Skeleton, Scare, Trick

There are nights when the dividing line between life and death narrows, thins. The dead sometimes reanimate, come back to life, for a night…

“Two skeletons walk into a bar.” The zombie telling the joke to the werewolf needed to be careful to not wave his arms too much while talking; the trick to any joke was not to unintentionally dismember yourself.

“Heard it already.” The werewolf was trying not to pace, but the intense bloodlust forced a loud HOWL!, scaring half the wrappings off the mummy.

“Mmmmm mmmm mm mmmmm mm.”

The zombie laughed. “That mummy told you off!”

Poster, Boot, Cross

“Look - it says ‘post no bills’, yes?”

“Yeah?”

“So if I post a bill, I’m posting, yes?”

“I guess.”

“And that would make me a poster.”

“Uh huh. What’s your point?”

“I’m going to be a poster by posting a poster about my posting business.”

“Your what?”

“I’m a contractor, specializing in installing fence posts. Thus, a ‘poster’”.

“Oh geez - are you saying you’re a poster who’s posting about being a poster?”

“Indeed. I’m a poster and a poster to boot.”

“Did you get hit on the head a lot as a kid? How did your wiring get so crossed?”

Security, Brain, Cheat

James stared at the exam paper, uncomprehending. The role of the amygdala in the parasympathetic response? What the hell had he done last night that he’d lost all his knowledge about the brain?

The sound of pencils scribbling madly on paper, all his fellow students regurgitating information, surrounded him, taunting, mocking.

Glancing around, he saw proctors and cameras everywhere. Security in med school was tight; no chance to cheat off someone else’s paper.

Was this going to be the end of his medical school career?

What to do? Give up? Sitting here was useless.

Could he retrace last night’s doings? 

Wide, Arm, Open

Who decided hockey skates should only have one blade per boot?

All these pads are heavy. Don’t know how those guys, my teammates, do it, move around and shoot and everything. Thank goodness Coach put me on defence.

I wish Dad hadn’t insisted I play. In a league, no less.

Oh crap, here they come. Oh geez. Oh rats. Oh…

How’d the puck get on my stick? With free ice in front of me?

Ok… don’t think… here we go!

The net is wide open! I can do this! I’m gonna score!

Arm the missile! Projectile puck is ready… Fire!

Behind, Stand, Company

“Do these pants make my ass look fat?”

In my defence, I hadn’t had my coffee yet. Or maybe it was those countless glasses of port last night; we’d had company until late (you know, the kind of party where people stand around discussing issues of the day and then it gets really late and everything becomes nonsensical).

Maybe it was the alcohol that hadn’t gotten around to leaving just yet that glanced at her behind and said “The pants aren’t helping.”

Ohhh man, hungover me is stupid.

My sudden need to vomit helped me forget my comment.

Yup - hungover.

Flummox, Wrought, Contain

On Mount Olympus, Infinity, God of Mathematical Mysteries, stood in judgement before Zeus, head bowed in submission.

Within the crack and roar of thunder, Zeus demanded “What hath thou wrought, miserable worm?”

Proud though he was, Infinity stuttered with shame. “I worked a problem for which a solution refused to appear. Instead, the demon Flummox poured forth from my pen, energized by my frustration.”

Zeus roared to his court. “Can it be contained?”

Apollo answered, “It’s secure in a box in the care of Pandora.”

Zeus balefully nodded. “I banish you, Infinity, you and that infernal math you champion.”

Radical, Sheet, Yogurt

When my partner and I travel, we try different things. For instance, there was this spa in Bangkok where we spent a whole day. We did the exfoliating fish tank (you put in your feet and the fish eat the dead skin) but that was tame compared to another something we tried there: Yogurt Treatments.

At first it sounded pretty radical, but the staff told us that the yogurt has active cultures that are awesome for hair and skin. We decided to give it a go. I went with blueberry.

As a souvenir, we got the sheets we’d laid on. 

Difference, Respect, Allowance

“Pay gaps are a real and pernicious phenomenon in our society today. Financial equality for labour provided, regardless of irrelevant circumstances and factors, is incumbent on the employer.

“I am aware that my level of compensation, as compared to my coworker, while two years older, is inadequate despite the fact that we provide similar services.

“I therefore request a raise that addresses this difference.”

“You’re saying you want an increase in your allowance?"

