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Dani's Shorts 4

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

Volume 4

by

Dani J Caile
Dani's Shorts 4

by

Dani J Caile

Smashwords Edition

PUBLISHED BY: Dani J Caile on Smashwords

ISBN: 9781311528049

Dani's Shorts 4

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

79 – A danger to himself

Weekend Quickie 50 – No stink in this suit

80 - A Pox on your lips later (Apolcalypse Now)

Weekend Quickie 51 – Not even for the world

NEWSFLASH: Iron Writers in a Bristle

81 (Grudge 10) – A Bear in the Woods

Weekend Quickie 52 – Out on the town

Weekend Quickie 1st Anniversary - Surprise!

82 - The Brother

NEWSFLASH: Demise of the Deadly Duo?

Weekend Quickie 53 – To the's guy...(59 words)

The Mirror

83 - Karma

Weekend Quickie 54 – A nice meat soup (91 words)

Weekend Quickie 55 Sunday Edition – True story...ish (293 words)

NEWFLASH: Where is Maureen?

Grudge 11 - The Purple Result (1st attempt - unpublished)

Grudge 11 - Down on the farm (2nd attempt - published)

Weekend Quickie 56 – The homemade wasp repellent of Richard

Weekend Quickie 57 (Sunday Edition) - A little prick (69 words...fnaw, fnaw!)

84 - Autumn Preliminary Round (Agatha Christie bracket) – "Inside the Womb" Episode 15

Weekend Quickie 58 - Star Flaws

The Duel of Procrastination

Weekend Quickie 59 - Larry Hotter

Weekend Quickie 60 (Sunday Edition) – Friends, voters, truck drivers

85 - Autumn Open Final – Gone to a Better Place

Books By The Banks Workshop

Weekend Quickie 61 – The Terror that is Bieber

86 - (Mathew W Weaver Challenge) - Motion in the Potion

Weekend Quickie 62 (Monday Edition) - Fun to be a Selleck

NEWSFLASH: Fancy a Quickie?

Grudge 12 – As stated under Regulation 16

Weekend Quickie 63 – Don't mess up the suit

Weekend Quickie 64 (Sunday Edition) - American's in Europe

87 - (Pitman/Caile Challenge) - Beans

NEWSFLASH: Attack of the Chinese Chickens

Weekend Quickie 65 – Loathsome Customer

Weekend Quickie 66 (Sunday Edition) - Reds Together

88 - (Richard Russell Challenge) - Experimental Anality

Weekend Quickie 67 – A Love Story

Weekend Quickie 68 (Sunday Edition) - Nowhere

89 - (DL Mackenzie Challenge) - Vengeance

Weekend Quickie 69 - 8

Weekend Quickie 70 (Monday Edition) - Busy Hands

90 - Confirmed

Grudge 13 - A Right Piece of Work

91 (Steven L Bergeron Challenge) - The Master and the Master

Weekend Quickie 71 – Hidden Within*

Weekend Quickie 72 (Sunday Edition) - Ballet shoes*

Thanksgiving- The All Week Story– Part 1 - Reasby Fen

Thanksgiving- The All Week Story– Part 2 - Reasby Fen

Thanksgiving- The All Week Story– Part 3 - Reasby Fen

Thanksgiving- The All Week Story– Part 4 - Reasby Fen

Thanksgiving- The All Week Story– Part 5 - Reasby Fen

Thanksgiving- The All Week Story– Part 6 - Reasby Fen

Thanksgiving- The All Week Story– Part 7 - Reasby Fen

92 - Howard's End

Twelve Days of Christmas Iron Writer Style Day 1 – A Christmas Story.

Twelve Days of Christmas Iron Writer Style Day 2 – It's a Wonderful Life!

Twelve Days of Christmas Iron Writer Style Day 3 - Love Always

Twelve Days of Christmas Iron Writer Style Day 4 – The Muppets Christmas Carol

Twelve Days of Christmas Iron Writer Style Day 5 – The Grinch that stole Christmas!

Twelve Days of Christmas Iron Writer Style Day 6 - ELF!

Twelve Days of Christmas Iron Writer Style Day 7 – Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer!

Twelve Days of Christmas Iron Writer Style Day 8 - Bad Santa

Twelve Days of Christmas Iron Writer Style Day 9 – White Christmas!

Twelve Days of Christmas Iron Writer Style Day 10 - National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation!

Twelve Days of Christmas Iron Writer Style Day 11 - Home Alone

Twelve Days of Christmas Iron Writer Style Day 12 - The Nightmare before Christmas.

93 - Pleasure before business

Weekend Quickie 75 - Bend over

94 - Fett & Nord

Weekend Quickie 76 – Dear Santa

Weekend Quickie 77 (Sunday Edition) – Excuse my French

The Christmas Quickie 78 – Christmas Time

95 - Hoggin' it

96 (Winter Prelims) - Guardians of...on Second Thoughts...

Weekend Quickie 79 – You can have the Mum

Weekend Quickie 80 (Sunday edition) – New Year's Resolutions

97 - Winter Solstice Open –Not so Neighborly

Weekend Quickie 79 (81) - Egos

Weekend Quickie (Sunday Edition) 80 (82) – Catnipped Puss

98 - Poison

Weekend Quickie 81 (83) – Not lovers Quarrel

99 - Sucks

Weekend Quickie #81 (84) - Spurs

Weekend Quickie Sunday Edition 82 (85) – Let it Go

100 - Carry on up the Flagpole

Weekend Quickie 82 (86) – Snow Day

Weekend Quickie Sunday Edition 83 (87) \- Allergic

101 - Brothers

Weekend Quickie #84 (88) – Perspective

Weekend Quickie #85 (89) Sunday Edition – Love is like the wind

102 – How much is enough?

Weekend Quickie 86 (90) – Sweet tooth

Weekend Quickie 87 (91) Sunday Edition – Them Brownies

"Escribe de'Trois" Challenge – Up in the Trees

The "Weekday" Quickie #1 – Lunar New Year – The name's Dieter

103 – Retribution

Weekend Quickie 88 (92) – Terrible

Weekend Quickie 89 (93) Sunday Edition - Chuck

104 – Word Blind

The "Weekday" Quickie #2 – Hail to the Chief!

Weekend Quickie 94 – TV License

The "Weekday" Quickie #3 - Nagyi

Weekend Quickie 95 (Sunday Edition) – Friends

Weekend Quickie 96 – Red haired Potter

105 - The Battle for Snagglyprinch

List of elements for Challenges 79-105 (including Grudge Matches and Opens) and Weekend and Weekday Quickies 50-96

Other work by Dani J Caile

Preface / Acknowledgement

It's Volume 4 of TIW shorts! The fourth collection and possibly the last of totally pointless exactly 500 Challenge and exactly 200 Weekend Quickie flash fiction stories/scenes word nonsense (plus a few specials, relays, newsflashes from the TIW blog and collaborations) to entertain you while doing whatever you do when reading. For myself, it was a long and tricky half year in The Iron Writer. Through troubles and difficulties, there was always the TIW Challenge waiting for me.

In this third volume, I have included some impromptu relays mainly involving Mathew W. Weaver (http://ramblingsandraving.blogspot.hu), still complete in a suit of armour, and Christopher A Liccardi (http://www.caliccardi.com) with Jordan Bell (http://jbfiction.blogspot.hu/). I have also included some Grudge collaborations, the first with Jordan and the second with Mathew. There are also a few Newsflashes from the TIW blog written by Scallywag and a Grudge by Spanky Strawberry Slokovich, and I have included two stories based on Michael D. Pitman's (http://www.daytondailynews.com/staff/michael-d-pitman/) 'Books By The Banks Workshop'.

In Volume 2, I separated the Weekly Challenges from the Weekend Quickies though in Volume 4 as in Volume 3, I have put them in chronological order to show the development...if there ever is one. Just warning you...

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/

79 – A danger to himself

(Genetically Enhanced Garden Gnomes, Camelot, Halitosis, Stratego)

"Hey, John! Come on over! I've done it, I've finished it!"

"Finished what, Dave?" I had a few minutes before having to pick up the kids from school. Meeting Dave was a chore more than a pleasure, but chores must be done.

"My Camelot, see!" Dave gestured over to his new rock garden feature, his very own minature Camelot. He opened the gate and I went to inspect his latest creation.

"Wow, Dave, you've really...err...surpassed yourself this time." Although he was rolling in it due to the inheritence from the death of his rich parents, he didn't have many friends, and with that killer halitosis of his, he didn't have a girlfriend either, and as he didn't need to work, he had a lot of time on his hands. So, he built things. When he was a kid, he made models. Now he did...larger projects like this one. It was all there, the castle with a thousand turrets, the drawbridge, the moat and there was a latch on the side where you could open it up and see what was inside, a round table, of course, with 12 inch knights sitting around it. Dave was good at modelling buildings but people...the Knights of the Round table looked more like genetically enhanced garden gnomes.

"They're a bit squat and muscley, Dave."

"Yeah, a bit."

"Where's King Arthur?"

"There."

"Where?"

"Next to Guinevere."

"What, that white thing?" An off-white lump 'sat' at the round table.

"That's Guienevere."

"Oh. So that's King Arthur?"

"Yep."

There was another lump of brown plaster with a crown on top and a large grey sword sticking out of it."

"I admit, he's not my best work. It was raining on that day."

"Mmm." I closed the latch and looked at the castle. "Nice building, Dave."

"Yeah, it's cool."

"So what did you do with that lovely little windmill of yours?" Dave's six foot windmill was infamous in the village. When the wind blew, the whole structure rocked on its foundations and the noise of the blades could be heard into the next valley. And when we had that nasty storm a few months back, the blades broke off and spun off down the street, smashing into Mrs. Snide's at No.6.

"Ah, I took it down, it was an eyesore."

"You don't say."

"I do, I do. You see that area over there?"

"Yeah?"

"Well, you know those large outside chess sets you can find, with the huge board and heavy wooden pieces?"

"You're not gonna build one of those, are ya, Dave?"

"Nah, I never got the hang of chess. No, I'm gonna build a Stratego boardgame with all its pieces."

"Wow, that's a tall order, Dave. Good luck with that one."

"Yeah, I've started on a template for the pieces but it hasn't come out quite right..." He picked up a log of wood I thought was for the stove in the kitchen.

"Dave? Ever thought of taking up an extreme sport?"

Weekend Quickie 50 – No stink in this suit

(image – desert with cacti and full moon, element – a falling star, emotion – Ablutophobia)

"Think it's about time you bathed." Mathew could smell his companion from two hundred yards away.

"Hey! I'm not stinky," protested Jordan. A few weeks together in the desert seemed such a good idea.

"Your beard reeks and what hair you do have is so greasy we could fry some sausages."

"I'm not having a bath." Jordan rubbed his beard and smelt his hand.

"Why not?"

"There's a full moon."

"And a falling star." Mathew pointed to the night sky.

"Really? Then I'm definitely not having a bath." Jordan made some distance between himself and Mathew, downwind.

"What have you got, Ablutophobia?"

"A Plutophobia? Is that a fear of Pluto?"

"No, a fear of bathing."

"No, I do not."

"Oh look, I have some water in this flask..."

"Keep it away from me!"

"Ah-ha, Ablutophobia."

"You say it like I'm sick or something." Jordan adjusted his sunglasses.

"You are sick."

"At least I'm not the one with Kaktosophobia." His cap began to slip off his head.

"What do you mean?" The clank of metal echoed across the plain as Mathew sat down on a rock.

"I'm not the one wearing a suit of armour in the middle of the desert."

80 - A Pox on your lips later (Apolcalypse Now)

(Furby, Peel Trident car, a lost Emperor, Dr Pepper)

You never get what you want, you get what you need. I needed a case. And for my stupidity, I got one. So here I was, stuck in a dingy cafe in the middle of some unforgettable metropolis, getting ready to finish this dirty business.

His credentials were amazing. Emperor Klutz was one of the most outstanding rulers of his time. A man of wealth, wit and banter, and a devil with the sabre. He'd opened more corner shops than any personage before him, supported any animal charity that dared to stand at his huge granite pillared gates, and run through a hundred or more oppugners who had the audacity to laugh at his customised Furby.

Then the cracks started to appear, talking to plants, leaving little love notes for Santa Claus wherever he went, and shopping at Tesco's, remarking on how much more expensive other shops seemed to be in comparison. Finally, after an intense 3 hour session at a Children's Playhouse, he lost contact with reality, leaving from the carpark in his prized 3 wheeler bubble top Peel Trident car with only his Furby in the detachable shopping basket for company.

After a while, reports came in of unflattering as-yet-unseen photos showing famous world leaders in certain compromising positions being posted across the largest global internet network websites, all linking back to this lost emperor. He was spilling the beans on them all and they wanted him stopped. Disconnect with extreme prejudice. Extreme prejudice.

An informant had told me his little red car had been seen parked in front of a seedy strip club on the darkest side of town. With two refills of the blackest, thickest coffee this dump could serve inside me, I made my way there.

"I wouldn't drink from that if I were you. You'll get a pox on your lips later," said an aristocratic voice behind me. I left my untouched drink at the bar and slid into his booth, unlit except for a scented candle placed on the table next to his infamous Furby. He sipped on a can of Dr Pepper.

"You know, Dr Pepper is so unique. You cannot say what it tastes like because it's so different. It's not apple, nor strawberry, not even a root beer, nor cola. It's a different kind of drink with a unique taste all its own."

"U-nye-noh-lah," squeeked the Furby.

"Where are you from...Brad?" He knew my name, the game was up.

"Out of town."

"Whereabouts?"

"Thereabouts."

"How far from the river?"

"Far."

"Wee-tee-kah-wah-tee," said the Furby.

"Have you ever considered...chickens?"

This man was clearly insane. They were right, he needed to be stopped.

"I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to unplug you."

"I have Wifi."

All it took was one call to a guy who owed me a big favour and he was off, off from the net, disconnected from the mass of media sites hungry for his sleaze. He placed his tablet down and sighed.

"Oh, the horror, the horror..."

Weekend Quickie 51 – Not even for the world

(image – jar of marbles, element – time travel, emotion – philophobia)

Somewhere in that jar...Prissy came running in, stopping me from climbing up and reaching the marbles.

"Hey, I thought...what are you doing?"

"Err, nothing." This was my fourth attempt.

"You were going for my jar of marbles again, weren't you?"

"Me? Your marbles? No, of course not." The Agency had chosen me, due to my philophobia, to go back using their time travel device and obtain the Orb of Myelitis. Any emotional contact with the past would destroy a million timelines in the future, creating an even larger disaster than the one they were trying to halt. What the Agency hadn't told me was that I'd go back to my six year old self and that the Orb looked exactly like a marble and was in the possession of a Priscella Brooks who desperately wanted to kiss me.

"I tell you what, give me a kiss and you can have...three marbles." She puckered up and cornered me between her wardrobe and dresser.

For the Agency, for the world. I closed my eyes and felt her moving in for the kill. Fear screamed through my mind. Screw the world! I ran away as fast as my little legs could carry me.

NEWSFLASH: Iron Writers in a Bristle

(TIW Blog)

by Scallywag

Despite the best efforts of those aware of this unsettling fact, there has been a recent surge in facial hair growth within the confines of the TIW Facebook community. Knowledge of such a blight can be gained by those visiting the members section of this infamous secret group, with profile pictures filling up with beards, broomhandles and bristles.

Experts revealed today that this popular writing fraternity is overrun with hair follicles and since the clash between Mathew W Weaver and Jordan Bell back in Challenge 68, many more active members have begun to move over to the pro-facial androgenic hair section of society as a whole.

Looking closer at this disturbing problem on an individual level, it can be seen that there is definitely a positive thinking movement for and towards facial hair, those members affected preferring mainly full or circle beards over goatees and balbos. Jordan Bell, ring-a-ding-a-ling, once mentioned in a Facebook comment of growing two beards on one face, while Mathew W Weaver, his voice echoing within his suit of armour, stated on a blog post that shaving off his beard for his first step into the real world was "a sad, humbling experience." Many still blame the appearance of Neal Sayatovich's green goatee within the group as the initial catalyst, but this charge cannot be fully validated.

The list of those newly or already affected within the group is growing by each day. Long term member Michael D. Pitman and founding member himself, Mr Brian Rogers, have a smattering of facial hair, the latter adopting a more charismatic greying Hemingway look, while newer members such as Richard Russell, Aaron Gord and Christopher Bays promote more traditional full beards. DL Mackenzie, a renowned and well-respected member of the community champions a chevron, or broom moustache, while younger members of the TIW association seem to support smaller follicular statements: Thomas Lankin wears bumfluff which resembles a beard, Christopher A Licaardi leans closer to a balbo than a circle, and recent profile pictures of Tony Jaeger show that the smooth-faced Salt Lake City Elvis Presley lookalike has moved over to a fully-fledged goatee.

There are some who are as yet untouched by this affliction, namely Brick Marlin who has no hair on his head at all, but there are growing fears that this deadly pestilence may spread to other as yet untouched parts of the community, even amongst the non-male members, such as Mamie Pound, Amanda Rotach Huntley, DL Zwissler and Chris Garrison, all known for 'big hair'.

Nonetheless, there are those who see a common analogy with this and Samson's long curly locks, especially after Jordan Bell's recent dominance over wispy Mathew W Weaver, and that there is a correlation between the growth of facial hair and an increase in competence of writing skills. Dani J Caile, long standing member and scourge of the TIW group said that he "shave(s) every day and look at the results." The jury is still out on that one. An unnamed and disappearing-into-the-distance follicular expert and part-time Freudian analyst in passing stated that "such a rise in the existence of hair on a person's countanence can only mean a greater connection is needed between the subject and their mother and so he, or she for that may be the case in such times, should...( incoherent babble)."

A TIW spokesman, when asked to respond to this growing bristling crisis, said "I don't know what all the fuzz is about, it's only hair."

81 (Grudge 10) – A Bear in the Woods

(bear on a unicycle, all characters are household objects, homemade fireworks, Ninja weaponry)

Deep in the Bohemian Forest, hidden amongst twisted clusters of trees and undergrowth, far from any settlement or habitat, with the noise of the wind whistling through crooked branches and the light of the moon barely scratching through impenetratable leaves, there stands a hut. In this hut, unseen by any traveller, orienteer or paperchase organiser, lives the last of three bears, alone and forelorn, riding his unicycle in the shadows, with only the sound of his bewitched household objects for company.

"Did you see the fireworks last night? Scared me to sawdust." Dave the IKEA wardrobe shivered on his unstable feet.

"Yeah, it did get out of hand. He was trying for a smoke bomb but got a fountain firework instead," ticked Johnny the turquoise Bai square retro wall clock.

"Maybe he should read the instructions when making homemade fireworks."

"He's not really an expert with fireworks..."

"...or DIY." Dave felt another screw loosening. "Oh, for a screwdriver..."

"Anyway. He's built for higher things, definitely." Johnny tick-tocked over the hour. "Yeah! Another one!"

"Congratulations. Higher things? Look at the suits he wears, he's high class material, all right." Dave opened his doors, showing a drab selection of circus suits. "Such style, finesse. He's going all the way."

"I don't like him touching me with those big paws of his, though. Just let me do what I'm good at, telling the time."

"But you keep slowing down."

"Oh, stop it. My face may have aged but I'm still ticking along!"

"Ha!"

They listened to Johnny's second hand, sometimes it was agonisingly slow. The unicycle's squeaky wheel set them off again.

"He took me off the wall the other day."

"He didn't!"

"He did. Well, I tell you, I didn't stand for it."

"You hang, though, don't you?"

"Semantics. Anyway, I gave him everything I had, I even got out my collection of Ninja weaponry."

"Your what?"

"I got out my wooden nunchuks and gave him a good ol' one-two over the head..."

"Yeah, right. Sure."

"Then I tried my homemade shuriken and throwing knives..."

"And?"

"Nothing."

"You throw like a girl."

"It isn't easy with these hands. Besides, you can't do any better, you haven't got any hands."

"Yeah, but I can lie in wait, my doors wide open, and grab anyone who gets too close."

"Deadly."

"Oh yes." Dave opened and closed his door a few times and wobbled, making him stop. He leant a few more millimetres closer to Johnny, who tick-tocked faster.

"Careful! I'm only attached to this wall by a half-hammered-in rusty nail!"

"Sorry."

"Anyway, he still reset me, without any luck. Finally had to put another battery in. I think I need to go for a checkup or something..."

"Oh-oh..."

Deep in the Šumava, hidden amongst a mass of tall, robust trees, far from any living being, with the light from the stars hardly breaking through, the sounds of a falling wardrobe, breaking glass and the moan of a bear shattered the peace of the forest.

Weekend Quickie 52 – Out on the town

(image – rain on a night city street, element – wish upon a star, emotion – bittersweet feeling)

Drenched and shivering, sheltering under a downtown shop's canopy without an umbrella, I watched those few poor unfortunates caught in this freak summer storm scamper back to whatever hole they'd crept out from. I guess it hadn't been such a good idea to go out for a celebration drink, the place I'd picked was closed due to a technical malfunction. And then the sky opened up.

I looked down the street and all the shops were like dark, empty shells, hit by the same trouble as the bar. I'd wish upon a star to get me the hell outta here if I could see one through the rainclouds. For a second it crossed my mind to take one of the many bicycles littering the street and fly home, bringing it back once this was all over, but one look at the rain...

With the water running down my neck and my socks soaking up the growing puddle around my shoes, I thought of what brought me out tonight, my recent anticipated success. Standing here, it now felt so trivial and above all, bittersweet: great that I'd accomplished my goal but sad that it was all over, never to be repeated.

Weekend Quickie 1st Anniversary - Surprise!

(52 elements, one from each Weekend Quickie in the year)

If I recall, it was a Saturday afternoon at a local Iron Writers Convention. Five Iron Writers were present when I got there but like some forgotten rule of thumb, I couldn't remember their names, though I knew their faces. They held the convention in the Flora Bama bar, right next to a strange cyclorama of a burning wicker man set in the Scottish Highlands and a live element of eight ladies dancing a jig in the foreground, all organised and produced by some local artist. While melodical musical notes wafted over the sound system, I began to daydream and think back to yesterday morning at Mamie's...

With the smell of fried bacon and just brewed coffee, I made my way into the kitchen. She was nowhere to be seen. Lavender wafted through the open French doors, mixing with the breakfast smells and turning my already weak stomach. I opened the food cupboard to be greeted by a can of alphabet soup and a can of pumpkin, with a rotting coconut cake Mamie had made for Easter...at Christmas. A pack of lifesavers sat on the counter and I took a tangerine one. Far away in the garden I heard the sound of singing. Was it her? A message in a bottle on the top of the fridge said it all.

'Dear Dani, Your mother gave you a little errand. Make two coffees and bring them out with you, following a trail of Mardi Gras beads. At the end of the trail is an arrowhead bordered by a dandelion bracelet. It will show you the way. Yours sincerely, Mamie.'

