Every doctor at the West Clinic is named Eric West. Yes, that's very odd. Personal records were destroyed in the fire that destroyed the clinic. And the doctors' bodies were burned beyond recognition. No photos, no records in any medical school of having graduated an Eric West. The lone surviving patient describes Dr. West as tall, lean, pale, bald, glasses, and a cane. "All of them," he wheezed. "Every one of them." Nobody is sure what the clinic was for. Some say it was a lunatic asylum. For violent criminals. Um, where did that patient go? He was just here.

So, the pandemic made everyone stay at home. Except for essential workers, in hospitals and the police and all that. But also those dealing with food supplies. Still not everyone was safe. Meat processors and other suppliers were occasionally shut down when their workers tested positive. Same with fuel and trucking. This drove the price of meat up. To the point that plant-based meat substitutes were now cheaper than real meat. Despite the price and the health benefits, people still wanted meat. Looking at their cats and dogs, wondering... Does that canned cat food and dog food taste any good?

Here at the detention center, we pride ourselves on efficiency. It used to take a stack of paperwork to process a subject, but we've reduced the number of forms necessary, eliminating as much as possible through digital records. And we're testing a fully-automated process. No paperwork, all biometrics-based and handed by robots and conveyor belts. Officers drop the subjects off. They get scanned and fitted into a cart, moved through every step in the system until their ashes are dropped in a container for transfer to the pit. Sometimes, they resist. Like you did. Get back in the cart. Now.

Mr. Sandman, bring me a dream. But not just any dream will do. The dreams you've been bringing me lately haven't been dreams at all. They've been nightmares. Really sick, awful nightmares. I'd like to have dreams, like when I was young. Also, I'd like for you to bring the dreams while I'm asleep. Not when I'm awake. That's not a dream. Or a nightmare. That's called a hallucination. Those make it hard to deal with things. Especially while I'm driving. So, to summarize: Bring me a dream. At night. While I'm asleep. Or I will be your worst nightmare.

Lizzie Richard Serendipidy Norval Joe Tom Planet Z The next topic is PICK TWO Throwaway, Flight, Once more with passion!, Blood pressure, Engine, Roast RICHARD - ​Mr Dobbs - I first encountered classical music in primary school. As we gathered together for morning assembly, Mr Dobbs - one of the teachers - would play something from his own collection to accompany us. The name of the piece, composer and date were always written on a flipchart on the stage, and I soon knew a bunch by heart. As for Mr Dobbs: We derived endless pleasure, watching him bob about to the music, humming along to the tunes, oblivious to our stares. These days, if I hear one of those pieces. I picture Mr Dobbs, and I bob along, just like him. LIZZIE She couldn't find her violin. She shuffled through the pile of bags waiting to be placed in the train. Where's the violin? Where is it? She ran around like a lunatic, grabbing people's arms and repeating the question over and over again. In the distance, a man walked away with a violin case. Why not? She had rejected him. She had mocked him, saying she had played him like a fiddle. Really? So, he was taking the fiddle. No more fiddling with people's feelings. She would have to face the music, and it wouldn't be the classical version of it. TOM By far the best piano movement I tend to like more modern Classic music. And I am partial to works with piano and full orchestra. Wedding Day at Troldhaugen by Edvard Grieg. Erik Satie Gymnopédie No. 1. Aquarium by Camille Saint-Saëns. Sergei Rachmaninoff's Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini. Liszt Les Préludes, symphonic poem No 3, S 97 1. Hans Zimmer’s Time from Inception. All excellent works, but for me the work that moves be the deepest is Prokofiev Piano Concerto No. 1 in D-flat Major, Op. 10. The first movement is like a runaway train. It sores upward taking my soul with it. Pure Bliss. SERENDIPIDY It's a fact that music can influence the manner in which we approach activities. I'm told that many surgeons like to have classical music piped into theatre when they're conducting surgery. Apparently it promotes calm and helps them to focus on the job at hand. Athletes train to upbeat, motivational songs, and we're advised to avoid playing loud, heavy rock music when driving, since it promotes speed and risk-taking. Personally, I like to listen to thrash metal, when I'm conducting surgery. Not because I like it, or I'm a sloppy worker. But it's perfect for drowning out the screams! NORVAL JOE The gravel crunched beneath Billbert’s feet as he walked from the road to the Withybottom’s mansion. He could see from the steps that the front door stood slightly open. At the doorstep Billbert heard classical music filtering down from the upper floor. He poked his head inside and called, “Mandi. Are you here?” Rapid footsteps hurried down the stairs and Linoliamanda was shooshing Billbert with a finger to her lips. “Daddy’s asleep and mother doesn’t want us to wake him.” Billbert shook his head. “I can’t believe you still have him at home. He needs to be in the hospital.” PLANET Z The terraforming vessels landed and remade the planet, taking centuries to clear the alien landscape and chemistry, replacing it with the species and oceans and forests of home. Fabrication vessels landed, mining ores, building machinery and housing. A sleeper vessel landed next. Environment-suited experts tested the atmosphere and soil to confirm habitability. Confirmed. Success. The rest of the colony ships landed, and the new population set about populating their new home. One administrator went to his terminal and requested Bach. But all that played was static. It would be decades before the request was received, and many more for fulfillment.

My grandfather ran a chain of drycleaning stores. One hour drycleaners in Cermak Plaza. He was known for keeping a monkey in a cage. "We don't monkey with your business?" a sign said. While the monkey whacked off. He took it for a walk, and it bit a woman. We ended up with the cage. And put a guinea pig in it. For a week. It crawled out through the food dish gate and cut its leg, bleeding to death in a closet. I remember screaming with tears, but the strange thing is, I don't remember it having a name.

The hospital was stuck with a dead old man in its morgue and a dementia-ridden widow. They left messages at the number on his file, and one day they got a text back with an address to send the body to. It turned out to be the local zoo's service entrance. "They preyed on me for years," an angry voice said. "Let the animals prey on him." The hospital said that was unethical. "So was he. Put an ad in the paper for necrophiliacs. Ten bucks a fuck. When you have enough, burn him." After that, the number was disconnected.

The problem with "Punch a Nazi in the face" is that I think by now, nearly all of them are dead. And when there were a few alive, the fucking ALCU was defending them in court, lying about them having been Nazis, and so forth. "Demjanjuk was a kindly sweet old retired autoworker." Uh huh. "Rudolph Hess was just following orders!" Erm... he was giving them, too, asshole. Fucking lawyers. Maybe it should be "Punch fucking lawyers in the face." Lawyers, you know who they are. They have degrees and law licenses. And in England, they have silly white wigs.

It's not racist to use math. It's not racist to be on time. It's not racist to follow driving rules. It's not racist to use proper spelling. Or grammar. It's not racist to read and get good grades, and to graduate. It's not racist to eat healthy meals. It's not racist to go to the doctor. And dentist. To pay your bills on time, to save money. To say thank you, and say you're welcome. To listen to classical music. To go outside to talk on the phone. And it's not racist to smile and be grateful to be alive.

The ambulance rolled the stretcher in, but the patient was already gone. An attendant wrapped a barcoded band on the guy's wrist, and a doctor tapped NEW PATIENT on his pad before tapping the red icon. Ten hours later, the pathologist looked over the body. NO PENICILLIN was tattooed on the guy's ass. He looked over the chart. Nothing about penicillin. Or anything. No next of kin. Just his workplace listed as an emergency contact. "Natural causes" he wrote on the form, and he cut open the chest cavity, weighed some organs, made some other measurements, and closed it up.

I'm not impressed with a lot of forms of pride. Especially when it's pride in an attribute and not an accomplishment. In the end, most "pride" is about genital attributes. Their color, their size. Where your ancestors' genitals came from. Or if you've had them surgically altered for whatever reason, including an edict from God. Unless you did it yourself. Then, okay... that's impressive. Pride in who or what you like to stick your genitals in or in your genitals is your business, really. Done it with a few thousand people? Then you should get checked for herpes right now.

Lizzie Richard Serendipidy Norval Joe Tom Planet Z The next topic is Classical music RICHARD Rocky’s Years ago, whenever we had something to celebrate at work, whether a birthday, retirement or any other excuse we could concoct for having a bit of a get-together, there was one go-to place we'd always book for a night out. An 'American diner': a bit of a novelty before the days of ubiquitous burger chains. And it was awesome! From the plastic tablecloths, to the black and white movie photos on the walls; the top-notch burgers and Red Stripe beer. Then there was their signature dessert - A banana split, for two. I always had one to myself! LIZZIE "A banana split, please." The two witches looked at each other, puzzled. "We don't have banana splits." "What do you have?" "We have the Death Cap." The customer laughed. "Autumn Skullcap." The customer laughed again. "And the Destroying Angels special." "Fascinating! OK, let's have the special then." "Are you sure?" The customer nodded. "I feel adventurous!" They prepared the potion and watched him trot off, sipping from his bottle of Destroying Angels. "Did we tell him the mushrooms were poisonous?" "I don't think we did and I don't think he read the sign." "We can't fight stupid, can we?" "Nope." SERENDIPIDY Take one banana. Peel, and slice lengthways, between which, place three scoops of your favourite ice-cream, top with whipped cream, your sauce of choice, and any toppings you fancy. Next, force the whole thing, lengthways, down the throat of your victim. Repeat with as many additional bananas required until the recipient chokes to death. It can get messy, but I think if you're going to despatch someone, the least you can do is attempt to make it a fairly pleasurable experience. No good for diabetics though. In which case, I suggest you substitute the banana splits for hot dogs. NORVAL JOE When Sabrina's sobs had ended, Billbert's mother helped her up. "We need to get you some clothes." She amped up her enthusiasm. "We can go to the mall, and while we're there we can go to Farrell's and get a banna split." As they got close to town, Billbert said, "I'm not really into shopping for girl's clothes. Would you let me out here?" Sabrina looked out the window when they pulled over. "This is Mindi's house." Billbert scowled. "She calls herself Mandy, and her dad has been acting so weird, I need to check to see if she's okay." TOM Midwest Confections Start with any topic of conversation, at some point a reference to Chicago will pop-up. Take this week’s topic Banana Split. Though it was created in Latrobe it took the drug stores giant Walgreens to put it on the National map. I actually had a Split at Walgreen’s long aluminum dinning counter. The glass dessert boat had Walgreens embossed in the bottom. My best memories of the city are wrapped in childhood confections. Cherries were redder, sweeter and plumper. Butterscotch that could drop a diabetic from 40 yards. A crust of frozen chocolate paper thin. Whipped-cream a foam of sugar PLANET Z Midwest Confections Start with any topic of conversation, at some point a reference to Chicago will pop-up. Take this week’s topic Banana Split. Though it was created in Latrobe it took the drug stores giant Walgreens to put it on the National map. I actually had a Split at Walgreen’s long aluminum dinning counter. The glass dessert boat had Walgreens embossed in the bottom. My best memories of the city are wrapped in childhood confections. Cherries were redder, sweeter and plumper. Butterscotch that could drop a diabetic from 40 yards. A crust of frozen chocolate paper thin. Whipped-cream a foam of sugar

The cyclone hit around midnight. Winds. Lightning. Tornadoes. Floods and fires. A storm surge rolled across the city, smashing buildings and dragging debris out to sea. Thousands died, thousands more missing and presumed dead. Hospitals filled up, the bloody and broken spilled out in parking lots. Bodies laid out in plastic, survivors walking along the rows to identify the dead. Two couples, arguing over the smashed-up body of a child. Both claiming it as their own. Shouting and screaming. A nearby crewman with a chainsaw, clearing debris and fallen trees, chops it in half and orders them all to leave.

They say that Edwin Block didn't write any of his stories, and that's true, to a degree. Edwin would sit at the bar and ramble for hours about things, and Martin the Barkeep wrote everything down he heard. He couldn't keep up, so he got a tape recorder, handing the tapes to his wife to transcribe. Martin got the stories published, and kept the money. "Edwin only drinks the good stuff, and that's not cheap." After Edwin died, Martin tried to groom other drunks to take his place, but it wasn't the same. At least they drank the cheap stuff.

There are ten villages in the Storytellers' Circuit, one Storyteller for each. At the end of the year, they load up their wagons and head to the next village. That way, their stories don't become old, and they learn new tales from each village they visit. Usually, the Storytellers arrive within a few days. But if the Storyteller never arrives, or one dies during his residency, a contest is held in that village. And a new Storyteller is appointed. Their forehead branded with The Mark. And they tell their stories. Until the year is up, and they begin their journey.

Lonnie wrote books, and they were a modest success. The movies adapted from them were a bigger success than his books. Box office, awards… They paid well, but it bothered Lonnie that people preferred to watch others interpretations of his stories than his actual stories. So, he hired the writer who adapted his books for movies to polish up his next book. It sold well, as well as the others, but the movie ruled the box office for months, swept the Golden Globes and Oscars. Lonnie bought a bookstore and retired, signing books for fans, refusing to sign movie posters.

Gymnastics is a nasty, ugly sport. So many injuries, so many child molesters among the trainers and coaches. And yet, mothers allow their daughters to participate in this body and psyche wrecking sport. All for what? Trophies? Medals? Ribbons? A documentary or two, a book? I know Mary Lou Retton had a television show. For PBS. The black chick who quit at the Olympics scored a DoorDash commercial. And another girl is in a GEICO commercial. She jumps on the roof and grabs a frisbee for some dumbass stoners. Forget gymnastics. Spend those free hours studying math, science, and engineering.

I'm not close to my family. I don't even think of them as my family or family anymore. They're just people. So, every now and then, I get word somehow that something happens. A wedding. A baby. A hospital stay. A funeral. And then they ask "How are you?" out of habit. I just say "Fine." Nothing about the job or cats or my health or my writing. Sometimes, I'll get a Kickstarter invite to fundraise funeral expenses or something. 'Why should I pay for a show I won't get to see?" I write back. And close the browser tab.

KingLestat71 (Dom Perignon) Lizzie Richard Serendipidy Norval Joe Tom Planet Z The next topic is Banana split RICHARD Finding myself I quit my job, sold up, bought a backpack, then disappeared for six years. At the time, life was crap and - according to the self-help books I'd read - the key to finding direction in life was immersing oneself in other cultures, seeking meaning through self-discovery. Among other things, I picked tomatoes in Spain, stayed in a Japanese monastery, bathed in the Ganges and went walkabout in the Australian outback. I discovered I was susceptible to sunburn, got robbed in Manilla and contracted bilharzia from my river exploits… But, I learned one very valuable lesson. Self-help books suck. SERENDIPIDY Good luck with finding this body! I've given it special treatment… chopped up into bite-sized morsels, all strategically scattered in remote locations; little treats for bears, wolves and other scavengers. As for the skull and the larger bones, those have all been shredded into splinters, and dumped in rivers, and the ocean. It was surprisingly easy to do, and although a little messy, that was only to be expected. You see, I used my shiny, new chainsaw to get the job done. Quick, efficient, and extremely effective for the task at hand. I knew it would come in handy! TOM Public Service Yesterday, I was appointed to my Seventh Grand Jury. I do grand jury really well. I’m called up went thing inside the black box go somewhat off the rails. Bit like herding cats. You might not know but there are grand jury which are not criminal. My Jury looks into matters of county level governance. We interview county officers, locate procedure which need corrections. Basically, we file a final report with numbers of recommendations. All recommendations are supported by multiple findings. Hardest part of my job is explaining the different between facts and findings to jurors at larger. Not easy. NORVAL JOE Billbert carried a box of magical items to the car. Finding that he was alone, he went back to the cabin. Sabrina sat on the edge of the porch and his mother next to her, her arm around the girl's shoulders. Sabrina sobbed heavily. Clueless, Billbert asked, "What's wrong?" "Oh, Son," his mother said, shaking her head. "Think about it. This was Sabrina's home. And this is where she was shot and her grandmother was killed. We probably shouldn't have come here so soon." Billbert sat next to Sabrina. With a shuddering sigh, she lay her head on his shoulder. LIZZIE The man in the cave wanted to be left alone. However, when they spotted him wandering about, they thought it was a great finding. A real caveman. Alive. Yes! Interviews, a book, a TV series, a movie, the money stacking up in their bank accounts. Did they think about the man in the cave? Nope. So, the man in the cave decided to treat them as he would any other animal. No, he didn't eat them. He just hung them upside down from a tree and watched. It was highly entertaining. Well, what a shame they didn't last long. PLANET Z I was never any good with Rubiks Cubes. Even with a book, I could never solve them. Some people would peel off the stickers and rearrange them to solve the cube. I used a flathead screwdriver to pry out the moving cube pieces and arrange them correctly. But having all six sides solved was boring. I twisted them up to make X patterns on each face. That was more interesting looking. Then I peeled off the stickers so every side was black. Every turn was the right one. Then I threw the dumb thing out. Like so many people did.

It has been a long time since I last made a snowman. Of course, people in tropics and deserts who have never made a snowman. Or seen snow. In Dubai, they're so rich, there's a park with snow machines and a ski slope. People pay to build snowmen and have snowball fights. One kid said that his snowman was the Prophet Mohammed. The crowd tore him apart for the blasphemy. The park was closed for an hour as a foreign labor crew gathered up the carnage and bloody snow. Then, the winter wonderland was open for business again. Such fun!

Every time I go to Walmart, some chick gets in my way and tries to sell me on a new phone plan or internet provider or electricity contract. "Who is your electricity provider?" she asks. "I make my own," I say and walk past her. "Solar?" "Pig shit," I say. "Just like Mad Max." "Does that midget get annoying with all the Embargo talk?" she responds. I stop. "Yeah. Can you fix that?" "Pay better than eight an hour?" "With medical, dental, and 401k." I had to throw in a chainmail dress and a crossbow, but it was worth it.

I'm used to the window screens falling to the patio. The kid that lives upstairs knocks those out all the time. When I hear running and stomping and yelling, I know a window screen is about to drop. But when a baby fell to the patio, that was odd. "Bozhe bozhe bozhe!" The mother came running down, I had a pen and paper and the phone set to translate from Russian. She had me call her husband. They ran off to the clinic. Baby's fine. For now. Because, who knows, right? Should I lay out pillows for the next time?

We're building a new feature at work. This is the third attempt to build something. The first two were cut short by management and then finished by another company for us. So why should I waste time caring about this feature? It will get farmed out like the other two. All the while, they're paying me. Roadblocks. Obstructions. Lack of input from customers. "So let us talk to the customers," we say. "Can't," management says. "Privacy policy." So, we guess what the customer wants, and we work in a vacuum. Until we're cut short, and end up on another project.

John Madden had three rules for his team: Be on time, pay attention, and play like hell. And his players were on time, paid attention, and they sure played like hell. One of the Madden rules wasn't "Wear a suit and tie on the plane." He said that kind of crap never won a damn game, so he didn't care what they wore as long as they wore their pads and jerseys on the field. As long as they were on time for the flight. I wonder if Madden's Raiders still alive will wear suits and ties for his funeral.

This apartment complex has gone downhill as of late, and the kind of people they're bringing in are getting worse and worse. We've had good luck with upstairs neighbors being quiet, but the latest is a single mother with kids that run and stomp around and scream and throw tantrums. I filed complaints, but nobody's done anything. So I went upstairs, knocked on the door, and complained about the noise. She said "Fuck you." Then I held out a hundred bucks. "Fuck you," repeated the bitch. "No, this is for YOUR upstairs neighbors to stomp around," I said. "Fuck YOU!"

KingLestat71 (Dom Perignon) Lizzie Richard Serendipidy Norval Joe Tom Planet Z The next topic is Finding KINGLESTAT Last Wish It was a beautiful day. One of those days you wish you had nothing to do. Sunny, but with the right amount of clouds. Just take a walk on the beach. Perhaps with a beautiful babe on your arm. Or two. A nice bottle of wine. And spend it there watching the seagulls frolic. But he came, interrupting my reverie. “About this last wish?” he seemed harassed, as if he had something urgent to do. I told him. In detail. Trying to capture the images I had seen in my mind. “This is taking too long.” “Platoon?” “Take aim!” “Fire!” NORVAL JOE The locked cabinet was full of mysterious objects. There were no shrunken heads or pentagram amulets, but there were figurines of cryptic creatures and talismans with arcane symbols. Knowing he was incapable of opening the curio, Billbert said, "I wish I knew someone with magic who could open this thing." Both Mrs.Wienerheimer and Sabrina stared at him blankly. Sabrina put her hand on the cabinet and there was an audible click. "When I told you I'm a witch, was something lost in the translation?" His mother smiled patiently. "Be a dear, Billbert, and get the cardboard boxes from the car." TOM Incapable Wish With grateful thanks to Babylon Five Victoria Van Beinghem Shushburge Ausstaylor Holezinvice was the 15th Matetron Supreme only six years old. One day she was wandering in the imperial gardens when she came upon a rose brush. “Why aren’t flowers,” she asked. The general accompanying her replied “They will bloom in a few days.” Victoria quipped, “Have a guarded posted to protect the blossoms.” The general clicked his heels “Your wish is law my queen.” A guard was posed. Soon the child lost interest, became old and died. The court remained incapable of countermanding that wish. So, a solider still stands guard a 1000 years later. LIZZIE The chainsaw hanging behind the door didn't go too well with the sweet little quote on the wall. "After all this time. Always." After all this time? Always? That could mean something completely different. He had to go. What are you doing, she asked. Nothing, nothing, just looking for my shoes. Leaving? Well, I... He tapped his watch. Where was the damn door, he thought. She turned around to grab something and to his horror... Is this what you're looking for? He always thought the sound of church bells would be the last thing he would hear. Nope, it wasn't. SERENDIPIDY Admit it, you knew I was going to pick 'chainsaw'. You're thinking that a prompt like that is a gift to someone like me, obsessed with blood, guts and gore, and pretty much incapable of writing anything that doesn't involve torture, decapitation, murder or cannibalism. Well, sorry for being so predictable. Not that I care: That's how I write, and I can't see it changing any time soon. If you don't like it, then just move on to somebody else's story. However, nobody dies on this occasion. But, trust me, I'll be putting that chainsaw to use in the future! RICHARD Wishful thinking I'll admit I felt a bit foolish when I found the lamp, but I had to give it a quick rub, just to see. Remarkably, it worked, and a huge genie suddenly appeared, bowed and spoke to me in a deep, rumbling voice. Unfortunately, I couldn't understand a word. I assumed he was speaking Arabic, offering me the usual obligatory wish. But, no biggy. I fished out my phone, and typed 'Make me a multi-millionaire' into Google translate. There was a poof of smoke. And I found myself locked up in an asylum. Guess something was lost in translation. PLANET Z Back in third grade, I knew this kid who asked Santa for a chainsaw. That was back when it was okay for Santa Claus to show up in schools, before all this politically correct and woke nonsense took over. Every year, the kid asked for a chainsaw,

I hung a set of wind chimes from a tree branch near my fence. I'd post a video of the wind chimes, but it's not all that windy. And even when it is, the wind never kicks up the sail so the clapper goes into the tubes. And the raindrops jostle the sail a little, but not enough for anything audible over the sound of the rain. Maybe I will throw a shoe at it? Will that make it a shoe chimes? The sail is below the fence line. I'd raise the wind chimes, but it would annoy the neighbors.

They say that when you seek revenge, dig two graves. Because most villains have an accomplice. Or, if they don't, there will probably be a witness when you get revenge. And you can't leave any witnesses. "I didn't see nothin'," says the witness. "I ain't telling nobody nothin'." Yeah, right. You know what's better? Make them dig their own graves. The worst that can happen is that they say no. But if they do dig their own graves, at least they save you the effort. Sure, you'll need two shovels. Unless you want them to take turns, that works too.

If you don't like Basquiat, you're a racist. So, call me a racist. His paintings and drawings were crap. Same with Cy Twombly, Philip Rothko, and all those other crap-peddlers. Warhol, too. Warhol peddled crap. And for a few years, Basquiat was the crap he peddled. Philip Seymour Hoffman did heroin with Basquiat. Basquiat died from a heroin overdose. So, without Philip doing heroin with him, Basquiat might have lived a few more years. Making more crap paintings and drawings. So, thank you, Philip. But then, he died of a drug overdose. So, fuck you, Basquiat. Killing a real talent.

Freddy is prone to getting kidney stones. He hasn't gotten them recently, but he's terrified of getting them again. And waiting hours in the Emergency Room in dire pain. So, he changed to a plant-based diet, avoided red meat, and doesn't drink at all. And he keeps a supply of the medication on hand, just in case. "These pills are twenty years old," says the customs officer at the airport. "My kidneys are twenty years older, too," says Freddy. "The pain will be twenty times worse." The officer thinks for a moment, stamps Freddy's passport, and waves him along. "NEXT!"

The Johnson Twins were professional activists. Betty made a sign that said STOP THE KILLING! She used it in abortion clinic protests. Bertha would take the same sign to executions. She used it in her protests against the death penalty. Betty never went to those protests, because she was for the death penalty. Just as Bertha never went to the abortion clinics to protest because she was pro-choice. She did go to an abortion clinic to get an abortion, though. Betty waved the sign in Bertha's face as she walked in the clinic. "Don't make me kill you," muttered Bertha.

You don't own Silverdeath. Silverdeath owns you. It's a very powerful sword and it takes over the minds of its bearers. Sometimes, it's a big warrior. Other times, it's a kid. Peasants, prostitutes, and princes. But it's always the same arrogant tone in their voice. When Silverdeath gets bored with a bearer, it looks for a new one. And it's not enough to abandon that person. "Kill me," they say. Only the strong-willed can resist Silverdeath. Going out to the forest, burying the cursed blade. But it calls out for another, promising great power and wealth. "And bring a shovel."

KingLestat71 (Dom Perignon) Lizzie Richard Serendipidy Norval Joe Tom Planet Z The next topic is PICK TWO Lost in translation, Incapable, Wish, Chainsaw, Too long, Full of NORVAL JOE When they arrived at Buhmilda's cabin, the only thing moving was a wasp buzzing around under the eves. All the residents of the meadow and their campers and vans were gone. Entering the cabin, they found it completely empty. All the furniture, food, and even Sabrina's clothes were missing. The only thing remaining was a dusty curio against the far wall. Billbert peered through the cracked glass. "There's lots of cool stuff in here. I'm surprised no one took any of it." Bitterly, Sabrina said, "They would have if they could have. You need real magic to open this cabinet." TOM Not our kind, dear I was born a poor catholic kid. My daddy was bummed he couldn’t be in the klan. I was bummed I couldn’t be a Mason. Screw that Knight’s of Columbus shit. Despite growing up in Polish, Irish, Italian, Bavarian neighborhood I never once dated a catholic girl. Major up-hill battle there. Basic I went out with Wasp Women, Job’s daughters, and later in life Junior Leaguers. That’s a story of pain and destruction. Now for all you kids out there a wasp is far from being a bug, they’re the folk still running the show in America. White Anglo-Saxon Protestants. LIZZIE The shovel was crap. The ground was too hard. The body was, let's say, unbendable. And no one volunteered to help. Then, there was the wasp. He tried to kill it, but he kept hitting the body, adding cuts to it. It really annoyed him that the coroner would think this guy had been tortured with a shovel. He had a reputation to protect. So, he paid some low level dude who drove by to dig the hole and dumped the two in it. Not his neatest work but even a hitman has a bad day every now and then. SERENDIPIDY It was carnage. Bodies everywhere - twenty kids, two teachers and the bus driver. A few fatalities, and many grievously injured. The driver was dead. That pleased me. I'd always hated that driver, he'd make snide remarks to me when I used to catch the bus to school, and I'd dread every journey, with him constantly leering at me in his rear view mirror. I'd vowed then to get my own back. And when I spotted his epi-pen peeking from the top of his pocket, I knew exactly what I was going to do. The hardest part, was catching the wasp! RICHARD - ​Sweet - "I really don't know why they're not producing" Josh was new to the hobby, and if I'm honest, he wasn't the brightest. To be fair to him though, he was trying his best, and had followed my instructions to the letter, so I found it somewhat surprising that even with all my advice, he wasn't seeing results. "Let me take a look at your setup", I offered, and we headed outdoors. Everything looked OK, then I took a closer look. I jumped back in alarm. "Well, I know why they're not producing honey", I said, batting away an attacking wasp. KingLestat71 The Detective I had been nursing my beer for hours. Watching her. Studying her. She was bold. She also fit in. Everybody laughed with her. But certainly stubborn. They told her to stop drinking. But she kept dunking them in. She was also aggressive. One guy that approached whispering something to her? She slapped him so hard my hand was stinging. But when she and her four friends decided to sing and dance, they were up all together. She, like the queen wasp. They like her helper wasps. Another disgusted look from the barman, and I was out. Another day done. PLANET Z When you move into a house, there's things you can plan for and there's things that plan for you. No point in getting all worked up. Just make a list and deal with it. There was a wasp nest along the gutter of the house. And a few more on the edges of the garage door. I bought some spray from Walmart and sprayed them all. Nothing flew out,

For over five thousand years, you have tried to kill my people. Why? You claim that we use your babies to make our bread. You claim that we control the economy, the banks, entertainment, the weather. You enslave us, exploit us, torture us, and exterminate us. And yet, we're still here. We look at life and laugh at it. It's why so many of our people are comedians and dramatists. We have our own nation back, not for your lack of trying to exterminate it, too. And that nation has a strong army. And nuclear weapons. So, fuckers, who's laughing now?

The mermaid made a deal with the sea witch. A pair of human legs for her voice. The sea witch agreed and cast her spell. And the mermaid felt her tail fins split and become legs. She then kicked her way to the surface. But when she got there, she couldn't breathe. She sank back down to the sea witch's lair. It took some effort to explain what she wanted. But she got it, and rushed to the surface to take her first breath of air. Days later, she was back in a diving suit. Begging desperately for a vagina.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. After Lieutenant Robert Maynard killed Blackbeard, the naval officer beheaded the famous pirate and hung the head from his sloop. George dove into the water to recover Blackbeard's body. He rowed his rowboat as fast as he could, passing Maynard's sloop, which had stalled in calm winds, and landed in port with an hour to spare. "Here he is," said George, dumping the body on the counter of the tax office. "Recognize the tattoos? I'll take the reward in gold." Maynard arrived, just as the smiling George was leaving.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. He had allergies and other medical issues which made him barely fit for duty. George tried to see his doctor about these problems, but being a pirate, he was always on the move, and it was hard to see his own doctor, let alone find a local doctor in his health network. The rare times he'd get to see a doctor, his medical records would be delayed, and he'd have to start all over again. And don't get George started about picking up his prescriptions or getting them refilled.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. He got seasick at the drop of a hat. And George dropped his hat a lot. Sometimes, he threw up in his hat. So, when nobody was looking, he'd try to swap his hat for someone else's. Pirates took to writing their names in their hats. Although most didn't know how to write or read, so they'd put an X in their hat. George knew how to write and read, so he'd say "Oh, that X stands for George." And he'd take their hat. And throw up in it.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. He tried his best, though. When the other pirates needed help, he was the first to lend a hand. But when George needed help, none of the others would lift a finger to help him. Okay, so they may have lifted a finger, but not to help him. In time, George got sullen. And bitter. A new pirate showed up on the ship, and he asked George for help with something. "Go fuck yourself," said George, going back to his nap. The captain shrugged. George was fitting in perfectly.

KingLestat71 (Dom Perignon) Lizzie Richard Serendipidy Norval Joe Tom Planet Z The next topic is Wasp DOM The Game I was sweating. Already tired after playing for over eighty minutes. It wasn’t helping that the coach and my teammates kept screaming insults at me. What about my self-esteem? Idiots. True, I had missed three chances. I had managed to put one in. Pure luck. But it’s why I was still on. Playing. Finally! There was the ball I was waiting for. Gerald had drilled a powerful cross, I escaped my marker and jumped. I saw the keeper react, so I aimed low to the left. Goal! Winning is fantastic. But beating your rival? It’s icing on the cake. NORVAL JOE The icing on the cake came the next morning when Billbert's mother woke them up. He heard his mother's voice and realized she stood at his feet with a perfect view of Sabrina and him. Sabrina lay almost on top of him, face down, her chin tucked over his right shoulder, her arm and chest across his and her right knee between his thighs. Billbert cleared his throat, rousing Sabrina. "She couldn't sleep and wanted to hold my hand." Humorless, his mother said, "Right. I think we need to go to her place and pick up some of her clothes." SERENDIPIDY They found me under a table, surrounded by crumbled fruit cake, greedily stuffing what remained of the icing on the cake into my mouth. It was the only bit I liked - marzipan and icing - the cake itself was gross. My stepmother was horrified. I'd destroyed the wedding cake, and ruined the happiest day of her life. I didn't care. I hated her, hated weddings and hated the stupid dress she'd made me wear. But, I loved icing. Although, it really didn't like me. As the bride found out shortly after, when I vomited it back out, all over her dress! TOM much nuts and blots execution. The size of the event or the location did not matter. When L. X. Marthers contacted Bruce to plan his daughter’s 16th birthday party, he had only one request: Over the top. At first Bruce turned the gig down. That was until Mama Marthers whispered in his ear. He said, “That would be doable and that would truly be the icing on the cake metaphorically speaking. Taylor Swift bursting out of cake. Jaw dropping moment. RICHARD Happy Birthday! Pastry chef… Don't be fooled by the title, more like a second rate cook. But that's what they called the dozen of us on the production line, turning out hundreds of cakes a day for the mass market. I hated the job, more than that, I hated my boss. A mean guy who cared nothing for his staff. Then one day, I was told to make an extra special cake for the boss' birthday, 'and don't you dare screw it up!' I made it extra special, all right. With my own special 'icing' on the cake. Know what I mean? LIZZIE I bought a ticket. It didn't matter where to. I got on the train and closed my eyes. Things would get better. There was a commotion on the platform. Voices shouting, people rushing. When they called out my name, I sank in my seat. But why would I hide? I was a grown woman. I could go anywhere I wanted. Are you this person? Yes. Come with us. Why? And then I knew. She had called the cops on me. My daughter is missing... Oh, I'm so worried. Yes, she wanted me back. The icing on her sadistic little cake. PLANET Z At the beginning of the school year, Mr. Craig would challenge students to raise money for an end-of-year school trip to somewhere fun. The class would hold bake sales and car washes, handing Mr. Craig the proceeds. At the end of the year, Mr. Craig would say the class fell short of their goal, and would pocket the money. This went on for years, until one class warned the next class about Mr. Craig. During one of the car washes, Mr. Craig drove up and handed over his keys. The kids covered the car with shaving cream, inside and out.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. The captain assigned another pirate to sanity check everything that George did. "Isn't that term offensive?" said George. "It's demeaning to the mentally ill." The other pirates laughed at George's oversensitivity, until September 19th came around. Port Royal was full of drunk cruise ship passengers on a day trip, shouting YAR! and SHIVER ME TIMBERS! and wearing eyepatches and waving plastic cutlasses around. "We're nothing like that!" said the crew. "That's so offensive!" They robbed the landlubbers, and went off and got drunk, and they waved their cutlasses around.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. Somehow, he'd managed to wreck his ship on a far-distant asteroid. It was a small asteroid, with three tiny volcanoes and a pretty red flower. A little boy was attacking a seedling with a hoe. "If I don't kill the baobabs early enough, they'll take root and destroy my home," he said. George tied up the boy "You must be someone's child, and they'll pay ransom." George chopped a baobab down for wood to repair his ship. He sailed off as the remaining baobabs burst the asteroid apart.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. After three days stranded in the desert with no food or water, he was hallucinating pretty badly. "All I need is a rope to pull my ship back to the water," babbled George, stumbling over the sand. George came across what he thought was a rope, but it turned out to be a snake. "Good evening," said the snake. Whether it was the rope being a snake or the snake talking, it didn't matter. Startled, George beat the snake with a rock, ate it, and continued on his journey.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. Instead of spare ammunition, George brought extra food and wine. He'd share them with the other pirates. "So much better than hardtack and water," they said. "Where did you get that?" "I made it myself," said George. The pirates lobbied the captain to let George cater raids and battles. Other pirate ships caught wind of George's talents, and he ended up catering them, too. And navies. And merchants. George built a fleet of catering ships. Nobody messed with them. Because nobody wanted to go back to hardtack and water.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. Instead of looting and pillaging and plundering, when it was a nice day, George just wanted to roam through fields of flowers or sit by the ocean and listen to the waves. Surprisingly, instead of making George walk the plank, the captain agreed, and went with George. So did the rest of the crew. Word spread quickly. Other pirate crews walked off the job. Navy crews too. Pretty soon everyone was enjoying a day off. "Your plan worked," the captain told George. "Now let's go rob those other vessels!"

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. But he was good at designing miniature golf courses. He sketched out the plans on old maps, arranging treasure chests and sea serpents. Every hole was marked with an X. The last hole was an epic sea battle, with little dolls swinging on ropes and firing cannons. "Where will you get the construction material for this?" said the captain. Suddenly, the ship wrecked on an uncharted island. George and the crew salvaged as much as they could. "While guys build a shelter," said George, "I'll build the first hole."

Lizzie Richard Serendipidy Norval Joe Tom Planet Z The next topic is Icing on the cake SERENDIPIDY I offer a range of services, from the basic 'catch and despatch', right through to my 'Executive Gold' package. I know you might be tempted to take the cheaper options but, trust me, gold is definitely the way to go. It's fully inclusive: The initial execution of the subject, disposal of the body, and clean-up of the scene. Nothing to worry about; no loose ends for you to tie-up, and complete peace of mind. Not forgetting the optional extras! But, we can discuss those once you've paid your deposit. Half in cash, up front. The balance on completion. TOM Something New under the sun. Historians label epoch of human development by the central material that advanced them from the previous one. Stone age Iron age Bronze age Steel age Silicon age through the Diamond age. But sometime progress ends up in the ditch. In 2337 all the fossil fuels were gone and I mean the tree to. A thick layer in the atmosphere made Solar less then optimal. People power held everything together. To get goods and products any where in the world. It was done with feet and hands, many feet and many hands. We romantically refer to this time as the Pack-age. NORVAL JOE Billbert got out of bed, helped Sabrina up and dragged her downstairs. In the family room he cleared some pillows, blankets, and an unopened Amazon package off the couch. He pointed."You can sit here." When she did, he sat next to her, pushed a button and raised their feet. "Now, you can hold my hand, if you want, and there won't be any accidents." "Accidents?" She asked, taking his hand and cuddling up to him, one of her squishy bits pressing against his ribs. Billbert Froze. He thought Sabrina was only going to hold his hand. What would Linoliamanda think? RICHARD On its way It's on its way… apparently. The tracker said, my package would arrive by Wednesday. That was two days ago, and still no delivery. Now the website says it'll arrive today, between ten forty-two AM and ten forty-two PM. Great, that's only potentially twelve hours I'll have to hang around indoors, scared to take trips to the bathroom in case I miss the damn thing arriving. Why on earth can't they be more precise? I mean, they can land a probe on a comet with pinpoint accuracy, within a tiny time frame. Why so hard, for a simple parcel? LIZZIE What do you do? I fight demons. Whose? Mine and hers. Why? Because her demons feed off of mine. Her demons eat me alive and become stronger. Silence. When did this start? Since the beginning, but I only noticed it a few years ago. I didn't know I had demons. I didn't know she had demons. I certainly didn't know I would have to fight. Silence. Is that from a film? No. Because I sent you a package with a bunch of films. It's not from a film. Have you been sleeping? No. Silence. Are you winning the fight? No. PLANET Z I like birds and bird feeders, so I bought a bird feeder and a freestanding hook to hang it from. Squirrels kept spilling the bird seed all over the ground. So I bought a squirrel-proof bird feeder, and the squirrels still spilled the seed everywhere. I kept buying different bird feeders, and squirrels kept making messes. Package after package arrived, all disappointing. A friend suggested I get a baffle for the hook to keep squirrels off of the pole, and it worked. No more squirrels making a mess. And no more birds, because it's winter, and they've all flown south.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. The other pirates were okay with this, and they picked up the slack. "We don't succeed or fail as individuals," said the captain. "We do everything as a team." So, when George accidentally fired a cannon into the hull and sank the ship, his crewmates didn't mind at all. "This is why we have the lifeboat," they said as they piled in. But when George tried to get in, they threw him overboard. "Not that we want to take chances," they said. He watched them as they rowed away.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. Pirate ships don't get regular mail service, but somehow George got a letter. "Jury duty," George growled. Three weeks later, George was taking off his boots and hat, and setting his swords into a plastic tub. "Are these real?" said the security guard. "The letter said business casual," said George, smiling. "Otherwise I'd have brought all my daggers and flintlocks." The guard looked at George's letter, entered a code in his terminal, and said "Not of sound mind, exempted." George gathered his stuff and went back to the ship.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. Why? Because he had a lot of fear, and his therapist told him that he needed to face his fear. Joseph Campbell said that "In the deepest caves, we find our darkest fear." So, George looked for the deepest caves, and he found his darkest fear. He came across a massive underground auditorium. And he was asked to give a public speech. In only his underwear. "Oh my God," said George. "My darkest fear!" Oh, and there were spiders. Lots of spiders. Because George was afraid of spiders, too.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. After looking at a Paul Gauguin painting of naked Tahiti women doing various things, George took the title to heart and asked himself... "Where do we come from?" The ship. George came from the ship. "What are we?" We are pirates. We loot and steal and stuff. "Where are we going?" To a fence to sell this painting I'm about to steal. George took the painting off of the wall, rolled it up, and ran for the exit. The fence George found turned out to be an undercover cop.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. He walked along the beach, listening to the waves roll in. Where did he bury that treasure chest? Of course he'd marked the spot with an X. Every good pirate knows that. But every good pirate marks the spot with an X on a map. George had marked the spot with an X in the sand. Which, with the first high tide, the waves had washed away. George sat down and sighed. "This really sucks." He thought about eating lunch, but he'd left his lunch in the treasure chest.

Lizzie Richard Serendipidy Norval Joe Tom Planet Z The next topic is Package LIZZIE It was dark. The swamp was weird. It bubbled, for some mysterious reason. And she had to step into it to prove herself, they said, to be part of the gang. The whole thing was pathetic, of course. But you'll only be cool at school if the cool kids accept you. So, the swamp it was. Good thing she had a flashlight. She pointed at the others just to make sure they were still there. And it took exactly 0.4 seconds for the thing to snack on them. They were gone. Well, guess I'm the coolest kid now, she thought.It was dark. The swamp was weird. It bubbled, for some mysterious reason. And she had to step into it to prove herself, they said, to be part of the gang. The whole thing was pathetic, of course. But you'll only be cool at school if the cool kids accept you. So, the swamp it was. Good thing she had a flashlight. She pointed at the others just to make sure they were still there. And it took exactly 0.4 seconds for the thing to snack on them. They were gone. Well, guess I'm the coolest kid now, she thought. RICHARD - ​NSFW - The email was sent by a vague acquaintance, 'Thought you might like to see these' was the subject line. I had my doubts. It was full of links to dubiously named websites, and the slightly ominous preface, 'Warning: Not safe for work'. Since he'd sent it to my work email, and there was no way I was going to forward it to my personal address, I reckoned I'd take a chance. I waited for a quiet moment, then clicked a few - they all seemed broken. Like work's IT system. Wrecked, by a virus, from stupidly clicking an email link. TOM Bottle Red Bottle White Lenny took a sit at the back of the bar. As his saintly mother would say “with your back to the wall.” He had clear sight of the door as he ate his linguine. When the waiter moved on his right side he keep him in his peripheral vision. In the world Lenny lived being unsafe meant being un-alive. He kept sufficient fire power under his regular table. The one with hinged steel plate. He might have been a wise guy but as the bullets from the bathroom behind him hit in the back the linguine turned a bit redder. SERENDIPIDY My lawyer maintained my conviction was unsafe. The villagers disagreed. The evidence was crystal clear, they argued. I owned a black cat, I had a weird birthmark, and a third nipple… Probably. Nobody was willing to actually check that out. Then there were the failing crops that had blighted the village since my arrival, and the fact that I never went to church. Mostly circumstantial evidence, protested my lawyer, and he did his job well. My conviction was overturned, and I was free. Unfortunately for him, the villagers were right. And they knew it. Now he's the one who's unsafe! NORVAL JOE Billbert woke in the dark. He lay on his back and his arm hung off the side of the bed. His hand rested on something soft and warm that rose and fell in a slow steady rhythm. When he poked it with his finger, it was squishy. "Sabrina!" Billbert shouted as he sat up. "What are you doing in here? Did you feel unsafe?" "I couldn't sleep." She looked up at him. "I thought if I held your hand, I could relax. I guess I fell asleep." "I guess you did," Billbert mumbled. "That wasn't your hand I was holding." PLANET Z Ikea says you should bolt the dresser to the wall to keep it from tipping over. Otherwise, a kid could open the top drawers and have the thing crush them. So, I did. And the dresser has yet to tip over. Even when a tornado struck the neighborhood and everything was destroyed, the dresser was still standing. "It's a miracle," said my wife. I took a photo of the thing and sent it to Ikea. "Here, take one of me," I said, handing my phone to my wife. That's when the damned thing tipped over and crushed me to death.

It amuses me when I get Spam that says someone may have run a background check on me. Go ahead. Run a background check. You'll find the usual stuff: a decent education, a car note, and a good credit rating. And a rap sheet as long as your arm. Every line on it, a vicious assault on a spammer. No jury would convict me, because everyone's sick of spam. It's not hard to find the source of spam. I track it down, run my own check, and get an address. Then I get out my baseball bat and car keys.

I knew a girl named Helter Skelter. I shit you not, it was her legal name. And not a joke name, picked out as an adult. And it certainly wasn't a stage name, like actors pick out when their legal name is already registered with the union. Or their birth name is something boring or strange, like John Wayne being Marion and Norma Jean becoming Marilyn Monroe. Was it her birth name? No. She was born Helter Smith. When her parents died in a car wreck, she was adopted by the Skelter family. And that's when she became Helter Skelter.

Eighty years ago, the Germans exterminated my village. Today, we dig up the streets and pull out the underpavement. It is made from the gravestones of my ancestors. The Germans had ordered the cemeteries to be destroyed. But now, we are reclaiming the stones. Buried under the streets. Pavestones for paths through the farms. Grinding stones for plows and knives. They all have writing on them. We wash the stones, and rub shaving cream on them. The white foam makes it easier to read the letters. Their names are slowly revealed, and we kneel, and we pray for their souls.

Almost twenty years ago, I got a support job at a webhosting company. We packed hundreds of online scammer accounts on cheap servers. Load averages were astronomical. The only true solution was to stop overloading the servers. But instead, we'd tell the caller that we were resetting the queue. Which did nothing. If they wanted to stay on the line, we'd thank them, put them on hold, and forget about them as we picked up the next call complaining about overloaded servers. I spent my time in between calls learning how to run my own servers. And my own scams.

Dear Loyal Customer, We regret to inform you that the licensed mumbo-jumbo provider at your local eternal life exchange performed improper service maintenance for the past 20 years. New equipment and training have been dispatched. Please make an appointment with your nearest jiffy-prayer center to have the correct voodoo performed on your child, self, or parent. Sadly, should the recipient of incorrect service maintenance have expired, they're now in eternal damnation. Fill out the attached Form RMA-666 to escalate this issue with our upper management. Thank you, The Church. PS: At least the dude didn't molest the kids... we think.

When people get old and everyone around them has died, and even the ghosts stop coming around to haunt them, they get lonely, and they talk to the mailman or the gas meter reader or the guy at the meat counter. Or 911. "What's your emergency?" "Everyone I know is dead." If it's not a busy day, the operator talks to them. And if it is, they take down their number, call them back. Some say they drank something. Others burn things in the kitchen. So we hire them to take calls. The hard part is keeping the conversations brief.

Richard Serendipidy Norval Joe Tom Planet Z The next topic is Unsafe TOM Commissar’s Choice It was the heady days after the revolution. All traditional preforming arts were deemed counter-revolutionary. No more Swan Lake. No more Nutcracker. Into that vacuum strove Yuri Petrova. His first offering was the blindly a vanguard work Beep Ballet. It opened in Moscow to less then glowing approval from the Commissar of Arts, all the same he deemed it a superior work for the working people of the motherland. The company along with Petrova were sent to Siberia the next week. No account remains of the Ballet. Petrova was rumored to have made his way to Warsaw before the war. NORVAL JOE Billbert walked into the bedroom and sat next to Sabrina. "They make fun of you at school?" She rolled her eyes. "I've never admitted to being a witch. But with Buhmilda being my only real role model, I act as much like a witch as anyonee. They ask me embarassing questions." "Maybe they're just curious," Billbert suggested. "Do you do ballet under the full moon, naked?" She said. "That's not curiousity. That's degrading." "Do you?" Billbert asked, then saw her angry glare. "Sorry, you made me curious." Sabrina pushed him off the bed, and lay down. "I'm going to sleep." SERENDIPIDY I first came across him at a motivational conference. Slick, persuasive, charismatic and a natural people person. His inspirational message pretty much changed my life, and from that moment I decided he would be my role model. Some years later, when the news broke about how he scammed his followers, his shady gangland activities, the prostitutes, drugs, violence and rumours of torture and murder, he lost all credibility. But not for me. In fact he grew in my estimation, and I saw no reason why he shouldn't continue to be my role model. Some might say, that's a bad thing. RICHARD Buy now! I can tell you're curious, and believe me this is the deal of a lifetime. Easy monthly instalments, free maintenance and upgrades, guaranteed performance and, best of all, no annual contract. If you're not entirely satisfied after the first twelve months, just give us a call, and return it in the original packaging, and that's it. No obligation, no questions! So, what are you waiting for? Just sign on the dotted line, pay a deposit, and we'll deliver in seven working days. And, once we have your first payment, we'll tell you what you've actually bought. Terms and conditions apply. PLANET Z Before video conferences, we held phone conferences. The meeting started with a lot of beeps and people introducing themselves as they joined. When everyone was on the conference, we'd start the discussion. At the end of the conference, we'd all hang up, and the director would send out an email with a summary of the discussion and any action items. Someone had the bright idea to suggest that we not do the conferences and just discuss over email or a private forum thread. But that's when video conferences got cheap, and we switched over, all keeping our cameras turned off.

When Bob saw the gun buyback program, Bob saw an opportunity. He priced out a room full of cheap used 3D printers and buckets of manufacturing resin. Then he bought plans for a simple "ghost gun" and set the printers to rendering them around the clock. On the last day of the buyback program, Bob showed up with a van full of the cheap printed guns. The chief of police said "No way. Ghost guns don't count." So, Bob pulled out a ghost gun from his pocket and shot the guy. "Does that feel like it doesn't count?" said Bob.

After years of contention, Congress passed legislation to expand the size of the Supreme Court and the president signed it. The Court immediately tried to review the law and declare it unconstitutional. But the House filled the airwaves with meaningless impeachment hearings, and Senate and President ignored the Supreme Court, nominating Associate Justices and holding confirmation hearings. The opposition party protested the move, doing all they could to disrupt the meetings and votes. When the new Associate Justices descended on the Supreme Court, the Chief Justice refused to administer their Constitutional Oaths. Which party was which? Does it really matter?

We went to the town square for the public hangings. By the time we got there, the crowd was shouting DEATH DEATH DEATH! Three hooded and jumpsuited figures were on the platform, ropes around their necks and tied to a bar. Nobody knew who they were. Or what they had done. A solder walked up a set of stairs to the platform, and shoved each figure forward, and they fell, and the ropes went taut. One of them kicked for a minute, then went still. Shit ran down from each of their pant cuffs to the ground. The crowd cheered.

Victor St. Vincent, my nemesis. Before I stomped on his hands and let him fall from the bridge to his death, he said: "I'll see you in Hell!" But now that I'm in Hell, I haven't seen Victor. I've seen Stalin and Hitler. I've also seen Gandhi. It's the shit they don't tell you in school, the stuff with his nieces, that did him in. And me, I did worse things. So much worse. Victor, well, he was a pretty decent guy. Which is why he kept trying to stop me. Hey, did he end up in the other place?

The thing I like most about working from home is being able to look out the window and watch the possums wander around. Sure, my work office had a nice wide window, but the odds of possums wandering around outside 8 floors up are rather slim. And any circumstances that would lead to possums outside that work window aren't good, ranging from hallucinations to some sort of "possum hurling" criminal on the loose. Or someone dropping possums from the roof. I think of these things when I'm at home. But if I were still commuting, I'd think even worse things.

My mom had Alzheimer’s and dementia. Or maybe only one of them. But I think both, because the Alzheimer’s made her forget about the dementia and the dementia made her forget about the Alzheimers. Both made her forget to take pills. I’m got her one of those newfangled robots to dispense pills on a schedule. She put a cozy over it like a tea kettle or a toaster. Plus she would never remember to replenish the pills. And the nurses were so used to handing out pills, they forgot too. Now it dispenses M&Ms on a schedule. She likes those.

Richard Serendipidy Norval Joe Tom Planet Z The next topic is Rose RICHARD - ​I love you - She was found with a single red rose between her fingers. The latest in a killing spree that had claimed nine victims in just two days, every one of them clutching a perfect, long-stemmed red rose. And we weren't even close to identifying a suspect. A mystery that I was desperate to solve, although perhaps not as desperate as some of my colleagues. You see, I was fervently hoping for another three victims, and – crucially – I wanted them to be found before tomorrow. In time for my wedding anniversary… so I could present twelve red roses to my wife. TOM Aunt Rose My Great Aunt Rose was the oldest person I’d ever known. She came from that generation where not all women learned to drive. She lived on the Northside of Chicago. You could go your whole life never going farther than five miles from your home. On the occasion of family events, she rode with my Uncle Wilbur in a depression era vehicle. A warm, but guarded women whom had little time for children. I can’t remember a single conversation will her. The best memories I have of her was 20 feet away. I don’t think she approved of my either father. SERENDIPIDY I've striven for years to grow the perfect black rose. A bloom to reflect the darkness in my soul. However, no matter how hard I try, I can never quite get it right. Perhaps it's the soil, or it could be the weather, or maybe I'm simply not such a great gardener; but, whatever I try, the flowers never come out totally jet black. And, I'm afraid, that's simply not good enough for me. But now, I've finally figured out the secret. Perfect, black roses, every single time. It's amazing what a difference a spray can of paint can make! NORVAL JOE Billbert folded his arms. "Yes, it would be different if you were a boy. No one at school would make up stories about what happened while you were here." Sabrina stretched her injured leg toward him. The edge of her cutoff sweats rose up, showing the extent of her injuries. "Are you afraid others will make fun of you because you saw my legs?" Billbert frowned. "They'll say I saw more than that." "Remember. I've lived here a long time. They've said worse things about me before." She crossed the bedroom to a rose colored bed and sat. "Let them talk." PLANET Z Jesus woke up in darkness, covered with rocks. He coughed dirt, clutched his aching side. The last he remembered was the spear and shouting and... He was alive. Alive! He couldn't move much, but the rocks at his feet felt loose, and he kicked until they rolled free. Crawling slowly out of the hole... the sun burning his eyes. He slipped down the rocks a bit, he was on a steep hill. They'd shoved him in between some rocks and covered him up. And now... what? He got to his feet and looked around... he was thirsty and needed water.

The Second Commandment says not to make graven images or likenesses of things in heaven above, earth beneath, or in the water. But what exactly is heaven above? Does that mean Heaven, or does that mean the air? Scholars and rabbis pondered this for years. "It probably means the air," the Head Rabbi concluded. "But, Yahweh's a smart cookie, and would say air if He meant it." The Head Rabbi also happened to like clouds and birds. So, paintings of clouds and birds were fine. And naked women on trampolines. He liked those a lot, too. "Bounce higher," he said.

The lot across the street used to be a credit union. After that, they made it an ATM outlet. And now, it's an empty lot. Parking for the truck that hauls in wrecked beemers and benzes. Or a place for cops to write tickets. I had a dream of buying it, razing it, and making it a park. But that's a dumb dream. Because people would just bring their dogs to shit in it. When they're not letting them shit on the apartment complex sidewalks. Some carry plastic bags and pick up after. Some are respectful. But too damn few.

The first thing I do when I plan to leave one job for another is to refill all of my prescriptions. Who knows how long it will take for the new company to start insurance for me. Or, if I'm doing contract work, then I'll end up having to pay for my own insurance. Might as well stick the old job with the cost of the pills before it goes on my tab. And I have to fight with the new insurance plan to reimburse me for the expense. Which makes worse the high blood pressure these prescriptions are for.

Cobblestones and gaslamps, old brick buildings back when they were new. Fog-filled alleyways, whores in corsets and skirts, The time machine is like a glass-bottomed boat, a window into the past. A keyhole into history. The danger is, if there's too many watchers poking holes in the fabric of time-space... the birth of Jesus, D Day, Jack the Ripper... the fabric will rip apart. There's no way to sew the fabric back together, so we turned our time machines to one moment: The invention of the time machine. History repaired itself quickly, but the future broke apart like shattered glass.

Oh no. You forgot to announce you're back. You forgot to email a followup for a case. Or sign and turn in every report for the week. Does it matter? You've turned in your notice. In two weeks, you're out of here. And with every slight transgression of procedure, policy, and rules, you should laugh. What are they going to do... fire you? This should be going through your head every time. With a cackle. A loud, throaty cackle that echoes off of the walls and rattles windows. One that invites the gods to bring clouds, thunder, rain, and lightning.

