Crappy, Frustration, Biped

“…and this cow is Crap. Some of her progeny are crap-py.”

“Crap?”

“Common Ruminant with an Appetite for Pasta.”

“Some of her calves…?”

“Love pasta. Lasagna is popular. As is fettuccini. But some aren’t crap-py at all.”

“Uh huh. So why…?”

“I have but a single frustration - the crap-py ones are Biped.”

“They walk on two legs?”

“Don’t be ridiculous! They are Bloated as Indicated by Perpetually Elongated… ah hem.”

“Ah hem?”

“You know! Oh I suppose it could have been Bipep or Bipem, but Biped sounded better.”

“You need to work on your naming conventions, Frank.”

People, Private, Elastic

You know me. Or know of me. I think.

I was one of five men who embodied the best known undergarment on TV. We were on posters, magazine ads, billboards.

I was a Fruit of the Loom guy. The grapes.

The other guys and I are all private people now, ensconced in our Beverly Hills homes, hiding from the paparazzi. Or that’s what we’d hoped for. We were popular! But now I go to auditions and even before I open my mouth, the director will say “I don’t think your acting is as elastic as it needs to be.”

Funny.

Grace, Fate, Hit

Madame Margot faced her new tribulation, her trial, with grace. Perhaps because she licked the algae growing on her prison cell wall. So… not graceful. More like catatonic. One jailor said, because she was licking cell walls, she was stoned. (And you wondered where that saying came from.)

She figured Fate had dictated she be caught for witchcraft. Never mind she considered herself an old fraud (with an accidental conversation with the otherworld here and there) - the judge and jury had quickly condemned her.

The latest hit wearing off, she looked up. Her rich patron stood there. Dare she hope? 

Chief, Prolong, Select

The fire burned low; stars glowed overhead. Dozens of chiefs sat in a circle, quiet, contemplating. The pipe was reloaded three times with select herbs to accommodate all the attendees.

Some sat still, others swayed gently like a blade of grass in a breeze.

From within the circle, a prolonged fart.

An elderly man, lined of face and grey of hair, snickered, immediately followed by a distant horse whickering. Chuckles from various points fed an improper levity, until a grave looking elder started 
howling loudly.

The Keeper of the Pipe asked her assistant, “Which herbs did you use?”

“Those.”

“Ah.”

Whisper, Job, Mistake

“Mister Caruthers! I must admit that your tenacity is impressive, but for the fact that you, sir, are at work. You have, for the time being anyway, a job and that does not include, in any description I have read for that position, a reference to whispering to parties unknown while standing in a closed stall standing on a piece of porcelain. It is a mistake, sir, to think that by simply exiting the office and entering a place of evacuation that the rules of which I speak are somehow nullified. Nothing is further from the truth! To your desk.”

Big, Smart, Lose

“Uncle Jason? Wanna hear a joke?”

“Sure Carmen. Tell me your joke.”

“Ok. So! Once upon a time, there was a pretty princess and she was very sad and and and…”

“Is this a story, Carmen? Or is it a joke?”

“This is a joke Uncle Jason. It’s funny. Ok. So! The pretty princess was very sad and… *Jason tries to maintain attention*… but the giant, he was very big but he wasn’t dumb at all, he was smart and… *Jason looks for Carmen’s mom, who has slipped upstairs to take a bath*… but she lose’d it. The end.”

*Snore*

Torn, Formula, Posh

It’s awkward, being the only chemist at a posh fund raiser aimed at allowing me and my colleagues to continue our work. Abby, the organizer of this shindig and CEO of my company, warned me that I’d have to do a ten-minute presentation that explains my work but at the level of a second-grade science class. My head is about to explode, trying to hold onto the formula-free talk while also trying not to baby talk the deep pockets present.

It was minutes before my bit so I used the washroom. Somehow, my fly got torn. *Sigh*

Smooth, Larder, Truce

“While Channels 1, 2, and 3 haven’t changed their lineup in a while, Channel 4 has come up with a new concept in the reality TV genre. Imagine four dysfunctional families living in a modified fourplex: four living spaces with one shared larder. The pilot ran last night and surprisingly, it was compelling entertainment.