I did as the message asked and found her in a little summerhouse by a large rockery. We greeted each other and I placed the coffees on the table. She passed over a coin.

"What's this?"

"A present for a handsome newspaperman's birthday, a 1909 penny covered in Mars dust. Happy birthday!"

"Err, thanks, Mamie. Where did you get it?"

"From your sister. Ha, kind of a tip from a waitress, so to speak. Go on, your mother said you had to make a birthday wish now."

The annual birthday ritual with Mother. It was easy to choose, 50-50, but it was never a pleasant experience, and now that she was gone, it was Mamie who was left to do her last dying wish. Mother had hired a room at her place for the past few years and they had spent so many evenings together they'd become inseparable.

"Truth or dare?"

"OK, let's do it."

She took out Mother's old coke bottle and spun it around. This bottle was like a portent that provoked fear in me every year, but this time, for perhaps the first time ever, it stopped on 'truth'.

"Oh. Wish upon a star?"

"A star? It's eight o'clock in the morning."

Mamie looked glum but then gave a smile and settled herself into her chair."Your Mother said that if it landed on 'truth' then I'd have to tell. You're 40 this year, so maybe it's better if...err...you know about some things. She'd been prepared to tell you for years but..." She pointed to the bottle. "She said it always came up 'dare'."

"What things, Mamie?"

"Your early years...your 'real' early years..."

She took out an old photo from her pocket and handed it over.

"This is me as a newborn baby. I haven't seen this before...err, what's that on my face?"

"Err..." Mamie had a look. "It's cumerindine. My grandmother swore by it."

"Great...and what's that in the background? What! I was born in the back seat of a Greyhound bus, rolling down Highway 41? Are you kidding me? What about that old photo of me in the hospital?"

"I don't know about that, but your Mother said that she had to hitchhike from the bus to the hospital."

"Really?"

"Yes, the bus didn't go that way."

I sighed, relieved that this truth wasn't so bad.

"Phew, I thought it was going to be really bad, like I was adopted or something."

Mamie flinched.

"What?"

"Err, well, not adopted as such..." She passed me another photo.

"Who's that?"

"It's your father."

"My...but my father is..."

"No, this is your real father. Who you thought was your father was actually your step father. Your mother said that this man is your father." As the shock hit me, Mamie continued. "She said that he had such a feeling of strength and independence about him. She first met him in the summer of her Junior Year at High school..."

I quickly calculated it in my head. Surely that was wrong. How could this be my father?

"That would make me 44, Mamie."

"Yes, it was 5 years later. She met him again, a chance encounter during a cake walk at a fete. He'd lost his shoes. Apparently, he was really something. She said 'some people can look at a mud puddle and see an ocean of ships'. He gave her one of these."

Mamie showed me Mother's five gold rings. It had always been a mystery as to who that fifth ring had came from.

"Why...where...when can I meet him?"

"Oh, he's gone now, a freak accident when a Halcyon flew into his helmet while he was riding his motorbike."

"Oh. So no father-son reunion, then."

"No. Sorry, Dani."

"That's okay...but...but she said I got my nose from my father. His nose is nothing like mine."

"Your nose...well...do you really want to know?"

I nodded.

"Okay. When you were old enough to walk, you were obsessed with moving lights and things, you know, snowglobes, lava lamps and the like. She couldn't drag you past a shop window without a fight. You squashed your nose up against the glass so many times, you got a permanent pugnose."

"What? Next you'll be telling me that this wolf bite I got on my arm 'cause I thought the thing was a lost dog with no collar, isn't!"

"It isn't."

"What?"

"It's a birthmark. Same as that one she said was a rattlesnake bite when you tried to save a yellow scorpion."

"What?"

First my birth, then my father, and now my infamous bites...

"Uh-huh." I examined both 'birthmarks'. "I see it now. How stupid of me to believe they were bites."

I looked straight at Mamie. A thousand emotions ran through me, a million images, and the world started to spin...

#

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82 - The Brother

(An Arnold Schwarzenegger Commando Action Figure, a New (10th) Circle of Hell (meaning you have to make it up and give it a title), The Dunning Kruger Effect, Perfume Atomizer)

She came in, spraying her perfume atomizer around the room. Someone was coming round. Who was it?

"I've told you a thousand times, my work doesn't smell." I sealed the box up and put my collection of Amblytelus ground beetles away into their particular drawer.

"I don't care. I hate those things. Smell or no smell, I think they're disgusting."

"It's my work, dear, my field of expertise." To make her feel more at ease, I opened the window to let some fresh air in.

"My brother will be here soon, so take those joggy bottoms of yours off and put on something more...respectable."

"Your brother? But that's the second time this month? What does he want now? More money?" I checked my wallet, making sure there was enough to cover such a visit.

"Brian! How dare you! He's my brother. If he needs money, then we can help him out."

"Why doesn't he get a job?"

"Brian!" She rushed across the room, spraying her perfume atomizer along the furniture and the sofa, only to find her supply running out.

"Well, he thinks he knows everything!"

"You know he's unskilled..."

"Yes, but he's always ready to tell me what's right and what's wrong, isn't he? It's those muscles of his, it makes him think he's some kind of superhero who can do anything. I'm sure he suffers from the Dunning Kruger Effect..."

"He's my brother, you can't talk about him like that! And anyway, there's nothing wrong with a little muscle..."

I watched as she left the room and emerged with a plate load of sandwiches from the kitchen.

"A little muscle? He's got more muscles than a caterpillar!" That last remark caused her to stop in her tracks and tutt.

"Ah, I knew you'd have to bring your Entomology into this at some point. You just can't stop thinking about it, can you? My brother takes care of his body and as I said, there's nothing wrong with his muscles."

"Absolutely. Every day, 8 to 4, in that gym. My old Arnold Schwarzenegger Commando action figure had less muscles than him. Except for one, of course." I tapped the side of my head and she shook hers.

"Well please don't go into some intellectual tirade like you did the last time. You know how upset he gets when he doesn't understand something. He broke grandma's China vase, remember? We're running out of the old inheritance."

"Yes, I remember. He's rather like a gorilla, don't you think? His dire apathy towards knowledge is killing. They should invent a whole new Circle of Hell just for him, 'Apathy of Knowledge and Understanding', perhaps. A little different to ignorance, wouldn't you say? Ignorance isn't really a choice for him, it would be a step up...that place would be good for a few other people I don't care to mention..."

She clenched her fists, pushing them down to her sides and her face went a deep purple.

"Don't bring my parents into this!"

NEWSFLASH: Demise of the Deadly Duo?

(TIW Blog)

by Scallywag

Rumours are spreading that the sudden appearances of the ludicrous and annoying relays initiated by the procrastinating TIW partnership of Mathew W Weaver and Dani J Caile within the TIW Facebook community is at an end. With their upcoming Earth-shattering no-holds barred Grudge match, seconded by Mamie Pound and Jordan Bell, and the recent incarceration of Master Weaver into the world of reality, it may mean that their impromptu relays will become a mere irritating memory for those inflicted.

Who can forget their first literary 'soiree' into the genre, a story of hair-raising proportions, "The Goatee of Neil (Sayatovich)". Other victims of their unrehearsed tomfoolery include Jordan Bell, "The Rotation", the two DLs, namely DL Zwissler and DL Mackenzie, "The Duel of the DLs", with a little help from Amanda Rotach Huntley, Mamie Pound, "Mamie Mass", with guest appearances from Jordan Bell and Tony himself, Tony Jaeger,"The Iron Writer Party line", and even some foolishness amongst themselves, "The Cat and the Monkey". Will this insanity all be a thing of the past?

While Master Weaver was unavailable for comment due to an increase in refreshments consumption and a rise in the need for shoe polishing around the office, Mr Caile, deep in a comatose state from lack of book sales and blog hits, stated that "it's mainly a question of the (TIW) community. If something happens to catch mine, or Mathew's, eye, we give each other the 'heads up'. TIW is filled with interesting, eccentric and overbearing people. It's only a matter of time before one of them sparks the imagination and our keyboards pound to the sound of clicking. Richard Russell is overdue...but nothing can beat that first time. Maybe a break would do us all some good..."

Sufferers of Weaver and Caile's nonsense commented on the phenomema, mentioning that it was "an honour" and a "mark of respect" to be the stooge in the pairs' absurdity, and possibly even funny.

A TIW spokesman, when asked about the Deadly Duo, said "Who?". It seems that this infamous twosome is already lost in the threads of time...

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Weekend Quickie 53 – To the's guy...(59 words)

(300 words max, write a postcard to an enemy, 5 words to use - freckles, heckles, pickles, jeckles, spinach, postcard image - couple at ComCon)

To the's guy on the balcony, left centre!

I's had enough of your gibes and heckles,

Ands your jeering remarks as you sat there with your jeckles.

So I's soaked up alls your taunts which got me alls up in a pickles

Ands I's take your girl, even with alls her freckles!

....ands I's didn't need any spinach, Popeye...

The Mirror

(Impromtu Relay (18th September 2014))

(with Mathew W Weaver, Christopher A Liccardi (and Jordan Bell))

Based on a particularly 'scary' facebook profile picture of Jordan Bell in a steamed up mirror

Mathew W. Weaver

The muzzle was still warm when he laid it down on the sink. The metal hit the ceramic with a clang loud enough to make a normal man jump, any man with the nerves of jelly after what he had just done. But this was no normal man.

Dani J Caile

No normal man at all. His reflection in the mirror seemed foggy and...distant. Who was that person staring back at him? Those eyes, that nose, the lack of hair on the top of his head were all so familiar and yet...

Jordan Bell

Uh oh. Here we go again!

Christopher A Liccardi

Strangely different. He had been wearing another face the last time he looked at his reflection. It was a woman this time. She was pretty, or had been, blonde and naive. Her first mistake was to open the door when the bell rang at...

Dani J Caile

...two minutes til the witches' hour. How was she to know that keeping awake at that hour procrastinating with her buddies on facebook would lead her to such a violent and lethal fate? The hynoptising trancelike backbeat of a Justin Bieber song still rang deep in his mind.

Mathew W. Weaver

It was all so confusing. He leaned over and gripped the edges of the sink tightly, his knuckles whitening. He breathed out, glanced at the mirror, and looked away. His gaze fell on his hands. In the dim light and the steam off the shower, he could barely make them out. Were they thick, burly red sausages or slim, dainty white feminine digits?

Dani J Caile

Shaking his head, his vision cleared and he breathed a sigh of relief. His manly hand , strained and tense, grasped the thin long ungrilled vienna virsli he'd taken in those last stressful moments of the struggle. But that face...?

Christopher A Liccardi

and those memories; flashes of another persons life. He was an intruder in those things he saw. Each familiar, but each one glaringly not his own. He wasn't going to have them long. He needed to feed again... and soon. This time he was thinking about that writer who had run into him in the Stop and Save parking lot. What an...

Dani J Caile

...absolute waste of pen and paper, those King clone scribbles he'd noticed over his shoulder. It would be a blessing to the world if that writer was his next victim.

Mathew W. Weaver

And then, with that thought, everything became so much more clearer. The throbbing headache faded and his vision, inexplicably clouded again, spontaneously cleared. He saw the blood on his hands. He saw the pistol within grasp. He knew what he needed to do....

Dani J Caile

Go and grill those vienna virsli!

83 - Karma

(image of seeing people stadning over a grave, Saggitians, theme song people would play if you walked into a room, W7JFQ ham radio call sign)

Hovering a foot or so above the coffin, I could see the mourners, with the priest giving me those final words, my wife weeping into a little white handkerchief...hang on, that's not a handkerchief, that's my life insurance cover! Damn woman! And my brothers are all here, smirking down at me, the gits. They'll soon take all I had, my small 'empire' of ABC corner shops I'd built up since coming to England. My wife being only a woman won't stand a chance against them.

How did it happen? How did I die? My own stupidity. Was it a punishment from Allah? Probably, but why is my soul here? Why isn't it...somewhere else? Why can't I remember? Having no physicality is disturbing. They don't mention this anywhere. Why did I have to die now, in the prime of my life?

It had started as such a normal morning, too. The wife was doing her business in the kitchen making the food for the day, while I got ready to make my usual daily tour of the shops. I'd switched on my ham radio just to see if anyone was on but I gave up, deciding to go to the toilet for my morning ablutions.

Then, like a banshee in the forest, I heard it.

"W7JFQ? W7JFQ?"

It was the voice of one of my many wonderful mistresses coming through the radio calling out my sign. If my wife had heard her, I'd have had a lot of explaining to do. A mere "Shut up, woman!" would not have surficed. With my trousers down at my feet, I flung myself off the seat and into the bedroom, trying desparately to get to the radio. I caught a glimpse of myself in the array of mirrors on our bedroom wall and I looked like that small gang of dumbass street Saggitians I'd had trouble with a few weeks ago, hassling one of my shop assistants. For a split moment that image took my attention and I tripped and impaled myself on the wife's exercise bike's exposed metal tube seat holder that I never ever found the time to fix. I watched in amazement as my blood covered the frame and then tried to push myself off. Succeeding, I crawled over to the radio and turned it off in my last moment of consciousness. And now here I was. I guess my wife never heard the radio.

At least they played my song, 'The Fight Song' by Marilyn Manson. I loved to annoy the neighbours downstairs at night with the heavy bass set to max and me headbanging to the beat. The ceremony itself went quite well too, my younger brother giving a wonderful elergy, the old charmer...in fact, is that him with his arm around my wife? Hey! Kasun! Get your grubby little hands off my wife! Hey! What? Don't you do that again! Do you hear me? You wait until I'm reincarnated, then I'll get you! Hey! Kasun! You dirty little...!

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Weekend Quickie 54 – A nice meat soup (91 words)

(Genre: Horror, Time: 5 minutes, Start with: He liked to eat their skin first,...

End with: He sat with a smile on his face and his belly full.)

He liked to eat their skin first, slicing each square inch off from the layer of fat and muscle beneath with his ivory handled silverware, sharpened every morning on his stone wheel. When his appetite for this tender delicacy diminished, there lay before him an exposed limp body, ready for boiling and seasoning. He was never one for a roast. His favourite was a nice full meat soup which he could savour for days. This time was no different. He sat with a smile on his face and his belly full.

Weekend Quickie 55 Sunday Edition – True story...ish (293 words)

(You just got pulled over by a cop for speeding. You are poor, and way too clever to get a ticket. Write down the scenario below with what you would say to get out of it... It is never too late to practice the art of B.S. No more than 300 Words. No more than 10 minutes.)

I spun my alloy wheels and thrust my XR3i into first, smoking up Death corner over by the old church, chasing after my pals in their dinky Fiesta. Last to the Old Hare had to pay for the whole round. Only Tuk and Goodge agreed to ride with me. It didn't take long for those flashing blue lights to fill up my rearview mirror.

"Good evening, sir. Would you mind stepping out of the car, please."

My Fiesta pals had already parked up nearby and were taunting the pigs from a safe distance.

"Do you know what speed you were doing around that corner, sir?"

"I think about 35mph, officer, well within the speed limit."

"It's a 20mph zone around that corner, sir. Please blow into this bag."

"Sure."

I blew from my mouth rather than my lungs, filling the bag so it wouldn't detect the 5 pints of cider I'd just drunk. Tuk and Goodge sat quietly in the car, smiling at the pigs when they popped their heads in.

"Clear off, ya pigs! We know where ya live!" shouted one of the girls from the Fiesta.

The pigs checked the breathalyser and found me to be clear but were becoming increasingly aggitated by the commotion over by the Fiesta. Especially when a stone found its place through one of their sidedoor windows.

"Thank you, sir. Remember to always look at the road signs, they're there for a reason. Don't do it again. Have a nice evening."

"Thank you, officer."

We watched as they marched across the road, stopping the traffic as they did, and demanded IDs from all those present. When we got to the Old Hare, I still had to pay for the round, though, 'cause the others never arrived.

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NEWFLASH: Where is Maureen?

(TIW Blog)

by Scallywag

On Monday 22nd September 2014, there was growing concern for the whereabouts of a certain Ms Maureen Larter, Aussie extraordinaire and longtime member of the TIW community. The disappearance of said member Maureen had many members talking as to where she may have gone. Some say, being an Aussie, she had gone on a 'walkabout', a traditional aboriginal journey to find oneself, a journey which could last for an indefinite time, perhaps even as long as 3 days without Facebook. Others mentioned she may have joined an expedition group to find the heart and soul of the lost capital of Australia, Canberra, something which many have tried before but have failed miserably. A small minority of the TIW community have also mentioned that she may only be out shopping for wattleseed and witchetty grubs and lost her way between the jumping kangaroos, climbing koalas and running emus within her neighbourhood. Much to the picturesque efforts of Bobby 'Salmon' Salomons and infantile taunting from Brian Rogers, founder of TIW, Maureen still has yet to reply to any tagged comment or post. If she does not reply soon, the community will send out Tony Jaeger to look for her. If he does not find her, then at least he will bring back some mushrooms. A TIW spokesman, when asked about this strange disappearance said "It's difficult to contact anyone who lives in the Outback at the best of times, let alone when the Fosters and Vegemite sandwiches run out. Maybe we should put some more prawns on the barbie."

UPDATE: Maureen has been found safe and well, sipping a concoction of homemade lemonade and gin under a Gympie-Gympie tree.

Grudge 11 - The Purple Result (1st attempt - unpublished)

(Written with Jordan Bell)

(Neo (from Matrix) holding a Sooty Puppet, one character must be riding a pogo stick, must contain at least three characters with no spoken dialogue between them, must implement every line of the William Carlos Williams poem 'The Red Wheelbarrow' in order (lines may be interspersed with other prose but individual lines of the poem must be intact.))

"Sorry? What's that, Sooty? You think I should take the blue pill? How about I give you my finger?" The leather-clad young man sitting on the grassy knoll like some assassin of logic and reason shoved the yellow hand puppet into his ear once more, nodding to its imaginary non-existent babble, his face made from solid stone. Madness is a naked man dancing atop the ruptured remains of reality's raiments, who apparently happened to be over by the dying tree, bouncing incessantly upon a pogo stick.

"So much depends upon accuracy, clarity. Language is then kept...efficient!" shouted the rakish man through many comical flapping parts of his anatomy. With each impact on the soil, mud splattered this crazed man's bare shins. "Language charged with meaning to the utmost possible severity!"

Reluctantly, I reassumed my earlier fetal position in a red wheel barrow and swallowed my frenzied smile.

"We are all born mad. Some even more so, in certainty, to carry the damp blue globe of fantasy towards the pure purple clutter of chaos." Popping my thumb into my mouth once more, the buzzing voices inside my mind increased until I could no longer hear their bombastic tirade.

"A slave is someone who frees him and goes...ahh!" A belly flop on earth glazed with rain water cut short the poor man's howl, causing me to peep over the edge of my casket. The floating flotsam of jello secreted its ooze on the confines of the civilised world.

"Is this all we have? Are words all we have?" My tongue wrapped around my shrivelled thumb. "Regrets, none. Having been born, I so wait for the long tiresome business of death."

"But Sooty, how can I make a choice?" The yellow puppet fell, buried in the grass, its wand digging deep into the ground. One quick snap of the wrist and the puppet sat confidently face to face with its controller. "The question is, how can I trust you?"

"I see trees! Five, six, seven...ten trees! An ordinary man would see one!" screeched the foul man making strange movements in the mud. "I am the eyes of an angel!"

The young man held the puppet once more to his ear.

"What's that, Sooty? You want me to say the magic words? But you haven't answered my question."

An annoyance of sound, inverted end over end, vanishing with a sudden flash.

"A stain upon the silence, nothing more, nothing less. I don't know, I don't know, can we go on, we can't!"

I forced my thumb to stifle my unwelcomed intruding negation while the naked man, dangling like some throttled turkey, stood up and straddled his trusty pogo stick, recommencing the destruction around the sacred perishing tree.

"Izzy wizzy, let's get busy!" screamed the young man, jumping to his feet and frantically waving the puppet in the air, its wand held high.

Tiny lights exploded behind my eyes and I searched for focus, meaning. Grains of wheat lay beside the white chickens, untouched, unnoticed...unpecked.

Grudge 11 - Down on the farm (2nd attempt - published)

(Written with Jordan Bell)

(Neo (from Matrix) holding a Sooty Puppet, one character must be riding a pogo stick, must contain at least three characters with no spoken dialogue between them, must implement every line of the William Carlos Williams poem 'The Red Wheelbarrow' in order (lines may be interspersed with other prose but individual lines of the poem must be intact.))

"What's all this then, eh?"

When I'd gone to bed, all had been normal but now, at the break of dawn, with the cows out in the meadow and the chickens scattered about, the scene before me was mystifying.

"What's that, Sooty?" A leather-clad Neo from the Matrix was standing over by the coop, stone-faced, with a yellow puppet shoved up to his ear. It was Sooty from the Sooty Show. Where was Matthew Corbett when you needed him? Or Sweep and Sue, even? And as if that wasn't bad enough, a crazed naked man on a pogo stick, with parts of his anatomy dangling like some throttled turkey was ranting on about some literature nonsense.

"So much depends upon accuracy, clarity. Language is then...efficient!" He bounced around the muddy farmyard until his pogo stick hit a red wheel barrow and he went flying into a heap of wet manure.

"What the hell! Get off my land!" The usual line didn't work with these nutters, so I went back in for my shotgun. When I returned, all was quiet until finally a noise came from the old barn. I cautiously made my way over. In the shadows, far over in the back, I could see Sooty, held high over a stall, his wand waggling.

"Izzy wizzy, let's get busy!"

"I'll give yer 'Izzy bloody wizzy'!" I fired a warning shot. Hay exploded into the air as man and puppet crashed through the slats of the old barn and into a startled sow glazed with rainwater from last night's showers.

I loaded another shell into my shotgun as I ran out of the barn and around to the pigsty. Here, I was met with another vision of absurdity.

The naked literati, thus removed from his pogo stick and now covered head to toe in shite, wrestled with 'he-of-the-not-quite-there-spoon' for control of Sooty. I levelled my shotgun at the mad duo and growled, "Oi, you lot! Get off my pigs!"

Sooty in hand, the naked man sprung to his feet and dashed across the farmyard towards the coop, screaming in the morning air, "A man of genius has a right to any mode of expression." I looked to Neo who sat in the mud defeated and took off after the sullied poet.

Nearing the coop I slowed, having lost sight of the puppet-wielding Pound. I heard yet another voice nearby. There, on the ground, a man in a tweed suit tossed grains all about and addressed his non-existent audience.

"Only those who will risk going too far can know how far one can possibly go," he said, seated beside the white chickens as they darted after their food. He reached into the grain bag again and said, "I will show you fear in a handful of dust."

Suddenly feeling quite ill, I staggered on, soon coming to an abandoned Sooty. I laughed, quite madly, and with a whoop snatched up the vexatious puppet leaving my last remnants of sanity in its place.

