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Dani's Shorts 5

(A collection of short stories based on the elements from The Iron Writer Challenge)

Volume 5

by

Dani J Caile
Dani's Shorts 5

by

Dani J Caile

Smashwords Edition

PUBLISHED BY: Dani J Caile on Smashwords

ISBN:

Dani's Shorts 5

Copyright © 2015 by Dani J Caile

Smashwords License Statement

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each reader. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Blogs & Websites

http://danijcaile.blogspot.hu/

All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © Dani J Caile 2015

###### Table of Contents

### Preface / Acknowledgement

### _Challenge 106_

### _Challenge 107_

### _Challenge 108 (Spring Open Prelims)_

### _Challenge 109 (Spring Open Final)_

### _Challenge 110_

### _Challenge 111_

### _Challenge 112_

### Dani J Caile Invitational

### _Challenge 113 (Annual Final 2015)_

### _Challenge 114_

### _Challenge 115_

### _Challenge 116_

### _Challenge 117_

### _Challenge 118 (Summer Prelims)_

### _Grudge Match 15_

### Challenge 119 (Summer Final)

### _Challenge 120_

### _Challenge 121 (Alis Van Doorn Challenge)_

### _Challenge 122_

### _Challenge 123 (Steve Bergeron Challenge)_

### _Challenge 124 (E. Chris Garrison Challenge)_

### _Challenge 125 (Richard Russell Challenge)_

### _Challenge 126_

### Challenge 127/AO8 (Christopher A Liccardi Challenge)

### _Challenge 128 (Vance Rowe Challenge)_

### _DL Zwissler Amazon Special_

### _Challenge 129 (Autumn Open Prelims)_

### _Mamie Pound's Halloween Special_

### _Challenge 130 (Autumn Open Final)_

### Weekday Quickie 4

### _Weekday Quickie 5_

### _Weekend Quickie 97_

### _Weekend Quickie 98_

### _Weekend Quickie 99 (Sunday)_

### Weekend Quickie 100

### _Weekend Quickie 100 (missing 3 elements but still good!)_

### _Weekend Quickie 101 (Sunday)_

### _Weekend Quickie 102_

### _Weekend Quickie 103 (Easter Sunday)_

### _Weekend Quickie 104_

### _Weekend Quickie 105 (Sunday)_

### _Weekend Quickie 106_

### _Weekend Quickie 107 (Sunday)_

### _Weekend Quickie 108_

### _Weekend Quickie 109 (Sunday) (110 Sunday)_

### Weekend Quickie 110 (109)

### _Weekend Quickie 111 (Sunday)_

### _Weekend Quickie 112_

### _Weekend Quickie 113 (Sunday)_

### _Weekend Quickie 114_

### _Weekend Quickie 115 (Sunday)_

### _Weekend Quickie 116_

### _Weekend Quickie 116 (19 worder)_

### _Weekend Quickie 117 (Sunday)_

### _Weekend Quickie 118_

### _Weekend Quickie 119_

### Weekend Quickie 120

### _Weekend Quickie 118 (??)_

### _Weekend Quickie 119 (Sunday) (14 June 2015)_

### _Weekend Quickie 120_

### _Weekend Quickie 121_

### _Weekend Quickie 122_

### _Weekend Quickie 123_

### _Weekend Quickie 123 (second)_

### _Weekend Quickie 124_

### _Weekend Quickie 125_

### _Weekend Quickie 126_

### _Weekend Quickie 127_

### _Weekend Quickie 128_

### _Weekend Quickie 129_

### Weekend Quickie 130

### _Weekend Quickie 131_

### _Weekend Quickie 131 (second)_

### _Weekend Quickie 132_

### _Weekend Quickie 133_

### _Weekend Quickie 134_

### _Weekend Quickie 135_

### _Weekend Quickie 136_

### _Weekend Quickie 137_

### _Weekend Quickie 138_

### List of elements for Challenges 106-130 (including Grudge Matches and Opens) and Weekend and Weekday Quickies 97-138

### Other work by Dani J Caile

###

###

###

Preface / Acknowledgement

It's Volume 5 of TIW Flash fiction shorts...! I never thought I'd still be doing these fantastic little writing challenges after two and a half years, but here I am, churning them out. These last six months I decided to try and devote more time to other projects, so I fell behind in writing them up. By the time I was in the Autumn Open Final, I had a backlog of 19 challenges... it took me a week of constant writing to finish them, all with either one liners, wooden ends, flat ends, no ends... and they're now all done, my takes. And I stress that, MY takes.

In this fifth volume, as in Volume 2, I decided to separate the Weekly Challenges from the Weekend Quickies. Just wanted to keep you on your toes.

I hope you enjoy these short snippets just as much as I enjoyed writing them, and thanks again to Brian and all the other Iron Writers for allowing me into their community...I wouldn't.

If you are 'up to the Challenge', then go to...

http://theironwriter.com/

Challenge 106

Elements: Young Woman with a book, If I were God, a terra cotta soldier from China, the last line must be: "Who do you think you are?"

He entered the study and slipped by the terra cotta soldier the Major had stolen from China. Allowing the dust to settle in the sun's rays, he found her, sitting in the window alcove, reading a book. He stood there for a moment, breathing in the wondrous scene, her beauty, the way her flimsy dress hung over her thin, elegant body, the way the sunbeams penetrated through the fabric, bringing her tender curves into view, her nip...

"Oh, it's you Cuthbert. I thought it was Daddy." She continued reading.

"He's, erm, he's outside, playing croquet with Mrs. Millingweather." He moved closer to her and sat in an armchair beside a tall bookshelf, waiting for her to wake from her pages. He was so close to her long, slim legs, the urge to stroke them was too..

"You know, Cuthbert, if I were God, I'd make sure all of the Marigolds were made of gold," she said, closing her book and tapping on the cover. Her smile shone like the morning sun and shot through his heart. "Why are you here, Cuthbert?"

"I, erm, I..."

"Yes, Cuthbert, it's always you, isn't it? When will you ever think of other people, Cuthbert? When will you think of all those savages suffering in Africa, dying of starvation, or maybe those barbarians in the Middle East, surviving on nothing but a few shingles and a stale half loaf of bread? When will you think of them, Cuthbert?"

"Well, I, erm... sometimes?"

She placed her book down on the window cushion and stared out into the front lawn.

"Some days I feel I was placed here on this Earth to 'be' somebody, 'do' something for the greater good, Cuthbert. I read these classics, study literature and attend the best universities Daddy can afford, and yet, I sense that there is more, more I can offer the world."

He watched her blink her long eyelashes and creak her neck, stretching out for a tiny, ladylike yawn. As her elbows rose, so did her light pink dress, caressing her round, perfectly contoured, erect...

"Oh Cuthbert. Are you still here? Has lunch been served yet? I am so famished! I could eat a whole squirrel!" she giggled, flashing her large, light blue eyes. She raised her knees and crossed her arms over her calves, lying her head on her arms. "What are going to do with you, eh, Cuthbert? You're such a sweet man." She relaxed and settled back on straight arms. He took his chance and went down on one knee.

"Will... will you marry me?" he stuttered, with a little pleading in his eyes. She turned away and looked out of the window, then turned back with a grin.

"Only if you buy me a diamond ring and a ruby necklace," she said, inviting him closer. He sat under the arch of her legs on the window alcove and drew her near. He kissed her on the lips and smiled.

"Who do you think you are?"

**Challenge** 107

Elements: The Tiger's Nest Monastery, an imponderable question (such as, but not this one: Can God make a object too heavy for him to lift?), a débutante, the person who cleans public restrooms

"So I'm stuck in the toilet at the Tiger's Nest Monastery with... with a sanitation worker?" sighed the woman, mopping her brow with her handkerchief.

"Ooo, look at you! What a débutante you are!" said the man. "Who died and made you Queen,eh? Don't put your nose up at me, dearie."

"Oh, the shame of it all! I only came in here to wash my hands," the woman said.

"Yeah, and I only came in here to clean up the mess you made," the man said. "You 'washed your hands' quite badly in cubicle number two."

"That wasn't me, it was there when I came in!" she said.

"And was it me who broke the doorknob off the door and locked us in? No, it wasn't. It was you, Miss Prim and Proper," he said. He closed the lid on a toilet and sat down, taking a cheese sandwich from his cleaning trolley first.

"What are you doing? This is the Ladies room!" she said.

"I'm hungry. I'm not using the toilet, I'm eating," he replied.

"How disgusting!" she said, standing as far away as possible.

"Dearie, you're going to be here in the Taktsang Palphug Monastery's, more famously known as Paro Taktsang's, Ladies toilet until Monday, so you'd better take a seat." He gestured to the next cubicle, number two. "It's all cleaned up now."

Begrudingly, she closed the lid and sat down.

"How long? That's outrageous!" she said.

"Could be longer. Chang isn't known for his punctuality. He might turn up on Wednesday," he smirked. "Luckily, I made a few sandwiches. Care for one?" He passed one under the wall between the cubicles.

"No, thank you," she said.

"Not M&S enough for ya, eh?" he laughed. "Well, I'd better ration them anyway." He put it back.

They sat looking at the white wall ahead.

"You could die in here," he said. "There's running water but you'll die of starvation first."

The woman walked over to the door tried to open it again.

"Help! Help!" she shouted.

"There's no one out there, all the tourists have gone and the monks are back in their caves, meditating. Sit down, get some rest." He took a bite of his sandwich. "Have you ever thought about... death?"

The woman grabbed the soap and jammed it into the hole where the doorknob used to be.

"Do we just die, or is there something afterwards? Do we have souls or are we just lumps of flesh and blood that rot and fade away?" he philosophised.

The soap squished into the hole and disintegrated.

"And why do they call it 'afterlife' when it's clearly 'after death'?" he asked.

She looked around for any way out, above the cubicles, under the sinks, around the toilets.

"Well, I'd better be off," he said.

"What? We're stuck in here! Until Monday, you said, or when this Ching gets in," the woman said.

"Chang. Yes, you're stuck in here, but I'm using the "employees only" exit. Bye, dearie!"

**Challenge** 108 (Spring Open Prelims)

Elements: Artemis (Greek Goddess), a dilettante, a moon rock, jello wrestling

How the Mighty

Zeus, her father, was at his easel trying to capture the right shade of cloud passing by his window in the Heavenly Deities Nursing Home. His was a large room, comparative with his once-held status as ruler of all Greek Gods and raper of any woman he took a fancy to, including her mother, Leto. She tip-toed over and tapped him on the shoulder.

"Oh, hell, Artemis! You startled me! You could've given me a heart attack. If I had a heart, that is." Zeus put his paint brush down and hugged his daughter. "What brings you here to my humble abode in this retched place?"

"Can't a daughter visit her father when she wishes?" She sat on the edge of his bed, testing its softness, and then jumped up and down on it to test the springs.

"I guess you can." Zeus went back to his painting. "Mmm, I'm still not quite happy with the depth of my stratocumulus..."

"Painting again, father?" She patted the small package in her pocket making sure it was still there after jumping.

"Oh, you know. Being kicked off Mount Olympus doesn't really make your immortality. When you've been a god, and a top god at that, where do you go? After a millennia of depression I've tried everything. Music, sculpture, painting, dancing, even tiddlywinks, but it seems I'm just an old dilettante, dabbling in a million things but getting nowhere, that initial interest dies..." Zeus put his brush down once more and turned to his daughter. "Hang on. I don't understand. Why aren't you shouting your head off at me, or pleading me to help you in some way? Where's the 'deus ex machina', Artemis?"

She giggled and ran over to him, placing the small wrapped package into his hands.

"Happy Birthday, father," she smiled, as his face beamed in happiness, brightening the room.

"You remembered?" He sat there for a moment in surprise and joy, the light around him dimming only when his smiled had left. "I didn't. No one else did, either."

"But I did. I got you this."

Zeus struggled with the wrapping until it fell to the floor in pieces.

"It's a rock."

"Yes!"

"Does it...does it symbolise anything? Am I a 'rock' in your life?"

She shook her head.

"It's a special rock, father. It comes from the Moon."

"Oh, thank you." He threw it up a few times feeling its weight, then placed it on his easel. "I'll put it with the other three thousand or so I got from Selene and Hecate earlier."

"Well, to tell the truth, all the shops were closed and seeing as I was passing by the place..."

"Ah, the truth comes out..."

"But I remembered, father. At the last moment, yes, but I remembered!"

"Thank you. So, it's my birthday! I think I'll open up Youtube and watch something sleazy...jello wrestling, yes! It reminds me of the good old days, you know, with all those goddesses and mortal women..."

"Father! Please!"
Challenge 109 (Spring Open Final)

Elements: Astigmatism, A solid plutonium halberd, magma, a picture of a gondola in Venice

Uncle Terence

A cool breeze sweeping down the canal stirred Uncle Terence into action, awakening him with a snort. The gondolier continued on as before, propelling us skillfully through the water with each stroke.

"I say, it's a little chilly this morning." He wrapped his infamous Alpaca scarf tighter around his neck, allowing no room for any mischievous nip.

"Aren't we meant to be at Saint Mark's by eight?" I asked, knowing full well Uncle Terence had no intention of keeping the appointment. He hated anything to do with religion or the church, it reminded him of his own mortality and wicked, selfish life. Myself and the rest of our entourage blamed it on those Franciscan friars from his youth. Uncle Terence pretended to ignore my inquiry and gazed at the buildings we floated by with indifference. I went back to my Marlena de Blasi paperback.

"Ah, Venice. Such an auspicious city, full of wonder, full of history. My family's connection with this glorious place dates back to ancient times. There were Viscounts, Barons and Baronesses in my ancestry, even a hero or two."

"Heroes, uncle?"

"Oh yes, heroes. One I know well, Gerhardt Le Lorraine the third, twenty-second 'nobiluomo' to the Emperor himself." Uncle Terence brushed the gondolier's insolent cough off his Radford jacket.

"When was this, uncle?" Stories of his ancient noble ancestry were synonymous with the greatest of fragrant untruths.

"Oh, long ago, when men were men and women..."

"...were women, uncle?" I giggled at his clichéd manner.

"Quite. Gerhardt Le Lorraine. He slayed the monstrous Beast of Grotta del Cavallone! With his halberd made from solid plutonium forged by the magma of Mount Vesuvius, he boldly stepped into the cave where no man had ever returned alive before!"

"Uncle, how can you forge a solid plutonium halberd with magma?"

"He didn't, of course. It was Hephaestus, God of fire."

"Hephaestus was a Greek god, Uncle. Don't you mean Vulcan?"

"What's in a name? Anyway, it was said that many times Gerhardt thrust that great weapon at the beast. You see, he had blurred vision and was known as "Squinting Jack" by closer acquaintances. An inside joke, perhaps, as some of his earlier responsibilities were akin to those of a valet."

I couldn't keep up with all these connections and tangents. Sometimes Uncle Terence's mind would fly off on such an imaginative journey no one could grasp where he'd been or where he was going.

"He had astigmatism. Runs in the family, as far back as anyone can perceive. We are all blind."

"Well, 'among the blind, the squinter rules'," I replied.

"Quite." We passed under a bridge, making our gondolier duck. Uncle Terence shivered slightly as the bridge's shadow brushed across his being.

"Wouldn't he die of radiation poisoning, uncle?"

"Excuse me?"

"Plutonium, uncle. You said his halberd was made from solid plutonium."

"Did I? You are quite attentive, my dear," he smiled and settled down once more, taking only but a moment to return to his dreams.

Challenge 110

Elements: A cactus couch, a new born baby, a judge's gavel, a bull Mastodon

"Wow, your great uncle had some stuff, didn't he?" John tripped over a pile of newspapers and fell onto a broken plastic gnome. "Ouch!"

"Mind your step, this garage is full of shit," said Andy. "And it's not just any old shit, all these things in here are unique. Those newspapers? Those were Franklin Roosevelt's, stolen from his postbox when he wasn't looking by one of my fantastic ancestors. Roosevelt wasn't so fast in that wheelchair of his, apparently."

"Really? And what about this?" John lifted up the broken gnome.

"Taken from the White House lawn in the term of Ronald Reagan," replied Andy. "The reason why it's broken is that it took a bullet from one of the gun happy security guards when it was stolen."

"Who stole it?" asked John.

"Ah, now that would be telling, wouldn't it? Don't...!"

Too late. John had sat down on what looked like a normal couch covered with tarpaulin.

"Ahh!" He shot straight back up. "What the hell's that?"

"It's a cactus couch," said Andy.

"Why?"

"Why not?"

John rubbed his bottom and continued to look around.

"Hey! A wooden hammer! Doesn't look like it could bang in many nails, though," he said, swishing it about.

"That's a judge's gavel," said Andy.

"Don't tell me, it's from a famous trial," smirked John.

"OJ Simpson, when the judge pronounced him innocent," Andy replied.

"How the hell it that here?" John put it down on a shelf and caught sight of something interesting. "I know what this is," he said. "It's a mammoth's tooth!" He picked it up and turned it around in his hands.

"Actually it's a Mastodon's, a bull's. See the high-crown? Like nipples. Mastodon means 'nipple teeth'. They used to eat twigs and trees and stuff," said Andy, all scientific.

"Why is this in here?" asked John.

"I really have no idea," said Andy. "I don't know everything there is to know about my great uncle's stuff, only what he told me."

They both kept looking around. It was Andy who smelt it first.

"Did you let one off?" asked Andy.

"'Phew! That must've been you, man! Hell, what crawled up your arse? A dead bird?" said John. They looked at each other. "Something's rotting in here, Andy."

"Yeah, that's the smell of death, alright. I found a dead mouse in the attic once. Stank the place out," said Andy. They followed their noses and moved over to the back, past boxes and bags filled with who-knows-what.

"It's coming from around here," said John.

"Yeah." said Andy. John stuck his head under an old table and instantly flew backwards. "Urgh!"

"What?" shouted Andy.

"It's under there," said John, putting his arm across his nose and pointing. Andy glanced around and put on an old World War One gas mask. He dived under the table and retrieved a box, a small box about a foot square. He wiped the dust off the top and a label read 'New born baby, 15/10/1994'.

Challenge 111

Elements: Amazing Wate-On, The Bastille, Mason Bees, all characters are Monopoly tokens

The Top Hat paced from one wall to the other, watching the Mason bees that had made nests in the old, rotting wooden beds of the Bastille cell. "When one of you wishes to talk, knock on the door." He left them to contemplate their fate.

"What's he going on about? Why are we here?" asked the Wheelbarrow.

"Don't you know?" said the Automobile. "One of us was a naughty boy." The others looked at each other. They were mostly all there, except for the Iron, as he'd been replaced. Thimble trembled in the corner, Battleship was anchored at the door, Scottish Terrier was forever looking for a tree and Boot stomped on the spot.

"What are you talking about, Automobile?" asked Battleship. "You're always polluting the air with your 'wise ways'."

"One of us," said Automobile,"used Monopoly to help advertise 'Amazing Wate-On', the weight gaining drug."

"The amazing what?" asked Thimble.

"The 'Amazing Wate-On', you gain weight if you take it. Really, you'd have to be dumb to take this. Just go to McDonald's every day, order extra large everything. Anyway, back to the point. It's stipulated in our contracts that we're not allowed to promote any products other than Monopoly or Monopoly-related items," stated Automobile.

"How do you know this?" asked Boot, stomping across to the window, taking in what view of Paris it could see by jumping.

"I just do. I have friends in high places."

"Oh. Segway," moaned Battleship.

"I can't say."

"Segway it is, then," said Battleship. "So, who was it?"

"It wasn't you?" asked Automobile.

"No, it wasn't! I serve Monopoly well, I am loyal to the game!" shouted Battleship, firing its front cannons.

Autmobile looked around at the others. "And it wasn't me. That leaves one of you. Please, whoever it was, go to the door and knock. I'm running empty and I need to fill my tank with gas."