“Greg Gagne is a smooth but conniving villain. While negotiating a truce between two other families, he simultaneously raided the larder, blamed the third family, and has ended up a political mastermind.

“This is Martin Hockney for TV guide. I look forward to next week’s episode.”

Incident, Preamble, Necessitate

“Senator, sorry to interrupt…”

“Jackson! I’m trying to get the preamble to this legislation right. Just go, Jackson.”

“But Senator…”

“What is it Jackson? I have to get this right before tomorrow morning, or the “Keep Llama Farmers Farming Act” won’t see the light of day.”

“There’s been an incident. In the Rotunda.”

“What?”

“Yes ma’am. That’s why the sirens have been going off.”

“Sirens?”

“Yes ma’am. They’re going off necessitates evacuating the offices.”

“Are you sure there are sirens going off?”

“More than certain Senator. Can’t you hear them?”

“Hang on - I’m wearing my noise-cancelling earplugs… Ah! Loud!!!”

Feel, Meal, Zeal

I’ve been down the Lower Cascades

Just me and Ma and her lady’s maid

And it was something surreal

Maybe it was the lack of shade

That caused all colour to fade

To a really pale shade of teal

Now you may think t’was just me

That thought that was a sight to see

But everyone chorused with zeal

That everything they could see

Weren’t quite blue and weren’t quite green

Even the food for our meal

So we tried to get out real quick

And that was quite a trick

‘Cause we had to work it out by feel

Cascade, Drown, Giant

Air is a blessing. I wasn’t thinking that as I lay on the shore, grateful to be alive. In fact, I had no thought other than trying to claw my way out of the river, the giant rapids failing to drown me. But just barely.

I’d been an idiot and not taken the rapids seriously. My canoe had ridden up a rock, lodged there, and began taking on water from behind. I tried to move, hoping the boat would dislodge itself. And it did, by flipping over. Water cascaded over me.  Until it freed me, pushing me onto land.

Reluctant, Encounter, Fanciful

Ross held the ugly Christmas sweater at arm’s length, studying it, wondering if it would slip itself on to him in the middle of the night; some kind of knitted ambush. It’d been left on his step. It had to have been his mother - she always insisted on making new ones for everyone each year. She’d outdone herself this time.

His thoughts turned whimsical, fanciful. Why couldn’t he just skip this year’s holiday encounters, avoid the conversations and relations he knew would have him reaching for the hard booze shortly after arriving?

But duty called. Reluctantly, he put it on.

Divest, Board, Final

Chad, board cradled next to him, eyed the surf. He’d been blissing with Mother Nature, taking the violent surging of the sea and carving majestic paths. It was magic, riding tidal power. Nothing compared.

It was getting late; time for his final go. He looked up and down the beach; no one in sight.

Still looking out at the sea and the horizon, he slowly began to divest himself of his surf suit. Seconds later, naked, he readied himself to enter the ocean. But… he wanted to be closer to nature; he swam out for a long body surf.

Chef, Rocket, Flush

A chef, a bartender, a waitress, and a maitre d play a game of cards.

Says the chef, “Are you all cooking something up?”

Says the bartender, “Have you been drinking?”

Says the waitress, “Hoping for something special?”

Says the maitre d, “I set it on the bar.”

The waitress flushes. “We hope you like it.”

The chef perks up. “Did you…?”

The maitre d points. “Take a look.”

The bartender pours champagne. “Take a lot of pictures.”

On the bar is a ticket, one of the first issued, to ride a rocket and stay overnight on the Moon.

Chocolate, Sandal, Cheek

Memories don’t fade as time passes; they lose their lustre. Colour fades, sound muffles, air feels like it’s full of cotton. At least that’s how movies portray memory over time. My memories followed suit.

She was young, wild, and free. She brought out a side of me I had never known existed. I can see her, grey, in sepia shorts and sandals. The chocolate she feeds me tastes like cardboard and looks like lumpy gravy. Her touch on my cheek, lifeless, and cold lips lightly touch mine.

I’ve watched these scenes too much, worn them out. Drained them of meaning.