Weekend Quickie 56 – The homemade wasp repellent of Richard

(Genre: Fantasy, Word Count: Exactly 250 Words! Start with: The Alien Forces were moved among the...Include the words: carnage, litter box, Facebook Status, and Charlie Brown. While writing, listen to this song. Play over and over until finished. http://youtu.be/jY9dQ8hUi7U (Edge of Night (Pippin's Song from Lord of the Rings))

The Alien forces were moved among the districts of Milwaukee by their all-seeing Queen, a sight we'd grown accustomed to over the last few days. After the carnage in Chicago, where this grotesque entity and its thousands of 'soldiers' had first appeared and wiped out the entire population, news reports came in of fighting further up the coast until we could see what was to come. The Guard had settled themselves in the suburbs, but were no match for these fast, winged creatures.

"Richard!" shouted Bob from the back door.

I grabbed my set of garden tools, essential for survival in the jungle that was Wisconsin and turned, only to see a 6' wasp-like beast land on the bed of chrysanthemums I'd planted only a few weeks ago and kill Bob. I dropped to the carpet, my face landing in the cat's litter box. Spitting Mimi's latest offering from my mouth, I noticed on the newspaper lining a Peanuts cartoon with good ol' Charlie Brown, losing yet again. Humanity would not be so lucky, no more days and nights, no opportunities to shine. It would all fade away. Unless...

"Oi! You lousy insect! Come and get me!"

It rushed into the house and flew towards me. I reached into my utility belt and sprayed all I had.

"Take that!"

The alien hissed and spun, falling to the floor in a twitching heap.

"Ah-ha! The homemade wasp repellent of Richard triumphs again!"

That one was definitely going on my Facebook status.

Weekend Quickie 57 (Sunday Edition) - A little prick (69 words...fnaw, fnaw!)

(The Love Boat, the Song: The Love Shack, picture of *The Love Cactus*. Genre: Comedy. 250 Words Max)

We were on his cruiser, his own personal 'love boat', he played my favourite song, 'The Love Shack' and even showed his collection of cacti, including what he described as his 'love cactus'. All was set for a great night, except for his fumbling and ineptitude in the bed. He even fell on his beloved cactus.

"Ouch, there's a little prick in my arse!"

"I know the feeling, darling...*sigh*..."

84 - Autumn Preliminary Round (Agatha Christie bracket) – "Inside the Womb" Episode 15

(Misophonia, Stockholm Syndrome, something found on a deceased body that would be an embarrassment to the family, told from the point of view of an interview of someone not yet born)

"Good evening. I'm happy to have here in our latest exclusive interview for 'Inside the Womb', a Miss Agatha Christie. Hello, Miss Christie. May I call you Agatha?"

"Hello. I prefer Miss Christie, if you please. Besides, I've heard from Auntie Maud on the outside that the family is considering 'Mary Ann', in honour of my grandmother."

"Well, please be assured that we have it on good authority that they finally keep to Agatha, Miss Christie."

"Excellent. I didn't really wish to have a stigma attached to me as soon as I was born."

"Stigma?"

"Yes. The family are still troubled with that embarrassing situation when they found her on her deathbed, dressed in her complete collection of S&M gear. Terrible business, that."

"Oh, well, I say...erm...rather...yes, yes, I see..."

"Whips and all, you know?"

"Ah, erm...? So, err, how do you feel, on the eve of your glorious birth?"

"I feel like a hostage. I'm so ready to start this fantastic life, ready to become the most successful writer of all time, but I'm stuck inside this womb, a prisoner within skin."

"Not for long, Miss Christie, not for long."

"I mean, it's not all bad. I get regular meals, I can go to the bathroom whenever I want, I can dance around as much as I like but I'm starting to get a little...impatient. Although I'll still have to wait a few years before I have complete control of these ten little digits and be able to knock out a full manuscript on the old typewriter, I have a tremendous urge to get out there, experience life to the full."

"Yes, of course, Miss Christie, who wouldn't?"

"But you know, I empathise with her. It can't be easy being a mother, especially the mother of a future famous personage such as myself."

"No...quite."

"And she smokes, did you know that?"

"Seriously?"

"Yes. It's a crime to do that I think while pregnant. The ways in which it could affect me are atrocious but I feel it's all my fault, really, stressing her out with my movements, my moods, trying to get comfortable and that. I'm sure I'm suffering from Misophonia. Every time she brushes her teeth I get so anxious and close up into a fetal position."

"Mmm, perhaps you're also suffering from Stockholm syndrome, Miss Christie?"

"Stockholm? I thought we were in Torquay? Oh Lord, don't tell me I'm going to be Swedish! How in the hell do I become a famous writer if I'm born in Sweden? What do I have to do, die? Hey! You out there! Get on a boat to England right now! I hope it's not the 'Karnak'..."

"Miss Christie, no, no, you're in Torquay, England, right as we speak."

"Oh. That's good, then."

"Well, erm, as I can see from the light below, your time is imminent..."

"Really?"

"...and that means, Miss Christie, we'll have to leave you there. It's been a pleasure speaking with you."

"The pleasure was all mine."

Weekend Quickie 58 - Star Flaws

(A member of the Iron Writer, an iron, a blunt object, a noose. Write a 200 word story (exact) and use the above elements. Genre: science fiction)

"We're going to die!"

The Millanus rocked as lazers screeched by. Half the fighters in the Muttonchop fleet were after them.

"Shut up, Puke!" shouted Feet Together. "No one's ever got close to this baby before. She flies like an eagle!"

The Hyperdrive unit exploded and flew across the cockpit, knocking out Feet Together's co-pilot Smokedope.

"Damn blunt objects! Where's Tony Jaeger when you need him?" Feet Together punched the Control Panel, only to be welcomed with flashing red lights warning them of imminent danger. "There's a tractor beam on us!"

They both looked out and saw Little Red Tractor with its headlight beam on.

"I'll use the force," said Puke Landrunner. "I'll find a way out of this."

A moment later he was rummaging through the overhead lockers, searching for something. Twinkie, rubber duck, noose, used metro ticket, all discarded for a light sabre. Princess Laydown entered, holding an iron in one hand and Puke's boxers in the other.

"Any trouble, boys?"

"There will be if you iron those. They're 100% silk," replied Puke, snatching them away. A deep voice came over the Communication Console.

"Puke, I am your father."

"Dad! I told you not to call me here!"

The Duel of Procrastination

( One Man Show (Fb relay) (4-6 October 2014))

Mathew shuffled to the sound of leaves falling from the resting trees as he hid behind a particularly thorny bramble bush, away from the searching eyes of those present. His seemingly constant flow of procrastination had finally placed him in a particularly prickly situation and his suit of slightly rusting armour was no match for the persistant spikey bush which had the ability to seek out the joining hinges.

"Where is that Weaver?!" shouted an irate Dani. "He was meant to be here three days ago! We're running out of peanut butter and jello sandwiches!"

Jordan stood firm, clenching the case which held the two dueling pistols.

"He's not coming, can't you see that?" Jordan dropped the pistols' case and opened one of the six pack he'd brought along. "Fancy a beer?"

"Nah, you never know, he might appear. I've gotta keep my wits about me," said Dani, waving off the can once, twice, three times. Jordan swung it his way once more and he took it and had a swig.

Mathew spotted his chance and ran out of the hedge, away from the two drinking their beers. For armour, it was surprisingly light and flexible and he sprinted across to the playground, towards safety and a chance for a chip butty.

"Look! There he goes!" screamed Jordan, losing half his beer as he pointed. Dani dropped his and grabbed the pistols' case.

"Give me that! Ahh!" The harder he tried to open the case, the less chance it would.

"You've bent the hinges now! It'll never open!" Jordan caught the case as Dani threw it away in disgust.

"No matter. I have one of these!" Dani took out a large can opener and chased after Mathew. "I'll get that bugger if it's the last thing...!" He tripped over a mole hill.

THE END.

Weekend Quickie 59 - Larry Hotter

(You just received your 'Owl' from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry. Write about going through platform 9 3/4 for the first time. You must use the following words: Haircut, iPhone, Dog Collar, Kitchen Utensil. Only 250 words.)

Larry pushed his trolley through King's Cross with his heavy luggage and Ballbag his owl perched on top holding the letter of invitation to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry. He couldn't wait to start his seven book/eight movie adventure in third person POV and slightly irregular childlike repetitive grammar structures. He checked that he was very correct. His haircut was very out-of-fashion, his shirt was three sizes too big -- much too big for comfort -- and his iPhone didn't have Angry Birds on it.

He watched a group of teens push their trolleys between platforms Nine and Ten, one second they were there -- then, quite suddenly, they weren't. How had they done it?

Larry held his lucky kitchen utensil, an autographed bent fork he had received from Uri Geller, and started pushing his trolley towards the barrier -- he broke into a run -- the barrier came nearer and nearer -- he closed his eyes --

He heard the whistle of a steam engine and opened his eyes to see a hairy boy with a dog collar around his neck who was pleading, "Auntie, please, just one more bone."

"No, Rover, you cannot."

Larry was very happy. The sign on the platform said Hogwarts Express. He was on platform Nine and Three-Quarters. He pushed his trolley onwards and went in search of an empty seat -- families and their little ones said their farewells. He pocketed his lucky bent fork -- his adventure was about to begin!

Weekend Quickie 60 (Sunday Edition) – Friends, voters, truck drivers

(You've been nominated to give the next Presidential Election Speech from your State/(Area in which you live–for those of you out of the States). Only in this Speech, your 'hopeful' has lost. Use the words : Hairdryer, Jar of Pickles, Parliament, Hairy crackers, Massage Parlor. Word Limit: 500)

Friends, voters, truck drivers, on this night, this sad night of our crushing defeat, I'd like to say that it has been a great honour for me to represent you in this rotten borough of Crud. Although we've had our troubles along the campaign road, I'm sure the little incident I had in my office with my personal assistant and a rather large hairdryer did not dampen our political hopes, we did all we could to scrape what meagre votes were available.

And so, before I tie this concrete block to my feet and drag myself to the edge of the lake, I'd like to thank all my supporters for their fantastic efforts in getting me this far, gaining six votes and a packet of hairy crackers, and I'd especially like to thank you, Mrs. Mumblewaithe for your donation of one fascinating yet delicious jar of pickles. They certainly livened my days up in the campaign room.

I'd also like to congratulate my opposite in winning this Parliament seat, Mr. Joshua Cecilbottom, and in his exceptional election campaign run from the backrooms of our local Vietnamese Massage Parlor. May he rub it down well.

85 - Autumn Open Final – Gone to a Better Place

(Learn to train your wife in 5 easy lessons (picture), If you are male, you must write your story from the wife's negative point of view. If you are female, you must write the story from the husband's positive point of view. Main Character suffers from Pseudobulbar Affect. Breast Cancer)

Usually the only people who walked through the front door were Jon's friends but these seemed nicer.

"Cup of tea?"

There were only two of them left in the room, with a woman taking a position by the sofa and a man by the window, speaking into his walkie talkie.

"Where did the others go?"

"They have something to do, Mrs Worthing."

"Oh, I see. I'll put these cups back, then."

"No, no, that's okay. Please, sit down, rest yourself."

"Okay. One lump or two?"

"One, thank you." The woman sat down and took the cup. The man ignored her and looked out of the window, now holding his walkie talkie to his ear and listening to crackles and voices.

"Would you like a Bourbon Cream?"

"No, thank you. Mrs. Worthing. Could you please tell us a little about yourself?"

She laughed uncontrollably, embarrassing herself yet again.

"Me? Little old me? I'm Jon's wife. Are you friends of Jon?"

"Well, we're looking after his...welfare."

"Oh, good, I'm happy about that. He's such a good man."

"Really? Please, tell me more. Perhaps you can tell me something about your life together?"

"Of course, yes, I'd be happy to. He was always good to me, I...I have trouble, you see, I'm not very good in company."

Another sudden laugh. Her face blushed.

"Don't worry yourself. Please, continue."

"Well...we're a model couple, Jon and I. Every day when he opens the door I greet him the way he likes..."

"Yes?"

"Erm..."

"Go on."

"...in my best lingerie, the simple black silk loose fitting sheath dress with thin spaghetti straps."

"Uh-huh..."

"And I have his pipe and slippers all ready, too..."

The man from the window whispered something to the woman and she nodded.

"It sounds like you're an excellent wife, Mrs. Worthing," said the woman, smiling.

"Thank you. Yes, I make sure his TV remote control is sitting on the side of his favourite armchair so he can watch his football matches, along with a beer the way he likes it, chilled."

"Wonderful, Mrs. Worthing."

"When he snaps his fingers, that tells me he's ready for dinner, and I serve him immediately. After all, he is the breadwinner of the household. If it wasn't for him, I'd be on the street. He tells me that every day. Every day..."

"Really? I'm sorry, Mrs. Worthing," said the woman, "...we need to take you down to the station now."

She laughed again, uncontrollably, and tried to keep a smile on her face. The man at the window took out some handcuffs.

"Of course, of course." He put them on her and led her past the bloody corpse and into the hallway. She overheard the man whispering again to the woman.

"Her doctor said she's riddled with cancer, recently diagnosed with a brain tumor and has suspected breast cancer. She also suffers from PBA. The doctor pushed her to tell her husband the good news tonight."

"Would've loved to have been a fly on that wall..."

Books By The Banks Workshop

(workshop given by Michael D. Pitman)

(First story: jealousy, a chair and baseball game.)

Obscenities, fruit and even a foldaway chair were thrown onto the playing field from the grandstand. This was not Dooger's greatest performance.

"Come on, man! Wake up! That's three in a row ya let walk, not to mention the other eight in the last innings!" shouted Wade, the catcher. The Rascals were 10 down with only 2 more innings to play.

"Sorry, Wade, but it's Cheryl!"

"Oh Christ, man! Forget her! Move on! We've got a game to play here!"

The umpire beckoned them both over.

"You tell this guy to start playing better or I'll eject him from the field! It's getting dangerous out here!"

The crowd continued to whistle and shout.

"What? You can't do that!"

"Watch me!"

"But ump, it's his girl!"

"Oh hell, girl trouble? Get over it!" The umpire shook his head. "What happened?"

"She caught me with Flossy."

"She caught you with another girl? Then what do you expect? Play the game!"

"No, no, Flossy is a goat from next door."

"A goat!? What? Beastiality ain't popular in these parts!"

"What? Who's talking about beastiality? I was painting her hooves! Cheryl got jealous, said I never did anything like that for her!"

"You're gone!"

(Second story: anger, backyard barbecue and a famous artist (type of artist up to writer))

When Bruce had a barbecue, he had a barbecue. Last time he got Nicole Kidman. She left as soon as she'd arrived, downtown Aldelaide people not being her scene. He'd outdone himself this time.

"It's not everyday ya get Russell Crowe to come to your backyard barbecue!" Bruce was so chuffed with himself, he hadn't noticed the star walking into the house with his missus.

"He's such an artist."

"That's what I 'eard, too! Loves his beer!"

"And the women!" Barry nudged Shane as they saw a brief appearance of the artist's bare hairy buttocks in the bedroom window upstairs.

"He can't half swear as well, so I 'eard."

"Oh, yeah, I read once that..." Bruce noticed his mates staring up at his bedroom and with his pair of grill tongs still in hand, he froze on the spot when he not only saw those same buttocks for a moment but also his wife's. Barry and Shane tried to stop their giggling as they watched Bruce's anger turn his face a deep purple.

"Well, he's got an Oscar but he sure as hell ain't getting my Sheila!" Bruce stormed into the house.

"She'll be alright, mate!" shouted Barry at Bruce.

Weekend Quickie 61 – The Terror that is Bieber

(Amusement Park, can of snakes, McDonald's, emotion: terror. 250 words )

Another typical day out for the gang at our local amusement park. James spent all his money in the shooting gallery, Dave couldn't keep his hands off Jessie and Bob vomited on himself.

"What have I told you, Bob? Never eat a Big Mac before going on a rollercoaster ride!" I said. Remains of puke dripped down his t-shirt and jeans. People gave us a wide berth due to the stench. Unfortunately, it didn't take long before Bob started up again.

"I'm hungry," he said.

"Oh, that's disgusting!" squirmed Jessie, pushing Dave off one more time.

"Let's go back to McDonald's," said Bob.

"What, so you can puke up a McDonaolds Premium Crispy Chicken Bacon Clubhouse Sandwich, too?" said James. "Here, Bob, have some nuts."

He passed over a can of salted nuts to Bob who beamed with happiness.

"Cool! Thanks." He opened it and a plush snake sprung out. "Ha ha. Very funny. That was scary. So scary."

"OK...look, the Ghost Train!" shouted James.

"Not scary." Bob moved over to the candy floss stall.

"Come on, Bob, it'll be fun." James had a plan, I could see it.

"Okay, okay, but afterwards we get some candy floss," replied Bob.

So we all got on the ghost train. James whispered something to the controller before he jumped on. His grin gave him away. As we entered, an errie sound began...it was a Justin Bieber track. Bob leapt from his seat and ran out in complete terror.

"No!!! Not Bieber! Ahh!"

86 - (Mathew W Weaver Challenge) - Motion in the Potion

(pickled frog, batarang, goat's hoof, home brewed maple syrup)

"Holy jumping bullfrogs, Batman! We've got ourselves in a pickle this time!" screamed the brightly-coloured-slightly-camp-costumed Robin.

The Dynamic Duo were in trouble yet again, dangling on ropes above an enormous cauldron filled to the brim with vinegar, onions, spices...and frogs.

"I think those amphibians' jumping days are over, my illustrious caped friend," replied Batman.

Their vile enemy, the Wicked Witch of West Side Gotham appeared.

"Ha-ha! You will soon be pickled alive, Batty, along with your queer sidekick!"

"Who's she calling a sidekick?"

The Wicked Witch moved over to her precious goat, which was connected to their ropes and grazing on a luscious lawn of grass.

"As my beauty eats to its heart's content, you will slowly descend into my magic potion, second only to my home brewed maple syrup in occultist circles. With wing of bat and eye of bird, and pickled frogs aplenty, my potion will be ready. Ha-ha! And then I will make those revolting bloated cattle turn into...gorgeous goats! No more enforced drinking of cow milk for children in schools!"

"Ah-ha, that would account for the missing cows of Gotham."

"And signs of an oppressed childhood, it seems, Batman."

"Or some 'udder' bovine related problem, Robin. Not so fast, Wicked Witch of West Side Gotham! We're here to pasturise your evil plot!"

"Ha-ha! So long, Batty! I'm off to reap what I have sown! Now where's my broomstick...?" The Wicked Witch left them to pickle.

"Quick, Robin, before she cackles herself into the history books, reach into my utility belt and take out my batarang."

"Holy beachballs, Batman!"

"No need to play pocket billiards, Robin."

"Sorry, force of habit. Got it!" Robin pulled out the tool.

"Now, throw it up and cut our ropes..." Batman heard an ominous clang of metal on the floor. "What happened?"

"Err, I dropped it."

Batman shook his head in dismay and noticed Robin moving his mouth in a distinct manner.

"Robin, is that gum you're chewing?"

"Sorry, Batman, it is. I know it's not right on a mission such as this but the herring we had for lunch was a little overpowering..."

"Stop chewing the cud and pass it over!"

"What?"

"Pass it over. I'm going to spit it onto the grass so that the goat's hoof will stick, giving me time to untie myself!"

"Great idea, Batman!"

"No tongues."

"Okay." The 'daring' duo exchanged the gooey mass and Batman aimed and spat, with the gum landing an inch in front of the goat. It stepped on it and was unable to continue, halting their fall from grace.

"Holy cohesive sticky substances, Batman! You did it!"

The winged avenger struggled with his ropes and after a backuprise, two muscleups and a shoot to handstand, he was free, releasing with a double backward somersault and landing on both feet.

"And now to stop the Wicked Witch of West Side Gotham's dastardly deed! I'll be back in a hop, skip and jump of a lesser-spotted New Guinea poisonous bush frog, Robin!"

"Wha...?"

Weekend Quickie 62 (Monday Edition) - Fun to be a Selleck

(Tom Selleck, Clydesdale horse, Dr. Pepper, refridgerator)

(Short version)

Tom forgot his pants in the refridgerator next to the 2 litre bottle of Dr. Pepper lying above the frozen head of his favourite Clydesdale horse. It was fun to be a Selleck.

(250 word story)

Tom forgot his pants in the refridgerator next to the 2 litre bottle of Dr. Pepper lying above the frozen head of his favourite Clydesdale horse. Why he'd put them there, he'd never know. After the recent surge in popularity of his police TV series 'Blue Bloods' he'd been lost within himself, fighting demons from earlier days, the 'Middle Ages' as he called them. Other than his initial success with 'Magnum PI', the only thing which brought him any money, though not pleasure, was a stupid movie with a baby, back in 1987, working with lesser actors than himself. He'd tried a few movies but they'd all flopped, even the one about baseball. His thirst for limelight, however, had to wait until he put the 'detective' back on.

Taking out his pants and putting them on was tricky, the cool crutch biting into his manhood. He could have sworn that the horse's head had winked at him. He decided to ignore it and took out the Dr. Pepper bottle and poured a drink. Maybe he shouldn't have bet on that Clydesdale the way he did. He missed it so, those Saturday mornings, trotting down the highway...

"Tom! Close that fridge door! Who do you think is paying for the heating in here!"

Tom slowly closed the door and faced his accuser.

"Higgins! Why don't you go back to your Hawaiian estate, ya dumb English...aristocrat!"

He listened to the shouts as he left. It was fun to be a Selleck.

NEWSFLASH: Fancy a Quickie?

(TIW Blog)

by Scallywag

Since the reign of Mamie of the Big Hair has ended, there has been an irratic yet abundant orgy of quickies from the Queen of the Bordello, DL Zwissler. Depending on her voracious mood and availability, quickies now happen on Saturdays, Sundays and even Mondays. Will this feast of revelry continue or will she become tired and worn out from all the action?

DL Zwissler, prolific erotic writer extraordinaire, said "the best times for me are when Earl is busy doing some DIY around the house and the kids are asleep or mucking about outside. Only then can I slip away for a quickie..."

Frequent users of the quickies are starting to feel the pressure under her supremacy and dominance. Jordan Bell, who was always ready for a Mamie quickie, has been tired out. Dani J Caile, scoundrel and cad, is still persevering but mentioned that "...she has a strange copulation of elements. I try to keep up with the ol' girl but you know, when you get too much of a good thing...sometimes I just get it over and done with as quickly as possible, but I'll do her good in the end." However, Richard Russell, man of many words and much less sense, apparently cannot get enough, posting his impatience and boredom on his Facebook page..."oh, what to do, what to do..."

As to whether quickies are a passing fad or some literary heavy petting is still to be seen, but when they happen, there's always something exceptional to see.