Scottish Terrier, Thimble and Boot stayed where they were. Wheelbarrow slept.

"Well?" said Automobile. "Which one of you was it?"

"What are you, Top Hat's spiv?" asked Boot.

"Look, I've got to get to a gas station. I have my needs," replied Automobile. "Just go and knock on the door, one of you."

They were silent for a while.

"Does anyone know what happened to Iron?" asked Thimble, still trembling. They all looked at Automobile.

"Why are you looking at me?"

"You seem to know what's going on," said Battleship.

"Well, I don't know what happened to Iron. I'm just as much in the dark as you are on that one."

"It seems it's all coming to a sticky end for us, isn't it?" said Thimble. "I mean, look at all the specialised editions out there, with their wonderful tokens of computers, Pokeman, Nintendo, animation movie characters. Our days are numbered."

"Thimble's right," said Scottish Terrier. "We should knock on the door and demand to be let out, not confess to some petty clause-breaking charge."

A few of them nodded. Thimble grinned.

Challenge 112

Elements: A carrier pigeon, Bath Salts, The Pyramids, a Love Cactus

In his rush, Clive flew onto the windowsill way too fast, pushing off the miniature roses and landing in the love cactus.

"Next time I'll wear some protection," he said, face deep in soil.

"Hi, Clive," greeted Steve. "What brings you over to Mrs. Cranshaw's 10th floor bathroom window?"

Clive pulled himself out of the pot and pulled on the cactus spikes imbedded in his head.

"I've got a message, a message from headquarters!" he cooed.

"What are you, a carrier pigeon now?" asked Steve, watching Mrs. Cranshaw sitting on the toilet, reading a 'Hello' magazine and letting off her morning gas.

"The Big Bird says the time is now! The time to strike is now!" cooed Clive, a little harder.

"What are you going on about, Clive? Strike what?" asked Steve. He knew exactly what Clive was talking about. He'd done his time in the service, three years in Special Opps posted at Trafalgar Square. They'd been tough years, collecting food for the flock, assaulting enemy crows and dodging playful children. Good times, though, good times.

"THE strike, Steve! Pigeons around the world are uniting together to take over! The time has come, Steve! The time has come!" Clive was hopping around on the windowsill, mostly due to excitement but sometimes because he found another cactus spike.

"Oh, right. What, like, right now?" He was stalling, he knew it. They'd planned this one for generations, he'd even been to a secret mission, deep in Brussels, about the 'Big Whosh' as it was called back then.

"Yes! Right now! My target is..." Clive looked into the window. "...Mrs. Cranshaw." Clive put on his mean face and cooed in a menacing manner. "Here's yours." Clive handed Steve a message.

"Oh, so you are a carrier pigeon," smiled Steve. He unrolled the message and read. "Who?"

"Mr. Pennington, 5th floor, two blocks down, see?" Clive pointed to the building and exact window. Clive remembered an old guy feeding him bread crumbs from there. That was his target? "I'm going in!" cooed Clive.

"Mr. Pennington is a nice man," said Steve.

"Mrs. Cranshaw is a nice woman, but they are both humans! Humans have oppressed us for centuries! They treat us like flying rats..!"

"We are flying rats, Clive," replied Steve.

"...and they chase us, shoot us, even put us in employment as...!" cooed Clive.

"...carrier pigeons," finished Steve, who gestured at the message Steven had just given him.

"That's different!" squawked Clive. He shoved his beak under the window and used all his strength to lift the window open. With only a few centimetres gap, he squeezed into the bathroom as Mrs. Cranshaw was reaching for the toilet paper.

"For wings everywhere!" shouted Clive, diving into the room. Mrs. Cranshaw screamed as Clive swooped in on her. She grabbed the first thing available on the shelf, a jar of bath salts and whacked Clive one over the noggin, smacking him against the pyramids poster on the wall.

"Good start, Clive, good start."

Dani J Caile Invitational

Elements: Take one element from Challenge 59 to Challenge 109 (excluding 60+62), in order, and write a 500 word story.

Trouble at the Lodge

"Look, I'm an atheist, okay," said Dave, pushing through the revolving doors of the ski lodge.

"But you can't hit it with a wooden club, in fact, any weapon."

Dave looked at his companion. "Take that paper bag off your head when I'm speaking."

"No," said Bob.

"And irrigation boots? We're in the Alps!"

They walked to reception, where two staff members were playing rock/paper/scissors, another was eating breakfast with Thornwood tableware, and two others fought with light sabres in the back room. A Minion Dave plush ominously stood over a desk sign which said 'Caution: sharp edges'.

"Excuse me, but I'd like to report a broken thermostat."

"Why sir? What did it do?" asked the receptionist.

"It's broken." Dave gave his most evil stare.

"I'm sorry sir, but the horse has been taken to the halberdier's. We do, however, have a pink fairy armadillo..." He showed the creature from behind the desk.

"Is it gluten free?" asked Bob. Dave moved from 'evil stare' to 'WTF'.

"That would be the poodle, sir. You'd have to ask the bellboy." He pointed to an old genetically enhanced gnome drinking Dr. Pepper over by the lift. The gnome instantly took out his ninja weaponry, ready for battle.

"Looks nasty to me," muttered Dave, watching the kusarigama and fukiya.

"Don't worry, sir. Use a perfume atomiser and call his sons Saggitians. Works every time...sir?"

Dave was transfixed by the poster under the wall clock showing Neo from 'The Matrix' holding a Sooty puppet.

"How can that be?"

"Oh, that. It was our late manager's. We leave it there, out of respect."

"Late?"

"Yes, he suffered from Misophonia."

"He died from Misophonia?" asked Bob.

"He had breast cancer, sir." They stood in silence. "We also have his lucky goat's hoof," he said, "and his certificate of achievement from the Gloustershire Annual Cheese Rolling Competition, 2001." The ski lodge suddenly went dark due to the encroaching storm clouds. With a smile, the receptionist held out a Montblanc fountain pen and an entry form to the evening's Fried Bologna sandwich cookoff. "Would sirs like to attend?"

"I have too much facial hair," excused Bob.

"Not if I was the last person alive on Earth," said Dave. "Besides, I'm wearing my tap dance shoes and it's tame dinosaur bathing night."

"Bacon?" A grieving boy wearing argyle socks and Steampunk goggles came over. With one motion from the receptionist the boy was sucked up by a floor buffer.

"Anyway," said Dave, "I'd also like to report that the flagpole outside was knocked down by an enraged lame llama who was fed Haggis made from barn owls."

"Thank you, sir. I will need to change the lawn mower blade on the Star-Bellied-Sneetch machine and call for a terracotta soldier from China, then."

"One question?" asked Bob.

"Yes, sir?"

"Why isn't there mouse-flavoured cat food?"

"Erm..."

"One more question?" asked Bob again.

"Yes, sir?"

"Can I buy a Moon rock here?"

"Where do think you are, sir? Venice?"

Challenge 113 (Annual Final 2015)

Elements: Three Stooges Happy Birthday Song, a person born with red eyes, a poison dart frog, Pukwudgies

Mommy and Pappy came in holding a huge birthday cake and sung the traditional Pukwudgie birthday cake song, stolen by those despicable humans, the Three Stooges.

"We've made you a birthday cake. If you get a tummy ache, and you moan and groan and woe, don't forget we told you so. Happy Birthday, Little Maushoppa!"

"Oh, thanks, Mommy, Pappy!" I blew out the single candle and the cake blew up in my face. We all applauded with Pukwudgian glee. "Presents!" I shouted. Mommy handed me a little box with holes in it. "What is it?" I shook it.

"No, don't do that, you'll upset them," she said, smiling.

I opened the box to find two perfect specimens of Dendrobates leucomelas. "Poison dart frogs! Does that mean... does that mean...?"

"Yes, Little Maushoppa, you can go hunting humans with me, starting tomorrow. But early, mind you! I like to catch them when they're still having their first coffee," said Pappy.

"Okay!" I said, jumping up and down with excitement.

"And talking of humans, here's my present to you," he said, throwing a large bag over his 3 foot high shoulders. The bag squirmed and made a muffled noise.

"What...? It isn't, is it?"

"Go ahead, open it," grinned Pappy.

I pulled on the ropes and out popped a human, in restraints and gagged.

"A human!" I squealed.

"Not just any human. Look closer," he said.

I inspected the creature, it had two arms, two legs, all its fingers and toes were there... and then I noticed. "Red eyes!"

"Yes, this human was born with red eyes, a rare specimen. You wouldn't believe how long I searched for one. I know red is your favourite colour, the colour of human blood. And it's all yours, to do as you wish."

"Oh, thank you, Pappy!" I hugged my Pappy and then my Mommy, then both together. This was the best birthday ever! I played with my poison dart frogs, letting them hop from one hand to the other, and tasting what was left of my birthday cake, as my parents sat and watched, beaming with joy.

"So, have you decided what to do with the human, son?" Pappy asked.

"Sure! I'm going to let it go!" I smiled. They were shocked.

"What, dear?" asked Mommy. "I thought you said 'let it go'."

"Yes, Mommy, that's what I said."

"Don't you want to... kill it with a knife?" asked Pappy.

"Or push it off a cliff?" asked Mommy.

"Or maybe pull on its nose hairs and watch it scream?" asked Pappy.

"Well, of course I do," I said. "But first I will let it go and give it a head start. Then I will chase it through the jungle, wound it with a spear, taunt it with personal insults, throw it over a waterfall, drown it in a shallow pool and control its Tei-Pai-Wanka for the rest of my long, foul, beastly life. My Mommy cried with happiness.

"Ah, that's my boy!" said Pappy.

Challenge 114

Elements: 2015 Miss Gypsy Universe Pageant, a pick pocket contest, Hand Cymbals (the tiny ones, used between fingers), a red nose

"Come on, this has got to be better than selling socks from a bin liner," smirked Tomi, nudging Virag in her exposed ribs.

"Not by much," she scalded. "To think I won Miss Gypsy Universe Pageant 2015 for this. Working on the street, prancing around to the applause of Japanese tourists." She wiped the sweat from under her arms and got ready for another dance.

"A lot of girls would've given their right arm for this gig!" he shouted. "But if they did, it wouldn't've made such a good show. Get out there and make some money! I'm doing my bit."

"Yeah, you're mostly hanging around on the corner, smoking it all away," she spat.

"What do you mean? Me and Csaba have got a contest on today!"

"What, a loping around and doing nothing competition?" They hadn't pick pocketed anybody all day. The Boss wouldn't be happy.

"You know the big stuff only comes out at night. Meagre pickings in the morning," he said.

"Excuses. You wait until the Boss pops over, I bet you start working then," she retorted.

"You watch your mouth! Now get going!"

She put on her headdress and hand cymbals and stepped out in front of the small portable display. Clicking a button, she started the music and began dancing, making sure she smiled and gave a glimpse of her alluring charms for every passer-by, whether a local or tourist. After about fifteen minutes, she took a breather and checked the 'donations' box. A few coins and a mint. Whoever gave a mint? She checked her breathe and ate it.

"What are you doing? Keep dancing," said the fat man as he came closer. It was the Boss. She gave him a quick nod of her head in respect and tried not to laugh at his ludicrous red nose. He drank too much and it all concentrated into his big honker.

"Sorry, but I need a five minute break, I've been at it all morning," she said.

"If you don't start dancing right this instant, I'll find you another place on the street, and it won't be so classy, I can tell ya!" he grimaced.

Pushing herself up from her make-shift stool, she wiped her brow and started the music again. The Boss watched her for a while, a big smile on his face. A few tourists went by and gave a little offering. The Boss came a little closer.

"When you're done for the day, come over, I've got something else for ya," he said, grinning from ear to ear and holding his nuts. She almost puked on the spot. "Where's that Tomi? And Csaba. They should be around here, working."

"They're around," she said, enjoying the reprieve. She glanced across the square and spotted them together. Tomi didn't look so happy. Maybe he'd already lost the pick pocket contest. He came over.

"Hey, Tomi!" The Boss gave him a strong handshake, and was surprised when Tomi stabbed him in the gut.

Challenge 115

Elements: Theme Song to Paladin, a Demonically possessed jar of Nutella, the Active Act of Mutiny, an Event Horizon

"This is an act of Mutiny, Paladin! I will make sure you are court-martialed for this!" screamed the demonically possessed jar of Nutella over the comm, a jar of Nutella which had taken control of the entire ship on the event horizon of the black hole. I crept on, searching the decks for the murderer of my crewmates, the monster that had destroyed all hope for mankind. The "Fishburnt" was on a mission, a mission to find the secrets locked within this black hole, a black hole that threatened our race, our species, our lives. Somehow, the strange energy surrounding this part of space had brought Doctor Weird's personal supply of Nutella to life. My only chance, humanity's only chance, was to find this evil jar of hazelnut and cocoa spread and put a stop to its dastardly plans of sending the ship straight into the black hole.

"I can sense you, Paladin! Muhahaha!"

With spoon in hand, like a ninja in the night, I moved from pillar to pillar, searching, smelling, making not a sound. The comm started up, an old western-style tune blasted out across the ship.

"Paladin, Paladin. Where do you roam? Paladin, Paladin. Far, far from home..."

"We can work together, Paladin. You can be my right-hand man," sneered the jar of Nutella. The song continued.

"Have Gun Will Travel reads the card of a man..." The song played on under the evil jar's words.

"Paladin, do you realise what this means? What wonders we will find on the other side?"It was babbling in its own ingredients. "We can be kings, Paladin! Kings of the universe! Muhahaha!"

I entered Doctor Weird's quarters and ripped the needle off his antique record player, the song stopping with a scratch.

"You... you found me!" The jar's voice was shaky, afraid.

"Where else would you be, Nutella? No one else on the ship eats the crap," I said, spinning the spoon in my hand. What I was about to do would make me sick, so sick I would puke for hours, but it had to be done.

"Now, Paladin, we can talk about this..." If I wasn't mistaken, the jar was vibrating with fear. I took the chair from the table, sat down and pulled myself towards the table where the jar stood. I banged my spoon on the table, putting it down next to the jar.

"Your senseless murdering stops here," I said and grabbed the jar in both hands, twisting off its lid.

"No! Don't do it, Paladin! You'll... you'll regret it!"

I punched the end of my spoon into the paper seal and ripped it off, and with one powerful stroke, I scooped up a dollop of Nutella and ate it. I choked on it and my head hit the table, my mind spinning.

"Ha-ha! You fool! When you all got your monthly jabs the other day, I included the genomes which create nut allergy! Goodbye Paladin! Goodbye!"

I grasped for breath which was not forthcoming...

Challenge 116

Elements: The Fibonacci Sequence, an Airedale, a possessed car, a love triangle

Professor Krubben drove his old Audi Fox down the country lane, with all of us bouncing around in the back of the old Nazi-looking rust bucket. His Airedale Terrier squealed in fright and hid in one of the back corners of the open boot, possibly never to come out again that day. The Prof swerved around a corner again.

"Oh, this car is possessed, I say, what?" said the Prof.

"Can you slow down a little, Professor? Your dog is frightened." I asked. He wasn't the only one.

"It's not me, it's this damn car, Possessed, I say, what?"

"Ha, good one, Professor," I said.

The Prof had many irritating habits. Another one was his obsession with the Fibonacci Sequence. In fact, he'd spent his whole life on it, collecting data and information on the integer sequence within all that was nature: flowers, grass, trees, bees... you name it, he'd tried to find that damn sequence of numbers. Spirals, spirals were the key to life for him. What he didn't know, though, was that his car WAS possessed. Oh yes. You see, we, that's me and my sister, the Prof's student assistants who needed a job to pay for our educational fees, were paranormal. We could sense things out of the ordinary. My sister, Quaine - okay, doesn't the name say it all? – was busy keeping the cat on the road as the Prof raced on to his destination, a field of poppies.

"I must take this car to the service once we get back, I say, what?"

What the Prof didn't know was that the car had been built from recycled metal, metal taken from a disused toaster factory. The car was in love with the toaster back at the Prof's house. Unfortunately for the car, the toaster was in love with the blender. And the blender was in love with the roaring sound of the car. A love triangle of sorts. Lord knows what would happen if they ever got together. Yes, the Lord would know. But the car only ever got to see the toaster from the kitchen window, and also the toaster's swooning love for the blender as it chopped up fruit and vegetables for soups and souffles.

"Quaine, my dear, are you ready with your notepad? We are nearing the field and I want to get started straight away, I say, what?"

The car swerved and Quaine almost lost it. The problem was, the Prof had changed a few things in the kitchen and now the toaster sat next to the blender, pleasing the toaster no end. The car was even more jealous and wanted nothing more than to get home, trying to steer its course back to the Prof's little cottage. If only the toaster knew that the car was built from recycled metal from a toaster factory, all would be well! That was my expertise... I was working on it but the toaster refused to hear me. But then, it was a 'German' toaster...

Challenge 117

Elements: Sent back in time to teach a caveman to create a wheel or to start fire because (fill in the blank), a cracked china water pitcher, a star shaped opening, a Stone arrowhead

"It works!" he shouted, coming out of the contraption. Felix pressed some buttons on his remote and his time machine settled down, humming away in the corner.

"Yeah, right," I said, getting back to the game on my phone.

"No, really, look! A china water pitcher from the Shang Dynasty." He held up a china jug, tripped and knocked it against the table. "Damn, it's cracked."

"What?" I put my phone down and inspected the jug. It sure looked old.

"I'll go and get another." Felix hit a button on his remote and walked back into the contraption. On an impulse, I followed him in.

"No, wait!" A flash of light blinded me and we were travelling in some strange tunnel.

"Why did you do that?"

"You owe me 60 bucks."

"You do know, however, that I didn't calculate for your weight in the time universal constraint and that we could be going anywhere now?"

"No, I did not know that, Einstein."

"Felix." A moment later, we were falling from the sky.

****

"Wha... what happened? Ouch, my leg! And... and who's the monkey?" said, screamed and asked Felix.

"We are in prehistoric times, you broke your leg from the fall, and the monkey is Ogg, from a tribe of cavemen I met."

"Ogg! Ogg!" said the caveman.

"Hello. I broke my leg? We must get back, I need a doctor!"

"Easier said than done," I replied.

"Where... where's the remote?"

"That's the problem. It's over there." I pointed way down in the valley.

"Oh good. Go and get it and I'll take us back."

"Problem. Look over there." A pride of lions sat between us and the remote, watching.

"Oh shit."

"Yes. So, I'm trying to teach Ogg here..."

"Ogg! Ogg!" The caveman showed off his best stone arrowhead.

"Yes, very good, Ogg, very good. He's the brains of the outfit. Really. Believe me. I'm trying to teach him how to create a wheel."

"For what?"

"The only way we can get to that remote is if we can outrun those lions, but with your broken leg..."

"I see...a go-kart would do it."

"Exactly."

"Why don't you make one?"

"Watch." I went to pick up a stone tool and Ogg attacked me. "He's a bit possessive of his stuff."

"Let me speak to him." Felix spat out some noises and Ogg nodded and went off. "I spent some time in Leeds," said Felix as an explanation. Ogg came back with some wood and gestured me to use his tools. In no time at all the go-kart was ready. Felix pulled himself aboard and I climbed on. Ogg looked extremely pleased with our work. Glancing at the lions, Felix pointed at the remote and spouted out a few more noises. Ogg gave us a shove. Shocked, the lions stood up and took chase.

"Are we going to make it?"

Felix picked up the remote as we flew by and hit a button. A star shaped opening appeared in the air...

Challenge 118 (Summer Prelims)

Elements: A time clock, ice cream, a Parachute, told from POV of an alien on the planet Nibiru, as the Nibiru enters our solar system. Nibiru technology is no greater or worse than Earth's.

