow.
So magnificent, prisoners barely notice the headsman’s axe.
The guards wash themselves afterwards, don clean uniforms, and return to their duties.
CHATGPT
Amelia, with her crew cut and indomitable spirit, ventured to the Arctic, chasing the elusive aurora. The kaleidoscopic lights danced, a celestial contribution to her dreams. As she marveled, a grizzled old local whispered tales that seemed hard to believe — ancient stories of mystical beings cloaked in the northern lights. Determined, Amelia discovered a hidden society of aurora guardians, their existence unknown to most. Dealers of cosmic wonders, they entrusted her with the responsibility of preserving their ethereal legacy. With dirty secrets unveiled, she became a guardian herself, forever connected to the mesmerizing, untold realms of the polar night.