A TIW spokesman stated "I don't see what all the huff and puff is about, really. Interest in quickies has waned recently, but I'm sure DL Zwissler has the right equipment to whip up a storm and get us all into shape."

Grudge 12 – As stated under Regulation 16

(Cowritten with Mathew W Weaver)

(all characters in a cardboard box, one character learning 'duck' language, dystopian, red Lionel toy train)

"As stated under Regulation 16 By-law 22 Section 2 Point 4.1 Appendix 3 Paragraph 42 of the Manifesto Issued by Those Within The Box, as of now, it is my turn with the red Lionel toy train."

Watson grabbed the treasured object and tugged. John held it closer to his chest. The damp, mouldy cardboard box shook with their wrestling and wrangling, straining the rips in the corners.

"It's mine!" John snarled.

"Guys, please, mind The Box!" warned Bernard, fed up with their confined, disease-ridden dystopian world.

"Quack," Howard agreed.

"Oh, shut up." John let go, and Watson retreated in triumph to his corner.

"Quaaack."

"Why bother learning, Howard? When was the last time we had a duck in here?" John sighed.

"You never know...QUACK."

The misery, the oppression, the overcrowding...Bernard couldn't take it anymore, the insanity was torturing.

"Don't you wish you were free?" he asked, struggling to his feet, his head jammed against the top of The Box.

"No," a voice from another corner muttered.

"Squalor is next to ugliness," Watson commented, train in hand. He giggled, "My precioussssssssssssss......"

"Oh, miserable old box...I so love having rags for clothes," grumbled John.

"Is it just me, then?" Bernard demanded as ants nested under his moist patch of fear. "The dirt, the smell, the insecurity of it all? Doesn't it bother you?"

"Go if you want. We can do without you," Watson snapped, annoyed at the interruption to his play. John tried to swipe the toy train back and missed.

"Quack."

"Look at you! You don't even know what's out there!" Bernard jabbed a finger in the air. "Don't you care? We're Schrodinger's cats as far as anyone or anything out there is concerned!"

"I hate cats," murmered John.

"I like quacks," Howard interjected, "How about we all be Schrodinger's ducks instead?"

"My preciousssssss," Watson hissed.

"Are we...are we alive or dead?" whined Bernard.

"Dunno. If we're Schrodinger's ducks, then we'll only know if someone opens The Box."

"Quack."

Bernard looked around at his companions and saw the miserable, pathetic life they had, never once wondering what it was like outside. Surely there was more than this...

"I'm leaving," he said.

"Good riddance, you and your 'oppression'," mumbled Watson.

Bernard shook his head, and looked up at the sagging roof inches from his nose. He sucked in, and punched upwards into the unknown. Whether or not the others were watching he did not know or care; his fist sank through the rotting cardboard like a clenched hand through thick, wet paper. Light shined through, and madness seized him. He reached, grabbed, and pulled himself out.

A flap closed on the hole in the top of The Box, and the light dimmed once more.

Watson sniffed.

"Finally."

John leaped forward, "My turn! MY TURN WITH THE TRAIN!"

"Quack," Howard said, shifting aside as they rolled past him.

Soft tapping on the side of The Box cut through their yells and made them pause.

"Can I come back in, please? It's cold out here."

Weekend Quickie 63 – Don't mess up the suit

(Michelle Obama dressed as Monica Lewinsky, Trick or Treat, carrots, the White House - 250 words)

Michelle came in dressed as Monica Lewinsky, with a middle-priced office suit stretched over one of the Sumo wrestling costumes they'd used at the last White House Interns and Secretaries Halloween Trick or Treat Party. Beaming white false teeth and a large black wig topped it off.

"So, Big Boy, how about a little fellatio tonight, huh?" She rubbed her plastic Sumo padded leg against the door frame and squeezed her padded chest provocatively.

"Oh, Michelle, you know I don't like opera."

The padded leg hit the floor, shifting the large wig to the right, making Michelle readjust it.

"Jesus, Barack, get your head out of your policies and start paying some attention to the world around you!"

Barack paused in his carrot munching, carrots being important in a President's diet, filled with vitamin K, C and B, but as many believe, not vitamin A, although they are an excellent source of beta-carotene, the antioxidant carotenoid that your body can convert into vitamin A.

"Look, darling, it's been a busy week. Can't we just watch a movie or something?"

The large black wig hit the floor as she flung it down and spat out the false teeth.

"I can't survive on Obamacare alone!"

"Who can? Carrot?"

Fuming, she took one, ripped the top off and threw it at him, shaking the remainder in a threatening manner.

"I'm going to the bathroom! I may be some time!"

The door to the adjoining bathroom slammed shut.

"Please don't mess up the suit!"

Weekend Quickie 64 (Sunday Edition) - American's in Europe

(The song "Born in the USA", Hungary, Russian hat dance, happy - 250 words)

He was doing it again, embarassing me in front of everyone. This time it was a dingy gay bar in the 8th district, Budapest. The way he was going, we'd be deported from Hungary in two seconds flat. The Nationalist skinheads in the corner looked ready to change their normal target for the night, a stray homo leaving the place, in favour for a drunk American.

"Born in the USA! I was born in the USA!"

The cheap speaker system buzzed and screeched to his inebriated karaoke warbling.

"Born in the USA! I'm a long gone daddy in the USA!"

I grabbed him and he unceremoniously left the stage to a rapturous applause of relief. The DJ chucked on another song as the next singer took the limelight.

"Hey! What ya doing? I ain't finished!"

"You're getting attention. If you don't shut up, we'll get into more trouble than when you did that Russian hat dance."

"Eh? The Kozachok? That was fantastic, that was! I was a star!"

"You puked into the guy's hat right there in the middle of the performance!"

"I had one too many prawns. Besides, he wasn't angry!"

"He wasn't happy about it."

"He left."

"To get his gun, to get his gun. Talking of weapons, those guys over there are polishing their knuckledusters."

He wobbled on his legs and stared in their general direction.

"Let "em. Born in the USA! I was born in the USA!"

They came at us, eyes blazing with rage.

"Run!"

87 - (Pitman/Caile Challenge) - Beans

(A group of old west cowboys sitting around a fire, ping pong, an inept hitman, the Gloustershire Cheese Rolling competition)

He aimed his telescopic sight, adjusted for wind direction, elevation and curvature, and fired, right at the same time the mosquitos decided to call his arse 'supper'. His shot missed the target, an old cowboy by the name of 'One-Eyed Jack' on account of his pet snake named Jack he kept in a cloth bag over his back, and made a hole in another cowboy's metal coffee cup. The crackle of wood on the campfire covered the sound of bullet against tin.

"Eh, Bert? Did you drink my coffee?" Randy noticed the lack of liquid in his now holey cup.

"No."

"My, you're in a foul mood, ain't ya?" Randy looked at the hole, putting his little finger through it.

"Why do we...*fart*...always have ta have beans?"

"'Cause they're cheap...*fart*...and nutreesheous. Did you poke something through the bottom of my cup?"

"No. Ask...*fart*...One-Eye."

"One-Eye! Did you do something with my cup? If ya did, I'll break yer bones!" Randy shook the cowboy under the blanket.

"What...? What ya go an' do that for? I was dreaming of that nice young floozy back in town."

"Ha, fat chance you got there, One-Eye. Didn' I catch ya with one of them cows yesterday?"

"Break my bones, will ya? If I can get out of this blanket I'll give ya such a panning!" One-Eye lay down. Another bullet ricocheted off a rock inches from his head.

"Yeah...you ain't never seen no action, One-Eye. If it weren't fer yer snake..."

One-Eye sat up and wrapped his blanket around him.

"Ain't seen no action? Weren't it me who saved yer butt over at the Wild Rodeo Casino over in Cody when them one legged Swedish farmers tried ta rush ya in that alley?"

"Oh yeah, all 4 foot nothing of 'em. They were deadly, about as deadly as a toothless two legged dawg..."

"An' that time those Calvinists 'ad yer cornered for a charitable donation!"

"Alrighty, maybe yer got summit there...opps...*fart*..."

"But nothin' can beat the Gloustershire Annual Cheese Rolling competition of '68. Remember that?"

"I don't rightly know about that...*fart*..."

"I broke my collarbone, a shin, two fingers and lost three teeth and a wife. Now that was summit."

"Yeah, whatever. Go back ta sleep."

"Nah, I'm up now. I fancy a bit of baccy in me pipe. Now where did I put my stash?" Old-Eye bent down, another bullet whizzed by him.

That was it, he was going home. Forget the job. He packed his gun away and wandered off back to civilisation.

Old-Eye stuffed his pipe with baccy and tried to light a match on his jeans.

"Ooo, I fancy a good ol' game of ping-pong when we're back at the ranch. How 'bout you, Randy?"

"Eh? Oi, One-Eye, I wouldn't light up around here, we've just finished our bean..."

The explosion sent the hitman to the ground. Looking back he saw the desolation and smiled. In his report it would be different. He may be inept but he'd get his money.

#

NEWSFLASH: Attack of the Chinese Chickens

(TIW Blog)

by Scallywag

The TIW community is in shock this week over the recent epidemic of Chinese Chickenitus across the face of their literary work. Elements across the board turned to 'chinese chicken' overnight, much to the dismay of all. Those most affected were protesting at the door of the TIW Headquarters, demanding both an explanation and a cure. Unfortunately, there is no known antidote.

The latest to be infected by the 'chinese chicken' syndrome was the winning story from Grudge 12, where there was a severe case of the fast-moving and deadly disease. The once acclaimed sentence..."my very own red Lionel electric train, a limited edition, candy-apple red, complete with a whole village of characters all in a cardboard box." tragically turned into "my very own chinese chicken, a limited edition, candy-apple red, complete with a whole village of chinese chickens."

Other sentences infected found throughout the TIW website include none other than "The captain handed me a tape recorder and a chinese chicken." (Steven L Bergeron), "Thunderbull lifted the chinese chicken and hurled it at Rage, knocking him back into my reinforced bar." (Chris E Garrison), "Did I adjust the chinese chicken? Jocelyn knew the answer before the thought was fully formed." (Tiffany Brown), and "The headline in "The Sun" read, "Chinese chicken?" (Richard Russell).

Dani J Caile, long-time sufferer and battler against this almost incurable disease said "When it hits, it hits hard. Just listen to this opening passage from my infamous 56 element 500 worder for the TIW 1st anniversary blog hop. '"Chinese chickens outside." Tom lay his chinese chickens over the chinese chickens in the chinese chicken and sat down on his favourite chinese chicken opposite the chinese chicken.' It's horrendous, I'm telling ya. Stay inside, all of you. Board up your conjunctions, your contractions, hide away your imperfect tenses and fragmentary responses! Nothing is safe!"

One TIW writer is, however, safe from this crippling condition and that is Don Corcoran, self-created TIW Champion, who never actually used a single element in one of his stories. Ever. "Don't use 'em, won't lose 'em," he mumbled under his brimmed hat.

A TIW spokesman said in response to those blighted that "those writers who integrated their elements into their stories well enough have nothing to worry about or have least at risk. Those who used them as an addition or unneeded descriptive phrase or only in part should be more careful as to how they cross their 't's and dot their 'i's."

Weekend Quickie 65 – Loathsome Customer

(Murder, moron, victory, a feeling of being full - 250 words)

"You...you murdered him!"

The hairs on the back of my neck still sizzled and burned, my face caught in the rigors of a grimace of hate as the sounds of Mancini played in the background.

"Yes! He was a moron! Victory is mine!" I wiped the blood from my fingers which had penetrated his windpipe on my apron, fingers that had seen the worst of opening jars of pickles for him every day, and tightened my ponytail, loosened in the last moments of his death struggle, with the help of the restaurant-length mirror on the wall.

"You're...you're a murderer!"

"He deserved it! No more complaints from him!"

My fellow worker backed away slowly, her large wide eyes threatening to drop out of her white frightened face. Customers took what they could of their possessions and food and ran for the door, parents protecting their children, old women tip-tapping their zimmer frames across the tiled floor. One glance from me quickened their pace.

"I feel...I feel full of exhileration! Yes!" I took his plastic refill cup he always used five times a day and poured the coffee over his head, glaring into his vacant eyes. "Try and refill it now!"

"But...but you killed him!" She was dialling for the emergency services on the phone behind the counter. I picked up his plate and threw his usual order of le coq au vin over his limp body.

"What did he expect? That's the last time he gives me a 5% tip! Ha!"

Weekend Quickie 66 (Sunday Edition) - Reds Together

(Tom Cruise, Protestant, Ian vs Dani, feeling of losing a running race to Richard Russell)

Danielle and Mamie finished their aerobics class and wiped themselves down with their gym sweat towels.

"Ouch. I feel like I've just lost a running race to Richard Russell." Danielle's buttocks hurt due to exercise.

"Richard? Why Richard?" asked Mamie, checking her hair in the wall mirror.

"Why not? Richard, the 'Tom Cruise' of Landscape Gardening."

They both laughed, though neither knew why.

"Why Tom Cruise? What's Richard's religion, Scientology or something?"

"No idea, Protestant, Catholic, who cares, really. No, I'm talking about his charm..." chuckled Danielle.

"And his size?" nudged Mamie with a wink.

"Ha...!...I dunno, I've only ever seen him from the shoulders up on Skype and video. He made that wonderful video about being addicted to the Iron Writer Challenge. Do you remember that?"

"Yes, that was good. But I tell you who's addicted to that, Ian, that's who."

"Who? Ian?" Danielle fluffed up her hair, which could never quite match Mamie's mass, no matter how hard she tried.

"Ian, that guy who writes up everything."

"Oh, Dani!"

"Yeah, Dani or whatever he calls himself. He's crazy. Thinks he's really something," laughed Mamie. Danielle paused in her hair pampering and thought.

"Mmm, Ian versus Dani. Which one, do you think?" she asked.

"What? Oh, right." Mamie took a glance away from the mirror for a moment to consider the question seriously. "Erm, Dani, always Dani. More mystery, more darkness. Talking of 'darkness', are you ready for the shower?"

"Always. Reds together."

"Reds together!" they shouted in unison.

88 - (Richard Russell Challenge) - Experimental Anality

(A bouquet of flowers in a trash can, draw inspiration from "The Pretender" by Jackson Browne, a critically important secret military message, encroaching storm clouds)

I did it.

I left that place.

But you never ever do.

It has you in its grip.

From the first moment to the last.

A bouquet of flowers in a trash can.

That was the end of the line.

In the shade of the freeway.

I rented myself a house.

And got a job.

Watching the moon.

Sometimes it's too much.

But mostly it's too little.

It will not leave my soul.

It crushes me to think this way.

Though I get up and do it again.

Until the church bells ring and howl.

In the wink of an eye.

And lay my body down.

To the dark night.

Encroaching storm clouds.

They crush my mood.

Make me remember those times.

Destroy my waking hours, my days.

When the morning light comes streaming in.

I want to know what became of her.

I want to know where she is.

Whether she is happy or sad.

Where I can find her.

But am I right?

Do I care?

Do I really hurt?

They were only fitful dreams.

I am aware of all this.

But my heart does not comprehend well.

It struggles in the laughter of lovers new.

Waiting for others to bring a chance.

And take my hopes and dreams.

I wish for a halt.

I am a pretender.

Just a pretender.

With my dark glasses.

Smiling through a deep melancholy.

Sitting, watching those of lesser worries.

Crying through masks that are my face.

Tearing at the world with all my might.

Striking foes of which I couldn't see.

Contending with what could have been.

I died too many times.

All for one mistake.

A secret message.

An important secret note.

She would be here today.

I would see her smile shine.

Watch her dance the way she did.

Believing in what may lie before it comes.

But optimism falls in the great awakening.

Caught between the longing for love.

Gripped in the last fight.

Dying in my arms.

Out of sight.

And out of mind.

I have become a ghost.

There is little left to say.

Perhaps it will all end too quick.

Or perhaps they will stretch time over time.

Increasing the suffering, the pain and hurt.

Ripping my soul from drying bones.

Cutting my chest open, bleeding.

My heart torn out.

Beating no more.

Waiting for a reason.

In an unreasonable uncaring world.

A world full of selfish images.

Will it end, will it finally stop?

And then all this breathing is too much.

From all this impoverishment comes nothing.

Then there was a knock.

And a silence ensued.

So it begins.

I wait for them.

Those temptations of happy idiotism.

They may come at any time.

I keep a warm drink beside me.

A welcome relief for the lonely broken hearted.

And I say let them come all.

They may take what is left.

And I say let them.

There is no more.

Nothing is left.

I cannot go on.

Though this is a beginning.

Weekend Quickie 67 – A Love Story

(Taylor Swift, lollipop, Oklahoma, an International Sidewalk Chalk Champion Artist \- 250 words maximum)

(25 words)

She was a Taylor Swift lookalike addicted to lollipops, I was an International Sidewalk Chalk Champion Artist from Oklahoma. We met. We loved. We lost.

(250 words)

"You're pretty good at this," a girl said over my head. I heard her sucking on a lollipop.

"Yeah, I'm actually an International Sidewalk Chalk Champion Artist." I looked up. She was the spitting image of Taylor Swift, blonde hair, sweet smile, curious dark eyes. My heart skipped a beat. After weeks of drawing on the pavements of Oklahoma with nothing but a few dollars and a wrecked back from bending over my work, was this the reason I was here? To meet her? I smiled. "Hi."

"Hi. Really? You're an international champion? That's cool." She crouched down to my level, both of us together in the sea of legs around us.

"Ha, yeah, cool. There's not much accolade in this field, though."

"Ah, accolade, that's for dicks, that is."

I liked her even more, if that were possible. I stretched my back and indicated I was standing up.

"Oh? Yeah, right." We stood up together, with her smile growing as we did.

"I really need a break. Do you fancy a drink or something?" I asked, trying not to be pushy.

"Err, sure, why not?"

I picked up my tools and placed them in my backpack, along with the meagre makings of the day. There was just enough for two coffees and a snack or two.

"What about those? They're great, what'll happen to them?" She pointed to my pictures.

"Safe and sound." I took out my phone and took some pictures. "Come on, I know a good place."

Weekend Quickie 68 (Sunday Edition) - Nowhere

(Write down 5 words that start with the 3rd letter of your first name. (Do not read any more until you do this!) nail, neither, nowhere, nothing, never. Now, take the third word and write a poem centered around this. (Nowhere). Poem needs to be one stanza long.)

When you think you're moving on,

And you're actually somewhere.

What's really happening is,

You are absolutely nowhere.

89 - (DL Mackenzie Challenge) - Vengeance

(A Montblanc Fountain Pen, vengeance, Telekinesis, the Tigris River)

Davis took out the little black box and opened it, revealing the pen. It wasn't any old pen, it was a Montblanc fountain pen, with its hand-engraved gold nib and iridium tip. But it was still a cheap trinket in comparison to the time and blood lost. Here, on this day, thousands of miles from home and burning in the hot desert temperatures, he saw it for what it was. Nothing. Retirement was sweet but vengeance was sweeter. He dropped the pen in the dust as a few shots zinged by his helmet.

"Alpha Niner, Alpha Niner. Some heat on the top. Heat on the top. Send a present from Santa."

"A-Okay, Roger that, Two-six."

Another ring of shots came dangerously close. The Mosul Dam on the Tigris river, apparantly the third of four rivers which ran from the Garden of Eden, if that could be believed, was not what Davis had envisioned as his last resting place. He knew that history would call this a Peshmerga and the Iraqi Army operation to retake control of the dam from ISIL militants, but those coalition fighters weren't worth shit. It was up to himself and a few buddies conscripted for the job. Plus the Flyboys, who flew over and hit the ISIL positions once again with two missiles.

"Alpha Niner, Alpha Niner, thanks for the help."

"Roger that, Two-six. Have a good one."

And they were off, leaving Davis alone on this side of the dam to his thoughts while the place settled from the attack. It was here, in Iraq where he'd lost his foot. Only after 6 months of rehabilitation and 3 months with a prosthetic while sharing a room with a crazy guy who believed he had the power of telekinesis did they finally retire him out. Then the picture came. He'd asked a favour for copies of any satellite surveillance photos showing members of the ISIL, hoping to spot the men who'd held him captive, and he found 'him'. He made a few calls and now, sitting behind a concrete wall on a shitty dam deep in Iraq, he was about to reap his revenge. Those weeks of captivity had all but broken him. They questioned and tortured him, spat and pissed on him, and finally this man, the man whose face he would never forget, cut his foot off. But he told them nothing, absolutely nothing. They would have killed him but for the bombing. One moment a gun was held at his head, the next he was alone with the crumbling room. The ceiling fell in on him and broke his chair, loosening his restraints and he was able to crawl and find a way out. The next thing he remembered was the helicopter, taking him away, back to base.

He heard some shouts and watched six armed men climb out of a doorway. One of them was him, the man, more haggard looking than before but still recognisable. The time for vengeance was now.

Weekend Quickie 69 - 8

(Two people meeting for the first time, the number 8, catfish, the feeling of being anxious. Max 250 words)

I sat there on the sofa, sweat pouring out of me with worry. I was sure to faint in a moment. The doorbell rang. It was time. With one last look in the hall mirror, I straightened my shirt and opened the door.

"Hello, Wei Wei."

"Hello, Dave."

She was the girl of my dreams, that Eastern beauty I'd always longed for, a Chinese moon which brightened the room with her smile. I invited her inside and a pleasant first few minutes ensued. We'd only ever chatted online, this being our first time together for real. The cracks in our perfect soon-to-be-relationship started to show at the dinner table when she tucked into the main course.

"Err, Dave, what's in this?"

"A few herbs, some fish..."

"Fish? What fish?"

"Err, catfish, my man at the market said it was the best."

"I'm allergic to catfish. Quick, pass me some water, I need to take my medicine!"

"I'm so sorry, Wei Wei, I didn't know." I handed her a glass.

"What...what's this?"

"Err, what?"

"This, Dave, this?" She was screaming now, her face going red and swelling up.

"Take your medicine, Wei Wei, quick!"

"I can't! Not in this glass!"

"Why not? Look, it's got the number '8' on it, that's a Chinese lucky number!"

"I grew up in India! The number '8" is unlucky!" She fell to the floor, choking, unable to breathe.

"But...but...!"

And there it was.

The Police aren't pressing charges, though her family are after my blood.

Weekend Quickie 70 (Monday Edition) - Busy Hands

(The winner of a thumb wrestling competition, time capsule, tax audit - 70 words)

Daddy was furiously digging up the time capsule I'd buried a few days ago, the one with my old Furby and My Little Pony DVD, and the picture of me winning the school's thumb wrestling competition.

"Why are you digging it up, Daddy?"

"You put one too many things in it, sweetie."

I'd dug it down quite deep so Rover couldn't get to it.

"Like what, Daddy?"

"My Tax audit!"

90 - Confirmed

(image of two snails kissing while balancing on floating cherries in water, the Drake Equation, Guy Fawkes Night, fried Bologna sandwich cookoff)

An image of two snails kissing while balancing on floating cherries in water? Where was he?