My name is Ubira, and this could possibly be my first and last entry in the video log. Let me start from the beginning... or perhaps let me start at this ending. I don't know who will see this, perhaps no one.

I am copy number 23,541 of the original Nibiru posted on this ship many thousands of years ago, sent from the planet Nibiru to explore the closest solar system to us which we think may contain life. I am told that the original plan was that this ship would be manned on its journey not by the ancestors of the very first Nibiru to pilot this contraption, but by DNA copies, created in a test tube and grown and nutured until mature. A specialised education system controlled by the main computer would then bring the copy up to speed on their mission and purpose in life.

I feel that somewhere along the line, something must have got screwed up. Here are some pictures of the first Nibiru, Enthura, and I see no indication of any third arm, a sixth eye or a limb resembling a toilet brush sticking from her butt. There are other things which seem a little strange at the moment but maybe it's just me, maybe I don't know. How do I know what I should look like. Should ice cream be coming out of my nose right now?

I think that perhaps over the years, the original DNA may have become corrupted, but for sure the computer went a little scriffy... whatever. Here I am, a six limbed, six eyed creature who was about to make contact with a form of life in this universe, which may or may not exist... and I find out that when I was brought out of my incubation cubicle, the ship's time clock had stopped. It stopped over fifty years ago and the whole system messed up. That's why I'm here right now, aged ninety six instead of the intended thirty, infirm, dying, and stuck on the edge of this solar system, many, many years out from my destination. I will be far gone before this ship reaches orbit of the third planet. That wouldn't be a problem, as I should be replaced by the next copy, number 23,542, but unfortunately, without the time clock to count, there will be no copy. It's just me. I am the last. And so close. Thousands of years of Nibiru journeying through this universe to reach other life ends with me.

Sad, really. There's nothing I can do about it. I researched all I could, thought about all actions I could take. Nothing. I looked through the whole ship, looking for something to help, something for such an emergency, anything. And what did I find? Other than two boxes of plasters, I found two syringes of insulin, a scalpel and a parachute. A parachute? What can a space traveller do with a parachute? I could make a new dress, I guess...

Grudge Match 15

Elements: An unfortunate insult, a large patio umbrella, an unsolved Rubic's Cube, tights, a happy ending

I found her on the walkover, crying. It was late and the traffic driving under was light, but the rain heavy.

"Anna!"

She turned her head away as I stood next to her, umbrella in hand, covering the both of us.

"I'm sorry, alright?"

"No, no, you're right. I don't know why I bother. I'll never be more than just a checkout girl," she whimpered, saturated from the downpour.

"I was wrong, Anna. Okay, so you couldn't solve that Rubic's cube, so what? It's a stupid toy, that's all it is!" I put my arm around her shoulder and she buried her head in my chest.

"I just... I just..." She cried some more.

"Look, if you really want to get somewhere, enrol on a course, get into college. You can do evening courses, weekend lectures..." A hand gripped my jacket.

"I'm too dumb, Trev, I can't do that. School wasn't for me, I was always the dunce of the class, everyone laughing at me. I can't go to college, they won't let me." She fell to her knees, ripping her tights on the wet concrete of the walkover. A few trucks flew past underneath, drowning out the sound of her tears.

"No, you're not! Okay, maybe you can't do crosswords or wordsearches or Sudoku or any kind of crazy stuff like that, but you're smart, you can add up a customer's basket correctly with just one swoop of your eyes! You can sort out a dodgy till in a second! You're not dumb, you can do anything once you put your mind to it!"

"But... but the cube! I couldn't do that, could I? You said so yourself!" She continued weeping.

"I was wrong! I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said what I did! I didn't mean to insult you, it was... unfortunate... you know how I am when the football's on..." It was all my fault. She was like this because of me, because of what I'd said.

"Anna, I'm sorry, really I am. I'll make it up to you, I'll..." What could I do? I cared for her. Sure, she wasn't what I'd always dreamed of, but...look at me. Mr Nobody. "I've, err, got some money set aside," I said. "I know some people. Ask the right questions, give the right amounts, and 'Hey Presto!' you've got a degree. The students do it all the time!"

"Can... can you do that for me?" She wiped her eyes.

"Of course! They're all at it! Academia, my arse! If you have the money, you can buy your degree."

She flung her arms around my shoulders. "Oh, thank you, Trev, thank you!" With a big smile on her face, she kissed me and looked deep into my eyes. "I'll never forget this, Trev." I nodded, happy. "And I'll never forget that you brought a large patio umbrella with you, either."

"It was all I could find!" We laughed together as we made our way back to the flat in the rain.

Challenge 119 (Summer Final)

Elements: A Hapi drum, a strange, odd spirit takes you to the past and the future where you meet your successful self and your failed self at the same time, a paper crown, Survivors guilt

He looked up, bodies and metal strewn across the field.

"Why me?" he said as his head fell.

The plane was flying to Paris. He was going to have a special, romantic weekend with his partner, Sheryl. And now? He'd awoken to consciousness to find her beside him, his Hapi drum imbedded into the front of her head, the only hand luggage he'd brought into the plane. After seeing such a sight, he would never play again. Walking around the crash site, he'd realised he was the only survivor from the crew and passengers, the plane crash landing into a field. Some cows stood by a fence, watching, munching. Why him?

"Why not?" someone said by his shoulder. He fell to the ground as he spun around to see... a spirit, a ghost.

"Who... who are you?" he said, shaking.

"I am your, let's say 'spirit helper'. Remember that time you were working with your 'energy field' and 'self-awareness' in that teepee workshop weekend?"

"Not at this particular moment, no," he said. He was talking to a... ghost?

"Well, I found you there, or you saved me from an eternity. Whichever version you want to take. I saved you this time, almost makes us square. What you're experiencing now is called 'survivor's guilt'."

He sat down on a crumpled part of the plane's fuselage. "Who... what...?"

"I've shown myself to you now to show you something very important," said the spirit.

"I've... I've lost everything. My... my Sheryl, my love..."

"Yes, and that's why I'm here. Please don't give up, she doesn't want you to suffer a life of misery. She lost hers, don't lose yours."

"What?" he asked.

"Look." The spirit moved his arms about and a cloud appeared. Inside was an image, a moving picture of someone...him! A little younger but it was him. He was playing the Hapi drum to a large audience. He remembered that time, it was a very successful concert he'd performed. A review from that time said he was the best player ever.

"And look at this." A second cloud opened up, and showed another image of him, but this one was a little older. There was something wrong. He could hear Christmas carols, see the decorations, even the paper crown from a Christmas cracker on his head. But in the centre of the image was his depressed, sullen face.

"What is this?"

"A success in the past, a failure in the future. Unless..." said the spirit.

"Unless what?" he asked.

"Unless you begin to live again. You're a musician, a Hapi drum player. Don't give it up just because it was the object which killed your partner. Pick it up again, be the success you were meant to be!"

"Yes, yes, of course, you are right. Sheryl would've wanted it that way," he said as he made his way back to his seat. When he got there, he ripped his Hapi drum out of Sheryl's crushed face and began to play.

Challenge 120

Elements: A rundown business, the Old West, a will, anxiety

The doors swung open and in walked a pair of dusty worn boots. A saddle hit the floor and the doors creaked closed. Cleaver pushed himself off the bar to face the intruder of his peace.

"Yep?" asked Cleaver.

"Whiskey," said the man, dust leaving the brow of his hat as he spoke and chewed.

"Ain't got none," he replied. The man stood there, the sun shining through the muck on the windows, creating shadows across the tables and chairs throughout the room.

"No whiskey?" the man asked.

"Nope, no sir-ree. Not a drop." Cleaver took his dirty towel from his shoulder and flicked off some dust from the bar. The man continued to stand in one spot.

"What do you have?" asked the man.

"Nothin', absolutely nothin'," said Cleaver, his eyebrows raised for a second.

"What kind of an establishment are you running here, with nothing to quench a man's thirst?" the man asked. Cleaver leaned back against the shelf holding old empty bottles of liquor in front of the bar mirror decorated with cobwebs and cracks.

"A rundown down one. Look, I don't know who you are, and I ain't asking, but this here establishment has been like this for nigh on three months now. Me Pappy left it to me in his will, but I ain't no business man, let alone a good bartender," said Cleaver, smiling.

"So why are you open for business?" asked the man.

"Is there anything else for me to do in this shithole of a town?" asked Cleaver, standing up, crossing his arms.

"I wouldn't know," replied the man. "I don't come from around these parts." The only sound was an open window round the back, slamming with the warm breeze running through the bar. "Water, do you have any water?" asked the man.

"Water we do have, for our sins," said Cleaver, grabbing a dirty, chipped glass from behind the bar and a half-filled jug of rusty water, placing them both on the counter.

"What do you call that?" the man asked.

"Water. In these parts. We haven't had any rain for three weeks. I got this from the bottom of the tank," replied Cleaver.

"I'm not drinking that," said the man. He took his water canteen and a small glass bottle. Popping the top off the bottle, he downed a pill and sipped the water left in his canteen.

"What's that?"

"This?" The man gestured with the small glass bottle. "For my anxiety attacks. Professional hazard. I see potential threats everywhere."

"What are you?" asked Cleaver, pouring himself a glass of the rusty water and downing it.

"I'm a gun, for hire," replied the man, moving his open shirt aside and showing two flashy customised Colts.

"Well, there ain't no trouble round here," said Cleaver, unimpressed.

"That's not what I heard," said the man. He spat out some tobacco and wiped his mouth.

"You heard wrong." Cleaver lifted his Remington and shot the man in the middle of his forehead.

Challenge 121 (Alis Van Doorn Challenge)

Elements: A moss draped Cemetary, a hidden leather satchel, containing $10K cash (or pounds, forint, yen, just a large amount of money.), a peculiar looking priest, a foul mouthed parrot named Percy. (easy on the cursing, no f bombs.)

"Are you sure this is the place?" asked Clemence to his partner-in-crime, Wynner.

"Yes, this is the place. It says here 'Kiddensburg Cemetary' and this is Kiddensburg Cemetary." Winchester showed Clemence both the note and the map.

"But this place is ancient! There's moss draped all over it. No one's been here for decades," said Clemence.

"And so it's good hiding place for the money," nodded Wynner.

"I guess so." They pushed the rusting gates open and walked in, tripping over the blistered tarmac of the path towards the stones and tombs. "Now where is it meant to be?"

"Hidden in a leather satchel. Ten thousand dollars," grinned Wynner.

"Yes, I know what it's in, but where is it?" asked Clemence, carefully walking over a couple of old sunken graves, their stone cracked through age and fauna. He looked inside to see the rotting remains of skeletons and suits.

"Erm, the note... doesn't say," stuttered Wynner.

"How can it not say? Surely he marked the grave somehow?" asked Clemence.

"The only other word on this note is 'Percy'. Maybe we're looking for a gravestone by the name of Percy," answered Wynner.

"Yes! Okay, let's spread out, you take the south side, I'll take the north," ordered Clemence.

Two hours later, they met up at a large tomb in the centre of the cemetary.

"Did you find anything?" asked Wynner.

"Does it look like I found anything, you cheap piece of shit!"

"What did you call me?" asked Wynner.

"What?" asked Clemence.

"You threatening me, you fat-arsed faggot?"

"What?" asked Clemence.

"What did you say?" asked Wynner.

"I didn't say a word!" exclaimed Clemence.

"Oh yes you did! I should bust your jaw just for the 'cheap'!" shouted Wynner, raising a fist.

"Good evening, gentlemen. How can I help you?"

Clemence and Wynner jumped and grabbed each other in fright. Behind a gravestone stood a priest.

"Er, good evening, father, what a wonderful night it is," said Clemence.

"Yes, good evening father. We were just, erm..." started Wynner.

"...Flower collecting," finished Clemence.

"What, at this time of night?" asked the priest. "Why, the only flower out tonight is me." He moved away from the gravestone to reveal he was wearing a small pink tutu and red high heels. Clemence and Wynner jumped once again.

"You know where you can shove that flower!"

"Three stood there silent, the priest non-plussed, Clemence and Wynner confused.

"Err, father? Who's that?" asked Clemence.

"That? That foul mouthedness?" asked the priest, doing a little dance.

"Yes, that," replied Wynner.

"That's my pet parrot, Percy," he said.

"Percy?" they both asked.

"Yes. I let him out in the evening to fly around the cemetary, stretch his wings a little. Unfortunately, he is one foul mouthed little parrot," said the priest. "I blame his mother," he whispered.

"I heard that, you rotten old buffoon!" Percy flew by very close, making Clemence and Wynner hit the deck. Around Percy neck was a small leather satchel. The boys smiled together.

Challenge 122

Elements: Mr. Bill from SNL, Firefly, a responsibility, an odor from a specific spice

Have you seen Mr Robot? You have? Yeah, it's pretty cool but I dunno, I get that kinda nerdy Fight Club feel about it, what with his Dad actually being him and...yeah, Breaking Bad is good. A bit violent at times and tons of eating breakfast scenes. Whatever happened to those great TV shows? They don't make 'em like they used to! Dukes of Hazzard, Knight Rider...Hasselhoff! Ha, yeah, oh, and The A-team, that was so good. No one ever got killed in The A-team, lots of shooting and blowing up things, and always being able to make a tank at the end of the episode from a cereal box and some tape. Yeah, it was so cool. But what about those sci-fi series? Star Trek, now the original series, that was so great, and what was that one, the cowboy one, yeah, Firefly. 'What now how?' Or something like that, ha, but they always kill the sci-fi series. Killing? Yeah, there's lots of that nowadays, what with stuff like The Walking Dead...hey, how about Dead Like Me? You don't remember? It was kinda philosophical but funny at the same time. They killed that one, too. Alf? Who didn't watch that? I caught a rerun the other day, wow, was it bad. No, I didn't like Mr. Bill from SNL. That was completely pointless, maiming a plasticine figure, and his dog, Spot. Morph was better than that, and he was for 6 year old kids! No, what I'm saying is, somewhere along the line, things got messed up. Is this entertainment now? All these killings, this blood, drugs, and violence? Where's all the fun, all those one liner jokes to finish episodes they so overplayed way back then? Almost every series did it, Charlies Angels, Kojak, hey, now there's one series which never gets old. No, not Kojak, Columbo. I could watch that like for 24/7 straight. Yeah, I have them all, every episode. Monk? Yeah, he's good too, but some are better than others. CSI? ICS? Whatever. Where is it set? New York? Miami? San Francisco? Stoke-on-Trent? What the hell? Same thing all the time! Okay, a little different but come on, overkill. But hey, Hawaii Five-O came back, yeah, it did, and it's pretty good, no 'little breather', no, ha. If it goes on like this, they'll bring back the Bionic Man and Wonderwoman. Now there was a series! Ain't Half Hot Mum? Oh hell, yeah, that's going way back, you might as well talk about Dad's Army or even better that other one, it was... Some Mothers Do 'Ave Them! 'Ooo, Betty!', yeah, funny, but I... hey... can... can you smell something? It smells a bit like garlic... oh shit! The asafoetida in the curry! Oh my god, she's going to kill me! I had only one responsibility! To look after the curry! It's burnt! Completely burnt...oh yeah, Burned! Now there was a really crappy series. Hot girls, though. Not as good as Baywatch but....Hasselhoff! Yeah, ha!

Challenge **123 (Steve Bergeron Challenge)**

**Elements: Chilean fear volcano, a fiery path to the Ark of the Covenant, path to salvation, one of the seven deadly sins**

Chile. Sitting on a burning rock on the side of an active volcano.

"I fear this volcano!" said my servant Bergertheone.

"You fear everything, Bergertheone. We're here for one reason and one reason only," I said, removing my pith helmet and wiping my brow.

"There's only one reason why I'm here!" he screamed. "It's because I'm in your employment!" He stood on another burning rock some distance away, his shoes melting in the heat. "I demand that you accept my resignation, here and now!"

"It's a bit late for that now," Lava flowed down the slope, passing us by and cutting our route of escape. "One way out of this and it's up." He looked up to the opening close to the top. "There."

"Tell me, sir. What is so important to brave the lava and heat of a Chilean volcano?" Bergertheone lifted one foot, his sock steaming.

"The Ark of the Covenant. That there is a fiery path to the Ark of the Covenant." His eyes lit up and he spun his head towards the opening.

"Then what are we waiting for, sir! This is our path to salvation! Not only will you be able to fix up the West Wing with the finding fee from the National History Museum, but you'll also be able to pay your taxes this year!" He wasn't wrong. But he was. I had other plans for the Ark.

"Well then, Bergertheone, what are we waiting for?"

"Right, sir."

It didn't take long to leap from one rock to the next, missing rivers of lava and fiery rain. In no time at all we were at the large opening. A cave.

"After you, sir," said Bergertheone.

"Why, thank you." I leapt in and took it one step at a time. Somehow this cave hadn't collapsed from the burning heat around it, as though a magical force was holding it together... the Ark.

"Sir, this looks a little dangerous," quivered Bergertheone.

"Stiff upper lip, Bergertheone, stiff upper lip."

We moved further into the cave until we reached the end.

"Sir, there's..."

"Look!" I could see it, the golden Ark, dull in the light of the cave.

"Finally you can make some money, sir."

"Money? It's worth more to me than money."

Maybe he saw it on my eyes, but whatever it was, he took a few steps back.

"Sir, you don't mean to open it, do you? I mean, the damage it would cause would be catastrophic," said Bergertheone, shaking with fear.

"Exactly. Finally I can take vengeance on all those who have done me wrong, all those who cheated me at cards, those who took my seat in the restaurant, those who poo-pooed my taste in clothes."

"Sir, the zipper hasn't really caught on yet, though there are some in society who applause your forwardness in the matter." Bergertheone slipped away, moving back towards the entrance.

"They will feel my wrath! I will punish them all!" I slid open the lid and looked inside...

Challenge 124 (E. Chris Garrison Challenge)

Elements: Grandfather Paradox, a selfie, a deck of Tarot Cards, a Mistaken Identity

"Hello, dearie, how can I help you? Would you like me to read your palm? Or maybe have a look at your future in my crystal ball?" asked Madame LaRue Quelle as the man walked in. He looked so goddamn miserable. "Hang on, if you don't mind, I'd like a selfie with the saddest piece of shit I've ever seen." She grabbed her phone and took a shot.

"Who are you calling a piece of shit?" said the man.

"Sorry, mistaken identity. Can I help you?" she repeated.

"I'm a troubled man," he said.

"No kidding. How about a bit of fun on the ouija board?" she asked.

"Look, I just want to know something. I'm... I'm in a grandfather paradox."

"Uh-huh," she said. It takes all sorts.

"You don't believe me, do you?" he asked, getting frantic. "I'm in trouble."

"How about a Tarot card reading?" She took out her favourite deck of Tarot cards and laid three down, turning over the first. "Oh, the Queen of Cups, you know what you want."

"I was born a girl," said the man.

"What?" she said, not hearing right.

"Then I got pregnant and gave the baby away," he continued.

"Excuse me?" This man was a complete nutter.

"I also found out that I was a Hermaphrodite," he said.

"Oh." That explained a few things. His perfect choice in shoes, for one.

"Later I tried to find the baby but found out it had been taken and... disappeared. I mean, completely. No trace," he said.

"Ah-ha." This one might be a long twenty bucks.

"Then, I decided to live my life as a man and after some bad relationships, I found myself in a bar, talking to a man about my problems. He said he could make it all better," he went on.

"I wish," she said. Why her?

"He had a time machine. He sent me back and I found a girl who liked me, and we had a baby, then the man disappeared with the baby."

Things were getting really complicated.

"And now I'm confused. I just met me, the same me before the time machine. I had the same conversation with him as that man had with me. I think I need to follow him back. I think I need to take the baby and send it back in time... to my birth," he said.