Poach, Grip, Innocent

She grips my arm, hard; her face boiling with emotional agony. “Do you not understand how inhumane it is to do this? What sort of creature, what type of animal does this? How can you take something so innocent, so pure, and destroy it so thoroughly? And I thought you were such a great guy…”

Tears stream down her face, cheeks drenched. Her lips curl like they’re in pain. She’s doubled over and I stand helplessly staring, trying to understand.

“I thought you liked poached eggs?”

Which brings on more crying. “Eggs!”

She’s taking fertility drugs. Do they ever suck.

Scruples, Test, Rapid

“Thank you, Thomas, for sitting down with us today. As you know, the law firm of Wesson and Smith hires only the best and brightest. We need to test you, rapid fire, to make sure your scruples are in line with ours.”

“Thank you sir, I…”

“Client steals company secrets and sells them to a competitor.”

“First we need to get ahead of the news and…”

“Prosecutor announces an indictment and all parties are cooperating.”

“Then we need to find the weak link and convince that party…”

“Bribe?”

“If necessary.”

“Threaten?"

“Excuse me?"

“Murder?"

“Are you crazy?”

“Thank you. Next!”

Crescent, Silo, Threaten

They called themselves the Silo Dancers of Robertsville (Kansas). On the First of May every year, they’d give a local silo the maypole treatment. Over the course of an evening (and a few kilometres of ribbon and several bottles of whiskey), they’d wrap the silo in fabric. It’d take the owner days to unwrap it.

Mitch Mickelsen got wind that his silo was this year’s target. He threatened legal action against the assumed organizers (and more physical deterrence courtesy of his crescent wrench), but all for naught; someone slipped him a mickey. When he came to, his silo was wrapped.

Grade, Cream, Whistle

“A warm welcome to our new viewers; especially to those of you who were watching competitive crocheting on channel 381. We’re deep in this year’s bird whistle competition and right now it’s Edmond Smalls holding quite the conversation with a Golden Cream Budgie. He’s truly brought his A game with him and the budgie is treating him like a long lost sibling. Amazing. The judges are sure to grade him with top marks. Frankly, I think this competition is over. However, Emily Fussbudget is doing her best to impress the judges with her conversation with a magpie. Let’s listen in…”

Offset, District, Phrase

In the district offices of Mrs. Candidate, a problem emerged. An ad linking the candidate to a massive factory closure introduced a phrase, an earworm of sorts, that hung around her neck like an albatross.

The debate formulating the rebuttal took on a desperate air. The national chief strategist’s best idea was to disregard the negative ad, to offset the implications with her well known accomplishments, but the candidate thought it was tepid, cautious, lacklustre.

Mrs. Candidate decided to film a publicity stunt, if only to distract the public. Unfortunately, her duet with Celine Dion seemed desperate and backfired badly.

Airport, Exit, Helpless

Somebody’s going to die. If I don’t do it, someone else will. Or maybe we both will. I’m good with that.

Stuck on a plane, sitting on the ground for six hours, the air conditioning off, the sun baking us like eggs on a sidewalk. I feel helpless and angry. Killing a fool will help, if only to open the goddamn door. There doesn’t seem to be any other way to exit this rolling microwave.

The toilets are overflowing. I can smell it.

Who’s the idiot in the airport tower holding us here? He deserves my grip round their neck.

Live, Plunge, Screen

Scott grew up with what his mother called “healthy scepticism” but which his friends called “debilitating paranoia”. His primary foe was Nature. Biting and stinging insects wanted to attack him. Trees mocked him, their creaking limbs sending shivers of fear up his back. Animal scat of every variety would wind up on his porch - just on the other side of a screen door.

Scott desired to be free. He was determined to make a change. He wanted to live! So one night, after several drinks, he took the plunge and danced in the rain naked, laughing hysterically.

He was cured.

Socket, Crystal, Judge

“So the cop’s got my arms twisted behind my back and I’m like ‘Hey! You’re gonna pop the socket!’ but does he let up? Hell nah. He just starts mouthing off, and you know that I’d’ve taken a crack at that wise ass but there’s me bent over the car and I’m thinking ‘You gonna buy me flowers when we’re done here?’. Geez!

