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."