"Okay, now that's some really messed up shit. What you're saying is that not only are you 'you', but you are the 'man', the 'girl' and the 'baby' as well? Because of this time machine?" she asked.

"Yes," he said, smiling. "You understand!"

"I think I do," she said. "I'm quite intelligent, you know." She scratched her head. "There's a problem, though."

"Yes, I know. What happens now?" he asked.

"No, that's not the problem," said said. "If this is all true, you were never born to start with."

And with that he disappeared into thin air.

"Damn. No twenty bucks," she said.

Challenge 125 (Richard Russell Challenge)

Elements: Write a short statement or phrase for each song saying what you think each one is about, and use your summaries as your elements. (Piano man by Billy Joel, Waiting on a friend by Mick Jaggar, Stay by Jackson Browne, Boulevard of broken dreams by Greenday)

My 4 elements...

1. Piano man by Billy Joel - I'm their saviour from the misery of life

2. Waiting on a friend by Mick Jaggar - He thinks he's so superior

3. Stay by Jackson Browne - Looking for an escape from the torture

4. Boulevard of broken dreams by Greenday - Dead inside but still breathing

Serial Killer

"I'm their saviour from the misery of life. For them, perfection lies beyond..."

The guy opposite stared on, pen and paper at the ready, mouth chewing three hour gum. "You want me to write that down?" he asked. "Your fingerprints were found on the bodies, the murder weapons, all over the murder scenes...what do you have to say?"

"I don't like using gloves, it takes the fun out of it, the touch of skin against skin..."

"That's disgusting." He moved the gum between his teeth, then continued with the cow face. "You know, you could've gone on indefinitely if it wasn't for the fact that you got sloppy on your last victim, a Richard Russell, when you re-used an envelope for a 'hate' note, scribbling his address over yours."

"It was the only thing handy at the time. I was angry. He'd used too many big words. He thinks he's so superior."

"Thought. So you killed him?"

The other guy standing in the corner broke from the shadows. Time to tell.

"I was cleansing this rock of its vermin, nothing more. They're looking for an escape from the torture and stench of this putrid pit called humanity. His time had come. As the others."

"So you're willing to make a statement to that effect?" asked the standing guy.

"I'm dead inside but still breathing. Doesn't matter to me."

"How about this one?" Cow face slid over a photo of my third victim.

"I saw a bag of flesh, slopped over a stool, heavily engrossed in a local rag. As a tree it mattered. But those pulped lifeless sheets secrete only lies and propaganda, eager to hold the illusional status quo over us all. And yet it comes to nothing, in the end. Nothing."

The standing guy shook his head and went back to leaning on the wall.

"And this one?"

"The pianist. Under the smoke of his own future cancer, stumbled over some Jackson Browne classics. Notes broke through the darkness, oblivious to the apathetic ears in that bar. When he did Billy Joel's 'Piano man', that was enough."

"Who the hell do you think you are?" shouted the standing man, running over and slamming his fists down hard.

"We all reach for a part, a piece we clutch onto as our own. But it's taken, cut short. When time gives one last tick in our inconsequential lives, it has all been for nothing. Reality holds no meaning, no soul, turning into cold regretful dust as we die like those before us did, long ago. We are all a part of the same whole, the unfeeling, uncaring universe. We live in pure infantile meaningless inane individualities! When will we finally see that the games we play, the days we live, the words we speak mean squat? Life flushes over us with no connection, no contact, burning our skin alive..."

"You said it. Sign here, before I start to give a shit," chewed the sitting guy, handing me an empty form.

Challenge 126

Elements: The Eiffel Tower, a prison cafeteria, Picante Sauce, the last sentence must be: "Clear!"

Breakout

"We must act!" Omair stood up and almost turned the table.

"Would you like to tell the whole prison community?" asked Taahid. Omair paused and sat down.

"We must act," he repeated in a whisper.

"What do you suggest? If I recall, you're in here for fraud," laughed Faakih.

"But I was aggressive when they arrested me. I refused to come quietly," Omair said.

"Sounds like the couple of cell 223, the infidels," murmured Taahid.

Two guards walked by. The prison cafeteria was almost empty, lunch was over.

"Guys, we must do something to those French infidels, something dramatic. Our society was made to look like barbarians with 'Charlie'. Our cause cannot die."

"They killed them, Omair. How much more dramatic would you like? And besides, as I said, none of us are terrorists," said Faakih.

"Terrorists? We are fighters of freedom!" Omair stood up again and a guard came over.

"Eat up and get back to your cells."

"Yes, sir, of course, sir," bowed Omair, sitting down.

"See? We are not 'fighters', Omair," said Taahid. "What can we do?"

"Shut up and finish your mashed potato, Taahid," said Omair.

Taahid played with his food. "Why do we not get crisps in here? Or Doritos? With Picante sauce?"

"Because we are in a prison, my friend, and somehow they must make us feel that they have taken away our freedom. So, no crisps for poor Taahid," said Faakih.

"Are you listening?" Omair waited until he had their full attention. "We will blow up the Eiffel Tower."

Taahid rolled the mashed potato around on his plate.

Faakih took a scoop of Taahid's mashed potato to quicken the process. "And exactly how do you think we're going to do that, Omair? Recite the Quran at it and it will fall over with the words of God?"

"No. I have slabs of explosive disguised as Baklava sent through in parcels from my wife. These infidels have never seen any before so it was easy," informed Omair.

"You are crazy, my friend," said Faakih. "Are you telling us that you received explosives through the post?"

"Yes, and I have enough strapped to my body to bring this whole place down..." Taahid and Faakih scraped their chairs away from the table, dropping mashed potato on the floor.

"You're not...you're not going to sacrifice yourself for the cause, Omair, are you?" asked Faakih, looking for a safe place to hide,

"No, no. These are for the Eiffel Tower!"

"Oh good," said Taahid, moving back to the table and scooping up some of his food.

"And how do we get out of here, Omair? Please enlighten us. We all have at least three more years to go," asked Faakih.

"Very easy, very easy. I have strapped two slabs of explosive to the canteen wall and two others to the outer wall by the latrines, set to blow up once I hit this button." They all stared at the little box and dove under the table.

"Clear!"

Challenge 127/AO8 (Christopher A Liccardi Challenge)

Elements: A death bed vision, a smelly sweat sock, a neuro physicist, a red rain boot

A smelly sweat sock hung from a lone red rain boot in the corner of the bedroom. Rain pelted down on the window panes. It was freezing.

"Son! Son! Are you there?" His father lay in bed, dying.

"Yes, father." He'd cut short his holiday in the Caribbean to be here. His father had been on his death bed since last Tuesday. It was Friday, well over a week later. Every day he sat here from dawn to dusk, waiting for his father to wake up and have some moments of clarity. He himself slept on the old sofa in the other room. But what he was really waiting for was his father's death. Only then would he get the house and land.

"I had a vision, son," his father whispered, as if he didn't want anyone to hear. There was no one else. The last person to call was the hospital's neuro physicist, a surprise visit, perhaps looking for a gift for all the help and treatment he'd given his father getting him through all the procedures and operations on the NHS these last few months. Fat chance. He's spent all his money on the Caribbean trip and his father's only possession worth talking about was the house.

"Really, father?" He'd had a vision, too, of a far-away beach, a beach made of fine sand, and women walking by so delicious in their bikinis that they were pouring out of them.

"Yes, son, a vision. I saw the light and I moved towards it, but before I could reach it, I was taken aside by an angel and told that if I did not pay my social security that I would not be let into Heaven," murmured his father, weak and coughing.

"Father, you don't need to pay social security, you're retired," he said, reassuring him.

"No son, you don't understand, I never paid it. Like, ever," said his father, now turning his head to face him. "Ever."

"What, like, ever?" he asked.

"Yes, ever. I was self-employed being a farmer, and the authorities never once asked for it," said his father.

"Well, it's a bit late to pay it now, don't you think?" he asked. "Besides, they never asked for it, so..." His father took out an opened envelope from under the covers. "What's that?"

"A bill," said his father.

"A what?" He took the envelope and pulled out a letter. "Wha...? How much? When... when did you get this?" He stood up and held his head.

"The doctor brought it when he came the other day," replied his father. "I guess they finally found me."

He reread the figures. "No, this can't be! This... this is more than the house is worth, more than the farm!"

"They did some special tests on me, spent a lot of money," said his father.

"Wha... what are we going to do?" he asked, pacing around the room, his voice stuttering.

"Not we, son," said his father. "You." And he died.

Challenge 128 (Vance Rowe Challenge)

Elements: Bacon, a football, a cigar and the image (Kermit drinking Lipton tea)

Don Kermione

Fozzie bundled through the door, ready to greet his old friend Kermit. Their last movie had been a blast and they hadn't met since then. Maybe Kermit had some good news about the next. Scanning the large, luxurious penthouse, he spotted the green guy on the white leather sofa.

"Kermit!" The frog turned his head towards Fozzie. "Hey, Kermit! It's so good to see you! What have you been up to, buddy?" There was a smouldering cigar resting in an ashtray on the solid walnut wood coffee table in front of Kermit's crossed legs. A cup of tea next to the ashtray completed the inventory of objects Fozzie saw in the whole room. It looked like Kermit had turned into a minimalist. And the frog looked so relaxed, stretching his long, green arms across the top of the sofa. Fozzie took another look at the cigar. Surely the little guy didn't smoke now?

"Hello, Fozzie. Please, take a seat."

With a wide, open, happy smile, one of his trademarks, Fozzie sat down in a matching white armchair opposite.

"Wha... wow! Hey, this is so comfortable! I can't believe it, Kermit! Wow!" He jumped up and down on the chair.

"Yes, Fozzie, they are comfortable. They should be for the price."

Fozzie noticed Kermit eyeing him sternly so he stopped with the jumping. He shifted around.

"So, Kermit, what, erm, why, erm...?"

"I want to talk to you about something," said Kermit, picking up the cigar and taking a puff. He exhaled the smoke towards Fozzie, who fanned it away.

"Really? I... I didn't know you smoked, Kermit?"

"There comes a time for change."

Fozzie sat there with Kermit's eyes locked on his. Something was... different about his little green friend. He noticed that there was a waft of freshly fried bacon in the air.

"Mmm, breakfast?"

The frog nodded and a thought popped into Fozzie's head.

"Where's Miss Piggy, Kermit?"

Kermit's staring went on a little longer until he broke it off and sipped his Lipton tea. Another puff of smoke filled the space between them before Kermit spoke again.

"She... has been attended to, as has Gonzo." Kermit waved his hand over to the corner where a life-size model of Gonzo dressed in the Arizona State Sun Devils' uniform posed, precariously holding a football.

"That's so cool, Kermit, so lifelike!" enthused Fozzie. Kermit's eyes were now slits, cutting into Fozzie's soul.

"I had him stuffed."

Fozzie gulped.

"What?" he asked, huddling behind his furry paws.

"I'm moving on, Fozzie, and I don't need any... slackers," he said.

Fozzie started to sweat, nervously pulling his bow away from his neck.

"I'm afraid I will need to have you 'whacked', Fozzie."

He froze. Fozzie had to think quickly.

"Whacka whacka whacka!" he shouted.

Kermit looked confused.

"Don't you mean 'Wocka wocka wocka', Fozzie?"

"Artistic license." Fozzie sprang from his armchair to the front door, only to be greeted by a wall of yellow feathers.

"Fozzie, you've met Big Bird, haven't you?"

DL Zwissler Amazon Special

Elements: 500 words, ketchup, fish stew, the Invisible Man, image of man holding a peeing baby

Flatty Flat Flat

"Well, I tell ya, I was giving him a right bashing..." beamed Flatty, flailing his arms in the air, recreating the fight.

"What? The Invisible Man? You can't even see him? How can you fight him?" laughed his mate, Dicky, sipping on his beer.

"Hey, I'm fantastic, I am! I can do anything! Oi!" He called to his girlfriend Mavis. "I can smell fish! You know I'm allergic!"

"No fish in here! Come and help with the dinner!" she shouted back.

"I'm only halfway through my story!" He picked up his beer and gave it a swig. Ignoring his girlfriend's request, he continued on. "So, it was like this..."

From the kitchen, Mavis and her friend Josie heard only muffled laughter and whoops from the other room.

"I am starting to really hate him. He's so full of shit."

"Not from this photo he ain't." Josie had stolen an old photo album from the drawer and showed the picture up. It was Flatty as a baby, being held by his father. By some freak of coincidence or luck, the photographer, probably Flatty's mother, had caught the moment when the kid had 'released' himself of liquid waste. He was peeing a fountain. Mavis and Josie laughed and both grabbed their wine glasses.

"Cheers, girl."

"Cheers."

"Hey, you!" His face popped through the kitchen door. "Where's the grub? I'm starving!"

"It's coming!"

"Hurry up with it!" The door closed again as Mavis growled.

"Are... are you guys doing okay?" asked Josie, downing the wine.

"What, Flatty? He's just... full of himself, you know."

"That's a good thing, isn't it? Confidence, isn't that what a woman wants from a guy?" Josie held out her empty glass and Mavis filled it up.

"Yeah, 'course, but this? He's all mouth..."

"...and no trousers?" Josie laughed but stopped, noticing Mavis wasn't joining in. They shared some nervous glances until Mavis burst out laughing.

"Well, he ain't called 'Flat' for nothing!" They laughed so hard, two heads slowly appeared through the door.

"Oi! Can you keep it down? I'm trying to tell me mate a story here!" Flatty gave his 'disappointed' face. "And get a move on!" Both heads left.

"Wow. What a shit." Josie downed her second glass. This time she helped herself to thirds.

"Easy on the vino, girl, you'll need some space for munchies." She knew she couldn't stop her, that's why she'd bought four bottles.

"Anyway, Mavis, if he's such a shit, what are we doing here? What the hell are we celebrating?"

"Oh, you'll see. Flathead in there doesn't even know it's my birthday. I woke up to rants of how great he is and how he's going to take the music world by storm with his fantastic groovy lyrics and beats."

"I've listened to his stuff, it's...it's..."

They both shook their heads.

"Pass me the ketchup, Josie, I've run out of tomato purée."

Her friend took the bottle from the fridge and handed it over.

"What are you making?"

"Fish stew."

Challenge 129 (Autumn Open Prelims)

Elements: **A worldwide holiday celebrating a fictional character (you must name the character), testing the first bullet-proof vest, the first mosquito of the season, pancake batter**

Losers United!

I opened door number twenty-three and there he was, Dave, lying in a hospital bed, bloated up like a balloon. Every part of him visible was red and inflammed, the poor sod. When he saw me, he sat up.

"Bob! Good to see you! Come on in!"

After some hesitation, I took a chair next to the bed. "Dave, you look... you look... what the hell happened, Dave?"

"I tried out my new thing, Bob, my anti-mosquito t-shirt. Look!" He pointed over to the bedside cupboard and I saw a colourful promotional flyer with Dave splashed all over it wearing some strange t-shirt. Was this his latest 'get-rich-quick' scheme?

"What's that on the t-shirt, Dave?"

"That? That's my own secret concoction of chemicals designed to repel and kill all mosquitos! It's stuck together with pancake batter, which is both an excellent base and glue. And if I mix food dye in it, I can also get different coloured t-shirts! Ingenious, huh?"

I guess I didn't jump up and down enough, because the next thing I knew, I was watching a video on his flashy new android phone. The camera was a bit shaky but there he was, standing next to a river. "Is that the Tisza, Dave?"

"Yep."

People were walking by him quickly, holding their noses, basically running away.

"What are you doing?"

"Waiting for the first mosquito of the season. The Tisza's always the first place they appear. I've got to start production of these t-shirts as soon as possible. I'm telling you, once they hit the shops, sales will be immense!" A baby in a pram started crying as it was pushed past briskly. "Oh, Bob, how did your thing go?"

Thing? The Winnie-the-Pooh Appreciation Society just had Pooh Day, celebrated across the world, and I was nominated as head of the county's, yes, county's happenings. I had the great idea of re-enacting 'The Heffalump', seeing as Mavis the treasurer looked so good in the elephant costume. Of course, Hundred Acre Wood wasn't available, so we had to find somewhere suitable. Getting permission didn't work out, so we did a 'Flash Mob' performance at the local garden centre. There wasn't much of a turnout but it was great. And to Dave it was 'a thing'?

"Well..."

"Listen!" There was a close up in the video.

"Remember this day, remember it well!" said the Dave in the video. "Wow, I feel like that guy, you know... Zepplin, testing the first bullet-proof vest."

"Err, Dave, it was Zeglen, I think."

"Whatever."

Then the Dave in the video moved like he'd been hit, falling to the ground. The camera view dropped, showing only grass.

"Who... who is that woman screaming, Dave?"

"That's me."

"Oh." I didn't understand. Why was he in a good mood if it had failed? "What happened, the t-shirt didn't work?"

"Of course it works!"

"So... what happened?"

"I got bitten by a tiny 3mm white crab spider. That's what happened!"

Mamie Pound's Halloween Special

Down at Creepy Manor – The Locksmith Only Rang Twice

Down here at Creepy Manor, when the gate bell rings, it's a problem. The front door is jammed, has been since James broke the key in the lock the other month when the zombies attacked again and the locksmith, no matter how many times we called, never picked up. Typical. So we go through the back door, run around the side of the house, jump over our chained three-headed mutt Ainslie shouting 'Coming!' and try to get there before the person leaves. The postman doesn't like us, no idea why, so when we get a parcel he writes out his slip, posts it, gets on his bike, rings the bell, and pelts down the road at top speed. By the time we get to the gate nowadays, he's gone. At 11pm though, it's not the postman.

"Who was it?"

"Nobody."

"Damn kids. I'll have to dust off the flamethrower."

The bell rang again.

"Now what?"

"If you catch them, give them a good thrashing with your bullwhip!"

I opened the gate. Again, nobody. James popped his head out on a stick. The rest of his body followed some moments later.

"So?"

"Nobody."

"What's that?"

He was pointing to a small piece of card lying on the floor, a business card.

"Oh, a locksmith."

"That's just what we need. Where is he? And why does he ring at this time of night? My kind of guy."

I decided to call the number on the card, the same one we'd been calling for months. Nothing.

"He doesn't pick it up."

"Why don't you try the other number?"

"What other number?"

"The one on the other side."

I turned the card over and there was another phone number, handwritten in blood. I called that one and a woman picked it up. She sounded sleepy.

"Hello?"

"Hello! I'm sorry to call at this time but we're looking for a locksmith..." As soon as I said the last word, the woman began to cry. "What's the matter?"

"It's... it's Jeff. He... he died."

"Oh. I'm sorry to hear that." She cried some more. "Do you know how I can contact him?" The phone went dead. "Hello?"

"What happened?"

"A woman picked it up, said the locksmith died. Then she hung up."

"Oh."

An owl howled out some distance away.

"I've got an idea," said James.

"What's that, then?"

"Leave the gate open tonight."

So we did. There were no more rings from the gate bell that night, nor any night. And the other day while cleaning the hall with my pet tarantula, I touched the front door handle by accident and the damn door opened. I shouted out to James and he appeared, without his arms. It was a Tuesday. They needed squeezing.

"Yeah?"

"The front door, it's open. See?"

We looked at it each other in shock and I remembered that one night with the unexplained rings.

"Remember that night?" I asked. James shrugged his shoulders.

"Well, at least the locksmith only rang twice."

Challenge 130 (Autumn Open Final)

Elements: A post-game media interview with a gladiator, a contract, a spider, a hideous steampunk mask

There's Danger in that Arena

[Image of a gladiator stadium from the main tunnel. A fight is on, the crowd cheers as two gladiators battle it out in the sand. Camera moves to reporter.]

TINTINUS: Hello and welcome to The Arena on this auspicious day! I'm joined by six times champion, Maticus Weavus, also known as Maticus the Word, before his next match. Ave!