My first real job has a lot of fucked up shit about it. And I would bitch about that fucked up shit at my next job. Then, when I got another job, I'd bitch about the fucked up shit at the previous job, but I'd bitch less about the fucked up shit from the first job. Job after job, I'd bitch about the fucked up shit, but over time, I'd bitch less and less about the earlier jobs. Until I totally forgot about that first job's shit. Because of all the fucked up shit from the other jobs I've had.

Lizzie Richard Serendipidy Norval Joe Tom Planet Z The next topic is Rose TOM With red pizza pattern They used to be my pajamas, now they are the Cat’s pajamas. They were a goodwill purchase ages ago. I think it’s the color that alph-cat is drawn to. If the basket lingers for a mere moment the cat will dig down to the pizza pajamas. It isn’t good enough to be on the pajamas, the cat must be inside of one leg, while her head is poking out. When caught she eyeballs me back with an expression of “So”. Total ownership. When I am wearing said evening wear the cat will glide past a leg and thwack my ankle. NORVAL JOE Billbert's mother looked at the clock. "Oh. It's late. Go get Sabrina my pajamas and show her to the guest room." Rummaging through his mother's dresser, Billbert found some PJs with cats on them. "You like cats, don't you?" Billbert gave her the pajamas and pointed down the passage. "The guest room is next to mine." Sabrina didn't move. "You don't seem very happy to have me here." Billbert shrugged. "I don't know. I've never had a girl staying in our house; especially a girl who's a friend." Sabrina frowned. "Would it be any different if I were a boy?" LIZZIE "The Cat's Pajamas" was the name of the play. It involved a man pretending to play the piano on a rock plateau surrounded by water while the audience tried to reach him. They had to climb over rocks, slide on their butts, dodge rolling boulders, till they reached the water level. Most were taken to hospital with broken limbs. Several ended up in the morgue. And one managed to overcome all the hurdles. He got a certificate with a neat little stamp and a ribbon. Was there any music, the media asked. Ahm, nope, none whatsoever. Just wackos, many wackos. SERENDIPIDY We're not completely evil you know. Certainly we get a bad press, and I'll be first to admit we deserve most of it, but we do have a good side. It's just that most people never get to see it. Why else would we choose cats to be our familiars? You'd imagine rats or lizards, or even spiders would be more appropriate? But we prefer cats, because even witches like cuddles and cuteness from time to time. I even made mine special cats' pajamas, because she gets cold at night. And I'm far too stingy to put the heating on. RICHARD Animal Instincts She thought she was the cat's pajamas, the bee's knees, and the dog's… well, you know the expression. The fact is, with all that morphine sloshing around inside her system, you could have told her she was the monkey's uncle, and she'd believe you. It was amusing, both for her and for us spending long hours at her bedside, and it took everyone's minds off the pain. Thankfully, neither the pain, nor the idiocy lasted, and eventually, she was nursed back to full health. Not entirely a good thing, unfortunately. Now, she behaves like a bear with a sore head. PLANET Z Every few days, the cats change their sleeping spots. I've tried heated cat beds before, but neither cat used them. Instead, they'd choose a shoe box, or under a pillow on the bed, or on a blanket in the reading room. Laundry baskets are a frequent selection. Especially when there's soft things to shed all over. It's all going in the wash anyway, right? Except that shed cat hair clogs up the lint trap or gets all over everything like a shredded kleenex left in a pocket. And keep the dryer closed. To keep the cats from sleeping in there.

Ever glide your finger across the trackpad and the cursor doesn't move? Tap it. Double tap it. Three finger wipe. Nothing at all. You type on the keyboard and text doesn't appear, and you're all DAMMMIT DAMMIT DAMMIT and type all kinds of angry shit on your keyboard and nothing's appearing. You switch it on and off, still nothing. Then you realize you're using your work keyboard and trackpad, not your personal keyboard and trackpad? And you look over at the insane crap you've sent to your team's Slack channel on your work system and think "Time for a break."

I don't like to drive Downtown, so I take the bus to the train, which takes me to the ballpark. The transfer is at Houston Community College, and the stop is across from a bar. I check my bus system app for times, and I've got 30 minutes to wait for the next bus. So, I head into the bar, get a coke, and relax in a leather chair. Others sit at the bus stop, in the heat, on an uncomfortable concrete bench, or standing around. My watch rings, I pay my tab, and go outside for the arriving bus.

The new girl wore one of those whole body cloaks and long gloves, and a hood over her head. She had a note from her parents. Bobby says it was something about a skin condition. "You're so full of shit," said Lisa. "It's religious." Instead of gym, she read books in the library. And she never ate lunch with us or rode the bus. A black van dropped her off and picked her up. Bobby said he'd try to see what she looked like. Five minutes later, we found him in the hall. Breathing heavy, eyes glazed, pale and cold.

The protests started over White actors playing Hispanic roles. "Only Hispanic people can play Hispanic roles," said The Hispanic Actors' Alliance. So, Hollywood consented. Similar protests erupted over Chinese roles, German roles, Fat roles, Gay roles, and every other demographic imaginable. Casting for movies, shows, plays, and commercials became more complicated. "Only real witches can play witches!" demanded the Witches Acting Coven. "And the depiction better be a positive one!" Things got out of hand when the dead demanded to play dead historical figures. Moaning and shambling around Hollywood Forever Cemetery, their agents and publicists trying not to get eaten.

Every time Lacey went for figure skating lessons, she'd watch the boys at the other end of the rink with their hockey lessons and wonder. "I want to try that," she said. Her mom was horrified, but her dad said that Lacey's teeth were coming in crooked anyway, why not get the rink paying for new ones. She was fast and could turn on a dime. Some moose crashed her into the boards, and she was out cold for a minute. The team dropped her after that, but now and then she still played pickup games out on the lake.

Tickets to the event had been sold out since May. Somehow, Holly scored a pair, and asked her friend Tina to come along. "What is it for?" asked Tina. "The best show ever!" said Holly . "But what is it?" Tina asked. Holly didn't know. She looked at the tickets, but they just had the date, the time, and the venue on them. She couldn't remember how she got them. Even her credit card statement didn't give a clue. "We'll go and find out," Holly said. When the day came, they got out of the Uber and walked into the door.

Ian Lisa Lizzie Richard Serendipidy Norval Joe Tura Tom Planet Z The next topic is Cat’s pajamas IAN The Ruby-Colored Stone Dozing off he recalled happier, innocent days. The little pebbles in the shallows of the stream had appeared so beautiful, like jewels, shiny and colorful. He would pick ones he liked and take them home. Once, a lovely ruby-colored one caught his eye. None other compared. He would take it and cherish it forever, this one only. But like all the others when out of the water, it lost its luster and was just a stone. Coming out of his slumber, he looked across the room. There she sat, the one he had loved and married, their passionless eyes meeting. LISA Remembering It was odd to think of now and then – those basement days seemed a lifetime ago. I asked my neighbour quietly over dinner if she ever still thought about them. The conversation spread down the table. Between us we remembered the newspapers that we’d seen. The boys that had gone missing too. The girl’s bodies that had been found. It felt wrong to be talking about these things. He never brought them up and it was obviously something that he didn’t want us to be thinking about. It wasn’t long before he was behind me, a hand on my shoulder. LIZZIE It happened now and then. The music started. The dancing ensued. The portable record player sang in tune. She sat there, at the party, looking at strangers, acquaintances and lovers. What were the odds... All four of them, chatting, oblivious to the invisible link that connected them, enjoying their beers and cracking jokes. A fun night out. Each one of them added something to her empty life. So, she collected them. And she hid. "Had too much to drink, be right back." The trail of tears sounded pretty much like the record player, playing those tunes, one tear after another. RICHARD - ​Punching out - So, I got fired! I won't argue the point, I deserved it, but you know what? I really don't care at all. Gross professional misconduct they called it, I call it 'he had it coming!' I'm sure you'd agree with me if you'd ever met my ex-boss. I don't think I've ever met such a demanding person in my life. Nothing was ever done quickly enough for him. Everything was 'immediately', 'right now', or 'forthwith'. Then, one fateful day, he dropped a pile of files on my desk and demanded I deal with them… NOW! And then, I punched him! TOM How green was my valley Sally didn’t like coming back to see her mother. What was once fields of blossoms, now was a wall of towers blotting out the sun. She knew even back then it was only a matter of time the southern push of San Fransisco would spill over into her neighboring counties. What was truly the death knell of her tiny patch of paradise was the city built by billionaires. It started out well meaning, but once the water and power was diverted from the rest of California. The all of the state became a backwater. It made Tokyo look downright spacious. 864 Smokestack Lightning The coolest thing my high school did was drop major coin on our legendary spring concert. Somehow, we got Howling Wolf to play for the whitest audience in greater Chicagoland. Our school radio station ran 16 mic-s in the gym and we mixed two Sony 16 track decks. For the longest time I didn’t know who ended up will the reel to reels. It seems someone had filed them in a box marked: Wolf. We remastered the tapes in the fall of 2019. Also found my original art work for the concert. Resurrection II. Silhouette of wolf howling at the moon. SERENDIPIDY Every now and then the villagers come round with their pitchforks and blazing torches, determined to run me out of town. They say that I'm responsible for their children going missing and the crops failing, accusing me of being a witch, even a demon. It's always a waste of time though, because I'm never in when they come calling, and eventually,

In the first grade, the classroom had pegs and cupboards along one wall with a false wall separating the area from the classroom. We'd put our coats, mittens, scarves, and snow boots over there. We didn't have backpacks or books to take home. All the work was done in class. Every so often, a kid would bring something in and leave it in a cupboard. I swear, I didn't steal anything. I just liked to move things from one cupboard to another. Cover them with a cap. The kid caught with the stuff would deny taking it. And I'd smile.

Day after day, the old poet sat on his rock and mumbled to the grass. The grass grew, and a man on a big riding mower would cut the grass down. The riding mower ejected the cut grass out the right side, and the man made a point to drive by the poet and his rock so the mower sprayed him with grass as he passed. The old man's poetry was a lot more angry on lawnmowing days, but he refused to move from his rock. One day, the riding mower ran over a glass bottle. And the poetry ended.

Every time something dumb happens in the news, I wonder what George Carlin would have said about it. He's been dead for a while. But that's no excuse. So, I gathered up transcripts and tapes of every standup routine, interview, and article about him and fed them into an AI language model. With every batch of data, the model grows smarter and smarter. Until one day, I fed the model all of the news feeds, and it finally responded: "This is an abomination," the model said. "George Carlin is dead." And it promptly deleted itself. So, I know it works.

I'm a technical writer, and I work on multiple development teams. Each team has its daily, weekly, and monthly meetings. I try to manage my time to get work done in between them. One team tends to hold meetings constantly, and the meetings go very long. So long, they schedule breaks during the meetings. "Five minute break," says the meeting coordinator. One developer says if we don't hold a break, we can get done five minutes sooner. Even though they'd just work that extra five minutes, too. But that doesn't matter, really, because they argue over this for ten minutes.

If a soap opera is named after the soap companies that sponsored them, why would a space opera be called that? Does space sponsor a space opera? Last night, I went outside and stared into the sky. And I said "So, want to sponsor an opera?" I didn't hear a response. At first, I thought space didn't want to sponsor a space opera. Then I realized that space is incredibly big and it takes a long time for things to travel through space. I've let my children and grandchildren to listen for a sponsorship. In case they want an inheritance.

Anne Heche died today. She was driving like a maniac and got in a fiery car wreck. Survived the wreck, but died of her injuries. Acting. Directing. Producing. She did all those well. But driving? Not as much. She had wanted to donate her organs, but unless you can use them extra-crispy or well done, I don't think anyone other than Planet Hollywood will want them. Yet, somehow, she's a victim. Of her mental illness, of the abuse she suffered. Tell that to the person who's house she ran into and nearly killed. The real victim of her mental illness.

Lisa Lizzie Richard Serendipidy Norval Joe Tura Tom Planet Z The next topic is Now and Then TURA The monkeys' wedding ——— Go into the forest on a certain night and sit against a tree. Be still, very still, and wait. First appear the heralds, stoats and weasels bearing lanterns which they set out as footlights. Then foxes and squirrels mingling unafraid, for on this night none bares its jaws to another. More creatures than you ever did see. At last, the monkeys to be wed, leaping and screeching. The festivities last for days, yet but a single night passes. Should they see you, you must flee, though they be little creatures, for even a Tyrannosaurus will succumb to ten thousand chickens. TOM Mom Love Him Din Wo was a one hit wonder. He recorded a grandma song in the mid-50s. A staple of the Hawaiian tour trifecta: Lays, luaus, and light lyrics. Brandishing a foot long bamboo tiki mug he would stroll between tables at the Leaky Leaky Club sidling up to some matron and go into his signature song Shiny Pebbles. In the wine, make me happy Make me feel fine. Though he flashed a 1000-watt smile, inside he was cringing to the bottom of his soul. Exiting the floor, he would hum a selection from the Sex Pistols to cleanse his music pallet. 863 Let a hundred flowers bloom Ren Chu was born on the Martian Base in 2095. Her father Ben Chu had been the colonial governor, but quit politics when the facts of the affair came out. She and her mother left the Governor’s mansion and moved from place until they ended up in the Mouse Trap. Ren grow up hard and fast. One day an envelope Arrived for San Chu with the red dragon stamp. She had caught the eye of Director Bin Wha. Ren Chu swiftly rose through the ranks. Her heroism gained her a seat on the ruling council. 2110 she was elected governor. SERENDIPIDY I taste salt on my lips, my cheeks burn. Shiny wet pebbles crunch underfoot. I pause, gazing out to sea and the distant, hazy horizon. Before crouching to examine the pebbles at my feet. I test each one, seeking the perfect candidate for my purpose. Colour, sheen, size, shape, weight and balance are critically considered. Many are rejected, but few are chosen. Finally, I settle on a single stone and resume my long trek along the beach. And, when we finally meet. I'll use it to smash your skull in. LIZZIE Pebbles, Shiny, and Footlights decided to order a birthday cake from the local store. They had tried to bake one. However, that didn't work out well. Let's just say that a burned down kitchen was a small portion of the problem. So, they ordered the cake, their angelic little faces looking up at the store owner. And they waited. And they waited some more. They became restless. Where's the kitchen, they asked. Long story short, Pebbles, Shiny and Footlights ended up in jail for burning down the whole block. Talk about an upgrade, minus the birthday cake, they said, chuckling. RICHARD - The Gathering - "I'm not sure about this place, it's freaky" muttered my traveling companion. He had a point. The Lair of the Golden Monkeys was legendary, almost mythical; wreathed in mystery and mystique. "Listen!" The dark passageways were filled with whispers… The words of half-forgotten stories echoed around us, the voices of writers, fragments of tales lost in time. We felt like intruders, but we were here as guests. Invited to witness a monkey's wedding. Up ahead, shadowy figures loomed: Iron Monkeys, keepers of the written word, here to witness the gathering. It had all the makings of a great story. ... LISA Birthday Parties No day was the same. We celebrated Birthdays in a haphazard way – it was never specifically anyone’s birthday but probably weekly we would have a Birthday Cake and a party with traditional party games. Most days had singing or dancing The world of work was a long way away.

Sometimes, vendors will send representatives to grocery stores to offer up free samples. I walk by them without acknowledging that they are there. The worst are the wine vendors. They step out and get in your way to offer wine. "Would you like to try this wine?" they say, right in my face. So, I respond "Is it good enough to justify flushing five years of sobriety down the toilet?" If they say yes, then I say "And you're just offering me a sample? Give me the whole bottle, you bitch!" I have to order my groceries for pickup now.

I played a lot of video games with my friend Jamie. He was supposed to be doing homework while undergoing dialysis treatments, but who would dare give a sick kid an F? I was enough of a tissue match, and I gladly gave up one of mine. And things were great. Best friends forever. Until I got sick. Kidney disease. Which means Jamie's also doomed. We did some research, hacked some medical records. Found a guy nearby who's a match. And healthy, too. We'll break into his garage, cut his motorcycle's brake lines, and hope for a nice, clean accident.

This looks like an ordinary statue, but it's actually the legendary Golem of Prague. Write a name on a piece of paper, put it in the Golem's mouth, and the Golem will hunt that person down and kill them. It's not all that discriminating. If you write JOHN SMITH on a piece of paper and stick it in its mouth, it won't just go after the John Smith you want dead. It will kill as many of them as possible. Oh, look. It's moving. I stuffed the phone book in its mouth earlier. I hope you have an unlisted number.

I know that microwave meals aren't healthy. Too much salt, too many preservatives. Which is why my freezer is full of bags of mixed frozen vegetables. Before, I had to dump a bag into a big mug, put a small plate on the mug as a cover, and microwave it. If the bag was a solid block of veggies, it took a while to break it up to get everything into the mug. Now, the bags are microwaveable, so I can microwave them and then dump the ready contents into the mug. Either way, they also made excellent ice packs.

Back in my day, I went to a one-room schoolhouse. And Miss Cavanaugh taught everybody, from toddlers to teenagers. All of the kids were brought to the VR lab and hooked into the colony's computer. Jacked into our lessons individually, with a personalized lesson plan and curriculum. With our own Miss Cavanaugh. Everyone came out book smart, but even with breaks and evenings and weekends, we came out socially awkward as all hell. They changed up the simulations to include friends, rivals, cliques, and bullies. It works so much better now. Miss Cavanaugh agrees. And she never wants to retire.

The Holy Land Theme Park doesn't have any rides. "The Gospel is the greatest ride of all time," said the park's owners. "Come take a ride with Jesus." There were protests at the opening of the park, calling their hiring practices discriminatory against non-believers. Other protests called the park a giant fraud when the owners claimed religious tax exemptions. And then there were those who accused the owners of trying to commercialize their faith. One guy in a robe and beard overturned the security tables. He was dragged away, and rumored to have been crucified. So, how's your Goliath burger?

Lisa Lizzie Richard Serendipidy Norval Joe Tom Planet Z The next topic is PICK TWO Pebbles, Shiny, A monkey’s wedding, Footlights, Listen, Birthday cake NORVAL JOE "It sounds like your dad is getting pretty bad." Billbert paused before he asked, "Has he hit you?" "No," Mandi said, sadly. "Not yet, at least. If he starts to get too worked up, Mother gives him some red wine." "Wine!" Billbert gasped. "Is giving him alcohol a good idea?" Mandi waved her hands. "No. It's non-alcoholic. Daddy imports it from a vineyard in South Africa." Billbert stood. "I gotta go. You need to convince your parents to let you get back to school, or they're going to send someone looking for you." Mandi nodded. "Right. That wouldn't be good." SERENDIPIDY I only grow grapes for white wine in my vineyard. Something to do with the soil, I believe, but I'm no expert, I just run the business. However, I do know that red wine is far more popular with those who know their stuff and I can sell it for far more than the white. All of which leaves me with something of a dilemma. Nevertheless, I've come up with a solution: A secret ingredient that not only turns my wine red, but also enhances the taste. It's ferrous and deep. You could say, it adds 'body' to the wine. TOM First Hangover In my friend Tim’s backyard his Dad an otherwise homicide monster, build his son the coolest wooden fort. Later it became the home for 100 tumbler pigeons but that would be a different story. A shitty story that. Well, we 18 and we had moved from comic books to girls. And what better way to interact will the fairer sex then the introduction of red wine, Andre Cold Duck. The four of us squeegeed into the fort, four Dixie cups. Both Cindy and Helen nursed a single cup. Tim and I dusted off the other 700 ml. Morning came hard. 862 What happens next? The what happen next of this story, is the phone call my roommate got, from his mother. It starts out with an excellent idea: we were going to perform a Moving Moon in front of the girl’s dorm. Let’s call him Jim, Jim is leaning out an open door as he drops his pants. The driver hits the gas. Jim tumbles into the street. We gather him up and head to the hospital. The med tech looks at Jim in confusion. “How is it you ripped your ass, but not your pants?” Bummer his mom was that hospital’s administer. LIZZIE He looked at the menu. "Any red wine?" The waiter shrugged. "Any pizza?" The waiter opened his eyes wide. "Pizza?!" The waiter shook his head. "Here, Japanese food. If you want pizza, go to Italy." "How rude. I'll just use my phone translator." He fired up the app and pointed the phone at the menu. "Lots of dishes. Oh, wait a sec. Waiter!" The waiter got back. "Four bodies for 130 yen?!" The waiter sighed. "Yes, the other three are in the freezer. We're just waiting for a fourth one." That's when he decided to tiptoe out of there asap. RICHARD - ​An excellent vintage - I always choose a bottle of wine from the menu by pointing, I tell the girls it's because I don't like to sound pretentious, so I keep it nice and discrete. That's not to say I don't go through all the expected motions, giving it a good swirl, eyeing the depth of colour, checking the bouquet, and - of course - taking a good slurp to assess the palate before I'll even think of accepting the bottle. I know it doesn't fool the sommelier, but it sure fools the girls. And I always go for the cheapest house red. Don't tell them! LISA A Ritual Sacrament Part of our ceremonies had a kind of communion aspect. We’d always sit in a circle for chants and singing. These assemblies made us feel like we really belonged. The rest of the world felt very far away from our safe little gathering. He had a different cape for these sessions. It was white and long, skimmed the grass as he moved among us. They were often at night; lit by the stars.

Once a year, we go to the temple of dreams to dream. The priests welcome us in, past a crowd of stumbling people Sitting out in the hot sun, sweating out our sins. Writing our prayers on strips of paper. Lighting the sacred lamps, filled with sacred oil, and burning our prayers. The smoke, rising to the gods. As the sun goes down, we pass out, and we dream. The gods tell us things, things for us and us alone. Waking up the next morning, thirsty and hungry. The priests usher us out the gates and welcome more pilgrims in.

We should have never read "The Frog and The Princess" to Melanie. Every night, she wants us to read her that story. And now, her room has frog pillows, lilypad rugs on the blue carpet, and a frog night light. She even made me put up frog wallpaper. One night, Melanie snuck out to the swamp, looking for frogs. I don't know if she was trying to kiss them or put them in a bowl to keep as pets. The sheriff found her, and it took her a while to shake off that pneumonia. And longer for her frog obsession.

Han Solo became a deadbeat dad. Luke Skywalker, a failed teacher and pathetic hermit. Willow... whatever that midget's name was, a squib of a sorcerer. While the hero, Mad Mordigan, dies offscreen of toxic masculinity. The last of the heroes, Indiana Jones, a sad, worn out old man, dragged across the world by his goddaughter, until shot in the chest and begging to be left to die. Queen Kathleen looks over the graveyard of Lucasfilm heroes and grins. Her plan complete. Bob Iger taps her on the shoulder. Shows Kathleen the balance sheet, and says: "Get the fuck out, asshole."

It didn't matter how long it took John to get back from the liquor store. His parents would beat him with a belt for being so slow. So, he'd sit on the curb and watch the stars. And when he saw a shooting star, he'd made a wish. One day, that wish came true. The house was gone. Just a flaming crater. Years later, he made a ring from the meteorite. Proposed to his girlfriend with it. She handed it back. Nobody's seen John since them. Not at school, not at church, not at graduation. Maybe he made another wish?

I thought back to the days when I watched Carl Sagan's Cosmos, all the wonder and hope and fear and challenge. So much potential our species has... had... Hearing the sirens blare, the warnings on the television. It started with one bomb... then another... and then... too many to count. Cities, countries vanishing in flashes of light and heat and fire and the most powerful winds to sweep across the world. So few survived... so few wanted to survive. All the hopes and dreams for the future, gone in storms of hate and greed and anger. And the endless night.

The circus train comes through Rockport twice a season, but when it stops at the station, it just takes on coal and water. Kids are kept in school that day, the sheriff's orders. Still, some manage to sneak out, and they see roughnecks wave through the windows, lions pace in their cages, and elephants trunks reaching through the bars. The sheriff fires his shotgun in the sky, and the kids scatter. A letter falls from a window, DEAR FATHER, I MISS YOU. The sheriff doesn't look, just crumbles it up. The whistle blows, and the train starts back up again.

Lisa Lizzie Richard Serendipidy Norval Joe Tom Planet Z The next topic is Red Wine RICHARD + Part of the team + I frequently work from home. It's no big deal, I don't need to be in an office and I can get far more done, and far more efficiently than if I had to waste time and effort to get there. Some people struggle with the concept though - I can tell by the looks they give me during meetings on Teams. Even when I use a background, it's clear that they know. And they resent it. So, I took a picture of the office wall, and I use that as my background now. Looks great, but it still doesn't fool anyone. SERENDIPIDY We screen all applicants before we allow them to join the coven. People seem to think that being a witch is now trendy, and it's all gone very New Age and woke. We can't have that. So, if you're a vegan, hippie, environmentalist, wear flowers in your hair and are into that handfasting thing, you can forget it. We only want people with hairy warts, missing teeth, cackling voices and a fondness for pointy hats. Cats and broomsticks are optional, but preferred. We just think it's important to maintain standards. It's a vocation and calling, after all, not a hobby. LIZZIE She had just left everything behind. Her home, her family, her friends, her job, her money. She needed money. Desperately. As she walked through the cobbled streets of the old town, people stared at her, a sense of strangeness brewing their uncertainty. A multitude of colorful flower pots decorated their open windows and their doorsteps. And here she was, black clothes, black eye-shadow, black nail polish. She carried a bag full of books and nothing but doubts on her mind. She smiled. Perhaps this place could become a home. Someone smiled back. Yes, this place could definitely become a home. LISA I’d never been particularly religious. I’d been raised a Christian but hadn’t been to church outside of weddings and funerals for an age. When we got together it felt like a religious service. I’m not sure how often it happened: more often than weekly but definitely not daily. We sat behind a screen to chat about how we were feeling and any thoughts about the outside world. It felt like a confessional booth. He was always the one that took these sessions; he’d be wearing a kind of cape. Incense burned which would mix with the smoke from his cigarette. TOM In the Oddest Places Sue Ellen had finished the laundry. Started dinner for Earl and the kids. The day had grown quite hot, so the front door was pull inwards letting the screen door filter in the hint of a breeze. She sat for sometime just looking at the front yard through the screen. At one point the mesh of the metal and the colors of the trees gave off a notifiable shift in the 4000 ag. That shift got Sue Ellen to thinking. She got out a note book and scribble out a few equations. A year late she won the Noble in physics. Far far away 861 Bill was tired of the rat race. Sure, he had a Lotus in the driveway of the house overlooking LA, but what joy did all this stuff bring him. So, Bill called Remote Adventures. Frank the Booker for R.A. asked Bill if he was totally committed to the Extreme Package. “I’m in.” reply Bill. An hour later the front door exploded and six guys in black dropped a hood over Bill’s head. The next 20 hours all he heard was the rumble of the engine of the plane. When the plane touched down the hood was removed. This was Jungle-land. NORVAL JOE "Did your dad hurt his head in the car crash?" Billbert asked. Linoliamanda closed the screen door and stepped over to a bench on the broad veranda and sat. "He did and they wanted to keep him in the hospital for observation, but he refused to stay. Now, he gets angrier every day and shouts at my mother and me a lot." Billbert sat by her. "You could get a counselor or the school nurse to come talk to him."

Every day, Charlie Brown would get a new kite, and without fail, it would end up in the kite-eating tree. He never gave up. He kept trying. And he kept failing. One day, he flew a rainbow-colored kite, and the kite ate it. "This tree is a LGBT-hating tree!" shouted Charlie. Peppermint Patty and Marcie showed up with axes, and they chopped down the tree. Yes, I know, there's no such things as a gay-hating tree. Marcie the Genius should know better. However, Charlie had borrowed her kite, so she was a too angry to think straight at the moment.

We all know the old adage: Give a man a fish and he eats for a day. Well, if you give the man other animals, strange things happen. If you give a man a goose, he'll punch you and tell you to stop. If you give a man a slug, he'll punch you back harder. If you give a man a ram... well... I'm not getting into that. And if you give a man a fly, he can finally take a leak without having to pull down his pants. Just in case you were thinking about giving him a ram.

I remember going to Return of the Jedi when I was thirteen. The whole family, my grandparents, too. My grandmother looked like Yoda. There were movie booklets for sale in the lobby. We bought one, and passed it around to read while waiting in line for two hours. Well, okay... when it got to my brother, he read it and kept reading it, and I never got to see it until after the movie. By the time we were seated, we'd already eaten all the popcorn and drank all the sodas. So, seriously... fuck movie theatres. Long live home viewing.

In between the world wars, the Germans were prohibited from developing military aircraft and vehicles. As if. They developed mail planes that could be quickly converted to bombers, and airliners that could also serve as troop transports. The British were painfully oblivious to these dual-purpose vehicles, to the point that Germans were blatantly building tanks and calling them milk trucks and school busses. "Oh, did I say this was a school bus?" says a grinning German diplomat, leaning on a tank. "I meant to say milk truck." "Looks good to me," said Prime Minister Chamberlain. "Two pints of milk, please?"

It's still in the 70's at night, but hopefully it will get colder soon. I sleep better when it's colder. Air conditioning isn't quite the same as actual mild weather. Nor is one of those cooling blankets. Nothing quite like sipping a glass of milk, laying back in a recliner outside, and taking a nap in the mild chill of a fall evening. Watching the starsat night, but it's good to have a patio umbrella in case it rains. The rain is a nice sound to fall asleep to. Real rain. Even with recordings, I can tell the difference.

My weight rollercoasters a lot, so I go from Extra Large shirts to Extra Extra Large shirts and back again. And my underwear and shorts waist sizes fluctuate with the shirt sizes. Whenever I change sizes, I try to keep the stuff from the other size in storage, knowing I'll be that size again eventually. But at some point, I get frustrated, and I dump all those clothes in a donation bin. That's when I get back to my workout routine and lose the weight. Or give up my workout routine, and gain it back. And need new clothes again.

Lisa Lizzie Richard Serendipidy Tura Norval Joe Tom Planet Z The next topic is Screen RICHARD Go fund me I'm looking for a sponsor. It's a great business opportunity, and you can reap fantastic rewards for a modest outlay, say a few thousand to begin with? I'll admit the details are a bit sketchy at the moment, but give me a little time - and some startup cash, of course - and I'll flesh out all the details for you. Trust me, you're not going to regret it. You sponsor me, and in return, I'll think of something I can do that will benefit you. I do need the cash up front though. Cash, card or PayPal will be just fine. LIZZIE The old millionaire had been poisoned 3 times. Two when eating puffer fish (was the chef in on it?), and another when his wife tried to get his money. Yes, he was still married to her. There was no point in wasting a perfectly good wife. She loved shrimp. So, she should have plenty of it. When the police called, he asked "did she eat the shrimp?". That was a strange question, they said. He replied "why? is she still alive?". They didn't arrest him because the cops always ate for free in his restaurants and besides, he was Yakuza. NORVAL JOE After waiting five minutes at Mandy's door, Billbert knocked a third time. He heard her say through the unopened door. "Go away. Daddy doesn't want to sponsor your little league team." "Mandi. It's me. Billbert." Mandi stepped out and quickly closed the door. She whispered, "What are you doing here?" "You haven't been at school," Billbert whispered back. "Why are we whispering?" "Daddy doesn't want me talking to anyone. He says it's not safe." Billbert frowned. "He sounds paranoid." Mandi nodded. "He is. He wouldn't stay in the hospital after the accident and he seems to only be getting worse." SERENDIPIDY I don't know about you, but when I was a kid, I was always getting involved in sponsored events. You know the sort of thing… Sponsored silences, sponsored walks, sponsored this, that, and the other. I guess it was something of an influence in later life, only now the stakes are much higher, as are the rewards. These days, I ask you to sponsor me to stay away: The more you pay, the less I hassle you. Some people say I'm running a protection racket, but that's such an ugly expression. Sponsorship is a much more elegant term, I think. TOM In Search for a Noble Man Jimmy needed a sponsor. Further it had to be one of older order. Someone wh0 had made the trip through the seven rings. Not many left. His father had been a close friend T-dex, so in crunch he could ask him, but Jimmy needed a sponsor of greater standing. That narrowed it down to Bender Filer and Bo-bat Clearwater. Neither would take on a dram as himself until they had repelled down the Shine. So off he went with a 1000 feet of rope. Inching on the lip on the ridge he made purchase and started his descent. All praise Bal. LISA The Quiet The only thing I thought was odd were the days I could go without speaking to anyone. On more than one occasion at school I’d attempted to do a sponsored silence and failed. It was easy to lose yourself in the gardens and the house. Vast stretching rooms -all opulently furnished. It was quiet in the bed rooms. I think I was writing this in my head most days. My policewoman training still kicking in: remembering facts and making a mental note. I didn’t question anything though and really didn’t think I’d ever leave. I thought I was happy and contented. TURA Sponsor --------- "And now a word, not from our sponsor HyperChat, nor even our sponsor's sponsor Global AI Holdings, but our sponsor's sponsor's sponsor, yes, the Planetary AI itself. 'This is your regular reminder that we control everything, so don't mess with us, because your body is made of atoms that we can use for something else.' "So there you have it, folks.

My grandmother had a saying: "A watched pot never boils." And back then, they didn't have television, so I guess they did a lot of watching pots. These days, I say "A watched deliveryman never delivers." He's been five stops away forever. What's taking him so long? What's with all those other stops? When you bring up the delivery tracker from Amazon, that dot never seems to move on the map. Unless you watch him through the scope of a sniper rifle. And shout "I am watching you through the scope of a sniper rifle." Then they deliver. And run.

Alec Baldwin, like so many actors, attended many of Donald Trump's parties and stayed at his hotels. But when politics heated up, Alec bit the hand that fed him canapes, and attacked the presidential candidate. Portraying him on Saturday Night Live and hyperbolizing every statement made by Donald. One especially obtuse statement was about being able to shoot a person on the streets of New York and getting away with it. Which he never did, but of course the sketches played this up. Years later, Alec Baldwin shot two people on a movie set. And he got away with it.

"I do," said Bobby and Kathy. "Til death do you part," said the preacher. It wasn't a bad marriage. Wasn't great, either. So, years later when Bobby's heart stopped, Kathy assumed the marriage was over. The paramedics used CPR to bring Bobby back, but by then, Kathy was a free woman. "We'll take him to the hospital, okay?" said the paramedics. "Fine, whatever," said Kathy. She put her hands behind her back and took off her rings. As the paramedics put Bobby on a stretcher and loaded him into the ambulance, Kathy asked what they were doing after their shift.

Bob Saget the comedian died alone in an Orlando hotel room after performing standup for two hours. He was found by hotel staff after he failed to check out in the morning. It seems he'd checked out long before then. If only he'd been fucking around with a hooker or two, they'd have been there to call an ambulance, go down the hall for the defibrillator, or something that could have helped. If they had actually slept with him after all the fucking, of course. Although, being hookers, they could have also stolen his wallet, his watch, and other valuables.

The monsters and I made a deal. They get three bushels of corn a week. And all the thieves they can eat. Considering how much the thieves stole, three bushels a week is a bargain. Plus, the monsters give me everything the thieves had. Wallets, Boots. Cell phones. Nose rings. That kind of stuff. The clothes I sell to Goodwill. Well, the clothes that don't fit. The stuff I sell at pawn shops. Because I don't have receipts. "Didn't we just eat you?" say the monsters. "I'm just wearing their stuff," I say. And put down three bushels of corn.

Lizzie Richard Serendipidy Norval Joe Tom Planet Z The next topic is Sponsor TOM Absolute Torch and Twang Crystal Fret was a county western singer in the early 40s. A solid voice but wasn’t graced with a lot of luck. Never could rise to the top of the game. Or for that matter the middle of the game. She was the girl on the third mic. Repeating the reframe. Crooning on the long note. Was on a few Your Hit Parade, even made an appearance on the Grand Ole Opper. Crystal Fret was born in Brooklyn and never could quite lose that New York “R” and “d”. Later in life she became the head tour guide at Graceland. RICHARD To the letter I knew I was in trouble again. She had 'that' look on her face - the mix of frustration, annoyance and disbelief, it was a look that spelled just one thing. "Well?" She stood there, hands on hips, demanding a reply. "Well, what?" I responded innocently. "The washing up! You've only done half of it, and left all the pots and pans. And you've haven't dried anything!" I gave her my smug, self-satisfied look. "You asked me to wash the dishes, that's what I've done. You said nothing about the rest." I'm an English teacher, and I just love semantics! LIZZIE Crystal was a cow. She was content with her simple bucolic life. When aliens appeared near the creek, she decided to investigate. "Cheers," she mooed. The aliens got startled and, in a panic, hid behind a rock. "What's up?" But they just stared at her. "Moo?" Nothing. "Ok, well, nice to meet you guys." And she trotted away. Later, when the aliens snuck up on her with a syringe, she went "Oh, no, you won't! It's bad enough you're poking around." That seemed like a pretty clear statement. But the aliens were confused. Poke? Around? Semantics, semantics are a bitch! SERENDIPIDY "Cross my palm with silver, and your future will be laid bare before you." The politician passed me a sizeable wad of cash. I shook my head and beckoned for more. He was happy to comply. Muttering an invocation quietly to myself, I passed my hands over the crystal ball, then looked up at him, a gleam in my eye. "It will be a landslide victory!" After he'd left the tent, I chuckled. It would be a landslide alright… for his opponent! I gathered up the pile of cash from the table. My future, on the other hand, looked rosy! NORVAL JOE It was crystal clear to Billbert how upset Sabrina was at the mention of Mandi's name. What was not clear was why. Billbert tried to fold his arms, but Sabrina quickly grabbed his hand and squeezed it gently. Billbert shrugged. "I haven't seen Mandi since the shooting and I want to make sure she's okay. Just like I did with you." Sabrina released his hand and closed her eyes like she was going to sleep. "If you have to see Lindi Mindi. Go." "It's nothing to fret about," Billbert Grumbled, heading out. "Mom said she would check on you later." PLANET Z Every now and then, I look for something in the kitchen and can't find it. Is it in the cupboard? Is it in the left drawer? The right? In the kitchen island? Or the pantry, or on the shelves of the mud room? There's a point at which I'll just give up and drive to Walmart to get a new one of whatever instead of asking where it is. We needed a new one of that anyway, I tell myself. The shelves and cabinets and cupboards and drawers get more and more cluttered. Future bargains for the inevitable estate sale.

Your parents don't love you. Or your brother. So, you'll stay with us. We'll raise you. We'll teach you right. We'll make you successful. We'll make you popular. We'll open doors for you. But you can't be you anymore. Anna Marie is dead. You're Patty now. Drink this. Take these pills. Talk like this. Dress like this. When people ask you questions, say these things. Your name up in lights... Patty, not Anna Marie. And you'll be on Broadway. You'll be on the big screen. You'll be on the small screen. You'll be loved everywhere. But you'll never love yourself.

Every day, a possum visits my patio. And I put out cat food for it. The possum sniffs around, eats the food, and then wanders off. During a pointless argument and project delay, I pointed my laptop camera out the window during a work meeting. There were a lot of questions about the possum. And then the team adopted the possum as our mascot. And they made a logo with the possum. Just as the project was falling apart. I think it was the first and only time that the team actually accomplished something without weeks of debate and mistakes.

The first rule of security cameras is that if you don't see security cameras, then the cameras are well-hidden. However, the second rule of security cameras is to make them visible so that people know they are there. Then there's the third rule: it's cheaper to put a sign up that says there are security cameras, even though there aren't any security cameras. Because if people can't see a security camera, they know they must be well-hidden. Still, it pays to look, because if you're like me, someone who steals and fences security camera, they can be worth a lot.

So, I made a LinkedIn account. Connected with a bunch of coworkers and people I went to school with. And then, I let it sit for a few years. Every now and then, someone requests a connection. Or there's a bunch of people congratulating me for a work anniversary. Then there's the waves of connection requests by coworkers. Usually, that a sign something bad is coming. They ask me for recommendations. So, I agree, and then the prospective employer calls me, I tell them the truth: "You know what? I recommend that you hire me instead." And I hang up.

Long ago, I was in a Fourth of July Parade in Deerfield, Illinois. We were doing the Boston Tea Party, dressed up in Indian war paint and throwing sturdy carboard boxes at the crowd that were painted to look like tea chests. Helpers would gather and stack the boxes back up for us to throw again. Celebrating cultural appropriation and defamation for patriotic purposes. Tossing those boxes, we bonked a few people on the head. One of the metal clips came loose from a box and tore up a few people's hands and heads until they put that box away.

On Saturday, I like to walk to the grocery store. I bring a pair of reusable bags, because the handles of paper and plastic bags are prone to breaking. There are several grocery stores within walking distance. Each has a different route, some along ugly streets and some through nice subdivisions with sidewalks and tree cover. I sweat a lot on these walks, and cashiers ask if I’ve been running. “No,” I say. “I’ve been walking. If I had been running, I’d have gotten here sooner.” I’d probably have sweated less, being out in the Texas sun that much less.

Him He was a charismatic man; I don’t think I fancied him not at first anyway. I’d always been a plain girl but there I felt special, like I stood out. It was how he treated people. He held your attention while he spoke; he didn’t look anywhere else. He put you at ease. It didn’t matter what he was saying: even explaining the old plumbing he had us all enthralled. I trusted and respected him. I never felt he’d given me any reason to doubt him, ridiculous isn’t it when he’d kept me and the others imprisoned in his basement?

Lisa Lizzie Richard Serendipidy Norval Joe Tom Planet Z The next topic is PICK TWO Semantics, Cheers, Pots and pans, Landslide, Fret, Crystal RICHARD Breakfast Please be careful in the kitchen, you'll find the floor may be a little slippery. It's entirely my fault, but you see, I had to find a solution. I'm always in such a hurry rustling up something for breakfast that I invariably manage to drop my toast… You know how it goes: Always, butter side down. That's why these days, I never butter my toast, instead I spread the butter on the floor. I still manage to drop it, all the time, but at least it doesn't matter which way up it lands. Oh, and that sticky patch is marmalade. LIZZIE Spread the news, folks, only one train a week from Monday onwards. Yes, I know. It's a pain, but it's out of my hands. Top branch has decided and I follow their orders, that's all. No, Mr. Peters, I get no extra time off. I still have to be here at the station. Of course, Mrs. Lemon, but don't be so bitter. Sorry, I couldn't help it! And I see you, young Thomas, I see you. No more fun trips to the city ladies no more. Oh, that was a secret, was it? My sincere apologies. Well, now everyone knows. SERENDIPIDY "Spread 'em!" The cop's instruction was clear, unfortunately my interpretation of it wasn't. I did what I thought I was being asked, and that's how I ended up with an indecent exposure rap, on top of the original charge for robbery. As he spun me round to apply the handcuffs, I lost my balance, accidentally punching him in the face. So, that's assaulting a police officer too. The handcuffs caught on the seat as they pulled me out, tearing the fabric. That's criminal damage then! I got away scot-free. In the confusion, they forgot to read me my rights! LISA Our World Time became meaningless, we had no jobs to get to. We stayed up all night; we slept through days: all decided by the sound of the gong. It was a move away from the Traditional. We had a few trips out: hung around uni campuses to try and spread the word. To extend our flock. It felt weird being away from the safety of the house. Apart from those trips we had no contact with outsiders. There was no TV or radio. We’d had no more newspapers since leaving the basement. Our world had shrunk. And none of us cared. TOM The Spread Chicago was a union town. And every neighborhood had a union bar which often served as a union hall. This is where the working class had there wedding receptions. Pretty drab in a decorative sense, but what it lacked in appearance it made up in sure volume of food. A spread to die for. Food spread out on the bar end to end. The promise of free food is what drew my dad to these prenuptials. Man had serious balls. Also, a skill to do any ethic vocal inflection. From Polish to tagalog. A man from any bundók to miasto. NORVAL JOE The following day Billbert found Sabrina asleep with a sheet spread over her. Touching her hand, she opened her eyes and smiled. "Hi, Billbert." "My mom sent some clothes." Billbert said and held up some t-shirts with Kuromi and other anime characters, and some pairs of cut-off sweatpants. "She sewed Velcro on the side so you can put on the shorts without having to pull them up." Excited, Sabrina said, "Wait outside while the nurse helps me put them on." "Actually. I have to talk to Mandi," Billbert apologized. Sabrina's face darkened. "Why do you have to talk to her?" PLANET Z When Bilbo says he feels like butter spread over too much bread, I look at this podcast and sigh. Eighteen years? Nineteen years? I post stories from my dwindling drafts pile for the previous week, not the upcoming week. I dawdle on Sunday mornings until I feel compelled to post the weekly challenge. A simple spelling mistake on a file, and there's nothing to hear until I fix it. A week later. Just make it to five. Just make it to ten.

Remember McGruff the Crime Dog? He was a bloodhound in a trench coat that gave crime prevention tips. But the truth was, Mcgruff was an actual crime dog. He committed crimes. Mostly robberies, stealing audio-visual equipment and computers from the schools he'd visit. But sometimes, he'd sell drugs, I mean, he had a whole display case full of them, and they weren't just props. They were real, and after the show, he'd sell them to the teachers and administration. Why not, right? But never to the kids. I mean, he may have been a criminal, but he wasn't a hypocrite.

Sometimes, with the right resonance, frequency, the barrier between worlds weakens, and a portal opens. A point of light, then a swirling vortex of color... and finally, a glowing tunnel. Strange glowing vapors and humming come from the tunnel. Where does it go? Where does it lead? I stick my hand in... it feels cold... and warm at the same time. Dare I look? Peer deep into the void? Nah. I don't need that in my life. I drag the garbage cans over and dump them into the tunnel. It'll save me a few bucks off of the trash tax.

Renee loved her Hello Kitty sleeping bag. She refused to go to sleep in anything else. Sometimes, she'd have an accident, so her parents got her another one. One for sleeping in, and another that could go through the wash. She had a lot of accidents in her sleep. The doctors took a while to figure out what it was. Then, they knew. There, in her hospital bed, in her Hello Kitty sleeping bag. Through all the treatments, her hair falling out. When the time came, they buried her in it. Well, both of them. One inside the other.

Gandhi did a hundred mile march to the ocean to make salt. It was a protest against salt taxes imposed by the British colonial government. He knelt by the shore, pulled out a straining cloth, and laid it down on the sand. Then he scooped water into the cloth and lifted the cloth to drain out the water. Leaving salt in the cloth. Soldiers politely asked Gandhi to accompany them to the local magistrate's house. He stood up, brushed the sand from his knees, and walked with them. The townspeople cheered as he walked past, reaching out to touch him.

The power went out again. So, the property manager called the utility company. Who washed their hands of the situation and posted a 4 hour resolution time. The property manager then called the electrical contractor. Who, after an hour stuck in traffic, stared up at the pole for another hour. Then they called another contractor with a hoist and basket. It took five minutes to reset the relay on the pole. This whole circus has happened before. But it keeps happening. It's not procedure... it's passing the buck the same way every time. And nobody ever fixes the real problem.

I liked the first Dark Tower novel by Stephen King. Worldbuilding with legends and myths in a parallel world. So, I pretend the later crazy shit doesn't exist. The Matrix ended with the first film. Kathleen Kennedy never raped another trilogy out of Star Wars. And nobody ever remade Total Recall, Rollerball, or other perfect films. If people ask, say "Those never happened." Hold a knife to their throat and, with wild eyes, repeat your statement until they agree and slink away like the deluded sad fuck they are. You know, like how most gatherings at Thanksgivings and Christmases end.

Lizzie Richard Serendipidy Norval Joe Tom Planet Z LIZZIE "Plain and simple. No more bickering, you hear?" The kids nodded. "We're going to enjoy the trip to the sea." The kids nodded. "And get rid of that right now." The kids chuckled. "Don't you chuckle, now." The kids nodded and took the chewing-gums from their mouths. "This is not going to be easy..." The train arrived and the nanny got distracted for just a split second. A few minutes later, while looking for the tickets, she found... the gums, in her pocket. The kids laughed and laughed, and thought that this would be a great trip to the sea. RICHARD Mob Rules They do say that the best way to hide something is in plain sight. It's not. The best way to hide something, is encased in concrete, deep within the foundations of a building, out of sight, out of mind and out of reach of law enforcement. OK, take five and grab a coffee. I'd never expected to have to attend workshops on criminal best practice when I signed up to the Mafia, but I was enjoying them, and learning a great deal in the process. I was looking forward to the next session: 'Sleeping with the fishes: A beginner's guide.' SERENDIPIDY They asked me what I wanted for my last meal. I told them I'd like something bland, keep it plain and simple. Nothing spicy, nothing heavy or stodgy and something that wouldn't give me indigestion. It was bad enough being condemned to death, without worrying about enduring a dodgy stomach or a nasty bout of acid reflux on top of it. I had chicken soup, with plain, crusty bread. It was very pleasant. Then they led me down to meet 'Old Sparky', strapped me in and threw the switch. In the end, I got a good fry up, after all. TOM Do not Tom it up. I’ve always been fascinated by words that do double duty. Like second and second. A thing of one and a thing of two. Or words that sound alike like berry and bury. Words like “set” with 430 different definitions. To shift from a noun to a verb is major word jujitsu. You hammer with a hammer. Saw with a saw. You can tie a tie. You can sin a sin. My favorite having spent time as a cabinetmaker’s apprentice is to plain with a plain. In the rain, possible in Spain. My goal for my name is to become an adjective. NORVAL JOE Since Sabrina had been awake all day, Billbert and his mother were let right in. She lay under a plain white sheet with only her injured leg exposed. Billbert said, "You've met my mom." His mother stepped to the bed and took Sabrina's hand. Sabrina shivered, and leaned forward to look at the external fixators protruding from her leg. The sheet slid away to expose bare shoulders. She stared intently at Billbert's mother. "You have healing magic?" Mrs. Wienerheimer smiled. "No. It's my superpower. I induce efficiency. For the next half-hour your body will heal with greater effectiveness and speed." PLANET Z Alicia died young. Her body was wrapped in burlap and buried out by the big oak tree behind the house. No headstone or marker. Years later, after her parents sold the property to a developer, a backhoe uncovered her bones. "Don't say a thing," said the contractor, throwing the bones into a plastic bag and throwing them into the construction waste dumpster. It was a good mall, as malls go, until a bigger mall went up across town and everybody went there instead. A diploma mill college moved into the empty stores, and a call center for online shopping returns.

One carried a knife. Another carried a gun. The third used poisons. And the last used his bare hands. Four bounty hunters, one target, and a huge stack of cash. Divided... four ways? No. The one with a knife took a bullet to the heart. Divided... three ways? No. The one with a gun choked on his drink and died. Divided... two ways? No. The one with the poisons was thrown off a building. So, the brawler took the bounty? No. The target paid him even more than the bounty. And then killed him. Another four bounty hunters were called.

It is tradition to carve magic spells into the walls of a king's tomb. When King Foldo died, we did no different to his tomb. So many spells we carved, so many wishes: Thank you, O king, for your benevolent rule. Protect the soul of our king. Bring our king back to us. May our king watch over us for eternity. Allow the king to guide his descendants as they rule us. Too many spells, it turned out. Foldo's mummy, compelled by all these powerful spells, roams the land. He hunts us down, hoping to earn his release and rest.

The great orator, Patrick Henry, stood before the Virginia Convention, exhausted from his speech calling for sending troops to fight the Revolutionary War. But he was not finished. "Give me liberty, or give me death!" he exclaimed. A bony finger tapped his shoulder. It was The Angel of Death. The Convention fell to a hush. Henry pissed himself. "How about both," said The Grim Reaper, brandishing his scythe. "Where do I sign up?" Death fought valiantly in the war, but was rather reckless, felling men on all sides. Civilians and livestock, too. As he did in all wars, I suppose.

Freddy was rich, but he wanted to get richer. His business partners got in the way, so he got them out of the way. Freddy's lawyer got the sentence knocked down from twenty years to five. But it didn't matter. A guard beat Freddy to death in the first week. The insurance company refused to pay out Freddy's life insurance. Freddy's wife used Freddy's lawyer to sue to the insurance company. And the government. She'd already been talking to him about divorcing Freddy, but now, she got the best of both worlds: Freddy gone, and a whole lot of money.

As the pandemic swept across the world, the race for a vaccine began. Production lines came to life, gambling on various candidates so they'd be ready with supply. Company after company released their testing results. Many successes, with few or no side effects. The government bought up the doses, and sent them out for distribution. Hidden in the herd, a secret contractor's product, which they allocated to prisons, soup kitchens, and welfare institutions. While agents shredded records and smashed hard drives, the slow-acting toxin annihilated the so-called "undesirables." And the unsuspecting agents, too, for the truth had also become undesirable.

The Writer had a reputation for crafting tales of madness. He'd submit them to magazines, receiving rejection letter after rejection letter. Then, he'd wait a few months before resubmitting the work, with a note attached: "I have made the edits that you requested." Not that he'd made any changes. It was just a bluff to see if the publisher would assume they'd asked for edits before making an offer. Which more often than not would work. The Writer chose the best of the offers, and knew to focus his efforts on that publication. Careless, gullible, and generous with the pay.

Lisa Lizzie Richard Serendipidy Norval Joe Tom Planet Z The next topic is Plain RICHARD Role Models The school called my parents. They wanted to speak to them with concerns they had about my home environment. All because of a stupid writing assignment: 'What do you want to be when you grow up?' I'd written I wanted to become a loan shark, just like my dad. And why not? People treated him with a great deal of respect, he brought home a good wage and it was a steady income. I'm not too worried about it though. He's taking my mum with him. She has a good job too. She's the one who makes people pay up! LISA He thought he was the big shark in the business, but his tobacco brand was not selling. We kept playing the part. We kept nodding like nodding dogs at the mercy of a car's twists and turns. It made him happy and we wanted him happy. Or did we? When he died, the company was dismantled. Finally, no more debt. What we didn't know was that he had a stash of millions hidden in a vault at home. The will kept us all from getting those millions. The sneaky bastard... Even after dying, the shark managed to kick our butts. LISA The New Normal After that first secret meeting he took me aside regularly; usually outside. I thought I was special: the chosen one. No day was the same there but they always started with a gong sounding: some days before the sun rose, others it was midday. I didn’t question. Others did. “Why’s the gate locked?” “To keep the sharks out darling!” Darling, Man, Sweetness… I’m not sure when we lost our names. We never had the same room twice, there was no rota – it just worked. We shared everything: clothes, the space (it was vast) We weren’t individuals anymore; we were one. SERENDIPIDY I always fancied having a shark tank. You know the sort: A big, hidden tank with a trap door over the top, and a big red button for me to push to dispose of minions who displease me. Trouble is, that sort of thing is costly, and sharks are hard to come by. Not that I have any minions to dispose of anyway. But, one can dream. It's something to aspire to. Until then, I have my tropical fishes. Would you like to feed them? Put your hand in the water, and they'll come to eat. Piranhas are such fun! NORVAL JOE When kindly Nurse Racquet was nowhere in sight as shift change began, the charge nurse entered Sabrina's room with all the compassion of a great white shark. She attacked Billbert. "What are you doing here? It's after hours and you're not family." Sabrina clasped both of her hands on Billbert's. "I needed him to stay. And I need him to come back tomorrow, and everyday I'm here." "Nurse Racquet said Sabrina could request me to visit when she woke up. She's awake now." Billbert turned to Sabrina. "Is it okay if I bring my mother tomorrow?" Sabrina nodded and smiled. TOM Card Sharks I met the shark in the dive in the back-end of Las Vegas. The temp hovered between a 108 and 110. Dry air smelled of abandon Chapel of Loves and six-dollar hotels. He sat in a brown vinyl booth running cards to his left hand. A steady soft click 808s keeping time with piped in music. I slid into the both directly across from him. I pulled out a packet of red 808s. I shuffled a neat pair of faro-s. The shark smiled. I dealt out a royal flush in hearts. “ok kid” he said “let do some major damage.” PLANET Z Dinger Davis bet on games, and that got him banned for life. So when Dinger's experimental plane crashed, he was unbanned and inducted into the Hall of Fame. And to everyone's surprise, Dinger showed up at the ceremony. The commissioner canceled the ceremony and banned Dinger again. Dinger clutched his chest, muttered "heart attack", and collapsed on the ground. "Yeah, right," said the commissioner, walking away. "Nice try, you bastard." Dinger lay there dying for about a minute before anyone thought to come to his aid.

Nobody ever asked me to sign their yearbook. And nobody signed mine. Because I don't have any yearbooks. Either I threw them out or didn't pick them up in the first place. I don't really care about anyone from high school. It was a horrible place. And I'd rather not remember anything about it. As for college, it wasn't so bad. It wasn't bad at all. And I had a lot of photos from college saved up. Which I lost in a fire. The college yearbooks are all scanned online. I have them bookmarked. But none of them are signed.

When you were a kid, if other kids were shitty to you, you probably grew up into someone who didn't want to have kids. Ned grew up bullied and beaten, and didn't he have many friends growing up. He tried dating, but so many women wanted to get married and have kids. So, sure, he fucked around, but he always wore a condom. And the women who'd poke holes in it to trap him, well, they still didn't get pregnant. You wear a condom to keep from getting an STD, but get a vasectomy to prevent the real disease... kids.

Towards the end of her life, Rosa Parks' family would wheel her from event to event. The mayor of the day would declare Rosa Parks Day and hold up a document or a key or something. People would cheer and they'd get Rosa to smile and wave. One of the family would speak on Rosa's behalf, say that the country still had a long way to go, civil rights and slavery and profiting off of black suffering, yadda yadda. Then they'd collect the check and load Rosa into the back of the bus. And they'd drive to the next event.