“Indeed. Mark gets more and that translates to more respect. You don’t want to disrespect me, do you?”

“Six years old and talks like a lawyer. Fine.”

Squirrel, Brawn, Character

I need just one good idea. Just one fucking… gah!

Think think think think think thank tank rank stank. Stank. That’s all my ideas.

With just one good idea things would look up. Up. Uppity duppity up. Up.

Wasn’t there a movie? That old guy? Floating house? Talking dogs? That reference to the squirrel?

The squirrel.

Not with Bullwinkle. Not a flying squirrel. A strong squirrel. Brawny. Huge chest. Not a red s - that’s Superman. Maybe a brown nut on a yellow vest. Yeah!

Ok - this is my protagonist. Now for a cast of characters to flesh it out.

Yes!

Squeamish, Truthful, Castle

Knock knock

“Who is it?!?”

“Ma’am? Mrs. Abercrombie? I’m Officer Chandler. Would you mind coming to the door?”

“Why? I ain’t done nothing wrong!”

“Yes ma’am. We got calls from your neighbours. They’re concerned about you. Would you mind coming to the door, please?”

“This is my home! My castle! I don’t have to do nothin’!”

“Ma’am? If your living conditions are placing you in danger, I can enter with force.”

“Fine.”

The door cracked opened and a stench assaulted his nostrils. Truthfully, he didn’t want to go inside - he wasn’t normally squeamish, but this…

She desperately needed help.

Grove, Cracker, Adore

I’m a good boy. I’m a good boy. I’m a… oh boy. A bag of fishy crackers. I can reach it. No one’s watching. I adore fishy crackers. And reach… and mine.

I’m a hungry boy. I’m a hungry boy. I’m a… don’t drop it.

I can hide here, in this little grove of trees. I can… how do I open this bag?

Bite down and shake! Gggrrrrrrr.

Fishy crackers everywhere! Someone’s coming! *Whine* Eat eat eat eat eat… hi Dad?

He looks angry. *Whine* I’m a bad boy. I’m a bad boy.

Is he gone?

I’m a hungry boy!

Psychology, Burrow, Plane

Naked mole-rat expert Nate Moffat looked the part. Which is to say he had massive buck teeth, tiny eyes, and a skin condition that made it look like his neck was an ill-fitting sweater. He was an odd looking man. Or odd looking naked mole-rat.

Nate’s explanations of the psychology of these mammals was disturbing; listeners would start to take on strange mannerisms, some even beginning to burrow before snapping out of it.

When traveling, Nate used a naked mole-rat as a service animal. A fellow traveller on a plane thought it was a family member.

Tall, Hunt, Nation

It’s been said that no one can tell a tall tale better than a frontiersman. Keep the alcohol flowing and these gentlemen of the wilds and their stories will too. But no one could tell a taller tale than Bernie, geriatric proprietor of the frontier’s first Jewish deli.

Ol’ Jack said he wrestled a bear. Bernie shrugged. “Meh. I taught one the polka.”

Stinky claimed he’d killed ten men. Bernie laughed. “That all? I hunt all my own brisket, if you get my drift.”

Dutchie started to brag… Bernie crossed his arms. Said Dutchie, “C’mon Bernie!”

Bernie laughed. “I win.”

Oil, Ricochet, Hamburger

How do I cook my hamburger so that it melts in your mouth? Take notes my friend.

The meat must be fresh. Very fresh. People like to take old meat and grind it up. That’s wrong. It needs to be fresh.

Thin burgers are the way to go. Want more meat? Add another patty.

Fry it in oil. Hot oil. A drop of water dropped into the oil should not just hop out of the pan but ricochet around the room. The burger will float above the pan surface, cooking evenly.

Breads, condiments, spices: yuck! Needless mishmash.

Any questions?

Dawn, Mud, Regular

The search for arcane knowledge consumed him. The ability to wield life and death with ease demands a singular focus.

He’d forgotten his name. If anyone visited, they’d know for certain he’d forgotten his bathing regime. But he’d found a way to implant life in the most mundane of materials: mud.

Six months of preparation had led to this hour before dawn. With the rising of the sun his creation would stand, walk, breathe.

Glowing gossamer threads flowed from his hands, the Earth itself groaning, chanting.

Then, a voice. “Ugh. Where can a guy get a regular cup of mud?”