MATICUS: Ave!

[Bone splitting sound from the arena, groans from the crowd.]

TINTINUS: After many years of being 'the' gladiator, and once glorious people's champion, how do you feel the season's going?

MATICUS: Well, I've had some close calls, but I feel I'll reach that grand finale!

TINTINUS: So, you think you have a chance of holding onto your title later this month?

MATICUS: Of course! Nobody can stop me!

TINTINUS: Well, I wouldn't say it's been clear sailing up to this point. Some have said your mediocre performances...

MATICUS: Mediocre? What are you insinuating? I've taken care of all who have stood before me! I have wowed the audiences with my strength and skill...!

TINTINUS: Like you did against Claudicus the Headchopperoffer? Rumours have it you híd his favourite axe. And how about Slopicus the Flatulent? Apparently that match stank the place out. Personally, I've seen papercuts that spilt more blood.

MATICUS: How dare you! I was severly injured!

TINTINUS: Close eye-witnesses say you tripped over your own feet and broke a fingernail. And what about last week with Breakdownicus the Notsobadcouldbehavingabettertimeofitreally? He commited hara-kiri on his own sword after your cruel taunts about his nose. And there was also that split decision match against Paldamir the Ponce, then the fiasco against Ivanicus the Awful, where you...

[Cheers from the crowd as their favourite takes the upper hand, killing his opponent.]

MATICUS: Ahh! They all count! I was the winner! I triumphed against all odds!

TINTINUS: There are also some mentions in the tabloids surfacing now that your infamous fighting technique, 'the whirlwind', a chaotic and haphazard use of two swords you first performed against thirty-two eunuchs armed with pointy sticks and tweezers, was due to the fact that a rather large spider had crept into your armour moments before the fight. Is this true?

MATICUS: No! Erm... No comment!

TINTINUS: Reports are also coming in that Vladimir the Vainicus, still recovering from your fight together, has filed a lawsuit stating that while in close combat, you used a concealed steam-powered flame attached to your trademark hideous steampunk mask, 'Selene', burning off his eyebrows and eyelashes, and so losing him his five year lucrative contract with cosmetic giants Avon.

MATICUS: Prove it!

[Maticus puts on his mask and walks out into the arena to applause and cheers.]

TINTINUS: So there you have it, citizens, decide as you will. Tintinus Walkingonthinice for Wolverine News signing off...

[Tintinus is pushed by slaves into the arena. Gates close and Maticus stands in the centre, sword raised.]

TINTINUS: Hey! Don't push! No! Not the gates! Hey! What? Hey! Open up!

[Camera cuts to studio.]

Quickies

Weekday Quickie 4

Write YOUR own horror story. Start with the following sentence: I was jumping on the trampoline...

USE THESE WORDS: dead, Meryl Streep, scratches, grim, and dirty.

250 words

END WITH: What's done is done...

I was jumping on the trampoline when I heard knocking coming from the fence. Jumping a little higher, I spotted someone standing on the other side. From what I could see, the person was banging against the wood, trying to get in.

"Oi! Stop that!" I shouted, but the knocking continued, turning into the sound of splitting wood. The person was trying to break the fence. "What the hell are you doing?" I screamed. With my last jump, I bounced off, only to be confronted by the person themselves. They had succeeded in coming into my garden. "Get out of my...!" The sight of the person made me step back, dirty, scratches all over its face, 'it' for I couldn't distinguish whether they were male or female, and hair like Meryl Streep. With a grim, half rotten scowl on their face, I recognised this person as none other than Frightening Freddy, the King of the Dead. He was legendary in the neighbourhood for devouring old women. "So, it's you Frightening Freddy!"

"Argh, grrrr!" he mumbled through his decaying mouth.

"Well, your days are numbered, Freddy!" I picked up my spade and chased him around the garden. For a zombie he was fast, but he lost a foot and fell over. "Now I have you!" I sliced his head off with the spade's blade.

Something was in his pocket, and I pulled out a birthday card. For me. He'd come to greet me, not eat me. Well, what's done is done...

Weekday Quickie 5

Write a speech for the most eligible bachelor in your town. He will be be accepting an award and a Key to the City for his eligibility. (I know, ridiculous) You must include the following:

Earwax, Insomnia, Yeast Infection and Zoot Suit

Thank you for this unique award, the Most Eligible Bachelor Award of Dick County. I have no idea how I beat all those other, as my mother would say, 'hunks', but I'm sure it wasn't my stinky earwax nor my Zoot Suit, unless we have some Retro girls in tonight who are blind and can't smell. If you care to try 'the goods', please make an orderly line on the right of the stage and I will check you for any yeast infections you may have. Please be aware, I suffer from insomnia and you won't get much sleep. Thank you again!

Weekend Quickies

Weekend Quickie 97

You are Darth Vader, and you are writing a rap about Han Solo and Princess Leia. 200 words. Must include Wookie nookie, Mr. Sulu, and Anakin

(77 words)

Yo, yo, yo, yo!

Solo do the Wookie nookie,

He done do the Wookie nookie,

Tellin' ya like he de man! He de muther f'king man,

He done do the Princess Leia,

Leia, Leia, Princess Leia,

He ain't no Mr. Sulu, nu, nu,

He done do the Wookie nookie,

Tellin' ya like I know! Anakin, I know!

I'm da man, he de man, I'm the Vader, he de man!

Hey, hey, hey, hey!

Yo, yo, yo, yo!

Weekend Quickie 98

Start with: Jackie ate the last banana... ,Use the words, pear, torque and water- fight. 150 words

Jackie ate the last banana, knowing full well the consequences. Masie came in and she was off.

"You could have eaten the pear, for Christ's sake! The pear! See? It's right there! It's been there for six days, six stinking days, but no, we buy a bunch of bananas, and you're at them! I had one! One of them! And you had the rest! You... you...!" She looked around and picked up the first thing at hand, a glass of water, and threw the contents into Jackie's face.

"You bitch! It's just a banana!" Jackie got up and grabbed the vase of flowers from the coffee table, throwing the water, flowers and all, at her flatmate. A water-fight ensued, finishing with them wrestling on the floor, Masie with a neck hold on Jackie that would've produced enough torque to pull her head off, if it wasn't for her head brace.

Weekend Quickie 99 (Sunday)

Write a country song with 4 stanzas and a chorus. You must use the following words: Corn fed, drama, baby mama, tight blue jeans. Max 200 words

I got me some drama 'cause I'm an ol' farmer,

Got me a baby mama an' nothin' will calm 'er

'cept swigs on Big Theodore's 'shine.

I don' right know where she been in 'er short tight blue jeans

But th' Boys said they seen some hillbilly too keen

takin' swigs on Big Theodore's 'shine!

I'm a corn fed ol' varment from down on the way

An' nobod' done listen to a dang word I say.

Th' day I did wed some thang she did said

Make my Boys they all fled an' soft I did tread

Givin' swigs on Big Theodore's 'shine.

Well, I got me some drama I'm a god-dang it farmer,

Got a swee' baby mama an' nothin' will calm 'er

'cept swigs on Big Theodore's 'shine!

I'm a corn fed ol' varment from down on the way

An' nobod' done listen to a dang word I say.

An' nobod' done listen to a dang word I say!

Weekend Quickie 100

Write a letter to your favourite celebrity :Pickles, A microphone, A bottle of Ibuprofen, A Brown Marker, Cattle-prod. 250 words

Dear Jason Statham,

I hope you enjoyed the 'Layer Cake' muffin that came with this letter, I'm a big fan of yours and I heard you needed some help with your diet. It's always good to have something sweet.

I'd also like to say thank you so much for writing your autograph on my girlfriend's buttocks with a large brown permanent marker. I am so happy that she has refused to wash it off for the last six days, and although it is now only a smudge, she still refuses.

I forgive you for what you did to her with that pickle jar, it has spiced our love life up a little, what with the addition of common garden vegetables, though I will never be able to look at another eggplant again. And after she told me where you put that microphone, I haven't been able to make a public speech since...and I'm a CEO.

How are you feeling? Did you like the muffin? Good. I crushed a whole bottle of Ibuprofen into the mix and if you ate every crumb, like the pig you are, then you should be feeling the effect soon, very soon. Not even a cattle prod will be able to wake you up from that.

I know where your room is in the hotel, my girlfriend still has a pass key, and I'll be there in five minutes. With a pickle jar. And a microphone. I won't forget the eggplant, either.

Yours,

A fan.

Weekend Quickie 100 (missing 3 elements but still good!)

"Oh, give me a home where the buffalo roam...!" Bert was playing around, walking along the top of the fences, pretending the cattle prod was a microphone, singing his heart out.

"I'm a gonna be a star, Ted! I'm a gonna go to Nashville and made me a ton a money! You guys can go kiss my butt!"

Ted farted. "And here's yer accompa'ment, yer daft fat ape!"

Bert danced on the gate, frightening the cattle. "Oh! give me a land where the bright diamond sand...!"

"Can yer shut his arse up, Ted? I'm trying ta count here," moaned Bobby, counting the herd.

"Oh, don't worry, he'll come to some bad end soon, it's a "Weekend Quickie", what do you expect? There ain't never been no good endings from that ol' bugger Dani boy."

"Well, I've just lost count again. If only I had me gun," sighed Bobby.

"Here it comes, watch," whispered Ted, nudging Bobby and making him start again. As foretold, Bert made a bad move and fell in amongst the cows. Ted and Bobby heard the ominous and painful sound of the cattle prod hitting skin. Bert's howl stretched across the entire valley.

"Ya see? Never a good end, someone always gets it." They both nodded, listening to the screams and cries from below the cattle.

"Ouch, that's gotta hurt, Ted, you gonna do anything about it?" whinced Bobby.

"Nope, not really, 'cept use the last element. It's nothing that a bottle of Ibuprofen can't fix, anyhows."

Weekend Quickie 101 (Sunday)

Dogs playing Pool, A Red Fern, A book, A woman named Alfred, 250 words, The feeling of being perturbed

My head span. It wasn't the drink, I'd asked for a shandy. The room turned over and my world was at an angle, my vision impaired, unsettling me. All my mental capacity ceased, I was a person stuck in my head, disturbed beyond belief. I could only sit and stare out of my eyeballs, unable even to shut out the sights which came to me. Over in the corner, dogs were playing pool, barking to each other, snarling over their shots. They stood on their hind legs and howled at their misses. What was once a plastic flower standing by the bar was now a large red fern, spread across the whole room, people socialising walking through its spikey red leaves without a second glance.

Was it the book? It couldn't be. I wasn't stupid enough to believe in that superstitious nonsense. The girl at the bookshop had warned me it was "The book that cannot be read", but I laughed at her and said that was '50 Shades of Grey'.

"Hello." There was a voice nearby but I couldn't turn my head to see its owner. It was a girl's voice... was it that same girl? I tried to reply but all I could do was stare.

"My name is Alfred and you met me at the bookshop." A woman named Alfred? "I told you not to buy that book. It has a curse. Now you will be taken and put into the "Britain's Got Talent" audience. Goodbye." Noooooooo!
Weekend Quickie 102

Use the following in a 250 word short story: Carrots, Dog, Ren and Stimpy, Tuna

Stimpy bounced on Rens bed, waking him up. He wasn't in the best of moods.

"You idiotic buffoon! I need more beauty sleep, see?" Ren held up a mirror to his face, causing it to smash into smithereens.

"But Ren, I want you to meet my new friend, Tuna!" Stimpy showed Ren a rotting fishhead he'd taken out of the trash.

"Phew, Stimpy, your friend is stinky! Get him out of here, now!" he shouted, with spit covering both Stimpy and Tuna.

"Arrgh, Ren, see, you've hurt his feelings." Maggots popped from mucus infested warts across the face of the fish. Stimpy pressed it against his body, the yellow ooze dripping down his big gut, collecting in his belly button and causing the family of boggies living there to evacuate.

"I am a dog, my ignoramus fat feline, and as a fine specimen of my kind..." He puffed out his pigeon chest and the halo over his head cracked with the strain of conscience. "...I hate fish! Take it out of my sight!"

Tears welled up in Stimpy"s eyes, and he burst out crying, filling the room with water. Ren lay on a duck-shaped inflatable while Stimpy did the backstroke and whale impressions. Stimpy took out a bunch of carrots from his ear, encrusted in gleaming wax.

"Care for a bite?"

"Stimpy!" Ren turned red, steam escaping from the top of his head, his tuft of hair flapping.

"No sir, I don't like it," said Horse, appearing from the water.

Weekend Quickie 103 (Easter Sunday)

The Easter Bunny, Jesus, Easter eggs, and Walmart. 250 words

"Whoa! They're got a special on Easter eggs! 40% on all Easter items!" She ran over to the colorful shelves and filled the trolley with rainbow colored chocolate poop. Kevin hated that they lived only five minutes from Walmarts.

"It's Christmas, Dolly, why the hell do you want to buy Easter eggs?"

"Because they're cheap!" She moved on, her trolley almost full with the stuff.

"But Dolly, when you were a kid you 'took out' the Easter bunny in the kindergarten, kicking the shit out of old Mrs Ferryweather, and shouted at the other kids for believing in that crap!"

She laughed and traveled on her trolley, flying down the aisle.

"I don't believe in Jesus, either, but that doesn't stop me celebrating Christmas, all those toys and that chocolate!"

Kevin trudged on, following her lead, listening to her cackling and snorting.

"Ah-ha! Finally! A dancing singing 12 inch Father Christmas for under five dollars!" She dropped the whole shelf into the trolley, about a dozen red pieces of plastic shaking their 'booties'. "And pink tacky Chinese coffee table Christmas trees!"

"Now, hang on, Dolly, I think you've gone a bit too far, there, I really..."

An alarm went off, lights flashed around them and two security guards built like brick shithouses stood over Dolly.

"Excuse me, madam, but I'm afraid that under the store's code of practise, we'll have to take you into custody for having absolutely no class."

They led her off screaming. Kevin went to Dollar General.

Weekend Quickie 104

A beautiful Sunrise, crackers, a racist butterfly. 200 words

It was a beautiful sunrise, perfect for the last day of their lives, drinking pollen and laying eggs. Unfortunately, Bert fluttered over, his proboscis was always half empty, no one liked him.

"I can't believe it! I spent all night trying to sleep while this damn moth kept banging into the porch light at Number 10!"

"Bert, that's what they do, they love the light."

"They're inbred, that's what they are! Damn 'Non Colours'! Don't they have somewhere better to be?" They fluttered away from him but he followed.

"They have colours, Bert, you just have to look a bit harder, all different shades of white, brown, grey..." stated Mavis. Her cousin on her mother's side had interbred with a moth the other day.

"Hell, they're all the same to me! And dumb! They're so dumb! This one tried to eat crumbs from crackers dropped in the grass!"

"Maybe it was resting?" added Doris.

"Resting? Resting! I wish I had some rest! The thing kept hitting the light, bang, bang, bang...!"

"I wish we had some rest," muttered Boris. "Look! A moth!" He pointed over the field of flowers.

"Where? Where?" And Bert was off, flying in the opposite direction.

Weekend Quickie 105 (Sunday)

A Transvestite Cab Driver, A Catholic Prostitute, Three Pennies, and a Gondola. 250 Words. (No hate bashing-elements are meant for story use only)

They looked a pretty pair in the gondola, floating through the canals, Edwin, cab driver by day and transvestite Ellie by night, and Suzie, a Catholic prostitute, trying to keep to her religious beliefs. Times were hard and she'd been forced on the street by her less-than-holy uncle.

"Nice day for it," said Edwin/Ellie, dressed in his/her best summer dress. Suze felt common sitting beside him/her in a hand-me-down from her sister. She saw he/she had shaved his/her legs for the occasion.

"I must tell you that I hold to the doctrine of the church," stated Suze, straightening her skirt.

"That's a bit tricky for a prostitute," laughed Edwin/Ellie, adjusting his/her undercarriage.

"We are not allowed to use a... a condom." Even the word made her cross herself.

"Shame, shame, but what protection do you have?" asked Edwin/Ellie. "What about STDs?"

"I have the Lord to protect me," said Suzie, hands clasped in prayer.

"I'm not sure about that, I'm C of E, myself," said Edwin/Ellie. "I dunno... will He protect me too?"

"I'm cheap, very cheap."

"I'm sure you are, darling, all those extra sessions in confession," he chuckled.

"Do we have a deal?"

Edwin/Ellie searched in his/her purse. "Strange, I'm positive I put some cash in here earlier. All I can find are these..." He/she took out three pennies. Suzie sighed and shook her head.

"Okay, but you must promise to say three Hail Marys afterwards."

Weekend Quickie 106

The Chicken Dance, Three Iron Writers (to be named by you), a hot dog eating contest. 200 words

Christopher and Michael were doing the Chicken dance once again.

Four bottles of whiskey, three crates of Bud, and a two hour long hotdog eating contest had degenerated into Michael getting out his daughter's karaoke machine and the two of them, completely stone drunk, prancing around and singing anything that came up on the screen.

"Nobody here but us chickens!" shouted Christopher, interrupting the song. He nudged Michael and his dancing partner fell over, never to get up again that night. Mathew, still in his helmet due to some unforeseen Iron Writer Protection Program restrictions laid down in the early days, sat on the sofa and watched, sober. He'd been there since the beginning of this farce.

"Let's call it a night, eh, Chris?" asked Mathew, going into the kitchen to fetch yet another glass of water.

"Night? Night! We've only just begun, eh, Michael? And some of us haven't even started yet!"

Mathew put his filled glass of water on the table, and as he was turning around to sit back down on the sofa, Christopher poured its contents into a flower pot and refilled it with vodka.

"Well, I think I'd better..." Mathew swallowed the contents. "...start! Way-hey!"

Weekend Quickie 107 (Sunday)

Brian Rogers singing "Brown-Eyed Girl" , A Mountaintop, A can of beans. 200 Words

"Do you remember when..." Brian Rogers sang his heart out at the Annual Iron Writer Challenge Bring and Buy Get Together and Sell Your Old Crap Garage Karaoke Night, swinging his hips and juggling the microphone. The other Iron Writers sat huddled around the only outdoor patio heater still working in the 'She Sells Seashells Seafood restaurant situated on a mountaintop.

"I think that's the fourth time he's sung "Brown-Eyed Girl" tonight," said Christina / Tina / Rupert / Bob / Daphne.

"Better than his rendition of "Blurred Lines", at least we won't see DL twerking him again," muttered Samuel.

"It would've been better if Zwissler did it, rather than Mackenzie," said Michael, his teeth chattering. "I still have a bad taste in the mouth."

"It must've been Richard's rhubard and raspberry pie," said Mathew, holding onto his stomach, trying not to topple over and lose his helmet. "Is the toilet soundproof?"

"No, it was definitely the twerking," replied Michael.

The patio heater gave a splutter as the gas tank ran out. The flame slowly died down to a mass of moans.

"Oh hell! What are we gonna do now?" wailed Jordan.

Dani took out a can of beans and held it aloft. "Behold!"
Weekend Quickie 108

Image of the "describe your perfect date/April 25th" question/answer, A gopher, A pudding cup, and a Beaver that can not build a dam. 200 words

With white knuckles, the host held his clipboard and smiled at the cameras. It was going as well as it could. Slightly above abysmal. Bob and Dave were on the jury and had a hard time holding themselves together. At any moment they could burst out laughing at the braindead answers Miss Utah was giving to the usual dull questions.

"So, please, Carminia..." The boys cracked up at every mention of her name. "Please describe your perfect date."

"That would be December the 25th, when I get Christmas presents."

The audience didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Bob and Dave huddled together and conferred.

"Have you seen those teeth? I've seen smaller teeth on a gopher," laughed Bob.

"And that chest of hers, I think two pudding cups would do," said a mean Dave.