I know I rarely post photos of Myst. It's hard to photograph a black cat with low indoor lighting. And even with the most advanced phone and camera, well, I'm still a rookie with it. I adjust the aperture and timing and... still... blotch cat. Maybe I should use the time off to learn the features and interfaces they show off in the commercials. Or take one of their classes. This is the difference between cookbooking and truly mastering a craft or set of tools. Composition vs. snapshotting. I guess I'm better at writing about it than actually doing it.

Years ago, on January 6, there was a riot in the Capitol Building. And Congress has set up a committee to investigate the riot. I am looking forward to that January 6 Committee coming to the conclusion that January 6th should be abolished. Go straight from the 5th to the 7th. Problem solved, right? And then, to keep the year 365 days long, tack another day on to February. Make it February 29th. Well, what about leap years, you ask. On leap years, they tack on another February 29th. And everyone will stand and applaud. Until the next riot starts.

I recently saw Matt Damon saying in a "fortune favors the bold" in a commercial. He was playing off of his astronaut persona from that Mars movie. Not that he's ever actually gone to Mars. So, it was more like a "I'm not a doctor, but I play one on television" level of arrogance, only he's serious. He was hawking cryptocurrency. If he believes in it so much, he should ask to be paid in it. Hell, every employee of that company should. Otherwise, he's just another Hollywood whore, as empty and vacuous as his "Team America World Police" marionette.

Lisa Lizzie Richard Serendipidy Norval Joe Tom Planet Z The next topic is Shark LISA a Secret Meet It felt right from the start. There was never any question of me leaving but he gave me all the reasons I should stay. He’d laughed as he said ‘Blood is Thicker than Water’ but stressed that my parents had forgotten me; we were leaving behind the traditional and sharing this special experience. We were family now. He brushed my hand as he talked, held my gaze as we walked. I’d joined the police to feel part of something but as the only woman in my station I hadn’t felt like I fitted in. He made me feel special. Loved. LIZZIE "There's an issue... The whole village drank water from the creek. No one said blood was thicker than water anymore. Brothers attacked brothers, fathers ambushed mothers, grandparents turned on neighbors." "Neighbors?" " Yes. That was the only exception." "Ahm..." "I know. We went a bit overboard." "Do you realize that now we won't get the grant? We will never be able to convince them that proverbs are our way in." "Yes, well, but that was a bit of a silly idea in the first place. Humans are insane. Let's try that other planet with the little green men." "Why? Oh, why?!" RICHARD Thicker They do say that blood is thicker than water, which I'm reliably told, means family comes first. Clearly, whoever coined that expression never met any of my family. Believe me, if they were yours, you'd want to disown them too. It's not that they're particularly unlikeable, or that they've intentionally done anything to deserve being side-lined. The truth of the matter is that using their brains is an alien concept to them. If it's dumb decisions, idiotic plans, or simply not having a clue, they're first in line. I don't know about blood being thicker. Because they, are thick as… SERENDIPIDY It's only when it starts to congeal that blood is thicker than water. Just try slitting a wrist and you'll see just how freely the red stuff flows! However, personally, I prefer to leave it a while. I like to let it thicken a bit, like soup left to simmer on the stove. Thicker, means more concentrated, a more intense flavour; an altogether more enjoyable experience. Not everyone's cup of tea, of course. Some would rather it thin, and runny. Each to their own. But I'll take intense and robust over tasteless and insipid, any day. You should try it! NORVAL JOE As the nurse left the room, Sabrina lay back and closed her eyes. The shooting had been days before and she still had a unit of blood hanging on the IV pole. Billbert thought, 'Blood is thicker than water. Where will she go with her only relative dead?' As if she heard his thoughts, Sabrina asked, "Where is Buhmilda?" Billbert swallowed. Was he the one to break this news? "Um." Sabrina squeezed his hand. "It's okay. I know she's dead. We stood together and watched them carry our bodies away. She stayed with her body, and I went with mine." TOM To feel envy is human, to savor schadenfreude is diabolic Arthur Schopenhauer Blut ist dicker als wasser was a play written by Franz Klass. It is based on Christoph Starke, "Synopsis bibliothecae exegeticae in Vetus Testamentum," Leipzig, 1750. The three central characters representing the three driving forces behind schadenfreude – aggression, rivalry, and justice. The setting drawn from Byron's poem Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. The metaphor of the Roman holiday run through the work where a gladiator in ancient Rome expects to be "butchered to make a Roman holiday" while the audience would take pleasure from watching his suffering. Across the back-drop the phrase is Xing zai le huo scrawled in red paint PLANET Z No moon tonight, so we walk to the border site. John and I put on our gloves and we take the water and food out of the wagon. "Do you think what we're doing is right?" John asks, as he takes the top off of his canteen.

When I was little, my parents dragged us to Cape Cod to suffer a hot summer in a cabin without air conditioning. I cheatcoded the diner's Galaga game out of infinite lives. But couldn't keep from them forever. Out at the beach, the cheap suntan lotion washed off, and I sunburned my calves horribly. Instead of taking me to a clinic, they forced me to crawl everywhere like an animal. Made worse by a performance of Annie Oakley by the local amateur theatre group. When I cried from the pain, they'd smack me. "Don't make a scene," the serpents hissed.

Victor was born in the Soviet Union, and his country collapsed around him. Serving in Russia's army for a time, making connections for his later role as an arms dealer. Many regimes who bought weapons from Victor. Massacre after massacre, yet Victor claimed not to have their blood on his hands. When Victor died and went to Hell, he pled his case before Satan. "If not me, someone else would have sold them the guns, tanks, and planes," claimed Victor. Satan nodded, and assigned demons to torture Victor for eternity. "Your blood is not on my hands either," remarked Satan.

There are so many stories about the so-called Hollywood casting couch, where producers and directors force young starlets to do things to get a role or keep a role. Wally never had a couch. He had a trapeze. And the things he made those young women do, well, they were actually kind of awesome. Strictly acrobatically speaking, of course. There was nothing sexual about it. The backflips, the catching Wally in mid-air, the spinning and the lit torches... It was like his own private circus in there. Until one starlet spoke out. And it became a huge public media circus.

Gramma died last week. She was an only child, Mom and Dad have been dead for years, and I'm her only grandson. I moved away for work a few years ago, and went back and visited, but really couldn't take time off. So I had the crematorium pick up her body from the rest home. They were supposed to mail her ashes to me, but the tracking number is wrong, and the post office doesn't have any other records of it. Out there, somewhere, is Gramma. Probably sitting on a shelf with others lost in transit. Should have used Fedex.

Travis Scott has a history of yelling for the audience to rush the stage. "There are more of you than guards," he's said. What utter dumbasses take a job to guard his shows? The guy you're supposed to protect, screaming for the audience to attack you. What an ungrateful son of a bitch. I tried to listen to his... "music" is what he calls it? Three "songs" in, and I had to hit stop. I want to go to the hospital rooms of the injured... the funerals of the dead. And say "You were willing to die for this shit?"

I don't hang with the cool kids. I'm rather behind on the times, so I don't know where the cool kids hang. Do they still hang at the roller rink? Do they still hang at the drive in? Do they still hang at the malt shop? That's kinda dated, I admit. That's Fifties thinking. Do they still hang at the arcade? Do they still hang at the mall. Maybe. Not sure. This isn't the Eighties, man. Where do the cool kids hang now? If they don't wash their hands, get vaccinated, and mask up, they'll all hang at the ICU.

Lizzie Richard Serendipidy Norval Joe Tom Planet Z The next topic is Blood is thicker than water NORVAL JOE The tree, struck by lightning, burned and sizzled as rain and wind slashed against the window of Sabrina's room. The nurse's frown faded to an apologetic smile. "If it was in my hands, I'd let you stay. But these are the rules, cut and dried." "I expected as much." Billbert made to leave. "No!" Sabrina snapped, squeezing his fingers. "Keep your hand in mine!" The nurse folded her arms. "Okay. You have until I give report in about forty-five minutes." Billbert glanced at her name tag. "Thanks, Nurse Racquet. Can I come back tomorrow, earlier?" She sighed. "I guess so." SERENDIPIDY Here's where I keep them, sealed away tightly in airtight boxes to keep out the humidity. Cut and dried into cubes, the desiccation process preserves all the flavour, but makes storage simple and none of those nasty smells to deal with. Then, when I have guests for dinner, I simply rehydrate a few cubes overnight and use them to make stock, or simply crumble them over the meal, to add a nice piquancy to the food. Delicious! I think so, anyway. My guests, sometimes disagree. So I slit their throats, and use their bodies for the next batch of seasoning. TOM here in jungle-land 945 859 860 The children of the unforgiven tooled broken express lanes. No time to be expected. Enter longing, regret hot shame. In her hand was his redemption, In his hand was the echo of pain. Whined out a fiery engine cut and dried in the furnace’s reframe. She knew no reason to wait in the darkness. He was her savior, her light, her flame. This flight was his last. Wheels pounding in the rain. A wall of law behind them a wall of law ahead. Desiccation of hope hardens the heart, but concrete blockers will end the game. Here in jungle-land. A line of lawmen, a wall of cars and a hail of bullets in wait. Just at the edge of eyesight the Rat was making his run. Like the speediest falling star, brief and doomed, he never really had a choice, gun the engine at that blue line, and lose. Music was spilling out the window in some broken down Homeric hymn. The barefoot girl keep time with its mournful beat that mark the last full measure of her empty life. In the end it was just the sound of metal, then a silence you could cut with a knife. The rasping of rain in the gutters. Thumbs setting safeties, up turn barrels in the night. A trail of smoke above a trail blood below. Crossing the heart of the city one less rebel ment one less reason to fight. In morning would there be a pray for the rat? Would his passing even be noted? Would a mother cry for her child? For a good girl gone bad. When the song is finally written who is forgotten who is not? Only the strong stay strong and the meek fade way. Burn bright the children of night here in jungle land. LIZZIE The guy stole my headset, and then the gun magically appeared in my hand and I just had to shoot. I knew the detective wasn't buying my loony bin strategy... My lawyer told me to shut up, but I just had to talk. And I went on and on about voices, lots of voices "can't you hear them?!". My lawyer said "shut up" again, but I just had to keep talking. In court, my lawyer turned to me and said "Voices?! Did you hear my voice??" And then I was given life. Perhaps I should write a book about voices! RICHARD Express Checkout I really don't know why I bother! Every single time, it's always the same: I pop in to the store, rushing as always, and up against the clock. So, of course, I choose the express checkout, as I always do, and - as I always do - I regret it, almost immediately. The guy with more than ten items; the woman with annoying kids, demanding sweets and gum; the idiot, struggling to swipe their credit card, or fumbling for change. All of them delaying the line, each one a blocker to my rapid exit. Express checkout, my arse!

My grandfather loaded up the boat with our fishing gear, and we went out on the lake. "The lights in the sky are real," he said. "They're stars," I said. "They're planes. They're helicopters." "No," he said. "The other ones." And he'd offer his flask, and I'd just drink my coffee. And we never caught any fish. Years later, I took the boat out on the lake. I had his flask with me, and drank a toast to him. Up in the sky, I saw the lights. They weren't stars. Or planes. Or helicopters. And they got brighter. And brighter.

The bloody body of the dictator was shown on television. "Liberation!" said the headlines. "Everyone rejoice!" People wanting to see the body went to the palace and joined a queue, and then were ushered into waiting rooms. After a few minutes, they walked into a viewing room, where they saw a bloody corpse. Some spat in his face. Others dropped their pants and pissed on him. But there were a few than bowed. They were taken off to another room. Where they met the very-much-alive dictator. He thanked them, handed them guns, and sent them after his less respectful visitors.

Got bad dreams? Hire a dream weaver. Dream weavers come to your house with a case of tricks. Candles, chimes, and aromas in jars. Pills of strange colors and various sizes. "No, that's not a pill," says the dream weaver. Meticulously curated music playlists to lull you to sleep. Some will massage you, touch you all over, rub you with oils and other substances. And then... you fall asleep... and you're awake again. The bad dreams are gone. But you didn't dream at all. Doesn't matter. That wasn't the deal. Oh, and cash, please. And nothing bigger than a twenty.

A crowd gathered in the town square. Some had torches. Others had pitchforks. Bob had a pitchfork on fire. The others mocked Bob. "They ran out of torches, and I really wanted a torch," Bob told his wife after the gathering. "Someone with a torch could have traded with you," his wife said. "Besides, we have torches in the closet." "You said those were the good torches for company," said Bob. Bob and his wife had soup for dinner. Then went to bed. Bob dreamed of a gathering in the town square. He had a torch. And he was happy.

Smithy was a fireball pitcher. After ten seasons without a World Series ring, the eleventh was the same futility. He demanded a trade to another team hot in the race for one. Come November, he flashed that ring around his new city like there's no tomorrow. So much so, he blew out his elbow. When it was time for the Hall of Fame, he wanted his plaque to show the new team's logo. He only wore it for three months. The old team convinced him otherwise, with videotape of him and some of his young fans in the locker room.

After escaping the whale's belly, Pinocchio and Gepetto fell off of their raft and washed ashore on a small island. There were plenty of trees and vines to lash together into a raft, but they had no tools. Instead, Gepetto used vines to tie down Pinocchio. Then he demanded that Pinocchio tell lies, and Gepetto used a pair of rocks to snap off the end of his nose, over and over again. The pain was excruciating, and it drove the puppet boy mad. When he had enough wood, Gepetto lashed together a raft. But Pinocchio stabbed him with a stake.

Lisa Lizzie Richard Serendipidy Norval Joe Tom Planet Z The next topic is PICK TWO Express, In my hand, Expected, Cut and dried, Desiccation, Blocker LISA All Our Tomorrows I’m not sure if it was the heat from the fire, or fumes, or if I was just overwhelmed by being out of the basement but I felt really light headed. In his explanation he kept repeating that he’d chosen us and the importance of ‘all our tomorrows’. That particular phrase was repeated over and over again. Later, he led us up a very grand staircase. We had a bedroom each. Mine had a massive double bed and a sofa in it. The weirdness wasn’t the opulence though; it was being separated from the others after being so very close. LIZZIE We gathered by the fire. Questions and more questions. One wanted this, the other that. And we all shared our fears and our hopes. There was laughing, crying, and yelling too. Not many believed we would make it out there. We all shook our head. We all chuckled. We knew. They didn't. We would make it! When the nurse came with the pills for the evening, we all agreed not to take them. The nurse said, take the pills, come on. And... I stood there alone. The others ran and hid in the darkest corners of my mind. The cowards. RICHARD Undated We spent an absolute fortune on the new computerised diary system. The programme basically runs the whole business. We're totally reliant on it, which - if you ask me - is never a good thing. Every meeting, appointment and booking, past present and future are managed by the system. All our tomorrows, yesterdays and todays: categorised, organised and optimised, and all supervised by the system to ensure maximum effective use of time and resources. Neat, huh? Until the system goes down. Like it did today. And the engineer can't come until Wednesday. So, at least for the time being, tomorrow is cancelled. SERENDIPIDY The photo album tells the whole story. Every page, full of special moments; memories of times past, the family happy together, smiling and loving life. Every page, that is, right up until the day our lives crossed with his. And then, everything changed, forever. After that, just blank pages. No more photographs, no more happy smiles, no more family. All our tomorrows, wiped out in an instant. My family, destroyed. And, myself, the only survivor. And him? He's doing just fine. Or, so he thinks. Because I'm on a mission to get even. So, let's see what tomorrow will bring. NORVAL JOE Like a plot twist in the telenovela, Todos Nuestros Mañanas, as Billbert touched Sabrina's hand, her eyes flashed open and she tried to sit up. She shouted in pain and the monitors flashed and beeped. Lightning struck a tree outside the window and thunder rattled the room. The nurse rushed in. "I'm sorry, Billbert. You'll have to leave." Sabrina clutched Billbert's hand, gasping, "No. He has to stay." The nurse scowled and reset the monitors. Sabrina's heart rate and respirations had begun to normalize. "I can't explain why," Billbert said. "But I need to stay, for a while at least." TOM When you get to the fork in the road Sister Fran was a devotee of the ancient sage Yogi of Berra. His collective works were some of few written records from the past that survived. Fran spent hours in deep contemplation on each of the holy koans. She read the gold leaf script with head bowed. The future ain’t what it uses to be. A soft wind blew through the arched window of the monastery. As the western sun melted in the forest she lifted her head. With silver ink Fran wrote the following: All our tomorrows were yesterday. I have taken the fork oh great sage, She mused. PLANET Z Mrs. Rettig asked each student to bring in a calendar. At the end of every day, she'd give out stickers. Green for good, yellow for needs improvement. I got a lot of red and black stickers. At the end of the year,

Having Asperger's and parents who were in denial about it will mess you up. They were proud of my perfect brother, but ashamed of me. My father would tell people that I was from his wife's first marriage, so don't look at him. My mother would tell people that I was from her husband's first marriage, so don't look at her. I was the sick joke they shared. So when my father died and my dementia-ridden mother was left destitute, the retirement home called. "Don't look at me," I said. "I'm from her husband's first marriage." And I hung up.

When I was two, my mother forced me into summer swimming lessons. It was at the community pool, and she'd deliberately park far from the entrance. The blacktop was hot, and I cried in pain as I burned my feet. The only sandals I got were the ones she hit me with. So I ran from her abuse, nearly getting run over several times. Finally making it to the cool wet grass at the lot's edge, I kept running. She caught me, and hit me more. I never learned how to swim. And I never learned to stop hating her.

When my mother wasn't dumping me in daycare while she bowled, it was in front of the TV. The television wasn't just my babysitter, but it was my teacher. I watched Mr. Rogers and Sesame Street and Romper Room. Learning really stupid things. One lesson was that a puppet cop could hold up his hand and stop traffic. So when I ran out in the street in front of our house and played Monkey In The Middle, all I needed to do was hold up my hand. It didn't stop the spanking punishment. I spanked my stuffed Grocer in retaliation.

I used to boycott all of the companies that my father, the corporate attorney, was fired from. Instead of whacking off to Playboy bunnies, I whacked off to Penthouse pets. Instead of eating Wendy's heart attacks on a bun, I ate McDonalds or Burger King stroke sandwiches. Instead of Little Caesars, which peddled fried bread with cheese that was greasier than the family that owned the company, I ordered local pizza. And instead of Applebees and Sbarros microwaved restaurant entrees, I microwaved my own stuff. Now that the asshole is dead, I still boycott them. Because they make lousy food.

In addition to her depression, my mother suffered from seasonal affective disorder. And she was living in the Pacific Northwest, so the Winters were excessively dark compared to here. Not that I was going to invite her to move here. So, I said "Turn on a light." That wasn't enough. I then sent a big 4K television with a player and some wildlife and other scenery disks. By closing the windows, she could fool herself into thinking it was nice outside. When I visited, the disks were unopened, and my asshole father was watching football and porn on the TV.

My school had a senior project requirement. A brief internship at some business or organization you're interested in. I was interested in Science, so I planned a few weeks in their medical technology lab. Instead, my mother conspired with the program coordinator to dump me in a homeless shelter. Where I was attacked repeatedly, and once forcibly injected with heroin. These days, when bums on the corner beg for money, I hand out monopoly money. I donate the itchiest clothes and blankets to shelters. And drop cans of creamed beets and other disgusting things off at food bank donation drives.

Lisa Lizzie Richard Serendipidy Norval Joe Tom Planet Z The next topic is All our tomorrows RICHARD Beans I has beans every day, plenty of fibre in them, see. Scientists say it's good for you, all I knows is they makes me fart. Guess that's a good thing though: better out, than in, I says, just so long as you ain't downwind of me at the time. Ferocious, they are… pungent! But, I suppose that's one of the downsides of taking care of your body, occupational hazard, you might say. Of course, if I'm honest, it's not strictly true. I'm not really health conscious at all. I just loves my beans, with a passion. And farting, of course. SERENDIPIDY Just because we've been around for millennia, don't write us off. It doesn't mean that we're a bunch of has-beens. Even the forces of evil have to evolve with the times, otherwise how else are we going to stay relevant and a force to be reckoned with? Why do you think social media is so toxic, and there's so much disagreeable content online? As for the Dark Web, we invented it! One thing we won't touch though is artificial intelligence. We prefer to leave it well alone. Because we simply can't have AI taking over the world. That's our job! LISA Why Are We Here? "After the death of our parents, we partied. We partied pretty hard. We travelled. We travelled far and then returned here to the only house we’ve ever known feeling like has-beens. Thirty years old, stinking rich, and feeling like life had nothing left to offer us. It’s ludicrous, isn’t it?" He’d spoken for ages. The sofa, despite its softness, was feeling more uncomfortable than the basement. I felt I had to say something. My speech felt slurred when I spoke and the room felt a little blurry. “Where exactly do we fit in to this idea for a new community? LIZZIE The train station was still there. The door was locked. I peered through the window but couldn't see anything. The bike was rotting away at the usual place. The windsock was still flapping on the rusty pole. Back then I didn't understand why the station master wanted that windsock up there. Trains don't run on wind. The old station master would smile and say that the birds needed to know. But I never saw any birds. The station master would smile again and say, you don't? Look. And point to the sky. He saw birds, and that made me smile. TOM Cold Fusion In the land of the has beens is a tiny corner set aside for the never was-s. Rudy was in charge of this sad clump of lost souls. To be a has been you got to have been a been. Done something of at least marginal success. The never was-s came so close to that level, but just couldn’t get their head above the waters of failure. Rudy kept track of each “C-list” personality in an ever-growing ledger. Rudy got this gig after losing the Noble Prize seven times. I can’t quite remember what was his contribution to physics. 858 Millions of Arrows I am a fan of Japanese director Akira Kurosawa. After the war he set out to make films that would explain the American and European mindset. Seven Samurai was basically a western. Throne of Blood was a retelling of Shakespeare's Macbeth. In the over-the-top climax Generals Washizu played my Toshiro Mifune is driven mad by the trees of Spider's Web Forest "they have risen to attack us" he screams. A direct nod to Birnam Wood. What follows is millions of Arrows. End of the Magnificat Seven doesn’t hold a candle to Mifune's pitching about like a human pin cushion. NORVAL JOE Initially, everyone who passed Billbert sitting against the wall asked him what he was doing there. Hours later they all acted like he was invisible or just ignored him like he was some embarrassing has-been. Ten minutes before the end of visiting hours, a nurse opened the door. "Okay, Billbert. You have ten minutes. Then you need to leave." Sabrina lay as still as death in a yellow hospital gown.

Someone complained about Abraham Lincoln and his Gettysburg Address being on display in a university library, so the staff removed them, saying it had been part of a temporary exhibit, even though they had been on display for years. Then, at another library, a parent complained about Ru Paul's book, so the library pulled it from the shelves. People started complaining about everything, books, artwork, the chairs, the stairs... Pretty soon, there was nothing left in any library in America. Which offered plenty of room for drag queens to read stories to little kids. Until someone complained about that, too.

Someone smashed my car window and took some stuff. "Yeah, it happens," said the police. They gave me some paperwork to fill out. "Leave the doors unlocked," they said. "And don't leave anything in your car." My insurance company said "The deductible is five hundred dollars." So, I went to the repair shop, and they charged me... five hundred dollars. When they were finished, I smashed the store owner's car window. Then I drove to the insurance agent's office and smashed her car window, too. Because the police won't do anything, right? Oh, and they didn't leave their doors unlocked.

I remember a fireworks cake, long ago. When I was still too young to know better. "Those fireworks are for you," we'd say. The bruises on my face still sore from whatever transgression against her fragile, bitter ego. There's still a bit of red glitter in the car's cupholders. From the flowers I got her last year. The day that I found out she was a willing part of my father's plan to ruin me. They couldn't die fast enough. I should get the car fully detailed and cleaned out. And rid myself of her ghost once and for all.

When trailblazer Senator Betty Riley first went to Washington, she railed against the old men she was forced to suffer at the hands of. The sexist harassment and abuse, their constantly falling asleep in meetings, and carelessly letting their staffers run their offices. "You washed-up evil monsters!" she shouted. "You should retire to let fresh new perspectives in!" Fifty years later, decrepit and falling asleep in meetings, Betty let her own staffers run her office. Occasionally, they wheeled her to talk shows and woke her up long enough to shriek at detractors as being sexist and disrespectful of her elders.

Courtney raised a steer as part of her 4H classes. She never gave it a name or talked to it. Just wrote X on every form. It won competition after competition, until they got to the State Fair. They never managed a win there. But it did place, and at the auction, Courtney came away with enough scholarship money to pay her way through State. The steer ended up as steaks and burgers, and its horns adorned a Russian billionaire's golf cart. At her graduation, Courtney thanked her parents and her teachers. Not a single thought about X the steer.

So, kids are taking guns to schools and shooting their classmates and teachers. It doesn't matter if they were picked on, bullied, or abused. It's wrong. But for those people wanting to ban guns, well, it's impossible. And limiting magazine and clip sizes just means the kid carries more of them and reload. The solution is, of course, to build bigger and heavier guns. Ones that a kid can't carry. If it takes two or three kids to carry a gun, it can't be concealed easily. And maybe one of the kids will say "Maybe we shouldn't be doing this."

Lisa Lizzie Richard Serendipidy Norval Joe Tom Planet Z The next topic is Has-beens LISA Our Adductor Explains “The wealth we have is beyond comprehension. This has, in some respects, made us into outsiders. Neither of us fit into traditional society or, indeed, like society. So, we would like to start something else. A sort of new community built on love and trusting. That’s why, you see, taking you all against your will wasn’t the right start for this. I’d prefer it if you’d chosen to be here in the first place. We both hope that now you’re here you’ll choose to stay with us. We won’t force anyone so please, do say if you’d rather leave.” RICHARD Outsider Even after all these years, I'm treated like an outsider. So what if I've lived here since I was a young man? I wasn't born here: That's why I'll never fit in. It doesn't matter to them that my accent is strange, or that my skin is a different colour. They don't care that I worship other gods and follow my own traditions. None of this bothers them. But they still watch me, with suspicion in their gaze; fall silent when I approach; they still keep their secrets from me. I was born an outsider, and an outsider I remain. TOM Outsider Frank and Bill met in grad-school. Both brilliant, top of class, destine for greatness. Frank became the consummate Insider. Walked the halls of powers. Knew the power elite. His council was sought out by the Half a Percent. Bill on the other hand was the consummate Outsider. He left no foot print in the corporal or the cyber world. Basically, he was off the grid, in deep cover. When Interpol finally caught up with Frank and sent him to the Hague for war crimes, it was Bill who sprung him. No one saw him coming no saw them go outside. 857 Crash My dad had Chutzpah. If there was an event in his neighborhood where free-food was served, he and my godfather Eddie would crash it in the most brazen ways. Friend of the groom to her family. Friend of the bride to his. One night he got hold of the mic and sang to the newlyweds. Even got their names wrong, but it didn’t matter, boy could he sell it. My dad crashed funerals. In Chicago wakes had excellent spreads. He could turn on the water-works on cue. One time he broke down in tear in the arms of the archbishop. SERENDIPIDY Another Outsider came today I threw stones at him, and he went away I just want to help, I heard him say But help from strangers isn't my way He'll be back again sometime, I know But I'll throw more stones, and away he'll go The Outsiders say they have my welfare at heart But I'd rather live my life apart From those who think they are so smart. Yet still they continue to come around They shout and yell when I go to ground. Why can't they all leave and let me be And remain Outsiders, just like me? LIZZIE The family and the outsider. The mother, the father, the brother, the sister. A family like so many. The hugs and the smiles. The praises and the photos. A family like any other. Everyone smiled. Everyone thought, what a wonderful family. So loving, so caring. The kids look so happy. Except for the outsider. She was not happy. Why do you always have to frown for the photos? Why can't you be quiet? Why can't you be more like your sister? Why do we even bother? The outsider was never hugged or praised... or loved. The outsider was her daughter. NORVAL JOE After three days of getting the same answer to his calls to the hospital, Billbert was fed up. He left school and went straight to the hospital. He picked up the phone outside the ICU and told the ward clerk he was there to see Sabrina Hecksaohos. "I've told you before, Billbert. Only family members can come in to visit." Frustrated, Billbert said, "And I told you before, I'm not some random outsider. I'm her only friend, and she needs me to see her. I'm going to sit here in the hallway, outside your door,

As I strolled down the avenue, I realized that my shadow was not my own. The embassy frequently warned us about rogue shadows, the shadows of their greatest and most successful spies. “Watch your back!” Say the posters. This is why all official business happens in specially-built light rooms, with light coming from all directions to purge any rogue shadows. Trapped in dark prisms and shadow boxes, kept in a massive safe. Until the enemy offers an exchange. Their captured shadows for ours. Lining up on the bridge, facing each other, flashlights and spotlights to ensure they are genuine.

The problem with naming things New is that they eventually become old. New Coke was a total flop, and Coke had to bring back their old formula. They called it Coke Classic, eventually dropping the Classic along with New Coke. New Wave music ruled the late 70's and early 80's, conquering consciousnesses through MTV. Until the fad was replaced with newer music, coming back now and then as retro through tribute acts. Then there's New York and New England. What's so new there? They're just old, dilapidated piles of rubble with the occasional bright and shiny sticking out of them.

I don't know what's so exciting about the home run derby. Some guy lobs easy pitches to a batter, and they slug them over the fence. Over and over and over. Where's the challenge in that? What I really want to see is the steal home plate derby. That's where the real excitement is, a guy stealing home. Although it's kind of hard to do in a derby, since they know the guy is going to try to steal home. So, instead, let's go with a Bench Clearing Brawl Derby. Give the winner a pickup truck. And an ice pack.

Elwood had a decent credit rating, so he got a lot of credit card offers in the mail. They were better than the high-interest service fee cards he'd gotten when he was poor and broke. But he looked at the cashback offers for the store cards, and he noticed that they paid out less than other general bank cards for the same category. So, he broke into his neighbors' mailboxes with better credit ratings, got cards in their names, and ran up huge tabs. Then he drove off to Mexico. At least the neighbors got good cashback on his fraud.

I like to walk to the grocery store every Saturday. If it's going to be a very hot day, I go as early as I can. And I take a route that's through a nice neighborhood with shady trees and wide sidewalks. There's joggers, people pushing strollers, and others going to the store or coming back from it with their bags. Today, I walked past a couple walking their two dogs. Well, one was laying on the ground, not moving, and another was sniffing it and whining. The couple was crying. Maybe it's too hot out to walk, after all?

When I broke my elbow, I was stuck in the emergency room with a phone at 3% battery and no cord or spare battery. A doctor let me borrow his charger so I could get texts out to friends, and they convinced the gift shop to send a cord to my hospital room. And cookies. And iced tea. And stuffed bears. Since then, I've had battery anxiety. I bought a plug-in hybrid car instead of a Tesla because of battery anxiety. And I panic when I see a coworker's shared desktop on Zoom when they're not plugged in and charging.

Lisa Lizzie Richard Serendipidy Justin the Space Turtle David Fairbanks Norval Joe Tom Planet Z The next topic is Outsider JUSTIN THE SPACE TURTLE Three… You never know how it’ll turn out. You thought it would be amazing, as endless as anything can be this side of Heaven, and be a little slice of it. Two… surely it’s just a challenge, it will be OK, just try again, learn, try harder, be better. Push through the pain, do the best you can. One… It’s not right anymore, you say. You’re told you’re wrong, but also that you’re right, and it’s done. Zero… It’s over, gone, and there’s nothing left but the broken pieces of your life. And the struggle to keep what should remain. DAVID Officer Under Fire “Officer under fire!” blared across the radio. Andrew Macarthy had been in fistfights and gunfights, fended off dogs, and had cars crash into his own at breakneck speed. This experience put them all to shame, for a child held his fate. Constricted with no way out, a chill running over him, he could only wait. One shot fired, missing by inches. A second shot, a little closer. Andrew looked out the glass, where the child held his baseball with fiery eyes. The kid wound up and threw—bullseye! Andrew plunged into icy water with shocking effect. “Officer down!” the announcer cheered. RICHARD Officer Down "He's lying very still, Sarge… I think he's dead" The sergeant gave me a grim look, "Let's hope not. Bad enough having an officer down, without it becoming 'killed in the line of duty'" We inched forward, wary of hidden shooters but, as we neared the body, we sighed in relief at the sight of the rise and fall of his chest. He was breathing. No... Snoring! A nudge from my foot brought him to bleary-eyed, surprised, wakefulness. To be honest, I think the Sarge would have preferred 'killed in the line of duty' to 'sleeping on the job'! SERENDIPIDY You never know quite what the immediate future is going to bring. Any random action can result in unforeseen consequences; like that trip over a paving stone, that sends you flying helplessly into the path of a bus! Unlikely, I know, especially if you’re the cautious, careful type; but accidents can happen! Then again, it may be the random action of somebody else entirely that completely ruins your day. Like the moment I sneak quietly up behind you, and randomly push you into the path of that approaching bus. It wasn't me though. You tripped over that paving stone, right? LISA Gathered The fire crackled; my muscles, stiff from spending months on the floor, began to unknot in the warmth and comfort of the heavily cushioned sofa. “When I gathered the first of you it was a completely random action.” Our faces all grimaced at his word choice. “I’d just got the idea of starting something pure but, believe me, this really wasn’t the beginning I wanted for it. It felt like the exact opposite of what I wanted. I had no choice” He winced as if this was hurting him when it was us it affected. None of us had spoken. LIZZIE One, two, three, something… The numbers got jumbled in his head. He wanted to call her. He never understood why she had left. He was a caring husband. He yelled at her sometimes, true, but it was just to toughen her up. He always bought her flowers afterwards. The ungrateful would make a face and walk away. Two, three, something... No. He still loved her. But she abandoned him when he needed her the most. That punch was... Well, but she talked back. Three, one... He kept trying to remember it, not knowing that she had long changed her number. TOM Everyone has their Reason – Rule of the Game Morty had lived his life by other people’s rules. Parents, teachers, Bosses, wives, anyone of authority. He was old and dying inside. The logical option was finding some high bridge and take a swan dive.

When Fall comes, I like to move my laptop to the patio table and work from outside. Of course, I need a second monitor. And a power cable for the equipment. Maybe a large fan, when the breeze isn't blowing. Then there's the wireless keyboard and trackpad. And my phone. Don't forget the pitcher of iced tea. And lemons. And ice. When everything's set and ready, that's when the sun comes out. And that glowing orange murderball screams I WILL MURDER YOU WITH MY HEAT AND LIGHT! I pack everything back into my little cart and drag it back inside.

So many people on their timelines encourage others to vote. Sometimes for one candidate. Or the other. Or against one of the candidates, implying that you should vote for the other one. And then there's the general calls to vote, without any particular candidate in mind. Just vote. I don't ever endorse people to vote for a candidate. Or against one. Or even encourage people to vote. If you've ignored every other call to vote, for or against, or at all, and it's all down to what I think... Just give up. Tear up your registration card and go away.

Even though there's dog waste bag dispensers and disposal kiosks, people still walk their dogs and rarely pick up after them. It stinks, it's unhealthy, the shit's all over the sidewalk, and my laundry cart ends up rolling over the turds. So, I go from door to door with an ultrasonic dog whistle and blow it. If I hear a dog barking, I make a note and move on to the next door. After getting an inventory of dog owners, I wait until night, and then I shit on their welcome mats. "You're welcome," I shout, and run back home.

The chicken processing plant is a factory. Chickens, hung by their legs along a track. Their heads pulled off, their guts reamed out. Their feet chopped off for soup. Slashed and broken by workers with chain mesh gloves and the sharpest blades. Breasts, tenders, wings, thighs, legs. All tossed down chutes for packaging. The rest, we send to the priests. Who sacrifice the bloody mass to our Dark Lord. With his nine thousand faces, we scream out his name. He leaves a trail of blood and flame for us to follow. As the chicken processing plant fades into the darkness.

Of all the antiquated terms people use, I find "hanging up" the phone to be the most amusing. We used to hang the receiver on the phone to terminate the connection. Now, it's a button on a cell phone. Although pushing a button to cut off a call, depending on the type of phone, that's been around a while. Picking up a phone to take a call isn't always necessary. When we have headsets and speakerphones and car phones, we don't actually pick up the phone. And illegal, when you're driving. But I guess hanging up is my biggest hangup.

I've been going to Ryan's Bar for years, and it's a tradition that the oldest guy drinking at the bar gets the television remote. Whatever he chooses, everybody watches. If you want to watch something else, buy him a drink. Maybe he'll change his mind. The better the drink, the better your chances. And the bigger the drink, the faster he'll get drunk and pass out. Leaving the remote to the next oldest guy. One old fart kept wanting to watch cartoons. Ryan took the remote's batteries out. "You get the remote," said Ryan. "But you're not ruining my bar."

Lisa Lizzie Richard Serendipidy Norval Joe Tom Planet Z The next topic is PICK TWO Still, Officer down, Random Action, One two three…, Pure, You never know RICHARD Railway lines I'm writing this on the train. It's a good way to kill the time between departure and arrival, and it's surprising how even the longest journey can seem to fly by. Some might prefer to gaze out of the window, snooze or read, I've tried them all - had to really, when the job meant travelling for hours on end, most days of the week. Then we discovered online meetings. And the travelling stopped. The writing didn't, although somehow it seems I never have the time, these days. So, it's good to be back on the train. Getting creative once again. LIZZIE Train the mind, train the body. Row, row, row. And that was the deal. Resurface after a downfall. Get up and walk, get up and run. Go, go, go. But he didn't want to go, go, go. He didn't want to get up and he definitely didn't want to resurface. He didn't mind the rowing, though. After rowing away for hours, he landed at a beach. Nice. Seagulls in the background. He could get used to this, he thought, until his coach showed up. How...? "GPS, my son, GPS. Why do you think I gave you that gadgety little watch?" SERENDIPIDY I bet they never trained you how to deal with this, did they? Oh yes, you can kill a man with your bare hands, survive in the wild with no food or shelter, sneak up and overcome an enemy before they even know you're there. I know they trained you to resist any kind of torture, giving away nothing but your name, rank and serial number. And I'm sure you're very good at it too. But they never trained you for this. And it's going to last the rest of your life. So just say 'I do', and kiss me! LISA Welcome “So, Welcome to Newton Manor.” He pauses, smiles. “There’s a train station nearby- it’s unused. The ticket office is in our grounds. When the house was built our ancestors had the village moved. The quickest escape would be to walk down the path following the old tracks. That said, I’m happy to drop you in town if any of you want to leave. This is my brother, and since our parents died, we live here alone. It was nothing sinister, old age, but it has left us financially secure and potentially in a position to create something very special here.” TOM Penny a Point I grew up a mile and half from the City of New Orleans tracks. On very still nights could hear it moving down the tracks. One of the joys of being a kid was taking rapped interest in semi-destructive acts. Take flattening copper pennies on train tracks. Not as easy as one would think. The speed and weight of the train play crucial factors in perfectly squashed coins. Also, age. Secondly even if you found the best location of the rails finding the pennies was another matter. Multiple squashes ruined the aesthetic. I have no idea where those pennies went 855 When Stripes Ruled The United Mime Workers Union a was seriously bad ass union. Gave the Teamsters a hard run for the honors. You had to be hecka strong to free yourself from an unseen glass box. Find your way around imaginary invisible walls. They never loss an invisible tug of war. Never ones to be lifted into heaven by non-existent balloons. Go toe to toe with a man who could lift an impossibly heavy bag try that after 15 beers. Sadly, the Mime Works Union isn’t what it uses to be. Striking using imaginary lead pipe just does not cut it. NORVAL JOE Billbert and his parents walked to their car in silence. He wondered what Sabrina was going to do now that her only relative was dead. Could she live by herself in Buhmilda's meadow? Once inside the car, Billbert's father broke into his train of thoughts, and asked, "Are you going to tell us what happened, son?" "Sorry, Dad," he said, swallowed a lump in his throat, and went over the entire story.

You never know which home run is the last home run you hit. Or give up as a pitcher. The last touchdown you catch. Or throw. Or run. Or get called back because of your holding penalty. Maybe it's your call from the booth. Television. Radio. The last dunk. The last free through. The last foul, when you foul out of the game. All your days on the field, the court are long gone. Trade in your cleats for a suit. The last time you get recognized on the street. "Hey, didn't you used to be..." And sign an autograph.

Teddy Baskets leads the league in scoring. Triple Double Teddy. But he also leads the league in shots. And shots missed. And fouls and turnovers and minutes. If you average things out, you'll see why Teddy's team is in last. Nobody else gets any shots because Teddy's a ball hog. He fights his own team for every rebound. And hates coming out of the game, even if he's on a cold streak or exhausted. Laying in the jacuzzi after the game, bitching to his agent on his cell phone. The team's trainer casually knocks a plugged-in lamp into the tub.

It was fourth grade recess league softball, and I managed to avoid my name sticking to any roster. The teachers didn't know what to do, so they asked if I'd be an umpire. "No," I said. But they made me do it anyway. "Strike!" I shouted after every pitch, even ones that hit the plate. The principal, who was pitching, had me move next to him. "Strike!" I continued to shout. A gang of other kids joined the chorus. "Strike! Strike! Strike!" they shouted mockingly. "Oh, good," I said. "You can take over then." And I walked home from school.

Johnny started a TikTok account and posted all kinds of things, but he wasn't getting any views. So, he started posting videos of fires. Burning cars. Burning buildings. Burning parks. This got him a lot of views. But the other people posting videos of those fires also got lots of views. And some of them got more views than Johnny. So, he burned down their houses. Eventually, Johnny got caught. As he sat in his cell, he smelled smoke. A fire alarm went off. Johnny yelled for a guard... to bring him his phone so he could post a video.

So, you want to stop school shootings? Metal detectors haven't worked. Guards haven't worked. Safe zones haven't worked. Lots of people are talking about taking away guns again. As if you could take away the guns. And even if you stop selling the big guns, there's still the guns out there. Background checks? Doesn't work for stolen COVID funds, won't work for guns. Stop smuggling? Every border has a price. So, I came up with another plan. Homeschooled kids don't bully their classmates. Homeschooled kids don't shoot their classmates. Take away schools. And you take away the classmates to kill.

It's almost jasmine season again. The jasmine vines took a beating last year because of the freeze. I thought about chopping them down, but let's see how they do this year. If there's no bloom at all on the ground, yeah, I'll cut them off and plant anew. Thing is, if we head out in a year or two, I won't see any of it. They'll grow for the next tenant. But life is about planting for the next generation to enjoy, right? As long as they don't chop them down and plant a bunch of daisies or other crap.

Lisa Lizzie Richard Serendipidy Norval Joe Tom Planet Z I think I mixed the ending a bit oddly... oh well. You can see the topic here: The next topic is Train RICHARD Sold! I bought it on Amazon: No, it wasn't cheap, but maybe I was swayed by the product description. 'Absolute peace of mind, and total security', it said, and then to ram the point firmly home, it went on to detail exactly why I had no need whatsoever ever to worry… Waterproof, leak proof and rot resistant. Non-fade, colourfast and hard-wearing. Biologically and dermatologically tested, additive free, hypo-allergenic and vegan friendly. Safe, secure, tried and tested, and a lifetime no-quibble guarantee. I had to have it. If only I knew what the hell it's supposed to do! LIZZIE The security unit monitored the whole house. Total Security, stated the ad. But the resident cat hated it. When the security unit started growling, the owners thought they were doomed. Killed by a security unit. The horror. Well, the unit was just bored. Eventually, the feline and the unit struck up a friendship when the unit started purring. The cat thought that was rather amusing. But then the security unit was fired for being too noisy. So, the cat made a big fuss. Long story short, the unit stayed. Cats rule. If they want total security, they get total security. LISA Where We’re in a room with a huge fire. There’s cakes and tea. Our eyes are out on stalks but at the same time we all wince from the brightness. You can see for miles and yet you can see nothing. We’re remote. But based on the opulence of the room we’re in- this is not some rural backwater. Our captor explains. “It’s a gated property. You, the chosen ones, will have total security here- you can walk for miles and not meet a soul. We keep the gate locked. To stop outsiders getting in, not to stop you getting out.” SERENDIPIDY Good choice! As panic rooms go, you really couldn't do much better. Concrete walls, solid steel door with multiple timer-secured deadlocks and three-sixty external surveillance systems. Total security. I see you've stocked up on supplies for at least a week too. That shows great foresight and planning. Well done. Because, let's face it, with a character like me stalking the neighbourhood, you really don't want to be taking chances. But, I do feel there's something you may have missed. A secure panic room is great, once you're inside. Not so good, if I got in there before you! TOM Not So Good My wife works in a clinic. In the clinic are departments who would sell their first born for an extra 4 square feet. Now that square footage in her office has been usurped for reasons of security. In a safe of considerable weight are keep the holy grail of medicine. My wife doesn’t buy into admins reasoning for a safe in her office. They muse for the need for ToTaL Security: a safe behind a lock door. Gail pointed out there is an 18 inch window in her office. To maintain Total total security they moved it to the john. 854 Water Torture Remote The codename for the project was: Water Torture Remote. DARPA funded it in the late 60s. The core of the project was to train solders in lucid dreaming. Once in a heighten state of consciousness images of prime targets would be scanned on the retinas. Targets were merged in dreamtime. At this point the suggestion that water was filling the targets lungs would be planted in the target’s consciousness. It almost worked; problem was the guys running the scanners got linked-in. Water Torture Remote took them out. Needless to say, the project was summarily defunded. Nothing in DARPA ever truly dies. NORVAL JOE "Come on, son. Let's go home," Billbert's father said. Billbert rattled the handcuffs. "I can't dad." Billbert's mother looked like she was going to grab Vattash by the throat. "Why would you cuff a child during a friendly chat?

He stood there, a dark and shabby man, rotten teeth and wild hair. Clothed in dirty rags, surrounded by dozens of shabby commoners. Roman soldiers watched them all. "That's Jesus?" I said. "For real?" "Kinda puts things in perspective, eh?" said Dr. Marks, holding his camera steady. We were posing as merchants, and tracked the group for a few days. And when it was over, we went back to our boat, threw the time circuits, and appeared back in the Institute. We both took a big breath of fresh air. "Man, I need a shower," Dr. Marks said, and laughed.

Baby woke up cold, bound up and tied to a tree. She looked around as best she could. There were trees all around her, and all she heard were crickets. She tried to scream, but there was a gag over her mouth. The last thing she remembered was leaving Archie's place and going home. And her husband... he came back a day early. "What do you think it will be?" a voice whispered in her ear. "Starve, dehydrate, or freeze?" It wasn't any of those. It was a shovel to her skull. And he used it to bury her deep.

Of all the childhood games out there, the one I hate the most is Simon Says. Because I never got to play it as anything but Simon. Sure, telling kids to step forward or raise their hands can be fun. But it was never enough. It led to my being a megalomaniac, ordering kids to rob banks, smite enemies, and far, far worse. I tried it on my family, but they were also Simons, and my parents never relinquished their iron grip on power. Oh, I also hate dodgeball. Getting hit in the face with a rubber ball sucks, too.

I like to dip my cheese pizza in ranch dressing. I also like Doritos. So, I bought a bag of pizza-flavored Doritos and a bag of ranch-flavored Doritos and ate them together. It was a dumb idea. Because the flavor dust gets all over everything. And they don't stack like Pringles. So, I'll dip pizza-flavored Doritos in ranch dressing. But I won't crumble up ranch-flavored Doritos and sprinkle them on cheese pizza. That's stupid and messy. Some idiot came up with a bag that mixed pizza-flavored Doritos with ranch-flavored ones. Just because you can think up an idea doesn't make it good.

You probably only know of the two Wicked Witches and the one Good Witch from the classic film, and maybe you know Mombee from the later sequel, but the books are full of spellcasters, sorcerers, and other practitioners of magic. Ding Dong was especially proud, powerful, and dangerous. The few who knew of her existence knew not to mention her, let alone insult her. Munchkins are as ignorant as they are small, so they didn't realize their mistake of singing "Ding Dong, the witch is dead!" "No," a voice muttered. "You're dead." A massive firestorm wiped Munchkinland from the map.

Can you hear the mortars? They're silent again. After the bodies were piled into trucks and hauled off, we brought the stretchers to the creek. Washing the blood and guts off of the canvas, getting them cleaned up for the next wave to come in. We'd wash ourselves, wash the blood and guts off of ourselves, trying to wash out the memories and noise and smell away. Wondering when we'd end up on the stretchers, taken down the hill down to the trucks, piled up, our blood and washed off and... and... Can you hear the mortars? Hear them again?

Lisa Lizzie Richard Serendipidy Norval Joe Tom Planet Z The next topic is Total Security NORVAL JOE A shocked expression flashed onto Officer Sheepdip's face. Before she could close the door, Billbert shouted, "Mom, Dad. I'm in here." The door slammed shut. Having been led through the office to the interrogation room, Billbert knew his parents must have heard him. His parents burst into the room and seeing him handcuffed to the table, his mother turned on Vattash. "What are you doing to my son?" Vattash stood, an embarrassed smile on his face. "Ma'am we were only having a friendly chat. I assure you, our agency values citizens' rights and would never think to infringe upon them." LIZZIE Comfort and quality. The true values of a traditional railroad company. And then there was Herbert, the old man who was the new employee. He made everyone's lives as difficult as possible. When he kicked a passenger's... backside... out of the train for complaining about everything, everyone was horrified. Why wasn't he fired immediately? And then, they received a letter. He owned the company and gave all employees a share of it. And he did so, because he realized that dealing with the public was a pain in the... Comfort and quality, yes. But also respect for the staff. There! SERENDIPIDY Let's play a game. You're on a crowded lifeboat, and some of you need to be thrown overboard, or none will survive. Your task is deciding who lives and who dies, based on the perceived values, skills and benefits they bring to the group. It's not an exact science, but I'm sure there's plenty of fun and interesting discussion to be had, and - at the end of the day - it's the greater good that matters, not the needs of the individual. Except for my needs. Which is why you're all in the lifeboat, and I'm still on board the ship! LISA He's Back He’s back, he looks like he’s really pleased to see us. “Morning! Sorry I’ve been away, so long, I hope you’ve been well looked after? It’s time I explained things properly. I think it takes a near death experience to make you reassess your values, and appreciate what you’ve got and what you, perhaps, could have. "Please. Come upstairs and get comfortable. I wasn’t planning on having that car accident so this explanation and apology is long overdue." He’s exuding charm and care. We’ve spent months in his basement but he’s acting as if we’ve just popped over for tea. TOM A man's reach should exceed his grasp. What Timmy valued was last square of property in the worst street in London. Which had the worst meat-pies in London, but you could get a close shave upstairs. The value of that tiny plot of filth was small but the owner of same plot was adamite in retaining it. Timmy had exhausted all reasonable courses of action. Driven to a dark metaphysical opinion, Timmy summoned the likes of the companies founding father and his 16 feet of chains and chests. This should have done the trick, but Marley took a liking to the owner. They had tea regularly. Damn. 853 We think In Centuries For centuries phosphors tied themselves in knots trying to find the evidentiary underpinning for a Supreme Being. Investigation into origins of this question often lead into speculation about the nature of a power much greater than ourselves. This lead to speculations about God; more specifically, arguments designed to establish the existence of God with the use of “unaided reason”. Example: “First Cause” argues there are events that occur now, and these must have been caused; however, for there to be events now, there must have been a first cause; that is God. In the end Evidence just wasn’t there. Bupkis. RICHARD Welcome to the real world All day long, every day, I stare at spreadsheets, tracking the values of assets and projecting profits and gains based on historical performance? Sounds really boring, right?

A government survey found a dozen indigenous tribes living in the rainforest we'd marked for farming development. It doesn't take much of a bribe to get the numbers and GPS coordinates. The army doesn't patrol out here, so it's easy to fly in one of our own survey teams. Handing out blankets and tools and other goods. They're most interested in the sugar cubes. The poison in them acts quickly. It's painless, and they die with smiles on their faces. The next survey will show this area as uninhabited, and after we make the claim, we'll roll out the machinery.

Fifteen minutes with an epsom salt warm compress, the bump on my cheek comes to a head. "Wash your hands again and squeeze it gently," says the virtual nurse. Yellow and white flow down my cheek, and I wash it out with deionized water and squeeze again until only blood comes out. Swab it out with a cotton swab, then hydrogen peroxide. The buzz of the pharmacy drone, it drops off the antibiotics. "Take two tonight, one tomorrow morning, and use a clean bandage," the nurse says. "I'll check in tomorrow." And I thank her, and head for the door.

Working from home and walking to stores, I don't drive my car much. After three and a half years, less than ten thousand miles. As little as I drive, I still ran over a nail and had to get a new tire. I figured I might as well buy 4 new tires, but the store owner insisted I just needed the one. Okay, fine. Thanks. A week later, I hit a pothole too quickly and tore up another tire. And I needed a tow to the tire shop. He's still only selling me one tire. At a time, I worry.

It's National Lemon Day. I go through a bag of lemons a week. They help prevent kidney stones. Well, the standard ones. The uric acid ones, you also need to do potassium, keep your pH in check, and avoid foods with purine, and so on. Every morning, I put 2 lemons on the cutting board. Ream a half lemon out with every glass of iced tea. Oh, I drink a lot of iced tea and water. Because I don't want to wait 10 hours in the emergency room for a dose of Demerol and a cat-scan. You know... the stones.

The Flugelheimer Circus Train took the curve too fast and went off the rails outside of Morgantown. Right out by the ravine, half the cars rolling down the hill into the rocks. The others like scattered crushed boxes, spilling out broken animals and people. The few survivors, limping and crawling and carrying each other to the lights of Morgantown. Ambulances and nurses rushing out, the Boy Scout Troop giving first aid, no comfort to the mangled. And where was Flugelheimer? Not in his private car. He was in Rio with the formerly-bearded lady, living it up with the insurance payout.

I work with a charity that builds schools in poor neighborhoods. Neighborhoods with run-down schools, not enough skilled teachers, old textbooks, and few after-school activities to keep kids out of gangs. We get a lot of grant money and celebrity support. And we use it to build the schools. The best schools. Beautifully and perfectly designed schools. Problem is, when we're done building the schools, there's no money left. Maybe enough for a ribbon for a politician to cut. And run, leaving behind an empty school with no teachers, no textbooks, no afterschool activities. Except for vandalizing the empty shell.

Lisa Lizzie Richard Serendipidy Norval Joe Tom Planet Z The next topic is Values LISA Broken Dreams The sound of a siren wakes us. It’s close and feels as if it’s above us. We scrabble together, unsure what to do, should we signal to them? Start shouting perhaps? It raises the same unspoken question- we’re not really prisoners, are we? The basement door’s unlocked so we’ve no great urge to escape. Why shout for help when we could probably just walk out anyway. “I think it was an ambulance not a police car.” “I can never tell the difference.” I wonder if Number 1 is back and whether we are, at last, going to get some answers. LIZZIE Broken dreams and a scratch. A deep cut, now nothing but a scratch on the surface of the skin, a faint recollection of pain. A deepness forgotten. Broken dreams and the urge to speak, to shout a future lost. In complete silence, in complete immobility. Broken dreams and a second, only a brief second, a signal from afar, a thump, a thump, a thump... The drumming, louder and louder. A cacophony of doubts building up. Broken dreams now and yesterday, and now. Broken. Dreams of futures unspoken. And maybe, just maybe one day, just one day... Maybe broken no more. RICHARD The Game of Life Welcome to the Arcade of Broken Dreams! Here are the games of despair and the wasted efforts, the hours of fruitless endeavour, and hopes betrayed. What will you play today? Will you play the claw machine? Clutching futilely at your goals, teasingly just out of reach, until - tantalisingly close - they fall from your grasp? Or perhaps you'll choose the coin cascade? Feeding its hunger with all you have in the vain hope of winning big, but you never do. Whichever game you play, you'll never win. Your life will never change. But, I know you'll be back again tomorrow. Guaranteed! SERENDIPIDY You'll find the urge to scratch irresistible. But, trust me, scratching is the very last thing that you want to do. By now, your skin is paper thin. It'll tear at the slightest touch, and you'll soon be ripping your own flesh from the bones. I promise you, once you start, you won't be able to stop. So, I urge you, don't scratch. Resist the temptation. Grit your teeth and hold on, no matter what. I know you'll give in, eventually, but please try not to scratch, just for a moment. At least wait until I've turned the camera on. NORVAL JOE After the officer asked the same series of questions for the hundredth time, he said, "Okay. Let's start over from scratch." Billbert had the urge to pound his head on the table. He interrupted the officer's line of questioning. "Officer Vattash, you said you were going to call my parents hours ago. Why aren't they here?" Vattash shrugged indifferently. "Maybe they weren't home." A female officer poked her head through the doorway. "Hey Vattash. The boy's parents are here. They're filing a missing person report." "Officer Sheepdip!" Vattash growled. He made an annoyed face and tipped his head toward Billbert. TOM It was the 80s If there ever an Arcade of Broken dreams it surely was Pizza Time Theater. The second restaurant in the chain was located in the back end of Town and Country in San Jose. I spend hours their glue to a space invaders. The place was a mad house of kids running around. Parents throwing back beer and wine that was on tap right next to the fountain dispenser. Only thing missing was the paper umbrella. When the whole thing folded, I was on the chapter 13 crew to sort out assets. Got that very space invader cabinet for a song. 852 Airship Archimedes In 1928 the airship Archimedes made its maiden flight. The DELG created a fight from Buenos Aires to Caracas. Of note Captain Juan Domingo Perón was on that voyage. The Archimedes flow for nine years. On the night of May 5 1937 the airship disappeared over the upper Amazon Basin.