“Next day I’m in front of the judge and she’s telling me how she only wants the truth from me, ‘clear’? And I say ‘crystal’. So she asks me everything and I say nothing.”

*Shrug*

“Thug’s life.”

Seed, Table, Upload

Hydroponics has always sought to maximize food production without the need for soil. Max, however, took it to the next level. Each and every seed was given its own place within a large matrix grid of light and nutrients. Tables and graphs related to each node in that grid were uploaded every day to help him analyze yields in detail.

Max’s work has been able to increase yields by 5.2%, which can be the difference between hundreds of thousands of people starving and being able to eat.

While a call from the Nobel Committee may eventually come, Max doesn’t care.

Surround, Lavender, Unilateral

She stood pressed against the white spiked fence, gazing longingly at the lavender-covered main house and associated grounds. Behind the grove of trees, lay the swimming pond with the white sand beach she’d been happy to sunbathe on years ago.

Hands gripped the slender metal spires that formed the primary way to keep outsiders out. It completely surrounded the estate, separating it and everyone in it from the rest of the world.

It’d been a harsh lesson. Acting in a unilateral fashion wasn’t necessarily welcomed, but success had to be the result for assured forgiveness. She’d failed.

Tears fell.

Gold, Serene, River

History recorded plenty of incidents proving Josiah Hornsnackle, gold miner, “forty-niner”, and milliner, was weird. Not quirky. Weird.

Armed with pitchfork, shovel, dynamite, tools, supplies, and a very fine hat brush, he travelled from Connecticut to California to pan for gold.

Eschewing the huge camps occupied by hundreds of people all with the same idea, he chose a spot far further south, almost across the Mexican border. The river was deep and slow, the setting serene. But boring. So he hired a mariachi band to entertain him.

Never finding gold, he paid the band with outrageously huge hats.

Index, Lapse, Incorrigible

…the Dow Jones Industrials plummeted 15% today while the Composite Index fell just over ten on concerns that a new trade war with Belarus will drag the fiftieth largest trade block into retaliatory...

Dzmitry shook his head; he’d invested a large amount of money into the Belarusian market. Maybe it’d be a lapse of judgement; would the sixtieth largest trade block be safer? The Sierra Leone market - would it fare better?

He was one of the last stock market investors. Some said he was eternally optimistic, others called him an incorrigible risk taker.

Time to call a broker in Africa.

Earth, Inept, Sold

“Griknog, you appear to be an up and coming Snorkvak. And do you know what every Snorkvak needs? Their very own planet.”

“What’s this you say, Snnorrse? I know that all you Psneeks are shysters.”

“What’s this you say Griknog? You offend me. Perhaps I mistook you for someone who could help me and benefit yourself at the same time.”

“Speak, Snnorrse.”

“My countrypsneeks tricked me out of a large sum of money. All I have left is my planet, Earth. If I sold it, perhaps to you, I’d have capital to fight back.”

“You are an inept salespsneek, Snnorrse.”

Bark, Loath, Furry

Princess Park, the retirement community for Princesses, was the scene of a most dreadful event, at least to she of Princess and the Pea fame.

Pea tried to be polite when Snow White answered her door. “I’m loath to say anything, especially given you leaving those adorable woodland creatures behind, but one of your furry friends whom you adopted in lieu has been barking all night. I can’t sleep!”

“Oh Pea, I know how sensitive you are, which is why I put Grumpy (he was my favourite), in the basement at night.”

“Could you maybe soundproof the walls?”

“Already did.”

Partial, Rack, Telescope

Antonio Sperrigatozia had read the works of Galileo Galilei, especially those on observational astronomy. Antonio built his own telescope and began to make observations, verifying Galileo’s theory that the Earth wasn’t the centre of the solar system, let alone the universe.

However, Antonio didn’t have the protections Galileo had to keep him safe from the Church’s inquisition: Galileo got house arrest while Antonio got the rack.

Over the course of a week, Antonio was “encouraged” to deny his findings. But all they ever got was a partial recantation: “I have not directly observed it.”

Antonio died, his scientific truth uncompromised.