"Oh, but hey man, has she got a beaver, or what? And I'm talking about one that can't build a dam. She's got more hair than a Greek Orthodox football team!"

Dave stopped laughing. "You slept with her?"

"Duh, yeah? And like you didn't hide the salami with Miss Montana over there."

A stumpy, blind, smiling dorky girl waved over to Dave.

"Okay, fair game."

Weekend Quickie 109 (Sunday) (110 Sunday)

A song to the tune of the Alphabet song must be written with the following concepts below: Monkey Wrench, Dog Show, A Vibrating Toy, and A Skunk (Alphabet Song — word count (approx. 39 words (syllables))

If you take my monkey wrench,

I will stick you in a trench.

I'll get your vibrating toy

Or your skunk, that is my ploy.

Then we'll go see a dog show,

That'll make your brain go slow.

Weekend Quickie 110 (109)

Spongebob Squarepants, A skillet, A grandma wearing a tutu, 200 words

"Look, I'm not a chef, don't blame me," said Tony. "I'm no Spongebob Squarepants who can whip up a crabby patty in the blink of an eye. I need some time to get... acclimatized to the situation... now, where is the flour?" He searched the kitchen, opening all the cupboard doors but finding nothing.

"We all have to do our part, Tony. She's your grandma. We made a deal, today I have to take the kids to the performance, while you make your grandma her usual morning pancakes." She grabbed the car keys and headed for the door.

"Okay, okay, that's fine, but where's the skillet?" Tony stood there, an apron half-tied around his waist. She came back, sorted out the knot and took down the skillet from the rack.

"Anything else? Kids! We're off!"

"Okay, mum!" came a reply from upstairs.

Grandma walked into the room from the garden, a fairy wand in one hand, a plastic tiara in her hair and wearing a ballet outfit, complete with shoes and tutu.

"I've just been over to the neighbors and wished the dog away. Damn barking kept me awake all night."

"Yes, grandma. Any idea where the maple syrup is?"

Weekend Quickie 111 (Sunday)

Big Screen TV, The Avengers, Grilled Cheese Sandwich, The Red Sea. 150 Words

"But come on, I want a 'Big Screen TV' that takes up the whole wall so I can watch 'The Avengers' and 'The Age of Ultron' on.,.on...on a 'Big Screen TV'! Just like in the cinema! And have big whopping speakers to get that big fat Dolby Surround Sound!"

"The chances of you getting a 'Big Screen TV' are the same as you parting the Red Sea."

"What do I work all week for, eh? So I can come home every night and watch some shit on this measly piece of crap!" Tucker threw his empty beer can at the television, narrowly missing the screen and hitting the cat. "Why can't I finish my day watching a 'Big Screen TV'?'

'Because you work at Walmart."

"Oh yeah." Tucker sighed and flicked the channel.

"You want a grilled cheese sandwich?"

Tucker sat there, watching a 'Friends' repeat. "Yeah, alright."

Weekend Quickie 112

A christmas tree made from books, A crazy cat lady, A half-eaten burrito. 250 words

He pulled the sticky, wet half-eaten burrito out from the Christmas tree.

"Who the hell put that there? Darling?"

'Yes?" His wife came in, dressed in the full riot gear.

"What the hell are you wearing?"

"Ready for the onslaught." She showed him a few moves with her shield.

"What the hell are you doing?"

"You say that a lot, dear." She relaxed her pose, but wore the helmet.

"What the hel...?"

"What's going on?"

"Yes."

She flopped down on the sofa, almost bouncing back up.

"Your mother, the crazy cat lady is coming over for Christmas dinner. I thought I'd get ready."

He sat opposite her, dropping the dripping half-eaten burrito on the coffee table.

"Oh, is that where I left it? I couldn't find it, thanks." She tried to grab it but her riot gear gloves kept getting in the way.

"You...you've ruined my tree!"

"Ruined it? I just added some meat to the cheese, that's all." They both laughed. He'd seen the photo on Facebook, someone had made a Christmas tree from books, but he thought he'd go one further, only using John Green, Stephen King, Dan Brown and Stephanie Meyer books, not forgetting any other Bestseller he could find in the charity shops.

"Hang on, I'll get something." He ran out of the room and came back with a dozen cans of cat food. They looked at each other with glee. He began opening all the cans while she poured the contents over the tree.

Weekend Quickie 113 (Sunday)

Mother's Day, A dragon, A Knight going commando, And a sausage on a stick. 230 words or more.

"Well, I didn't think this was going to be so special, thank you, son," said George's mother, looking over the people who appeared at her surprise Mother's Day barbecue.

"Always the best for my mother," said George, holding a plateful of meat snacks and offering them to the guests.

"There's King Arthur from Camelot, and Mr Braveheart with the three sisters from Scotland, and look, there's the dragon. Aren't you meant to kill him, George?" she asked, taking a salty biscuit with cheese.

"Oh no, mother, we've overcome our differences. We had some drinks, talked it over and he promised to be good."

A princess with her entourage dropped a handkerchief. George, being a knight, had put on his Sunday best suit of armour for the occasion. He bent over to pick up the handkerchief and his mother yelped.

"Oh, George, I know you're a knight, but did you have to 'go commando', too?"

George stood up quickly, embarrassed. Some of the guests had also noticed and chuckled amongst themselves. George handed back the handkerchief, only for the princess to walk away, laughing with her friends.

"It's a hot day, mother, I like to feel the wind down there, cools me down."

"I've seen bigger sausages on a stick!" shouted the dragon to much applause.

George steamed away in his helmet.

"Mark my words, mother, that dragon's days are numbered!"

Weekend Quickie 114

You are the newest member of the boy band "The New Kids on the Block" for their comeback tour– Jelly beans, A jar of rat pellets, Your mother. 150 words

"Yes! I got it!" Bobby bounced up and down on his bed, holding the letter of acceptance as a band member of 'New Kids on the Block' for their new huge comeback tour. He jumped over to the wardrobe and picked up his bag, all prepared and ready to go. There was a knock at the door. "Who is it?"

"The Police. Open up."

Bobby froze. What was wrong now? He was on the edge of stardom...he opened the door.

"Yes?"

"Are you Bobby Dumkompoof?"

"Yes...?"

"The same Booby Dumkompoof who gave jelly beans to Danny Wood, a member of 'New Kids on the Block'?"

"Yes..." The game was up.

"Jelly beans which were in fact a jar of rat pellets?"

"Yes..."

"I hereby arrest you for poisoning Danny Wood."

Bobby held out his hands.

"Who told you?"

"Your mother. She didn't want you to embarass yourself on stage."

Weekend Quickie 115 (Sunday)

Lemon, Soda vs Pop, 250 words, Johnny Carson, Anne Frank

The lemon hit me straight in the forehead.

"What the...?" Lemons are hard, especially when thrown at high speed by your girlfriend.

"I've had enough!" She stormed out of the kitchen and went into the bedroom. By the time I'd rubbed my injury better, she'd packed a bag.

"Honey, what are you doing?"

"I'm leaving! I've had enough of you!" She searched through the bookshelves for treasures, including that ugly brown copy of Anne Frank's Diary and began flinging our ripped DVDs around the room, taking out her "Friends" and "24". A DVD filled with Johnny Carson's old shows from the 80s hit me in the eye.

"What did I do?"

She threw the books and DVDs into another traveling case and made for the door. I frantically picked up the mess she'd left on the floor, checking to see whether she'd damaged any of my precious "Monkey Magic" rips. She hadn't, they were still safely in their case.

"It's enough that you're a Raiders fan and I'm a Chiefs, AND that your guys beat us last time..."

"Well, I am from California," I replied, now rubbing my eye.

"And putting lemon in my tea when you darn well know that I HATE lemon..."

"Sorry, force of habit. You usually make the tea first and then I add lemon."

"But, but THEN, goddamn! THEN you ask for a POP?!"

"All I said was, can I have a soda?"

"I HATE you!" She slammed the door and the flat was empty.

Weekend Quickie 116

Start with: It was 2:30 in the morning... Elements: Grey Goose Vodka, Peanut M&Ms and Cher. 200 Words

It was 2:30 in the morning and I was still hanging over the cold, white toilet bowl, feeling sick, feeling tired, wishing I hadn't drunk that last glass of Grey Goose Vodka down at the club. It may well be the most expensive and greatest tasting vodka on the market but one brand is just as good as another when you've had one too many. I almost made it to bed, too, if it hadn't been for that opened pack of stale peanut M&Ms I spotted on the sideboard. They surely didn't help my stomach, either, but when you're desperately hungry and completely sloshed, you'll try anything. I blame it all on that Cher-lookalike at the club, jeering me on to drink "just one more". Her long black curly hair swishing across her lushous smile captivated me into splashing out and acting like a jerk in front of the regulars by succumbing to her whim and ordering the best the bar had. And what did I get at the end of the night? One final laugh from her lips as she left with another guy. Still, one positive thing from tonight. I won't ever need to drink vodka again.

Weekend Quickie 116 (19 worder)

It was 2.30 in the morning: Grey Goose Vodka, peanut M&Ms and Cher blasting from my stereo. Fan-tastic!

Weekend Quickie 117 (Sunday)

Start with...Jenna left the oven on...

Elements: Rubbing alcohol, Kerosene, a missing baby, Blake Shelton's Redneck song.

Jenna left the oven on when she took out the roadkill. It wasn't her fault, what with her redneck brother's moonshine mix of kerosene and rubbing alcohol churning around inside her gut. We found her in the nick of time, flat on her back, the place full of gas, both from herself and the oven, and singing Blake Sheldon's "Boys 'Round Here". Slightly out of tune, I might add. But completely understandable. The news of her missing baby was all across the trailer park.

Weekend Quickie 118

Start with...The knight held the rook between his thumb and forefinger...and end with.... And that was the last of Eden. 250 words.

The knight held the rook between his thumb and forefinger. Tempting though it was to place it on the seventh rank, knowing the supremacy of that position, the chance of capturing his opponent's queen in two moves was overpowering. Was the beast on the other side of the board that blind to see it? The right flank was wide open to attack and the king was hemmed in by his bishops and pawns.

"What are you waiting for, ducky? Too hot in that iron suit of yours?" grinned the devil.

He had to try it, for the sake of humanity. He placed his rook.

From what seemed like nowhere, the devil moved one pawn, a pawn, a single insignificant little pawn one square and the game was over. Checkmate. In despair, the knight dropped his helmeted head to the table with a crash, disrupting the playing board.

"It seems your quest is over, ducky. You have lost the game and so lost our little deal. Not only are you now stuck in a time not your own, and when your death comes, your soul is mine, but history repeats itself, as I of course, knew it would." He motioned the knight to turn his head towards the scene of a naked man and woman standing at an apple tree. A snake slithered down the trunk and whispered something to the woman, who, with almost no hesitation, took an apple and bit into it.

And that was the last of Eden.

Weekend Quickie 119

Hot-rollers, a hippy, a 357 magnu. 150 words.

Zeth held the barrel of his 357 Magnum up the old hippy's nose. "What the hell did you do?" he screamed, ripping off the cutting gown and standing up from the chair. The others kept their distance, watching the action.

"What's wrong, man?" whispered the hippy, putting up his hands to pacify Zeth.

"What's wrong? Just look at it!" Zeth pulled at his hair while looking in the wall mirror.

"Peace, man, be cool, be cool."

"Peace? Cool? My hair! It's a disaster! It's ruined! You're gonna pay for this, you damn hippy!"

"But...but...I used the hot-rollers, like you said, man, yeah?" murmured the hippy, holding up a few to prove his point. Zeth hit the rollers away onto the floor and aimed the magnum once again.

"Yeah, but for CLASSIC CURLS, not BOUNCY WAVES!" He pulled back the hammer and forced the gun to the hippy's head.

Weekend Quickie 120

The North Star, The Jonas Brothers, an unlikely romance

They lay on the bonnet of his Plymouth Fury convertible, holding hands and gazing up at the North Star.

"Oh, darling, it's so wonderful to be here with you. I'm so so sorry I had to do it all like this, but my love for you knows no barriers."

"I understand. And I forgive you for all you did, my love."

"I needed to do it, to be with you, to hold you. Oh, when I remember that time back in Minneapolis..."

"Yes, that was a good night."

"...at the last Jonas Brothers concert. I turned to you and we had an identical tear in our eyes when Joe finished a refrain. Ah, that was a moment to cherish."

"Every moment with you has been one to cherish."

George looked deep into his partner's eyes. "Osama, all I've ever done in my life, is make my way here to you."

Weekend Quickie 118 (??)

Start with.... Xander ate the spaghetti with fierce. End with... And that's how you do it, baby.

Xander ate the spaghetti with fierce Italians hanging over him, forcing him to swallow the crap.

"Eat, you American with a strange name, eat!" shouted the head waiter, the one who initially took his complaint. The real problem started when he'd asked the manager over and things got a bit heated. About half a dozen of the restaurant staff were crowding their table, including the chef.

"What are we going to do?" whispered his girlfriend, frightened by the men and being continuously pinched on the bottom by one of the smaller ones.

"Don't worry, I've got a plan." Xander stuffed one last mouthful in and shrieked. "Ah-ha! I know the problem! It's not the overcooked meat and chewy pasta covered in way too much oregano! You used Amy's Family Marinara Pasta Sauce, didn't you?"

The place went silent, the staff, customers, passers-by in the street all stopped. With shocked faces, the Italians fainted and hit the floor. Xander stood up from the table and accompanied his girlfriend out of the restaurant.

"Well, it's kinda tricky to eat in this city for free but it's not impossible, only one sure way in this place. And that's how you do it, baby."

Weekend Quickie 119 (Sunday) (14 June 2015)

Cat aerobics, Bratwurst, 2 Germans eating Squid, 250 words

Hans and Lothar chewed through the 'International Meal of the Day' in their canteen, a disgusting mix of squid and crackers.

"What is zis crap, Hans? Where are zee Bratwurst sausages?" grimaced Lother, struggling with a particularly rubbery piece of seafood.

"Zay haf to try something new. Today is zee seafood, zee 'Deep Fried Squid in Cracker Crumbs vid Anchovy Mayonnaise'. That is vhat is say on zee menu," replied Hans,

"Why are vee speaking in zis stupid English accent, Hans? Vee are Germans."

"Because vee are characters in von of crazy Dani J Caile's Weekend Quickies, zat is vhy," replied Hans, moving the seafood around his plate.

"Ah-ha, zee Quickie, zat is funny. But vat are zees?" Lother lifted up some of the crackers with his fork. "Zee Treats und Snacks for cats is better than zis!"

"Oh, Temptations! Yah, zey are gut. These are not," stated Hans.

They looked across the tables and everyone had the same problem, playing with the food, complaining, chucking their paper plates filled with food into the bin.

"Yah, yah, Temptations. Zat video vas very entertaining, zee von vid der cat aerobics... ugh," said Lothar, trying to pull out a piece of meat from between his teeth,

"Lothar, we haf a cat in zee company. There, zer he is!" A cat strolled through the room. "Throw him some of zis, maybe he vill like it."

Lothar threw some squid at the cat, who sniffed it and walked away.

"Zat pussy... is a wuzzy."

Weekend Quickie 120

Image (man welding his workshop), long term patience, heroic act. 200 words

There's a hero in that Thompson... and a fool.

The explosion had brought all of the neighborhood out, and Mrs Griffin had called the Lewisham Fire Brigade right away. Old Johnson had got his gas mix wrong while welding in his workshop for the first time in years. He used to work in the factories up on the hill but now his Alzheimer's made things difficult.

"Is he in there, do you think?" asked Thompson.

"Yes, he is!" Floyd from Number 4 shouted over to him.

"Bugger." There wasn't any sign of the Fire Brigade and the fire was beginning to rage through the hut. "I'm going in, okay?" Not known for his long term patience, Thompson took a rag and dunked it in the garden water feature. He then put it over his head, soaking wet, and ran to the burning hut, disappearing inside. The surprised neighbors watching were stunned into complete silence as they counted the seconds Thompson was inside, the flames growing higher. Seconds turned to minutes as nothing seemed to happen. But as they gave up hope, Thompson came out. With him was a small figure, burnt, dressed in welding gear.

"Oh, isn't he such a hero?" chirped Mrs Mollings.

"Yeah, and a damn fool."
Weekend Quickie 121

Image – mud/grass hut in the middle of nowhere, thriving business, optimism

Duga lifted the flap open and stomped his fur-filled boots in the mud, the moss falling to the floor.

"Jampa!"

The hut-cum-shop was deserted, its shelves empty, cupboards bare of any rat-skinned cosy slippers.

The weary traveller found a half-rotten stool in a dusty corner and settled himself down, resting his backpack on some straw and his hat on top.

"Jampa, where the hell are you, you lazy git?"

Sounds came from the back, someone falling to the floor, with muffled groans and rude remarks following soon after.

"Here!"

"Come and serve me, yer maggot!"

A small lump of a man, ragged hair and ruffled clothes, staggered in and fell over a few empty mango crates.

"Are you okay?"

Jampa picked himself up and wiped off remnants of mango skin.

"Look at the place, Jampa, it's a bloody dump."

"How dare you say that, Duga, this is a fine establishment, always has been."

"Where is your optimism? This was a thriving business, a gem of Tibet."

Jampa shrugged, dejected.

"I know, I'll change your Facebook profile with the Pride tool..." Duga logged into Jampa's account, password 'goat bladders'. A few clicks and done.

"Updated."

There was a knock...

Weekend Quickie 122

Emergency, short tempers, image – men building a hut in the snow

"Are you sure we need to do this?"

"Yes!"

The boys dug the poles into the hard snow as far as possible.

"Really?"

Vance gave Mathew an evil stare that would kill a goat at six paces. The others, seeing Vance's reaction, decided to continue on in the freezing cold, doing what they'd been asked to do, build a hut for Vance.

"But come on, Vance, a hut?" This time it was Mike who got the ice cold stare treatment and even he slowly bowed his head in fear.

"No!" shouted Jordan. "I'm not doing it, no way, not for him, the stu...!"

"Who are you calling Stu, you gun-toting goddamn stink...!"

"Now, now, boys, I know this weather makes short tempers but we've got an emergency..." Mike was interrupted by Mathew, hand upheld.

"Emergency is kind of..."

"Build that goddamn hut!" screamed an enraged Vance, jumping.

"Look at him!" Jordan laughed but was hit in the beard by a snowball. He grabbed some snow but Mike stopped him.

"Stop it, okay?" asked Mike.

"Okay." Jordan put it down.

"But, Vance, I don't know why you can't pee outside like everyone else, really," said Mike, shaking his head.
Weekend Quickie 123

Image: two boys crawling in the mud to a duck, pride, professionalism

Their pride was under threat. Among the Nang Brothers, only Kidlat and Rodel hadn't brought in any food for the fire this week. Ninlog, blind and with a limp, brought in a rat. Dakal, one leg and a dodgy hip, a fish. But Kidlat and Rodel...nothing. This was their chance, a duck sat at the riverside, wing half broken, cleaning off some mud.

"Shall we rush it?" Kidlat's voice hardly broke the air between them.

"No, we must use some 'professionalism'," said Rodel, grabbing an imaginary collar on his t-shirt with both hands.

"What's that?"

"We must use 'stealth' and 'cunning', and therein catch our prize."

"Oh."

Kidlat followed Rodel's lead and slowly dropped down into the mud, covering himself as did his friend. Camouflaged, they went down on all fours and crept closer to the handicapped bird, who instantly started to move to the water. They both stood up and ran for the duck, who reached the water before Rodel's hand could grab its wing. It was off, paddling away. There was laughter above them and they looked up to see two tough looking sailors glaring at them.