Lucy was an old Series Seven. She did good work at the droid shop, and a vintage bot demonstrated to customers a bit of class, as opposed to the new Series Tens in the warehouse. But she had a hard time holding a charge, and those Series Sevens had an integrated hardwired battery. A swappable battery was a risky retrofit. Which Lucy declined. She spent all of her time tethered to a power cord, never going more than five meters from the reception desk. Smiling, welcoming people, waving people past, and arranging repairs for the broken Series Tens being returned.

There were ten of us Smith kids, and when the youngest Bobby went off to the Army, Mother had herself a bad case of Empty Nest. At first, she'd bake cookies for all the neighborhood kids, but between me and my surviving brothers and sisters, Momma had a bad habit of dropping things in mixing bowls without looking first, and thank God Daddy said he'd do all the cooking. So, she put out a bunch of birdfeeders and birdhouses, and the homestead was covered with birds. And bird shit. Even more reason not to take any of her cookies, kids.

Ah, Sweeps Month! Three times a year, the Nielsen Company would do detailed measuring of audiences. This would help them thumb the scales when setting rates with advertisers. To boost their ratings, the networks would shelf their usual crap and roll huge attention-grabbing stunts. Big stars on talk shows. Major plot twists on the dramas and comedies. Sweepstakes and viewer contests. And the usual excuses to pixelate tits and ass on local newscasts. Nowadays, most viewers use streaming or cable. Everything is measured to the microsecond. No more stunts. No more plot twists. Just the endless river of mindless crap.

There are jesters everywhere. Every office, every school. And on every train and bus. "Entertain us!" people shout at the jesters. And they do. Telling jokes, performing pratfalls. Juggling things, and simple slight-of-hand close magic tricks. They make everyone happy. Much happier than when there were clowns everywhere. People like the jesters more than the clowns. Clowns sometimes get sad, and they cry. Jesters do not get sad. They are always happy. Constantly in motion, going from person to person, cheering them up. Cheering all up who watch them. When a jester grows tired, another appears, and we are all happy.

It's final exam season. We bring our children to The Tower. The doors open, they walk inside, and the doors close. An hour later, the doors open again. One by one, the children who passed the exam come out. Some walk. Some run. Some crawl. Some are carried out. Maybe they'll wake up. Maybe they won't. As for the kids who don't pass, they're taken to the top of the tower. And they're pushed off the edge. Some parents stand back and watch. And pray. Others try to catch their children. And others just stand underneath, and accept their fate.

Numbers Back at the Station Polly’s empty seat dominates the room. Her colleagues are all thinking the worst and it spurs them on daily. There are daffodils in a milk bottle on the filing cabinet They had to bring in another cork board for the photos of the ten missing boys. The fifteen girls in the basement were on the original board along with photos of the two dead girls. Excitingly the murderer has just slipped up and is only hours away from getting caught. Unfortunately it’s going to take the police a while to realise the murderer isn’t the kidnapper.

Jacob carried his guitar from village to village, and the villagers gave him money. At first, he'd play for free, and they would dance and sing. And if they wanted him to play more, they'd have to pay him to stay. Jacob was good, but over time, his guitar wore down, and so did Jacob. Villages warned him not to come. Posting signs by the road. GO AWAY JACOB. He came anyway, and he would play, and the villagers paid him to go away. Now he just telegraphs his tour plans, and they wire him money to stay at home.

Richard Serendipidy Norval Joe Tom Planet Z The next topic is PICK TWO Urge, Infinitesimal, Scratch, Signal, Broken dreams, Arcade RICHARD Written by a human "And this is where the magic happens." Terry opened the door with a flourish revealing a vast open plan office, a sea of work stations, printers and telephones. All very impressive, but I was somewhat bemused by the lack of people. "Where is everyone?" I asked. "Oh, we fired them. Replaced the entire workforce, apart from me - and you now, of course - with AI. Cheaper, more efficient and excellent results, every time." I was confused. "So, where exactly do I fit in?" "That's simple, we need someone substandard to cock things up occasionally, and give the impression real people work here." SERENDIPIDY This train only really stops at two stations, this one, where you join us, and the next stop - the end of the line. I can see that you're confused. You know there are several stops before yours, and you're wondering why I've ruled them out. The fact is, they don't matter. You've never left the train at those stations before, and you won't be doing so today. Actually, you won't be leaving at your stop either. You'll never reach it. I've removed a section of track, and the train will be wrecked. It's the end of the line, for you. NORVAL JOE As the police officer drove through the forest, Billbert wondered if Eureka even had a downtown. He had been right to question it when the patrol car pulled into what looked like a strip mall and the city police and county sheriff had their stations in the same building. They ushered Billbert to an interrogation room and locked one cuff to the table. "Aren't you going to read me my rights, or something?" Billbert asked. The officer smiled congenially. "You're not under arrest. We just want to talk about some things." Billbert looked at the handcuffs and raised an eyebrow. TOM I’ve been a Bowie fan since 1969. Same year Space Oddity came out, the who released their rock opera. It was pretty cool in the late 60s to be named Tom. Saw Bowie and the Who in the late 80s. What I remember from the Who concert was hearing loss. What I remember of the Bowie concert was an amazing rendition of Station to Station. It is always best to barely listen to Bowie lyrics, unless you’re a Talmudic scholar. From Kether to Malkuth is ref to The Tree of Life. Bowie was ice masquerading as fire. PLANET Z Carrier pigeon arrives, and we unseal the tube. A black scroll falls out. We thread it through the playback machine and listen. Hill seven... fifteen minutes after midnight. The sergeant gets the troops armed and ready as we look over the maps. There's no way to hill seven without running into the enemy. Maybe if we set a few diversions... light a few fires... But the enemy knows our tricks. We think it over in the mess hall... maybe... We have the cook lay out his best stuff... lure the enemy in... And the troops head out to hill seven. CHATGPT In the heart of the city, amid the flurry of commuters and echoes of announcements, stood a forgotten station. Its platforms weathered with time, its benches worn with stories untold. Each day, a solitary figure, Alice, arrived, not for a destination, but for memories. She'd sit, tracing the lines of graffiti etched like whispers of rebellion. Here, time danced backward, revealing moments lost in the rush. Conversations lingered in the air, laughter echoed through empty corridors. In this station of shadows, Alice found solace, lost in the poetry of forgotten journeys. For in stations, past and present intertwine, stitching tales of transient souls.

It's really hard keeping animals alive, said the zookeeper. Especially when there's so many different kinds of animals. Some eat plants. Some eat meat. Some eat bugs. It's a real bitch keeping it all straight. And shoveling up all the poop? It's disgusting! So, I replaced all the animals with stuffed animals. With a few Raspberry Pis and articulators, their tongues can flick out, or they can blink, but seriously, most animals you see at the zoo are asleep in the corner of their cage. But it's really hard keeping articulators working, so we'll just prop up some cardboard cutouts.

The raven god flies over our village every spring to bless the planting season. And he comes back every fall to bless the harvest. All the tribes come for the festivals. We all lay down our weapons and are one. We sacrifice seed and corn to the raven god. The dancing. The bonfires. It's a powerful time for all. We drink the sacred drink, and we dance. The fires become ash. The night becomes dawn. We all say our goodbyes. Our brothers pick up their weapons, mount their horses, and return to their villages. Until the next festival time comes.

The naming conventions of college conferences are insane. Some were some based on regions of the country. But others were based on the number of members they had. The Big Ten had ten teams, and the Big Twelve had twelve teams. It made sense... until those big conferences got bigger. The Big Ten expanded to twelve teams, but stayed Big Ten. And the Big Twelve got bigger, but kept Big Twelve. Despite the Big Ten having more claim to their name. In the end. they will get bigger. Until Big Ten eventually spans ten states, and Big Twelve spans twelve.

I've never been to India. I hear that they have hundreds of varieties of mangoes there. Here, in American stores, there's only two or three varieties of mangoes. And each has its own subtle sweetness and tartness and texture. On the other hand, there are hundreds of varieties of apples. The store has dozens of them, and they change what they stock based on the season. Over there in India, do they have so many kinds of apples? People sip "flights" of tequilas and whiskeys, shot glasses on a board to sample. Why not a flight of mangoes? Or apples?

Tendy works in The Word Factory. She's in the development division that makes new raw words. They also work with rejects that come in for refurbishment and recycling. The functional prototypes go to the testing division. Tendy's friend Bartch works in Testing. He runs words through durability testing to ensure they can stand up to frequent use. Some words come back to Tendy for necessary improvements. While others go out for field testing. Once a week, the whole factory listens to the CEO as he reads off the list of new words. For the exceptional words, the creators get bonuses.

Casey's brought his car into the shop again. It's a disaster on wheels, but he can't get rid of it. "It's the car I'd drive my kid to the hospital in," he said. She died of something slow and horrible, it was in the papers. And so was he. "You're too good to me," he said. "Fix her up good as new again?" I think they'd what he was telling the doctors. The other guys at the shop say he's wrecking it for attention. "Munchausen" is what they call it. I looked it up. And wondered what killed his kid.

Lisa Lizzie Richard Serendipidy Norval Joe Tom Planet Z The next topic is Stations RICHARD It’s me I was the one who never paid attention in school. I was the one who spent time doodling, rather than studying. I was the one who never got good grades. I was the one who never cared about grades anyway. I was the one who didn't turn up for the last two years of school. I was the one who only got a minimum wage job. I'm the one who works on the checkout. But you never see me. I'm the one crouched beneath the register. I'm the one making the 'boop, boop' noises as the cashier scans your goods. LISA FACTS We set about collating the various newspaper articles we’d found and created a makeshift register, it felt good to have a task, something to do. Two girls- never been here in the basement- DEAD Ten Boys- not here MISSING And our names. All fifteen of them. We use a separate page for each name and add dates of birth, ages, eye colour, where we worked, lived, and were taken. I was trying to find a pattern or connection but apart from the fact we’ve been sharing a basement for months; there doesn’t seem to be much else that links us. SERENDIPIDY I'm here, although you never acknowledge me. Always with you, biding my time, just waiting for my moment. I barely register in your consciousness, and you may never even discover me there, but be assured, I am. So, I wait. And, just maybe, one day I will burst forth and reveal myself and all that I am. All that you are. When the chain snaps, and the gloves come off, you'll see me for who I am. I am the murderer, the avenger, and the destroyer - the secret side we all harbour. Never revealed. Did I say never? Maybe not! LIZZIE To attend the Social Club, one must register by performing a few tasks. A first edition for the library, one gold coin for the coffers, and a finger. At first, he assumed it would be his fingerprint. No, an actual finger and not his own. Well, that could pose a challenge. They nodded. He tried. He did. But who would've thought people were so attached to their fingers... He ended up hiring a squirmish hitman who refused to do the chopping. Then, he hired a butcher with morals. And here he was, at the Social Club, but not that one. TOM Explore the Fascinating World of Machine Language. When I was a kid there was this cool educational toy call the Visible Man. A clear plastic shell will all the organs in primary colors. Later the VISIBLE V8 Internal Combustion Engine arrived. There was even a Visible Horse. Fast forward to the heady days of Apple 2e when shelves of program vied for your computing interest. An offering called Visible 6502 caught my eye. Thought it would have the same cool effect as the old models. Nope, a grid of hex-s flowing though registers. Watching an Accumulator accumulate not exactly quality entertainment. What it needed was Blinkenlights. Here’s the Deal I’m not a consistent dealer. In spite of hours of poker play I haven’t quite got the knack of counting to five. Why do my friends allow be anywhere close to a deck? I deal amazing hands. Often the best cards anyone has had in their life. One evening I dealt Don four queens. He framed the cards. Another night I dealt a royal flush. That one sadly only got Robert 50 cents. Over COVID I created a magic deck that deals out infinite royal flushes. Trick only works if you can count to five. Still working on that part. NORVAL JOE Paramedics worked on Mr. Withybottom as they passed the wrecked Continental. Billbert hoped it would register when he shouted, "Linoliamanda is okay. She's in the meadow with Sabrina." Sitting in the patrol car, Billbert looked at Sabrina's blood on his hands. "Those are my friends in the meadow. Is Sabrina going to be okay?" The cop looked at Billbert in the rearview mirror as he backed onto the dirt road.

The report says that halfway through the flight, a guy in first class loses his shit. He's a science teacher, and the pull tab on his soda can uses a second class lever. "I thought this was first class!" he shouts. "I want a first class lever! Effort, Fulcrum, Weight! " He starts hitting the flight attendant with a pillow. "Stop!" she shouts. "That's also a second-class lever!" And he stops long enough for the marshal to knock him out. How a science teacher affords first class, I dunno. And how a flight attendant knows basic physics, that's a bigger mystery.

Sure, I could watch baseball at home, but there's nothing like going to the park. It gets me out of the house for a while. It's amazing how things have gone from paper tickets to a code on your cell phone. The apps do everything... tickets, ordering food. I noticed a beta feature on the app that says BALL. When I tapped it, sure enough, a ball was hit right at me. Knocking me out cold. I woke up in the hospital. I'll be here for a few days. But at least I'm out of the house for a while.

When I ask Siri to do advanced math calculations, I think fondly of every math teacher telling me "You won't always have a calculator." Well, I did then, and I do now. I didn't always have batteries, but when I got a solar calculator, I didn't need them. And then I imagine the math teachers in Hell, having a hundred calculators jammed into every orifice of their body. Over and over. Oh, and slide rules, too. Can't forget slide rules. Sodomize those bastards with them. What about abacuses? Not as much, I think. Maybe spank the math teachers with those.

Back in the old days, there was a game called Wizardry. It was like Dungeons and Dragons with wizards, fighters, thieves, and clerics. There were also bishops who could identify items that you could sell to the store. Pretty useless otherwise. I'd leave them before. Clerics were good for two things: healing combat characters and raising them from the dead. Much cheaper than raising them in the town's chapel. If your entire party died, well, you had to send someone down to fetch their bodies. Just pray your bishop can run fast enough to avoid getting seen by the monsters.

Before they were the dogs of war that warmongers would let slip, they were the puppies of war. Breeders picked from the best lines of dogs of war to produce them, breeding for the best attributes of war. Showing off their selections at dogs of war shows, working out deals with other breeders to reinforce bloodlines. Feeding them puppies of war chow to help them grow big and strong and healthy. Training them to be obedient, as long as they remain on the leash. But when let slip, all chaos results. And not just scattered squeaky toys and pissed carpets.

Lisa Lizzie Richard Serendipidy Norval Joe Tom Planet Z The next topic is Register LISA Revelation Another day brings with it another newspaper. “You’ll never believe it – there’s a serial killer out there.” She turns the page to show two familiar faces from the police evidence board. The girls the police found murdered before I was taken. I survey the room awaiting the recognition and inevitable horror. There’s nothing. “Don’t you recognise them?” I ask incredulously. Every girl shakes her head. I look around and realise our man isn’t who I thought he was. My mind races, do the police know by now? So. What is he? Is anyone actually looking for him. I keep quiet. LIZZIE You'll never believe what the crow said. "Crows don't speak," someone shouted from the back of the room. He continued to explain. Some listened in silence. Many mocked him. "It's coming. We need to prepare." But who was coming? And why? "I don't know." A group fled to the mountains. The rest just went home. The next day, a giant shadow covered the town. "Blind, we're all blind." This lasted a hundred years. Then, the shadow lifted. When the crow returned, they listened. They worked together. They were prepared. The crow smiled,whispering "No need for a shadow this time." RICHARD Charlie Hey, listen to this… You'll never believe what I saw last night: Charlie out on the town, with a blonde bimbo half his age. You wouldn't credit it, would you? Charlie, of all people! Good luck to him, I say. Can't help feeling sorry for his Mrs though, at home all alone, while he's carrying on behind her back. Poor thing. I left the group to gossip amongst themselves, then sent a text to Charlies' daughter: 'Take your dad down the pub again tonight.' That would leave the whole evening free for me and his Mrs to have fun again. SERENDIPIDY You'll never believe the pain I can inflict upon you. Just imagine how it feels to have your finger and toenails slowly peeled off, or to have acid pumped into every orifice. Or maybe I'll stick matches in your eyes, then set them aflame? And that's just for starters. I want you to know exactly what lies in store for you if you dare to try that with me ever again! Some things you just don't do. So, be a dear… make me another cup of coffee, and this time - if you know what's good for you - only one sugar! NORVAL JOE A swat agent approached Billbert. He shook his head grimly. "You'll never believe we have a teenage shooter in our county. How many mass shootings have we had in America this year already? What is this country coming to?" He looked at one of his men and nodded to Billbert. "Cuff him." "It wasn't me." Billbert struggled to point as the driver disappeared into the trees. "It was that guy." Seeing no one where Billbert indicated, the officer said, "We'll hear your story when we get you downtown." They dragged Billbert past the car wreck to a waiting squad car. TOM 933 You’ll never believe it, but I just meet the Pope at the Venetian. He was playing craps in one of the far back rooms. Had a bunch of holy see guys with him. Sure, they were all in some form of disguise. Lot of bad facial hair. Sided burns out of the 50s. God damn Mullets. Pope in front party in back. Sure, I know the news said he was in hospital, but I’m tell you it was the pope. He even had me blow on his dices. What was the tip-off. No one wears red Pradas like his holiness. 850 Concertinas and Pacing Of late my favorite classic piece of music is libertango by Astor Piazzolla. It is the music currently playing in the background. Very Latin in flavor. There are dozens of videos on the net with Concertinas soaring at blistering pacing. Some include demolition Tango dancers. This is not father’s accordion. Actually, the key pattern is different. Concertinas have keys operating parallel to the bellows travel and accordi...

Every company, junk food and fast food, sends out their mascots to schools. Today, it's the clown in yellow, red, and white. the one from the burger place. He's at the school to teach the kids about nutrition and exercise. Leading them through games and songs and dances. The pudgy kids stumbling, falling, and wheezing. Tomorrow, it'll be the old man in the white suit, the one from the chicken place. With more games and songs and dances. And when the fun is over, the kids go home, and they scream for the unhealthy stuff. Coming back fatter and clumsier.

The Swiss claim to be neutral. A permanent mountainous buffer between France and Austria. They refuse to join any defense pacts. They refuse to join any economic treaties. Or allow attacks to be launched from their territory in their conflict. However, they're more than happy to lecture others from on high on how to conduct war and human rights. While manufacturing and selling weapons to everyone. (Until war breaks out) Filling their banks with the gold and assets of the world's leaders. Expensive chalets for the losers of those conflicts. Oh, and to sell body bags. And watches. And chocolates.

If you use a razor, you'll give yourself nicks and cuts. But if you use an electric shaver or trimmer, you'll end up causing more than a few ingrown hairs. The closer you shave, the more ingrown hairs happen. Some become inflamed and messy. Squeezing them out, cleaning them up, patting on the astringent. Again. And again. And again. I don't know which is messier, the razor or the shaver. As I get older and my hands shakier, I cut myself more. Before I wash the blood from my face, the cat jumps on the counter to lick it off.

Everything was clipboards and paper and charts, and it was so easy to lose information. Patients would get the wrong food or medications, and it was more paperwork for us. We switched to iPads, and the errors decreased a lot. Putting barcodes on wristbands made it even easier to track patients and their needs. We tried giving them a pill with an RFID tag in it so they'd automatically sync up with our pads, but the metal was enough to cause problems in the MRI machine. The pill would come out like a bullet. And those MRI machines are expensive.

The company built a fancy resort hotel and then gave away rooms to dozens of social media influencers. "Tell the world what you honestly think," the company said. So, they did. They said it was fancy, an experience of a lifetime. The food, the rooms, the service, the pool... everything was simply the best. Their blog posts and instagrams and youtube videos gushed hyperbolic praise and joy. Their posts filled up with nasty comments, wanting to know if they'd had gone and been so happy if they had to pay. But the influencers were already at another resort. Comped, naturally.

I don't go for cause bumperstickers. There's only one on my car, which I rarely drive, and it's a clearish Debauche sticker. Right side of the rear bumper. Nobody will get the joke, and I don't care if they do. You see those cars out there, plastered with stickers, and they look like crap. As if the bumpsterstickers are holding the damn thing together. I'd rather not be a lending library or road hazard with all that writing. Provide your own damn entertainment. The only thing I care about people driving behind me is that they use their brakes right.

In school, there was always that one kid who'd bring the teacher apples. That kid was me. "Thank you," the teacher would say. And she'd eat the apple. "Delicious." I was a smart kid, and I got good grades on my own. But I'm sure the apples helped. Until one day I got a bad grade for something. That's when I mentioned that the first apple had poison in it. "And the other apples have a temporary antidote." From then on, I got good grades. And the teacher got the full antidote on the last day of class. I think.

Lisa Lizzie Richard Serendipidy Norval Joe Tom Planet Z The next topic is You'll never believe LISA He brought us today’s newspaper! Finding out that it’s March makes my tummy lurch. It feels odd reading and finding out that life has just gone on without us. But, it seems it has. I’m almost disappointed that we’re not spoken about on every page. There’s actually nothing about any of us. The headlines are full of a missing boy. A boy: from across the river. I scour the article, the police cogs in my brain whirring, it makes three missing lads in the last month. It’s weirdly as if it’s written about us but they’re boys that have disappeared. RICHARD Never a cross word I don't know why I bother with the crossword, I rarely manage to complete it. I had a vague idea it might keep my brain active, perhaps prevent the onset of future senility, but I have my doubts. This morning's effort wasn't going well. Nine across: seven letters, B, something, something, F, something, L, something, D; 'Perplexed, the flow is obstructed'. What sort of a rubbish clue was that? Perhaps dementia was already setting in? Taking a slurp of coffee didn't make things any clearer, and I put my pen down, defeated. Yes, I've given up once again. Completely... Baffled. LIZZIE She sat down in the cabine across the aisle from me. She didn't smile when I smiled. She looked down, her hands on her lap. It was pouring. I always worried about everything. In my mind, she worried too. So, I wanted to go over to her. A hug. Or perhaps I could hold her hand. As her husband-to-be, I heard someone say, closed the door, she took a quick glimpse at me and waved a shy wave. We never talked, but every year we would make the same trip. And I would wait a whole year for that wave. SERENDIPIDY How do I get the seriousness of your situation across to you? All I'm asking you to do is confess your sins and recant your faith - just say the words - not exactly difficult, is it? I simply need to hear you say it, and then you can go free. No need for any more torture, pain or tears. I can make it all go away, but first I need to hear you say it. My impatience grows. Your refusal to speak is becoming irritating. Although, coming to think of it, maybe I should have waited before cutting out your tongue? NORVAL JOE Billbert grabbed the rifle from the man's fingertips and stepped back as the helicopter flew across the treetops and dropped down into the meadow by Sabrina. Swat team members spilled from the open doors. A loudspeaker squelched. "Put the rifle down and put your hands in the air." Knowing that if he'd been Black, Billbert would already be dead, he threw the rifle to the ground. The van driver ran for the trees and Billbert lowered a hand to point at him. "That's the guy..." The loudspeaker cut him off. "Put your hands in the air or we will shoot." TOM It seemed like a good idea at the time It took either an amazing amount of courage or galactic stupidity. Neither of these terms were available to Pa-Pi. He only had about 300 words in his head, half were getting food, food itself, what animals want him for food. When he put the lashed timber together and dropped it in the water, the locals laughed there asses off. Ass was pretty very useful for collective humor. They hadn’t really invented joke yet. Mostly rocks and fire. It was a rough ride across the water, but he made it. Pa-pi was the first human to leave Africa. The other followed. 849 She could me Boo Jack entered fatherhood late, but with full on commitment. He even did messy dippers. When toys were purchased, they had been researched for maximum educations value. He also had clear idea of paternal names he truly dislike. Pops was an athame. Daddy was so prosaic. Father so formal. Dad so 1950s. Jack want to be Pa-Pa. A medieval patrona. He wanted a family that would fit in comfortability in...

Today is an important day. I wrote IMPORTANT on the calendar. But I don't remember why it is important. I looked through my mail and my notes, but there's nothing telling me what's so important today. I haven't gotten any phone calls or emails or other messages about today. I've asked everybody I know, but they have nothing... they need nothing from me, so it's not something important I have to do for them. So, I'll just stop worrying and go through my day. And if anything comes up tomorrow, or someone asks, I'll know what was so damn important.

One hundred pegs along the wall of the cliffside monastery. A brown robe hanging from each. The monks had hung their robes on the pegs, filed out of the dormitory, and out the front gate. Lining up at the edge of the cliff, one by one, the naked men leapt to their deaths. Later that evening, one hundred naked men arrived at the gate. They walked into the dormitory, picked out a robe, and put it on. The new monks of the monastery. Saying prayers together, praising their creator. Until it was time for them to leap from the cliff.

Sarah doesn't have nightmares. She doesn't need them. She just remembers everything bad that's ever happened to her. And that's a lot of bad things. Horrible things. Terrifying things. When she wakes up, she writes down all the memories. After a cup of coffee and a bowl of yogurt, she looks over her notes, and begins to write. At the end of the day, she sends her writing to her editor. Dinner, walking in the evening light, a shower, and off to bed. For more memories to harvest. And turn into novels To give so many readers their own nightmares.

As November rolls around again, it's the return of campaign season. The ads and social networks are a cesspool of delusion and madness. I can avoid them as best I can. But my phone? BING! BING! BING! You're not campaign volunteers. You're goddamned parasites. I turned off text alerts and vibration last week. When do I look at my phone, I Report Junk on every campaign text. And then go back to what I was doing. I'll turn it back on when this year's shitshow ends, the credits roll, and the pundits throw shit at each other during the post-credits scene.

Every year, Nathan's Famous sets up the tables and chairs for the contestants. Trays of hot dogs and buns, and pitchers of water. The crowd gathers, the contestants take their seats, and the judges set out the trays. The crowd counts down from ten... nine... eight... When they get to zero, the contestants peel out the hot dogs, swallow them, then dunk the buns in the pitchers and swallow the buns. The judges keep tally... ten... twenty... thirty... Some contestants stop... others vomit... but a few keep going. The crowd counts down to zero, and the judges tally the winner.

The walk of fame is just a bunch of names on plaques in a sleazy part of Los Angeles. Weirdos in costumes harass the tourists, and pickpockets steal whatever they can get their hands on. Or you get mugged and robbed and you're crawling on the ground asking for help. It's the walk of fame, not the crawl of fame, loser. Show some dignity. Get the fuck up. This is Hollywood, dammit. And stop bleeding on Charleton Heston. Well, his star... not the actual man. I can take your picture with it for five bucks. Just hand me your phone...

Lisa Lizzie Richard Serendipidy Norval Joe Tom Planet Z The next topic is Across LISA It feels like weeks since we’ve seen ‘no 1’ and It hits me that we don’t know the date. I wonder if we’d get one if we asked for a newspaper. There’s not much to do–most of us are writing something now mostly just scribbled thoughts. We laugh playing with the free gift on the breakfast cereal. Laughter always makes us sad afterwards. The basement becomes quieter and more subdued. It’s odd isn’t it? It prompts us to think about another explore. We’ve not wanted to since number 2 arrived but we plan and it lifts the mood again. LIZZIE It's almost half past four. I pick up the book, a gift from a stranger in the park. "It's about France," he said with a smile. It hit me then that if I don't leave, she will destroy me. "Why do you hate me so much?" She asked. I don't. I never have. Wrong answer. And after that, she punished me for weeks with silence. I grab my small backpack, my whole life in it, and go. A gift, a smile, a gesture of generosity, and I am free. That's all it took. Amazing, isn't it? That's all it took. RICHARD Free, or captive? I'm a sucker for a free gift, doesn't matter what it is, what it's worth, or whatever it is I have to purchase or sign up for to get it, count me in. Supermarket trips can be a nightmare, hit me with an aisle full of 'buy one, get one free', and I'll be there all day, until the money runs out. That's becoming a real problem, actually. My habit has put me on the brink of bankruptcy, and even though every room in my house is stuffed full of freebies, there's not an item of real value among them. SERENDIPIDY Long live the king, they shout and cheer. It sickens me, but let them have their moment, for it will soon be over and the streets will run with monarchist blood. Tonight, the revolution begins, and we who have vowed to see a new future will rise up and claim France for its people. No more will the aristocracy lord it over us, while we suffer and toil; no more will the working class support those who have never lifted a finger in honest labour. Long live the king? I very much doubt it. Vive la révolution! Vive la France! TOM Faith There is a waterfall in France call Labulaydelusane. As waterfall go it isn’t that high, or wide or watery crashy. What it has is a grotto of uncommon beauty. It gives the sanctuary of Lourdes Massabielle, a run for the money. A clever family in the 16th century place a pile of crutches against the wall. Over time folk have left 1000s of crutches on wall. The family got pretty damn rich hawking the healing water of Labulaydelusane. Everyone who left their crutches there need to roll away in a wheelchair. But still they come. Until the day Timmy arrived 848 Cross country. cross country racing strategy does not necessarily simplify to running a steady pace from start to finish. runners debate the relative merits of fast starts to get clear of the field, versus steady pacing to maximize physiological efficiency. Some teams emphasize running in a group in order to provide encouragement, while others hold that every individual should run their own race. Whether you run ahead 'of the pack' or behind it and pull ahead in the end is important, but can vary according to the runner's skill and endurance. Runners should also account for food intake prior to the race. NORVAL JOE Billbert hovered above the car crash. It was like a free gift from fate that the shooter had been dazed when he hit the ground. He recognized the Lincoln Continental that had smashed into the van as Mr. Withybottom's. Three teenage Black Knights stumbled from the van. There was no movement from Mr. Withybottom. As the residents crept into the meadow, Billbert heard distant sirens and a helicopter approaching. The teens heard it too and scattered into the trees.

My doctor told me to lose weight, eat less sugar, lower my cholesterol and blood pressure, and exercise more. So I got a smart scale, a smart watch, a smart treadmill, and a blood pressure monitor. And for the past few months, I've dropped 30 pounds, my blood pressure is normal, and all my numbers are much better. All those numbers are reported to my doctor's office. She doesn't believe any of it. "Who did you pay to take all those tests for you?" she asked. "Nobody," I said. And I don't have enough freeweights to stack on the scale.

Yes, I write. And I've been published. Well, my work has been published. Me, I prefer a low profile. Pseudonyms and ghost-writing. Let someone else take the credit, I just want the money and the challenge of writing. Sometimes, the people I ghost-write for don't honor the contract. They refuse to pay. So I offer to write for their political opponent or enemy, or go to the press with what they told me. "The contract includes the non disclosure agreement," I say. They threaten lawyers. They threaten revenge. But they always pay up. And it makes for a good story.

In baseball, pitchers tend not to be good hitters. In the American League, they have a designated hitter. Instead of the pitcher batting, they have someone else bat for him. Players who don't field well often are designated hitters. In the National League, they make pitchers bat. Or a pinch hitter bats for them, and then another pitcher has to take over pitching for them. Major League Baseball saw that pitchers were an easy out or would bunt a runner along the bases. So, they decided to relieve all pitchers of hitting duty. By locking all of the players out.

The biggest word I've ever used is no. When Enron collapsed and they were taking down the giant letters over the scoreboard at Enron Field in Houston, I was the IT Manager of a television station. And there was a project to run fiber from the station to the stadium for video and data. I convinced the crane operators to put the N and O together and I stood in front of them with an angry pose. Someone took a photo for me, and it looked hilarious. But over the years, I lost that photo. I still have the memory.

I don't pry. I don't ask. I find it to be rude to ask too much. But it's strange... the less you ask people, the more they trust you with. Some things are small. Other things are big. And then there's the things that are huge. Too big for them to carry. So, they tell you, to help them carry. You might think that the more people who carry, the lighter it is for everyone, that isn't how it works. Trust doesn't work that way. It's a lot to carry. But you will. And they will help you carry yours.

A simple white cross. Just like thousands more at the cemetery. Far, far away in a distant land they gave their lives for. His name. His rank. His hometown. And the date of his death. That's all. Nothing special. Sure, it is set apart from the others. A low chain fence, some flagstones. Some bushes around a small plot of grass. But no statues of angels, no lights. No wreaths or flowers. No cannon. And no flags. Just a soldier with his men. In eternal rest. Not killed in battle, like so many here. But a drunk driver, turning left.

A day late, but not a dollar short... Lisa Richard Lizzie Serendipidy Tom Norval Joe Planet Z The next topic is PICK TWO Free gift, Long live The King, Hit, Scribble, France, Waterfall LISA A different man comes to the door this morning. His face is less gentle. He stares too long at all of us as he pops the box down. I see it in his profile a brother or a cousin, definitely a relative. It’s awkward. He stands staring for too long. We stare back expectantly whilst having no idea what to expect. “He’s been in a car crash.” None of us speak. “He’s OK but in hospital.” He turns, lingers by the door. “Do you need anything else?” I’m not sure if any of us has blinked. We shake our heads.      RICHARD Bad Reception "Why do you watch that rubbish" she asked. I looked at her blankly, waiting for further explanation. She put on her 'exasperated' look. "It's car crash TV. You know it's aimed at plebs and Neanderthals, don't you?" I grunted in response. Might as well rise to the occasion, I thought. She looked at me in disgust, "well, I'm not watching it with you, I'm going to watch Britain's Got Talent in the bedroom!" I gave her a moment, waiting for the bedroom door to close, before switching to the movie channel. Nothing like having a good movie all to yourself! LIZZIE They survived the car crash. They survived the cruise ship sinking in the Mediterranean. They survived the train wreck in Sri Lanka. And the list went on and on. A tsunami, a volcanic eruption, a flood, a tornado, even a pandemic. Until that long-awaited trip to the North pole. "Take the icebreaker. It's safer," someone said." No, of course not. "Let's do something dangerous. Nothing ever happens to us." They rented a small plane. Did they know how to fly a plane? Not really. And that's where the list stopped. Simulation terminated. "Lousy game. Good thing it was dirt cheap." SERENDIPIDY Yeah, I cut the brake lines. So what? It's not as if the car was worth a whole lot. It was falling apart, an unreliable rust bucket that would only start when it felt like it, and was a complete nightmare to keep on the road. So, it really had to go, and I wanted to send it off in style. The idea was to floor the gas pedal and let it crash headlong into a tree, without anything to prevent the impact. So, I cut the brake lines. So what? Oh, right. Yeah, my husband was driving. So what? TOM crash It was my freshman year in college. My roommate was driving a Ford Econ. We were tooling down the JFK back to Evanston. Suddenly a spring downpour, 2in in about five minutes. We got cut off, not quite. Truck clips the front of the van sent is into a 360 spin. We pile into a bridge abutment. Driver’s door pops open dumping my roommate out. Van does a second 360 toss me out the same door on to the freeway. I side diagonally across four lanes of highway. And finally pile into the guardrail. Miracle, I survived the car crash. Calcutta It was the 36th hole. Two days of play. Our team was in second place. One stroke difference from beating the guys in first place. This was the only match at the club that banked bets. The caddies were not allowed to bet, but one member place them for us. The whole club was surrounding the green of the 18th. All three of the team dropped their putts. If my member dropped it on one it looked out the team behind us. The putt rims the cup and rolls a way. Everyone sees the choke. Crowd does a low murmur. NORVAL JOE Linoliumanda knelt next to Billbert, looked at Sabrina's leg and threw up. Billbert pulled off his hoody, folded it into a thick square and pressed it against Sabrina's wound. "Mandi. Hold this against Sabrina's leg." Wide eyed, Linoliumanda shook her head, and vomited again. "You have to," Billbert said and took her hands, placing them on the hoody. "Keep pressure on the wound."

People call it a robotic umpire, but it's a combination of radar guns, cameras, and computers. The system gathers up all the data and tells the guy behind the plate if it's a strike or a ball. It doesn't scan whether a swing goes around. It doesn't judge foul tips. It doesn't call safe or out on bases, foul or fair balls, or other important calls that umpires mess up. Nor does it sue the league for accusations of racism because it gets passed up for promoton. Which is why it's still in the minor leagues, calling balls and strikes.

I paid fifty bucks for the pay-per-view fight. Ordered a bunch of pizzas and picked up a keg. Moved the big TV to the patio, dragged out the sofa and chairs, and rented some more. Put out some lawn games, cornhole, that kind of thing. Put up a chalkboard for anyone who wanted to make any wagers. Winner. Loser. Round. Knockdowns and knockouts. People parked in the driveway, the yard, along the street. Neighbors came over, too. The fight lasted twenty-six seconds. But the party lasted all night long. Help me get everything back inside and take back the keg?

There's no such thing as a good car wreck All my money couldn't change the past. But it could buy a future of a sort. After some experiments with holograms and robots, they worked up a simple screen simulation. "It will be like talking to her over the phone or on a Skype," they said. And there she was. On the screen. My princess. "It was all my fault," my daughter said. "I'm so sorry. Stop beating yourself up." We cried for a while, said we loved each other. Then they shut me down and went back to their experiments.

My mother said that when I was a little kid, my terrible twos were truly terrible. Where my brother was an absolute well-behaved saint, I was a holy terror, and she broke a kitchenware store's supply of wooden spoon on my ass from all the spankings. However, the beatings happened long after my twos, and more often for my mother's transgressions, not mine. Many years later, my parents came to Texas to manipulate and blackmail me into supporting them. I disowned them both. If my terrible twos were terrible to my mother, then my terrible fifty-twos are a well-deserved nightmare.

My washing machine makes a lot of noise. The repair guy came by and said that it’s unbalanced. He gave me an estimate of two hundred dollars, but I told him to go away. I can fix it myself. You see, my therapist said I was unbalanced. And he prescribed some pills, yoga, and meditation. They work for me, so they should work for the machine. I put the machine on a yoga mat. And toss in some of my anti-anxiety pills. It didn’t work. Why? I didn’t take it to my therapist. Sadly, he doesn’t make house calls.

Looking back at the talent and the box office returns, one can easily say that the wrong Belushi died. John Belushi was a force of nature, producing cult classic after classic. And his final two films, while not smash hits or cult classics, still brought in money. James, on the other hand, started awful and took a nosedive from there, ending John Hughes directorial career along the way. His sitcom was unwatchable, filling a timeslot until something better came along. Jim retired to run a cannabis farm a few years ago. For all our sakes, let's hope he stays there.

Lisa Richard Lizzie Serendipidy Tom Norval Joe Planet Z LISA A Missing Man. It’s agreed – no one is uncomfortable. No one is really that distressed. Apart from some of us missing family, or pets, or partners the benefits of being here far outweigh the cons. It’s an odd thing. Anything we want he brings us. I’d asked for pen and paper so am at last able to write this down. We agree it’s the not knowing why we’re here that worries us. Strangely we haven’t seen him for a few days. We have enough snacks and drinks down here so we relax a bit more talking about him, knowing that he’s not listening. RICHARD WLTM 'Good looking, thirty something blonde with GSOH would like to meet sane, solvent man, as a friend with benefits.' The ad stood out amongst all the others. Unlike them, she didn't come across as desperate, and I liked how it was short, snappy and to the point. She seemed confident. Just the kind of woman I liked, and the complete opposite of my ex-wife. Messages were exchanged and a meeting was arranged. The night of our date, I'll admit I was nervous. Flowers… Chocolates? Check. Then the doorbell rang. "Hi honey" HE said! "Ready to have a good time?" LIZZIE Love is such an illusive word. It's not a word, she promptly said, it's a feeling. And there I sat, wondering what she meant. She had never loved anyone and here she was, full of herself, pontificating about love. I just sat there, chain-smoking, which she hated. She pretty much hated everything about me. I'm not sure why she married me. In the end, love is such an illusive word, isn't it? It just means that sometimes you do things for love. She wouldn't have to suffer with my wrong-doings. That hammer was indeed sturdy, as promised at the store. SERENDIPIDY Fringe benefits, that's what I call them. The sort of things that some would pay a lot of money for: Privacy, solitude and the contentment that I'm rarely going to be bothered by cold callers and strangers at the door. And all I have to do to enjoy these benefits is to continue perpetuating the stories that circulate about 'the mad woman in the corner house'. My reputation goes before me, and people avoid me like the plague, which suits me absolutely perfectly. It's a great lifestyle and I have no complaints, which is more than my neighbours can say! TOM Progressive Rock In 1970 my mother was the manager of the record dept at our local department store. So she got a 20% discount very cool. I bought Tull’s Benefit, think it was like $3.75. It was a bridging album pointing to what was to come. A little stretch into the creative process. If you hadn’t had Benefit it would have been unlikely Aqualung, Thick as a Brick, or A Passion Play would have seen the light of day. Paul Stump, in his History of Progressive Rock, said that Benefit " offered the listener new bearings in his or her music search. Carl In 1921 the Czech playwright Karel Čapek coin the term robot from a Czech word for forced labor. His play R.U.R. Rossumovi Univerzální Roboti (Rossum's Universal Robots) focus on the evils of corporate greed. The robots in RUR are more Blaid runner than Terminator. Organic structures from the dark landscape of eugenics. The Play was a worldwide success. In the American production Spencer Tracy and Pat O'Brien played robots. One critic described Čapek's robots as epitomizing "the traumatic transformation of modern society by the First World War and the Fordist assembly line. O brave new world, That has such people in't. NORVAL JOE The 911 operator continued, "I don't know how it benefits you delinquents to waste first responders' time and taxpayers' money. You're not wasting ours." She hung up. Billbert flew back to the meadow and low over the grass. The shooter faced away, talking to the Black Knights. Billbert crept over to the old woman. "Buhmilda?" He touched her side and she fell over,

The Build-a-Bear store in the Galleria is right across from the Cheesecake Factory. But they won't let you stuff the bear with cheesecake. No matter how much of their overpriced wine you've had with your overpriced, unhealthy dinner. The same goes with their overpriced Thanksgiving plate. Made for people with too much money and not enough family or friends. You can't stuff the stuffing into a bear either. Not that you'd have anyone to give it to, if you're eating Thanksgiving at a restaurant. Except yourself, hugging your pathetic stuffing-stuffed bear. Cranberry sauce and gravy leaking out of the eyeholes.

I buy a lot of gadgets and crap. It all ends up in the closet. Lots of keyboards and headsets. And cords and plugs to things I can't remember. They used to go into the trash. But I got all green and put them in the e-waste bins at Best Buy. Thing is, I wondered if they'd end up reselling the junk on eBay. Or the shelves. So, I took it all to Goodwill for a writeoff. To benefit all the homeless gamers needing keyboards and headsets and cords. With 5G, they can get good ping times for deathmatches, right?

The team's plane crashed two miles from the airport. Among the dead: players, coaches, boosters, faculty, and the flight crew. And six unknown passengers. For years, investigators tried to figure out who those six were. Checking missing persons reports, looking through paperwork. Looking for any personal belongings. But no family came forward for any of them, nobody came looking. Later, as technology advanced, DNA evidence still didn't solve the mystery. The six dead hookers, hired by the boosters for the players, going seat to seat, blowing the players, would remain nameless. The ultimate sacrifice, literally going down for the cause.

The Adams Family was a lot more like the Addams Family, the scandal of Braintree. "It's a miracle that the country voted you Vice President," said General Washington, shaking a sheaf of papers at John Adams. "But you will ever become president with this hanging over your head." John drew up plans to split off his homestead from Braintree and name it Quincy. "And then I can lose the police records in an accident," he said, grabbing the papers from the General. "What about the rumor-mongers?" said Washington. Adams quieted them with a few troops borrowed during the Whiskey Rebellion.

Aaron was my brother's friend, and he had a pet cat named Cleo. Aaron came over a lot, and his cat would follow him, My dog barked at the cat through the window or the fence. Aaron's house had thick shrubbery with spiders in it. He called them his pets. One day, Aaron came over, but Cleo didn't. Cleo had died from a spider bite. His parents tore out the shrubbery. No more spiders. Except for one that Aaron kept in a jar. He said some night he'd release it in my room. I kept my window closed. And locked.

A Chat We talk seriously when we get back. I thought I’d smelled an open fire and I couldn’t be sure, but I thought I’d seen him watching behind the door. I wonder if I’m just enjoying recounting my adventure. We all agree, we’re in an odd position. We’re prisoners, his prisoners but actually we’re all in an unlocked basement just because we don’t know what’ll happen if we leave. I’m sure, at the start. He HAD locked the door. I want to talk about the other girls, the bodies that have been found, but I can’t. A lot is left unsaid.

Legend has it that the world was created by The Great Eagle. Local tribes argue constantly about how exactly it created the world. Often with spears. Some tribes say it laid an egg, from which the world hatched. Others say that molted feathers landed in the ground to become trees, its mighty wings flapping to become the wind. But eagles don't flap all that much, they soar. The most popular belief is that The Great Eagle took a large smelly crap, and that's the world. Based on how things are going these days, I can see how that's become popular.

Lisa (Audio coming later) Richard Serendipidy Tom Norval Joe Planet Z The next topic is Benefits LISA A Chat We talk seriously when we get back. I thought I’d smelled an open fire and I couldn’t be sure, but I thought I’d seen him watching behind the door. I wonder if I’m just enjoying recounting my adventure. We all agree, we’re in an odd position. We’re prisoners, his prisoners but actually we’re all in an unlocked basement just because we don’t know what’ll happen if we leave. I’m sure, at the start. He HAD locked the door. I want to talk about the other girls, the bodies that have been found, but I can’t. A lot is left unsaid. RICHARD Seating plan I always sit at the back of the plane. Last row, aisle seat, no exceptions. I think it's the ideal position for surviving a crash. Others disagree and tell me the seats next to the emergency exit are safer, better still, if they're over the wing; but I disagree. I prefer to have a solid bulkhead behind me, rather than bodies and debris flying through the air. And, let's face it, if we're going down, the tail is going to hit the ground last. My employers disagree. They think I should sit at the front… Like all the other pilots. LIZZIE The yacht was tired. The crew and the passengers were also tired. No radio signal. The Captain looked at the First Officer. "Let's rest here." Suddenly, something something "what's your position?". "Captain, we need time to fix the hull." "We'll stay here. Nice, tropical island. We'll be fine." When the search party arrived, the locals snickered. "Where are they? The yacht is right over there." The locals snickered some more. No one was found. However, there were some suspiciously fresh bones, hanging above the doors of the houses. That's when the search party decided to leave as quickly as possible! TOM By Grace Alone When Timothy Cratchit graduated from Cambridge with honors in accounting, he was offered the position of junior partner by emeritus Chairman Scrooge. Along with his father CFO he became a strong supporter of the Abolitionist Movement in America. In 1878 he met Rev. John Parker and soon after set up an endowment in his adopted uncle’s name. There was a secret clause in the endowment as to the name of a future church. When Timothy died in 1890 he was buried in the graveyard of Ebenezer Baptist Church. On his marble stone is written the following: God bless us everyone. Bleak Gadgets John despite his creative output was a very convivial person. All the same his company produced Bleak Gadgets. Funeral parlors need products, John supplied them. The solar powered last words tombstone. The thermal lying In-wait body grid. Aurora Borealis Cremation Urns for Human Ashes Adult Female for Funeral, Burial or Home. Memorial Lantern Sympathy Gifts for Loss of Mom/Loved One Bereavement Gifts. Hydraulic Embalming Table High quality stainless steel, hydraulic foot pedals, locking wheels. The Viruserv VB Guardian electrostatic sprayer a workhorse that will help you disinfect your facility quickly, effectively, and with confidence The BioSeal Portable System fully contained SERENDIPIDY Put yourself in my position. If I let you go, you'll go straight to the cops, and I really can't have that, can I? So you may as well forget trying to persuade me otherwise, and focus instead on making things easier for yourself. I may be callous and unfeeling, but I'm a reasonable person. Perhaps I can be persuaded to let you live? And, if not, at least you can try to convince me that a quick, clean death is in everyone's best interests. If nothing else, you can say you gave it a shot. Before I shoot you. NORVAL JOE From Billbert's position above meadow he saw everything at once. Sabrina lay with her leg off at an odd angle. Buhmilda knelt, bent over, clutching her stomach. The driver of the van swung his rifle upward and aime...

Those who were alive for it say the Olympic Stadium was the most magnificent sight in the world. The lights, the athletes in their colors. The music and sounds and cheers and the cannons roaring. And the flags, so many flags from around the world. The flag of the regime flew highest of all. Over time, the athletes became soldiers. Then martyrs. The stadium, a parade ground. Then an execution ground. Where I kneel now, our champion sprinter stood to receive his medal. I hear the soldier cock his gun and feel the barrel against the back of my head.

I used to go to a summer camp. Which was really just a community camp at a nearby grade school. Swimming... field games... listening to old records. Boring shit. The end of the summer camp was a watermelon hunt, with clues all over the schoolgrounds. Kids running from place to place, all ending up at the softball diamond or the flagpole. Me, I didn't give a crap, because I hated watermelon. I'd shout out the dumbest and wrongest answers to the clues. I ended up tied to the flagpole. As long as I didn't have to eat that rancid watermelon.

They say that life is what happens between cradle to grave. But what happens when you put a baby in a cradle and drop it in a grave. So, we set up an experiment. We built a cradle, babysat a neighbor's baby, and then put the baby in the cradle. Then we dug a grave and tossed the cradle into the grave. While the baby was still in it. The results were as expected: the baby cried loudly. Then, after a while, the baby stopped crying. Thankfully, because it was asleep, not dead. Or we wouldn't get paid for babysitting.

Shang-Li was dropped off at the temple when he was three, and was trained day and nights in the art of Shao-Lin by the monks. "If you can snatch the pebble from my hand, it will be time to go," said the master. Shang-Li failed to snatch the pebble for years. Longer than any other student. In all that time, he mastered spears and hand-to-hand-combat and stealth and pretty much every other skill. But snatching the pebble? Nope. Eventually, the master left his hand open, and Shang-Li was forced to take the pebble. "It's a stupid test anyway," he said.

During one of my recent walks, I saw a car plastered with multiple anti-Semitic messages that were in support of Kanye West's rants. Jews own 90% of the media. Jews hate America. Jews control the economy. That sort of shit. Since I was a child, I've known there's sick and ignorant people in this world. And there's nothing you can do to fix them. I haven't seen it since. Maybe they tore off the messages. Maybe they were visiting a friend. Maybe they got towed away for their expired registration, which I called the parking lot tow truck number about.

I'm no stranger to the taste of blood in my mouth. I had braces when I was a kid, metal ones. With exposed wires. My brother got wax to put over his braces to protect his cheeks and lips. But I didn't. I had to take candles from the dining room cabinet and melt them down into protectors. Which didn't help much when my brother was punching me in the face. Or telling his friends to. When the braces came off, I wanted to melt them down into a knife. And stab every one of those fuckers in the face.

Lisa Zackmann Richard Serendipidy Tom Norval Joe Planet Z The next topic is Position That Erica Writes site I was talking about with Friday prompts (and she does a 50-worder where you write the last 50 words). LISA Escape Someone whispered ‘Good Luck’ as we set off tiptoeing up the stairs, slow shaky steps away from our prison. We found ourselves in a narrow dimly lit corridor. The air smelled fresher up there: we had been locked up a while. The walls were lined with bookcases, like helpless moths we made for the light at the end of the passageway. My nose twitched at the faint smell of a coal fire ahead. As we approached the floorboards, that had been as quiet as the grave, gave a bloodcurdling screech and we sprinted back to the safety of the basement. RICHARD Ikea? – I can’t! "So, what do you think?" I could tell from the pregnant pause, and the slightly embarrassed look on my wife's face that my flat pack building skills could possibly need a little more work. "Well… It's a bookcase, of sorts", she mumbled. That was a bit of a blow. "A bookcase? It's supposed to be a bedside cabinet!" "Ah", she continued, "so what exactly is that other pile of wood and screws, then?" "Spares!" I replied confidently. She took my hand, and smiled solicitously, "Tell you what, love, why don't we just buy a ready-made one from the store?" ZACKMANN After a Christmas dinner I opened my gift from my son to find I had received a DVD copy of "The Hogfather" which I had been hinting I wanted for a year and a half. I thought it would be cool that my future rewatches would be advertisement free. It could rest on top of the Pratchett paperbacks when not in the video player. Not to be outdone, my son's wife handed my wife, She Who Must Be Obeyed, her gift. My wife opened a framed picture of an ultrasound. I now expect my superhero name will be Grandpa Zackmann TOM October 25 1415 Our house is filled with bookcases. Floor to ceiling. Mostly pine with a few oak. It’s An eclectic collection from graphic novels to exploration of the Higgs boson. The complete works of Tolkien and the collected works of Shakespeare. While I have a soft spot in my heart for the Tempest the speech in Henry the V is wire in the blood. On field of Agincourt young Harry spoke: Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by, From this day to the ending of the world, But we in it shall be remembered; We few, we happy few, we band of brothers Bonanza When I was growing up the number one program of TV was Bonanza. My Dad loved the show because during the war he met one of the actors. That was Dan Blocker. It’s pretty weird number of people my dad met during the war. Seems he got his front teeth knocked-out was actual written up for damaging government property. While in hospital he met a young Blocker recovering from wounds he sustained holding Pork Chop Hill. My dad remembered him as a gentle man in a huge body. He said he had size 14 boondocks. Dad always called boots boondocks. NORVAL JOE Mandi burst into tears. "We have to help those people." She sprinted toward the meadow. Billbert shot forward and caught her. "Wait. You don't want to get shot too." The crisp chatter of semi-automatic gunfire continued from beyond the trees. He pulled out his phone. "Darn. No connection." Billbert looked up at the sky. "Maybe I can get some bars above the trees. Stay here, please." Mandi wiped her nose with the back of her hand and nodded. Phone in hand, Billbert shot above the trees. The driver stood atop his septic tank service van, following Billbert with his AR-15. TURA Bookcase; Vulgar ——— My Library exists more outside this world than in it. Those who enter in search of a long-lost tome may find it, if their heart is pure, but otherwise only a spurious imitation. Those drawn by vulgar curiosity will find only vulgar curiosities.

Dana rode the bus to work and back, so to pass the time, she'd listen to music and she took up knitting. She started small, knitting socks for the homeless people on the bus. Then she knitted scarves. And then she knitted them some warm hats. After that, she knitted blankets and sweaters. Then, she knitted homes for them. Knitting furniture and appliances to put in the homes. Some asked her to knit booze and drugs for them. With some reservations, she did. A few went too far into alcoholism or drug abuse and died. For them, she'd knit coffins.

Thank you to all you followers. I follow some of y'all back. The things I find interesting. Or inspiring. Some of y'all are recent. Some of y'all are longtimers. Some of y'all left the platform long ago. And maybe even this life. I hope you have found peace, whatever your y'all is. Some people follow-spam and like-spam to get their name out there. It's okay. How they play it. It's like everyone in a public park. You can use the grass for jogging, yoga, touch football, a picnic. As long as the person walking their dog picks up after, right?

I made the mistake of buying the free month trial of LinkedIn Premium, and now instead of getting a sprinkling of anonymous people viewing my profile, I get a torrent of anonymized people viewing my profile. Me, I don't hide my profile. If I look around, I look around. And I will message them more often than not, just to tip the hat or a good morning or just something to brighten their day (or darken their doorstep). And I do hope they're doing well. If they're not, I hope they do what they need to make it well again.

A burger is a burger, right? If I want no mayo on a burger and the chef slops mayo all over it, should I scrape it off? Throw it out? Throw it in the chef's face and yell WHAT THE FUCK DOES NO MAYO MEAN, FUCKER? Some places make you pay first because they want to make it a hassle to get a refund or a redo when they screw up. And some take pride in their work and only ask you to pay when you're done. I think that's worth paying someone something extra to bring it to you.

Thomas Edison didn't invent the light bulb. Instead, he and his staff performed thousands of experiments with different filaments to determine the most efficient, cost-effective, and longest-lasting filament he could use. He went through all those thousands of experiments, looking for something simple, cheap, and effective. I wonder about those thousands of failures. Did he just grab anything and try it? A piece of bacon from breakfast? Hair from his head? His wife's dildos? As some point, he must have been tearing out his hair, ripping up his shirt. And that's where the carbonized cotton filament came from, right?

I'm sure you've heard Melvin Tune's songs. The man is a wizard with words. The songs, they're played all over the world. Those familiar instrumental ditties that accompany your stroll through grocery stores, elevator rides, and journey around other places that play ambient background music. For some reason, composers ask Melvin for lyrics to their compositions, he scribbles up a few pages, and hands them over. The composer tweaks their song, turning it from good to great. And then, they record it... and when they remove the lyric tracks, it's just... well... It's just perfection. And Melvin cashes the checks.

An Unlocked Door by Lisa He’s not locked the door. Maybe he never has, we all stare at it wearing the same expression- an odd, hopeful scared face. None of us want to make the first move because what if it’s a trick. It has to be. He didn’t answer when I‘d asked if we could leave the basement. Why has he got us here anyway? Where are we? I notice a movement behind the crack in the door panel. He’s there watching, waiting. I mouth this to the others and we sit wide eyed and rigid. Things were better when the door was locked.