Gravel, Basket, Mushroom

“You hear about the new discovery at Pompeii?”

“That’s the Roman place that got wiped by Mt. Vesuvius, right?”

“Yeah. You know how they found people encased in ash, going about their daily business, then Wham!, right?”

“Yeah?”

“That one guy they found, doodlin’ his doodle, right?”

“Yeah?”

“They just found another guy, buried in ash at the bottom of a gravel pit.”

“Uh huh…”

“Yeah. He was totally trippin’ balls. They found a basket with some mushrooms next to him. His hand had one and he was just going to eat it, when Wham!”

“Dude - that is so wrong!”

Equal, Rogue, Phase

Rumpus SilentStrike peeked around the corner in the labyrinth, hoping to catch a glimpse of any enemies, traps, or hidden doors that might prevent him (and his party, sad though they are) from getting tons of loot. He stepped slowly around the corner…

“Hey! Whad’ya see?”

Rumpus turned. Seven people, dressed variously in robes and armour looked anxiously at him.

“Guys! I’m a Rogue! This is my job. I’ll let you know in a sec!”

A pompous mage looked down his long nose. “We have an equal right to know!”

*****

Chris hoped his young cousins’ D&D phase was short.

Ostentatious, Deliberate, Public

Elton John, David Bowie, Freddie Mercury - performers whose public personas were flamboyantly ostentatious. That’s not to say that it was their flair that made them famous, but it certainly helped to keep their fans entertained. And while I don’t have any fans yet, I’ll use outrageous style to gather my adoring peeps.

But… everything cool has been done already, and much of what isn’t cool has been too.

Hmmm… and if I try to set a trend deliberately, will it be seen as desperate and stupid?

And it costs money to pull this off…

Back to the drawing board… 

Office, Fan, Glory

Sam sat slumped at the bar, dejected. A half-drunk beer going flat, neglected.

Ah hell, can’t even rhyme it like Casey At The Bat.

What should have been his glory had ended like the aftermath of shit hitting a fan.

Every year at the company picnic, the office boys and the warehousemen would play a game of baseball; it was the source of bragging rights for the year.

Sam had played minor league ball; the guys had counted on him to contribute, even win it.

He’d gone zero for five with four errors.

He refused to blame food poisoning.

Law, Folly, Squeak

I’m focusing, I’m creating, I’m bringing reality to heel. I’m so excited I could squeak!

I am bringing into being LAU - the Law of Attraction University. I am sending out the vibes necessary to make it be and make it mine.

I am attracting an affordable internet plan for the platform I’ll need. And the most important part of that platform is the “Pay Now” button.

Now I shall… answer my phone.

“Hello?... Hey Becky… I’m making LAU. What’re you up to?… What do you mean you are too?… Gotta go.”

I’m focusing on Becky’s folly and smothering her intentions.

Octopus, Tripod, Grape

The single parent blues. I got ‘em. Let me sing my song.

The local aquarium had booked me to take some marketing photos of the exhibits. And of course, today was the day my daughter’s daycare unexpectedly had to send everyone home. Or to her mom’s workplace, in my case.

Grapes in hand, she was good about staying out of too much mischief. Thankfully. Management wasn’t amused and only superficially understanding. She did weave through the legs of my tripod. 
Pray she doesn’t crash.

“Mommy? Is the octopus ambidextrous?”

She’d learned her uncle was yesterday.

“Don’t know. Let’s ask!”

Official, Cheer, Knuckle

This is tiresome, standing in my place in the square, surrounded by my family and neighbours, being led in a cheer for Our Glorious Leader. Standing on the platform, leading us in this exercise, is the mayor of our small town and someone I don’t know but who is wearing a very elaborate official uniform. *Shrug*.

I smile as I knuckle under, sing full-throated while the words catch in my throat. If our leader is so glorious, why is this required to remind us? Makes no sense.

I’m not enthusiastic and everyone knows. How long before they jail me?

Fantasy, Balance, Room

Damn - these escape rooms have gotten a lot more realistic.

Escape rooms. Julie’s latest passion involved a group of friends (usually six) being put into a themed room full of puzzles. Solve them in the given time and escape. Fail and your group would be captured or killed or something - the host of the room would read the script to let you know what was your doom.