"Turn right.It's about a mile down here."

He was lying on his side with his hands tied behind his back and a gag around his mouth. The image was a poster stuck on the inside of one door of a moving van.

"That thing was about as stupid as that other last mission, what was it, 'Gay Spoon's Night or something. I hate this place."

"What?"

"You know, that big fire with lots of fireworks, burning a dummy, celebrating when some king didn't die. We were here to pick up a fugitive."

"Guy Fawkes Night."

"Yeah, that one."

Last thing he remembered was searching for some salt in the team's tent at the cookoff. He shuffled around to see the two people talking in the van's cabin...Dave and Bob, two helpers he'd been introduced to today for the competition. What was going on?

"We would've won that cookoff, too. That fried Bologna sandwich recipe was fantastic."

"Some things are more important than some poxy human food competition."

One of them turned to look at him.

"He's up. Is that a problem?"

"Not for me. We're here, anyway."

The van stopped and Dave and Bob got out, leaving him alone lying in the back. It was a long time before they opened the doors, letting in the cold air of the night. He tried talking but could only mumble.

"Shut up Frank. It ain't gonna do you any good."

They pulled him out of the van and carried him to the middle of a field. He was being kidnapped, but why? What did they want? Who were they? Why that reference to a 'human' comp...then it clicked. Bob looked into his face.

"Ah, a moment of eureka, I think. Zah, send the signal."

Zah? His name was...but then if what he thought was true...a spinning circle of lights appeared overhead, their circumference increasing as they came closer. The lights hovered some ten meters above the field and a large beam shot down to the ground. Someone materialied in the beam and walked over to Dave, or Zah, and Bob.

"Is this him?" asked the stranger.

"Yes, sir. I know he's a bit old but these creatures don't last long. We got here just in time."

"Yes, I see. Well, he'll last long enough for the trial."

Trial? The stranger bent down over him and tutted.

"Are you wondering why you're here? Mmm? Are you? Well, Frank, we don't mind you humans making stupid rockets and satellites, or equations like your Drake Equation in your quest to conquer and understand the universe, but pointing a 25 meter dish at our sun is well out of order. No one likes to be pointed at. Take him away."

He struggled as they picked him up and felt his body frazzle as he entered the teleportation beam. Realising the implications of all this, he wondered who he could tell...

Grudge 13 - A Right Piece of Work

(surviving the rain storm without a shelter, a belligerent raccoon, one half dialogue, one half description, story must be centered around the bubonic plague)

Bumping into this guy was like rain sent from heaven, though the safe was still heavy. Talking of rain...

"Why did we stay outside in that damn storm without any shelter? I'm drenched!"

"We had to make some distance. Besides it's good air...did...did you feel that?"

The guy dropped the safe and put an ear to the ground, coming back up muddy. He was one trunk short of an elephant. Josh let go of his end and sat down on the cumbersome thing.

"Nope."

"Must have been me, then. Sorry, I'm a bit jittery 'cause of this plague."

He pointed a finger at Josh.

"Is...is that a rat you've got there...hey!" A large creature jumped out of Josh's coat, clawing at the guy. "It's a raccoon! Almost bit my hand off!"

Josh stroked his furry little friend. They made a good team, him stealing money, the other rummaging for food.

"Yes, he's my pet. He's usually quite friendly."

"I beg to differ, mate."

"Whatever."

Mate? Searching through his pockets for scraps to feed his belligerent raccoon, Josh came across some flowers.

"Why are these in my pocket?"

"They're posies, they are."

"Nope, sorry, I don't get it."

"Precautions. Didn't you see all those red crosses on the doors? And what about those kids back there?"

"What about them?"

The guy looked at him nervously as Josh scratched his head and neck, probably from the raccoon's fleas.

"They were dancing in a circle and singing 'Ring a Ring O' Roses'."

"That is strange."

"Yeah, I thought so, too. You...can you...stop scratching?"

Josh's raccoon showed its teeth and claws to the guy, causing him to take a step back.

"Violent thing....oh, what? See? You made me start now!"

They were all at it, including the raccoon, scratching away.

"I can't help it..ah...ah...atishoo!" Josh sneezed, took out a handkerchief and blew his nose. The guy took another step back.

"Bless you."

"Thanks."

"Are you coming down with a cold?"

"Must have been the rain."

"A bit of rain never hurt any...what's that?"

This guy liked pointing. Now Josh's groin was the object of scrutiny. First time in a while.

"What's what?"

"That!"

"What?"

"That thing!"

Josh looked down. There was a larger than usual bulge in his trousers.

"I thought you'd never ask." He smiled and gave a wink.

"I hope you're just pleased to see me, 'cause..."

"Why, of course I am...but I feel a bit sick at the moment."

Josh coughed and spat out some blood on the ground. Then he scratched a bit more.

"Stop scratching!"

"I can't help it!"

"Stop...oh no, you've got it!"

The guy was now slowly walking backwards, eyes and mouth wide open.

"Yeah, baby, you know it...ah...ah...atishoo!"

"You've got bubonic plague!"

"Yeah, baby, I...wha...what?"

"Scratching, sneezing, lumps down...down there!"

"What? Lumps? Well, now you come to mention it..."

"Ahhh!"

Screaming his head off, the guy ran away through the mud, arms waving about madly.

"Oi! The safe? Don't you want your share of the money?"

91 (Steven L Bergeron Challenge) - The Master and the Master

(Carnegie Hall, Prostate Cancer, facial hair, barbershop quartet)

(All 4 elements in ONE WORD....1st ever!!!)

Zappa.

(...and now the 500 word version...)

"Who are you?" Frank turned back to his guitar, playing the riff over again, stopping, picking up his pencil and scribbling down more black notes on the music staff paper. The intruder closed the door and with the aid of his dressing room mirror, Frank saw the man standing by the coat hanger. "Well?"

"Oh, don't mind me. I'm just here to offer you the deal of a lifetime."

"MGM already gave me that, thanks. It stank."

"This one won't. I can promise you fame and fortune, girls, drugs..."

"I don't do drugs. There's the door, I'm busy."

A knock at the door broke the conversation.

"Ten minutes, Frank!" It was the Mothers debut, and probably their only performance ever, at pompous Carnegie Hall. They'd somehow sneaked in with the line that Frank was "a very accomplished classical musician", though they'd be going out in a very different way.

"What is it tonight, Mr. Zappa, more post-modern barbershop quartets? I saw the two monkeys outside." The intruder was referring to Volman and Kaylan, or Flo and Eddie, ex-Turtle members.

"What's it to you? Are you some music critic?" Frank continued to compose, playing riffs and jotting down the notes.

"And I love the facial hair. I've collected, sorry, met so many great people with facial hair."

"I like it, too. Which is more than I can say for you. If you don't leave I'll call security."

"Now, now, Mr. Zappa, no need to get all defensive. Stop a moment, think about it. This is a one shot deal, all you ever wanted, just like that."

"Who are you? Some hotshot corporation dude? Go to hell."

"Later. It would be a shame if I couldn't interest you in this fantastic opportunity."

Frank sighed and fixed the strap on his guitar, getting ready to go on stage.

"Look, I don't know who the hell you think you are, but you're starting to piss me off. I don't need your deal, I don't your great 'opportunity' and I don't need to see your fat ass face in mine anymore!" He went for the door but Frank was stopped by the intruder.

"Fat ass face? I've been called a lot of things in my time, but 'fat ass face'? That is so...American."

"Eat shit and die!"

The intruder sniggered. An evil grin appeared on his wide face.

"You'll regret you said that." The devil pointed at him and a deep, sharp, stabbing pain in his abdomen made him drop to the floor in agony.

"Frank! Five minutes and we're on!" shouted someone from behind the dressing room door.

"Twenty years, give or take."

"You mothe...!"

"Prostate cancer. You'll thank me later. It's surprising what a man will do when he knows he's going to die."

With a twist of his hand, the devil released Frank from the pain, leaving a euphoria he'd rarely felt before.

"Now, go play your arse off. The audience is waiting. As am I. Have a good life, Mr. Zappa."

Weekend Quickie 71 – Hidden Within*

(The feeling of being tired, winter thaw, hamburger patties, armed and dangerous little red riding hood)

The winter thaw had begun, with snow melting from trees and small streams of cold, clear water flowing through the waking forest. His stomach growled and clenched.

"Oh, what I'd do for a morsel of meat," he muttered. "I'd even go for a couple of rare, tender hamburger patties." But the hard winter had left him feeling tired.

"Hey!"

Through the naked trees he saw a figure of ruby red.

"What are you doing here?" He saw the flash of red cross his vision and made the decision to run, run as fast as he could.

"You aren't wanted here anymore!"

He knew that voice. A bullet whizzed past his ear.

"The next one'll be your head!"

No place to run...

"You were warned before and now you're back to feel the wrath of my Colt M1911?"

The undergrowth wasn't an option, he had to find help.

"Owooooo!" He listened for a reply to the call as his attacker closed in.

"Owooooo!" A distant, weak answer came forth.

Now the real hunt was on, him on all fours, his assailant two. There was a chance that he might survive this torment, but his hunger grew with every step.

"Don't think you can outrun me, you foul-stinking, flea-ridden old beast!"

Bullets ricocheted off a tree. Without another thought, he dived into the wet, thawing undergrowth, falling through broken branches, spouting plants and rotten leaves.

"Owooooo!" The call was close, strong and clear.

"What the...!" His pursuer screamed. The forest turned red.

Weekend Quickie 72 (Sunday Edition) - Ballet shoes*

(You just found out that you won 1 million dollars, amputated ear, James Franco, ballet shoes - 100 word max)

The doorbell rang, and I turned and opened the door.

"Who are you?" I asked.

The face and voice were strangely familiar, though the black Gucci cap wasn't.

"Congratulations, dear, you've just won yourself 1 million dollars," smiled an unshaven leather-clad James Franco holding a large cheque in both hands.

"I'm sorry, what was that?" I replied, surprised.

"Congratulations!"

"I won what?"

James Franco handed over the paper, smiled again and left. Glancing from the large amount, I noticed his ballet shoes.

"Oh shit, it's a dream." My amputated left ear had miraculously grown back and I knew the truth.

Thanksgiving- The All Week Story– Part 1 - Reasby Fen

(You must title your story. Your story will begin with the second letter of your middle name, and end with the street that you lived on as a child. You need to have three characters, and only three, and one must be a Dr. Frankenstein fan. The beginning of your story must take place in a rest area restroom. You need to use the following words: tea cosy, Neosporin, and cranberry sauce. 900 words)

"I wouldn't use that stuff if I were you," mumbled the fat man standing over the next sink, looking into the dirty mirror and squeezing blackheads from his nose.

"Excuse me?" My eyes were blurry from the pain, and I couldn't read the description on the small tube of Neosporin I'd been prescribed.

"That'll only decrease your antibiotic resistance, that will." He finished the beautician job and started on readjusting his belt, letting his bellies hang over the top of his trousers and tucking in his shirt. "Just use some petroleum jelly, that'll stop the bleeding."

"Yeah, right. And where in the hell am I gonna get some petroleum jelly at 2am in the morning in some deadend rest area with little or no facilities?" The cut on my forehead had opened up and blood was starting to run down the side of my face. The fat man winced and took one step away, but still continued to adjust himself, fixing his belt.

"I have some," said a small voice from one of the cubicles. We both turned back to see a thin hand extending under a door with a grey tub of the stuff. "I always keep some for emergencies."

I dreaded to think. The fat man gestured for me to take the tub from the now shaking hand.

"Why, err, thanks?" I reached down and took it. Once spread over my forehead, the bleeding slowed. The jelly had a certain smell to it, though...

"Can you pass it back, please? It's kinda of an emergency..."

"Oh, sorry."

The fat man wafted the air as I handed it back under.

"So, what's your story?" asked the fat man, now back at the mirror. combing his hair back and smiling a lot.

"Story? Do I need a story?"

"You do with that on your forehead. I saw a patrol car in the car park as I walked in."

I got his hint.

"I, err, I got into a fight."

"A fight?"

"Alright, not a fight. A turkey did this. I hit it while driving and I stopped to see if it was alright..."

"More like if it'd be good for Thanksgiving," laughed the fat man. He was interrupted by the flush from the engaged cubicle and the door squeaking open. We both gasped when we saw the man, a doppleganger of Gene Wilder's Dr. Frankenstein.

"Holy crap!"

The man's face softened and turned back to the toilet.

"Not quite, though it was difficult. Thanks for passing the tub back, I really needed it that time." He placed the tub back into his lab coat's pocket and came over to us. He was a clear 6 inches taller than either of us.

"Are...are you a doctor?"

"Doctor? Hell, no! Why do you ask?"

We both pointed to his clothes.

"Oh, this getup! No, I've just been to a convention. I'm a horror fan, especially Frankenstein, or more to the point Dr. Frankenstein. Some people get confused, thinking Frankenstein refers to the monster where in fact it refers to the mad scientist. Oh, he was such an interesting man!"

"Erm, it's fiction, you know," I replied.

"Sorry?" The man held his face close and I noticed some red splotches on his lab coat.

"Is...is that blood?"

The fat man was already edging towards the door, trying not to make any sudden movements. It looked like we had made the same judgement. This man was crazy.

"What, this? Oh no, it's cranberry sauce, it being Thanksgiving and all!" He walked past me and went for a sink, turning the taps and washing his hands. "So, what about this turkey?"

"Turkey?" I asked.

The fat man stayed by the door.

"Yes, the turkey and your head. My, that is a nasty cut."

"Yes, I suffer from symtoms similar to Hemophilia, so my doctor prescribed me this stuff." I showed the tall man my tube of Neosporin.

"Don't use that, if I were you," he said.

"I said that," retorted the fat man.

"So?" The tall man dried his hands on his coat.

"So what?"

"The turkey?"

"Oh." They weren't going to let me leave without the story. The tall man placed a wholly hat on his head, one that resembled a tea cosy, and went over next to the fat man, both of them leaning against the wall.

"Right, erm, where do I start?"

"From the beginning?"

"Don't you have anything better to do than listen to me go on about a run-over turkey?" It was 2am in the morning, in the middle of nowhere, on a road less travelled, in the restroom of a disused and rundown rest area.

"No," they said in unison. I was being steam-rollered.

"For real?" They both shrugged. It was clear they weren't going to let me go without it.

"Well?" asked the fat man.

"Okay, okay, well, I was driving down this highway..."

"Yeah, we got that, already."

"...and I hit something. So, I got out and found this turkey. I thought, wow, what a stroke of luck, it being Thanksgiving and all..."

"What did I tell ya?" the fat man spoke to the crazy tall man with a tea cosy for a hat.

"...and I picked it up and carried it to the car. It wouldn't fit in the boot."

"What have you got, an Aveo?"

"It's not mine, it's a rental."

"They all say that."

Thanksgiving- The All Week Story– Part 2 - Reasby Fen

(One of your characters must die.One of your characters must break out into song.

One of your characters just found out that he/she is a shapeshifter. 300 words.)

"Do you want to hear the story or not?" I clenched my fists and felt something happening to me, a familiar rage building up inside, something I'd long forgotten...

"What's that?" asked the tall man.

I turned to what he was pointing at and there was a long, furry tail resting on the floor behind me, a tail connected...to me?

"Is that...a tail?" he asked. I looked back to the two men and the fat man's face went as white as a ghost. He fell to the floor among the dirt and grime of years of misuse. It would take more than a brush down to get those stains out.

"Is he alright?" I moved to help but the tall man put up his hand.

"Don't come a step closer!" He reached down and checked the fat man's pulse and listened to his chest. "He's...he's dead..."

"What?" I went over to the fat man and checked myself. The tall man slided back over to the wall and began to sing.

" Wes Herd dies auch sei...?"

"What the hell is that?" I opened the fat man's mouth, whipping my head back from the breath escaping and began resusitating him.

"Wagner, Valkyrie, Act 1, when Siegmund tells of his misfortune. I always sing it in times of trouble... hier muss ich rasten!"

His singing, whiny and shrill, echoed in the confined space of the restroom, making hairs on my back stand up, hairs I never knew existed.

"What are you?" he asked, finally having a break from Wagner. "Are you some kind of wolfman or shapeshifter?"

"What? You're crazy!" I pushed my hands down on the fat man's chest and listened for a beat.

"I'm not the one with a tail."

He had a point. Or at least the tail did.

Thanksgiving- The All Week Story– Part 3 - Reasby Fen

(You will add a new character to the mix, and she is the daughter of one of the characters in your story. One character will also discover something very important. 150 words.)

"Dad? Dad?" The door swung open and there stood the most attractive girl I'd seen in yonks. "Dad!" She saw the fat man on the floor and slid over to him. "What happened?"

"Erm, he got a shock," I replied, a little out of sorts.

"Shock? That's it!" shouted the tall man. "We'll electrocute him with lightning, just like the monster in the movie!" He held up a finger in a moment of eureka.

"Are you joking? That's a Hollywood myth. You can't start a flat-lined heart with a shock, you need some life in it first!" screamed the girl, checking her father's life signs. "Anyone call for an ambulance?"

"Really?" asked the tall man. "Now that is important..." He sidled into a corner in contemplation.

The girl turned to me and noticed my appearance.

"And since when did you have a tail?"

"I don't think that's important right now..."

Thanksgiving- The All Week Story– Part 4 - Reasby Fen

(A flashback for one of your characters...in the flashback, you have to mention the Iron Writer, and one of the writers that participates in the group.200 words.)

"Wait!" The tall man stood over us. For a moment we did, but then the girl began CPR on her father like a professional.

"Wow, you're good." I was amazed at her skill and strength.

"Oh, he always has these, especially in situations like this." She nodded over to my tail.

"What?"

"Wait!" The tall man was back. "I just had a flashback!"

"Are you sure it wasn't a 'flush' back? You left a hell of a stink in there," I said, gesturing over to the cubicle. The girl made no response to my joke, busy with her chest compressions.

"It was from the Iron Writer, something one of the writers said...who was it? Tony, Tony Jaeger! Yes, it was him!"

"Who?"

"Exactly," said the tall man. "He was talking about doing something creative and wonderful...but nothing ever came of it..." The tall man stood silent, hanging over myself and the girl breathing into her father and checking for a rise in his chest. "Err...what was my point again?"

The girl and I looked at each other and shrugged.

"We don't know."

"Perhaps that was my point." He shook his head and went back to the wall, pacing its length.

Thanksgiving- The All Week Story– Part 5 - Reasby Fen

(a sudden snow storm, an odd televized event, and a short poem.159 words)

The main door suddenly swung open, and along with a gust of wind and snow, a small TV crew fell in.

"Okay, Ted on three, 1,2,3...and hello from CBC 'Fiction in a Flash'! Today we find ourselves in a...a...facility somewhere between...between...whatever." The host grabbed the tall man. "Hello! You have one minute to give our viewers some 'flash fiction'!"

The girl stopped her compressions and we watched in amazement.

"Erm...erm...a poem?" asked the tall man.

"Sure!"

"Right, yes, got it! I was once a sock puppet, I was told what to say, and when I wanted to stop it, I was told fu..."

"Okay guys, that's a wrap! It stinks enough in here without that! There was that sleepy gas attendant some 20 clicks back, I'm sure we can rattle something McCarthy-ish outta him!"

They left as fast as they entered. The girl turned to me.

"Is it me or was it snowing outside."

"Sudden storm if it was."

Thanksgiving- The All Week Story– Part 6 - Reasby Fen

(one of your characters sends an important letter, while another thinks about his/her past.200 words)

"Damn. What's your name?"

"Griff, my name's Griff." I raised my hand to shake but she was busy with her father.

"Daisy. Look, Griff, I've gotta go out and send an important letter. I saw a postbox a few yards away."

"A letter? But your father...?"

"Can you do this until I get back?" She placed my hand on his cold body and showed me how to do CPR. Properly, this time.

"Err, okay, got it."

"I know it's crazy, but..but...it's the snow, you see, the snow. I won't be long." And with that, she was gone.

Before I could contemplate the significance of it all, the tall man woke from his fifteen seconds of fame.

"You know, I had a chance once."

I continued to do as Daisy had asked, trying to bring life back to her dead father.

"A chance?"

"Yes, a chance, to be a writer. Oh, yes, I spent many a long night at my desk, writing away, churning out the words, the pages, the stories."

"Really?" This CPR was hard work.

"Yes, but once you've written one story about a lonesome vampire cowboy who's desperately in love with a snow princess, you've written them all."

Thanksgiving- The All Week Story– Part 7 - Reasby Fen

(Someone is saved, someone dies in the arms of another, a sunset. 141 words)

Without warning, the fat man sat up, pushing me across the restroom.

"What the hell!" I brushed off what slime and dirt I could.

"Where am I? Mmm, I'm thirsty, anyone got a drink?" asked the fat man.

The tall man rummaged in his labcoat's pocket and handed him a coke. The main door swung open and Daisy stumbled in.

"Help...help me..."

I ran over and caught her before she hit the floor, her head finally resting in my lap. She smiled up to me.

"Success. I did it," she whispered.

Daisy was dying and I didn't know why. A light shone threw the grimy windows of the cubicles.

"Sunset," said the tall man. "It's time, Daisy."

"What?"

"Griff?"

"Yes, Daisy?"

"Tell me something about yourself. Where are you from?" She coughed and grew weaker.

"Reasby, Reasby Fen."

"Nice place..."

92 - Howard's End

(Molasses flood, a Hobson Choice, the last person alive on Earth, a quilting bee)

"Daphne, erm, please excuse me for asking, but just what exactly is that dirty great big green thing out in your garden?"

The whole gathering paused in their sewing to hear the answer, as they'd all been dying to ask that same question for the last two hours. The bee had been busy putting their latest masterpiece together but now they waited for a reply.

"It's Howard's."

"Oh, right." A sigh went through the group, as though this was enough for them. Of course, for Mavis, it wasn't.

"So, what is it?"

The rest of the bee busied themselves with sewing, Mavis was in a dangerous position. Would she suffer the wrath of Daphne or was this one of her 'better' days, if there ever were any?

"It's his latest weapon." Daphne sewed with more vigour.

"Weapon? Against who? What?" If she'd got this far, she might as well go all the way.

"Ol' Bert down at Number 22. For 14 years Ol' Bert has created the greatest and strongest rum you've ever tasted in your life."

"I see. And so what exactly is that?"

"That?" Daphne's sewing needle was going full tilt.

"Yes, that?"

"Molasses."

If they could, they would have stepped back, but they couldn't, so the bee immersed themselves in their quilt.

"Mo...mo...molasses?"

"Yes! Brown, sticky molasses from the refinery. Howard said with this he'd finally knock Ol' Bert off his perch as a champion among rum makers and get him an offer he can't refuse from the local rum-runners." Smoke rose from her needle.