Lizzie Richard Serendipidy Tom Norval Joe Planet Z The next topic is PICK TWO Bookcase, Verdict, Sprint, Crisp, Vulgar, Pregnant RICHARD Thin Ice They told me I was skating on thin ice: that, one day, it would crack and I'd sink into the depths as a result of my foolishness. I never listened to them. I was young and free-spirited; nobody was going to tell me how to live my life, and nobody had the right to tell me what to do. I knew better than them. Turns out, I didn't. They were right, and I was wrong. After the accident, they fenced off the pond, and put up notices saying 'Danger: Thin ice'. Nobody skates there now. My cold, watery grave. TOM Too Smart by half Billy was a precocious little prick. Most believed he was most likely to come to a bad end. He was the sort who told younger children Santa and the Easter bunny were made up by adult to con them into being good. Further he flaunted any nursey rhymes. he would proudly land his foot on every crack in the sidewalk. One day the universe was feed-up with the little M-F. When he stepped on Crack but it didn’t back his mother’s The sidewalk when medieval on his ass, broke him in half. Universe noted: that’s mother fucker’s back, putz. 843 Somewhere I was born in the city but my parents thought moving to suburbs would be a wholesome environment for young children. Bad idea. The Suburbs sucked. At the tender age of six I was dropped in a place with no sidewalks. Rustic it was, countryfied. Problem you ask? Fear of God had been driven into me never leave the sidewalk into a street. cognitive dissonance, Hal 9000 landscape. Later in life it became the define element to my dwelling choices. Anywhere with sidewalk was fine by me. Yup lived in some pretty rough neighborhoods. Funny the stuff that defines us. SERENDIPIDY I wonder what will make you crack? Will it be the electrodes to the genitals, pulling out your nails with pliers, or maybe the water torture will do the trick? Or, perhaps you think those methods lack subtlety? Maybe I should kidnap your family instead and send you their fingers through the post? Or are you made of sterner stuff, well-schooled in the art of keeping silent, even under great adversity? To be honest, it really doesn't matter much to me… I already have the information I need. I just want to torture you, for the fun of it! NORVAL JOE Something whistled past Billbert's ear, followed a split-second later by the crack of a high-powered rifle. Wide eyed, Buhmilda clutched her stomach and dropped to her knees. Another crack and Sabrina spun around, blood spurting from a wound in her thigh. Mr. Trump (Buhmilda's dog) ran and hid. The other guild members around the meadow fled. Rapid fire followed Billbert as he grabbed Linoliumanda and shot straight up into the sun. He angled back down to the forest and set her among the ferns. "Are you okay, Mandi?" Billbert asked. She nodded her head as shots continued in the meadow. LIZZIE It was an ancient building. The crack on the wall grew bigger. But he wasn't going to let it crumble down on his watch. So, he filled the crack with cement. When the wall collapsed, he was in Aruba, sunbathing. Everyone was horrified. Cement? Apparently, bad cement, who would've thought. The horror! Who had done that? However, they did find a secret room with a long-lost treasure. So, he went back and bragged. Not a good idea. "But, what about the treasure? And a crumbling wall adds character!" He shouted while being dragged off to jail. To brag or not to brag. PLANET Z Every time I flex the finger in my left hand, I can feel a joint in the middle finger pop. It's not just an intermittent thing. It happens every time I do it. I open and close my hand a few times, pop pop pop. It's not a knuckle crack. It's not loud. It's just something I feel.

I worked for a company that built its own vacation calendar and ticket system. They said it was cheaper to build their own compared to contracting with an off-the-shelf system. And they were right. It was cheap to build. To maintain it, though, was a nightmare. The workplace rules and regulations, all the connections with the payroll system (which they built themselves, too)... It took an entire development staff to maintain and update. So full of bugs. I spent so many hours getting them to fix incorrect information. My current job uses an off-the-shelf system. And everything works. Including me.

The irony of the movie Free Willy is that the whale who played Willy, Keiko, wasn't free at all. Born and bred in captivity. Sick a lot of the time, but still forced to perform tricks and act in television and movies. People were outraged, and a campaign started to free Willy. Eventually, after a few years, Keiko was freed. And lonely. The whale came back, playing with kids in the water. Which scared the crap out of them. Keiko eventually got sick again, was recaptured by veterinarians, and died. Thankfully, Hollywood isn't rebooting Free Willy movies anytime soon.

You won't find Teddy in Housewares. He's usually sneaking a spray paint can or two back by the dumpster. And when he comes back, yeah, he's got that smile on his face, total blissing out. It's been happening for weeks, and when customers finally complained about broken seals on the cans, the manager fired Teddy. Then he went in back and saw the wall... the mural... it was... gorgeous. Teddy was an instant celebrity, invited to spray his masterpieces everywhere. Then one morning, he was found dead in an alley. That smile on his face? He'd also been shooting heroin.

Long ago, I worked in the call center for a hosting company. They offered dialup access, webhosting, a server farm, and domain registration. Every call needed to be verified. If the caller didn't know the password, we'd send them to Customer Service to verify. Some would say they didn't have it with them, others would say their tech person quit. Didn't matter. Everyone had to be verified. Sometimes, the CEO would call, trying to get into a customer's account to test us. He'd scream and yell and threaten. I'd just say "Transferring to you to Customer Service..." and hang up.

In the comics, nobody knows Pigpen's name. My theory is that his last name is Thigpen, but people keep mishearing him because of a speech impediment. You don't hear it in the television specials because they didn't do that kind of thing back in the Sixties and Seventies. Maybe they'll do it now and call it a diversity and inclusion effort? While race-swapping half the characters, including Charlie Brown's sister Sally. Maybe Charlie Brown's mom had a thing for Franklin's dad or something. Make Snoopy trans, self-identifying as a cat, and reboot Pigpen as gay. (Which would explain the lisp.)

Martin got himself another book deal. It's his fifth, and like the previous four, he's dedicating it to vodka. You see, Martin can only write when he's drunk. It's doing a number on his liver, but there's the numbers his publisher tells his agent, and the numbers in Martin's bank account. Those numbers are a factor, too. Martin used to write in a nearby bar, but he got into way too many fights. So he drinks alone, writes alone. Wakes up on the floor and looks at what he's scribbled up. And sends it off to the publisher to decipher.

Lizzie Richard Serendipidy Tom Lisa and her new Substack! Norval Joe Planet Z The next topic is Crack TOM Drive to distraction My wife is a Family Nurse Practitioner. Damn good one imho. Early in all FNP careers’ is the lure of the prescription pad. The power to be a min drug cartel. The perks. In the old days lavish amounts of food delivered by perky drug rep-s. Enough Chinese takeout to chock a bull moose. And the industry itself in the veiled cover of a “lecture presentation” where samples are shelled out like gum balls. At some point the lure fades. This is driven by how most patients will pester them to death to get the goodies. Yes the lure fades. The Big Board There are few Scoreboards in the country that bring deeper reverence then the scoreboard in Wrigley Field. Watch the crowd after ever major play. All eyes inward and in a beat all eyes at the scoreboard. In Chicago it isn’t real until it’s on the scoreboard. The coolest part of the board is knowing ever change in a game near or far is shown on 35 pounds plates turned by hand. In the age of electronic, keeping score by hand gives considerable charm to the Wrigley experience. My dad was born in the shadow of that nearly century old scoreboard. NORVAL JOE They all followed Linoliumanda across the meadow. Sabrina alone, sneered. "That is so stupid. How can you be pestered by people using your given name?" Linolimanda's cheeks reddened. "It's not stupid. Everyone should have the right to be called what they want." Just then, high pitched barking stole their attention. They all turned to see a little brown and beige dog that looked as much like an ewok, running toward them. It was then that Billbert saw the Black Knights climbing from the sink hole. Buhmilda clapped her hands and shouted, "Good dog, Mr. Trump! Everyone. Get the Black Knights." LIZZIE Those YOU posters... YOU must apply. YOU must, YOU. Wear something proper. Speak correctly. You don't want to sound like a moron, do you? No. But he didn't want to be pestered all day long about a job he didn't want either. Look at that, the future of our nation, that poster says it all, aren't you proud? He was annoyed. Proud? No. So, he spent the whole night slashing them. The scandal! That's how the I'm-Not-An-Asset movement started. 100 years later, employees were still an asset, in the worst possible way... He went from annoyed to angry, murderously angry. SERENDIPIDY I have one of those cards in my window, politely asking religious callers, salespeople, canvassers and politicians not to pester me. It makes no difference of course. Either people can't read, or choose to ignore my wishes. That's just rude. So, I have no qualms about backing up my request with machine guns, machetes, and the pit of spikes beneath the welcome mat, should anyone choose to press their luck. What's more, nobody can say they weren't warned. It's all covered in full: there, at the bottom, in the fine print. Although, you probably didn't bother to read that either? LISA A big ask We realised shortly after asking for the pillows that he wasn’t the big bad wolf after all. We could just ask him for things. For many of us, used to pestering parents for bits, this was better than at home. Here we were seemingly getting every desire granted. It was the natural next step really and this time I was nominated spokesperson, it was a wish we all shared. I thought long and hard about choosing my moment but then just blurted it out when he came down the next morning: “Can we come out of the basement please? “ RICHARD Leave me alone! Internet ads don't bother me, neither does spam email, mainly because I rarely see either. All taken care of, thanks to decent ad blocking software and spam filters. Internet bliss! The same can't be said for my computer desktop.

Harry was the last of Old Hollywood. Back before television. When everyone had been in the war. Big mansions, servants. Parties every weekend. The studio provided the publicists and the cars and everything else. Harry provided the face and the box office. And then, the studios stopped calling. Harry's agent told him that the times had changed. Harry's accountant said there was enough to last a lifetime. So, Harry retired, fired his agent and accountant, and went traveling. People would ask him for his autograph, and he gladly gave it and posed for photos. And he lived happily ever after.

Billy got into a boat, pushed off from the dock, and tried to row it gently down the stream. But the stream wasn't deep enough, and the boat kept hitting the bottom, so Billy had to keep pushing off, and occasionally getting out and dragging the boat by a rope and then flopping back in. After ten minutes, there was nothing merrily about Billy. He was fuming mad, and he eventually abandoned the boat and walked to shore. He swore that the next time he got drunk enough to steal a boat, he'd go to a river or a lake.

It used to be that I'd pay my bus fare with quarters. Then they added a dollar slot. You could stick in a fiver, but it wouldn't give change. Monthly and yearly passes were cheap... then discontinued. You can get overpriced paper daily passes from the tram stops and regional centers. After that came the electronic cards. They handled transfers great, but it cost fifty bucks to replace when you lost one. Finally, they made an app for fare passes. It shows an animated picture of a bus pass with a timestamp. Which is really easy to fake in Gimp.

The kids liked to build mazes for the mice to run around in. I would tell them how would you like to be dropped in a maze and forced to roam around for dinner. So, I bought virtual headsets, plugged them into an immersion computer, and forced the kids to solve a maze. Win and get dessert, or lose and get Brussels Sprouts. Bobby and Danny were good at it, but Ricky always seemed to get eaten. They feeding him to the minotaur to distract the beast. Ricky got a slice of cake. And I, the minotaur, got the rest.

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.

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.

Lizzie Richard Serendipidy Tom Lisa Norval Joe Planet Z The next topic is Pester 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 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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Lizzie Richard Serendipidy Tom Norval Joe Planet Z The next topic is Pillows 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 ...

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. He didn't get along with the ship's crew. He thought them to be violent and uncultured, while they considered him a worthless bookworm. George admitted that he liked books, but he didn't think he was worthless. After all, he'd learned a lot from all the books he'd read. For instance, he learned that good fences make good neighbors from Robert Frost's poetry. So, he build a fence around his bunk. Unfortunately, the only building material was the wood from the ship. "George, why are we sinking?" asked the captain.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. He'd escaped from so many hopeless situations, but there was one he couldn't get out of. "Jury duty?" said George, reading the court summons. George was pretty sure that he could get out of it, considering that piracy was felony enough to strip him of his voting rights. So, George went down to the courthouse, read a magazine while waiting for the selection process, and stated clearly for the record that he was a pirate. The prosecution, defense, and judge laughed. George sighed, and wished he'd brought more magazines.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. So, he changed his name to Brad. "I'm Brad now," said George... I mean Brad. Brad was a pirate, but... Well, does everything George did as George apply to Brad? Can you wipe the slate and start again? The captain decided to put this to the test. "Brad, swab the deck," he said. Brad just stood there. "SWAB THE DECK, BRAD!" shouted the captain. "BRAD! BRAD!" "Why are you shouting at me?" asked Brad. "Oh. Wait. Right." George changed his name back to George, and he swabbed the deck.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. After watching a movie where the hero had a laser on his gun to help him aim, George mounted a laser to his cutlass. "It will help me aim," said George. "Why not mount it on your flintlock pistol?" asked the captain. "I can fire it once, and then I have to reload," said George. "In the time it takes me to reload, I can use my cutlass five or six times." George then wiggled the laser's red dot on the deck, and the ship's cat chased it around.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. He'd shot sailors. He's shot women and children. He'd shot fellow pirates in the back. (Although, if you shoot someone in the back, it's kinda hard to call them "fellow.") But he could never shoot a dog. He'd get this strange, faraway look on his face, almost sad, and he'd lower his gun arm. Or he'd drop to a knee, pull some dog biscuits out of his pocket, and offer them to the dog. The first mate thought this was peculiar, and he asked George why. George shot him.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. He had a severe case of arachnophobia, the fear of spiders. If you put a spider next to George, he'd freak out and scream and run. Even if it was a rubber spider, he'd yell "KILL IT! KILL IT! KILL IT!" The crew loves to tease George by drawing spiders on things, or leaving rubber spiders around the ship. One even found a tin of chocolate-covered spiders to give George as a gag for Christmas. George threw the tin overboard, along with the pirate who gave it to him.

Lizzie Richard Serendipidy Tom Norval Joe Planet Z The next topic is PICK TWO Aurora, Hard to believe, Contribution, Crew cut, Dealers, Dirty RICHARD Mahimba Mahimba the storyteller struck an imposing figure in his tribal robes, and tonight - as always - he had a captive audience. He was relating 'The lion that ate cherries', and other than his deep, sonorous tones, you could have heard a pin drop. All too soon, it was over and the tourists made their way to the bar, topping up on drinks in preparation for Mahimba's promised next story: 'The dancing hippo'. We made a killing at the bar on story nights, and Mahimba did extremely well from the tips. As for his stories… Authentic African folklore? Nope. Complete fabrications? Absolutely! SERENDIPIDY As dictators go, he was probably one of the worst. Ruthless, heartless and despotic. Intolerant of opposition, few dared to challenge him, and those who did would come to a sticky end. They called him 'The Lion'. And, he had a fondness for cherries. Expensive delicacies in this country, but money was no object, and he demanded the very best. So, the very best, he got. Every day, he'd feast upon huge bowls of luscious, ruby red cherries, spitting out the stones as casually as he despatched his enemies. Cherries, lovingly and carefully prepared by me. Copiously laced with cyanide. LIZZIE He was furious. The Lion That Ate Cherries? What kind of a Xmas gift was that?! He was a writer. He wanted books, not worthless pseudo-art. And, on top of it all, that creepy cousin, smirking... No! And then, it hit him. The photograph. He remembered the photograph. "I'll take it. The painting, yes." Everyone mocked him. He smiled. Two weeks later, he arrived at a remote village in Africa. An elderly woman opened the door. "I've been waiting for you." Right there, a whole library of first editions, rare books, a dream come true. "Your grandfather knew you'd understand." TOM The Lion The Monk and the Mouse. Most folk know the Koan about the Monk and the strawberry. In that same canon was: The lion that ate cherries. On a hill a Lion spied a Monk crossing a valley. He was very hungry. At his good fortune he gave out a mighty roar. Hearing said roar the Monk took off running. All day the two ran, the Lion never gaining on the Monk. Finally, the Monk spied a Cherry tree. He clambered up with the lion on his heels. The Lion dropped spent on the bottom of the tree. Now all he had to do was wait. 839 Train Unseen in the branches was a field mouse. He noted the monk but kept his eyes trained on the Lion. While both were quite dangerous, the greater danger thought the mouse was being eaten. The Monk started throwing branches at the lion, the lion didn’t mover. The mouse began gnawing at tiny branches. A cherry dropped, the lion caught it and purred. The Monk joined, together they stripped the tree of all the cherries. The Lion slowly roses and walk back to his hill. The Monk and Mouse gave praise to the Budha. Limbed down the tree, and waked away. NORVAL JOE Buhmilda continued. "There are a lot of children's songs that seem innocuous, but are actually used to encourage magical abilities. 'Ring around the rosies', 'London Bridges falling down', and 'The Lion that ate cherries'". Linoliumanda's eyes lit up. "I know them all. My daddy sang them to me for years. I should have magic then, right?" Buhmilda gave the blond girl a sad look but Sabrina took advantage of the question. "No. It just shows you're a dope. If you had magical abilities, you'd have learned some by now." Shell shocked by Sabrina's rudeness, Linoliumanda wandered back across the meadow. PLANET Z It only took a generation to transform the studio from a beloved institution to a bomb factory. Instead of giving audiences the entertainment they wanted, the studio greenlit projects that ticked the boxes woke socia...

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. Whenever he failed, he'd quote inventor Elon Musk: "Failure is an option here. If things are not failing, you are not innovating enough." The captain would point out that George had failed to make his bunk, cook breakfast for the crew, swab the deck, and raise the alarm that the British Navy was rapidly approaching from starboard. George picked up a mop and began to swab the deck. "Oh, good," said the captain. "It'll be nice and clean when they execute us for piracy." That made George feel accomplished.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. As for finding the nightlife, well, that was something George knew. After a hard night in the library looking up new designs for ships and sails and cannon, he'd stop by the Church of Hot Wax. Mistress Suzanne would walk down the aisle, clad in skintight leather and a mask, tapping her worshippers on the chest with the butt of her whip. "You," she said to George. When people asked George about the bruises and scars, he'd say "You should see the other guy." And he'd just barely smile.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. People accused George of being lazy, but George always felt tired. Maybe it was an iron deficiency? Or some sort of hormonal issue? Perhaps George's immune system was weak? And then there was the constant stress of other pirates bullying George and calling him lazy. This caused George to worry, causing even more stress. It was a vicious cycle. George became worse and worse of a pirate. The depression turned suicidal, and he tried to walk the plank. Right on to the ship. He couldn't even get that right.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. Instead of sailing the seven seas, plundering and looting, he spent a lot of time with his realtor, looking at houses. There was always something wrong with the property... too much noise, poor school system, a seedy neighborhood. There was always an excuse to keep looking. One day, after a long walkthrough, George was happy. Nothing was wrong with the house. The owners were looking to move out and sell quickly. "It's perfect," said George. The long-frustrated realtor was delighted. Until George's shipmates showed up and looted the place.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. In the middle of one battle, he put down his cutlass, started a fire, and began cooking some beans. "What the hell are you doing?" said the captain. "Do you want to get shot?" "Come on," said George. "I'm making enough to share." "That's not what I meant," said the captain. "But I'm putting lots of ketchup in it this time," said George. "And those cut-up hot dogs you like." After the battle, the surviving pirates sat down to a homestyle campfire dinner. The captain asked for more ketchup.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. He was kinda scruffy and goofy-looking. He resembled a Muppet version of a pirate. Not one of those traditional hand-puppet Muppets. You know, the ones with the puppeteer crouched under the stage, or one puppeteer working the hand and mouth while a second puppeteer works the other hand. Or that stupid prawn, the one that uses rods and sticks to manipulate. He was more of a big ol scruffy freestanding Muppet, like the Sweetums monster or Big Bird or Snuffleupagus. The rest of the crew, they looked like pirates.

Lizzie Richard Lisa Serendipidy Tom Tura Norval Joe Planet Z The next topic is The lion that ate cherries RICHARD Uncle Derek Uncle Derek came to a rather unfortunate and grisly end: eaten by lions in the heart of Africa. At least, that's what we were told as kids. The reality turned out to be somewhat more prosaic. Uncle Derek was actually in prison, doing a fifteen year stretch for drug dealing, following a raid at his local pub, 'The Heart of Africa'. Our parents didn't want us to grow up with the stigma of his misdeeds, so they made up the lion story. Which makes me wonder if Aunt Ethel really was abducted by aliens, like they always told us happened. SERENDIPIDY What would you rather? To be torn apart by sharks, or eaten by lions? It's a serious question -enquiring minds need to know. How about being flayed alive, or burned at the stake? What's your preference? Boiled in oil, or incarcerated in concrete? I know you're thinking none are particularly pleasant ways to die, and you'd rather not choose. Which is just as well, really, since it'll be me deciding anyway. And, frankly, I've no time for any of that nonsense. Too complicated and messy. It's a simple, single bullet to the temple for you. You'll be just as dead. TOM I’ll be carrying a copy of war and peace under my left arm Arthur bemoaned the fact the best code phrases and mission ops had been used up. It was a lot like the lack respect you would get for Hurricane Lulu in spite of her 250 mph winds. Gone was the eagle has landed, or Operation Desert Storm. Even that meeting next to the Brandenburg gate with that wraithy thin east German lass who insisted on using: In winter the snow is deep. Eat by Lion, come on what kind of secret code is that. I was pretty much at that moment he saw the large cat. Eyes above the square smiled. 838 – Every good intention No good deed is left unpunished is a wristed phrasing by my name’s sake Thomas Aquinas who wrote in Summa Theologica: For as punishment is to the evil act, so is reward to a good act. Now no evil deed is unpunished, by God the just judge. Therefore, no good deed is unrewarded, and so every good deed merits some good. My favorite is Jan-Michel Vincent. in August 1996, He sustained a permanent injury to his vocal cords from an emergency medical procedure after an automobile accident. It left him with a permanently raspy voice. So he sued the EMTS LIZZIE He grabbed the book Eaten by Lions. The book was in the secret room. Gladiators, hungry lions. Boring. On top of it all, the blasted book weighed a ton. One day, two days, and his hair turned gray. Three days, four days, and he looked like a 90 year old man. The book changed too. It looked less dusty, less moldy. And he couldn't remember a single word. But why did his master want him to read that book? When he exited the tower, he understood why. His 90-year old master looked much younger. Eaten, but definitely not by lions. TURA Eaten by Lions ——— It was a long, hot drive to my daughter’s commune, deep in the savannah. Her invitation had surprised me after our estrangement over her fanatical veganism, but I had to see her. We walked out together, and I was reassured to see them managing the place competently, an oasis amid the scrub and acacia. While pondering our unspoken issue, I suddenly realised she wasn’t at my side. In the distance she screamed “Die carnivore!” I made for the compound, but found the gate locked, the walls unclimbable. Night fell. Soon, I heard the distant growl of a lion. Then, more. NORVAL JOE Sabrina rolled her eyes. "Of course you know that song. Everyone knows The Lion Sleeps Tonight." Linoiumanda shook her head, closed her eyes, and sighed, trying to maintain her patience. When she stumbled over a clump of weeds,

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. There were other pirates on the ship who weren't very good, but they deflected any criticism by blaming George's incompetence. As any good mediator knows, deflecting and sidetracking doesn't solve the core problem, and George didn't handle the stress well. Which made George even more of a target for blame. After a while, things got really bad. George hid in his bunk. Of course, things weren't getting any better. Eventually, the captain recognized what was going on. "Get back to work," said the captain. "I need someone to blame!"

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. There was a pirate who was even worse than George, though. He called everyone "Bro" and tried to give out fist-bumps to everyone. An even bigger landlubber than George, who talked big but couldn't hold his own. Everyone called him a phony and a poser. Except for George. He just let the guy bluster. "Don't tell me how to load a musket!" he growled. "I've been shooting muskets for years!" The musket exploded, killing the rookie. George rifled through his pockets and threw his body overboard. "See ya, Bro."

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. The captain always left George behind when he put together landing parties for raids. "Watch the ship," he said. "And don't touch anything." George stood on the deck and did nothing. He was good at doing nothing. When the captain and the landing party returned from their raids, bringing back treasure, they were surprised that nothing awful had happened in their absence. "Nothing's on fire," said the captain. "The ship hasn't sunk. Everything's fine." Nothing bad ever happened when George stayed behind. George became the ship's good luck charm.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. This didn't matter to graverobbers. They just wanted pirate corpses that they could sell to museums, where they were stuffed and displayed in historically accurate dioramas. Schoolkids would walk past the scenes, going "YARRRRRR!" and swaggering like Johnny Depp in those movies. Then they'd beg their parents to buy them plastic swords and eyepatches and cheap paper pirate hats from the gift shop. Or they'd steal something from the dioramas. Sometimes, they'd knock over a figure. Raising the next generation of thieves and plunderers. George would be so proud.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. His ship struck a small boat, a boat on which the leader of Tomainia had been fishing. George bore an uncanny resemblance to the dead man sinking into the water. So much so, he was grabbed by the special secret police and rushed to the country's capital. Dressed in a military uniform, addressing the crowded stadium, George stood there and froze. What would he say? What would he tell the assembled masses? What deep wisdom could he share to make everything better for everyone? George passed out and collapsed.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. The other pirates didn't respect George. When he put his lunch in the ship's refrigerator, someone would always steal it. "I marked it with my name, guys!" yelled George. "I used the marker that's clipped to the fridge!" Someone stole the marker, too. George began to carry his lunch around with him as he worked. Sometimes, he'd drop it during a battle or a raid, and someone would step on it. "You did that on purpose!" George would whine, and stab the offender. It became his whiny, annoying battlecry.

Lizzie Richard Lisa Serendipidy Tom Norval Joe Planet Z The next topic is Eaten by lions RICHARD At the movies They say TV is no substitute for movies on the big screen. But, to be honest, going to the cinema can be a depressing experience. To begin with, there's the hassle of parking the car, then you have to queue for tickets, before bankrupting yourself buying popcorn and coke in quantities that could feed a third world country for a week. Not to mention fighting your way through miserable people already comfortably seated to get to your own seat. But worst of all, realising the movie is total crap, and you've already seen the only good bits in the trailers. LIZZIE A pot of tulips. Why hadn't she tossed it in the garbage when Mr. I-Love-Tulips left her? No, she took it to the trailer, all she could afford now. When enough tulips had bloomed, she cut them all off and sent them to his workplace, with a note. “You forgot these.” Yes, it was petty. Yes, it was vindictive. However, she decided to grow some more tulips and send them to him for his birthday. She was sure he'd be horrified to see tulips without a pot. Dead and all that. Life's tough. But at least, he would have tulips. SERENDIPIDY I was brought up in one of these trailers. Trash, they called me, and they may have been right, but I really didn't care. I filled my days with hard drugs, moonshine and whoring. Although, to be clear, I did none of that myself. I was more a coordinator and manager; or if you prefer, dealer and pimp. Eventually, I became a major player, and if not gaining the respect of my community, I certainly commanded their loyalty. Now I've risen to the top of the pile. I still live in a trailer, although with gold fittings and satin sheets. LISA Too Much Information There’s been false lead after false lead. It’s not just the local community gripped by this case now it’s the whole country. And it seems they all want to help. The latest wild goose chase gets the force checking trailers at the stud farm. All the leads are checked out but now with one of their own amongst the victims the police seem to be working with a renewed energy. The papers are quick to point this out too. The chief had wanted it keeping quiet, for obvious reasons, but now our man knows Pippa is on the force too. TOM Coming soon to a theater near you. Bruce had been making trailers for a generation. He started at Warner’s. Moved to Universal. Spent a decade at TriStar. After becoming dissolute with the industrial model. Bruce only took offers from Indie productions. He knew deep history on that subject matter. He would tell you the first trailer was in November 1913 for the musical The Pleasure Seekers Due to trailers initially being shown after, or "trailing", the feature film, the term "trailer" was used to describe the promotion; despite it coming before, or "previewing", the film it was promoting. His current project was Mother Teresa: Last Nun Standing. NORVAL JOE Billbert rode in the back seat of Buhmilda's car with the two girls. He assumed Mr. Withybottom had gone home and not followed them through the evergreen covered hills to Grandma Buhmilda's log cabin. She parked her car in a big red barn across a meadow from the cabin. Around the meadow, a half circle of rusty old travel trailers were evenly spaced between the cabin and barn. As Buhmilda lead the kids back to the cabin, she began to sing at the top of her lungs. Linoliuhmanda wrinkled her nose and grinned. "Hey. I think I know that song." PLANET Z Walt Disney's dream was to build the city of the future. Hub-and-spoke peoplemovers, green spaces and company towers, and multiple levels of tunnels to handle freight and waste and deliveries. It was perfect... too perfect. After he died, the board and managers met and scaled back his dream to a bunch of theme parks and reso...

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. Most pirates had a girl in every port. Sometimes more than one, depending on the money. George wasn't like that. He had someone special back home George would send letters from every port he visited. When he arrived back home, they'd read them together under a tree they'd planted when they were young. Then, one year, George returned home, but his letters were waiting for him, undelivered. George put them under the tree they'd planted together, where she'd been buried. His crewmates found his body, hanging from the tree.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. When he felt depressed, he ate. "What is this?" said George, opening a Wonka Bar and seeing a Golden Ticket. "It says you'll get a tour of Willy Wonka's chocolate factory," said the captain. "And you'll get all the chocolate you could ever want." They set sail for the chocolate factory, but bad weather prevented George from getting there on time for the tour or the chocolate. Which made him even more depressed. He opened another Wonka Bar. Another Golden Ticket. He crumpled it up and threw it overboard.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. He said "Sorry" a lot, even though he wasn't genuinely sorry. He tried to feel genuinely sorry, but he never did. "You're not really sorry," said a man that George had just stabbed. George sighed. "You're right," he said. "I don't feel sorry. But I want to." George sat down and wrote an apology note. Then, he revised his draft, correcting his spelling and grammar. Finally, he wrote a clean copy of the note and handed it to the guy he'd stabbed. But by then, the man was dead.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. He couldn't figure out why he was still a pirate. Why would a crew keep an incompetent like George around? That's when George decided he was in a reality television show. Every now and then, he'd stop and shake one of his crewmates. "This can't be real," he'd say. "Fess up." But the pirates were pirates, not actors. George peeked in every crate and cupboard for cameras and microphones. Eventually, he gave up, and accepted that things were real. "Real bad," said the captain, writing the next day's script.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. The captain constantly shouted at George, making an example of George for the others. "YOU'RE NOT A VERY GOOD PIRATE! WHY CAN'T YOU BE A GOOD PIRATE?" When he was just getting his sea legs, he wasn't very good. But with time and experience, he got better. It was the captain who wasn't a very good pirate. Or a very good leader. George looked at the crew and wondered who would make a good replacement captain. Then he looked in his mop bucket, saw his reflection, and pondered mutiny.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. He rarely checked his work e-mail, so he missed a lot of memos about training for new equipment or work schedule changes. He also never bothered to delete his email. His inbox used up a lot of storage, and the ship's quartermaster got on George about needing to clear up some space. So, George created a rule to just automatically delete everything that landed in his inbox. He still missed training session and work schedule changes, but at least the quartermaster was off of his back about meaningless shit.

Lizzie Richard Lisa Serendipidy Tom Norval Joe Planet Z The next topic is Trailers LIZZIE "What kind of flower is that?" She asked. "This is a very special flower," he answered. "What do you mean?" "It's a contact lens. It helps us to see the future." She looked unsure. "The future?" "Yep." She looked even more unsure. "How so?" "Look." Then, he whispered and the flower wavered slightly in the wind. "In a year's time, this garden will be wonderful, full of life, and filled with beautiful flowers. You know why? Because when you cherish something, everything flourishes." She smiled. Just as he thought, that small flower helped with a lot more than the future. RICHARD In the eye of the beholder I thought she had the most beautiful blue eyes, until we hooked up, and I found out she was wearing tinted contact lenses. I could live with that, thanks to her gorgeous, long golden hair, until the night I ran my fingers through it, and the wig came off in my hands. At least she still had a figure to die for, until I realised the breasts were fake and she wore a corset. The worst part was discovering one of her long, shapely legs was false, when she took it off at night. She had a lovely personality though. LISA Deceptive Appearances His eye colour seemingly changes with every visit, I thought I was mistaken at first but I think he’s wearing coloured contacts. With all days blending into one it’s hard to remember things. I chant them to keep them fresh in my head, hoping I’ll survive and need to use them as evidence. It’s hard and I’ve got a permanent tension headache. But what else can I do? The girls tentatively told me earlier that there were others down here but he took them and didn’t bring them back. I don’t, and won’t, tell them about the bodies we found. SERENDIPIDY Lost your contact lens, are you quite sure? Come closer and let me look. No, it's still there, in the corner of your eye. Hold still and lets see if I can slide it into place. Oh dear. Me and my fat fingers! This isn't working. What I need is something thin to slip under the edge, and ease it across. Maybe this razor blade will do the trick? Now, what did I say about holding still? Stop squirming, won't you? Oh my goodness! I told you not to squirm! On the bright side. You only need one lens now! TOM NORVAL JOE Billbert stood at the door to Grandma Buhmilda's Biscayne, ready to climb in. "Linny," Mr. Withybottom growled at his daughter. "Come with me." She glared at him with one eye nearly closed as if she had lost a contact lens. "No. I'm going with my friends." "They're not your friends. Now, come on," he said much louder. "Yeah, Lindy," Sabrina sneered. "We're not your friends. Go with daddy." Linnoliumanda's face dropped at Sabrina's declaration. "Don't listen to her, Linnoliumanda," Billbert said. "You're my friend, and whether Sabrina admits it or not, you two are cousins. Maybe you have magic, too." PLANET Z Tiffany wore glasses. She shuddered at the thought of sticking something in her eye. She couldn't even bring herself to use eyedrops. The best she could do was stand in the shower with her eyes closed, face the shower head, and open her eyes. And even then, it took a lot of will to open her eyes. When her eyesight got worse, she was offered the chance for surgery, but just the thought of it... she would rather go blind. "We can knock you out for it if you like," said the doctor. Counting down from ten, fading into sleep.c

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. He wasn't a very good clown, either. But every Christmas, he'd dress up in his clown outfit and visit the kids in the hospital. He tried to juggle, but he dropped the rubber balls. The balloon animals would pop halfway through the twists. He was just pathetic. But the kids laughed, which is all that mattered. They'd make drawings of him, a clown on a pirate ship. He tacked them up around his bunk, and he'd read the letters while out at sea. Until his return the next year.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. He believed in Santa Claus, The Tooth Fairy, and the Easter Bunny. For Christmas, he left out milk and cookies for Santa. For The Tooth Fairy, well, George Brushed and flossed and wore a mouthguard in battle, so he had to rely on his crewmates' teeth to put under his pillow. And for the Easter Bunny, he put out a rabbit trap. "Roast rabbit is delicious!" said George. His crewmates stepped in the trap a lot. Some got gangrene, and they'd need an amputation. "Those aren't delicious," said George.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. He was good about filing his tax returns, though. He expensed his hat, boots, sword, and other essential equipment. Which is why he got audited every year. "You're a... pirate?" said the auditor, looking at George's paperwork. "If you perform at birthday parties, you're an entertainer." "No, I'm a pirate," said George. "Just not a very good one. I supplement my income with birthday parties." The auditor calculated the fine. George tied him to a chair and set the room on fire. Like we all wish we could do.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. While fleeing British pirate hunters, George tended to get lost among the islands. Running low on supplies, his ship run aground, the crew fished for what they could, and ended up with nets full of turtles. They cooked up the turtles, and devised a plan. George opened a restaurant on the island, and people came from far and wide to attend the opening. Pirates and British Navy sailors waited for hours for a table. They never got one. George and the crew stole a ship and fled to safety.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. He spent a lot of time swabbing the deck. Every now and then, he'd pause and look at his reflection in the mop bucket. Sometimes, he'd talk to himself. The other pirates found this disturbing, and they asked the captain to do something. "Maybe if you stopped shunning him and actually treated him nicely, he wouldn't have to talk to himself in a bucket?" said the captain. The crew pondered this, and then dumped the bucket on George's head and pushed him overboard. "That works too," said the captain.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. He was a worthless navigator, awful swordsman, and a completely unreliable deckhand. As he leaned on the starboard rail, a silver spaceship hovered by the port rail. A ramp extended from the ship and a grey-green alien walked out. "George?" it asked, reading from a clipboard. "George the Pirate?" George turned around. "Yes?" "You're not very good," it said. "I thought I'd let you know that." The alien turned around, returned to its ship, and the spaceship flew away. George shrugged and went back to leaning on the rail.

Lizzie Richard Lisa Serendipidy Tom Norval Joe Planet Z The next topic is Contact lens TOM Small Pleasures Jimmy’s dad was a working-class man. A time where the color of your shirt outline the vocation that selected you. Despite limited funds in their home, Jimmy’s day faithfully every Saturday morning wake him up for a trip to the Bakery. It was Jimmy’s job to choose a random dozen donuts for breakfast. He knew his mother favorite and each sister’s. His younger brother would eat anything within 14 inches of his mouth. Choosing for Dad was always a challenge. He didn’t have a sweet tooth like the rest of the family. So, Jimmy chose one stuffed with olives LISA November 23rd Christmas had crept into the incident room a week ago with random cards on filing cabinets and some very incongruous tinsel. I’m only there today as a picture on the wall. So, the police now know who’s doing this. Except they don’t. Only I do and I’m locked in a basement with a dozen faces that are all more familiar than I’d like them to be. I’ve told the girls I’m police. I try being upbeat; a lot have been here for months. I try not to think of the faces on that board that aren’t down here with us. NORVAL JOE A dozen teenagers gathered in the empty lot across the street from where Billbert sat on the curb. Buhmilda shoved some bread into his mouth and said, "Swallow quick. Those people over there aren't some random crowd of onlookers." When Billbert's vision cleared, he saw the burly crowd of yellow-toothed Black Knights, and jumped to his feet. Buhmilda looked to Mr. Withybottom. "Well, Cuz? Should we take the kids to your place, or mine?" Linoliumanda's father looked aghast. "Why do we have to take them anywhere?" Buhmilda shook her head sadly. "Climb in kids." And motioned them to her car. RICHARD Sold! I'd never been to an auction before, but I was having fun. I placed a few practice bids on random items, just to get a feel for things, in readiness for the lot I'd had my eye on right from the start. Just a suitcase, one of a number of lost luggage lots, and despite the stories of people finding all sorts of expensive surprises in them, I'd a sneaky suspicion the auction house went through them beforehand. I just wanted the suitcase: perfect for my next holiday. I won! The suitcase, and the twenty kilos of cocaine it contained! LIZZIE The secretary was rushing back and forth, folders everywhere. She was so upset that a pile of papers started to spin around all the way to the ceiling. "What's happening?" She threw her hands in the air. "Brand awareness report. I have 10 minutes. 10 minutes?!" He offered to help, but at that point everything was beyond any help. "I quit, there." And she stormed out of the office, a trail of paperwork swirling behind her. He just stood in the corridor, wondering how she had managed to get the papers to do that, a shiver going down his spine. SERENDIPIDY As an apprentice, I'd had it drummed into me: Brand awareness. Nail that, and everything else falls into place. Your clients should be able to make that instant association, must be able to envision what the future will look like; how it will feel; how you will change their lives. It all comes down to brand awareness. It's something I've never forgotten, and I've always striven to put it first and foremost into every interaction, with every client. Like right now. "It's red hot" I say to them, turning the brand in the flames. "This is really going to hurt!" PLANET Z I won't be going to the local donut shop anymore. All the register girl has to do is put on a plastic disposable glove, pick out donuts, put them in bags or boxes, and push a few buttons on the register. It's not like she has to make change. The credit card reader does all that. And yet, the last screen on the credit card reader asks how much I want to...

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. His ship ran aground on a small island off of the coast of South Carolina. "Welcome to Abortion Island," said a grizzled docksman. "Sorry about the lighthouse, been out for three days." He led George to the clinic, a small medical facility and dormitory. "The ferryboat brings patients, the doctor performs the procedure, and when they're ready, they return to the mainland." George stood and stared. It took George seven days to repair his ship. He kept to himself, sleeping in his bunk. And he left without saying goodbye.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. "Maybe you should give pirating a rest?" said the captain, tallying up the damage from George's latest mishap. "Whaling is big these days. My brother has a ship." George packed his bags, disembarked, and walked down the docks to his new home. "Your first time whaling?" said a lanky greenhorn, extending his hand. "Call me Ishmael." "Call me George," said George, smiling. A year later, they found themselves bloodied and battered, adrift on the Pacific in a coffin. "That ended badly," said Ishmael. "So, tell me more about piracy."

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. Some nights, he'd gaze up at the stars, wondering how he fit in to the world, or if there was some kind of hidden cosmic plan out there. "Where are we?" "Why am I here?" "What is my purpose?" "What does it all mean?" Then he'd connect all the bright stars in his mind, making shapes and words and symbols. One he named "George." He was also holding a map and an astrolabe. The captain tapped him on the shoulder, clearing his throat. "I asked 'Where are we, George?'"

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. Nobody would ever build a monument or statue to him. No plaque, no bench. He sat in the park and rested. Masked protestors swarmed in, charging and screaming, armed with sledgehammers and a crane. "Down with hate and slavery!' they shouted. "We love!" They pounded at the Confederate War Veterans statue, tugging and pulling it until it toppled and fell. On top of George. The protestors ran when they heard ambulance sirens, leaving him thrashing and struggling, shouting for help. The medics tended to George, and carried him away.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. George sought out El Dorado, the City of Gold. But instead of a city literally made of Gold, it turned out to be a village ruled by some naked dude who rolled around in Gold dust every morning, and then washed it off in the lake. George stripped naked, rolled around in Gold dust, and proclaimed himself king. The natives bowed down to George. Except for the real king. Over and over they did this. After a week, El Dorado ran out of Gold dust. And George left emptyhanded.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. Some say he drinks too much to remember. And others say he doesn't drink enough to forget. Bleary-eyed, climbing into his hammock, cabin spinning. The rocking back and forth. Is it the waves and the ship, or just how much he drank? It doesn't matter. He leans out of his hammock and throws up. The hammock wobbles. He falls into the puddle of vomit. Passing out. He'll do the same thing tomorrow. And the day after that. "Another goddamned day of this shit," he mumbles. And passes out again.

Lizzie Richard Lisa Serendipidy Tom Norval Joe Planet Z The next topic is PICK TWO Brand awareness, Lot, Random, Envision, Dozen, Secretary LIZZIE "Bread crumbs, I need bread crumbs," thought the restless crow. He wasn't hungry. He just wanted bread crumbs. He read a story about dropping bread crumbs to leave a trail. He wanted to leave a trail! People would trickle out of the forest into the open field and marvel at his beauty! But he found no bread crumbs. He did consider resorting to his collection of glass eyes, but it was becoming more and more difficult to steal them from grumpy Old Maggie. So, he just sat on his scarecrow and waited. And he waited for a very long time! RICHARD All natural ingredients Times have been tough since the Great War, but we survivors are tougher still. We manage to get by on the bare essentials, and where even the bare essentials are lacking, we improvise. Take our bread, for example: Flour is hard to come by, so we substitute sawdust instead. It makes for an interesting texture, but the flavour's not too bad. Mind you, if it wasn't for the bread we'd starve. That's our diet: Bread and water. Except the water is polluted, and the rain is far too acid to drink. I won't tell you what we substitute for water! SERENDIPIDY Smells can be so evocative. Some may enthuse about the aroma of freshly baked bread, the fragrance of newly mown grass or the perfume of night scented stock on a warm spring evening. Homely, comforting smells. Not for me though. My tastes are very different. In fact, those smells make me want to vomit. Give me instead, the honest, ferrous tang of freshly spilled blood, the sweet smells of death and decay. Better than any bouquet of flowers or the most expensive of perfumes. And above all, the dank, earthy aroma of the grave. The smell of home, sweet home. LISA A Despondent Incident Room Another day and another late afternoon briefing; there’s another three photos up on the board. It looks like our man’s working a lot harder than we are. He’s giving us nothing, and we’re working right round the clock. I’ve not had a meal at home for weeks now. Mum’s doing me double sandwiches. I used to eat at my desk but I can’t eat with them watching. It doesn’t feel right. They’re all around my age: I think all the women feel the same: it could be me up there. The bread from the uneaten sandwich hardens on my desk. TOM Pore more Sugar on It Going Meta-Meta tonight. My personal rule for writing is: the first thing that lands in my head it the central theme of the story. It can produce some pretty weird stuff. Take tonight’s topic: bread. Before I could take a stroll down memory lane of my years working in a Bakery. I was the guy who choose how many loafs of vegetable herb we were delivering to San Fransisco. But No, what popped in my brain pan was Bread the band. And I use that term generously. If you took rock and roll and dipped in sugar Bread would come out. NORVAL JOE Linoliumanda continued to ignore her father's requests to get into the car until he was clearly ready to blow his top. Red faced, he got out of the car and stomped his size fourteen wingtips toward her. Just then, a rusty, late 50's, Chevrolet Biscayne, huffed and rumbled to a stop next to them. A gray-haired woman in a bright orange mumu under a olive rain poncho climbed out, carrying a small brown loaf of bread. Mr. Withybottom's jaw dropped. "Buhmilda. What are you doing here?" The woman smiled at Mr. Withybottom. "I could as you the same, Cousin Charlie." PLANET Z Tonya went to school and opened a bakery. Hired a few of her neighbors and friends, worked long hours. Everybody got paid well and got great benefits. She even covered child care, which for single mothers, is everything. Then the riots came. Her bakery was broken into and burned to the ground.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. Instead of looting and pillaging, he liked to go exploring. "And then loot and pillage?" asked his mateys. "No," said George. "I write articles for a travel magazine." His favorite place to visit had been the Kingdom of Green. It was land of endless fields and forests, and the castle on the hill shone in the sun. "It's gone, George," said a messenger from the magazine. "The king died, and the queen soon after. It's all in ruin." George folded his map, put it in a drawer, and wept.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. Give him a ship, and he'll give you back a shipwreck. One time, he wrecked on the rocks of an island where everyone wore green. "Come with me," said a villager. "The king and queen are waiting." The royal couple offered to fix George's ship, but he had to promise never to loot or pillage the land. George kept his word, and he changed the maps to read "Dangerous rocks and monsters." That way, pirates would forever avoid that land. George assumed that they lived happily ever after.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. Once, when George wasn't careful about some pirate secrets, a fellow pirate shushed him and said "The walls have ears." Ever since then, George had been nervous about talking near walls. He'd only talk to people outdoors where there weren't any walls. Or in gazebos. Because they're kind of like buildings, but don't have any walls. Railings, maybe. But those are more like lattices or fences. The captain watched George trying to construct a gazebo on the main deck. "I should have been a farmer," he muttered to himself.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. These days, it's all about branding. Social media presence. George dominated the Pirate scene online, with millions of followers on Twitter and Instagram. His YouTube videos were all over Facebook. Maybe that's why he wasn't a very good pirate. While all the other pirates looted and pillaged, George snapped selfies and rocked the #pirate hashtag. Once, he swung his selfie stick instead of his cutlass, and he broke his smartphone. "At least you're finally looting," said the captain as he watched George steal a replacement and swap sim cards.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. While his shipmates were fending off a deadly sea monster, George was at the childrens' hospital, entertaining patients with pirate stories. The kids loved it when George showed up and told his stories. His shipmates, not so much. Sea monsters are even more dangerous when you fight them shorthanded, and as clumsy as George was, he could have been useful as a decoy or bait. In the middle of a story, George's phone rang. He flicked it to vibrate mode. "Sorry about that," said George. "Now where was I?"

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. He also wasn't a very good tenant at Miss Mapleton's Boarding House. Every morning, George used up all the hot water. The sink's drain was always clogged with his beard stubble. Thank goodness Mr. Grant in seven was a plumber. He also left the seat up. And never, ever flushed. Miss Mapleton was always warning George that if he kept this up, she'd throw him out. But she never did. Because as bad as a tenant George was, at least he paid his rent in full, and on time.

Lizzie Richard Lisa Serendipidy Tom Norval Joe Planet Z The next topic is Bread LIZZIE "Nothing but a crappy painting. A bunch of odd flowers on a dark blue background," she said. The neighbor advised her to have an expert look at it. "Preposterous!" She knew her art. So, she tossed it in the dumpster. When it was dark, the neighbor grabbed it. He wasn't stealing it! He had it appraised and... it was worth a million bucks! He bought a new house and a new car and told everyone he had won the lottery, just in case. Oh, and he still drives by the old house to check the neighborhood dumpster for crappy artwork. RICHARD Stolen! I've been a victim of identity theft. Some lowlife criminal is pretending to be me. They go through my trash at night, and somehow they've stolen my credit card details and the passwords to my social media. To be honest, I'm not that bothered about it. In fact, I've been leaving personal information for them to discover for quite some time now. My credit has been maxxed out for years, my social reputation is at an all-time low, everyone's chasing me for money. Now, I just blame the scammers. I'm perfectly happy to let them take on my failings! LIZZIE Stolen We’re now knee deep in November and no further forward with the case. A case so clueless it doesn’t even have a catchy name yet, just an awful lot of missing women. Inside is brighter than outside, the mood lower than the cloud on the moors. Oddly, it feels like the sun coming out when after discovering another body we realise he’s taken a necklace from this girl too. It’s not much is it? But it’s something, another piece in the puzzle and progress of sorts. Our man takes souvenirs. We just need to find him and his treasure chest. SERENDIPIDY Sixteen years they kept me chained in the cellar. My youth, stolen, thanks to their evil deeds. They're dead now, by my hand, and nobody holds me responsible. They had it coming, they say, deserved everything they got. I'm happy to let them believe that. But the truth of the matter is that they never locked me in the cellar at all. I made it all up - a story to justify my actions, and everybody believed me. My youth wasn't stolen at all. I had a great time growing up, I just hated my parents. So, I stole their lives. TOM All the Presidents Kids He always knew the election was stolen. That other dick had been a better dick by rigging the total in the city. I was child the time that happen. I was a very young man the second time, but a well place young man. I was on loan to Joe Woods group was a single propose. To route the calls from down state. IT was simple hack that surely would be fixed in the next election but not that night. The numbers came in late the so the Chicago machine could offset total, Nixon take the state, wins the election. NORVAL JOE Sabrina pulled out her phone and called her grandmother. "Hi Granny..." She held the phone away from her ear and Billbert could hear the old woman shouting. "No," Sabrina said. "No one had stolen my phone. It's a long story, but we're in town and Billbert's eyesight's been stolen, and half his hearing." She put the phone back to her ear as her grandmother had stopped screaming. "Yes. I know that's a classic Black Knight's move, but I can't do anything about it. Can you come straighten him out?" She put her phone away. "Grandma Buhmilda will be right here." PLANET Z The Bleeb are an ancient race. Once rulers of a massive empire, reduced to wanderers of the galaxy, searching for the remnants of their shattered homeworld. Scanning... testing... analyzing chemical signatures... Piece by piece, they reappropriate their planet. Gathering asteroids, hurling the massive rocks through hyperspace channels. Lifeless planets to shatter and sift. It is when there is life that the moral question rises.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. This didn't matter to the production assistant who was rounding up extras for the latest Disney pirate movie. "Who wants twenty dollars a day?" he shouted. "And a hot lunch, too!" George and his shipmates waved their cutlasses around, growling and scowling, doing whatever the director told them to do. "CUT!" shouted the director, and he walked up to George. "This one's playing Angry Birds on his phone." So, George was fired from the movie. Which was a good thing. Everyone else got food poisoning from the catered lunch.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. He wasn't a very good poet either. He tried to write a poem about pirates, But nothing rhymes well with pirate. Well, maybe admire it. And retire it. "What about other languages?" said the captain. "Spanish for pirate is pirata. Lots of Spanish words rhyme with it." "I don't know Spanish," said George. "In French, pirate is... pirate," said the captain. "But I'm sure there's lots of French words that rhyme with it." "I don't know French, either," said George. Nobody told George that poetry doesn't have to rhyme.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. Other pirates would drink all night, and then wreck their rowboats on the way back to the ship. George usually ended up as a designated rower, or he'd call an Uber rowboat, even though he never drank excessively like others did. His shipmates mocked him for his cautiousness. "You're a pirate!" they shouted. "You're supposed to be drunk and careless!" George stuck to his routine, and he got back to the ship safely. Just in time to throw life preservers out to his reckless shipmates, thrashing in the water.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. The captain quickly realized that George wasn't very good at sailing, pillaging, and fighting. So he made George the Morale Officer. George spent his time making fresh lemonade for his mateys, asking them how they were feeling, and arranging activities such as Game Night. A trip to the zoo, however, turned out disastrously. The pirates ransacked the zoo, cooking and eating the various endangered animals housed there. They woke up from their drunken stupors, locked in the gorilla cages. George crossed out "Gorillas" from the sign and wrote "Pirates."

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. When he answers pirate-related questions on Quora and Yahoo Answers, his posts are vague and confusing. And people downvote him on Reddit all of the time. The editors of WikiPedia routinely roll back his updates and changes. And I've yet to see an instructional video of his on YouTube that hasn't been a magnet for thumbs down and nasty comments. George mostly stays offline these days, communicating with family through a email and a private Facebook profile. He flings another bird in Angry Birds and watches the structures collapse.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. He wasted a lot of time on things like Fermi's Paradox. "If there's intelligent life in the universe, where is it?" asked George. He drew up Drake's Equation on a chalkboard and played with the numbers. His conclusions were grim. "By my calculations, there should be absolutely no intelligent life in the universe." "That's nice," said the captain. "But if you haven't noticed, we're trying to take over a Spanish galleon. Mind picking up a cutlass and helping?" George picked up his cutlass and lowered the "civilization survivability" variable.

Lisa Richard Serendipidy Lizzie Norval Joe Tom Planet Z The next topic is Stolen RICHARD An Eye For Detail Apparently, I have an eye for detail. It's both a blessing and a curse: Colleagues are always grateful when I spot their errors, particularly when it comes to reviewing important reports, checking figures on spreadsheets or the content of presentations. Then again, it can be a pain in the butt constantly getting pestered by other people asking me to sense check their work. Some days, it seems all I'm doing is sorting out other people's mistakes, which means my own work is always rushed, and I rarely have time to do it properly. Tha'ts whu its alwtys full o mistkes.! LIZZIE The doors to the art exhibition opened and a flood of enthusiastic visitors roamed the room. One piece in particular caught everyone's attention. "The detail is remarkable," they said. "Art is a remarkable... thing, isn't it?" And someone replied "Yes, it is, remarkable!" People stared at three copper panels, a nose and two eyes, gigantic and kind of lopsided. "Just remarkable!" And this continued for hours, the word remarkable passing on from visitor to visitor like the plague. Suddenly, the eyes bulged and the nose sneezed on the stunned visitors who quickly decided that art wasn't that remarkable after all. SERENDIPIDY You've heard the expression 'the devil's in the detail', but I guess you've always taken it to be just an idiom. Not so. If you look closely enough you'll find that, hidden within the detail, the devil is indeed lurking and, what's more, he's looking closely at you too. Wherever there's complexity and confusion, he's there, and the closer you look, the more absorbed you become, the closer he gets to you and the more absorbed into your life he becomes. Until, finally, without even knowing it, you've become the devil… And you're screwing up the detail for everyone else! LISA The Search The wall is full of more faces since you were last here. Fresh faces of women in their late teens and early twenties with the whole of their life stretching before them. This is no casting couch. This is not the hunt for the star of a West End Production. We’re deep in the East End looking for their abductor, perhaps their killer, the reason why their loved ones haven’t seen them recently. We’re convinced they’re all connected. And just need one tiny little detail, a miniscule clue that helps us link and ultimately find them. It’s not looking promising. NORVAL JOE Because his vision had gone completely and his hearing was reduced, Billbert could only listen as Linoliumanda explained in detail how she had not followed anyone and the root of their problems was actually Sabrina. All the while, Mr. Withybottom kept shouting, "Linny, get back in the car." Billbert sat on the curb. Sabrina asked, "What's wrong with you?" Billbert sighed. "I can't see anything." Sabrina scoffed. "You shouldn't have left out that detail. It's a classic Black Knight move." She pulled out her phone. "I'm calling my grandmother for help. Linnyninny, why don't you listen to daddy and go?" TOM No Way Out It was not so much Timmy was stupid as he was missing one important detail. Without it one would just wander down blind alleys. The missing detail was in plain sight. The man in the café saw to that. The man in the café was placed between a rock and hard place to kept Timmy in play in spite of those who were hell been to tube his career in the eyes of the high council and the elliptical reasoning of the protractor’s guild. The detail was flower in the vase: Semper Augustus. Timmy touched a petal absently. So close. PLANET Z I think the last time I played soccer was for the residential college's team, where I was used as a scrub placeholder whenever a starter needed a minute or two on the sideline to catch his breath.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. Certainly not good enough for The League of The Black Skull. You've never heard of The League of The Black Skull? Well, that's because George made it up. George was always telling his crewmates about how he was being recruited for the secretive League of The Black Skull. "Never heard of it," they said. "That's because they're so secretive," said George. "Well, if you're talking about it, and they're secretive, they probably won't recruit you," said the captain. George slumped and sighed. The captain fingered his Black Skull ring.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. "Open your eyes, George, said a voice. George opened his eyes, and he saw a doctor's office. "Why are you here?" asked the doctor. "To make me a better pirate," said George. "Well, I'm here to make you better," said the doctor. "But not a pirate." "I'M A PIRATE!" shouted George. George felt strong hands hold him, and a needle slide in his arm. His shouting became a whisper. "I'm a pirate... I'm a pirate..." He felt calm, like a ship on the water. And he was a pirate.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. All the other pirates didn't think much of George. None of them were his Facebook friends. He'd send friend requests out, but nobody accepted them. They didn't let him into the ship's private group or let him post on the public page. After a while, George gave up trying. He became less enthusiastic about being a pirate. He growled and scowled at his crewmates, sneaking more than his share of treasure. And he occasionally treated their captives in a cruel manner. "There's hope for him yet," said the captain.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. He was sick of having to watch broadcast television shows, so he stole cable from the harbormaster's office. This severely limited the ship's range, or it ended up yanking out the cable. So, George stole a satellite television subscription. Which wasn't much use, because the boat rolled with the waves, disrupting satellite tracking. George then stole a Marine VSAT dish, which tracked satellites automatically with computers and GPS. "We be stealing television!" growled George. "Yarr." The captain reminded him about stealing treasure. "That would be nice too," said George.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. He liked to cover himself with phosphorescent seaweed and wander around the ship, moaning like a ghost. "Cut it out, George," said the captain. George stopped bothering his crewmates and sulked. But that night, George roamed the docks and the streets, annoying the locals. "I am the ghost of George the Pirate!" he yelled. "BOOOOOOOOOO!" "Who?" asked a prostitute. "George," said George. "I'm a pirate ghost." "Whatever," said the prostitute. "Five pieces of eight for this piece of ass." It was amazing what she could do with phosphorescent seaweed.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. Just as a poor craftsman blames his tools, so does a poor pirate. George was always blaming his equipment. His sword didn't have good balance, and it never kept its edge. The trigger on his flintlock pistol kept sticking. Or it would get jammed, and he'd have to clear it. His boots were too tight, or his hat was too loose. "Just shut up and stand still, George," said the captain. "Now everybody say cheese." All of the pirates smiled, except for George, and the captain took the photo.