"Hello boys," said one, drooling. "Would you like a sweetie?"
Weekend Quickie 123 (second)

(Dami L parody)

They'd hid for seven long years but now their pride and professionalism was at stake. No longer could they exist in the mud, members of the Maasai tribe, self-proclaimed top indie writers of Africa, gaining 5 star reviews on Amazon for transparent clone second-rate work by the force of God alone, and a few dodgy Instagram photos. Today they would emerge from the darkness, they knew that the world was now ready for their splendid, perfect prose.

As they dragged themselves out of the oozing prison which they had called home, ready to meet the Duck of Immense Publishing Superior Houses In Transit sitting by the water, large balls of ice fell from the sky, followed by small lumps of sulphur that stung and made little itsy-bitsy pock marks on their skin, irritating them on their journey to divine fame and frying their hair. Nothing could stop them, no disbeliever, no un-Christian soul could stand in their way, the mud around them being too thick.

They slithered past the thing they forever dreaded, a thing too dark, too morose, too hurtful in their minds...the...the...boat, and dropped into the water...to be eaten by the other fish within.

Weekend Quickie 124

Image of a city, desperation, 'a needle in a haystack'

The ship flew down to habitat level, skimming the taller buildings of the inferior alien race infesting the planet.

"Can sensors pick it up now?" screamed X1286382 (friends called him Bob).

"No," replied his co-pilot, X1295649 (Ted). "To coin a phrase, it's like looking for a 'needle in a haystack'."

"Don't use those colonials on me, Ted! I'm desperate! Where is it?" He pressed a few more buttons on the display, trying to hone in any search parameters available. Nothing.

"Sorry, I can't help you, I was having a rest last time we were here." Ted put his arms behind his head and closed his multiple eyes.

"Come on! You know what the guy looks like! You got it for me!" Globules of ooze secreted from his pores.

"They all look the same to me, Bob. 1 head, 2 arms, 2 legs. Some walk on all fours."

"Ah-ha! There!" An image zoomed in on the display, showing a busy city corner and a small wooden mobile structure. "Is that him? Is that him?" screeched Bob, pointing all his seven digits. Ted sighed and slumped forward to the display.

"No, not him. Really, Bob, it's only a hotdog."

"Only a hotdog?!"

Weekend Quickie 125

Pain, memories, image - woman in front of a mirror putting on veil for wedding

There's a strange woman sitting at her vanity dresser, arranging a veil. She's wearing a wedding dress.

"How do I look, darling?" She smiles in the mirror at me. Who is she? Why am I on a bed? Why are my arms and legs tied to the posts?

"What am I doing here? Last I remember is I popped into a gas station for some chips..." I shake myself awake and pull but the knots won't budge.

"You're right! It's unlucky to see my dress before the ceremony. What was I thinking?" She giggles but continues to mess with her veil. Is she completely insane? Memories of my own wedding day flood through my mind, the ring, the reception, the dancing. Three years and she took all I had. The pain still runs deep. But this? Do I know her? Do I know this woman?

"Do I know you?"

She drops the eyeliner and makes a dramatic gasp with both hands on cheeks.

"How...how can you say such a thing! Father!"

The door bursts open, a large man with a shotgun runs into the room. It's my turn to make a move.

"OK, so no Doritos. How about Pringles?"

Weekend Quickie 126

Image – stainless steel tank and 'machinery', a prototype invention, An unanticipated by-product, Incredulity

"Impressive," nodded the CEO, watching as Davis, his Head of Research ran around pressing switches, pushing knobs and pulling levers on the machine.

"It's only a prototype at the moment but as you will see, sir, it'll bring us success like we've never had before!" Davis held his pose and with one last press, the invention went into action. "By adding all the hippest beats, the sounds of the most recent Top 10 hits, the best of fashion, the 'happenist' moves of the moment from the dance floor, we can, with this, create the greatest 'Boy Band' ever!"

"This, I'd like to believe," said the CEO, fiddling his thumbs.

After a great hiss, out popped an all-singing, all-dancing 4 piece Boy Band.

"Aren't they great?" screamed Davis.

"What the hell is that?" pointed the CEO. From behind the boys came a sight which brought terror. Bill Cosby.

"No, I...I don't understand. How can this...?"

"Looks like your machine created a little 'unanticipated by-product'."

Davis fell to his knees in utter incredulity and stared at the egotistical, womanising hedonist puffing out jazz melodies from his whiskered cheeks.

"So close, yet so far," smiled the CEO, closing the door behind him.

Weekend Quickie 127

Image of bully pushing kid's head on desk, best friends, gratitude

"I...I...didn't bring any money," squirmed Kevin, sitting at his desk as Carl, the school bully, and his sidekick Dave loomed over him.

"Well, that's gratitude for ya! I make you my best friend and you can't be bothered to pay for my school lunch when I'm in dire need? Now is that right, I ask you? To leave a friend, a best friend, out in the lurch like that? Eh?"

"I...I..." Kevin looked around the class, hoping someone would come and help, but the others sat, ignoring their little situation.

"I think not! I'm gonna have to give you a reminder of where you an me stand! See that mark scratched in your desk, the one I put there yesterday and you got detention for? That mark means you and me are best buddies! Get it? See?"

"I..." He tried to move but Carl forced him down, to the amusement of Dave.

"I don't think you're looking at it close enough! See it now? Eh? Eh?"

Carl pushed Kevin's face onto his desk, not once, not twice, but three times. As a crack appeared in his glasses he saw on the board that it was only Tuesday.

Weekend Quickie 128

Image of audience at a rock concert, a request, adamancy

"Can you put me on your shoulders? I wanna see more!"

He grunted but lifted me above the crowd and I sat there, singing, waving, screaming at the band from the back of the audience.

"That guitarist can play!"

"Yeah, but they're still not better than Deathly Death Death!"

"Oh come on! Listen! That drum solo was miles better than their poxy sound!"

"Yeah, well, they're still not better than Deathly Death Death!"

"But the lyrics! Listen to the lyrics! "Flying on the chicken leg of heaven". Who else can write such lyrics? Tell me that!"

"Okay, great lyrics, but still not better than Deathly Death Death!"

I gave in for a while, taking in the wave of music flowing over the audience, the amazing laser show dancing around the band as they played.

"The keyboard player, look! See how his fingers flash across those ivories! There's no one better than that!"

"Deathly Death Death is better!"

I'd had enough.

"Take me down!"

When my feet hit the floor, I started on him.

"What is your problem, eh? This band is much better than Deathly Death Death!"

"No, they're not!"

"Why not?"

"Because I'm the vocalist of Deathly Death Death!"

Weekend Quickie 129

Image of a sea (dirty, frozen), certain death, intergalactic travel, 250 words.

"Yes! With these beauties I can finally complete my Light Speed Drive and Man will enter the realm of Intergalatic travel!" He held up a handful of Dumbo octopods in my face and then moved back to the glass wall separating us from the semi-frozen sea. The New Ice Age had hit humanity hard and the survivors were desperate for a way off this damn planet. Professor Kinks was at the forefront of science, though he was known for his 'quirks'.

"But, Professor, in order to gain enough of the precious Amonious Ceramus II Sulphate hidden within their nervous systems to run the Drive, you'll have to harvest..." I calculated it in my head. "You'll need at least 10,000 of these cute little creatures."

"And?"

"We haven't got near enough, not even a thousand. To go down to those depths again would mean certain death and you know it!" We'd lost about 85% of our divers in the last month alone, due to the unknown dangers below. Some nights I woke up in a cold sweat, hearing distant howls and whistles of far-off monsters from the deep. "You know there's only one true way to create that amount of Amonious Ceramus II Sulphate."

The Professor stopped in his tracks.

"I know, I know, we have to dull our own brains, and after 4 years we'll have what we need. Yes, I've heard this argument before, but do we really have to..."

"Yes, Professor, we need to vote Republican."

"Noooooo!"

Weekend Quickie 130

Image of crazed/frightened dirty face of a woman/beast, frog gigging, hysteria. 250 words

I heard the splashing of water and cracking of branches to my left along the lake's side. It was late, or early, 2:00am. Someone was running towards me in the darkness, at least, I hoped it was 'someone'. I put down my fishing rod and fumbled for my torch. The batteries were dead. Three meters out I saw a dark silhouette of a girl, desperately fighting through the tree roots and mud. She broke into the small clearing and fell into my arms.

"Run! Run! It's coming!"

I looked behind her and saw only trees.

"Calm down, there's nothing there." Her face and hands were coated in dirt, her t-shirt ragged, ripped. But that was nothing. Her eyes showed fear, bordering on hysteria. There was a snap out in the forest and she jumped.

"It's coming!" She almost wrestled herself from my grip.

"Hey, hey! What happened? Shhh. Calm down."

"Me...me and Alice, we...we were out frog gigging, we...we'd reached the record, Dani's record of 129 frogs and...and..." She hid her face into my chest. "It appeared!"

"What appeared?"

"It! It was normal to start with, talking about frogs and gigs, but... then came the first snide, derogatory remark, and then...then..."

"What? What happened?"

"It attacked Alice! I ran! I couldn't save her!" She cried, blowing her nose on my jacket. There was a louder noise, closer now. The girl screamed. And then I saw it.

"No, no, it can't be...it's, it's..."

Weekend Quickie 131

Image of lonely dark alley with woman walking away, high tension, a surprise. 250 words

The town was quiet, the night cool. Only the light of the moon hitting the cobblestones broke the darkness of the streets. He followed her, keeping his distance. The tension was unbearable now, he didn't know for how long he could hold it inside, the desire to act burning his brain.

Each step raised the stakes, brought the inevitable closer. His hands shook, sweat flowed down his neck. Tonight would be the night. Finally, so many opportunities missed, so many chances blown, now was the time. She stopped for a moment and he slunk back, out of view. She continued to move on. He couldn't risk it, it had to be. His body quivered in anticipation, tension. Taking a side street, he quietly quickened the pace, using shortcuts he'd memorised for years, knowing his moment would come if he persevered.

Peeping from a corner he could see her, closer now. Soon, so very soon. Creeping back down the alley, he took those last few twists and turns between houses, walls at breakneck speed, making sure he would gain on her as she walked her usual route.

Reaching his goal, he took one last breath before plunging into what he had planned for so long. Everything was perfect! Now, now he had to act! He jumped out from the shadows and met her face to face.

"Surprise!"

"Oh, Richard! Next time remember to wear your trainers! I heard your shoes a mile off, you idiot." She stormed off in a huff.

Weekend Quickie 131 (second)

"Item number 131, "Woman on Lonely Street" by Ivan Oldslumpypiecopooh. Let's start the bidding at, say, 100 Euros," smiled the auctioneer.

"1000!" shouted a woman from the back. 1000 Euros? It had already escalated.

"1500!" I said. It was going to be tough.

"1500 to you, sir," said the auctioneer.

"2000!" The people in the room began to mutter.

"2500!" I gave back. The muttering grew, as did the tension in the room.

"3000!" The auctioneer's eyes fell on me.

"Sir, the bid against you is 3000 Euros."

I started to bite my fingernails. I knew it would be a fight but the stakes were high.

"Going once, going twice..."

"4000!" That was almost everything I had. The auctioneer looked over to the woman. If only he would hit the gavel now!

"10,000!" screamed the woman from the back. I shook my head and the hammer hit the gavel.

"The Oldslumpypiecopooh is yours, madam." Applause filled the room and a man stood up.

"Stop! That picture is a fake!"

"Sir! How dare you accuse this famed auctioneer house of handling a fake! How dare you! Where's your proof, sir?"

"I AM Ivan Oldslumpypiecopooh and I know for a fact that I did not paint that monstrosity!"

There were gasps in the room and the woman who won the bid fainted. The auctioneer fell back in his chair, flabbergasted.

"Well, that's a surprise," said the man next to me.

"Really?" I asked.

"Yes, I thought the old git was dead."

Weekend Quickie 132

Pretend you are writing a story, or a scene, which will be included into a full length movie and your story/scene will be accompanied by a song in the background. Pick a song then write a story/scene for the song to compliment. Word count doesn't matter, but keep it short; 100 to 300 words ought be enough. Be sure to include a link to the song so we can listen to it as we picture your story/scene in our minds.

(100 words)

Time leave. It was all too much. The drugs, the people, the knives in backs, the lies, the fights, the jokes, the girls looking for a good time. All under the guise of a rock band. Rock band? We were playing regurgitated blues. Badly. If I could have stood it for just a moment longer, I'm sure I'd have a ton of money in my palm, but why? To be here a little longer, in the gutter, going nowhere fast, killing myself, one molecule at a time? I picked up my rucksack and guitar and headed for the front door.

(Aimee Mann - Calling it Quits)

Weekend Quickie 133

Image of man looking into a microscope, a discovery, boredom

"What are you doing, Richard?" asked his cohort in crime, Christina.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" He went back to the microscope.

Christina glanced over and saw Richard was examining a small piece of paper with words on it. Richard looked up and sighed.

"Oh, the boredom of it all. The hours I've spent reading and analysing and thinking and reading some more and contemplating and... and now I'm using a microscope to look at some of the words cut from a page, maybe there's something hidden, something I'm not seeing..."

"What, Richard? What are you not seeing?"

"Why 'Purity' by Jonathan Franzen is on the Bestseller's list."

"Ah," nodded Christina.

"Why is this piece of putrid nonsense so revered over others less known? What has he got in his writing that we do not? What is the essence of his success?"

"Friends in big chairs and big cars?" said Christina.

"I'm missing something, Christina, there must be something here..." Richard went back to twiddling with the microscope.

"Look, Richard, do you really want to write like him? Do you really want to cheat any potential readers with meaningless twaddle and tripe? Just write, don't stoop down to his level."

"Yes... yes, you're right." Richard stood up and pushed the microscope away. "Thank you, Christina, I think I've made an important discovery today. Writing isn't about selling, it's about... writing," he said, leaving the room.

"Where are you going, Richard?" asked Christina.

"Where do you think I'm going?"

Weekend Quickie 134

Image of a goldfish in a bowl, ambition, a compromise

"Today I will conquer the world! A pen, a pen! I need a pen! I'm gonna write the best novel EVER! It'll be a Bestseller for months!" He ran around the flat, pushing away empty cans and pizza boxes, opening cupboards and looking under the furniture.

"Here," she said, passing him a biro. "So, that's your 'big thing' now, huh?"

"What?"

"Nothing."

"I'm gonna write the best book ever, mark my words! I'll be rich, a fat cat among the pigeons, a big fish in the sea!"

"More like a goldfish in a bowl," she muttered.

"What?"

"Nothing. Well, I'm off to make some money, those burgers won't get served by themselves." She closed the door behind her.

"Right." He sat down, pen in hand and started scribbling. He scrunched up the paper and took another...

A pile of crumpled paper covered the sofa. He'd tried a novel, novella, short story, Flash fiction piece...nothing.

"Okay, how about...a poem!" Off he went again. "A compromise I know, but I'm damned sure I can kick out some fantastically wicked poetry!" He started an ode, an elergy, some verse, a sonnet, a haiku - after looking on wiki to find out what that was. "Hell!" It all seemed... flat. "Ah-ha!" He took another piece of paper and wrote down his words. Beaming with pride, he stuck it to the fridge door. "You see! I can write!" He put on his jacket and left the flat. (Gone for a beer. Back at 6.)

Weekend Quickie 135

Image of a busy city street at night, ostracism, altruism

It had been a long time since he'd been ostracised. He remembered that horrendous day, those thousands of ostraka with his name sat there in a pile on the assembly floor. They said it was the largest amount ever collected, a record still held for all he knew. He was only trying to help them, the citizens of the place he once called home, from the plague of rats that had appeared almost overnight. He had worked selflessly with altruism to solve the problem, and that was exactly what he'd done. Pumping the toxic poison he had created into the sewers had ridden the town of rats, but unfortunately had also seeped into the ground and contaminated the local drinking water. It was then found that one of his chain of wholesale stores had drawn the rats to town with forgotten raw meat left in a backyard, rotting away.

Now, here he was on the threshold of returning, after many years of travelling, surviving, looking for a way to live after such a calamity. Stepping over the town border, he began to walk the streets. As he moved onwards, he felt that something had changed. It was no longer the place he once knew, no longer the quiet, peaceful community he loved and adored. Within a few minutes he found himself deep within the crowd, suffocating, being pushed from one shoulder to the next, unable to see where he was going.

"Oh my!" he cried out. "The vermin have returned!"

Weekend Quickie 136

Image of Chinese baby in tub, Precocious, Nonplussed

When she opened the door, I was taken aback.

"Hua?" Her face was pale, her eyes like two black pools. She said nothing, only gesturing me inside. "Not getting enough sleep with the new one?" I hadn't been around since the birth of their daughter.

"You could say that," replied Hua, shuffling in her slippers. I followed her into the kitchen.

"Sorry, I couldn't come around earlier. How's the...?" I stopped in my tracks, and Hua moved past, towards the cooker. In the middle of the floor was a baby, resting in a small tub of water, with a towel over its head. It looked so... confident. Strange. I bent down to greet the girl. "Well, hello there..."

"Bow when you address me!"

I fell backwards in surprise, nonplussed. "Wha...?"

"I said bow when you address nobility!" The baby pointed her finger down forcefully.

"I...I..."

"I am Empress Jia, reincarnated! Bow, peasant!"

I looked over at Hua and she was already on the floor, bowing away. Empress Jia? I'd done my history, I knew who that was, but the baby? Incredible. The baby was speaking.

"Now, get me a towel! I believe I have bathed enough for now!" The baby stood up and turned around, her arms held horizontally, readying herself. Hua passed me a towel and I put it around the baby's shoulders.

"She's a bit... precocious, isn't she?" I whispered to Hua.

"Silence! Otherwise I will call the executioner!" Chang, Hua's husband, walked in holding a sword...

Weekend Quickie 137

Image of an empty rail track in the autumn, melancholy, nostalgia

Leaves fell as he lay there, strewn across the tracks.

"I remember when we came here, anytime we could. We sat beside this track, blanket down, basket out, holding cheese sandwiches and our glasses of Chardonnay, and we watched as the 3:20 from Bexhill whizzed by."

The tracks began to vibrate, upsetting those leaves resting on the smooth, worn steel rails.

"You'd laugh as I choked on my last gulp of wine, and I wouldn't mind. To be with you was...everything... Those were the days... and now, now that you have left... now there is an emptiness, a melancholy, a bottomless pit of despair. The blanket is down, the basket out, but there are no sandwiches for two, no glass of Chardonnay."

He took a last swig from his Jack Daniels bottle and threw it into the woods.

"I wish for those days again, to relive them, to breath them, to feel them... But it cannot be. Those days have gone forever."

The rumble of the train grew louder, the tracks coming alive.

"And so I say farewell. To you. To the memory of you."

The train's horn blew long and hard as it sped along the tracks.

Weekend Quickie 138

Image of person working in a laboratory, angst, occupational hazard

As a scientist, my long, suffering life is full of angst. It wouldn't be complete without it. I have the hope that I will eventually find what I am looking for, something which cannot be explained, something that cannot be disproved, something which will mystify the masses and endure the envy of my fellow peers. One day I may do all these things, but when, where, what, and how? The answers to those questions are beyond me. When this seemingly impossible task will be complete, then, and only then can I rest. As I deal with formulae, theories, experiments, chemicals, catalysts and observations, collecting all the information and data I can find, and cramming them into my calculating mind, watching them swish around together in my brain soup of conclusions until something occurs, forgetting normal things like eating, sleeping, remembering anniversaries, taking the trash out, and feeding the dog become occupational hazards. The mediocre of life is discarded for the inspiring, the intriguing thoughts which fill my mind as I work and...

"Hey, Bob! Have you finished with those urine samples yet?" asked Dave, my boss.

"Yeah, sure. The results are over there, on your desk."

Now, where was I...?