"Mmm, wonderful, Daphne. But, don't you think it's a little 'overkill', this...this container? How much does it hold?"

"Forty-five thousand litres." More smoke. The group were worried that Daphne's handiwork would set the quilt alight, some of them getting ready with jars of homemade lemonade to throw over her.

Their attention was taken by the sight of Howard himself walking past the open French windows of the patio, holding a drill with a large drillbit. He knelt down and started drilling the bottom of the container, getting ready to put in a tap connected to his homemade equipment. Mavis saw that Howard was successful and started to plug it with his tap, though the dark, viscous liquid was having trouble flowing. A few bangs of his hammer didn't help, with ominous rumbles coming from inside the large container. What happened next was in slow motion.

Suddenly, the whole side of the container exploded, with a wave of black, thick molasses like a mini version of the Boston Molasses flood covering first Howard, then the garden, then the patio, French windows, the living room, the quilt and finally the bee.

The two women holding the jars of homemade lemonade threw them over Daphne's face, cleaning off some molasses.

"I don't care if he's the last person on Earth! I'm going to make him an offer he can't refuse!"

Daphne, with needle in hand, raced out into the garden and chased after her husband.

Twelve Days of Christmas Iron Writer Style Day 1 – A Christmas Story.

(Red Ryder BB gun, turkey-eating dogs, double dog dare. 400 words.)

The zombies were all over the place, nowhere was safe! I had to find a vantage point and some way to defend myself before they took over completely! I scrambled through the undergrowth, getting caught in the barbed wire fence separating the concrete jungle of man from the wilderness of the wild. My beloved Winchester was where I had left it, leaning against a tree. I loaded her with the few remaining bullets in my pocket and scanned the area.

Up ahead were two zombies devouring their prey. I hit the dirt and aimed my Winchester. Every shot had to count. With the stock firmly in my shoulder, I fired my first shot. Bulls eye. One zombie fled, leaving the other confused. I moved the cocking lever and hit the trigger once again. The other zombie screamed and ran away, following the first. Victory was mine!

A dark, foreboding shadow loomed over me, I knew I was doomed, they had found me! The zombies were attacking me! I spun around and aimed my gun, only for it to be hit out of my hands.

"What are you doing? You just shot Barney and Rover!" screamed Grandma as the two dogs in question sprinted off, howling in shock. "I gave them some Thanksgiving turkey scraps to finish! Leave them alone!"

"They're the zombies, Ma!" I kept low, they might come back for blood and revenge.

"Just wait until your Old Man gets to hear about this one...!" Grandma stormed off but stopped at the rosebed next to the patio on her way into the house. "What the heck happened here? Did you destroy all my roses?"

"I got caught in the barbed wire, Ma!" I showed her the tears in my shirt.

"Barbed wire? Look at your shirt! Ruined! And look at my prize winning roses! That's it, I'm taking that damn BB gun!" She stomped over and picked up my gun.

"But Ma! My double dog dare with Clarence?"

"Forget it! If you wanna see your Red Ryder BB again, you sort those roses out!"

And so the battle was still on, the zombies were out there, somewhere, loose to roam and attack their prey as they saw fit. I, and I alone could save the world from destruction! I will be back! Barney and Rover ran across the garden, this time heading in my direction with snarling teeth...

"Ma!"

Twelve Days of Christmas Iron Writer Style Day 2 – It's a Wonderful Life!

(Write your own version of what happens when a bell rings! It has nothing to do with angels, and everything to do with gargoyles and demons! You must use the words: Garland, Baubles, Charlie Brown and Stella. 400 words)

The bell rang as the door opened. Another customer entered his shop of trinkets and fancies.

"Good evening, sir, and how can I help you on such a warm and wonderful night as this?" asked Baphometh, the owner.

"Good evening. Erm, I just noticed you have some Christmas items on sale, and well, seeing as yours seems to be the only shop open in the whole street, well..." The customer took off his hat and gloves. "Sorry, did you say warm? It's snowing outside."

"Oh, sorry, sir, did I say warm? I meant cold." The demon stood up from the unseen burning flames engulfing his chair.

"Although, now you come to mention it, it is rather warm in here..."

"Yes, sir, no expense is spared for our customers. Christmas items, sir? Please step this way." Baphometh trotted around the counter and showed his customer the aisle for yuletide novelties.

"I say, isn't it a bit late to be celebrating Halloween?"

"Sorry, sir?"

"The get-up. The horns, the tail and hooves. Jolly good costume, though."

"Why, thank you, sir. I shampooed my tail only last night. I think perhaps sir will find all the baubles, garland and decorations you could wish for."

"Thank you, yes, there does seem to be a spendid selection...erm, are these gargoyles?"

"Yes, sir, you have a keen eye. Christmas gargoyles, all the rage, sir."

"Oh, really? They're slightly, well, ugly."

"Well, sir, they are gargoyles." Baphometh slapped his swishing tail on the floor.

"Quite. What I'm really looking for is...refreshments."

"Refreshments, sir? This isn't a corner shop, sir." This one was beginning to irritate him, making his face redder than usual.

"Not even a drink or two? Some Stella Artois? Peanuts?"

"Peanuts, sir? If I recall correctly, I do have an old Charlie Brown video in the storeroom somewhere..."

"Charlie Brown? No, no, peanuts, salted or honey roasted? I'd even settle for some pork scratchings."

"Now you're talking, sir. I just knew I could help you, sir. I've had a pig on the roast for quite a while now, I'm sure its skin is ready." Baphometh skipped across his shop, sure of a sale.

"A real pig? Any chance of..."

"Oh, yes, just right!" He stroked the roasting body on the spit and licked his fingers, beaming back at his customer.

"But that's...that's...!"

"A pig, sir, yes. Stole a whole country's pensions and more to boot...sir?"

Twelve Days of Christmas Iron Writer Style Day 3 - Love Always

(one character is Alan Rickman, the song Billy Mack, "Christmas is all around". 400 words.)

"What are you watching?" Dave jumped on the sofa, spilling the popcorn all over her. "Ah, Mr. Bean!"

"No. I hate Mr. Bean." She picked up what popcorn she could and sat there crunching away.

"Oh no! It's that stupid love movie, isn't it? That one with poofy Nighy doing "Christmas is all around me", with a parody video of Robert Palmer, and that Hugh "Oh, I...I...I...I always seem to get those p...p...p...parts, don't I?" Grant! He gets the girl yet again! Well, isn't that a surprise!"

"Shut up, I'm watching it."

"For the thousandth time! I've just got a Cam copy of 'Fury', Brad Pitt's latest. Can I plug it in?" Dave took out his pendrive and went over to the flatscreen.

"No! I'm watching this!"

"But you've seen it before! Even Alan is crap in it! He only uses the acting skills in his little finger!"

Alan Rickman popped his head out of the box next to the sofa.

"Did someone mention me?" he asked.

"No, Alan. Get back in the box."

"Shhh! This is a good bit!"

"There aren't any...oh, this is when that old neighbour kills the lover, yeah, that is good." Dave jumped back on the sofa and devoured some of her popcorn. "Oh, isn't Freeman in this one? Can't wait to see 'Hobbit part 3'."

"Shhhh!"

"'Hitchhikers' was great. Okay, the BBC TV series was better but at least they tried...plus Alan was the voice of Marvin."

"Did someone...?" Alan popped his head out again.

"No!" shouted Dave.

"I didn't know that. Really?"

"Yeah, he didn't have to use ANY acting skills in that one."

"Dave, why have we got Alan Rickman living in a box in our lounge?"

"He's trying out some method acting for his next role."

"Oh. Right."

They sat together, watching. Before she knew it, the credits were rolling. Dave was sleeping on her shoulder. Flicking through the channels she came across 'Dirty Dancing'. She flopped Dave's head off her shoulder and went to get some chocolate. By the time she'd come back, he was half-awake.

"Swayze? Don't tell me, it's...what's the time?"

"Late." She sat down and broke off some of the chocolate bar. Dave stared at her. "What?" He didn't stop. "What?"

"Happy anniversary," he said, passing over a golden necklace.

"Oh! I...I thought you forgot!" She turned her head so Dave could put it on her neck.

Twelve Days of Christmas Iron Writer Style Day 4 – The Muppets Christmas Carol

(You must use the Muppets as characters, Michael Caine, song: "I want a hippotamus for Christmas". 500 word max)

"You're only supposed to light the bloody candles!" screamed Michael, shivering in the cold night air and watching his house burn down to the ground.

"Err, sorry Michael," apologised Fonzie. Perhaps this 'anniversary get-together' wasn't such a good...a burnt Kermit ran up to them, out of breath, his green skin smoking.

"Michael, Michael! Have you seen Miss Piggy? I can't find her anywhere?"

"Sorry, Kermit, the last time I saw her was when she was dancing on that pole while singing 'I want a Hippopotamus for Christmas'."

Kermit's mouth opened wide and he turned to the burning building.

"But...but that means she...she could still be inside! Ahhh!"

Before Fonzie could grab him, Kermit was running around in a panic, screaming, his arms flailing about. A muppet fireman rushed by with a hose and Fonzie swiped it.

"Hey!"

"Kermit!" Fonzie hit Kermit full in the face with a 100 pounds per square inch jet of water, stopping him from his headless chicken act. A chicken ran past, closely followed by Gonzo.

"Come here, my sweetie!"

"Thanks, Fonzie," spat Kermit.

"Any time, my friend."

"Err, can you point it at my house now, please, Fonzie? Because it's bloody burning down!" Mr. Caine was quite irate.

"Sorry, Michael."

All three of them stopped and smelt the air.

"Is that...?" asked Fonzie.anYes, it is," said Michael. "But I don't think we should dwell on it just..."

"It's...it's...bacon! I can smell...bacon!"

"Don't worry, Kermit," said Fonzie. "There are plenty more pigs on the farm."

Twelve Days of Christmas Iron Writer Style Day 5 – The Grinch that stole Christmas!

(Brian Rogers as the Grinch, five gold rings, the roast beast, a ten and 1/2 foot pole. 500 words)

Every Iron

In Iron Writer Land

Loved procrastinating a lot.

But Brian Rogers

Who dressed as the Grinch

Did NOT!

Brian hated procrastinating! That whole waste of time!

He'd sit there and watch and say "That's a crime!"

"Who cares about who did who and why and when,

If all you ever get to know is the size of their pen!

One with a twinkie, another a 10 and a half foot pole,

It's kinda sad if that is your goal..."

But

With Christmas ahead,

All the presents, the feast,

He ignored his revulsion and sliced up the roast beast,

Procrastinating with the best of the worst,

He laughed, he joked, he quenched their thirst,

By commenting on all photos and quotes and desires,

He kept everyone happy, no anger, no fires.

"Though I'll tell ya one thing," he mumbled with grins,

"I'll stop when anyone mentions those damn 5 gold rings!

'Cause one thing I hate more than all,

Is those 12 bloody days and those birds that call!"

(Of course, totally UNTRUE! Brian likes to procrastinate with the worst...sorry, the best of us :-))

Twelve Days of Christmas Iron Writer Style Day 6 - ELF!

(Your story should center around "Buddy the Elf", spaghetti with maple syrup, six geese a laying, lingerie, and this all should be taking place during a zombie apocalypse. 500 words)

"Are you sure you don't want some...candy?" asked the food to the others around the table. "You know, elves have four main food groups: candy, candy cane..."

"Urgh!" Zog the zombie stood up and moved his arms about. This food talked too much. Zog ripped off another piece.

"Ouch! You should try spaghetti with maple syrup, now there's a good food."

"Urgh!" He pointed to Tark to take off the food's head but no matter how hard he tried, it wouldn't budge.

"Now my scarf is too small, thank you, thank you very much. You are a cotton-headed ninnymoggins!" shouted the food, smiling at Jarg the zombie girl, who was eating a finger. "Hi, what's your name? Mine's Buddy. I'm an elf. I guess you're a zombie, right?"

"Urgh!" The food was now hitting on Zog's girl!

"That's some nice lingerie you're wearing there. Did you get it from Macy's?"

That was it. Zog pulled on the right leg and it ripped off.

"Ouch! Son of a nutcracker!"

It went quiet for a while. Zog and his mates finally had some peace to eat their latest find. Until...

"I like to sing, though. 'On the first day of Christmas my true love sent to me a partridge in a pear tree....ouch! On the second day of...ouch!..."

Noise or no noise, Zog was going to finish his meal. The food went on and on...and on....

"...my true love sent to me six Geese-a-Laying, five gold rings! Four...ouch!...calling birds, three French...ouch!"

"Urgh!"

Twelve Days of Christmas Iron Writer Style Day 7 – Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer!

(Rudolph, reindeer games, Abominable Snowman, Seven Swans a Swimming. 400 Words)

"You can shove them reindeer games up your..."

"Rudolph! You're...you're slushed!" screamed Hermey.

"Where the hell do ya think I got this nose from, eh? Playing wid the misfit toys? Talking of which, where's that jack-in-the-box? I'd like to give him one right on the smacker!" Rudolph put up his front hoofs as fists and staggering around the North Pole. He relieved himself on it.

"Rudolph! What will Santa say?" Hermey tried to pull Rudolph off the Comet and Blitzen full-size Christmas decoration without much success.

"Who cares?" Rudolph galloped away and ran into the 12 Days of Christmas parade practicing their moves and music. The seven swams a swimming scattered in his wake, but unfortunately the partridge lost his pear tree. A siren screeched overhead and Hermey found himself in the square alone with only drunk Rudolph. The place was silent. Then the ground began to shake.

"Rudolph? I don't think..."

"Arh, shut up!"

At first, all they could see was a fat man in a lumberjack shirt but then 'it' appeared.

"Hello, there. My name's Yukon Cornelius and this here is my pet, the Abominable Snowman."

Rudolph gulped.

"That's the last time I mix my whiskeys with eggnog."

Twelve Days of Christmas Iron Writer Style Day 8 - Bad Santa

(Tattoos, Eight maids a milking, handcuffs, coal. 400 words)

"Ah, those were the days, I had eight maids a milking, and boy were they milking!"

"Santa? Can I tell you what I want now?" The fat spotty boy was breaking his knee.

"Hang on a minute." He finished the rum and coke and pissed into the empty refill. A line of mothers with their children squarked in disapproval. "What? They don't give piss breaks here, alright? If ya gotta go, ya gotta go!" He put the cup down and wiped his hand on his Santa costume. "Now kid, what was that?"

"I'd like some tattoos."

"Tattoos? Kid, that's such a bad idea, you have them for life!"

"I don't care! I want some!"

"Look, kid, if ya don't mind having some girl's name tattooed on yer behind..." He mooned the queue. "...Then I guess that's okay. Oh good, less business. Might get a break."

Two policeman came over as the queue disappeared back into the mall.

"Excuse me, sir...Santa, but we're gonna hafta bring you in."

"Looks like I'm on the naughty list."

A pair of handcuffs clicked over his wrists and the policemen led him away from Santa's Grotto.

"Don't tell me, I'll be getting coal this year..."

Twelve Days of Christmas Iron Writer Style Day 9 – White Christmas!

(War, Nine ladies dancing, the song White Christmas. 250 words)

'Bataan'

"For a drop of water..." They held him up but he knew they were suffering too. The Phillipine jungle wasn't anything like the Bronx and this march was no parade.

"Come on, Davis, we've gotta make it, all of us." His buddies Steve and Hess settled him on their shoulders again as they watched some Japanese soldiers bashing in the brains of some Filipino soldiers, finishing them off with the cold steel of their bayonets.

"Oh guys, remember the Christmas do? So much drink, so little time to drink it."

"Hell, stop thinking about drink. Think about...about girls, Davis. Girls. How many danced with you that night?" Hess was always going on about girls.

"Oh yeah, that was good night. They put on 'White Christmas' and everyone danced. How many? Nine, nine ladies dancing with me, little ol' me."

"Ladies, that's kinda stretching it, eh, Davis? Eh?"

They laughed but Steve slipped in the mud made by a hundred thousand footprints. Davis fell to the ground and was covered from head to foot. A Japanese soldier ran over and poked him with his rifle.

"Oki nasai anata taidana Amerika no inu!"

"You can say that again," coughed Davis.

Steve and Hess picked him up again and they both received the butt of the soldier's gun.

"Okiru!"

"I guess he wants you to get up by yourself, Davis," sighed Hess.

"Well, tell him it ain't happening! This mud is so cool." He squirmed around like a happy little pig. "Oink, oink!"

Twelve Days of Christmas Iron Writer Style Day 10 - National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation!

(Christmas Lights, Shitter's full!, 10 Lords a leaping!, a fried cat, Christie Brinkley

and 'Mele Kalikimaka' (Hawaiian Christmas song) 500 words.)

The christmas lights Larry picked up at the market popped and fizzled, bursting into flame and turning the 2-foot excuse of a christmas tree into a burnt stick. It fell off its perch on the rickety bookshelf, the lights still flickering and sparking, and dropped onto his sleeping cat. The smell of fried cat filled the tiny flat. Tyler opened the door to the bathroom and a different fragrance took over.

"Sorry 'bout that. Must've been the turkey. Shitter was full when I'd finished."

"Urgh, Tyler, did you have to go into details? And close that door!"

We sat there in the stench. Larry wouldn't open a window because he didn't want to light the gas heater again, paranoid he'd die of fumes. If something didn't happen soon, they'd find three corpses sitting on flea-ridden armchairs. Tyler's phone went off with a christmasy tone. As he picked up the call, he sang the lyrics.

"...Ten lords a leaping, nine ladies dancing...hello?"

"Shitty tone," muttered Larry.

"Okay, will do." Tyler put it down. "What's your problem, Larry?"

"Christmas tones now, is it? What'll it be next? Going from door to door, carol singing?" Larry turned on the TV.

We all looked at each other. Not such a bad idea.

"I've got a few, actually. 'Jingle Bells', 'Holy Night' and even 'Mele Kalikimaka', a Hawaiian Christmas song." He played a few bars. Our eyes moved to the TV as Christie Brinkley jumped into a pool.

"Why wasn't that in my Christmas stocking?"

Twelve Days of Christmas Iron Writer Style Day 11 - Home Alone

(Two robbers, the song "Rockin around the Christmas Tree", a stolen toothbrush, Eleven Pipers Piping. As many or as few words as you want...)

"Where did you get that scar, Marc? 'Home Alone 3'?" asked Harry, shivering in the cold.

"We weren't in that one, Harry. We were stars back then, remember? We asked for too much."

"Oh yeah." They squashed their faces on the window, watching the TV inside blasting out 'Rockin around the Christmas Tree'. "Well?"

"Well what?"

"Where did you get the scar?"

"In the navy."

"I didn't know you were in the navy."

"I was thrown out."

"Why?"

"A toothbrush. Someone stole the captain's toothbrush."

"You were thrown out because of a stolen toothbrush?"

Harry wrapped his coat around tighter as the snow continued to fall.

"No, I was thrown out because I knocked over eleven pipers piping when the captain came aboard."

"What?"

"I was running after the guy who stole the toothbrush."

The little boy who lived in the house walked into the room with a bowl of popcorn.

"That's justice for ya."

The boy spotted them, dropped the bowl, made a face like 'The Scream' and ran out of the room.

"Oh no, here we go again. Are you ready, Marv?"

"Eh?" Marv's nose was frozen onto the windowpane.

"Are you ready? Looks like 'Home Alone 5' is up."

"Oh no! Not again! Haven't the cinema audiences been hurt enough!"

Harry pulled on Marv and they flew back into the snowy garden.

"Apparently not. At least that's what it says in my contract. Besides, this one's going straight to video. Come on, we've gotta get that brat."

Twelve Days of Christmas Iron Writer Style Day 12 - The Nightmare before Christmas.

(A Danny Elfman Song, 12 drummers drumming, Tim Burton, a large moon. No word limit)

To a drumroll of twelve drummers drumming over the song 'Jack's Lament' from 'The Nightmare before Christmas', with a large moon backdrop of a sinister night in the background, Tim Burton walked on to mass applause.

"Oh no," cried a critic. "Not another dire horror vehicle for Johnny Depp...come back, Vincent Price, all is forgiven!"

93 - Pleasure before business

(Soylent Beige (drink), tap dance shoes, steampunk tiger, half a can of flat Dr. Pepper)

She threw her tap dancing shoes under the table and plumped herself down.

"Phew, that was some practise," she said, brushing her hair over her shoulder.

"Why do you bother with that? Look at this place, it's going down." The news was on over the bar, more demonstrations about taxes.

"You still have to do stuff. What are you drinking?"

I looked at my half can of flat Dr. Pepper. It didn't have its usual effect on me tonight, the black cherry 'almost medicine' taste hadn't hit its mark.

"Anything, really. Just not alcohol, my stomach can't handle it at the moment."

"Another one of those days, huh?"

"Yeah."

"I've got what you asked for." She pulled out something heavy wrapped up in an ornate scarf.

"It...it isn't is it? You finally made it?"

"Yes." Hidden beneath the scarf was a steampunk tiger sculpture. "You wanna see it?"

"Hell, yes!"

"Wait a minute, I need a drink." She whipped out a large container of light green coloured liquid.

"Urgh, what is that? Some fruit drink?"

"You wanna try it?"

"It's not another of your concoctions, is it? I remember the last one, I had to pay for the cleanup afterwards." She laughed and took a while to compose herself.

"No, no, no. This is Soylent Beige."

The newsreporter's voice rang threw the silence, droning on about police brutality and corrupt state officials.

"Don't you mean Soylent Green? And isn't that a fictional food tablet created from dead humans in that movie? It's not a drink."

She asked for two glasses from the bar and although it was against the rules, the barman allowed her to pour. They all let her do what she wished, she had the face for it.

"That's 'green', this is 'beige'. It's connected to the book rather than the movie."

"What's in it?" The froth in my glass didn't look appetising.

"What isn't in it? Vitimins A,C,D,E, K, B6, Calcium, Iron, protein, Zinc, Magnesium...the list is endless. It's good for you."

"Then I think I'll pass. Anything 'good for you' usually isn't nice."

"You've got to try it."

After giving a short stern look which melted away in front of her smile, I picked up the glass and downed a few gulps. She did the same. I wish I hadn't.

"Yuck. Well, it tastes like dishwater."

"How do you know what that tastes like? Have you drunk dishwater?"

She looked so disappointed.

"I would imagine dishwater tastes like this, if I ever had to try it. At best, it's bland, but then as I said before, anything that's 'good for you'..."

"Yes?"

"...isn't nice."

"I like it. It's rich and creamy...and so 'good for you'."

"Well, 'good for you'." I pushed it away and she took my glass, pouring the rest of its contents back into her container. She then slid the statue over to me.

"1000 dollars."

"What? We agreed on 500!"

"That was before you insulted my favourite drink."

Next time, business before pleasure.

Weekend Quickie 75 - Bend over

(A nude waiter, $75.00, chipmunk, the feeling of amusement. 150 Words)

"How much?" Tracy spat out her last gulp of Coca-Cola.