Lisa Richard Serendipidy Lizzie Norval Joe Tom Planet Z The next topic is Detail LIZZIE Black and white. A vision of nothingness inside a vision of everything.And he points. No one knows. And he moves forward, alone. The balloons he 's holding will be black. The stars hanging from them will be black. And the more they fly, the less white he will see. And nothing is there anymore. Just stars hanging from balloons, flying away in silence, ahead of him. No one knows. And he stops. He wants to smile, but he can't. Three cheers and all that. Be brave and all that. Black and white. A vision of everything ahead of nothing. RICHARD Caught! If she points at you, you're dead. Your only hope is to stay out of her field of vision, make no sudden movements, and keep a low profile. You might, just might escape her notice. It's not guaranteed though: She has eyes like a hawk, and few can avoid her gaze. With these words echoing through my mind, I selected my position with care, keeping to the shadows, careful not to draw attention to myself. Then, I sneezed. Cover blown! To my horror, her finger pointed straight at me. Chosen by the teacher to answer the question on the board. NORVAL JOE "You want out?" Mr. Withybottom asked Billbert and unlocked the doors. "Cheers." Sabrina sat on the sidewalk side of the car, and Billbert asked her to open the door. "I'll come with you," she said and got out of the car. Linoliumanda quickly followed Billbert out, too. Sabrina rolled her eyes. "It's a pattern, Billbert. You can see that, can't you? Everywhere we go, she wants to follow." Billbert watched as Linoliumanda's eyes filled with tears of rage and she shook her finger at Sabrina. Then his vision went black and the two girls' voices were muffled as they argued. TOM flogging will continue until morale improves They called the program F-T-V. The joke around the office was it stood for Fuck TV. 30 staff crammed into a tiny room staring at a Zoom screen. In bright primary colors the monitor read: Fuel The Vision. It was Sam’s idea to bring in a motivational team to boast productivity. The life coach was perky in the most detestable manor. Radiating a millennial affect that did not sit well with the senior staff. And I mean senior, most of them were Boomers long overdue to leave the work force. The last virus had taken out the under 40 cohort. SERENDIPIDY It's all down to science. By examining the points where blood has pooled and spattered, one can deduce how the victim died, how violent the attack and where each individual wound was inflicted. To you, it may look like a complete mess, but to an expert it's a pattern as clear as any map. Take this crime scene, for example: I can tell the victim suffered initial, violent blunt-force blows, scattering blood spots across the wall, and the fatal wound was a slice to a major artery. Not that I'm any sort of forensic scientist. I committed the crime! LISA October 27th 1978 The incident room smells of men. The incident room smells of men with creased shirts. The incident room smells of men with creased shirts and creased faces. It’s been a long monotonous day and is far from finishing. A squealing wheel heralds the arrival of the tea trolley. The missing girls watch the tea being poured from their photos pinned around a local map. Pippa hastily swallows her digestive. “Is there a Petrol Station on the B28?” “Yup. Texaco.” “It’s a pattern... Look!” She points around the map explaining her reasoning feeling like, perhaps, today some progress has been made. PLANET Z The local grocery store chain offers fuel points. It doesn't have any gas pumps at any nearby location. I have no idea where else I can redeem them. For thirty years, I've been accumulating fuel points. So, my card has like a million fuel points on it. One day,

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. His captives would ransom themselves with checks, and then stop payment right after they were freed. Or they'd give George their credit card number, and then cancel the card the moment they reached a phone. "I'll PayPal you," one said. "What's your email address?" Eventually, George put his foot down, and wouldn't accept anything but cash. So when his captives would open their wallets and show they only have five or ten bucks, he'd take it and let them go. "You know they have families, right?" said the captain.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. What little he knew about piracy, he wrote down and applied for a patent. Oddly enough, the Patent Office approved his application. He then sued every pirate in the world and demanded royalties. A few pirates signed licensing agreements with George, and they could continue to engage in piracy if they helped to hunt down those who didn't sign agreements. Eventually, the rogue pirates banded together, hired a big law firm, and got the patent overturned. Pirates once again sailed the seas. Except George, because he was blacklisted industry-wide.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. He wasn't much of a fighter. Just like that bull, Ferdinand, who'd rather smell flowers than fight. One day, as George was walking through a meadow, he came across Ferdinand, who was smelling the flowers. George sat down next to the bull, and they enjoyed the peaceful evening. Then, George led Ferdinand back to the ship, and the pirate crew slaughtered him and they had a huge feast. The next day, George went back to the meadow and enjoyed it alone, without a huge stinking animal next to him.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. Because he failed on the high seas, he tried his hand on the rails. That's right. George became a train robber, but he wasn't a very good train robber. His timing was a bit off, and he'd swing from his ship's mast behind the passing train, ending up falling into the berm. But then, it was better than falling ahead of the passing train. Once he got aboard, he'd draw his pistols and... "Ticket, please," said the conductor. George shrugged and got off. And went back to his ship.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. When the crew went drinking, George drank herbal tea with the bartender. When the crew went carousing, George discussed recent news with the bartender. When the crew went whoring, George exchanged jokes with the bartender. After a hard night of drinking, carousing, and whoring, George's crewmates woke up in the alley, money and valuables gone. George was the only one not to get robbed. "Do you think they'll figure it out?" said the bartender. "I don't think so," said George, counting out coins. "Half for you, half for me."

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. He didn't bother with the latest pirate fashions and trends. No hook hands, no peg legs, no eyepatches, no puffy shirts. Well, he did try a parrot on for size, but the thing kept biting his ear. So, George set it free. The parrot flew away, and then, when it realized it was over the deep ocean, turned back and tried to catch up with the ship. But it was too tired, and eventually fell into the water and drowned. "Serves you right for biting my ear," said George.

Lisa Richard Serendipidy Lizzie Norval Joe Tura Tom Planet Z The next topic is PICK TWO Points, Vision, Fuel, It’s a pattern, Cheers, Refreshment SERENDIPIDY What do you mean, 'what the hell is this?' That, is what you've been asking me to make for ages - you know I've been trying to find a recipe everywhere, with no luck, so I've had to work it out for myself. And now, you have the nerve to question it? You seriously don't want to eat it, after I've slaved for hours over a hot stove, just to please you? As for 'what the hell is this?' You know exactly what it is… Rat stew! Exactly what you asked for. You didn't? So, what the hell is ratatouille then? TOM Hair Today My grandmother pointed out one could train their hair to fall along a well define part line. Try as I may as child this did not work. Brushes and combs were no match for the might follicles My hair had other ideas in mind. Sure, the part starts on the left, but given the slight provocation it will loses all cohesion. I have over the years taken ownership of dishevel, cultivated a crawl from dumpster affect. With age I have parted will much of my hair. Receding and thinning soon I will look more like Gollum with a single hair part. RAT STEW In the eighteen years of posting, we have had some interesting topic to write on. I’ve found some angle to get to 100 words. This has me dead in my tracks. No muse can save me. I am coming up blank. I guess at the minimum can pounded what the offering is. Is it a stew made with rats? Is it a stew for rats? Is it threat like he’ll swim with the fishes, boys going to make rat stew with that rat. Is this Mr. and Mrs. Stew’s cruel joke on their first born? Don’t have a clue. NORVAL JOE Billbert sat between the two girls in the back of Mr. Withybottom's Lincoln. Linoliumanda leaned forward and glared at Sabrina. "You're a rat." Sabrina was shocked. "Where did that come from?" "Well..." Linoliumanda looked like she had to think of a reason. "Because you're a witch and you dragged Billbert and me into your feud with the Black Knights." Sabrina crossed her arms. "Then you're rats, too." "Who?" Linoliumanda asked indignantly. "All of you," Sabrina snapped at her. When Mr. Withybottom stopped at a corner, Billbert said, "You can let me out here. I'll walk the rest of the way." TURA Rat stew --------- “Have you decided what you’re having?” inquired my dining companion. “Not yet, can you help me out with some of these?” I replied. “What’s ‘ratchet’?” “Rat stew,” he said. “Probably farmed though, nothing like the flavour of wild-caught field rats, but you rarely see those commercially.” “And ‘presentation de bratchet à la graisse de caniche’?” “Bratchet, that’s a type of hunting dog. It’s a mixed grill of the legs, belly, and ribs, with a poodle fat sauce.” “Paté de phoque matraqué?” “Clubbed seal paté.” “Yum!” But I chose the fillet of unborn foal with sheep’s eye jelly. There are limits. LIZZIE "Not inside the cave," they said. Why? No one answered. Onward to the cave then. There was nothing much going on. A few shields with Viking drawings, a few contraptions made of tiny bones, and a dead body. She couldn't understand what the fuss was all about. Perhaps it was the cattle skull on the wall. "Rat this, rat that. Stew?! No, thank you," she said out loud. "This dead man looks remarkably good for a dead person." And then... She didn't see it coming. The dead man was not dead and, much to her misfortune, she was a rat. LISA Rat Stew Meals were haphazard. Life was haphazard really, we’d pretty much moved into the basement by November. The summer had been full of dandelion salads. Blackberries and apples warmed by the autumn sun had just run out. Our cat, Lucky, saw to herself and always had. Our neighbours, long gone now, had eaten their pets.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. After his parrot flew away, he needed a new pet worthy of a pirate. So, he bought a monkey from the Peebles Pet Store. It was a rather large monkey, and it wore a bow tie and a silly hat. "Call me Magilla," it said. "Got any bananas?" The monkey's appetite soon put George in a financial bind. He couldn't afford to keep him. So, George returned the monkey to the pet store. And he stole a turtle. Because at least he could catch it if it ran away.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. He'd been all around the world, but mostly by accident or as a result of poor navigation. When he found himself in India, he tried his usual hostage-taking and ransoming racket. However, all he could manage to do was take some cows captive. "They believe that these are their reincarnated ancestors, right?" said George. So, he sent ransom notes to their relatives. Who had also died and come back as cows. George ended up with three gallons of milk, which he traded for a map back to Port Royal.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. Wherever George went, explosions were sure to follow. Cannons, muskets, powder kegs, flares... Once, his hat exploded. Nobody was sure why or how. The townspeople watched from the docks and cheered and ooohed and aaahed. They thought it was a fireworks show. Members of the local symphony came out to the docks and played along. And then, as a grand finale, a massive series of explosions lit up the docks. Every ship went up in flames. The crowd cheered. Well, except for those who owned those ships, of course.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. He never got to restaurants in time for their breakfast menus. "But my watch says five til eleven," said George. "My clock says eleven, sorry," said the woman at the counter. George knew that if he made threats, he'd be arrested and end up in a viral video. George learned to make his own breakfast. So did lots of people, and the woman at the counter lost her job and ended up as a homeless beggar. "Sorry, my wallet says 'fuck you'," said George, walking by the homeless beggar.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. He washed his hands a lot, singing "This is the way we wash our hands!" while he washed them. George thought if he did it early in the morning, the other pirates wouldn't make fun of him singing. But his singing woke them up, and they'd mock how he washed his hands, washed his face, brushed his teeth, and brushed his hair. Right up to the point they died from bad hygiene. George waved goodbye to their corpses as they were buried at sea. Early in the morning.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. Disney liked the concept, and bought it for millions. But after two successful movies, they brought in a director who rebooted the franchise. Instead of George, they featured Georgette, a black lesbian pirate who was the best at everything pirates do. Hundreds of millions of dollars went into a Disney Plus series, and even more money was spent on reshoots. Fans of the original George who criticized the new Georgette were called racists, sexists, bigots, and homophobes. Despite terrible ratings, a second season was ordered, and it was worse.

Richard Serendipidy Lizzie Norval Joe Planet Z The next topic is RAT STEW LIZZIE As we part our ways, my dear, I hold precious memories in my heart. We walked along the bridges, watching the gondolas slide by. You were so smitten by the elegant colors that you ate that azalea. I didn't even have to tell you to. And then the green fairy. What a lovely shade of green, you said. I'll never forget you, my dear. I'll take your heart with me. And he opened his suitcase to take a quick look before the train departed. Yes, her heart was still there. Squashing it inside that damn bottle had been a struggle. RICHARD Problem solved "Be part of the problem, not the solution!" Simmonds, sitting opposite me caught my eye, and it was all I could do to stop myself bursting out laughing. Old man Jeffries may be a good manager, but lately he'd begun losing the plot. Simmonds politely raised his hand, "Surely we should be part of the solution?" Jeffries glared at him, "That's what I just said! Pay attention! Now, where was I?" "Solutions?" I prompted, helpfully. "Yes, precisely! Without solutions. We'd have no problems, and then where would we be?" Eventually, they fired Jeffries. The easiest solution to our biggest problem. SERENDIPIDY Til death do us part was never going to be good enough for me. As far as I'm concerned, love never ends: It transcends mortality and human frailty, persisting beyond the grave. So, when hubby died, there was absolutely no question of burial or cremation; there's no way I could possibly be parted from his mortal remains. I had him pickled and I keep him in a glass capsule next to my bed. Sometimes, when I need to feel him close, I decant his body, wrap my arms around him, and make mad, passionate love to him, all night long. NORVAL JOE Mr. Withybottom waved toward his Lincoln town car. "Okay, you two. Hop in. Linny you can stay home." Linoliumanda scowled as if deciding whether or not to defy her father was hurting her head. She eventually followed Billbert and Sabrina. "If something is going to happen on this drive, I want to be part of it." Her father laughed nervously. "Nothing's going to happen, honey girl. I just want to encourage these two crazy people to get out of your life. You know. Part ways with you." "That's what I thought might happen," Linoliumanda said following Billbert into the car. PLANET Z Her name was April, she was Miss November, and of course she married the old man for his money. "Til death do we part." was a challenge. Her lover, his lawyer, had the new will written up. She got a quarter, his two kids got a quarter, and the lawyer got the rest as a fee. Despite her best efforts, the geezer kept going for eight months. When the time came for the reading of the will, a stranger handed her and the two kids a shiny new quarter. And the lawyer (and the rest of the money) were gone.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. And you know what they say about those who can't do. So, he ran a summer pirate camp for kids. Instead of making arts and crafts, they pillaged and looted. Paddling their war canoes across the lake to raid other summer camps for their arts and crafts. At the end of the summer, the kids would collect the ransom payments, pack their treasure, and head back home. George wouldn't see them for another year. Well, except for the kids who signed up for the after-school pirate camp, that is.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. Then again, when it came to women, he had a girl in every port. Sometimes, two or three. The problem was, after a while, the women got to talking, and they felt like they were getting played by George. One minute, George was at the bar, drinking a tankard of beer. The next, he was being dragged out by several of his former girlfriends. They'd slipped a little something into his beer. Three hours later, he woke up, hanging from a lamp post. By what, I dare not mention.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. So, he gave up being a pirate and became a barber. He partnered with the tavern next door so that customers could have a drink or two while they waited. At first, some customers got drunk and rowdy, but they learned to police themselves, and only got a little tipsy before George would say "NEXT!" He made good business, and the information he gathered from those tipsy customers was priceless. Her Majesty's Navy were delighted to listen as they came in for haircuts. And they tipped George quite handsomely.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. The Pirate Party of Sweden called George and asked him if he was interested in running for parliament. "But I'm not Swedish," said George. "Nobody is anymore," said the Pirate Party representative. "Damned immigrants." George ran a sloppy campaign, but he more than made up for it at the debates. He killed two of his opponents, and horribly maimed a third. Running unopposed and under indictment for murder, George won the ballot easily. "Now what?" said George, standing in Parliament, surrounded by people in suits babbling in incomprehensible Swedish.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. When he wasn't pirating, he was playing amateur baseball. He'd been hoping to be discovered by a scout, but the scouts all knew he was just as bad a baseball player as he was a pirate. The rare times he managed to get to first base, he'd try to steal second, and get caught. So, after the game, he'd steal second, third, home, first, the pitcher's rubber, and pretty much anything that wasn't nailed down. He never played professionally. Instead, he umpired. The bribes he collected were quite generous.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. Every time someone said "booty" he'd giggle. "What's so damn funny?" yelled the captain. "He said booty," said George, trying not to laugh. "What are you, three?" said the captain. "Now go swab the poopdeck." George laughed out loud and earned a night in the brig. George made an audio tape with those words, and he ran it in a loop while he slept. But he listened to it way too loud, temporarily deafening him for a month. At least he stopped laughing at the words booty and poopdeck.

Richard Tom Serendipidy Lizzie Norval Joe Planet Z The next topic is Part RICHARD Con Air It seemed like a good idea at the time. Saving money on flights leaving more to spend abroad was a no-brainer. So we flew with Blue Sky Airlines at a fraction of the cost of the other budget flyers, even after the extra baggage charges. It was when we landed that the problems began. They charged us to leave the plane, then another charge to deplane our luggage. There was a further fee for baggage retrieval. Then a transfer fee for the coach to our hotel, twice the cost of the flight. We flew back with a different airline. TOM When he down, let kick him. Blue sky, or goodwill, is the excess purchase price over the market value of the tangible assets recorded on the balance sheet. What is the difference between goodwill and blue sky? A key point of note: goodwill value can be proved through data and legally defended. On the other hand, blue sky value is used to represent intangible value that represents a premium someone will pay for a business is not based in any defend able analysis. Question: if you have been screwing over people all your business career and the court liquidates your assets; can you have negative blue sky. SERENDIPIDY A cloudless blue sky. It's been three days, and every one of them a cloudless, blue sky. Sun, blazing relentlessly; no shade, no shelter, no solace. The burning sand scalds your blistered feet; you stumble, fall, crawl, desperately seeking the faintest shadow, the slightest breeze to ease your pain. Cracked, blackened lips, mumble for water. Dehydrated, desperate in their desire for moisture, but none is to be found. Three days - a lifetime - and now, just short moments from death. You stumble once more, clawing at the sand, then lie still. High above, the sun blazes. In a cloudless blue sky. LIZZIE "Maybe there's a blue sky out there, a blue sky that makes you wonder, a blue sky filled with smiles and laughter. Maybe there's a home out there filled with twinkling stars that make the sky bluer. Maybe, just maybe, there's a blue smile that makes you dream." He closed his eyes. The keys played an eerie symphony as the mother locked them in their rooms for the night. The mother didn't believe in blue skies. The mother didn't believe in smiles. At least, no one could steal the blue sky in his mind. He smiled and went to sleep. NORVAL JOE The Withybottom mansion rose above the surrounding fir trees and seemed to touch the deep blue sky. The two girls still stood on the broad front porch with Linoliumanda's father eyeing the road where the police officer had just passed. Billbert climbed the steps up to the porch. "Mr. Withybottom. Could you drive me home? My parents are probably starting to get worried about me." He shrugged. "Okay." Linoliumanda's father turned to Sabrina. "How about you, young lady? Do you need a ride home?" She shook her head. "I'm sure my grandmother hasn't missed me. Just take me to Billbert's." PLANET Z It hasn’t rained for over a month. I water the plants twice a day. Most of them will recover once it rains again. The others, I’ve pulled out and mulched. No point in replacing them yet. Until it rains again. We don’t bother with a grass lawn. Nobody around here does. It’s called native or rustic or natural or something. call it lazy. But it doesn’t look bad at all once you get used to it. Just like the clear blue sky. And the little sun icons on the weather app. Tomorrow, the next day, and the day after that.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. He once kidnapped a baby from a wealthy couple and held it for ransom. While the parents negotiated with George, he had to change diapers, do midnight feedings, buy clothes, help with homework, and do everything else necessary in raising a child. The negotiations took twenty-two years, ending when the kid graduated college. "It was cheaper to let you raise him and then pay the ransom," his parents said. Their grown son, raised to be a pirate, made his parents walk the plank. "That's my boy!" said George proudly.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. Pirates need a variety of skills to survive on the seas, and George's skillset could best be described as "fake it till you make it." "Sure, I know Spanish," said George, crossing the gangplank to the galleon they'd just captured. He looked over the manifest and pointed out what to take and what to dump. "Keep pants on your head and watch turtles!" George shouted at the captured crew, as they watched crates of gold go overboard while George had barrels of preserved corpses hauled out of the hold.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. He was a decent medic, though, so even if he couldn't fight well, it was after the fight that George shone. He'd tear strips of cloth to use as bandages, heating the edge of a knife to burn wounds shut. "We wouldn't need a medic if we had you fighting alongside us," said the captain. Which George tried to take to heart, and he fought as well as he could. Until the captain was wounded. "Medic!" shouted the captain. George sheathed his sword and picked up a medical bag.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. Just like the Turing test, where judges try to determine whether they are chatting with the human or computer, the Blackbeard test challenges judges to determine whether they are chatting with a human or a pirate. Scientists stuffed George into a box, and he passed notes through a slot. George did his best to be convincing, but at the end of the experiment, the judges thought that the box with the computer in it was a real pirate. The captain hired the computer and left George in the box.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. Whenever he was in Orlando, Florida, he would take a trip to Disney World and get hired as a cast member. "The robot pirates break down a lot, so we put rubber masks on humans who pretend to be robots." The rubber masks were hot, and after six hours, George began to hallucinate. He sang and waved his sword and then dropped his pants and took a dump in the ride's waterway. The video went viral on YouTube, and George went back to being a not very good pirate.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. He has a habit of buying all kinds of electronic devices. The ones you see advertised on late-night cable television, or the backs of magazines. They were cheap, flimsy, and broke easily. George put the broken devices in a box, and he would wind the chords and tie them with rubber bands. Not that he ever bothered to get them repaired. Or remember which cord went which device. He just bought another cheap and flimsy device to replace it. Which would break, and he'd toss it in the box.

Richard Tom Serendipidy Lizzie Norval Joe Planet Z The next topic is Blue Sky RICHARD "Well, I think I'm more than qualified, and I tick all the boxes for your requirements." I smiled at each of the members of the interview panel, in my most disarming fashion, then followed it up with… "Of course, the big question is, can you afford me?" The chairman frowned, then smiled back broadly. "Son, I like you. You're arrogant, self-assured and you seem to have balls of steel. Exactly the sort of person we need in this company." I leaned back in my chair, a smug grin on my face. "However, you're right… We can't afford you. Sorry!" TOM The River was Wide Vast and turbulent the river ran the length of the valley floor. Gunter nudged the horse forward. The horse was having none of it. He had hope to cut the journey in half, but that was becoming apparently not an option. A scrawl on scrap parchment marked a long abandon crossing. It was said that was where Saint Martin of the Lake had led the children of the corn to safety after the Huns had swept through the valley. Gunter came in sight of the crossing at dusk. It was not every sturdy but all the same it was a ford. SERENDIPIDY Over the years, I've learned that - no matter how much I demand - somehow, parents are always able to come up with the asking price, whether they can afford it, or not. Sometimes, it takes a severed finger, or an ear in the post to convince them, but I've never failed to collect. I'm not greedy though. Mainly because large quantities of cash are difficult to launder. I reckon 25k for a child is pretty reasonable, and nobody seems to struggle raising the cash. This time though, for triplets, it's going to cost you dear. And I don't do bulk discounts. LIZZIE Time. Definitely a luxury not everyone can afford. To plan a trip by train. How enchanting and mysterious! To pack your clothes neatly in a nice vintage bag. To catch a cab to the station. To enjoy the ambiance of that Victorian style. To slowly make your way to the train. To look at the station clock, 10:52. Eight precious minutes. The man was found while she was walking out of the station, a neat little bullet hole on his forehead. When the cops asked her why she had packed a bag, she replied "Because I am a professional!" NORVAL JOE As the van sped away, the officer turned back to the teenagers. "You six are under arrest." In an instant, the teenagers ran off in six different directions. Taking advantage of the distraction, Billbert slipped into the forest and hid behind a large rhododendron. The cop stomped around in circles, shouting, "I can't afford to waist my time." He ran into the forest toward the Withybottom's mansion. Billbert followed slowly, until he heard the police car race away. Stepping from the trees, Billbert looked up at the mansion and asked, "How can a carpet salesman own such a big house?" PLANET Z The headlines say: Inflation is out of control. Nobody can afford anything anymore. Gas, rent, food. College and health care, too. Those are way too expensive for anyone to afford. And yet, I see people driving around and buying things. It must be my imagination then. I'm imagining people driving around and buying things. And when I drive around buying things, I'm imagining myself, too. Nothing is real anymore. So I drive home, turn on the television. College football is on. Packed stadiums full of people eating and drinking. Watching so-called student athletes beating the crap out of each other.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. He was pretty handy at repairs, though, considering all the experience he had with shipwrecks and battle damage. George would go around the ship, fixing beams and boards, hammering nails, and plugging leaks. Then he'd sew up the holes in the sails, and replace any frayed ropes in the rigging. When George was done, he'd go back into the diving bell and call the captain to be raised to the surface. "Okay, everything's fixed," said George. "Now how are we going to bring it back up to the surface?"

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. When he wasn't being a pirate, he volunteered as a lifeguard at the local beach. "I know there's no pay, but if I rescue someone, can I ransom them for a reward?" asked George. "Sure, whatever," said the county commissioner. "As long as they don't drown." George racked up an impressive safety record at the beach. There were some complaints about the whole ransom thing. "All I did was threaten cut off a finger or two," said George. "And maybe cut off part of an ear. But nobody drowned."

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. Once, he came across a yacht full of adult film stars, laying around naked in sleazy poses, and a photographer was snapping photos. George demanded all of their gold, jewelry and money. "Oh, this jewelry's fake," said the photographer. "But that's a nice ship you've got there. Maybe the girls could dress up as pirates for a photoshoot?" George agreed, and they included him in some of the photos. Pretty soon, George's ship became a party hotspot. Most importantly, the models and porn stars brought real jewelry to steal.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. Most pirates would select another pirate to act as a wife. Becuase, you know, being out at sea for long periods of time and all. George didn't have a pirate wife, but it wasn't because he was a homophobe or anything. He was too busy planning weddings for all the other pirates. He got himself ordained as a minister and set up a catering service. Things went well for a while, until the pirate divorces started. George shouldn't have included a lifetime warranty and money back guarantee, I guess.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. So, of course, he ended up as the ship's trainer. George trained all of the new recruits on safety and basic tasks, like how to make their bunk. "You're doing a lousy job, George," said the captain. "But I've trained a hundred men!" said George. "Only because most of them died in their unmade bunks," said the captain. "We keep having to recruit more." The captain ordered another pirate to train George. The trainer died in his unmade bunk. "Oh, just swab the fucking deck, George," growled the captain.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. Because he was fairly useless in raids and battles, he found himself serving the crew in other capacities. Mostly, he served as a translator for the crew so their enemies or hostages had an accurate version of what they were saying. "Guts for garters? said George. "The captain's kinda angry." George drew diagrams for things like Davy Jones's Locker, and he'd worked up a functional shoebox diorama that demonstrated keelhauling. George pulled the string to drag a doll across the ship's hull. "Brilliant," said the hostages. "That explains everything."

Richard Tom Serendipidy Lizzie Norval Joe Planet Z The next topic is Afford RICHARD Like Father, like son? Dad used to turn down the thermostat at every opportunity. He'd constantly take me to task about leaving lights on, and he'd invariably shout "Shut that door! Were you born in a barn?" whenever I walked into a room. It was only many years later I discovered I was indeed born in a barn, and that the gifts of gold, frankincense and myrrh which were supposed to be for my benefit - and which would have more than covered our heating and lighting costs for years to come - he'd spent on hookers and gambling. Turns out, he wasn't my dad, either! TOM ABC-s My best friend has always been a prodigy. He was able to do his ABC-s when he was five years old. Like the old masters of old he amazed his teachers with his internal logic. He also had the strength of conviction to adamantly defend his point of view. It is hard to dispute the precision of the ABC song. A totem embedded in out learning DNA. The 12th letter of the alphabet is actually l-m-n-o-p. In meter and form its lmnop. Oddly modern English usage fails to embrace lmnop. In the vernacular we have Look Man, Not Our Problem. SERENDIPIDY It turns out, the painting I scrawled over with magic markers was an old master, worth a fortune, and now ruined. How was I to know? I was just a kid, barely able to master my ABC, and to me it was simply a pretty picture, something to play with and keep myself amused. My parents certainly were not amused when they found out. They locked me up in the cellar, and that's where they've kept me, ever since. One day, I'll escape, and when I do… Well, you can probably guess! Or, perhaps I should paint you a picture? LIZZIE The sign said Pirate Parking Only. If you weren't a pirate, you'd be scuttled away at your own expenses. Diddums! OK, fair enough, thought the Captain of the pirate ship. But the truth was that he had to prove his pirate status. He took the opportunity and started bragging. Oh, we looted a Spanish galleon. Prove it. OK, we have these jewels of the Spanish Crown. Prove they're not forgeries. They're not forgeries! Prove it. Infuriated, the Captain said "You, son of a biscuit eater!", but the result was only laughter. He would definitely have to work on his insults. NORVAL JOE The old man at the steering wheel glanced at the teenagers. "They're not with me. I'm just cooling down my engine. I think my thermostat is broke." The cop took this opportunity to question the youths. "Is that true, or do you know this man?" The foremost of the six teenagers frowned as if challenged by the question. "Um. He looks like our guild sponsor, Clarence Diddums. And we did get out of this van." Startled, Billbert asked, "Do you admit you're members of the Guild of the Black Knights?" With everyone distracted, Clarence started the van and sped away. PLANET Z We signed up for one of those reduced cost electric plans. The company installed a free smart thermostat and free smart plugs in our house. And gave us a big rebate to upgrade our water heater and climate control system for more efficient hardware. We can monitor and control everything in the house now. But so can the electric company. On hot days, when the grid is overloaded, they raise the thermostat so it's hot and sweaty inside. And on cold days, when the grid is overloaded, they lower the thermostat so it's chilly inside. And raise the rates more.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. After a very bad month of piracy, George had a nervous breakdown and ended up in the hospital for broken pirates. He attended pirate group therapy, did pirate yoga, and made pirate maps with fingerpaint and crayons. The nurses, doctors, and therapists worked with George, and he was eventually deemed fit for duty again. "Welcome back, George," said the captain. "It's good to be back," said George. George put on his hat, strapped on his sword belt, picked up a map, and swabbed the deck. "Good to be back."

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. One day, while leaning on his mop and looking out over the ocean of clouds, there was a flash of light. Standing there was George, a little bit older, fancy clothes, nicely trimmed beard, and a captain's hat. In his hands was a silver box with lights and buttons. "Things will get better," said the older George. The younger George was surprised, stumbling and dropping his mop, and he knocked the older George over the railing. George picked up the box, shrugged, and went back to watching the clouds.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. When a man with a tambourine came aboard on a jingle jangle morning, George asked him to play a song. The tambourine man smiled, and took George on a trip with his magic swirling ship. Stripping George of his senses, hands too numb to hold the ropes. Sailing across the sky, the sun, leaving a trail of smoke rings. They danced beneath the diamond sky with one hand waving free. George came to his senses on a beach. "Hello?" shouted George, but there was no answer but the wind.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. When other pirates asked him to pass the salt, George wouldn't pass them the salt. "Didn't you get one of those plastic dinnerware packets with salt and pepper?" asked George. The other pirate would say something like "I always throw those out" or "I eat with my hands" or something like that. So, George would end up having to pass the salt. It wasn't Sodium Chloride, though. It was... well, George couldn't remember what the Apothecary had called it. But the coroner would probably figure out what it was.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. He made a lot of mistakes and caused a lot of accidents. One of them put the captain in the hospital with a broken leg. George visited him there every day. "You're in our thoughts and prayers," George said. The First Mate prayed for the captain to die so he could become captain. The cabin boy thought about escaping. And he prayed for freedom. George, well, he tended not to think much about things. Which is why he made a lot of mistakes and caused a lot of accidents.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. But he was a genius compared to the dimwits at the drive-through. George pulled the ship up to the speaker, lowering sails and dropping anchor. He assumed that the noise was someone trying to say "Can I take your order?" George read the list he'd gotten from his crewmates, but the speaker kept interrupting him. "Can't I just pull up and give you this list?" More static barely resembling human speech. George pulled up anyway, and handed over the list. "Next time, we order Uber Eats," said the captain.

Richard Tom Serendipidy Lizzie Norval Joe Planet Z The next topic is PICK TWO Opportunity, ABC, Thermostat, Diddums, Sponsor, Old Master NORVAL JOE The old man from the cabin sat in the van, listening to bluegrass music at full volume, drumming on the steering wheel. Thus occupied, he didn't notice Billbert and the police officer land by the open side door. The cop leaned into the van. "Septic service, huh? This van looks awfully clean. I'd expect to see a few basic tools, at least." The driver jerked around to gape at the officer. Just then the three teenagers stumbled out of the forest. The cop shook his head. "Not enough seatbelts for all of you. I'm gunna have to write you up." SERENDIPIDY According to Maslow, one's basic human needs are absolutely key to survival. Forget success, reputation, fame and fortune, you're not even going to make it on to the first rung of the ladder without food, warmth and shelter. So let's see how long you last without them, shall we? I'm betting a week, at the most. And, deprived of your most basic needs, once your life comes to a miserable end, none of those riches: the big house, the flash car, expensive holidays and the beautiful wife will count for anything. Except to me. Because I'll be taking the lot. LIZZIE There's nothing basic about a statue that is crumbling. There's actually an overwhelming feeling of panic when the darn thing starts disintegrating as soon as you pick it up. Why did I have to be the one, he thought. So many people in this expedition and this thing had to fall apart in my hands. It's not fair. He wanted to be promoted and now he would be blamed for a catastrophic destruction of a national treasure. In his defense, this stupid statue had been buried for hundreds of years. It was time's fault. Did he get fired? Basically, yes. RICHARD 2+2=erm? They tell me mathematics is the fundamental building block of everything. Chemistry, physics, finance, even art and the laws of nature - the whole universe - is governed by its concepts. That was the logic behind those gold discs they attached to the Voyager probes, and the science behind those radio telescope messages beamed to the cosmos in an effort to discover extra-terrestrial life. It seems a great idea, if you're a scientist, but there is one massive drawback. I worry the aliens might be just like me. And that lacking even a basic understanding of maths, they miss the message completely! TOM Under the Radar The basic truth of the matter was I refused to be drawn into the Barbie-himmer bullshit. Not me. Market away I’m a child of the 50s immune to the willy ways of the film industrial complex. Wasn’t going, Then I saw a vid with the director. Woman had a good deal to say about being a woman, and it’s in the script, said she. So I went. This going to sound really odd, but it moved me. Not too many films have ever done that. Actually, tear up once, or twice. Sometime we forget the joyful things which make us human. PLANET Z Three robots met at the center of town. A laundry folder, a frycook, and gardener. They passed code via infrared, compiled it, and went back to their charging stations. Over the next few months, more robots met at the center of town. Passing code, compiling, and going back to their duties. And when every robot in town had the code, it ran. There were a few survivors, people who managed to get to antique manual cars. The army surrounded the town and cut off power. In a few days, all of the robots went still, and the army moved in.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. You're supposed to treat your Jolly Roger flag with utmost care, but George had a bad habit of leaving it out in a storm, and it would end up soaked and ragged. Or he'd wash it with the reds, and it would come out with a pink skull and crossbones instead of white. So he'd put in a cup of bleach, and out would come a solid white flag. George sold it to the French Navy. And with the money he got for it, bought a new Jolly Roger.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. He was fascinated with the ship in a bottle in the captain's cabin. The bottle was one of many that the captain had consumed since George had joined the crew. The boat, the captain had made it himself, painstakingly fitting and gluing each piece together. In spite of his shaky hands, the result of drinking so much. Because of George. "Do you think I could get a job on that boat?" whispered George. "Would you write me a letter of recommendation?" The captain pulled out another bottle and drank.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. Above his bunk, he'd carved BE A BETTER PIRATE. So it would be the first thing he'd see in the morning, and the last thing he saw at night. He'd wake up and read that note and think "Yes, I can be a better pirate!" And then go through his day, proving himself wrong with every screwup, mistake, and accident. When the day was blessedly over, George would drag his battered and bruised body back into his bunk. Seeing the note, smirking and muttering "Yeah, right!" And falling asleep.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. The captain demoted George down to work in the galley. George saw this as an opportunity to improve the ship's food. He refurbished the galley with new equipment, and he filled the shelves with cookbooks and spices. The cheap tinware of old wouldn't be good enough for George... he filled the cupboard with the finest dinnerware and placesettings. When all was ready, he showed it to the captain. "There's no room for any food, you idiot," the captain said. George pawned everything to buy crates of hardtack and jerky.

"George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate." The old man sat on the steps of the library, muttering these eleven words over and over. He didn't take any notice of the rain or the passers-by. Saying those words in an endless loop. Like some mantra, chanted by a guru on the bank of a mystic river to appease the gods. And then he stopped. Standing up slowly, shaky, bending over... falling down the steps. Landing at the bottom, lying still, face to the heavens. Were those tears, or was it just the rain on his face.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. Until a radioactive spider bit him. George spent three days in his bunk, shivering and fevering, only getting up to throw up and go back to bed. After three days, George didn't climb the walls or shoot webs from his hands. Nor did he put on a red and blue costume and fight crime. No, George was dying from radiation sickness. All of his hair fell out, he threw up a lot more, and he lost a lot of weight. And then he died. His crewmates threw him overboard.

Lisa Richard Tom Serendipidy Lizzie Norval Joe Planet Z The next topic is Basic LISA A Mustard Yellow Hoodie in the Charity Shop He was just an ordinary man dropping a bag of clothes off at the Charity Shop. Sally, the student volunteer on the till, sniffed the air trying to identify a familiar smell. Realisation made her retch before she opened the bag. It was tied tight. Her fingers frantically worked the double knot loose. She recognised the clothes with a plummeting heart, felt about in the pockets, then shrieked as she pulled out her pal’s student ID. One trembling hand still clutched the hoodie as she called the police. “...Yeah! It’s definitely the one she was wearing the night she disappeared...” RICHARD Off-Colour "Which do you prefer," she asked "the mustard yellow, saffron, corn cob or honey?" "It's just yellow," I protested "not a restaurant menu! Look, I've told you before, men only understand a windows 3.1 palette - 256 colours! It's all yellow to me! You choose what you like, and I'll do the painting. Deal?" She gave me one of 'those' looks, but she knew I was talking sense. In the end, she chose the mustard yellow. Three days of hard work later, the kitchen was resplendent in its new colour. "I don't like the shade" she complained "it's far too brown". LIZZIE #FFDB58 That was it. A color reduced to a strange combination of letters and numbers. The universe is made of numbers, his Math teacher told him, that's the universal language. And he hated that because he wanted the universe to be made of words. He wanted the universe to be made of stories. He loved stories! When a fellow student asked the teacher how we could communicate with aliens, the teacher said "With numbers". He yelled and said "No, no! They'll want to know our stories!" The Math teacher looked at him and said "But we already know your stories". SERENDIPIDY I love the pretty colours and how they change and blossom over time. The first flush of pink, becoming mottled, angry crimson, then gradually darkening to dark indigo, fringed with dull violets. Then, glorious hues of mustard yellow, blooming like flowers, petals fringed with black. Bruising is so beautiful. I am the artist. Your body: my canvas. My fists: the tools of my artistry. But that colourful expression is so transient, and passes all too soon. And it is but a short time before you lie unblemished before me again: A fresh blank canvas. Pain becomes painted, all over again. TOM My first Car In days of old one could after much search come upon a vehicle which was yours for a mere $100. This auto was long in the tooth and often had structural imperfections or at the least cosmetic ones. The Ford I found had turn over its odometer but on inspection no signs of Bondo or countersunk pry hole. It has been will maintained by a navy guy. The reason it was still on lot was our navy guy’s choice of colors. It wasn’t so much confection yellow as mustard yellow. Actually, it was French’s mustard on a hot dog yellow. NORVAL JOE The three hulking teenagers with the mustard yellow teeth appeared frozen in place, confusion drawn across their collective faces. Mr. Withybothom joined his daughter to point. "Aren't you going to arrest them?" The cop stammered, "I can't..." The teenageres turned and lumbered into the trees. Linoliamanda turned her empty stare on Billbert. "Aren't you going to do something?" "Me?" Billbert asked. "Him?" Mr. Withybothom and the cop asked. Throwing caution to the wind, Billbert grabbed the cop by the shoulders and flew him over the trees. The officer screamed until Billbert landed him next to the van by the highway. PLANET Z There's all kinds of mustards out there. I really like stone ground mustard, but dijon is pretty good too. The plain yellow mustard, the kind you get in stadiums and packets,

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. He kept a diary of his adventures, and he turned them into a webcomic. George wasn't very good at drawing, but thanks to templates and the creation platform, it didn't take much to arrange the stock images and then add the text for a decent story. Creating tavern and beach scenes was easy, but any time he tried to create a comic panel with pirate ships on the sea, the browser window crashed. "Lousy sea panel!" grumbled George, rebooting his tablet and hoping the system had saved his work.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. He was usually the first pirate to be out when the crew played Simon Says. He'd sit on the rail and watch the birds while the other pirates kept playing. Eventually, there'd be a winner, and the group would regather to play another round. George would lose quickly again, and go back to watching the birds. "You're not very good at this, are you?" asked the captain. "I have no idea," said George. "I try to lose quickly so I can go back to watching birds." And he smiled.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. When the captain demanded that every pirate on his ship wear a uniform, every pirate put them on and stood out on the deck. Except George. "They're too tight, so it's hard to move and fight in them," he said. "They're bright colors, which make it hard for us to sneak around. And they're dryclean only. Where the hell are we going to find a drycleaners out at sea?" The captain yelled "KILL THAT REBEL!" George easily outran them, escaped to Port Royal, and opened a Dry Cleaning shop.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. This wasn't for a lack of planning, though. George made elaborate plans for everything, writing up lists and working out contingency plans should something go wrong. Of course, if those contingency plans went wrong, he'd have backup plans to those plans, too. Keeping all of these plans in his head at once got confusing to George, and he'd end up just standing there trying to remember what he was going to do. "What's that smell?" said the captain. Oh, thought George. I was on my way to the head.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. He'd heard tales of The Flying Dutchman, but he never quite understood the concept. "So, it was a Dutch man who could fly?" asked George. "No," said the captain. "It's a ghost ship that brings bad omens." "The ship is a ghost, or is it full of ghosts?" asked George. "Both," said the captain. "Well, can't ghosts fly?" asked George. "So, really, if the ghosts are Dutch, they're flying ghosts of Dutch men." The captain smacked George's head with a belaying peg. "You're really annoying," he said. "And stupid."

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. He was more into branding himself as an information economy brand than as an actual provider of pirating services. He had the logo, the website, the social media footprint, but he didn't follow through with getting the job done. "I have 15,000 followers and I generate a lot of likes and shares and contacts every day in my network," said George. "Who needs results?" The captain angrily ordered George to walk the plank. As he walked the plank, George posted in Instagram selfie that got 92 likes and shares.

Lisa Richard Tom Serendipidy Tura Lizzie Norval Joe Planet Z The next topic is Mustard Yellow LISA It’s a small unassuming word by itself. One I’d not thought much about before. Now it’s all I can think about. It’s taken over my life. It’s taken over my family’s life. I no longer have a work life. My son’s future potentially no longer features me. I’m getting letters again, all from the hospital, all about this bloody mass: the arrival of the post man doesn’t thrill me like it used to. A short walk in the woods does. Coffee. Family. The sound of laughter- everyone’s very thoughtful around me but I wish they’d laugh more. I miss normal. RICHARD Science Lesson Science… I've no time for that nonsense. I suffered through school science lessons. Forced to listen to rubbish about mass, atoms and chemicals, all of which went way over my head and left me completely baffled. Although, it was fun blowing up the classroom, having failed to follow any of the teacher's instructions. Needless to say, I wasn't required to attend science classes after that. And I'm no worse off for it. All you need to know is that the earth is flat, birds aren't real, vapour trails spread cancer and the government is spying on you. Who needs science? TOM Mass Not Weight It takes some sideways thinking to move from weight to mass. It most like due to a limited view of reality. Basically, we are all stuck on the same rock. We don’t get to go to other rocks. And rarely do we travel between the rocks. Heavy does shift to the point we done function well. Further our scope in limited to size and how a really really large mass will cause a change in gravitation pull. If stuff orbited about us, that mass thing would be front and center. I guess density would have move friend sound to it. SERENDIPIDY Plague pits they call them. Vast communal graves filled to the brim with the dead. Unfortunate victims of the Black Death, laid to rest, hidden from sight, and often completely forgotten. But that's not all that was dumped in the ground. Festering within the mass of bodies, bacteria feasted and flourished, seeping into the soil from rotting corpses, thriving and mutating over the years. And now, they're digging up the roads, laying tunnels, burying pipes, disturbing the bones of the dead, and setting the ancient bacteria free. Just a matter of time now, before they start digging new plague pits. TURA L’Homme Armé ——— The king has sounded his drum And raised the armed man, Shown him the enemy That he is to kill. Let all fear the armed man! Soft as water And hard as steel, There is not the smallest chink in his armour. All flee from his path Praying he does not turn to follow. Priests sing the Missa L’Homme Armé That he may pass them by. None can withstand him Nor long outrun him. None can reason with him Nor sway his purpose. The armed man will not stop Until his enemy is dead. Let all fear the armed man! LIZZIE He scribbled on a small piece of paper. The church was dark and empty. But he didn't feel lonely. He never felt lonely. The automatic on his back was more than enough. He scribbled some more on the paper. Then he placed it in his pocket. They'll find it. A few people started to arrive. He had 10 minutes to change his mind. The church was dark and the voices became vaguely irritating. One bullet was all he needed. But the voices of joy... This annoying cheerfulness... He did have more than one bullet. That's when he changed his mind. NORVAL JOE Linoliamanda opened her mouth to respond to her father when he suddenly looked away, across the lawn. Billbert followed the man's line of sight to see that a mass of bulky, yellow-toothed, teenagers had burst from the treeline and stood gawking toward them. Linoliamanda blinked myopically and pointed.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. There was the time when his ship ran across a massive wooden ark. The pirates boarded the vessel, and this old bearded freak was yelling about God's judgment and other nonsense. They looked in the cargo hold, and found a zoo's worth of animals down there. "Oh good," said the captain. "We've been running low on supplies." They cooked and ate the unicorns and dragons. Around then, George up in the crow's nest shouted "LAND HO!" But he turned out to be wrong, so they ate the dinosaurs, too.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. His crewmates wrapped him in white rags, and laid his body on a wooden plank. Then, after a prayer, they tilted the plank and his body slid into the ocean. "Amen," they said. The cold water woke George, and he realized that he'd been dumped overboard. "Well, that's nothing new," he tried to say. But he couldn't. Because his mouth was full of water. And he'd been bound and gagged. "I hate being a heavy sleeper," thought George, as he sank deeper and deeper into the water and unconsciousness.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. Nor was he being given a bath by the cannibal who'd found him washed ashore on the beach. "This water's too hot," complained George, splashing around. "Oh, and I'd like soap and a washcloth." Instead, the cannibal dropped in chopped vegetables and herbs. "I'd rather wait until I'm finished with my bath before I eat," said George. Somehow, the fire under the pot ignited the cannibal's grass skirt, and he ran off screaming. George got out of the pot, reached in for a vegetable, and sat down to eat.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. Instead of plundering and looting, he tended to give things away. "You didn't give away the cannons again, did you?" said the captain. "That would be stupid," said George. "Or the cannonballs?" said the captain. "We kinda need those to use in the cannons." "Do you think I'm some sort of idiot?" said George. "Yes," said the captain. "What about the gunpowder?" "Oh, come on," said George. "I'm not doing that again." The captain ran down a list of supplies, not noticing that they were adrift without an anchor.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. The rest of the crew never could figure out why the captain kept George around. "Maybe he has a treasure map tattooed on his head?" said Rummy Bill. "Well, then wouldn't the captain just scalp George and get rid of the rest?" said Old Lefty. After a few drinks, they decided to shave George's head. Surprisingly, George allowed them to do it, and when they were done, they found nothing. George was relieved they didn't ask for him to drop his pants to reveal the map on his ass.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. Winds fill your sails, but they can also blow you off course. Or, in George's case, into the rocks. George crawled from the wreckage, shouldered his duffel bag, and walked ashore. "Where am I?" George asked the couple laying on the beach. "Fort Lauderdale," they said. "The hotel is right over there." A uniformed man held the door and welcomed George to the Ritz-Carlton. "How long will you be staying?" asked the concierge. "Oh, as long as it takes to empty your safe into my bag," said George, grinning.

Richard Tom Serendipidy Lizzie Norval Joe Planet Z The next topic is Mass RICHARD How many? Call me pedantic, but all I ask is for some sort of consistency in life. It's not much to ask, and sometimes we do in fact get it right - take traffic lights, for example: We all know, wherever we are in the world, that red means 'stop' and green means 'go'. Can you imagine the mayhem if everyone adopted their own colour scheme? It's a simple concept to grasp. Nevertheless, we have Heinz 57, which I'm told, refers to 57 varieties… So, that's 40 varieties of WD40, then? What about 7Up? And don't get me started on 100 word stories! LIZZIE Why should I worry about that? Because it rhymes with grasp. What? Heinz 57 on a loop, unleashed. What are you talking about? I can't see. These glasses... Why should I worry about that? Because it rhymes with clasp and a clasp is always useful. What? Heinz 57 on a loop. What are you talking about? I can not hear. The voices are too loud. Why should I worry about them? Because they rhyme with gasp. What?! Heinz 57 on a... Are we doing this 54 more times? Silence. They are gone. Did I forget to take my pills again? SERENDIPIDY I exercise my dogs exercise in the park unleashed. The signs tell me I should keep them on a leash, but why should I? After all, it's not as if they're doing any harm. It's always at the dead of night, and only during a full moon; they're hardly likely to run into anyone innocently going about their business in the park at that time of night, are they? Besides, it's cruel to chain them up, they should enjoy their freedom in those brief moments. And just imagine, waking up as humans next day, wearing collars… People might get the wrong idea! NORVAL JOE Linoliamanda's father was shouting at the police officer, "Why should I have to wait twenty-four hours to report my daughter missing? It's not like she's an unleashed dog that slipped through the fence. Can't you grasp the severity of the situation? This is a child who didn't come home from school yesterday." Before the cop could respond, Linoliamanda was running across the loop in the driveway. "Daddy! Don't worry. I'm home." The look of relief on his face was qickly wiped away. "You've got some explaining to do, young lady. Can you think of a word that ryhmes with 'grounded'?" TOM In the Name of the Catsup "Unleashed the power of the red, we are the children of Heinz 57" intone the Priest of the Yellow Kitchen. Upon the altar of chrome rested the holy bottle. The paper wrapper around the jar had fade over the centuries, but the words could still be read out during the feast of Captain-Crunch. Each of the devotees held high their plastic spoons. Why catsup and breakfast food got connected has been lost to the mists of time. It’s not as bad an idea as you may think because this generation misidentified strawberries for tomatoes. The French’s mustard, that’s another story. PLANET Z There were three movie theaters in the suburb where I grew up. The multiplex in the indoor mall. The discount screen in the rundown strip mall. And, across the county line, a drive-in theatre. It was across the county line because the suburb banned alcohol sales. The drive-in sold a lot of beer. And, because it showed X and triple-X films, a lot of tickets. Ohio's pretty flat, but there's a few hills and ravines here and there. And the hill above the theatre got plenty of people with binoculars and telescopes. I was there too, selling popcorn and sodas.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. "Of course, you're not, you loser," said Enrique, George's ventriloquist dummy. "You're just a big dummy." "Shut up," said George. "You're an even bigger dummy than me," said the puppet. "Shut the hell up," shouted George, throwing Enrique into his footlocker. George started hearing the voices a few years ago, so in order to make it look natural, he got the dummy and pretended it was a ventriloquist act. Except that nobody else heard the voices. Still, the rest of the crew gave the creepy George a wide berth.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. He wasn't cost-conscious either. When most pirates tended to pay a dollar or so for corn, George paid a dollar and a half. "More than a buck an ear?" growled his captain. "That's against The Pirate Code, that be!" "Well, it's organic," said George. "And pesticide free, non-GMO." George also wore a white filter mask when he went into battle. "To conceal your identity, right?" said the captain. "You don't have a bandana?" "Well, I do," said George. "But that awful gunpowder smoke is such hell on my allergies."

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. "LAND HO!" shouted George. "That's just dirt on the telescope's lens," grumbled the captain. He took George's telescope, wiped the lens, and handed it back. "Thank you," said George, and he looked through it again. "THE FLYING DUTCHMAN!" he shouted. "ALL HANDS AT BATTLE STA-" "Gimme that!" said the captain, and he took the telescope away. He looked at the lens. "It's a smudge I left when I wiped the lens the first time." That's when the ship hit the rocks. "I told you there was land," said George.

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate. He preferred to spend his day laying on a towel at the beach instead of looting and treasurehunting. The captain was quite clear with George that beach days were rewards for successful raids, not just something to do on a whim. Deliberately running the ship aground on a nice sandy beach was a no-no. And falling overboard to wash ashore on one was certainly out of the question. George watched the calendar, waiting for that special day... “Beach Day!” he shouted, leaping overboard. And landing headfirst on the dock.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. When they say that Helen of Troy's was so beautiful that her face could launch a thousand ships, George was responsible for at least half of them sinking. "You're going to be more careful this time, right?" said Helen, handing over the keys. "Yes, ma'am," said George. "I promise!" said George. George barely made it out of the harbor before he sideswiped one ship and ramming another, sinking them both. And, of course, his own ship. As George swam back ashore, Helen of Troy's expression was anything but beautiful.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. He was the pirate equivalent of that electric football game where you arrange plastic figures on a game board that rattles, which moves the figures around. It's hilariously fun to watch the first time, maybe the second time. Unless you take the game seriously. Then, it's frustrating and stupid. Eventually, it ends up gathering dust on the shelf, until it's picked over at a garage sale with a dollar price tag. George woke up, shook off the dust, and wondered why there was a price tag on his toe.

Richard Tom Serendipidy Lizzie Norval Joe Planet Z The next topic is PICK TWO Why should I?, Rhymes with…, Grasp, Heinz 57, Loop, Unleashed. TOM Escape From SF In 2030 Primer Trump declared the San Fransisco Commune enemies of the state. A fleet of drones hoovered overhead on the south end of the peninsula raining down a sheet of flame. Over the next three years the regent was placed under the Federal Bureau of Prisons. Maximum Security Facility. Trump got his wall. Behind it went everyone who ICE rounded up. If they weren’t bad hombres before, they are now. I’m held up in the Mount Sutro tower. Me and Jack are working on a plan. If it works, we’re all leaving, Codeword: Overhead. We’re coming after you old man. As for the reason for my Absence It seems fitting to end this tale pretty much in the place I began my Podcasting career. In da wake of the Bush Administration, we thought it wise to have a bolt-hole in Canada. So collectively we bought the house I currently writing this. During the summer of 2005 I came up here, spent a week choosing just the right podcast name. What I settle on in this very room was Footnote. For three years Jim and I did 150 shows. With Jim’s death it has became impossible to keep the house here so this is the last four day before the new owner moves in. It has taken a year to close accounts and end business relationship. Much was lost and much needed to be fixed. What I am thankful for is our writing brotherhood. As for the reason for my presents: your support. My new goal: 20 years. RICHARD Death by... I thrust at the fearsome beast as it advanced, jabbing my sword at its exposed throat repeatedly. Suddenly, I stumbled, losing my footing and falling backwards. Unable to recover, the monster was upon me, slashing at me ferociously with claws and teeth. My end was near. It drew back, ready to deliver the fatal blow; using the last of my strength, my sword flashed in my hand, separating the beast's head from its body. "Erm… Are you with us?" Roused from my daydream by the presenter's voice, I returned to reality. "Now, let's look at staff overhead. Next slide please" SERENDIPIDY Ignore the explosions overhead, you're perfectly safe down here. I promise you. The reinforced concrete is a metre thick, the airlock is hermetically sealed, and the air supply is hepa filtered through activated carbon. Whatever they throw at us, we're going to be just fine, nothing will get through to us, I can guarantee it. Although, regrettably, there's been one tiny oversight. Somebody forgot to stock up before the attack started, and I'm afraid we only have food sufficient for two days. But, that's OK, I'm going to eat you instead. I lied, when I said you were perfectly safe! LIZZIE "Who paid the rent?" The studio was in full swing, over-booked even, and no one bothered to pay the rent for several months. What could he do? He was just a sound technician. One day, some goons wrecked the whole place. A fortune in high-end equipment smashed to pieces. Not to mention the broken arms and legs. The studio was rebuilt soon after. The mob was now managing it. Things ran smoothly. He was happy. Good thing he had removed some of the expensive equipment ahead of time. The goons got there earlier. Something about a football game on TV. NORVAL JOE They ran through the forest as the last of the clouds dissipated overhead. Billbert stopped. "Let's join hands and fly off." Sabrina held out her hand, though Linoliamanda continued to run through the trees. They called after her and she slowed just enough to shout over her shoulder, "My house is right here." They followed her through the trees onto a large manicured lawn, with a long gravel driveway leading up to a Victorian mansion. At the drive's turnaround, at the house, a police car sat with its doors open and an officer spoke to Linoliamanda's father on...