List of elements for Challenges 106-130 (including Grudge Matches and Opens) and Weekend and Weekday Quickies 97-138

Challenges and Specials

106 – Young Woman with a Book, If I were God, A terra cotta soldier from China, The last line must be: "Who do you think you are?"

107 – The Tiger Next Monastery, An imponderable question (such as, but not this one: Can God make a object too heavy for him to lift?), A débutante, The person who cleans public restrooms

108 (Spring Open Prelims) – Artemis (Greek Goddess), A dilettante, a moon rock, jello wrestling

109 (Spring Open Final ) – Astigmatism, A solid plutonium halberd, magma, a picture of a gondola in Venice

110 - A cactus couch, A new born baby, A judge's gavel, A bull Mastodon

111 - Amazing Wate-On, The Bastille, Mason Bees, All characters are Monopoly tokens

112 - A carrier pigeon, Bath Salts, The Pyramids, A Love Cactus

Dani J Caile Invitational - Take one element from Challenge 59 to Challenge 109 (excluding 60+62?), in order, and write a 500 word story.

113 (Annual Final 2015) - Three Stooges Happy Birthday Song, A person born with red eyes, A poison dart frog, Pukwudgies

114 - 2015 Miss Gypsy Universe Pageant, A pick pocket contest, Hand Cymbals (the tiny ones, used between fingers), A red nose

115 - Theme Song to Paladin, A Demonically possessed jar of Nutella, The Active Act of Mutiny, An Event Horizon

116 – The Fibonacci Sequence, An Airedale, A possessed car, A love triangle

117 – Sent back in time to teach a caveman to create a wheel or to start fire because (fill in the blank), a cracked china water pitcher, a star shaped opening, a Stone arrowhead

118 – (Summer Prelims) – A time clock, ice cream, A Parachute, Told from POV of an alien on the planet Nibiru, as the Nibiru enters our solar system. Nibiru technology is no greater or worse than Earth's.

Grudge Match 15 \- An unfortunate insult, A large patio umbrella, An unsolved Rubic's Cube, Tights, A happy ending

119 – (Summer Final) – A Hapi drum, A strange, odd spirit takes you to the past and the future where you meet your successful self and your failed self at the same time, A paper crown, Survivors guilt

120 - A rundown business, The Old West, A Will, Anxiety

121 – Alis Van Doorn Challenge - A moss draped Cemetary, A hidden leather satchel, containing $10K cash (or pounds, forint, yen, just a large amount of money.), A peculiar looking priest, A foul mouthed parrot named Percy. (easy on the cursing, no f bombs.)

122 – Mr. Bill from SNL, Firefly, A responsibility, An odor from a specific spice

123 – The Steve Bergeron Challenge - chilean fear volcano,a fiery path to ark of the covenant, path to salvation, one of the seven deadly sins

124 – The E. Chris Garrison Challenge - Grandfather Paradox, A Selfie, A deck of Tarot Cards, A Mistaken Identity

125 - Write a short statement or phrase for each song saying what you think each one is about, and use your summaries as your elements. (Piano man by Billy Joel, Waiting on a friend by Mick Jaggar, Stay by Jackson Browne, Boulevard of broken dreams by Greenday)

126 - The Eiffel Tower, A Prison Cafeteria, Picante Sauce, The last sentence must be: "Clear!"

C127/AO8 - The Christopher A Liccardi Challenge - A death bed vision, a smelly sweat sock, a neuro physicist, a red rain boot

128 - The Vance Rowe Challenge - Bacon, a football, a cigar and the image (Kermit drinking Lipton tea)

DL Zwissler Amazon Special - 500 words, ketchup, fish stew, The Invisible Man, image of man holding a peeing baby

129 – (Autumn Open Prelims) **A worldwide holiday celebrating a fictional character (you must name the character), testing the first bullet-proof vest, the first mosquito of the season, pancake batter**

Mamie Pound's Halloween Special – 500 words

130 – (Autumn Open Final) A post-game media interview with a gladiator, a contract, a spider, a hideous steampunk mask

Quickies

Weekday Quickie 4 - Write YOUR own horror story. Start with the following sentence: I was jumping on the trampoline...

USE THESE WORDS: dead, Meryl Streep, scratches, grim, and dirty. 250 words. END WITH: What's done is done...

Weekday Quickie 5 - Write a speech for the most eligible bachelor in your town. He will be be accepting an award and a Key to the City for his eligibility. (I know, ridiculous). You must include the following:Earwax,Insomnia,Yeast Infection and Zoot Suit

97 - You are Darth Vader, and you are writing a rap about Han Solo and Princess Leia. 200 words. Must include Wookie nookie, Mr. Sulu, and Anakin

98 - Start with: Jackie ate the last banana... ,Use the words, pear, torque and water- fight. 150 words

99 (Sunday) - Write a country song with 4 stanzas and a chorus. You must use the following words: Corn fed, drama, baby mama, tight blue jeans. Max 200 words

100 – Write a letter to your favourite celebrity :Pickles, A microphone, A bottle of Ibuprofen, A Brown Marker, Cattle-prod. 250 words

101 (Sunday) - Dogs playing Pool, A Red Fern, A book, A woman named Alfred, 250 words, The feeling of being perturbed

102 – Use the following in a 250 word short story: Carrots, Dog, Ren and Stimpy, Tuna

103 (Easter Sunday) – The Easter Bunny, Jesus, Easter eggs, and Walmart. 250 words

104– A beautiful Sunrise, crackers, a racist butterfly. 200 words

105 (Sunday) – A Transvestite Cab Driver, A Catholic Prostitute, Three Pennies, and a Gondola. 250 Words. (No hate bashing-elements are meant for story use only)

106– The Chicken Dance, Three Iron Writers (to be named by you), a hot dog eating contest. 200 words

107 (Sunday) – Brian Rogers singing "Brown-Eyed Girl" , A Mountaintop, A can of beans. 200 Words

108 – image of the "describe your perfect date/April 25th" question/answer, A gopher, A pudding cup, and a Beaver that can not build a dam. 200 words

109 (Sunday) (110 Sunday) - A song to the tune of the Alphabet song must be written with the following concepts below:Monkey Wrench, Dog Show, A Vibrating Toy, and A Skunk (Alphabet Song — word count (approx. 39 words (syllables))

110 (109) - Spongebob Squarepants, A skillet, A grandma wearing a tutu, 200 words

111 (Sunday) – Big Screen TV, The Avengers, Grilled Cheese Sandwich, The Red Sea. 150 Words

112 – A christmas tree made from books, A crazy cat lady, A half-eaten burrito. 250 words

113 (Sunday) - Mother's Day, A dragon, A Knight going commando, And a sausage on a stick. 230 words or more

114 – You are the newest member of the boy band "The New Kids on the Block" for their comeback tour– Jelly beans, A jar of rat pellets, Your mother. 150 words

115 (Sunday) – lemon, Soda vs Pop, 250 words, Johnny Carson, Anne Frank

116 – Start with: It was 2:30 in the morning... Elements: Grey Goose Vodka, Peanut M&Ms and Cher. 200 Words

117 (Sunday) – Start with...Jenna left the oven on...Elements:Rubbing alcohol, Kerosene, a missing baby, Blake Shelton's Redneck song.

118 – Start with...The knight held the rook between his thumb and forefinger...and end with.... And that was the last of Eden. 250 words.

119 – hot-rollers, a hippy, a 357 magnu. 150 words.

120 – The North Star, The Jonas Brothers, an unlikely romance

118 (?)– Start with.... Xander ate the spaghetti with fierce. End with... And that's how you do it, baby.

119 Sunday (?)(14 June 2015) - Cat aerobics, Bratwurst, 2 Germans eating Squid, 250 words

120 - image (man welding his workshop, long term patience, heroic act) 200 words

121 – 200 words image – mud/grass hut in the middle of nowhere, thriving business, optimism

122 – 200 words \- emergency, short tempers, image – men building a hut in the snow

123 – image: two boys crawling in the mud to a duck, pride, professionalism

124 – image of a city, desperation, 'a needle in a haystack'

125 - Pain, memories, image - woman in front of a mirror putting on veil for wedding

126 – Image – stainless steel tank and 'machinery', a prototype invention, An unanticipated by-product, Incredulity

127 – image of bully pushing kid's head on desk, best friends, gratitude

128 – image of audience at a rock concert, a request, adamancy

129 – image of a sea (dirty, frozen), certain death, intergalactic travel, 250 words.

130 – image of crazed/frightened dirty face of a woman/beast, frog gigging, hysteria. 250 words

131- image of lonely dark alley with woman walking away, high tension, a surprise. 250 words

132 - Pretend you are writing a story, or a scene, which will be included into a full length movie and your story/scene will be accompanied by a song in the background. Pick a song then write a story/scene for the song to compliment. Word count doesn't matter, but keep it short; 100 to 300 words ought be enough. Be sure to include a link to the song so we can listen to it as we picture your story/scene in our minds.

133 – image of man looking into a microscope, a discovery, boredom

134 – image of a goldfish in a bowl, ambition, a compromise

135 – image of a busy city street at night, ostracism, altruism

136 – image of Chinese baby in tub, Precocious, Nonplussed

137 – image of an empty rail track in the autumn, melancholy, nostalgia

138 – image of person working in a laboratory, angst, occupational hazard

Other work by Dani J Caile

All books are available

on Amazon!

'Dani's Shorts' (Volume 1), 'Dani's Shorts 2' (Volume 2), 'Dani's Shorts 3' (Volume 3), 'Dani's Shorts 4' (Volume 4)

'Dani's Shorts' are collections of 500, 200 and whatever word short stories based on the elements given in the Iron Writer Challenge. They include a range of Dani's favourite writing styles, including pair dialogues, internal thoughts, pisstakes and sardonic parodies.

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/351327

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/409062

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/470944

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/529075

"I hope you find the stories creative, serious, humorous, filled with pointless nonsense and poignant emotions. I hope you get angry, I hope you laugh, I hope you cry. I hope you share this work with everyone you know. Isn't that what good writing is for?"

B Y Rogers (The Iron Writer Challenge)

If you are 'up to the Challenge', then go to...

http://theironwriter.com/

...the 1st book...

'Man by a tree'

Take a devilish romp through a world of death, where souls pay for experiences, monkeys are the hosts, and Reginald is the service provider.

Reginald has been in control for millennia. With His staff of hundreds, and millions of souls passing through to experience the delights of physicality, his reign has become complacent. His servants, Satan and Lucifer, jump at the chance to take what they see as rightfully theirs.

The Grim Reaper, or Graham Reader as he calls himself, has been doing his job of transporting souls ever since he can remember to gain his wings. But he has become tainted by the actions of the monkeys living on the planet. Unbeknown to him, a plan is afoot to change the status quo of 'up above' and 'down below', where he is a linchpin to both interested parties.

"Sharp, dark and sardonic are rarely found wrapped in single package" Greg Levin (Notes on an Orange Burial)

https://www.createspace.com/3731273

...the 2nd book...

'The Bethlehem Fiasco'

With only one sane man in the desert, can the answers he seeks be found? Or will it be the death of him?

In a time when hobgoblins and angels run amok, can the universe survive the petty struggles of the powers that be? Based on as yet unreleased papyrus scriptures found in a 2nd floor bedsit in Lewisham, England, this is the 'true' story of one man.

"Irreverent, quirky and fun" Fredrik Nath (The Cyclist)

"...a light and breezy read..." Iso Nuys (Paid on Return)

"I loved it!" Dave Tarragon (The Chemo Diaries)

https://www.createspace.com/3783797

...the 3rd...

'The Rage of Atlantis'

Bombs, angels, dolphins, hobgoblins, crazy monkeys, Reginald in a rage, Satan on the toilet...all mixed with absurdly serious issues.

Will a selfish plan for immortality destroy the human race? Or will there be light 'beyond' the end of the tunnel?

High Chief of Security Sipho, with his female dolphin sidekick Kang Dee, investigates the latest in a long line of terrorist attacks by the 'unseen' against Atlantis, the utopian gem of the physical universe, and finds more than he could have ever imagined.

"If you loved Douglas Adams, then you're bound to love Dani J. Caile!" Jasper T. Scott (Escape, Dark Space)

"Hilarious" Eponymous Rex (B.O.T.)

"Flash Gordon meets Water-world" Karen Bates (Faking it in France)

https://www.createspace.com/3845760
...the 4th...

'Manna-X'

Reginald sends Graham Reader (aka the Grim Reaper), out on a mission to find Code 237-Manna-X, the Manna Machine after the Overlords warn him of an imminent (3000 year old) threat against the security of both the physical and non-physical realms.

Will Graham find the fantastic yet deadly device before anyone or anything else does?

"I haven't come across anything quite like this..." Debbie Roxburgh (Speedy McCready)

"With your wily work [Dani], I tend to focus on what's in parentheses. (I also think you are very misunderstood...and possibly always have been.)" Eponymous Rox (B.O.T.)

"Manna-X is one roar of laughter after the next!" Jasper T. Scott (Escape, Dark Space)

https://www.createspace.com/4151484

...the 5th book...brand new series...

'How to build a castle in seven easy steps'

(Line by Lion Publications)

No one was injured in the making of this book. However, there may be some casualties while reading.

In an ancient and long-forgotten deranged land obsessed with power, greed and mud, one boy alone stands up to the problems around him. His is a typical story of 'boy meets girl, boy turns into soup, escapes, boy meets girl again, boy is kidnapped and becomes the 'chosen one' for a tribe of canibalistic vampirish desire-drivencrazed warriors, boy leads them into battle, loses the chance to bed hundreds of

Amazonian women and finally wins the girl'. Come, accompany him on his fantastic

wonderful superb journey. Or follow the cat.

"With his usual dry humor, Dani J. knows just how to draw a laugh from his readers. This book is no exception!" Jasper T Scott (Dark Space)

"This is a roller-coaster ride of full-on wise-cracks, injustices and cynicism that tumbles the imagination and batters the senses." Tannis Laidlaw (Half Truths & Whole Lies)

"This is one of those "laugh out loud" and "look around the corner" type books." Danielle Lee Zwissler (The Long Ride Home)

https://www.createspace.com/5256515

'Circuits & Steam'

(Three Fates Press)

Circuits & Steam is an anthology featuring bold tales of man meets machine. Encounter eight exciting stories from authors K.A. DaVur, Sara Marian, Brick Marlin, Thomas Lamkin, Jr., Marian Allen, Katina French, James W. Peercy and Dani J. Caile, told in a cyberpunk or steampunk style. What makes you human? In the dystopian near-future, a desperate young woman makes a stunning decision, a cybernetically-enhanced waitress discovers her true nature, a white collar worker learns the true cost of her latest technological enhancement and a streetwise urchin makes desperate a bid for freedom. What defines your destiny? We journey to a 19th century that never was for a humorous tale of airship adventure, a town under attack by mechanical monsters, a case of alchemy and mistaken identity, and a gritty adventurer faced with a telling choice. Cyberpunk and steampunk explore our often toxic relationship with technology. Do our gadgets make us more than human, or just more human? Step inside our time machine and find out....

https://www.createspace.com/4792461

Tales from Darker Places

(The Indie Collaboration)

A selection of chilling stories from some of the best Indie authors on the market. We dare you to venture into these pages of spine chilling tales and stories of dark shadows & darker tidings, shifters, ancient warriors, zombies, & demons... See the world through the Ripper's eyes, and so much more. So many dark, foul things wait for you between these pages. Freely donated by the authors themselves, these dark passages are a great example of their various, unique styles and imaginations.

Join us in Darker Places.

With stories by Donny Swords, Chris Raven, A.L. Butcher, Alan Hardy, Adam Bigden, & Dani J. Caile

Brought to you by The Indie Collaboration.

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/493452

...and also some small freebies...

'TDX2'

(Too Dull to Die)

Guido's dead, but he hasn't lived yet. Will he get a second chance? Or will Satan have his evil way?

Dull Guido has kept himself out of trouble (and life) for 34 years 5 months and 14 days, only to die on the night before he finally has his first big adventure, a world cruise. Graham Reader, the Grim Reaper, tries to help him navigate the world 'up above', only for Guido to find out that there are worse things than death - Satan's tool cupboard.

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/273975

Alice on the Outside-In

Written in celebration of 150 years of 'Alice in Wonderland' by Lewis Carroll. Alice falls into a world of mad computer programs when she doesn't do her Mathematics homework. Will she find her way back? Will she find her Bunny? Or will the Ultimate Viruses of Power have their way?

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/563002

Iron Writer Anthologies...

Ironology 2014: The Iron Writer Challenge Championship Series (TIW Anthology)

Atop the writer's desk await the tools of the the craft. Four days and the deadline looms. Four elements must integrate the pieces into five hundred words. The pieces begin to fall into place. The competing writers will not relent and every word counts.

The Iron Writer is a web-based flash fiction competition. It is about crafting short, element based stories in a competitive environment; winner take all.

It was conceived out of the desire to help writers of all skill levels improve the writing through fast, fun skirmishes with other writers using elements common to each story. From around the world, writers have gathered and competed. Some are veterans of the craft; some are new to the game. Yet all of them were willing to do battle to discover if they were worthy of carrying the title of Iron Writer.

Contained here are the winning stories by the current champions of...

The Iron Writer Challenge.

Ironology 2015: The Iron Writer Challenge (Ironology - The Iron Writer Challenge)

Atop the writer's desk await the tools of the craft. Four days and the deadline looms. Four elements must integrate the pieces into five hundred words. The pieces begin to fall into place. The competing writers will not relent and every word counts. The Iron Writer is a web-based flash fiction competition. It is about crafting short, element based stories in a competitive environment; winner takes all. It was conceived out of the desire to help writers of all skill levels improve their writing through fast, fun skirmishes with other writers using elements common to each story. From around the world, writers have gathered and competed. Some are veterans of the craft; some are new to the game. Yet all of them were willing to do battle to discover if they were worthy of carrying the title of Iron Writer. Contained here are the winning stories by the current champions of... The Iron Writer Challenge.

And some other anthologies...

Baby Shoes (anthology)

100 Stories. 100 Authors. Under 1,000 words. No holds barred.

What began as a worldwide call for authors became a collection of short, gripping stories from every genre you can imagine. Spend a minute each with one hundred minds, with literary slices from noir detective, to holiday heartwarmer to serial killer thrill, flight of fantasy or erotica.

One of the first flash fiction anthologies of its kind, "Baby Shoes" follows the literary tradition of its namesake -- a 6-word tale by Ernest Hemingway reportedly written to win a bar bet. Join literary greats like Joe R. Lansdale, Linda Needham and Walter Jon Williams along with talents from every stage of literary career.

Sugar, Spice and Everything Nice: A Second Children's Story Collection (The Indie Collaboration Presents Book 9)

Another collection of children's stories and poems from The Indie Collaboration. Once again we take you to far-away lands of magic and moonbeams, wishes and daydreams, cookies and ice creams.

I can't wait to go back. Can you?

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/533910

The Desert Bus (anthology)

A dark, spine-chilling ride through the desert. Everyone has a secret. Some they would kill for. Some they would die for.

https://www.createspace.com/5688620

Spectacular Tales II

Another thrilling anthology of short stories by some of the rising stars in independent publishing. In this second collection of short Speculative Fiction we bring you another treasure chest of great Science Fiction and Fantasy. Here there be stories of intergalactic policemen, virtual soldiers, spirited princesses, lonesome spacemen and kleptomaniac goats.

So dust off your old suit of armour and grab your blaster pistol and come join us in exploring more 'Spectacular Tales'.

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/585746

Coming soon...

All For Love

How to Sink a Ship in Eight Excruciatingly Tedious, Stinkingly Evil Nights

Alternate Hilarities 5: One Star Reviews of the Afterlife (anthology)

Dani's Shorts 6

And remember, if you are 'up to the Challenge', then go to...

http://theironwriter.com/