"75 dollars, madam." The nude waiter, wearing nothing but a cheesey smile and a large white napkin on his arm, stood over us.

"But we only had one drink each!"

"Yes, madam, but this is an exclusive christmas party, invitation only."

"Invitation only? The whole district's in here!"

The place was full of women, including the Sisters of Mercy from the nearby nunnery, giggling at the other waiters walking past.

"They all got invites, madam."

"But 75 dollars?"

The nude waiter came in closer to our faces.

"Didn't you get a 'feeling of amusement' when the Mayor and his bodyguards did a striptease to a rendition of Alvin and the Chipmunks 'Christmas don't be late'?" He stood up again, grinning.

"Not as much as when you bent down and picked up that fork!" laughed Daphne, and the whole table erupted.

94 - Fett & Nord

(Han Solo refrigerator, a jury summons, a tame dinosaur, the story must begin OR end with: "Will you take me away and will you make me your wife?")

"Will you take me away and will you make me your wife?"

"What?" spat Boba.

"That's what she said, man, believe it or leave it." Calo took a swig from his Alderaan beer.

"Hell, it's not even grammatically correct."

"Like you'd know, eh, Mr. Self-educated Man."

"So, what did you tell her?" asked Boba.

"What d'ya think? Don't mix business with pleasure, that's what I say." Calo downed the last of his drink and looked over to Han, encased in Carbonite. "Love your fridge."

"Yeah, Vader loaned me Han for a while. Haven't told him I cut the slab up for the freezer door, yet."

"I'm sure he'll be OK with that." Calo filled up his glass from the jug on the table.

"Yeah. He can put him back together if he wants to."

Calo shook his head.

"Err, no, I don't think there's any way to do that. He's in two pieces now."

Boba chocked on his drink, coughing.

"Ooops. Got any superglue?"

"Ha! Well, I think it's fitting we're emptying Han's last case of beer."

"Yeah, all 'three' of us together, eh?"

They clinked glasses and gulped more down. Loh-loh, Boba's tame dinosaur therapod from Tiss'shal came running into the room.

"What you want, boy? Eh? Eh? What'cha want? Stomach rub, eh? Come here, boy, come here."

Boba gripped his pet's head and the beast purred with pleasure.

"You wanna play ball, yeah? Yeah?"

Loh-loh suddenly stepped back and after some effort vomited up a small flying robotic dispatcher.

"Did it drink some of this beer? Han might have liked it but I prefer Gamorrean."

"Good boy, good boy." Boba opened Han's lower regions and threw Loh-loh a severed arm, which it caught in its teeth. With a screech of happiness, it ran out of the room.

"Mes...message for Calo Nord," spluttered the robot.

"For me? Cool..." Calo reached over and took the disc from the dispatcher's opened receptacle. He didn't look happy.

"What's the problem?" asked Boba as Calo read the message.

"Jury summons."

Boba's communicator bleeped and he flipped it open.

"The Court of Justice wants me to sit in..." Calo stopped when he saw his colleague's face turn white. "What is it?"

"Oh shit!" He threw it over to Calo. "Take it for me, will ya?"

"Sure." He pressed receive and a small hologram of Darth Vader appeared.

"Who am I addressing? Is that Calo Nord?" shouted an angry black 4 inch holographic figure.

"Err, no?"

"Yes, it is!" Vader turned around to see Boba in the the other chair. "You! Give me back Han Solo!"

"But you said I could..."

"I said nothing! Give me back...wha...what have you done?" Vader pointed to Boba's refridgerator door.

Boba grabbed his communicator from Calo and whistled. Lol-lol came running in, panting.

"Here boy!" He threw it and his pet swallowed the device.

"What now?" cowered Calo.

"Change my number, change my galaxy! I'm off!" Boba grabbed his helmet and spacecraft keys and shot out the front door.

Weekend Quickie 76 – Dear Santa

(You have gone back in time and are now a child again; write a letter to Santa using the following words: Tonic, Cranberries, Love, Smoked Salmon)

(100 words)

Dear Santa,

How are you? I hope it's not cold in the North Pole because I want to find my stocking over the fireplace this year. Grandma will leave you some cookies on the table but Grandpa finished the whiskey so she will leave you a Gin and Tonic instead. I tried it but I think she needs to add cranberries because it has a very bad taste. I wrote you a letter earlier. I hope you got it. Also please bring us a turkey for dinner because Grandma said she got some smoked salmon. I hate fish.

Love,

Danielle

Weekend Quickie 77 (Sunday Edition) – Excuse my French

(Write a 250 word short using the following: baby, kissing, fern, spaghetti, the feeling of being amorous)

"Where are the girls?"

"There aren't any! Not after last year!" I went into the kitchen and brought out another case of beers and threw a can at him.

"What do you mean, 'after last year'? That was great, that was!"

"How the hell would you know? You got pissed and hit on my sister!"

"I never did..."

"Oh yes, you did. You went into your old 'French' routine, being all 'amorous' and that! Starting kissing her and everything!"

"So? What's wrong with that?"

"She was breastfeeding her baby at the time!"

He shut up and drank some beer.

"Oh."

"If you think I'm gonna invite any girls over this year, you're mistaken. I didn't even mention the fern."

We both looked over at the large fern in the corner. It had seen better days.

"What about it?"

"By the morning, you were wrapped around it, whispering sweet nothings."

"What, that?"

"And then there's the spaghetti."

"What spaghetti? What about the spaghetti?"

"The spaghetti we had before the drinks. You quite happily shared it with us once again, all over the kitchen floor."

"Are you telling me I puked it all over the kitchen?"

"That and the sausages."

"Oh hell."

"Yep."

"Shit. Sorry, guy."

"You will be...because my sister's coming over in five."

The beer went all over the floor.

"But...but she's a...excuse my French...a dog!"

"Yep. And she's gonna skin your little ass!"

He was out the door in a flash. I couldn't stop laughing.

The Christmas Quickie 78 – Christmas Time

(Make a Christmas poem in the shape of a tree! Make this poem all about you and your family traditions! Use whatever words that you would like, and have fun doing it.)

It's

Christmas

New Year's Eve

Time to sit and relax

To enjoy or maybe endure

To remember the days before

The things we did, both good and bad

And

Ponder

On what will be.

95 - Hoggin' it

(Bacon, a pair of skis, a group of faceless aliens in green silver suits (first one putting hand up 'halt' or 'hi'), Takanakuy)

"Pass it over." Jeff was hogging the joint. We'd come way out here into the forest to my uncle's hut to check out our latest batch of Skunk. It was cool, it was strong.

"Okay, here you go," said Jeff, reluctantly. "This stuff is the best yet, dude, best yet."

He finally handed it over and I toked it up. Jeff was already setting up the next one and lighting it in the fire when I realised that it had gone suspiciously quiet. Too quiet.

"Can you hear that?" I asked.

"Ooo, good stuff, eh? Paranoia..."

There was a rustle in the hedgerow and four tall guys stepped out into the clearing, dressed up in silvery green outfits. Their faces were featureless.

"Please, Earthlings, don't be alarmed now," said one of them, standing in front of the others.

"What the hell!" Jeff panicked and ran into the hut, coming back out holding a broken part of a pair of skis in his hands, threatening the group. "Keep back, or I'll use it!"

I held still, these weren't our usual visitors. One of the four sided over to Jeff and gave him a sniff.

"No, O' Lord Faceless, the smell does not come from here, though there are residues within his clothing and burn holes in his shirt."

Jeff loosened his grip on the broken ski and looked down, noticing the holes.

"Oh man! This was my best shirt!"

"I think the source comes from this one, Faceless Two," said the one in front, pointing at me. He was clearly the leader of the four.

"Me?"

"Yes, you, Earthling." He sat down on the log next to mine. "Greetings, I am Lord Faceless from what you call the Centarus Supercluster, many suns from here. We were passing by and perchanced to smell such a sweet aroma that..." He reached down and picked up a bud. "Ah-ha. Comrades, I have found the source." The others gathered around and took what was left of our batch.

"Err, help yourselves...aliens?" I spluttered.

"Why, thank you, Earthling, you are most kind." I watched as he proceeded to shove a bud into the skin of his smooth face. "Oh yes, lovely."

Jeff dodged a couple of the aliens fighting over a bud like they were two Peruvian girls having it out at a Takanakuy, arms and legs flailing about. He sat down at the fire and carried on with his joint. The seated alien took it from him.

"Hey!" complained Jeff.

"Mmm, Earthling, this really does hit the spot, especially after travelling 200 trillion light years." The alien Lord Faceless toked the whole joint down to the roach through his skin.

"Well, I guess they don't teach you to pass it along back on your planet," I remarked. He ignored my statement and looked around the fire, grabbing his stomach region and making a smacking sound with no lips.

"Earthling, I think I have a serious case of the munchies. Do you happen to have any...bacon?"

96 (Winter Prelims) - Guardians of...on Second Thoughts...

(A grieving boy, growing up and growing old, an imprisoning life, an adventuresome journey)

"On sensors," squawked Yondu, his blue face searching the screens for signs of life.

"We got one, boss, three clicks away," said one of his pirate crew. With a wave, Yondu ordered them to head for the coordinates now showing up as a red flash on the map.

"What's it like? Healthy?"

"Looks like it, boss. Young, healthy, but I think it's suffering from something...can't quite work it out," replied the same crewman.

"On livefeed," ordered Yondu, and he watched as the screen filled with a crying, kneeling child. "Ah, a grieving boy, just right."

"Yes, boss. We can manipulate him easier if he's already under some emotional stress. Make him one of us," said a second pirate.

"But he'll have to suffer an imprisoning life on-board this ship until we can break him. Remember the last human? He's still in a cage on Deck 8, asking for some 'Big Mac', whatever that is," said the first.

"What? What are you saying? What right-minded youth wouldn't take up the opportunity for such an adventuresome journey into the unknown, travelling through the universe with the Ravagers, the greatest and toughest band of pirates this side of the Laniakea Cluster?" questioned Yondu, getting to his feet and studying the small, sobbing boy.

"That one on Deck 8?"

They stood together, all three in front of the screen.

"He's still asking for 'Big Mac'?" asked Yondu.

"Yes, boss, whoever he is. Wants to eat him, apparently," said the first pirate.

"Eat him? These humans are crazy." Yondu scratched his blue chin and wondered. "How long's he been down there?"

"What, this crying boy, boss?" asked the first.

"No, no, the one on Deck 8, how long's he been down there?"

"Seven years. We just can't seem to break him."

"Maybe you broke him a little too much," said the first to the second, making a 'cuckoo' gesture.

They stood in silence, still watching the screen.

"Oh."

"Not exactly growing up but growing old, for sure," mentioned the second.

"Not good," stated Yondu.

"Guess they don't make 'em like they used to, eh, boss?" said the second.

"Guess not."

The spaceship hovered over the boy who was now fully aware of their presence, standing up with his clothes flapping in the gusts from their engines.

"So boss? Do we pick this one up? Enslave him, break him and make him one of us?"

"...erm..."

"Let him become a strong, powerful member of our crew of pirates, maybe even allow him his own independence and go his own free way?"

"...erm..."

"And who knows? Maybe one day he, and he alone will be the one who unites a small unlikely band of warriors to defeat the greatest evil the universe has ever seen!"

"...erm..."

"Boss? Well? Shall we take him?"

"No. Close livefeed. Head for Zirconium 6. I fancy some Geevon steaks," said Yondu, sitting down and examining his nails. "And take this planet off our charts. It's a complete waste of space."

"Yes, boss."

Weekend Quickie 79 – You can have the Mum

(Double Trouble, love, Snickers, the feeling of being satisfied. 150 words)

Betty finished her Snickers and dropped the wrapper on the carpet.

"Pick that up!" shouted her twin, Claudia.

"No."

"I'll tell Mum what you did with that perfume."

Betty picked up the wrapper and walked over to the bin.

"Are you satisfied now?"

"Yes, thank you."

"Why can't you be more like that twin in 'Double Trouble'?"

"What? Have a Dad who has tons of money and lives in the city?"

"No, I'll have the Dad, you can have the Mum, the one who lives in the country in absolute poverty!"

"You can have the Mum!"

"No, you!"

"No, you!"

They stuck their tongues out at each other. Their mother entered the room.

"I see there's no love lost between you two. What's the problem?"

"She can have the Mum, I want the Dad!" sulked Betty, crossing her arms.

"Right, no TV for a week!" said their mother, storming out.

Weekend Quickie 80 (Sunday edition) – New Year's Resolutions

(Write a New Year's Resolution with the following words: Turkey neck, George W. Bush, The Matrix, candy, the feeling of being overwhelmed.)

This year...

I will wear only Turtlenecks to hide my turkey neck.

I will promise not to throw any more darts at the George W. Bush poster in the basement.

I will try not to get overwhelmed with guilt whenever I eat a ton of candy.

I will stop saying 'The Matrix' is the greatest movie ever made because it's clearly 'Guardians of the Galaxy'.

97 - Winter Solstice Open –Not so Neighborly

(1968 Elvis Presley Comeback Special, someone mowing/cutting grass, a note left on a car, argyle socks)

"What's the matter, dear?" asked Doris, entering the lounge.

"The matter? Can't you hear it?" Bob pointed out to the backyard.

"Oh, the neighbor."

"Yes, the neighbor!"

"Well, he has the right to mow his lawn..."

"At 2am in the morning?"

Doris grabbed her duster and busied herself with the mantelpiece.

"You were a bit loud with that music the other night, dear. Not everyone is an Elvis fan."

"A bit loud?"

"He even left a note on your car..."

"Don't talk to me about that note!" Bob paced up and down on his tiger skin rug.

"...though I think 'country' is spelled with an 'ou'..."

"But he started it! He cut my hedge!"

"You put nails on his drive, dear."

"And he set fire to my postbox!"

"You can't prove that."

The sound of the Flymo resonated throughout the house.

"I've had enough of this, where's Elvis?"

"Please, dear, no."

Bob took out his three-disc deluxe edition box set of 'Elvis: The '68 Comeback Special' and loaded a DVD, turning up the volume on the television as it came to life. He sat there in utter disbelief.

"What the...!"

On the screen wasn't the fantastic hip-swaying undisputed King of Rock 'n' Roll, bashing out 'Trouble/Guitar Man', but coverage of an old US golf Open focusing on a strangely dressed man.

"What the heck is this?"

Doris paused in her dusting and looked over at the screen.

"Looks like Payne Stewart, dear. I always loved his argyle socks."

"But...how...?" He took out the DVD and looked at it. "This is a sticker! Someone messed with my DVDs! Did you...?"

"No, dear, I wouldn't dream of touching...oh."

"What?"

"The neighbor."

"What!"

"Remember when he did that drilling last Sunday?"

"How can I forget! He went on until midnight!"

"Well, he came over the other day to check if he'd done any damage. I thought that was nice of him..."

"You let him in?"

"Sorry."

"This means war!"

With the sound of the neighbor's Flymo outside still breaking the beautiful silence of the night, Bob ran over to his gun rack and grabbed his loaded pump action Winchester.

"I'm gonna blow that damn thing to kingdom come!"

"You're not going all Islamic on me now, are you, dear? You must admit, he gets 10 out of 10 for ingenuity, copying labels like that."

"Ingenuity? Ingenuity!" Bob grit his teeth and paused in sudden reflection. "What happened?" he demanded. "Everything was fine until I went to that Las Vegas Elvis Fest. Then all hell broke loose! Did you do anything while...?"

"No dear, just a small Tupperware party with the girls from the bridge club."

"And then what...?" The Flymo hit a tough bit of grass and screamed in the darkness. Bob flew out of the French windows, screaming blue murder.

Weekend Quickie 79 (81) - Egos

(A Marvel Superhero, a Sandstorm, Oreo Cookies, the feeling of being a stud. 150 words)

A blast of sand covered Pepper Potts as she sunbathed on the beach with the creme de la creme of society.

"Tony!"

Ironman had landed. Actually, he'd sunk a few centimetres into the soft sand.

"Nice place. Catching some rays?"

Pepper peeked at him over the top of her sunglasses. Tony looked around, admiring the eye candy.

"Ooo, all those luscious eyes on me, makes me feel like some kind of stud. I like that."

He'd always been a pig. Pepper put her book down and glared into the eyes of his helmet.

"Wow, with that look you could contend with Torch."

"Well, 'stud', did you get me those Oreo cookies I asked for?"

"Oh, erm, sorry, I forgot. Between battling with Doctor Doom and outfoxing Hypnotia, I completely forgot about them."

"So?"

"I'll go get some now." He flew off towards the shops, creating a sandstorm on the beach.

Weekend Quickie (Sunday Edition) 80 (82) – Catnipped Puss

(The song "I like them Big and Chunky", a donkey, one of the Iron Writers, a cat. 150 Words)

"I like them big, I like the chunky," sang Puss, sliding over to Donkey.

"You been taking that catnip again, Puss?" Donkey did his best to move away but there wasn't much space left on the sofa as Tony Jaeger had already taken up most of it after passing out on his latest batch of mushrooms. His snoring reverberated through Donkey's ears.

"I like them big, I like them plumpy," continued Puss.

"I don't like the sound of them dumplings!" Donkey escaped from the clutch of his comrade's Nepeta cataria-induced state and cantered out of the room. He turned and watched from behind the door.

"Ah-ha, I see another sexy, succulent beast who has as yet to enjoy my feverous lust and infatuation," purred Puss, moving over to the sleeping Tony.

"More like flatuation! Leave the man, alone, Puss! He ain't done nothin' to you!" screamed Donkey.

98 - Poison

(Botticelli game, long hair, Tiger lily, Steampunk goggles)

"Did you paint a picture of Venus rising?" asked Valerie, smiling from ear to ear. A few tokes and she was high. Once you got used to the stench of his mother's cat, Beef's kitchen was warm and inviting.

"You always start with the archetypal question, don't you?" Beef sat there at the table, his long hair hiding his actions.

"Wrong answer. You're meant to say..."

"I know what I'm meant to say. No, I am not Sandro Botticelli." He was tinkering with something but Valerie couldn't see what.

"Are you...? This is boring, you need more people to play this game. Besides, I prefer Vermicelli."

"Food, you're always hungry, too. Do you know how predicatable you are?"

"I'll give you predictable!" Valerie smacked him one across the top of his head.

"Predicatable."

"I am not!" She ignored him until she was sucking roach. "What are you doing?" she asked as she destroyed the cardboard filter in the ashtray. Beef stopped what he was doing and lifted his head to reveal aomng other things, a wonderful bunch of spotty orange flowers. "Ooo, they're nice. Are they for me?"

"No, they are not." He busied himself with chopping up some of the flowers on a board.

"What are you doing? You're destroying those!"

"They're dead already." He continued to chop more.

"What are they? Aren't they some kind of lilly?"

"Tiger lily."

Beef's mother came in and Beef híd something under his arm and covered the flowers with his hair.

"Have you fed Alonzo, yet?" She was referring to the cat.

"No, mum. I've got a tin here."

"Okay, well, I have to pop out to the shops. Hold the fort." And she walked out of the back door with handbag over shoulder. Beef sat up again and Valerie noticed the cat food under his arm. Their eyes met.

"Tiger lily. Did you know..."

Beef liked to lecture. Valerie searched the table for tobacco papers.

"...has many medicinal uses?"

"I did not know that." She licked the papers, put them together and took out a cigarette.

"It helps in supressing aggressive tendencies..."

"Rather like weed, then, eh?" Breaking the filter off, she ripped open the fag and arranged the tobacco.

"...and has proved to help in the nausea and vomiting of pregnancy."

"I'll have to remember that one," she winked, taking out her weed and sprinkling some along the pile.

"When baked, the bulbs taste rather like potatoes."

"Cool. When we run out of chips, we'll all go down to the florists." She wrapped up the paper, licking it closed and twisting one end shut. Only the roach needed.

"But..." Beef pushed the tin of catfood forward and opened it by pulling up the key. From nowhere, the cat Alonzo jumped up on the table. "It has toxic effects on cats." He scraped the flower pieces into the tin and mixed it up. "That's the last time he poops in my Steampunk goggles."

Valeries watched open-mouthed as the cat tucked in.

Weekend Quickie 81 (83) – Not lovers Quarrel

(Love, ice cream, murder, Heterophobia. 150 words)

Dawn dropped her ice cream and ran, not knowing what else she could do. The screams of passers-by alerted two policeman who happened to be standing at the corner of the plaza.

"He's dead!" howled an old woman, holding one hand to her mouth. "She murdered him!" Her other hand pointed in the direction of Dawn, now jumping down the steps in her Dr. Martens to the metro station below.

She had no idea...why did she react that way? Why did he have to tell her that she loved him? She was gay and he knew it! Enraged, she broke free of his 'loving' embrace and stabbed him in the chest with her overly sharp metal wristbands, the official badge of her 'wolfpack' of lesbian friends and lovers. It was no accident he was dead but she'd never planned to do it, either.

"Stop, madam! Police!"

She kept running.

99 - Sucks

(cartoon image of writer drinking coffee, smoking and trying to write, a howdah, told from a POV of an alien who views humans both as food and pets, floor buffer)

Stravskee said there were good pickings on this planet and he was right. He did warn me, however, that I'd have to watch out, as these beasts weren't all as dumb as they looked, with their smooth hairless bodies and four protruding limbs. Some took them home as pets, finding their grotesque form 'cute'. How they thought that, I had no idea, they were disgusting, their habits and smells so alien to me. I was here for food. The light jump between the last few quadrants had made me peckish. It was time to taste this so-called 'food from the heavens'.

"Ben! Is there anymore coffee? I really need a refill."

One of them was bent over a wooden structure, with smoke escaping from a long tube in its mouth, perhaps some breathing device. Its body sat on a metal stool and with one of its free limbs, bled a blue liquid onto a pressed fibrous material, creating scribbles on its surface. My first meal.

"No, Lexi! I'm going down the pub! I've started the 'monster' up!"

"What? No, honey, you can't do that! How can I concentrate on writing my novel now?"

"Close the door! Anyway, you're the one who chose it! I wanted a Henry but you had to go and buy this souped-up floor buffer!"

"It's an XV-12!"

"It's a menace, that's what it is! It sucked up one of my slippers the other week!"

These creatures were noisy, with their many mating calls and gestures. I would pounce on this first portion of meat as soon as they quietened down.

"It's just very efficient."

"You said it would 'free us to explore other roads'. Well, I'm off to explore Tooley Street."

"No, wait!"

"Why?"

"Can you bring me a refill?"

"What are you? Some Maharaja on a howdah? Get off your arse and get your own coffee!"

"Please!"

The closest creature held up some ceramic object. This was clearly a symbolic ritual of release from the mate as the other poured a liquid into the reciprical and left the area with a loud bang of wood. Another sound began further away but this did not bother the sitting beast, who began to bleed more blue liquid onto the fibrous material. It was time to make my move. I crept closer to the wooden structure, hidden by my cloaking device and looked up at my next meal. The file mentioned that there were many ways to down this creature, though from here it was difficult to make a sudden attack. It needed to be standing. I threw a sound grenade between the wood at the end of the confined area and heard the explosion.