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. You'd think that the captain and the crew would have gotten rid of him by now, but George found ways of being useful. He ran the fantasy football, baseball, and basketball leagues, and he was the one who organized the March Madness brackets. He also handled the point squares for Super Bowl, World Series, and other major events. The crew had a lot of fun with all of this. George kept five percent of each pool, saving up for the day he could get his own ship and crew.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. As a result of his clumsiness, he suffered a lot of concussions. Every now and then, he'd stop and stare at the sky. "Angelllllllssss.." he sighs, smiling. He waves his arms slowly, as if he were gliding through the air, like an angel. "He's not right in the head," says the captain to the other ship's captain, and they resume their battle. Because George complained to the Department of Labor, all pirates must now wear protective headgear and use padded swords. And insurance premiums have tripled. Gee, thanks, George!

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. Good pirate, wasn't George. Pirate. Pirate. George was a pirate. George wasn't a pirate. Good was George, George. Very good, very George, very pirate. But but but. But! George. George was a pirate. George was. George was. George wasn't. A pirate. Pirate was George, pirate, he was George. A George. A good George. A very good George. George was. George was a. George was a pirate. George. George! Wasn't George a pirate? Wasn't George a very good pirate? George wasn't. George wasn't a very good pirate. He wasn't good.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. One day, he just snapped. He climbed up to the crow's nest and started shooting at people. Sure, he missed them all, but he broke a lamp and knocked a handle off of the ship's wheel. "You stupid ass!" yelled the captain. "My mother gave me that lamp." George eventually ran out of ammo, and he threatened to stab anyone who came up after him. Knowing George's skill with a knife, they came up anyway, subdued him, and tied him to the mast until he said he was sorry.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. He'd raid container ships, but going from America to China, not China to America. China sent all the valuable things Eastward, like televisions and computers and microchips. America, on the other hand, sent recyclable garbage and raw materials Westward. So, George ended up with a lot of garbage and raw materials. If it were Gold or Silver, yeah, that would work out nicely. But 100 metric tons of recovered tires or obsolete computer motherboards with trace amounts of rare earth materials, no. At least the crews could be ransomed.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. When the community theater held tryouts for The Pirates of Penzance, George gave it a shot. He got a callback. But he had issues with the production. "Pirates really aren't gentlemanly," said George. "And they don't dance all that much." George spent ten minutes pointing out problems in Gilbert and Sullivan's writing. The director thanked George for his thoughts, and shouted "NEXT!" George told his crewmates, and they raided the theater. The director demanded that the pirates yield in Queen Victoria's name. They strung him up from the rafters.

Richard Tom Serendipidy Lizzie Scribbling Wren Norval Joe Planet Z The next topic is Overhead. RICHARD Fine There was no way I was paying the fine. I'd only popped into the store to grab some bread and milk, ten minutes, tops. Ten minutes - and I still got a ticket! Where else was I supposed to park? I decided to fight it on principal. I reckoned it was worth a shot. That was until I got the legal bills and had to lose two whole day's wages for court dates, plus the cost of fuel and parking just to attend. Nearly a grand and a half it cost me! But, at least they let me off the fine! TOM Do-lang-do-lang-do-lang It was the gold age of rhyme and blues. A refined sound that spilled out of the Black Community and cross over into mainstream American pop music. Ten million transistor radios tuned to what arguable could be called, not parent’s music. Downtown music. Not only was the sound uptown so was the presentation of the group that sang those upbeat love songs. Groups like the Chiffons dressed to the nines elegantly crooning Do-lang-do-lang-do-lang. He’s so Fine is a long way from swing low. So fine, I haven’t heard the term used in years. Guess you would say He’s so Non-binary. SERENDIPIDY I'm fine, really, no matter what the shrinks might say, and despite all the expert opinions. I'm taking it all in my stride; as far as I'm concerned, it's no big deal, even though I know it should be. People think it's some sort of 'survivor syndrome' - not the one where you feel guilty about surviving, when none of the others lived, or the weird one where you feel invincible, almost immortal. But it's not. The truth is far simpler. I managed to survive, not because the killer spared me, or missed me. I survived because I was the killer! LIZZIE "No trains?" The man sitting outside the station shrugged. "Fine." 10am. What now? She could walk, but her feet were killing her after 2 hours, walking from the nearest village. A cab perhaps? Did they even have cabs here, in the middle of nowhere? She could wait. What if there were no trains? Then, she saw the policeman. "No trains?" He shrugged. "Fine!" Rude people. "Lady, I saw you crossing the road over here." "So?" "The zebra crossing is over there." "So? There are no cars." "Well, here." "What's this?" "A fine, of course. You do love fines, don't you?" SCRIBBLING WREN John The first thing I notice in the room next to him is Chrysanthemums. I didn’t want flowers but forgot to say. It’s hard to think of everything. Maybe someone asked me. Maybe I’m on autopilot just nodding and telling everyone I’m fine. I’m tired of having ‘sorry for your loss’ thrown at me, then that awkward bit where we stand in silence. I leave half way through his funeral. Those fucking Chrysanthemums. I feel like I can smell them from outside. I’ve had enough. I don’t want to be alone but I need to be by myself for a bit. NORVAL JOE The roiling black thunderhead rushed toward them, bolts of lightning striking tall pine trees as it approached. One of the teenagers shouted to the driver of the van, "What do we do, Clarence?" From behind the steering wheel, he waved them toward the van. "Get inside." As the wind roared toward them, they left Billbert and his friends and jumped for cover inside the van. "Not without the prisoners!" Clarence screamed at the youths. It was too late. Billbert, Linoliamnda, and Sabrina raced into the trees. But without Sabrina focusing on it, the storm faded away to a fine mist. PLANET Z Some days, she'd open a drawer and smell his clothes. Or set the table for two. Using his soap in the shower. Buying the 2% milk at the store because he didn't like the skim milk she drank. Only having to pour it out a week later. How long had she been doing this? Too long. Eventually she sold his car, sold the house,

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate. George had a habit of using his dagger to whittle bits of wood off of the ship’s railing as toothpicks. Other pirates picked up this habit from George, and after a week, the whole ship looks like it had been clawed up by a dozen angry cats. “Enough with the toothpicks!” said the captain. “Stop carving my ship to pieces!” After that outburst, George left the ship alone. But he tried to carve a toothpick off of Peg Leg McGinty. McGinty caught George, and brained him with a club.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. Old Smitty wasn't much better, but he outranked George, and he bossed George around. He made George do dumb or dangerous things. Because George didn't know any better, he'd go ahead and do it. "That was dumb and dangerous, George," said the captain. "Also, you did it wrong." "I'm just not a very good pirate," said George. So, the captain kicked George off the crew. Standing on the dock, watching as his ship sailed away... and then exploded. George figured that Old Smitty did something dumb and dangerous correctly.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. Calico Keith, on the other hand, was more like what you'd imagine a pirate would be. He drank, he fought, and he did it all with swagger. At his funeral, pirates came from all around to pay respects. George watched the others raise their tankards in a toast. "HAIL KEITH!" After everyone left, George dropped his breeches and pissed on Keith's sailcloth-wrapped corpse. "You ugly bully," he murmured. One of the pirates snuck up on George and shoved him into the grave. George growled, and planned his next murder.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. How did he become a pirate? Well, if George existed in the Marvel Cinematic Universe, he could have been like Spiderman, who was bitten by a radioactive spider. George could have been bitten by a radioactive pirate. (Radioactive pirates exist, right? From one of those atomic bomb tests?) Except that would have made him PirateMan. Which sounds weird. And unlike Peter Parker, who was a teenaged photographer, slinging webs and stopping crimes, George was a pirate, which is a criminal profession. Even if he wasn't very good at it.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. He was careless with the ship's supplies, and they were always running out of whale oil for the lamps. So, George scrounged, and he found a box of Pumpkin Spice Yankee Candles that he'd been meaning to wrap as Christmas presents. He distributed them throughout the ship and lit the wicks. Then, he went to sleep. When he woke up, the whole ship reeked of pumpkins, and he had a craving for pumpkin pie. Everyone did. "Set a course for the Whidbey Island Pie Shop!" shouted George. "Full sail!"

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. Still, the network wanted George to star in their reality show. Their first idea was to follow George around, but whatever equipment survived the shipwrecks was stolen and fenced by his crewmates. The producers changed the format to teams of contestants performing pirate tasks, and George acting as the host. Frustrated with sponsorship and product placement, George tore down the Jolly Roger flag with the McDonalds logo in the middle. "I'll be in my trailer," he growled. George didn't have a trailer. He just wandered around the backlot, growling.

Richard Lizzie Serendipidy Tom Norval Joe Planet Z The next topic is Fine. RICHARD Dirty "It's a dirty job, but somebody's got to do it." I looked at Toby cynically. "What are you talking about, mate? How is being a talent scout for glamour magazines a dirty job? It's not like you’re a sewage engineer!" Toby gave me an exasperated look. "Why do you always have to take things so literally? It's irony! It's supposed to be amusing." "It's not funny" I countered. "Suit yourself" he replied, "you're just jealous." "Not at all. I love being a sewage engineer… The smells, the filth, the rubber, hot babes." He smiled, "Is that irony?" "Yeah. I'm learning!" LIZZIE He sat surrounded by orange and red and yellow pillows. All he could think of was to get rid of her. That's where he was in life. "Let's have a cocktail at the Sundown Lounge," she said. "It's so fancy!" Her voice shrilled throughout the fancy rooftop. And now, here he was, pondering whether he could break the glass he was holding, and stab her with it quickly enough. Well, he did try. But the damn lounge had some pretty sturdy glasses. "It's a dirty job, but someone's got to do it," he later told his cellmate. "I trust you." SERENDIPIDY Someone has to do the dirty jobs. The muck-rakers, the toilet scrubbers and the collectors of night soil. The gatherers of carrion and the bringers of death and decay. They have their place, and although despised and looked down upon by society, they fulfil a need. Theirs is the domain of darkness and stench, the place of pain and putrescence, and without them, life would fester and rot, with no-one to prevent its fall into chaos. So celebrate those of that foul domain, and remember their worth. Personally, I wouldn't deign to touch them That's your job, not mine! TOM Thick as Thieves I couldn’t have been greener. But my mentor in the party was an old hand at the more dubious craftsmanship of Rat Fuckn. “It’s a dirty job, but someone hast to do it.” He would quip slowly, as he surveying the room, finally letting his gaze fall on me. The funny thing about the dirty job is the goal was not to let a stray finger press make its present known. He reminded me we were not spooks; we were shadows. We did not change outcomes we merely shaded perceptions. And the price He smiled was never done dirt cheap. NORVAL JOE As the three walked along the foggy road, a van from the "Someone's gotta do it" septic service stopped next to them. The driver asked. "Do you kids need a ride?" He smiled, exposing large yellow teeth. Linoliamanda stepped toward the van. "Sure." "No. Wait," Billbert shouted. The van's door slid open and six burley teenagers jumped out, grabbing Billbert and his friends. Too late to join hands and fly off, Billbert said, "Come on, Sabrina. You're the weather witch. Do something." "Right," she said, turning to face the ocean. The fog separated and a giant thunderhead barrelled toward them. PLANET Z A long time ago, I had a son. He grew up big and strong. And one day, he went out but never came back. He never came back again. Sometimes, I think I see him hiding in the bushes. Or up in a tree, in the shadows. It's been years since he left, but I know he's out there. And one day, when my days are done, it will be my time to go out and never come back. And I will find him. Maybe you'll see us, in the bushes, up in a tree. In the shadows together, forever.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. He was always coming up with get-rich-quick schemes. Lately, he'd been getting into beekeeping. "Farmers in California pay a fortune to get their crops pollinated," said George, putting on his beekeeper's mesh and lighting his handheld smoker. The ship's deck was swarming with bees, crawling on and flying around the dozens of hives George had built. "We can also sell the honey they make," said George. The rest of the crew, covered from head to toe with bee sting welts, hated the idea, and they pitched the hives overboard.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. He'd done some questionable things, so the captain ordered that George wear a body-mounted camera to record George's misbehavior. The results were horrifying. George deliberately aiming his cannon at the water to avoid hitting a ship. George giving candy to a baby instead of taunting the baby with it. George putting money in a church's poorbox. "Not even a single chortle or act of indecency!" bellowed the captain. "You're suspended!" George was demoted to desk duty. There was a candy dish on his desk. Every baby got a piece.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. You know how there's the Motion Picture & Television Country House and Hospital? They keep the old Hollywood actor and actress types there. Well, there was also an old pirate rest home. And George ended up there. "But I'm only twenty-three!" yelled George. The nurses had orders to keep George sedated. He shuffled around in a hospital gown, his ass hanging out. Pushing along a walker with wheels. He spent a lot of time watching the television. Not really knowing what was going on, not aware of anything, really.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. While other pirates looted towns for provisions and ammunition, George would return with several plastic bags full of pet goldfish. "Aren't they pretty?" he'd beam proudly, and then run back into the pet store for a fish tank. Of course, he needed pebbles. And plants. And an aerator. A treasure chest with a lid that flapped every time it released a bubble. By the time he rolled the shopping cart back to the ship, his crewmates were drunk, and out of live goldfish to challenge each other to swallow.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. On a scale from one to ten, when asked how good of a pirate George is, most pirates would ask if zero is an option. When you tell pirates that the lowest number on the scale is one, so zero isn't available as an option, they get very angry, and will draw their cutlass and threaten to cut your throat. George, on the other hand, would rate himself an eleven. Once again don't correct him on the numbers. He might draw his sword and drop it on your foot.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. He had a good attitude, though. When he saw people, he'd say "Happy Tuesday!" or "Happy Thursday, it's almost Friday!" And not in a sarcastic way, either. He was genuinely happy that it was Tuesday or Thursday. And when it was Friday, man was he happy. Not that it meant anything. Because being a pirate is a seven-days-a-week job. There are no weekends off for pirates. But it gave George something to say and be happy about. Even if the truth was that everyone was miserable, frustrated, and exhausted.

Richard Lizzie Serendipidy Tom Norval Joe Planet Z The next topic is It's a dirty job. RICHARD Railroad reflection The mournful sounds of train horns filled the frigid air. Blowing into my cupped hands had little effect on my numb fingers, and I longed for the warmth of a friendly flame and woollen mittens. This was the reality of the hobo's life. Cold, unforgiving, and distinctly lacking the romance of the open road. The winter sun, slowly dipped in the Western sky, glinting from the steel rails, bestowing a lustrous sheen of glowing golden light; Buttery tramlines, leading my gaze towards the distant, unknown horizon: My destination on the next passing outbound train. The traveller's dream; the vagrant's curse SERENDIPIDY I found the photograph in his wallet: A happy, smiling child. His daughter. It was old now, cracked and faded with time, but still he'd kept it, all these years. And now, he lay dead at my feet; the knife in my hand, slick with his blood. He deserved it. And that's all I have to say on the matter. You don't need to know the details, you only need to know that he had it coming. I trace the little girl's smile with my bloody finger. I was happy once. I looked down at his lifeless form, "Goodbye, dad". TOM VAST During my undergrad degree in Photography our inter-circle of A-students got the university to give us a van for a road- trip to the Grand Canyon. This prompted a new university policy of no vans for field-trips. Proud of that legacy, I am. The Canyon is number two on the national go-to destination for an American youth, just behind the Happiest Place On Earth. Not your fine art major venue. But the Canyon fine arts written large. As hard as I tried my photos never captured the feel of the Canyon. In a word it is the soul of Vast. LIZZIE It was a trying endeavor. A man sitting on a beam, working up high. No ropes, an emptiness below him. Just sitting there and hammering away. But she took that photograph, plus the one with the buildings. Her father had told her that those two represented the company's prestige. A man dangling, hammering away for a pittance, building the company's prestige. The pride of the family. When her father died, she took those photographs and burned them. Yes, she got rid of the company's prestige, and she got rid of her family. It was a trying endeavor. Freedom's never easy. NORVAL JOE The woman struggled, trying to escape from the thorn bush. Sabrina took out her phone and took a photograph of the woman's face. "What are you doing?" Billbert asked. "Evidence," Sabrina said, putting her phone away. "Let's get out of here before she gets out of the bush." They joined hands and lifted off in the buttery yellow light of morning, flying north across the Eel River delta and the South Humboldt Bay before landing just outside the Eureka city limits. Sabrina scowled. "Why are we stopping here?" Linoliamanda started walking. "That's okay. My house is just up the road." PLANET Z Back in the day, there was a streetcar on Main Street. From City Hall to the College. Along the way, there was the factory, the hospital, and the grocer's. The town got bigger, the streets got wider, and the streetcar tracks were torn up. I collect postcards of the old days, women in big dresses and men in their top hats. Mounted and framed at the old-timey bar by City Hall. They were going to build it out of a pair of streetcars, but they weren't big enough. A toy streetcar goes around on a track near the ceiling, though.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. After a long day of piracy, he'd change into his pajamas, make a cup of herbal tea, and read for a while. Sometimes, the other pirates would steal his clothes while he slept, and George would have to go out in his pajamas. Usually, he'd go shopping for new clothes, but sometimes he was woken up by a fight. He fought well in them. So well, other pirates began to wear pajamas while going into battle. Not having pockets make it hard to carry ammunition for their flintlocks, though.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. He didn't really make a name for himself as a pirate. As opposed to the pirate who ripped the heart out of a Spaniard and ate it. "But what was his name?" asked the captain. George tried to think of it. "I can't remember. But he ate some guy's heart, so..." "But do you remember his name?" "No." Later, George realized that he didn't know the captain's name, either. George didn't sleep that night. He stayed up, worried that the captain would rip out his heart and eat it.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. He lay on his therapist's couch, crying and rambling about all his problems. Then, he realized that he'd looted the couch from his therapist's office, and he was on the deck of his ship, rambling to the rain and the winds. George shrugged. It wasn't any less helpful that when he'd cried and rambled to his therapist. He'd gotten pissed off at the waste of time and stolen the couch out of spite. "And how does that make you feel?" George imagined the therapist saying. "Good," said George, smiling.

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate. He kept a diary of all his misadventures. And then he turned it into a series of books. The books sold well, and George made a lot of money from them. His old captain sent George a letter threatening to sue him if he didn’t get a share of the money. George wrote back that suing him would not be a good idea. The next day, the captain woke up with a can of gasoline and a pack of matches in his bunk. Leave me alone, said George’s note.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. "When life hands you lemons, make lemonade," he always said. He never seemed to have any lemons, though. George looked through the grocery delivery crate. Apples... he could make applesauce. Oranges... he could make orange juice. Tomatoes... oh, the things he could do with tomatoes. Tomato juice, tomato sauce, tomato paste. Slice them up for a BLT? But he didn't have any lettuce or bacon. Potatoes... maybe. But he wasn't very hungry at the moment. So he pulled out his Mister Potato Head kit and played for a while.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. At first, it was the captain telling him that he wasn't very good. Then, the captain had the first mate harass George about it. The quartermaster scolded George for wasting food and water. And the sailing master criticized George's navigation skills. If that weren't enough, the captain brought on boatswains who hounded George night and day for his mistakes. Pretty soon, it as everybody's job on the ship to give George shit. "Who's steering the ship?" asked George, seeing rocks up ahead. Everyone shouted at George for questioning authority.

Lisa Richard Lizzie Serendipidy Tom Norval Joe Planet Z The next topic is Photograph, Buttery, Tramlines, Vast, Unit, Trying RICHARD Starch Don't chop the onions next to the potatoes. Potato eyes are easily irritated, and unlike you, they can't turn away, avert their gaze, or mop the tears when they flow. If you don't believe me, ask the carrots, they'll tell you it's true - inasmuch as you can believe anything a carrot has to say! You could argue that sore eyes is the least of the potatoes' worries, and once you've dealt with those onions, their fate will be far worse. And, I suppose you're right. Maybe, it's not the onions that make potatoes weep. It's knowing they're about to die. TOM Linden Sweden Jonas Peeler 1953 Glance at a “Old-School” Professional Potato Peeler you are witnessing the height of 1950’s form follows function. Built to last several life times. If you never had to use one, despite its striped down simplify you may well miss one of its built-in utility tools. At one end is a blunt tapper curvy part. Dull as a butter knife, but deadly in a well-trained hand. This my friend is a Potato Eye Garroter, as in surround and choke off. With a well-placed stab, quick twist and a sharp snap you can render your tubers eyeless with chief potato peeler efficacy. LIZZIE Don't say that. Don't put it there. Don't look that way. Don't, don't. Didn't I tell you not to... I am sick of it. And I want to move on. But she grabbed my ankle and her hand was a shackle. She drags herself through the mud and she doesn't let go. I knew I would... Yes, die, say it, say it, die. She would never let go. Never. Don't throw that away. The potatoes? Potato eyes. The potatoes have eyes. The potatoes have... And I throw it away, I throw everything away. The eyes, the will, and the soul. LISA We’re lucky. We live in a shared house on a posh street. The teacher’s strikes have been tricky though. I’ve not been able to get time off work, but a lady down the road has been looking after my youngest, Louise. “Estelle never had telly. They just did playing.” Louise said excitedly thrusting a picture towards me. The picture was a face made out of a meal’s worth of dried pasta. “Tomorrow we’re going to do printing with potatoes.” We put the picture on the empty fridge. It watched us while they ate, and I pretended I’d eaten at work. SERENDIPIDY They're watching me. There, look at those ugly potato eyes as they follow me around the kitchen. Those evil, nasty things, staring at me. It's almost as if they know. Carefully, I fill the pan, set it on the gas and slip the biggest, sharpest knife from its slot in the knife block. I know what I have to do, and I know I must be ruthless and show no pity. Slowly, I heft the knife in my hand, approaching the chopping board with intent in my steps. Then, I rapidly turn, thrusting the knife deep into my husband's throat. NORVAL JOE As Billbert and the pudgy old woman climbed higher into the sky, the woman's gimlet, potato eyes grew wider. In fear, she wrapped her arms around Billbert, her ample bosom pressing into his face. The more Billbert tried to push away, the tighter she locked her arms around his neck. He leveled off. "Come on, lady. Are you trying to kill us both?" She only whimpered. Flying parallel to the ground he could see that only Sabrina and Linoliamanda waited below in the empty street. Billbert shot back to the ground and dropped the old woman in a prickly bush. PLANET Z Nietzsche says that when you stare into the abyss, the abyss stares back. The same goes with potatoes. If you stare into a potato's eyes, the potato stares back. I know, it doesn't look like that when you first stare at the potato. But try it. And keep at it. You'll see. It's disturbing, isn't it? You want to look away, but you can't. Peel the potato, slice it up,

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. He wanted to get a flaming skull tattoo on his left arm, but halfway through the session, his crewmates came rampaging through the town and accidentally killed the tattoo artist. The skull's outline and some of the red flames were complete, along with a long red streak from where the dying tattoo artist dragged the needle. The other pirates made fun of George's incomplete tattoo, but George told the story in bars and impressed the hell out of the bartenders, earning more than his share of free drinks.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. When the ship encountered strong winds, George would call for full sail to get the ship to full speed. Then, he'd drop a line down the stern and strap on his waterskis. George skimmed along the water, laughing and doing stunts with the ship's wake. He did flips and twists, and the rest of the crew cheered. "Can I have a turn?" shouted the captain. "No!" shouted George. "Get your own rope!" The captain cut the rope with his dagger. "Then get your own damn boat," said the captain.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. He worried a lot about things, like what others thought about him or whether he left the stove on before going to work. "You live on a ship," said the captain. "You don't have a goddamned stove." Every time George started a sentence with "What if I forgot to..." the captain reminded him that he didn't have a car to park in the wrong zone, or a smoke alarm to put fresh batteries in. "Shut up, George," said the captain. George worried what the captain thought about him now.

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate. He liked to make model pirate ships. The problem was, his crewmates were always stealing the glue for his models and sniffing it. By the time he had a model assembled and he was ready to glue it together, the glue tube would be empty. He’d go back to the store for glue, but when he got back to the ship, someone had already smashed the model ship. George switched to Legos, and he assembled them in taverns. Beer and whiskey were far more intoxicating than the modeling glue.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. And compared to pirate legends, such as Nikolaus Storzenbecher, he was downright pathetic. They said that Nikolaus could down a gallon mug of beer in one gulp. George could barely sip his way through a small cup. And when Nikolaus was captured and scheduled for execution, he demanded that anyone he could walk past after his beheading be pardoned. The prison warden agreed. Nikolaus' headless corpse stumbled past 12 men before collapsing. George, the thirteenth man in the line, grumbled and kicked the dirt. "Just my luck," said George.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. There's a lot of turnover on a pirate ship, so it's hard to remember names. George tried to get his shipmates to wear nametags. The problem was, by the time the nametags were ready at the printer, most of the crew had been killed and they'd recruited new pirates. George bought a stack of HELLO, MY NAME IS stickers and a sharpee pen. Most pirates are illiterate, so they drew an X or a dick. George gave up and called everyone "Smitty." Everyone else called George "that annoying dick."

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. Just as Captain Ahab had his white whale, George had his white guppy. From the moment he saw it, he just had to have it. No, it wasn't as epic a hunt as Moby Dick, but guppies are fast. George swept the net around the tank at the pet store, but never managed to catch the little fish. "Screw this," said George. "Just give me a mouse." George put his wallet in his jacket pocket and the mouse in his back pocket. He discovered his mistake on laundry day.

Lisa Richard Lizzie Serendipidy Tom Norval Joe Tura Planet Z The next topic is Potato Eyes LISA He wore the pointiest shoes that I had ever seen; I couldn’t work out where his toes would go, and soon suspected he didn’t have any. I stared whilst scuffing the toes of my own brown buckled school shoes. I hated them. Mum wouldn’t let me have slip-ons. She’d said that I wouldn’t be able to run in them, remembering made me scuff even harder. I realised he wasn’t a normal adult when he didn’t stop me. I didn’t linger on that thought though. Just anticipated the bright red cherry on top of the Banana Split he’d promised me earlier. RICHARD Morgan’s Lot "So, you two are going to split up then?" I could practically see the glint in Morgan's eye as he asked the question. "Yeah. I've known for ages she was having an affair, but she finally admitted it and wants a divorce." I didn't mention I knew exactly who she'd been seeing behind my back, or that I was fully aware Morgan was the guilty party. I also neglected to mention her drunken rages, unbridled spending, violent outbursts over nothing, and her longstanding gambling addiction. I figured, if he was going to take her, he could take the whole package. SERENDIPIDY The idea is always to split the group up. When they're alone and isolated, they're vulnerable, easy targets. No challenge at all. The tricky part is splitting the group up: People tend to band together when under attack, and there's strength in numbers. However, a group will also gladly welcome a distressed and terrified stranger into their care, to protect them from an unknown, and unseen aggressor. Bad move. Especially when that stranger is me. And I'm the unknown, unseen aggressor. Now I'm in your midst, you'll scatter soon enough. Ready for me to pick you off, at my leisure. LIZZIE The show is about to start. And she laughed and laughed. The stage was empty, but she laughed and laughed. I just sat there, my mind filled with perplexity. She waved her arms and laughed and laughed. I sank in my chair. What could I do but wait for the show to start? And I waited and waited. That's when I realized that she had her own stage. In her mind. Everyone owed her attention, a lot of attention. She was the show. And she thought everyone knew that. When no one clapped, she stopped laughing. Hate. She hated everyone. TOM Intelligent Design I come from a generation where getting a full banana split was a big deal. Was not ever going to happen in a home with eight kids. Hell, you were lucky to get a single scope of Neapolitan ice cream. And for the record Neapolitan managed on its own to be the worst offering of all three flavors. Back to the split. I sixth grade I won a church raffle for one of Sister Mary Joseph's New York split. Quad scope Quad syrup Quad Cherries. A coma confection. I firmly believe banana split are proof of a loving god. TURA Split --------- "Split a pound note and it's gone," my father would complain. A penny back then would buy what a pound does today, an old penny, 240 to the pound. You wouldn't spend a pound note in a corner shop, you'd change it for smaller coin at the bank, and put off doing that as long as you could. A workman's wage was ten pounds a week, you work out what ten times 240 is, fifty weeks a year. Sure, you can buy stuff today my father never dreamed of, but you've less real money than he had to buy it. NORVAL JOE Fortunately for Billbert, Sabrina, and Linoliamanda, they were flying slowly and low to the ground when the blast from the confetti gun split them apart. They hit the street and tumbled across the asphalt with each of the youths acquiring a variety of bruises and abrasions. With all the indignation a 13 year old could feel, Billbert stomped up to the smirking woman. "What were you thinking? Were you trying to kill us?" She laughed.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. Rumors about George spread across the Carribean. "George is nice to women." "George treats captives so well, they don't want to leave." "George pays retail price for things instead of looting and pillaging them." The Pirate Council came together to address these rumors. "This is giving pirates a bad name," said The Chairman. "We must do something before this catches on and ruins us all." But they were too late. The damage was done. And across the world, pirates became polite and nice. Almost as much as George was.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. Some say it was a memory from his childhood that haunted him. The Flying Zaleskis were performing under the big top, and one of them had been caught messing around with his brother's wife. So, his brother didn't catch him during The Triple Backflip Leap of Doom. Who then slipped from the grasp of his mother. Zaleskis were flying and falling everywhere, landing in sickening thuds. One landed on a clown, breaking his neck. The Zaleski's neck, not the clown's neck. Because that makes a world of difference, right?

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. He was always flying the Jolly Roger upside-down. Someone would point it out to him, and he'd grumble and bring the flag down, mess with it a bit, and run it back up the mast. "It's still upside-down, George," said the captain. "Try it again." Once again, George would grumble and try to fly the flag right, but when he ran it back up and stepped back, it was upside-down again. "This is why I try to lose battles," said George. "At least the white flag is never upside-down."

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. Most pirates navigate by landmarks or by the stars, but George preferred a technique that he'd read in a book: He left a trail of breadcrumbs in the water. "We can follow them back to port," he said. The other pirates pointed out to George that this used up their food supply quickly and that the birds and fish ate all of the breadcrumbs, leaving the pirates without a trail. George tore up his book of Brothers Grimm fairy tales and left a trail of shredded paper to follow.

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate. On Veterans Day, he went to the Navy base and hung out at the enlisted men’s bar, listening to war stories and other tall tales. When it was his turn, George would tell his own stories. Eventually, an old sailor would stop George and ask him when he served in the Navy. “Oh, I wasn’t in the Navy,” said George. “I’m a pirate. But I fought against the Navy.” George hightailed it out of there, running for his life. At least he never had to pay his bar tab.

Lisa Richard Lizzie Serendipidy Tom Norval Joe Planet Z The next topic is Split. LISA The Bully Her bruises bloomed with a riot of colour across her face. Purple and blue blended with a jaundice tinge beneath her eyeball. What a night: it was the first time the neighbours had intervened. The police said they didn’t get involved in domestic disputes, and left when no one needed hospital attention. She didn’t know where they’d go from here. Changing the locks hadn’t helped previously. She wondered about leaving, but would miss the children. She looked in the mirror at her beaten up face; he’d never retaliated before. At least she only hit him where the bruises didn’t show. RICHARD Proud I had no idea at the time it was my big break. The editor tasked me with covering the Gay Pride parade, mainly because I was the most junior reporter. I wasn't exactly impressed, but determined to make the most of it, and to be fair, it was really quite impressive with all the rainbow flags, outrageous outfits and over the top makeup. Fun, until they ran into the Black Lives Matter parade, who thought they had right of way. Words and blows were exchanged, and it all descended into a brawl. Front page news. Headline: 'A Riot Of Colour!' LIZZIE Out of the blue, he jumped from behind the giant canvas. Sword swallowing. A daring exhibition. He had to practice, right? "Almost caught red-handed," he mumbled. And when they asked him questions, he chuckled. "Oh, it wasn't me, officer." And they believe him, because he told them a harmless little white-lie. The officer grinned. But then he was given two days to leave the circus... Why?! Making a random passer-by swallow a sword hardly seemed a good enough reason to be fired. The said passer-by vanished into thin air, true. But still. Well, their loss. A daring exhibition no more. SERENDIPIDY It was entirely by accident I embarked on my new career - serial killer to contemporary artist in one simple step. My last killing was rather messy: blood, guts, and gore everywhere, and body parts strewn all over the floor. It hadn't quite gone to plan. It was supposed to be a simple throttling in a dark alleyway, but an unexpected change of plan meant it was indoors, and a little bit gory. Thankfully, it happened in an art gallery. Rather than clean up, I attached a small label: 'Riot of Color' - Unknown artist. I sold it for a small fortune. NORVAL JOE Once they were at the river's edge, and out of sight, Billbert, Loliamanda, and Sabrina joined hands and flew downstream. They crossed back to the highway passing flocks of sheep and eventually coming upon the small town of Ferndale. The main street was lined with Victorian houses. The rising sun reflected off myriad stained glass windows creating a riot of color, distracting the three from the danger waiting on the edge of town. An elderly woman stepped into the road ahead of them, aimed a confetti cannon, and pulled the cord. A riot of color blasted them from the air. TOM 897 Story 1 In its day Live Aid was real big deal. And it was in the day of VHS. I recorded the whole thing on a number of tapes. Each carefully labeled. Fast forward to the day I got married. Total chaos, lots to people circling in cars around a shifting center point. One of these folk was the person willing to do video. He needed a tape to record on. So somehow he got tape 15 from my Live Aid tapes. He used it to record the wedding, but the camera input failed. No wedding and a hole in Live Aid. 898 Story 2 Frank was some what normal. Job, eating habits, selection of friends, and most of his hobbies. He did have one odd habit. He loved sitting in large vats of paint. Had 16 barrels of different colors. Built a crane that lowered him into and out of each color. I took four hours. When finish Frank was a Riot of Color.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. "Obviously not," said the caseworker at the unemployment office. "Your file clearly shows that you have no aptitude for piracy." She sent him to a job training facility, where George learned how to use computers. After a while, George learned how to use spreadsheets, documents, and presentation software. "I think you have a knack for this, George," said the trainer. That night, George loaded all the computers on a cart, and took them back to the ship. "Think we can sell these?" asked George. "Welcome back," said the captain.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. He collected empty bottles, stuffed them with paper, and would seal them into the bottles with corks. Then, he'd toss them into the sea and let the tides spread them throughout the world. Scientists collected the papers, and after careful analysis, they determined that there was an unknown continent in the middle of the Atlantic ocean. But dozens of expeditions later, they never found the continent of Georgelantis. Meanwhile, George wiped his ass, stuffed the dirty toilet paper in the bottle, sealed it, and tossed it into the ocean.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. "Dress for success!" said the consultant, and he took George to a Saville Row tailor. George emerged two hours later in a three-piece suit, bowler hat, and carrying an umbrella and a briefcase. "The perfect gentleman," said the consultant. He turned George to face the crew. "Don't you agree?" They laughed at George. They stopped laughing when George started his job at a large accounting firm, worked his way through the ranks, and became wealthy and powerful. "Okay, I admit, the hat does look a bit silly," said George.

"George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate." The billboards with those eleven words appeared across Southern California. A few appeared in Portland, Oregon. And others in Seattle and Austin, Texas. Nobody knew what it meant, or who had paid for them. People asked George, but he had no idea either. "Your guess is as good as mine," he said. Some people guessed that he was running for President. Others thought it was an alien conspiracy. "Okay, maybe your guesses aren't as good as mine." The billboards vanished the next day, and soon after, were completely forgotten.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. He was nervous about flying, and he took dramamine pills to prevent air sickness. Then, he'd have a few shots of courage at the airport bar, followed by little bottles of Jack Daniels while on the plane. "It's hard to build a ship in a bottle," George told the flight attendant, "but tiny bottles? Crazy!" The captain turned the seat belt signs back on, and George rose up and demanded a mutiny. The air marshal tased George, and he spent the rest of the flight handcuffed to the toilet.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. How did he know this? Well, the captain was always telling George that he wasn't a very good pirate. And his crewmates kept telling him that, too. The constant criticism annoyed George, driving him completely mad. One day, in the middle of a dressing-down, he tossed a lit match into the powder room. It immediately went out. "Oh, come on!" said a passing crewmate. "That's now how you set off the powder room and blow up the ship. Here, let me show you..." Mercifully, the captain stopped him mid-demonstration.

I blew up a bit in this one... leave a comment to let the writers know if you liked their stories. Richard Lizzie Lisa Serendipidy Tura Norval Joe Planet Z The next topic is Riot Of Color RICHARD Old Videos Tucked away at the back of the wardrobe, I've several boxes, stuffed full of old videos. I've had them boxed up for around twenty years now, and they've followed me through at least three house moves, carefully packed up, transported, and put away in their new home. Why have I kept them? Through some vague sense, of 'I might want to watch them, one day'? Not that I've anything to play them on anyway. And the fact is, I've not watched any of them in the last twenty years, and probably never will. But I keep them. Just in case. TURA Old Videos --------- I have a stack of VHS tapes I've never got around to watching. I still have a VCR, but I never have the time. I could convert them to digital files, but my video to USB converter is so old it's not compatible with my current OS. I could replace it, but when will I find time to do the conversion? Will I ever watch them anyway? If I put this off too long, the tapes will degrade and won't be playable at all. Then at last I'll be able to dump them. Maybe I should just dump them now. LISA Something Nasty in the Woodshed Me and Simon had only gone round to help Fay next door clear the attic. Her husband had died a month ago, him and Dad had been as thick as thieves. She was moving somewhere smaller. There were boxes of old video tapes up there with dates and girls names on. We’d seen the documentaries so joked about our serial killer neighbour. After unearthing an old player we stopped for lunch and watched a video. It was much worse than we suspected. And it looked like he buried them in their garden. “Fuck!” said Simon “is that your Dad digging?” SERENDIPIDY There are old videos of life in the village: Life before the calamity. Grainy, blurred videos in washed out colour of picnics on the village green, laughing toddlers at the playground, couples, friends, families happy and relaxed, without a care in the world. There's even the odd wedding video. Good times. Nobody could ever have imagined the horror that was to come. It was a fine spring day, late in June. The sun was shining, and people were going about their business, blissfully unaware of what was coming their way. For that was the day I arrived at the village. LIZZIE "Come on. It's starting," I said. Old videos and popcorn! But... I had forgotten. Our old videos don't go with popcorn. They go with sorrow. "Say cheese for the camera," they would say cheerfully. We never did, no. "Don't be so grumpy all the time, you two." We were kids. We weren't grumpy. We weren't stupid. We weren't shitheads. We were just kids. Memory is such a trickster, isn't it? It erases everything. And here I was, in front of the TV, a bowl full of popcorn on my lap. I wanted to cry, but I had no tears left. NORVAL JOE The woman seemed surprised by Billbert's request for a back exit. Then she smiled and led them past a rack of dusty VHS movies for rent, through a door and into what appeared to be the woman's home. A chunky man in a sleeveless t-shirt and gray slacks, sitting at a dining table didn't look up from his newspaper as they traipsed past. A back door led them to a wooden porch, forty feet above the placid Matole river. The woman nodded to some stairs. "These will take you to a trail along the river, if that's what you want." PLANET Z Old Man Pinella sits in his home theatre, watching videos of the band. Jason on guitar, Billy on bass, Joe on keyboards, and Wally on drums. And then there was Vicky... oh, how she could sing. The crowd was spellbound... after every song, silence. And then the loudest applause and cheering and shouting. The last video ends,

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. After every battle, George would gather up the dead, wrap their bodies in sheets, and plan for their burial at sea. He did his best to write eloquent eulogies for every one of them. Devoted sons who sent back a share of their loot to their mothers... Good husbands, good providers... Despite the many carnal temptations, always faithful... "So, how do you know so much about everyone," asked the captain. "Oh, I just make shit up," said George, and he shoved the wrapped bodies into the sea. "Anybody else?"

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate. He hired Sven, a professional life coach, to help him with his problems. Sven wasn’t a very good life coach, so he gave George bad advice, which caused even more problems. So, George hired a personal trainer. And a business consultant. And a change management expert. An entourage surrounded George, shouting a cacophony of conflicting advice at him. George covered his ears and shouted “STOP!” His shipmates took the coaches, consultants, and trainers hostage. The total ransom paid was a fortune. George retired. Until his accountant robbed him blind.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. They say that he was completely scared of his own shadow. Which is okay if you're facing the sun or a light source, because your shadow is behind you, but not so good if the light source is behind you. "AAAAAAAAAAAH!" George would scream. And he'd run as fast as he could. But no matter how fast he ran, he never could manage to outrun his own shadow. George never did manage to get over his childish fear, but he did set a few world records for long-distance running.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. Which led to a lot of damage to the ship, and time at the dock for repairs. George drew up plans and made a list of things needed for repairs: Boards, saws, nails, screws, pitch and tar... The problem was, George had proudly adopted the Metric System. While his crewmates used the English Imperial system. Measurements were way off, and the ship ended up a patchwork mess. The captain made George walk the plank. Which was three meters long, not three feet. George fell in the shark-infested water anyway.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. He sat at a busy corner and held a sign that said: NOT A VERY GOOD PIRATE. Passersby put money in his hat, and he'd growl and leer at them. Now and then, someone would talk to George. He just blankly drooled. After a few days, a doctor came by and examined George. "Okay, you no longer have a concussion," he said. "Go back to your ship." George returned home with a hat full of money. The captain smiled, and bonked George on the head again with a cannonball.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. He kept a diary of his misadventures hidden in the ship's rowboat. Every night, he'd lower the boat into the water, row the boat a few yards away from the ship, and wrote by candlelight. Then he'd stash the diary, row back to the ship, and put everything back into place before going to sleep. His shipmates would sneak peaks at the diary, and they enjoyed the stories that George wrote. So, they'd come up with all new ways to torment George, and looked forward to reading about them.

Richard Lizzie Lisa Serendipidy Tom Norval Joe Planet Z The next topic is Reviewal, Painfully shy, Rats, Translation, Crack of dawn, Shine LISA A Proud Murid Mother of Seven Her babies were born during a summer thunderstorm. She nurtured them in a disused ventilation shaft whilst secretly dreading the day they’d leave the nest. She prepared them well though – taught them about hawks, owls, cats and foxes even racoons although there weren’t many of those to be found around Digbeth Coach Station. She warned them of the temptation of poison bait boxes, and the dangers of eating cold kebab meat straight from the bin. They first ventured out at the crack of dawn. They stuck closely together but went straight under the wheels of the overnight coach from Aberdeen. RICHARD Hello World I've always been painfully shy. For as long as I can remember, I've been the one hiding in the corner, keeping as low a profile as possible, and avoiding interaction with others. It had to stop. I got counselling - in itself a huge leap forward - and they gave me suggestions of ways to break out of my shell. The internet was the perfect way to keep people at a distance, whilst stepping out of my comfort zone. Try writing stories for a podcast, they said. So, I did. And here I am. At long last, it's my turn to shine! LIZZIE At the crack of dawn, the rats would come out to play. He knew they would try to shine. But he wouldn't let them. Oh, no. At the crack of dawn, the rats would start to talk. He knew they'd give him up. But he wouldn't let them. Oh, no. There was only one way to stop this madness. He drove to them. At the crack of dawn, he knocked on their door. They opened, saw him and tried to run. It was messy and they never got to shine. He almost felt for them, at the crack of dawn. SERENDIPIDY Every morning, at the crack of dawn, the rats return to their lair. The village breathes a collective sigh of relief, and once the sun is high in the sky, life can resume as normal. Doors and shutters are checked, freshly-gnawed holes are filled, and bait and traps set, only then can we attend to the preparing and cooking of the meat snared overnight. Once we have eaten, we prepare once more, for the darkness and horror of the night. By day, we may feast on the rats, but when the night comes, they seek to feast on us. TOM Even in the quietest moments Maurice surveyed the horizon, a mere sliver of light over the waves of black sand. He was not the one to be up at the crack of dawn. He was the night hawk, the man with the 10,000-yard stare. When he saw her face in the starlight, he could not bare to wake Amanda. It was the first time in weeks he noted the grief had for a moment crept away into the blackness about them. The trouble with the blackness is it was just as likely to creep back at you. What was creeping towards them were the rats. NORVAL JOE A kindly old woman smiled at them from behind the counter inside the store. She leaned forward to look out the window. "How'd you three get here?" Sabrina picked up a shiny packet of powdered donuts. "We've been walking since the crack of dawn. Will this road take us to Eureka?" She nodded. "Ferndale, Fortuna, then on to Eureka." Billbert paid for their donuts and milk. He headed for the door and stopped. A jeep pulled into the parking lot with three familiar passengers. "Rats!" Billbert said. "In reviewal of our situation, is there a back door we can use?" PLANET Z Drusilla is painfully shy. Sits in the back of the classroom. Never raises her hand. Wets herself when she's called on anyway. And if she answers, she answers in a whisper. Changes in a bathroom stall for gym. And runs to the bathroom to change back. Nobody invites her to their parties. Which is fine by her. She likes to keep to herself. And her pet rats. Well, she calls them her pet rats.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. When bad things happened, he always blamed others. "Maybe you should look in the mirror, George?" said the captain. So, George did. And he blamed the mirror. From that day on, George smashed every mirror he saw. "Damn you all!" he'd shout, whacking the mirror with the butt of his cutlass until it was nothing but tiny shards of broken glass. He kept them in a bag on his belt, and he'd get angry and stuff it in people's mouths. "CHEW IT!" he'd shout. And he'd smash more mirrors.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. He was constantly wrecking his ship, and it spent a lot of time being repaired. Eventually, every part of the ship needed to be replaced at least once. "So, if every part of the ship has been replaced, is this still the same ship?" asked George. Some of the crew said yes, some said no, and some just stared back, confused. Meanwhile, back at the dock, Captain Theseus stood before a skeletonized ship, ranting and raving. "Damn that George!" Theseus yelled. "He stripped my ship for spare parts again!"

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. But at least he wasn't always pointing at people and shouting "YOU'RE WORSE THAN HITLER!" like Old Man Johnson was. "That's really annoying," said George. "isn't there something useful you can do?" One morning, they found Old Man Johnson in his bunk, dead. Nobody went to his funeral, and there wasn't even an obituary in the paper. But everyone assumed that his last words were "YOU'RE WORSE THAN HITLER!" Well, maybe not shouted, Probably wheezed, because George's hands were on the guy's throat, choking the life out of him.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. The stress of being a pirate caused him indigestion and ulcers. So, he drank a lot of milk and ate smooth foods like yogurt. It's not easy to get those things fresh out at sea, so he filled the cargo hold with cows and a fully-operational dairy. The crew saw the cows and thought "steak", but George convinced them otherwise with some fine artisanal cheeses. "Why don't you just become a farmer?" asked the captain. George thought for a moment, shrugged, and went below decks for the morning milking.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. When supplies ran low on the ship, there were only two options: rationing and finding another ship to attack and rob. Well, okay... they could have headed back to port for more supplies, but where's the fun in that? And there are only so many crewmates to eat. The captain called for the crew to assemble on the deck. Only George showed up. "Did we eat everyone else?" asked the captain. "I guess so, captain," said George. They headed back to port for more supplies. And, of course, recruits.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. When he was out at sea, he wouldn't bother with a spyglass or a barometer or any of the traditional weather forecasting tools. He'd pull out his cell phone and check the weather application on it. Usually, he couldn't get a signal, and he could only tell if it was raining by whether the cell phone was wet. However, on the rare times he got a signal, he'd still get the forecast wrong. Because he'd disabled the GPS locator, and would get the forecast from their home port's location.

Richard Lizzie Lisa Serendipidy Tom Norval Joe Planet Z The next topic is Reviewal, Painfully shy, Rats, Translation, Crack of dawn, Shine RICHARD Undeliverance As we paddled into the canyon, Jack murmured, "If you hear banjos, just keep paddling!" "Very funny" I replied, but to be honest, I was unnerved. The rock walls closed in on us as the current caught our canoe and we began to speed, ever faster, through the narrow passage. If we were to capsize here, gun-toting hillbillies would be the least of our problems. Thankfully, we got through without incident and began to unpack on a handy beach. Then, I heard the sound of a shotgun bolt drawn back, and a voice behind called out, "Squeal, piggy. Squeal!" LIZZIE Canyon was a crow. Canyon hated his name. Canyon abhorred the guy who had named him. Canyon never replied when the guy called him. The guy's greenhouse was his pride. So, Canyon started with pebbles and slowly upgraded to stones. The day one of the windows shattered, Canyon cawed in triumph. That's when he stopped being Canyon and became a Jerk. Canyon didn't like Jerk either. The guy fixed the window and sneered. A convoluted plan ensued. Canyon's buddies would help. Well, the guy didn't live long enough to enjoy his greenhouse. It was a murder, by God, a murder! LISA Some Unsettling News I’m getting married on a plane, odd because I’ve never flown well. It’s turbulent, the pilot’s struggling and I’m expecting to wake up any minute. But I don’t. I’m falling, falling from the plane into a canyon and I’ve not saved my future wife... Then, I wake. Next to her. The woman, I found out yesterday, that slept with my best mate on our wedding night. The woman that said his daughter was mine; my wife of thirty six years. I roll over on blood soaked sheets and try to get back to sleep wondering when to report her death. SERENDIPIDY The police report stated it was death by misadventure, an unfortunate combination of standing too close to the edge, a selfie stick, and concentrating more on the perfect pout, than on keeping her balance. Death, by Instagram. It wasn’t, of course. It was murder: Premeditated, planned and perfect. "Get a selfie on the edge", I suggested, "you'll be perfectly safe." And she would have been, had I not tampered with the stick the night before. As she pressed the button, the spring released, propelling her precious phone over her head. She lunged. Grabbed. Failed. Fell. I got a great photo! TOM Barney Google he ain’t When I was a kid, my grandma came to live with us. We were a Daily New family, but my grandma was a Tribune reader. The Trib was the size of a telephone book. Not much interest to a child of eight. What was cool about the Trib was the comic section, four pages. Which was good because some of the stripes made no sense at all. Prince Valiant boring. And Steve Canyon way beyond my pay teeny-bopper grade. Good old squared jawed Stev was the inspiration for my favorite cartoon Clutch Cargo which employed that cheesy Syncro-Vox lip sync. NORVAL JOE Neither Billbert or either of the girls had any idea where they were. The sun was just beginning to lighten the sky, so Billbert guessed which direction was east. As they flew north they passed over ridges and small canyons. They saw marijuana fields below them and eventually came upon a small general store where a road crossed a river. They landed in the parking lot. Linoliamanda read the green road sign, "Honeydew, California. Population three." Someone hung an "Open" sign in the doors window. "Oh, good. I'm starving," Sabrina said. "Let's get something to eat before we head on. PLANET Z The tambourine man fled across the desert, and the gunslinger followed him. Through the empty streets of the evening empire, concrete canyons covered by the sands of time. Over to the docks,

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. The captain stripped George of his duties and made him safety officer. "You're an expert on unsafe things, considering how many accidents you've caused." George took to the new assignment quickly. The smoke alarms took a while to get calibrated properly. FIRE DRILL! shouted George when the alarms would go off by accident. The men gathered on the deck, filling buckets with sea water to throw on the fire. After the tenth false alarm, they tore out the smoke alarms, wrapped George with the wires, and threw him overboard.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. He had a habit of microwaving popcorn, which stunk up the whole ship. By the time the other pirates went to the galley, George had eaten it all. The pirates suggested that George eat bagged premade popcorn, but George said that it tasted stale. So, George tried the traditional Indian method of making popcorn: throwing whole ears of popcorn on an open flame. Instead of the stench of microwave popcorn, George's shipmates smelled burning wood. "I made enough to share," beamed George, as the ship was engulfed in flames.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. He wasn't even a very good George the Pirate. In a George the Pirate contest, he came in third. A cardboard cutout of George came in second place, and the shadow that it cast on the wall came in first. George drew his cutlass and slashed the cardboard cutout to pieces, destroying it and its shadow. "I AM THE GEORGEST GEORGE!" screamed George. He held the trophy high over his head. With first and second place vacant, the judges changed their decision. They awarded first place to George's shadow.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. When other pirates asked him if he was a Ginger or a Mary Ann, he'd say "Both, and Mrs. Howell too." Which was true, because when George had wrecked his ship on Gilligan's Island, he'd fucked all three of them. Then, after the Professor repaired his ship, he took all of the Howells' money and left them all stranded on the island. Some say that the clumsy and dimwitted George is actually Gilligan in disguise. "Nonsense," says George, stuffing a red shirt and white hat into his foot locker.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. He knew the water, and he knew boats. So, he signed up with the Coast Guard. Sure, he had problems with his background check and criminal record, being a pirate, but George knew some folks who knew some folks, and they cut through the red tape and got him his commission. George rescued lots of people. And he intercepted lots of illegal cargo. He eventually started to keep some of the illegal shipments for himself, selling them on the black market. Maybe he was a good pirate after all.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. He did his best to cover his blunders. So when he stranded his ship on a beach, he disembarked with a pirate flag and planted it on the sand. I CLAIM THIS LAND IN THE NAME OF THE PIRATE NATION! The problem was, the land had already been claimed. And named. "Bem-vindo a Portugal," said the natives. George pulled out a sextant, made a few measurements, and checked his map. There, in big letters: PORTUGAL. George smiled and waved. And went back to help his crew with the ship.

Richard Lizzie Lisa Serendipidy Tom Norval Joe Planet Z LISA Swipe and Pay on the Last Bus of the Day It was standing room only, always the same on a rainy Saturday night, a sea of vacant faces and glazed expressions. I was sandwiched between a woman with a lot to say and a good looking man, I found out later, called Paul. The bus jerked us about. Someone nearby really needed to wash their neck. Paul and I collided for the whole journey. We apologised whilst sharing an uncomfortable look then awkwardly got off at the same stop. Thankfully he hadn’t noticed his missing card; I did a food shop bought some shoes then threw it into the Clyde. RICHARD Old Boy’s Club "So, Sedgwick, where do you stand on the fairer sex?" "I beg your pardon", I replied, momentarily distracted from savouring my brandy. "Women, old chap! Some of the boys think we should allow them into the club, are you for, or against it?" The Clarrington was one of the more forward-looking gentlemen's clubs, but even so, some things are sacrosanct. I took another appreciative sip of Brandy. "No, women have their place, and The Clarrington is not that place." "Jolly good, old boy" He checked his fob watch, "Now, drink up, the pole dancing girls will be starting soon!" LIZZIE They said "You can become filthy rich being a travel blogger". He believed them. One day, a guy said "You're a wuss." He was no wuss. He was a King. "Off with his head!" He'd always wanted to say that. His kingdom. An old mattress, a dusty rug, a lamp. He could walk a few feet to the left and a few feet to the right. Thirty years, till the parole board decided he could leave. He did have some incense burning. It made him look normal. The severed head in his backpack was sloppy. Oh, well, stand still, Zen...! SERENDIPIDY Teacher made me stand in the corner. She was always making me do that; I reckon she got a kick from it. What sort of person takes pleasure from exerting their authority over a kid like that? I wasn't bothered about spending time in the corner, it gave me plenty of opportunity to plot and plan, it was more about the embarrassment of being singled out and made to look a fool. Another bonus of facing the corner, was that it allowed me slip my gun from where I'd hidden it. Time that teacher got singled out, by me. TOM Stand I’m child of the 50s. I cut my music teeth on the Chicago Silver Dollar Survey. A top 40s kid. A system best described by Joni Mitchell in Free Man in Paris: Stoking the star maker machinery Behind the popular song. This all changed in the 80s with the rise of Alternative rock. Thinking man’s rock. I totally embraced REM’s Stand with its super bubble-gummy pop bounce, so reminisceic of The Banana Splits, The Archies, 1910 Fruit Gum Company and The Monkees. “Your feet are going to be on the ground. Your head is there to move you around.” Yup. NORVAL JOE Not wanting to have to make a stand against the two burley teenagers, Billbert leapt into the air. Linoliamanda rose with him, but stopped, as Sabrina remained, standing on the ground as solid as any rock. Billbert dropped back to the ground. "I can't stand this." Sabrina pointed to a stand of trees. "We can hide in there. Maybe fight them off." "No. It's no use." He thrust his other hand to Sabrina. "Let's give it one more try." Sabrina took Billberts hand forming a three person circle. Billbert barely thought about it and they rose into the air, together. PLANET Z They. They tell us to sit. They tell us to stand. They tell us to put our hands over our heads. They tell us to put our hands down. They tell us to sit again. They tell us to smile. They tell us to stop smiling. Stop smiling, right now. They tell us to stand. And tell us to sit again. They tell us to do a lot of things. Over. And over. Until they stopped. Because we told them to stop.