But this fantasy room… Julie was crossing a raging torrent on a tree she’d felled using a hatchet in an attempt to escape from dwarves.

She slipped! Fell!!! Screaming, she awoke.

In bed.

Children, Soup, Shield

The knight limped down the main street, sword on hip, shield across back, armour clanking with each step. But as the townspeople noted, something wasn’t right: mud and blood smeared across his face, eyes darting and unfocused, facial tics. He’d seen something that had unanchored his mind.

The crone that served as healer for the village approached cautiously. He stared down at her, wide-eyed, lip twitching. “The Children of the Forest”, he whispered, “are real.”

“Yes?” The crone sought to keep him talking.

He stood there.

“Hungry? I have soup.”

“They did too. Cream of mushroom.”

She nodded knowingly.

Alert, Path, Switch

Jeremy, one sheet to the wind and well on his way to hoisting another, talked loudly enough so that the entire restaurant could hear him tell his story:

“So, there I was, jogging this new trail, never run it before. Earbuds locked in. Rockin’, rollin’, in that sweet spot where the k fucking m’s are rolling by. And then, weird enough, the path splits. It splits!

“Where’s the signs? The markers? Something to alert me to this here situation. Well! What’s a dude to do?

“Me? Played it safe, switched it up, jammed it in reverse, and headed back home!”

Suspect, Mass, Excel

“Thank you, Dr. Fritzbringer, for your contribution, wrong though it is, on the competing theory to explain the missing mass of the universe. I assume, now that you’ve had a minute to consider your words, that you’ll be issuing a well-deserved public apology to me.”

“Ah, Dr. Carbuncle, nothing could be further from the truth. While you excel in taking umbrage at any criticism of your unmentionably convoluted theories, I suspect it is the case that this stems from an inability to actually prove your hypotheses.”

“Oh yeah? Well… your mother is…”

“Deceased. But was a wonderful woman.”

“Oh.”

Stink, Side, Thunder

Oh my poor wife. Why in the hell did I eat all those pickled eggs? Now here I lie, on my side (can’t be on my distended belly or on my aching back) on our bed, hoping I don’t wake her, despite the stink.

From my belly is the slow rolling thunder of an imminent downpour. If all that hasn’t woken her yet (and that includes my piteous moans), hopefully she’ll stay asleep as I make my way to the downstairs bathroom. That will spare assaulting her nose.

All I need to do is avoid the creaky floorboard…

*Creak*

Damn.

Animal, Edge, Curtain

Glasses. Where’s my glasses? I can’t find my glasses. Oi, my head.

Ah - what’s this? My glasses, propped up on my head. Silly glasses. Time for them to sit on my nose.

Ok my lovelies, it’s showtime. I shall open the curtain.

Franklin? Why, oh why, Franklin, do you hop off the tightrope and sit on the edge of the stage. 

Franklin, the others are taking their turns. You should too.

Sorry, what’s that, young man? Please speak up, I’m old. Why do I play with fleas, with insects? I don’t play - they are fierce performing animals. Except for Franklin.

Cap, Proper, Bottle

I must not get angry. I must not be angry. Anger is to be avoided. It’s dangerous. It spawns rage which turns me into a monster.

Give me the patience to accept what I can’t change. Give me…

… grrrrr…

No. No! Bottle it up. Put on a stopper. Cap it!

… Grrrrr…

Breathe. Breathe! Peace in, Anger out! I will not allow this situation to defeat me!

… GRRRRR…

No! It’s not proper, it’s not right! Anger can not ANGER Must Not ANGRY!

SO ANGRY! R-R-R-RAGE!!!

DAMN YOU MOBILE PHONE COMPANY CUSTOMER SERVICE DEPARTMENT!!!

HULK!!!

SMASH!!!

Heart, Allocate, Stain

Ron watched the raw footage he’d shot with the owner of a slaughterhouse, hoping he could get enough good stuff to put into his documentary.

“How has this new way of eating, “Carnivore”, changed your business?”

“Frankly, not in the way you’d anticipate. It’s like the stain against organ meats have lifted.”

“Could you expand on that, please?”

“Pet food manufacturing has always been buyers of offal, including hearts, livers, all that. But now we’re having to allocate a much larger portion of that for human consumption. Prices are starting to rise. It’s surprising.”

Ron nodded - good stuff here.

Core, Twist, Pillow

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Feel the burn!!!