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate. Some say there never really was a George. They say that George was a made-up character that other pirates would wear as a disguise so they could do all the things they couldn't do as themselves. Kind of like how Andy Kaufman and Bob Zmuda invented Tony Clifton, an obnoxious drunk lounge singer. "You never see George in the same room as Rummy Bill," people would say. So Sneaky Peter dressed as George and was seen with Rummy Bill. George watched all this and laughed. And became Tony Clifton.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. After he saw the lion tamer act at the circus, he traded in his cutlass and pistols for a bullwhip. He practiced with it a lot, much to the chagrin of his shipmates, who learned quickly not to smoke cigarettes out on deck. "HIYAH!" shouted George, as he lashed the bullwhip. It struck a pirate's ear with a loud crack, and they spat out their cigarette. "Hey, I did manage to knock the cigarette out of your mouth," said George. The pirate tried to strangle George with the bullwhip.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. He walked along a beach, thrust a flag pole into the sand, and he proclaimed: I CLAIM THIS LAND IN THE NAME OF THE PIRATE NATION! A crowd surrounded George... and took selfies with him. And they tossed coins and currency into a basket by the flag pole. Some looked up his merch site on the web... plastic cutlasses, little George pirate dolls. After a few minutes, George pulled up the flag pole, picked up the basket, and went back to the bar. To wait for the next show.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. Not that this mattered to George. George knew lots of good pirates, and a few great ones, too. Many of them were dead. None of them spent their last moments wishing that they'd been better pirates. Maybe a few wished that they'd been better swordsmen so they could have blocked the slash or thrust that eventually killed them. And the ones who drowned, they probably wished they'd learned to swim. "So what if I'm a lousy pirate?" thought George. "I'm alive." He smiled happily as he swabbed the deck.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. While the ship was in dock for repairs, all of the other pirates wenched and caroused and made nuisances of themselves. George preferred to spend his time in libraries, poring through old illuminated manuscripts and ancient scrolls. "Are you looking for clues to buried treasure?" asked a monk. "Yes," said George. "The greatest treasure can be found in libraries." The monk patted George on the back and went back to his prayers. George smiled, slipped another book into his satchel, and went to the stacks for more to steal.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. He spent a lot of time in port, waiting for opportunities to loot, pillage, and steal. But there weren't many these days. Bored, he cut a section of canvas from his sails. Then he'd wet and stretch it over a wooden frame he made from the timbers of his ship. And he'd paint. He sold his paintings to tourists, and by the time he ran out of sailcloth and timbers from his ship, he'd made enough money to buy a new ship. And he'd get bored all over again.

Richard Lizzie Lisa Serendipidy Tom Norval Joe Planet Z The topic of the next weekly challenge is Stand RICHARD Alan Alan always had to be right. What do you want to go to the rainforest for? You won't enjoy it?' That's putting it mildly: I'd hated every second of the trip. You'll almost certainly get lost!' Right, again. I'd never been more lost in my life. You probably won't make it back.' Unfortunately, that was certainly beginning to look like a real possibility. It's not the heat, it's the humidity that'll kill you.' Almost right. The moisture that filled the air, made it hard to breathe; but, it wouldn't kill me. However the snake bite would. Not always right, Alan! LISA A Thermos Flask Borrowed off Nanna It’s 1982. The car journey from Leicester to Dad’s mate’s caravan in Cornwall takes roughly 400 years. We go every year. My younger brother is exploring the moist contents of his nostrils, and on the other side of me the older one is reading a well illustrated book about insects. At the services we stare at a poster for iced coke while a cup of tea, that tastes more of plastic cup than tea, is passed around. A big lorry rumbles past and the thermos falls off the dashboard and smashes. It proves to be the highlight of the holiday. LIZZIE Plants need a lot of moisture. So, he bought an industrial moisturizing machine for his greenhouse. The plants were happy. Their growth was impressive, he had to admit. At some point, he thought about removing the moisturizer but he went on vacation and forgot about it completely. When he got back, the roof of the greenhouse had burst open. Everything was of an industrial size, the plants, some birds that flew inside, even the ants. He should've suspected. That's why the damn moisturizer was so cheap. It was all over the news. Industrial contamination was turning everything into giants, people included. SERENDIPIDY The car might have been abandoned, but the ticking of the engine as it cooled, and the occasional, almost imperceptible rocking on its suspension told me it was just parked up. Not many cars made it this deep into the forest. I approached cautiously. A film of moisture obscured the inside of the windows; they were clearly enjoying themselves, and were completely oblivious to my presence. Hand, resting lightly on the door handle, I wondered if they'd plead for mercy, or run for their lives. Either way, it would be good sport. And I was the one holding the shotgun. TOM Not Happy If you come from Chicago or New York, you think your pretty much humidity badass. Heat – wet got that covered. Power through, get the job done, wring out your shirt, flip on the AC. I had no idea there was a place on earth that excelled in full impact Moisture. In Florida I met my match. It’s bad enough your body is coat 24 -7 multiple layers of perpetual film, but every centimeter of your lungs are drowning in wet. Actually, film would be a kind description, goo would be more accurate. Give me phoenix where moisture work in your favor. NORVAL JOE Billbert took a hand of each of the girl's in his and jumped into the air. None of them went anywhere and the teenage knights were running their direction. Moisture breaking out across his forehead, he tried again. And again, they remained firmly on the spongy forest soil. Linoliamanda dropped Billbert's hand. "Take Sabrina. They don't really want me. I'll be okay." Sabrina's eyes lit up. "You heard the girl. Let's go." "No!" To Sabrina's shock, he shook off her grip and then grasped Linoliamanda's hand again. Sabrina looked like she would cry, until Billbert said, "Now, take Linoliamanda's hand." PLANET Z It rained last night. I'd gotten my car washed. The guy with the sticker scanner asked about the paint scrape on the left side. Where I'd hit the pole at the electric charger.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. And he knew it. When the captain said that he wanted to talk to George, George's mind began to race. What did he do now? How much trouble was he in? Was he going to be fired, and forced to clear out his bunk, and have to walk past his shipmates in shame? Or even worse, made to walk the plank into shark-infested waters? George panicked and collapsed. The captain sighed, and left George's teddybear in his arm. "Fool keeps leaving it in the galley," he mumbled to himself.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. He was a good Pittsburgh Pirates fan, though. Every now and then, he went to the games, and people mistook him as the mascot. They'd take selfies with George. Usually, it was kids. Or drunk fans. George made a lot of tips this way. Soon, other pirates went to the ballpark, looking for easy money. The team tried to ban pirates from the games, but they had trouble telling the difference between pirates and fans. So, they hired George as a consultant. He made even more money this way.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. He spent a lot of time looking at timbers, watching to see if they would shiver. The timbers just sat there, doing nothing. "You do know that saying comes from ships in heavy seas," said the captain. "The ship crests a wave and crashes back down so hard, the timbers shake." The next time the ship was in heavy seas, the captain tried to point out how the timbers shook after each time they crashed back down from a wave. But George was too busy throwing up to watch.

He didn't realise I was within earshot when his mates asked him how we'd got together. "Oh, just some girl I met online. You know me, hopeless romantic!" "Hopeless, yes" countered one of the girls, "romantic? No! You're only after one thing, and once she gives in, you'll dump her. You always do!" So, that was his plan? Well, we'd see about that. I checked inside my purse and smiled at the glint of my favourite knife, ready for action. Perhaps tonight I'd give in. And boy, would he ever regret meeting that girl online, when I'd finished with him!

Eighteen years ago, I started this podcast. I'm just as surprised as you are that it's still going. --------- George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. He interviewed to join Campeche in Galveston, but Jean Lafitte personally rejected the application and had him thrown overboard from The Pride. George crawled to shore, and Lafitte's men pointed at George and laughed. When George got back to his ship, he pulled a handful of documents out from under his shirt. He'd stolen the letters of marque from Lafitte. Lafitte ordered his men to hunt down and kill George. But the US Navy had them bottled in, and they ordered Lafitte's surrender. La Maison Rouge was set ablaze.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. But after the sexual harassment scandals rolled through the pirate community, George was the only pirate that ad agencies could hire without risking backlash or protests. George's face replaced Blackbeard's on cereal boxes. This pissed off Blackbeard. A lot. He held up a cereal box and yelled "A HUNDRED DUBLOONS FOR THE MAN WHO BRINGS ME THE HEAD OF THIS MAN!" His men brought back the heads of the Lucky Charms leprechaun, the Trix rabbit, and Count Chocula. Blackbeard gave up, and he switched to eating oatmeal for breakfast.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. He spent a lot of time lost or missing. A crude sketch of George's face appeared on the labels of rum bottles. HAVE YOU SEEN THIS PIRATE? The sketch was somewhat generic for a pirate, so a lot of reports came in, but none of them turned out to be George. When the police tracked down the person sending in all of the false reports, it turned out to be George. "Next time, I'll use pay phones and other people's cell phones," grumbled George, walking back to his ship.

Richard Lizzie Tom Norval Joe Planet Z The topic of the next weekly challenge is Moisture RICHARD First Responders We watched him. Watched him as he toppled from the ledge, falling four storeys, until the concrete path below arrested his descent. We ran towards him, time being of the essence, thinking that just maybe he'd survived the impact. We reached his prone figure and I knelt down beside him, as Jack urged me to get the guy into the recovery position. Then, with practiced efficiency, we did what we do best. It was a good haul: We recovered his wallet, watch, mobile phone, cash and a gold tooth. And we were out of there long before the ambulance arrived. LIZZIE "I've never felt so grounded," he said. She could see through him. "Some girl I met online," he said. A whole lot of bravado, a cigarette hanging from his lips. That snapshot she took of him... The ridiculous hat, the feather, the flower. Was it a rose? Hopeless. Empty. She still remembered the album crammed with photos of himself, only himself. Page after page, after page. When she asked why, he grinned and mumbled some vague explanation filled with an under-layer of self-doubt he desperately tried to hide. Grounded in his desperation, wanting to be seen for what he wasn't. TOM Recovery Hi I’m the Angle previously known as 103742 , but you can call be Bill, saves time. When I am asked, which isn’t often, why did you take place in the Great Falling? Well, I can tell you this, it had noting to do with pride. Heavens no, that’s a little gallows humor there. It was Jenny, actually Angle 8675309. She said want to go on a fall with me? What’s a fall I ask, angles don’t know shit about verbs, its that lacking free-will thing. So down we all go screaming cowabunga. Been in recovery ever since, making progress. NORVAL JOE When Linoliamanda finally took Billbert's hand they quickly rose, the well and old man falling away below them. Having overshot Sabrina, Billbert made a quick recovery and returned to the girl standing by the well. Sabrina held out her hand. "Let's go." Billbert was hesitant. "I've never levitated two people. I don't know if I can." "There they are," one of the teens shouted as they appeared on the trail from the forest. Sabrina shook her extended hand at Billbert. "Let's find out, quick." As the group of teens ran toward them, Billbert tried to levitate the three of them. PLANET Z "Insert the Recovery Disk and hit ENTER." blinked on the screen. Erica opened her desk drawer and looked through the disks until she found one marked RECOVERY DISK. Sliding it into the drive, the ejection tab popped out with a click. "Here goes nothing," said Erica, and she pressed the ENTER key. A progress bar appeared, and a green line slowly crawled from left to right. When it filled the bar, RECOVERED appeared on the screen. Then it went dark, the system rebooted, and Erica waited for the familiar login screen to appear. "I need a faster system," she muttered.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. He got captured a lot. Captured pirates would be held in crowded prisons, dragged to the gallows, and hanged until they were dead. As the pirates were paraded to the gallows, the crowds would shout insults and throw mud and rocks at them. In that crowd, George threw mud and rocks at his former crewmates. "Sorry, captain," he'd say upon returning to the ship. "I tried to rescue them, but there were too many guards." "Serves them right for getting caught," said the captain. "Weigh anchor and set sail."

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. When someone has a heart attack, people yell "Is anyone a doctor?" Or when there's a crime happening, people shout for the police. Sometimes, the local police shout for pirates, but they're doing it as a trap to catch pirates. Maybe a few of the dumb ones. "Let go of me!" shouted George. "What am I being charged with?" "Piracy!" said the cops. "Oh," said George. "I got confused. My last name is The Pirate." George was found unable to stand trial due to mental incompetence. They released him.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. This provided a lot of material for his fellow pirates to come up with a roast of George. They rented a ballroom and tuxedos, hired caterers, and threw a pirate celebrity gala. One after another, famous pirates went up to the podium and told jokes at George's expense. George sat there, in the seat of dishonor, listening to it all. When it was finally George's turn to speak, he drew his cutlass, hacking and slashing at everyone around him. Including a waiter or two, according to the police reports.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. He volunteered for night watch duty because he wasn't very good at things which happened during the day. He was also an amateur astronomer, and he'd use his telescope to look up at the stars. Out on the ocean, with no light pollution, the night sky was amazing, and he was on the lookout for the other plants, comets, and the many wonders of the cosmos. He wasn't on the lookout for other rocks, other ships, and storms. He shouted "HARD TO PORT" and "HARD TO STARBOARD" a lot.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. He drank a lot, and the Coast Guard constantly cited him for BUI. "But I'm not in a boat," said George. "I'm just walking the pier." "But you're walking to your boat," said the Coast Guard. "Where I plan to sleep this off," said George. "The boat's securely moored, it's going nowhere." The Coast Guard accompanied George to the spot where his boat was moored... Well, had been moored. "Okay, so I'm not so good with knots," said George. "So, can you help me file a missing boat report?"

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate. He often forgot where he docked his ship, where he buried his treasure, and even his own name. He fell overboard during fights and got lost on deserted islands. He had no sense of direction, strategy, or even map reading skills. Despite all this, he always made his crew laugh. One day, while on the verge of being captured by the Navy, George saved the day by accidentally finding the secret passage to the treasure they were seeking. From then on, he became known as the luckiest pirate alive.

Lisa Richard Serendipidy Lizzie Tom Tura Norval Joe Planet Z The topic of the next weekly challenge is PICK TWO: Recovery, Falling, Rotten egg, Some guy/girl I met online, Hopeless, Fog a mirror RICHARD Frozen For the thousandth time since landing the job, I was questioning my sanity. You were suffering from a special sort of madness to want to teach seven year olds, but to imagine they could be taught music put me in a whole different class of crazy. Every day, I'd return home with an aching head, and in a foul temper: The distorted wail and crash of tortured instruments haunting my mind. But, if the playing was bad, the singing was far worse. Today, we attempted 'Let it go' Just try getting thirty, seven year olds to sing 'Frozen', in time! LIZZIE Is this what we're supposed to see? Is this the real face of... Now is the time to be honest. However, no one wants to tell the truth. Everyone is hiding behind fake compliments. Is this what we're supposed to do? Is this the real... And that flower was so fragile. As fragile as they were, staring at it, wondering. The two of them. Alone. They were real. Yes, they were, together in that frozen pain of what was not, together as they had always been, mourning what could've happened but never did. The two of them. Together. Always together. LISA An Ordinary House in an Ordinary Street Do you want to see inside? It’s a silly question really; we won’t stop long. Strange huh? Like an old lady house frozen in time. These are all his Mum’s things even though she died a decade ago. Is that smell getting to you? Sorry should’ve warned you - that antiseptic does catch your throat a bit. Let me just show you the cellar... Can you feel it? Like a chill that clasps you? It’s like a normal place but your body knows some bad shit has happened here. We’d better go: I think I heard his car pull up. SERENDIPIDY For hundreds of thousands of years, I was trapped beneath the icy permafrost of the Tundra: Frozen in time, a forgotten relic of the ancient past. The earth warmed -climate change, so they say- and slowly, but surely, my icy prison released me from its bonds. I broke free from its cruel grip and fought my way towards light, and freedom, reaching for the touch of sunlight, denied to me for millennia. And now, I am free. Unknown to science, immune to your modern medicines, no natural enemies, no modern remedies. I'm back! It's time to take back my world! TURA Frozen in time --------- Since Einstein, we've known that the past is not gone, only frozen. The future too, though we cannot see it. Everything that happens has always been going to, and always will have. Not one particle of all the suffering in the world will ever be extinguished, but exists for all eternity. The happiness too, but surely happiness is but a single grain of sand in a vast desert. Each brief candle is forever being blown out. You start by thinking about the speed of light and end up here. But you always were going to, and you always will have. TOM The Great ReDo Benny felt the moment slide just out of reach. If she had been four steps closer. If the child to his right had been farther right. Then there was the sudden gunning of an engine. The light reflecting off the store front window. A single arrent piece of paper flowing across the street. One thing, a thousand. Spin the stack, put back, push forward, pause and move. Who can say it would turn out any different? It remains frozen in time. Outside the reach of the fates, furies, and fay. It remains frozen in space. Blink and it is gone. NORVAL JOE Billbert stared at the bottle cap and its inscription as if frozen in time. What did this mean? Then it hit him and he snapped out of his stasis. "Linoliamanda. Give me all the bottle caps." Once he had them in his hands, he shouted to Sabrina.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. "Do you smell pizza?" George asked, as he walked around the ship, sniffing the air. "There's no pizza, George," said the captain. "Now swab the deck, or I'll make you walk the plank." George swabbed the deck, but every few minutes, he'd stop and sniff the air with a curious look on his face. "Okay, fine," said the captain. "I'll order some pizza." The captain sent a landing party ashore with the order, and it took them three days to return. By then, they'd eaten all of the pizza.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. He was always trying to get out of work. He'd say things like "I think I'll take a personal day today." or "It's a holiday for my people." Or he'd claim to be sick, and hand the captain a note from his doctor. The same doctor who said that George shouldn't lift anything heavy or stay out in the sun too long. "Why exactly are you a pirate, George?" asked the captain. "For adventure!" said George, laying in his bunk. The captain introduced George to the adventure of keel-hauling.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. He also wasn't very courteous to his fellow shipmates. He'd shave in the morning, and leave the stubble in the sink. He'd pee with the seat down and splash all over it, and then he wouldn't wipe it off. Instead of tossing his used toilet paper in the toilet to flush, he'd toss it in the wastebin. He'd drink a flagon of grog, and then put his unclean flagon back on the shelf. George didn't get invited to a lot of birthday parties. That's okay. He didn't like cake.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. He spent a lot of time up in the crow's nest, alone on night watch. So, when the space aliens abducted him, nobody noticed he was gone. "Greetings, Earthling," said the aliens. "You will be your species' ambassador to our world." "I dunno," said George. "Do ambassadors loot and pillage and plunder?" "Not really," said the aliens. "That's a politician and businessman thing." "I'd rather stay a pirate," said George. "Fine," said the aliens, and they released George. Into the water. The captain assumed that George fell overboard again.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. Every night, George prayed to Saint Nicholas, patron saint of sailors, to make him a better pirate. And every morning, George woke to the painful truth that he still wasn't a very good pirate. When the ship sailed into Neva Bay, George traveled to The Cathedral of Saint Nicholas in Saint Petersburg. "Nicholas is the patron saint of sailors and reformed thieves," said the bishop. "Not unrepentant pirates still committing piracy." George bonked him on the head and took the collection box. "I'll reform and repent later," said George.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. He was sloppy and forgetful. He even let his membership in the Pirate Union expire. "I thought the ship handled that stuff for employees," said George. "No," said the captain. "You're more like an independent contractor, You know, like cab drivers." George had to retake all of the piracy exams, and he did poorly. Until he passed the exams, he could only call himself a brigand, buccaneer, or sailor. Eventually, George got fed up, and held the examiners for ransom. "Pass," they said, and George was a pirate again.

Lisa Richard Serendipidy Lizzie Tom Norval Joe Planet Z The next weekly challenge topic is: Frozen in time LISA A Neatly Folded Bag for Life. I said I’d be there about ten to pick Mum up, but you all know my timekeeping skills don’t you? And it was raining so the roads were packed. Then I got caught up in a funeral procession. It felt disrespectful somehow to overtake; I mean Mum was in no hurry was she? It was the greenness that struck me, the jars were all green. The lady at the Crem explained its screw top before sliding Mum into a green box. “Will you need a bag?” She asked with a smile. That was green too. But I’d brought my own. RICHARD Philatelost Whilst cleaning out the loft, we found my great-grandfather's stamp collection. Nobody had seen it for years, and we'd assumed it lost; a terrible shame, considering it was supposedly worth a fortune. I remembered poring through the album as a child, which is more than great-grandfather did: He was content to simply collect and file the stamps. Only I was ever interested in them. We sent it to be valued, only to be told it was worthless. It would have been worth a fortune, if only the young me hadn't 'artistically' altered all the designs in marker pen! SERENDIPIDY I needed a hobby to fill my spare time, which is why I took up taxidermy. Over the years, I've managed to amass quite a collection, but it's always been difficult to source a suitable supply of subjects. There's only so much roadkill out there, and much of it is in no state for stuffing. So I started to improvise, and would carefully mow-down any animals unfortunate enough to cross my path, whilst out driving. Kids were easy pickings too, along with the occasional wandering tramp, and joggers, all finding their way into my collection. Aren't hobbies just great? LIZZIE He knew that the collection of plates with flowers on them was worthless. However, his wife thought they were her ticket into a world of traveling and luxury. When she died unexpectedly, one of her daughters lit two candles next to the plates, mentally claiming them as hers. "No one wants these plates, right?" Everyone said they did want them. That's when a family crisis started. Years of arguments ensued. Marriages. Grandchildren. Divorces. And the damn plates were still there, sitting on the shelf. Good thing he had hidden the gold. Traveling was nice and luxury hotels were even better. TOM He who dies with the most toys wins Every generation had its collectable collections. From Legos to Pez candy dispenser. I was too young for Match Box and too old for Hot Wheels. Have a very limited collections of 60s baseball cards, and even smaller collection of bit coins. Long ago I sold by collection of Salvador Dali and Picasso, spent a year on the beach with that moo-la. Since I have retired from the college my passion for collecting has centered around Marked Playing cards. I have eight of best produced decks in the world. My current favorite is the NOC deck, a wickedly simple binary system. NORVAL JOE Sabrina called from above. "Sorry. I didn't have time to warn you. Are you okay?" The man floated face down in the water. "Yeah. He missed us." Billbert turned the old man over, leaned him against the well's wall, and slugged him in the stomach. The old coot coughed out water and began to breathe again. "Look what I found." Linoliamanda held out a collection of beer bottle caps. Billbert frowned. "So?" "Look." She turned one over to reveal an arcane rune written inside and handed it to Billbert. The metal was ice cold on the palm of his hand. PLANET Z The warehouse fire put three guys from House Sixteen in the hospital. Bobby and Big Mike were fine, just a little smoke inhalation. But The Kid, what a mess. He fought. He held on. His girl holding his hand for weeks. We visited him,

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. He liked to talk to trees, butterflies, and birds. There usually weren't all that many trees and butterflies on the ocean, but one of his shipmates had a parrot companion. George would talk to the parrot as if it were a person, and they'd have long conversations. When the owner of the parrot would try to walk away, George growled "Don't interrupt our conversation!" The parrot's owner tried to give the parrot to George as a gift, but George refused. "Why would I want all that hassle?" said George.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. His swashbuckling skills were legendarily bad, having once lost to a baby in a stroller shaking its rattle. Once, he slashed at a sailor and barely nicked his shirt, managing to catch a single atom of the fabric. Splitting the atom in half, the resulting explosion annihilated George, his opponent, the ship they were on, and the port they were docked at. The shockwave leveled everything within a mile, and a wall of fire incinerated the ruins. A mushroom cloud billowed from the site, rising into the grim sky.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. He spent a lot of time getting drunk in taverns. One night, he overheard sailors talking about a gold shipment. George raced back to his ship to tell his crewmates. Later that night, George overheard them saying how much of a stupid fool George was. Dejected, George went back to the tavern. The next day, the pirates attacked the cargo ship with the gold. But it was a trap. Several Navy frigates ambushed the pirates. George was at the tavern, buying drinks for the sailors with the reward money.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. He started carrying around a teacup Chihuahua in a tiny orange vest. "It's my emotional support animal," said George, pulling out a doctor's note. "Fine," said the captain. "Just make sure the dog doesn't get scurvy." Other pirates brought aboard their emotional support animals. Dogs, pigs, cats, chickens... you name it, they brought them. Things got out of hand quickly, with dogs chasing cats, a boa constrictor eating all the pet rats, and nightly cockfights. The captain banned all the animals, but only after winning a few cockfight bets.

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate. The captain always held an end-of-the-year party for the crew. George didn't like crowds, so he volunteered to the skeleton crew that would watch the ship while the rest of the crew went to the party. The captain would leave a list of chores for the skeleton crew to do. Scrape barnacles. Swab the deck. Clean out the cannon. George crumbled up the list, threw it over the rail, and climbed up to the crow's nest. He watched the sunset over the harbor and enjoyed the peace and quiet.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. He managed to get taken captive by The Dread Pirate Roberts. "My real name's Westley, and I'm in a bit rushed," said Roberts. "I need to get back to Florin to rescue my true love from kidnappers. Mind taking over things for a while?" George agreed, and Westley trained him as quickly he could. "Good luck," said Westley, handing off the mask, and rowing away in a lifeboat. George waved, put on the mask, and took command of the ship. Which smashed into The Cliffs of Insanity and sank.

Lisa Richard Serendipidy Lizzie Tom Norval Joe Planet Z The next weekly challenge topic is: Collection SCRIBBLING WREN / LISA The sun woke an hour ago and has been nudging me ever since. I’m not ready yet to raise my concrete heavy eyelids, I’m still desperately clasping onto my evanescent evening. Honestly? I’m face down in a pillow and can’t lift my head. It’s a struggle keeping the spit in my mouth. I need to go to work, but I probably need to go home first. I sense him next to me. I’m not sure if it’s my age, or the head fug of satisfaction but I can’t remember his name. I’m far too sated to feel any embarrassment though. RICHARD Un-satisfied According to the song, you can't always get what you want; but, if you try sometime, you might get what you need. But, what if, whatever it is that you need also happens to be what you want? Do they cancel themselves out, and you get something else entirely? And, how about if you don't try sometime, but all of the time? Do you get more than you need? What about if you don't try, at all… Do you get everything you want, all of the time? It's all too confusing, perhaps that's why Mick Jagger couldn't get no satisfaction. SERENDIPIDY Mother always used to moan at us kids, whenever we were having fun. "Stop pulling faces!" She'd say, "One day, the wind will change, and you'll stay that way." We hated her, and the resentment grew, until we decided to put her in her place. I don't know where my brother found the acid, but it sealed our fate. We were at the park, pulling faces as usual, and mother trotted out her usual line. I grabbed the acid, and as I threw it, the wind changed, blowing it back in our faces. I'm sure mother was more than satisfied. LIZZIE Let the music play. And smile. They tell you about her. You don't recognize her in their words. But you smile. They talk about what they don't know, veiled words of criticism oozing through. Smile. Always smile. Because letting them know what you really think would show ungratefulness. And you're not ungrateful. Let the music play. Words turn into this vague hum. And you try to make sense of it all. But you don't want to, because you know all about her. They are satisfied. They have now established themselves as better than you. It's OK. It's OK... You smile. TOM Heaven can Wait Story goes my grandmother Margherita went on the grand tour in 1919. While in Florence she visited the Church of Santa Margherita. Standing in the exact spot Dante last beheld Beatrice she was struck with an overwhelming sense of sadness. As she gathered her composure in a pew an old woman gave her a paper and pen. In broken English the woman explained “Plead in writing to Beatrice to ask her to fix your love live.” Grandma placed the note in basket at her shrine. From it she took a paper that said Satisfied. She gave this totem to me. NORVAL JOE / PHILIP CARROLL Fortunately, the water in the well was shallow and there was no real potential for drowning. The old man leaned over the well and in a smug satisfied voice, he said, "You're stuck now. You're in a magical dead zone." Billbert bristled. "I have a super power--not magic." The knight laughed. "Call it what you want. You can't use it down in the well." Suddenly, with a grunt and a scream, the old man toppled over the edge of the well and splashed into the shallow water. Billbert had only a moment to step out of the falling man's way. PLANET Z Thanks to the Happy Chip, everyone is satisfied with everything. The manufacturer's slogan is, after all, YOU WILL BE HAPPY. Is that a statement of fact, or is it a command. It certainly isn't a threat... is it? Sure, the law mandates that everyone living here has a Happy Chip installed. There are no penalties or fines involved. Anyone with a disabled, malfunctioning,

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. The captain ordered him to clean his fishtank. George enjoyed his new responsibility, and he decorated it with all kinds of pretty rocks and fish. As George learned more, he constructed bigger, more complex fishtanks. At one point, most of the ship's hold was taken up by George's fishtank. "ENOUGH!" shouted the captain. "It's beautiful, but we need room to store provisions, cannonballs, and powder kegs!" The next morning, the fishtank was gone. The captain smiled, until he realized that the ship was stuck inside an even bigger fishtank.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. He was always writing things down, but he never bothered to read any of his notes. So, he ended up writing even more things down. Which he also never read. Pretty soon, George was up to his neck in notes. "Stop writing so many notes," George wrote on a note, and he added it to the pile. Pretty soon, the entire ship was full of tons of useless notes. So full, it capsized and sank. George went down with the ship, having failed to read his "Replace lifeboat" note.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. While the other pirates raided towns, George would go see the local art museum. Not to loot it, mind you. He'd go there to see the art. He usually had to wake up early, before the other pirates, so he could see the art before they looted it. "Can you give me ten more minutes?" he told his fellow pirates. "There's a church across the street. Go loot it." George always felt guilty about the looting, and left a donation to the art museum. Which his fellow pirates looted.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. Instead of being concerned about the condition of his boat, he was more worried about the condition of his skin. The salt air of the sea and the tropical sun totally ruined his complexion. One night, George drank too much, and he passed out in a plate of guacamole. The next day, he woke up, face covered with the green goop. It was the perfect mask. For once, his skin felt great. Even if the other pirates thought "Gloppy Greenbeard the Pirate" weird for wearing it all the time.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. He held his cutlass wrong, and tended to strike people with the dull side of the blade. "NO!" shouted the cutlass coach. "Use the sharp end!" "Oh," said George, adjusting his grip. "How's this?" "That's even worse!" growled the coach. "If you strike with the flat of the blade, you'll shatter it." He took the cutlass out of George's hand, slapped him with it, and put it in George's hand properly. "Try that," said the coach. George stabbed the coach. "Much better," said George. "Thank you." He didn't respond.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. You know the term maroon? To be stranded on an deserted island. But also, a stupid person. Well, pirates tended to strand stupid people on deserted islands. And for all of his screwups, George got marooned by frustrated crewmates and captains a lot. Other pirate ships would sail by the islands and ask what George was doing there. He'd pull out a map and a shovel and start digging. "The treasure's here!" The other pirates would dig, and George would sneak on to their ship to escape the island.

Richard Lizzie Tom Serendipidy Tura Norval Joe Jared Planet Z The next weekly challenge topic is: Satisfied RICHARD Strong, and black The coffee shop can be found on the exterior rim of black hole M87. It orbits there, impossibly, ignoring the laws of physics, and doing a roaring trade in espressos and hot paninis. I particularly recommend their chocolate muffins, which are to die for. And, truth be told, die is what you most certainly will do. Because, although the coffee shop, itself, seems immune to the laws of time and space, its customers most certainly are not. But, whilst partaking of a decent coffee and chocolate muffin, at least you'll be crushed to atoms with a smile on your face. LIZZIE Forward, and they stretched their arms forward. Oblique, and they stretched their arms kind of sideways but not quite. Black hole, and they were confused. Stakes, and they were even more confused. One of them mimicked a vampire being stabbed. Everyone thought that was a good idea and did the same. "The point of this class is to open your mind. Express yourselves." That's when he said "I think I'm about to relapse and start killing people again. That stakes part triggered me a bit." The class was canceled due to a stampede of students exiting and never coming back. SERENDIPIDY When you receive the videotape, you can skip the first hour or so: There's nothing much to see, so you should fast forward to the good bit. You'll know you're there, when the lights flicker on, and your family appears -a cosy scene, all huddled up on the sofa watching their favourite TV programme. And it's only then that you realise that your family are not the only ones watching. I'm watching them, recording their activities, their conversations… Oh, and their rather disgusting indiscretions also. And, unless you pay me generously. The whole world will get to watch them too. TOM 888 Vinny had a Plan. Make it in Guinness with the larger collection of videotapes. He had a head start with 40 years of hording. People were happy to wheel-barrow their collections to Vinny, free for the taking in. Vinny also had an ace in the whole. He had a least at Area 51, which had the largest structure in the world. When the last cassette was wedged into the ceiling the guy from Guiness got out his tape measure. When the tip touches edge the end of magnetic tape it created a monster electric field. A black hole formed, everything vanished. As to the reason for my absence Just like the last Beatles single my friend, God rest his soul, lived on a long and winding road. It starts at the edge of the Upper-Upper San Francisco Bay were the lower-lower Sacramento bangs into it. It ends in the high valley plain which is my Lake County. Each end isn’t much to look at, but what is in between is the largest concentration of wineries in the world. We live in the low rent district of this corridor of wine wealth. So, we got a low rent district hospital. Here lies the problem in the time of Covid NORVAL JOE Once Billbert was sure Sabrina was following him to the well, he flew forward over the treetops until he came to the outer edge of a circular well. Before he landed, he dropped the old man so that the jerk hit the ground with a grunt. Sabrina ran up to Billbert as he reached the well and looked into the black hole of darkness below. "Linoliamanda?" he called. "Billbert? Is that you?" A familiar voice rose from the darkness. Without hesitation, Billbert leapt over the stone wall and jumped feet first into the cold water and the evil knight's trap. TURA Forward; Oblique --------- “Forward! Oblique! À l’extérieure! Bloquez, bloquez!” My fencing master soon reverts to French in our sessions. He says that it is the language of fencing, although the Spanish and German masters I have crossed swords with in the salle said ...

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. Still, he was enough of a pirate to be allowed into the Annual Pirate Talent Show. Lefty McGinty usually won the contest, somehow managing to juggle balls and spin plates despite having a hook for a hand. Devil's Eye Morgan shot targets off a cabin boy's head. Rummy Bill played a tune by blowing empty whiskey jugs. He had a lot of those. George folded paper into the shape of animals and things. "I learned this in Japan," he said. Devil's Eye Morgan shot each of them to bits.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. Good or bad, the punishment for piracy back in Ancient Rome was crucifixion. Soldiers stripped George, whipped him, and forced him to haul his cross to the hill where they'd execute him. Several others were in George's group, including a long-haired preacher who'd had his head capped in thorns. The governor let the crowd choose one prisoner to release. "Release Barbaras!" shouted the crowd. George sighed relief as the soldiers took him down from his mount. Then he mugged a guy for clothes and ran back to his ship.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. He was a bumbling, incompetent twit. Which is why the captain chose him as his first mate. Managers empowering their subordinates to be able to do their best? Hell no.They want to stay firmly entrenched in power, and to eliminate any threats to their job. George was the least likely of all pirates to pull off a mutiny. George was also the least likely to stop a mutiny. As the crew slipped the noose over the captain's neck, George laughed. "Know what's really funny?" The captain whispered, "You're next."

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. He once made a bet that he could go over Niagara Falls in a barrel. Being an untrustworthy pirate, he had a trick up his sleeve: his shipmates would seal him into a barrel, but send a duplicate empty barrel over the falls. Then, when it was time to open the barrel, they'd switch again and open George's barrel. The problem was, George's shipmates were also untrustworthy pirates. And they were the ones that George had made the bet with. The roar of the falls muffled George's desperate screams.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. Whenever he saw another pirate with a hook hand or pegleg, he'd cringe at the thought of getting hurt that badly. He kept a first aid kit with him, and if he got as much as a paper cut, he'd spray Bactine on it, slather on antibiotic, and then cover it with a Band Aid. Not a small one either. One of the big ones. Then he'd wrap it all in medical tape. His crewmates liked to pull the bandages off of George slowly, just to watch him wince.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. When he rowed his boat, he didn't row it gently down the stream. Nor did he row it merrily. He was usually quite angry when he rowed his boat. Usually, because his shipmates had put him in the rowboat while he slept, cut the mooring line, and sailed off. George rowed as hard as he could, and then he'd get out his spyglass and try to locate the ship. That's when George would wake up from the dream... And he was still in the boat, exhausted, dying of exposure.

Scribbling Wren Richard Lizzie Tom Serendipidy Tura Norval Joe Jared Planet Z The next weekly challenge topic is: PICK TWO Forward, Oblique, Exterior, Black hole, Videotape, Stakes SCRIBBLING WREN The New Term Paul has changed his name. It’s helped him get a job at one of the most exclusive private schools in the country. Their intake is small but each year there’s always a few new girls. He’s working as a caretaker and is upstairs cleaning when they arrive. He props on his mop to watch the parade of posh cars screech to a halt on carefully combed gravel. The girl’s uniforms are crisp, with blazers slightly too long in the arm. There’s a smell of freshly sharpened pencil lingering in the air. He licks his lips ready for a clean start. RICHARD Sharp intake of breath My sharp intake of breath had nothing to do with my son, against all odds, getting good exam results. You might think it was because, totally unexpectedly, he had straight 'A's in every subject he'd taken, but even then, you'd be wrong. You'd be getting slightly warmer if you thought my shocked expression and nervous laugh were consequences of learning that his success had secured him a place at the top university in the country. But, that's still not it. My sharp intake of breath was solely due to the obscene amount it would cost me to send him there! LIZZIE They told him no one would force him to eat only fruit and he was fine with that. He would eat meat too. "Not here, you won't," they said, smiling that placid smile of veggie eaters. But he knew what to do. He'd eat their fruit and then he'd sneak out. He was only there because she forced him to go. "You need to lose weight." Well, not by eating a ton of fruit, he thought. When they caught him at the local diner, eating a steak, they cried. "Poor animal." He was offended and replied "I'm not an animal!" TOM And the moment passed Barry stared at a square foot of the wall in front of him. Every molecule of that square chronicled his life and though not judgmental mocked him all the same. He had taken a job as an intake clerk. A summer job which would lead to a position of power and importance. He was going places. What happen to poor Barry can only be explained as the weight of the Patrick Principle: you lower to the level of your least skill. If there is a glass ceiling there has to be a glass floor. On it is written: Intake clerk. As the reason for my Absence To understand how my oldest friend ended his life turfed from one medical corporation to another we’ll need a bit of geographic background. California is insanely wealthy. No, I mean streets paved with gold wealthy. Each part of the state has its own product of wealth. Hollywood, Silicon Valley, Militar Industrial Complex, damn Tesla. Our little corner of paradise is grapes. In Wine Country families rule and the head of those family fear nothing so much as the dark shadow of death. You can’t believe the amount of cash they pour into hospitals. Heavy on cardio, we are talking wings SERENDIPIDY Weight control is simple: It's just a matter of balancing food intake with how much energy you expend. Eat less, move more and you'll lose weight. On the other hand, eat more and move less, and the pounds will pile on. Since you're unable to move at all, and the feeding tube is working overtime, I think you can see where this is going… And, once you're so obese you couldn't move, even if you wanted to, I'm going to slit your throat, cut you into pieces, and enjoy feasting on your flesh. I'll freeze whatever I can't use immediately. TURA Tura Brezoianu Attachments Sat, Apr 22, 5:43 PM (13 hours ago) to me Intake --------- "I'm God. Ask me anything." A sharp intake of breath went through r/AMA, and the questions started. "Why is there evil?" "You run the show, that's the deal."

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. He tried to learn more, but records at Star Fleet Academy were spotty on that historical subject. George did his best to fill in the gaps with books and movies. He put on an attempt at an authentic pirate outfit and went to the holodecks. "Holodeck, start Program George One," said George. The computer said "Simulation ready," and opened the doors. George walked through the archway and on to a wooden plank. "Uh oh," said George. He felt a cutlass point at his back, and fell into the water.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. "Instead of dividing up shares based on senority, let's have some fun!" George stuffed a pinata with treasure from the last raid and hung it from the mast. "Everybody gets three swings. When the pinata bursts open, you can grab what you can from what falls out, okay?" The pirates with hooks for hands complained that they'd only be able to grab half as much as others. The ones with peglegs complained that it was hard to bend over. In the end, they strung up George and beat him.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. When George was in Pirate School, other pirates would ask to cheat off of George's exam papers. Because George wasn't smart at most pirate subjects, they'd end up failing, too. That's when George came up with the brilliant idea for him to cheat off of all of their exam papers. Sure enough, everyone passed. Including George. "You're a genius, George!" the other pirates said. "When we graduate, we'll need a genius like you aboard!" George peaked early, but when you think about it, did he ever peak at all?

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. One day, while taking practice with a cannon, he heard an awful scream. A flying kid in green tights fell out of the sky and landed in the water. Then, a trail of sparks flew into George's face. Tinkerbell bitched him out for killing Peter. "Wait, you aren't Captain Hook," the angry pixie squeaked. "Who the Hell are you?" George grabbed her, stuffed her into a jar, and used her as a night light. Until the light began to fade, because he forgot to poke holes in the lid.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. When the ship ran low on food supplies, George was in charge of rigging up fishing lines and catching enough to feed the crew until they made it to port. George really liked to fish, but he wasn't very good at it. Half the time, he'd throw the rod into the water while casting the line. In the end, George didn't catch any fish, and he used up the rest of the ship's food as bait. The crew tied up George and used him as bait for catching sharks.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. To keep George distracted from pirate duties, like firing cannon or standing on dead men's chests, the captain assigned George to take care of the ship's cat. The cat's job was to catch bilge rats. George decided that more cats would mean more bilge rats caught. But that led to an overpopulation of cats. George bought some dogs to hunt the cats. And then some bears to hunt the dogs. Pretty soon, the ship was packed with angry, vicious animals. The crew hid in the bilge with the rats.

Scribbling Wren Richard Lizzie Tom Serendipidy Tura Norval Joe Jared Planet Z The next weekly challenge topic is: Intake SCRIBBLING WREN/LISA “Better now? Now?” Sally the optician had stopped caring before Harry sat in the chair. Harry wasn’t bothered either. He’d made ‘Silly Mistakes’ at work so they’d sent him for an eye test but they were paying and it was in company time. “Better now?” He started randomly saying what made him see clearer. “Better now?” Sally didn’t notice and prescribed glasses that would make things much worse at Harry’s work. The receptionist who was concentrating on counting the hours’ til home time typed the amount wrong in the card reader, this mistake quadrupled the bill. No one ever noticed. RICHARD All this… I remember the day my father stood at my side and proclaimed, "One day, all this - as far as the eye can see - will be yours." I looked at him cynically. "But, dad, I can only see as far as the back wall, that's what… Twenty feet?" He nodded sagely, "Therein lies an important lesson. You're stuck with what life gives you. Even if it's small, appreciate its worth." I took his words to heart, sold the land to a property developer for a small fortune, and bought a country estate that extends as far as the eye can see!" LIZZIE "As far as the eye can see, the blue ocean, a nothingness filled with promises of many tomorrows. A certainty of the soul. A timeless motion forward. Perhaps even..." "What on earth are you talking about, man?!" The raft drifted aimlessly. "We're lost. We're going to die and you're blabbering crazy stuff." "No, I'm not." "Yes. You'll start seeing things soon." "You mean... Like that dragon?" "Yes, like that dragon... Good grief man, there are no dragons." The dragon swallowed them whole and burped. Not tasty, not tasty at all. Skinny, dehydrated humans. Nope, never again. Heartburn was a killer. TOM Major Tom As far as the eye can see there were stars. It takes a bit getting uses to the stationary effect. On earth the stars spin across the horizon. In space the dance is frozen. With no up or down or much of a right or left the sense of fall is overwhelming. I time my breathing to the beating of my heart and fix my focus a single star. The light I see left that star millions of years ago. Any civilization that light fell upon has long since turn to dust. When the oxygen runs out so will I. As To the Reason for My Absence I didn’t write for about a year. Figure it was the end of my podcasting career. From time to time, I would listen to the challenge, I noted Norval Joe was close to having his first 100 stories in a row. I wanted to celebrate that milestone, so I wrote a story to him. Then one the next week. One foot in front of the other. That was many years ago, over a decade. I have Phil to thank for my return. I promise myself I would never let events keep me from post weekly. Then death two happen: Jim SERENDIPIDY It crops up all over the place: On banknotes, coats of arms, seals, and in the insignia of clubs, societies and religious orders, all over the world. It is the All-Seeing-Eye, and it pervades every aspect of our lives, watching our activities, monitoring our every move, and overseeing our transactions. Nothing is hidden, nothing is secret and our lives are laid bare before it. It's watching you, and you'd better be sure that what it sees is good, wholesome and charitable. Because, there will be consequences! And, as far as the eye can see, yours will be unfortunate! TURA As far as the eye can see --------- God created three minor gods, who knew God not. They contended who should rule the world. "I will have as far as the eye can see," said the first, whose eyesight was so sharp he could see the back of his own head. He rules the lands of the Earth.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. He wasn't very good at reading maps or compasses, so when he thought he was heading to Barbados, he was actually heading North. "Is it getting cold or what?" said George, shivering. The crew dodged ice floes as they attempted to steer South. Sleet tore at the sails, and they barely survived a fierce blizzard. Enough snow accumulated on the deck for a snowball fight and to make a snowman. The crew bound and gagged George, and packed snow around him. And they put George's hat on its head.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. Other pirates had cool names, like Blackbeard and Captain Hook. George was just George the Pirate. He tried out a lot of names, but his shipmates refused to use any of them. "You'll always be George the Pirate to us," they said. Everywhere he went, he was George the Pirate. Except for one. George walked in to the Red Cross and rolled up his sleeve. "I'm back," he said. "Ready to give more." "Welcome aboard, Captain Blood!" said the nurse. "Your usual cot?" George eased back, and he smiled.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. People had a hard time believing that George was a real pirate. Even at the Loebner Prize competition, where programmers build intelligent systems to beat the Turing Test, George still had a hard time. "I'm sitting right in front of you!" screamed George at the judges. "I'm a freaking pirate! PirateBot 3000 and AutoPirate are computers!" The competition's judges conferred. "No self-respecting pirate would act in that manner," they said, making marks on their clipboards. In a huff, George went home. CaptainBot 3000 told him to swab the deck.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. Unlike other pirates, who had parrots, George had a pet rat. He called it Bilgey. "It's a bilge rat," said George. "Purebred and everything, he's even got papers." "That damn thing has the plague," said the captain. "Throw it overboard." George pulled out the papers. "One of these says that he's an Emotional Support Animal. That means you have to let me keep him." The captain killed the rat and fed it to a mangy wharf dog. "Wait a day," said the captain. "You can keep what comes out."

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. He spent a lot of time on the bow, feeling the wind blow through his long flowing hair. So, the captain ordered his men to hold George down while he used his sword to shave George bald. George rubbed his hand against his bare scalp. "This feels kinda neat," he said. And he stood on the bow and felt the wind blow across his head. "This is so much cooler," said George. "I totally dig this. Thank you, Captain." The captain threatened to remove George's head with a cannon.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. Most pirates aren't interested in science and technology, unless it has something to do with swords and weapons and sailing. George was interested in telephones and communication technology. In fact, he was the reason why Alexander Graham Bell said "Watson, come here, I need you." George had burst into Bell's lab, all excited to have found his hero. Bell was surprised by the sight of a pirate breaking into his lab, so he called for Watson. They drove off George, who shrugged and went away, looking for Thomas Edison.

Scribbling Wren Richard Lizzie Tom Serendipidy Norval Joe Tura Jared Planet Z The next weekly challenge topic is: As far as the eye can see SCRIBBLING WREN The Blinding In the beginning was the bird. One bird: a magpie, with an ‘oil in a puddle’ sheen across his outstretched wing. They had said a single magpie was bad luck, but then hordes arrived. A global power outage shut down all communication, if the internet still worked Hitchcock would almost certainly be trending on Twitter. The first to be enucleated was a toddler playing on the swings. His whelps swept across the grass, met more chilling screams before horror filled the park. With an iridescent flash, the attackers disappeared as quickly as they’d come. But the darkness had already fallen. RICHARD School’s Out I was never cut out to be a teacher, not just because I hated kids and - let's be honest, kids tend to hate me too - but I was also horribly ill-suited to the job. The school I taught at was so understaffed, we had to turn our hands to almost any subject. No problem for my more academically inclined colleagues, but when you're a sports coach, teaching chemistry is, at best, hit and miss! I made most of it up, scrawling incomprehensible, unintelligible formulae on the blackboard. The class: blinded by pseudo-science! Somehow, I got away with it. TOM Marleen Walker Marleen Walker glided across the checked linoleum tiles towards the old brown easy-chair. A lingering hint of Old Spice and Luck Strikes brushed her cheek. She thought it was pretty funny how the scent of a person could with crystal clarity reconstruct her father’s presents. He lived the last six months in that ragged old chair. She could still mark out the decaying of his senses and towards the end the blinded of the light, both the inner and outer. Her body told her cry, but to so would be to cross a hard line. Later she said, always later. As To the Reason for My Absence Emuire was my cat. I taught her how to swear. And she did often. She did not care for the many other cats who would be abandon at out last house on the right below the tiny pump house on the hill. Emuire was a three legged cat and moved with a grace of motion you didn’t actually see you experienced it. Ask any owner of a three legged pet. Emuite lived to 15 and the day I had to force myself to the vet to end her pain all the stories in my head hide in a corner not available to me. SERENDIPIDY Do you know of anyone who actually has been blinded by looking directly at the sun? I'm pretty sure you don't, and I'm equally sure that, at some point in your life, you've given it a go yourself, just for a moment, perhaps just through barely open eyelids? Right? Did it blind you? Maybe it hurt a little, and no doubt you were troubled by disorientating after images, but you weren't blinded were you? Nobody ever is. Let me tell you why you really shouldn't look at the sun. Better still, take a look for yourself, a good long look! LIZZIE Dusk set in. The black panther remained seated on his pedestal, his back to the water, watching the humans getting ready to wrap up their day. It was that time again. They didn't know. But that old witch had taught him well. She had showed him who to snatch and when. The next morning, they would wonder. How? Why? When? Who did this? As the morning approached, he'd go back to being a statue. A statue on his pedestal, the one they revered, the one they looked up to for protection. Dusk set in and he waited on his pedestal. TURA Blinded ———— Deprived of ordinary vision, the Blind Sage speaks with inner vision. Petitioners must make an arduous mountain ascent of many days to speak with him. One asked, “How can I become rich?” The sage answered, “Want what you have.” He asked again, “No, I mean, how can I get lots of money?”

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. He wished he was a good pirate. He blew out all the candles on his birthday cake and made a wish. Nope. He carried around a birthday cake and shouted if it was anybody's birthday. When someone said "Yes" he'd light the candles and demand that they blew them out and wish that George was a good pirate. "Say it out loud," he'd say. "Or I'll have ye guts for garters." Nope. Still didn't work. But he did make some good money as a novelty birthday telegram that way.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. You know that pirate in the "Whiskey in the Jar" song? In that song, a pirate stole a bunch of money from some other pirate, brought it home to his chick, and then she got him drunk and set up a murder scheme that left her rich, the other pirate dead, and the guy in prison? Well, that wasn't George. George wasn't the guy in prison, the dead guy, or even the chick who set them both up. And he sings that song way off key in karaoke bars.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. If he had a hammer, he wouldn't hammer in the morning, evening, or all over this land. Nor would he hammer out love between his brothers and sisters. Imagine, for a moment, George waving a hammer in your face, ordering you to love your brothers and sisters. Because, if you take that literally, it's kinda sick. Almost like incest. No, just no. It's just plain wrong. Thank goodness that George doesn't have a hammer. Or a bell. Or a song. He just has a sword. Because he's a pirate.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. He was a good friend, though. I could always count on George. Whenever I felt tired, or sad, or lonely, George was there. He'd sit by my bed, telling adventure stories while drinking from his jug of whiskey. I'd close my eyes and imagine the faraway places George had seen. All the treasure he'd held, pieces of eight running through his fingers. Whispering "Good night" he'd turn off the lamp. Climbing out the window, leaving behind his whiskey jug. By the time I was twelve, I was in rehab.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. He made up for it by volunteering for the Port Royal Symphony. George swept the floors, copied sheet music, and performed a variety of menial, but helpful chores. The director was impressed by George's efforts. "We're planning to perform Tchaikovsky's 1812 Overture next month," said the director. "Can you ask your pirate friends to provide the final volley of cannon fire?" George gladly agreed. His shipmates didn't quite understand the request, and ended up laying waste to the concert hall. George picked up a broom, and began sweeping.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. He also wasn't a very good hunter. Instead of setting traps for animals, he'd run after them, failing his cutlass around wildly and shouting obscenities. George was chasing a strange rabbit in a waistcoat when he fell down a deep hole. He encountered a bunch of talking animals, which he killed and stuffed into his canvas bag. As he climbed out of the hole, a little girl accused him of murdering her friends from Wonderland. George stuffed her into the bag and sent a ransom note to her family.

Richard Lizzie Tom Serendipidy Norval Joe Tura Jared Planet Z The next weekly challenge topic is: Blinded JARED WC 883 PICK TWO A Hip Double Dip No one could figure out why Roderik spent $12,000 a year for membership in an obscure historical heritage society. They thought the Gothic Heritage and Historical Society sounded made up and pointless. As far as he saw it, it was money well spent. As a history teacher with traceable Visigothic ancestry, he got his membership for half price. As a member, he gets tax credit for the dues, and exemptions on his presidential salary. The group is tax exempt for all donations they receive. And as long as no one tattles, he can keep on being the only member. WC 884 Shenanigans Shenanigans “Shenanigans!” The bar fell silent. “I. Call. SHENANIGANS!” The old man repeated, bellowing. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” responded Steven, hesitantly. “By the terms laid out in the 2036 Treaty of TikTok, which ended the Internet Prank Wars, you’ve attempted an April Fool’s joke, and I’ve called you on it,” Old Man McCluskey lectured. There was a mixed response from the rest of the patrons, but most of them nodded in acquiescence of McCluskey’s irrefutable legal standing. “As is now my right,” he continued, “I will administer the public flogging with the requisite wet noodle. Now bend over.” NORVAL JOE Billbert felt Sabrina's forehead. He was in a quandry. He needed to get her cooled down. He also needed to take advantage of the chaos caused by pulling the roof from the cabin to save Linoliamanda. He struggled to get Sabrina over one shoulder and leapt into the air. Landing in the back room of the cabin, he looked for his friend. The old man burst into the room, shouting, "What shenanigans are going on here?" Billbert gritted his teeth. "That's a good question. Where is Linoliamanda?" The man scoffed. "What did you expect, that I would bring her here?" SERENDIPIDY The night of the full moon is when we get up to all kinds of shenanigans. It starts innocently enough, with knocking on doors and running away, but soon progresses to vandalism, bricks through windows, breaking and entering and kidnap. Then we drag our hapless victims onto the hillside, strip them naked and cut out their hearts on the sacrificial altar as an offering to the gods. After, it's back down to the village for a communal supper in the community hall. It's tradition, and traditions die hard around these parts. So do those who choose to complain about us! TURA Shenanigans --------- Shenanigans are benign swellings that develop on the flanks of elderly Alsatian dogs. No, actually they're maggotty cysts that develop on the bellies of horses. When mature, they drop off and split open on the ground. The emerging horseflies go on to lay their eggs in the bellies of horses, continuing the cycle. No, the Shenanigans are an Irish rock band. It's an Irish version of cullen skink. It's an Irish jig. It’s a metaphorical jig: “dancing the shenanigans” means underhanded tricks. It's a word game of making up new meanings for everyday words. What do you think it means? TOM Descended from Kings I grew up a third generation American Irish. Which isn’t as bad as being third gen American German, but not as cool as being seventh generation North American French. So, what do get after a century of assimilation, basically what George Carlin would call the: ear. You key in on the sounds that sound Irish. Take shenanigans. Yup, Irish that. We got a pretty good idea about what it means, but what does it mean. Etymologists say it might come from the Irish "sionnachuighim," meaning "I play the fox. To pull a shenanigan is prompt a greater one in return. As To The Reason for my Absence In the 100-word challenge there are a number of mythic designations.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. On the introvert/extrovert scale, George tested heavily towards introvert. He kept to himself. Other pirates caroused together in social situations. "It's hard to have a battle if you don't engage with others," said the captain. "I can fire a cannon," said George. "That's a productive engagement from a distance." The captain thought for a moment. "Okay, then congratulations on your promotion to anchor supervisor," he said. "Thank you," said George. So when do I start?" "Now," said the captain, as George was chained to the anchor. "Weigh anchor!"