"What the hell?"

The beast stood up and separated the wood. Now was my chance! I readied my stance and allowed my claws to extend to their full length. My mouth began to drool with the impending taste of blood. A large and loud machine entered my view, its pull was too strong...

#

Weekend Quickie #81 (84) - Spurs

(Skittles, spurs, image of woman on horse (cowboy style), feeling of being perplexed)

He chewed away on his Skittles, mesmerized by the picture on the wall.

"What's the problem, Matt?" I asked, taking a few candies from the pack.

"I'm perplexed."

"Why?"

"This is a picture of your mother, right?"

"It's a photo she put through some fancy computer effect she thought was cool at the time, but yeah, it's my mother."

"Well, isn't your mother scared of horses?"

"Yes, she is."

We looked at the Skittles, noticing the lack of candy. Matt scrunched up the packet.

"Then what is she doing in this picture?"

"She's sitting on a horse in cowboy gear."

"I don't get it. She's scared shitless of horses."

"Yes, she is. This picture was taken just before they put the spurs on."

"Spurs?"

"Yeah, one kick from them and the horse went crazy. She broke three ribs, her collarbone and punctured a lung in the fall."

"Wow, that sucks."

Weekend Quickie Sunday Edition 82 (85) – Let it Go

(A picture of the Frozen sisters, Elsa and Anna, cheese, a conman, a song from the movie The Sound of Music.)

They came skipping in, holding a picture of the Frozen sisters and singing that song.

"Let it go, let it go! Can't hold it back any...!"

"Sandwiches?" I passed over a plate full of crustless beauties.

"Yes!" Jenny took a few and scoffed them down. Suzie, my daughter, scrutinised them.

"What's in them?"

"Cheese. From the market."

"Yuk, I hate cheese." I knew what was coming.

"I'll eat them!" smiled Jenny. I gave her the plate.

"Mum, why didn't you buy me that fantastic Frozen stationary set from the market?" my daughter asked.

"Darling, you have at least two sets like that."

"Not that one."

"I'm not buying that kind of stuff off the market. They're all cheats and conmen."

"You bought cheese."

I ignored her.

"How about another sing-song, hey? 'High on a hill was a lonely goatherd, Lay ee odl lay ee odl lay hee hoo!'"

"Ah, mum!"

100 - Carry on up the Flagpole

(anhydrous ammonia, white chocolate or dark chocolate, a flagpole, image of knight being held by 3 guards)

I watched the small brown stink bug creep along the inside of the embrasure. Its noble and treacherous journey across the great expanse of stone that was the outer wall, filled with endurance, endeavour and resolution, was soon to be halted by my...BANG...fist.

Oh, how dull it all was, Embroidery and harp lessons to look forward to today. And now? How I wished there was something better to do than staring down into the town, gazing over the peasants with their dirty, drab clothes and insignificant little lives...Sir Grabalot and his guards were down there with a captive right now. It was a particularly smelly one with a large flag protruding from his breeches saying 'Cleanpiece'...

"We found him in the undergrowth, sir, trying to hide!"

"What? With that dirty ruddy great banner sticking out of his arse? I guess he wasn't so hard to find, eh?" growled Sir Grabalot.

"For nature! For life!" shouted the captive.

"Foul knave! Philipos is scarred for life, thanks to you!" Grabalot slapped him across his pigshit covered face.

"I did my duty, for King and country! The use of Anhydrous ammonia as a fertilizer is an atrocity against nature! What is one man against such a barbarous act! Organic fertilizer forever!" The captive punched the air.

"You are sick! May you burn in hell with all your other green tree hugging long-haired hippy friends!" Grabalot wiped off the shit from his hand on one of the guards' tunics.

"I am not a hippy! Unhand me this instance!"

"Never!"

A guard broke the exchange. "Sir, we were able to close the valve on the tanks and restore the appropriate pressure."

"Excellent, Kronos! Nice shine to your helmet, there, man. Duragloss?" asked Grabalot.

"Horse manure, sir," replied Kronos.

"Ah, yes..."

The captive butted in. "Excuse me, but how is Philipos?"

"What? What is it to you, you snivelling, smelly worm, you?" Grabalot went to slap him again but thought better of it. The guards gave a sigh of relief.

"He's a third cousin on my wife's side, twice removed."

"Mmm. Small kingdom. Well, for your information, we're hosing him down with some water from the moat and filling him with copious amounts of dark chocolate. For the pain, you know."

"Quite."

"No thanks to you! Take him to 'the Sheriff'!" Grabalot gestured to the guards to move the captive over the drawbridge.

"No! Not 'the Sheriff'! Anything but 'the Sheriff'!"

"Oh, yes, 'the Sheriff'! If he doesn't clamp you in irons for this heinous crime, he'll no doubt read you some of his love poetry! Run that up your flagpole and see if anyone salutes it!"

"No! Mummy!"

The guards dragged the screaming captive through the main gate with Sir Grabalot at the fore. Oh goody, some afterlunch entertainment! I haven't seen one of Daddy's wonderful literary tortures since Sir Weaver passed through with his Dragon Slaying Knight Epitaph! Oh, this will be such fun, I must put on my best dress for such an occasion.

Weekend Quickie 82 (86) – Snow Day

(A Snow Day, Cajun food, a letter to a stranger. 150 words)

It was a snow day like no other. The drifts were six feet deep, some reaching ten, the roads frozen oceans waiting to crash against the rocks of the houses and street lamps were survivors of some unknown ship wreak, overboard and struggling to keep afloat above the white raging waves. The children, their schools shut for the day or week, no one cared, crunched through the soft cool cover with a fury, punching through the halted breakers and throwing snowballs to whomever they could find, while their guardians and providers of all stood aside, envying their every second.

It was that day she left us, dictating her last will and testament like some letter to a stranger, leaving her lifetime collections to her abundant loved ones, including her recipe for gumbo to Aunt Jemima. That day I would never forget.

And the children they played on regardless, unknowing. Innocent.

Weekend Quickie Sunday Edition 83 (87) - Allergic

(Superbowl halftime show, peanuts, allergic reaction to stadium seating.150 words)

I held onto her hand, the machine breathing for her.

"I'm sorry, I thought it was the peanuts," I whimpered, looking over her face for some sign of consciousness. "I shouldn't have dragged you to the Super Bowl, but hey, it was a chance of a lifetime to bag those tickets. We had to go! How...How was I to know?"

Okay, she had a little eczema when she put on that special lingerie I bought her for our anniversary, but nothing like this. It started with a rash, then a little cough, though by the halftime show, she'd collapsed in the aisle, trying to escape. Give them credit, the medics knew exactly what to do.

"How was I to know? Polyamide? Polyamide? It's a damn plastic! How was I to know you'd have an allergic reaction to the stadium seating?" I sobbed as the ambulance rushed through the traffic.

101 - Brothers

(Venice Frozen (see image below), a lame llama, straight jacket, a thumb match to settle a grudge)

"Today's the day, my brother! Ha-ha!"

Antonio straightened his shirt in the mirror, ready for his private gondola ride with the wonderful Maria.

"Ah, you paddle like a lame llama on a Peruvian expedition!" grimaced his brother.

"You are only jealous, Francesco, that I, your brother, have the chance tonight to bed such a sweet thing as Maria," he grinned.

"It is I who should have that honour! It is I who should be with Maria tonight!"

"When Venice freezes over!" laughed Antonio.

"I should have been the one, my little brother Antonio! I spotted her first, among the crowds in Piazza San Marco, her raven black hair swishing across her shoulders, her full bosom bouncing under that skin tight red dress! It should have been me! But you tricked me!"

Their grandmother cackled in the corner, her frail little body shaking. "Full bosom? She is nothing but a rake! She will be like skin on your stick, Antonio."

"Grandmama! How can you say such a thing! She is the most beautiful creature I ever did see!"

The room filled with the family, their younger sisters ran in and took seats at the table for dinner, while their mother brought in a large bowl of steaming hot pasta.

"You boys! Your Grandma is right! There is nothing to her. Why you both fight over her, I shall never know. I will call the doctor and he will send over those men in white suits and they will each give you a straightjacket!"

"Mama!"

"I will fight you for the right!" shouted Francesco.

"Boys! Enough! I shall not have you fighting in my house! Come, sit down and eat dinner," pleaded their mother. Without losing eye contact, they both sat down to eat.

"Fantastic pasta, Mama," smiled Antonio.

"I will fight you," murmered Francesco with a full mouth of pasta and sauce. Antonio stood up, chair screeching backwards and pointed his finger towards his brother.

"You can try, Francesco! But you are no match for me!"

"Boys!"

Francesco got up and they moved away from the table, each creating space to fight.

"Please, boys, no fighting!"

"Go on, let them lose some steam," wheezed their Grandma.

They stood face to face, sleeves rolled up, ready. Sweat poured down their foreheads as they stared each other out.

"We shall see, Antonio, who is the best!"

The grudge match began. Antonio made the first move, swinging to the left, trying to catch his brother from the outside, but he was too slow as Francesco dodged up and out. The opening gave his brother a chance but as Francesco clutched onto him, he was able to slip away, and Francesco found himself under, trapped. The thumb match was over.

"Ah-ha! See! I am the better man!"

"It is only because you helped Mama with the salad at lunchtime."

"Olive oil is good for you, no, brother? Ha-ha!" laughed Antonio, as he waved goodnight to his steaming brother, left at the table with his siblings.

Weekend Quickie #84 (88) – Perspective

(A loser, an old license plate, a figure 8. 150 words.Genre: Fantasy)

The bell on the teashop door rang loud and clear as the ragged dusty man staggered in.

"Behold, the Shield of Maja Ohisten!" screamed the crazy.

Betty and Judith looked on, teas in midair, at the old license plate the loser held over his head.

"Oh, Bert, I wish you wouldn't come in here with any old junk," pleaded Betty.

"Junk? Junk? This is the Sacred Shield of...!"

"It's a license plate from a 1968 Chevrolet Nova, Bert. Take it away and go and wash yourself in the river," interrupted Judith. The old loser nodded and left.

"Oh, the things he brings in," chuckled Betty.

"Yes, he's completely off his trolley, that one, he lives in his very own little fantasy world."

"Would you like some more biscuits, Judith?" asked Betty.

"Don't mind if I do."

Betty took out her wand and with a figure 8 movement, more confectionary appeared.

Weekend Quickie #85 (89) Sunday Edition – Love is like the wind

(Barbed wire, a cat in heat, sled riding, a broken down zamboni. 200 words. Genre: romance)

We spent a wonderfully frivolous afternoon of laughter and joy up on the hill, sled riding down the slopes, filling our boots with slush and frozen ice. The snow continued to fall as dusk appeared and we made our way back to town. He was a dream, he was my Romeo to my Juliet, my Anthony to my Cleopatra. As we sat and held each other by the broken down zamboni near the disused ice rink, he whispered many sweet nothings and promised the world. He was to become a major player in the automatic coffee machine vending machine industry and I was to be the loving wife, the home provider and caring mother to our many children. We would spend our holidays in exotic and exciting places, would sail across the world, walk the Great Wall of China, visit the Aztec city of Tenochtitlan and fly over the Nazca lines of southern Peru, trying to spot that damn Greenpeace graffiti. I was in love, he was the one. He took out his guitar and began to sing like a cat in heat frantically trying to escape the clutches of barbed wire.

I wondered if I still had Steve's number...

102 – How much is enough?

(An event that changes a character's personality, a measuring tape, Tetherball, haggis)

"We're having haggis tonight!" His mother was in the kitchen again, cooking away.

"Haggis? What the hell for?" Why didn't she just go?

"For a change, it's nice to try a recipe or two from home." His grandfather had moved over to Toronto from Scotland many years ago, and the family liked to keep old traditions alive.

"Home? Home! I've had enough of home!" He stormed out of the lounge and grabbed his jacket. The slam of the front door almost broke a hinge as he left.

Before he knew it he was at the river, sitting on a bench. He didn't remember getting there.

"Hey, hello. James, isn't it?" A woman with a dog came up to him.

"What?"

"James, yes, it is you. From 8th Grade? It's Henriette, HenrietteThicket? Remember me?" The woman now stood over him, smiling. What was there to be happy about.

"No, I bloody don't! Clear off!"

"Oh dear, are you okay? We were school pals once, don't you...?"

"I said clear off!"

"What happened to you, James? You used to be so charming..."

"And now I'm not!"

The dog barked and the woman walked away, muttering under her breath.

"Dear, are you okay?" It was his mother. She'd followed him.

"What the hell! Leave me alone!"

She put a hand on his shoulder but he shook it off.

"Look, dear, I know what happened was a terrible tragedy, but you have to move on, we all do."

"Why? Why do I have to move on?" He tried not to think about it.

"Yes, there's a time to mourn, yes, but then there's a time to heal..."

"Heal? Will they heal?" He stood up, wanting to walk away but he was rotted to the spot.

"No, dear, they won't. But if you don't let it go..."

"Let it go? How can I let it go? They were my family! Mine! And I lost them forever!"

"Lost them forever? Dear, you couldn't have stopped..."

"Yes! Yes, I could have!"

"Shall I call Mary? Maybe she..."

"Who? Who the hell is Mary?"

"She's your wife, dear, and mother to..."

"Yes? Yes? Mother to who, Ma! Mother to who? Nobody! They're gone! Gone, d'ya hear! While I was inside with my measuring tape, working out the size of a cupboard for their room, they were outside, playing tetherball in the front garden! Next thing I knew, I heard it, the sound of brakes and a crash outside!"

"Look, son, I..."

"I lost everything that day, everything!"

His mother gently sat him back down on the bench.

"Yes, you did. But we all did, James. We all did. I lost two fantastic grandchildren..."

"Who cares?"

They sat silently for a while.

"James, you're not the only one who's suffering. I also lost a caring daughter-in-law who you've just thrown out of your life, and I think I've also lost my wonderful son."

"I'm still here, aren't I?"

"I'm not too sure about that." She stood up and left.

Weekend Quickie 86 (90) – Sweet tooth

(Edible underwear, Godzilla, a mannequin that looks like your mother, Victoria Secret. 150 words)

"Hey, Simmons! That mannequin looks like your mother!"

He gave Johnson the bird and continued to stare at the lingerie window display. The dummy in question was wearing some line from Victoria Secret. At least that's what it said on the tag. He wondered whether they stocked what he was looking for.

"The Porno shop is down the street, Simmons! Go get yourself a film or summit! Ha!"

Ignoring his classmates' taunts, he stepped into the shop, passing by a couple of women searching through the bras. They gave him evil stares. The shop assistant at the counter seemed a little surprised to see a small uniformed boy standing before her, but she smiled.

"Yes? Can I help you?"

"Yes, please. Do you have edible underwear?"

"What?" The shop assistant looked at him like he was Godzilla.

"The sweet shop down the street is closed. I'm dying for some candy..."

Weekend Quickie 87 (91) Sunday Edition – Them Brownies

(RPaticorn (Robert Pattinson), a brick, a palm tree, a Japanese fisherman 150 words)

Down by the river, I watched the ducks and swans fight for what crumbs were left from the kids who'd stopped there for a break to or from wherever they were going or coming. A fisherman sat close by and mumbled under his breath.

"Sorry?"

"Sorera no imaimashi kodomo-tachi wa, karera ga sakana o hanarete obie!"

"Erm..."

"Anata no eigo, anata wa nani no tame no keii o motteinai!"

Confused, I moved on quickly, only to trip on the edge of a brick which was set higher than the others in the newly-laid path near the river and found myself hugging what looked like a palm tree to keep from falling. Images of Robert Pattinson in a pink unicorn costume came into my head, 'RPaticorn'. The fisherman held up his fist and said something.

Next time I'm gonna lay off those double choc chip brownies from my mate in Amsterdam.

"Escribe de'Trois" Challenge – Up in the Trees

(a tree stand, star dust, edible underwear)

by Spanky Strawberry Slokovich

Gark the bear settled himself down in the undergrowth under the star-filled sky, munching on some berries he'd picked up earlier and watched his weekly hunter entertainment. Dave, tall and lanky, was over in the tree on the left, while Bob, a fat ball of a man, on a tree to the right. They both sat there in their state-of-the-art-the-best-money-can-buy tree stands some twenty feet up, their guns loaded and ready as they scanned the forest for movement. Not a soul was about. They'd already been up there half the night and looked about ready to quit.

"What does it all mean, Bob?" asked Dave, lowering his gun and staring up at the stars.

"'It's a pronoun, Dave," replied his overly-chubby partner.

"No, Bob, 'it', the ultimate question."

"Oh."

"Looking up at that sky, it makes me feel...insignificant, you know."

"You are insignificant, Dave."

"Shut up, Bob."

"Right."

"No, I mean, I feel like we're all just 'cosmic dust' in the universe."

"Oh yeah, right. Deep, Dave, real deep. Like star dust, you mean?"

"Stardust? That was a shit movie."

"Come on, Dave. Any film with Michelle Pfeiffer in it is worth a look."

"Good point."

Gark scratched himself and accidentally snapped a twig. Both hunters aimed their guns out into the forest below, searching, but finding nothing. He heard Dave's stomach growl louder than his Aunt Nellie's.

"So, what have you got, Bob?"

"Eh?"

"The food, the food. What have you got?"

"Erm...nothing?"

"What? But it was your turn to bring the food!"

Dave's shouting upset an animal some distance away, causing it to flutter and squawk away into the night.

"Shhh, we're not gonna shoot anything if you shout like that."

"Are you telling me that you didn't bring ANYTHING?"

"Erm, well, I do have something."

"Great. I thought we were done for. What have you got?"

"You won't like it."

"You didn't bring dry roasted peanuts again, did you? You know I hate them."

"No, not that."

"Well?"

"Erm, well..."

"Yes?"

"Well, you know, I hadn't actually planned on being here with you tonight."

"Yeah, I know. You had that date with Maisy, the bird at the diner. But she had to change shifts at short notice. Sad."

"Yep."

Gark looked on as Bob sat in silence and Dave came to some hideous realisation, one he truly didn't like.

"No."

"What?"

"No, Bob, don't tell me."

"Come on, at least it's something."

"I am NOT going to eat them!"

"Very nutritional, you know, edible underwear."

"Oh, come on!"

Bob had already reached into his camouflage trousers and ripped off a large chunk of candy-tasting pink boxers. Dave's stomach roared once more, one Gark would have been proud of.

"Oh, go on, then. Throw me over a bit."

"What would you prefer? Front or back?"

Gark choked on his berries, only to lift his head to find two barrels aimed straight at him. Ever heard the joke of the bear crapping in the woods? No rabbit this time.

The "Weekday" Quickie #1 – Lunar New Year – The name's Dieter

(Rules: you may only use the letter a four times in your story. There will not be any mammals in this story. 250 words. Chinese Lunar New Year, the name Dieter, a carrot.)

(25 words)

"The name's Dieter, I am a carrot. I was grown before the Chinese Lunar New Year. You may know me from such movies as...AHHH!"

103 – Retribution

(Iron handcuffs, barn owls, a light bulb salesperson, a bumper sticker)

How is it that straw can always find a way under your clothes and scratch you to death?

"It's a jeep. If I wanted a Hummer, I'd call your sister." He threw my ripped off bumper sticker at me.

"Hey! That wasn't cheap! $1.99 at the drive-through!"

"You were robbed."

I was assaulted. Driving down Highway 10 past Phoenix, I noticed this pick-up on my tail. I thought nothing of it until it rammed me and pushed my car off the road and into a ditch. Before I could recover, a fist came through my window and that was that. Now I'm lying in some farm building, dead of night, trousers missing, tied to a strut on a chain with iron handcuffs, with only a couple of hooting barn owls and a crazy to keep me company.

"You think you can disrespect my sister like that, you got another thing coming!" It wasn't his loud manner that was disturbing, it was the shotgun under his arm.

"It's only a bumper sticker! Hell, you knocked me off the road for that? Unchain me right now!"

"You're in no position to order anyone around! Shut your mouth or I'll shut it for you!"

He paced up and down, glancing at me and toying with his gun.

"Look, guy, I'm a nobody. If it's money you want, I've got some in my..." He'd taken my jacket.

"Yes, I know. I've got all your stuff."

"Then...what? What is this all about?"

"Don't go playing the fool with me!" It isn't the weapon that hurts you, it's the person holding it. A gun butt hurts when placed forcefully against your head. Took me a while to get up from that one.

"So...it's not money, you've got my money. It's the bumper sticker? Seriously?"

"No, of course not! But it shows your shallow mentality!"

"Do...do I know you?" I would have recognised this monster of a man with a gun under his arm if I'd seen him before.

"No. But I know someone you've met."

Met? I'm a light bulb salesperson. I meet a lot of people, sometimes in dark rooms.

"Who? Who do I know?"

"My mother!"

Crap. I'd done a few dodgy deals with some old ladies in the past week. Even sold a tonload of LEDs to an old girl down in Ajo. About $200 worth. What she was going to do with them, I had no idea. Perhaps make a disco ball from all her chandaliers. Nice town.

"Really?"

"Yes, really. Does Mavis Henkell ring a bell?"

"Err..." That was the one. Damn. He threw a large opened cardboard box in front of me and aimed his gun.

"Remember her now?"

"Err...yes, yes, I do. I'll reimburse her, I promise. I'll give back double she paid...really, really, I will. I'm sorry..."

"What? Reimburse! No, you dumbass! You gave her the wrong box! She wanted pink and purple lights, not blue and green!"

He locked and loaded.

Weekend Quickie 88 (92) – Terrible

(200 words. A priest, a rabbi, a cowboy, a photo of a roller skate disco)

"Hey, the other day I saw a cowboy, a priest and a rabbi going into a roller skate disco," started Bob.

"What is this? A joke?" asked Ted.

"No, really! They were doing some fancy dress roller skate disco up at the Rec. I went as a gorilla."

"No change there, then. Did you at least get it cleaned this time?"

"The smell and moss give it authenticity!"

"It gives you no friends!"

"Whatever. But you know what?"

"What?"

"There was a terrible accident a few hours later, you know, all those costumes, people can't skate properly."

"Uh-huh. Anything on the telly?"

"Anyway, a lot of people got hurt. Cuts, bruises, even broken bones. The cowboy broke both legs."

"Ride 'em cowboy...oh good, some QI repeats on 'Dave'."

"Are you listening?"

"Trying not to."

"Well,do you know what?"

"I guess I'm gonna find out...why isn't this remote working?"

"Hit it."

"Right."

"You know what? The guys dressed up as the priest and the rabbi?"

"Yeah?"

"Everyone else got hurt..."

"Let me guess, they came out of it unscathed, due to some 'godlike' force?"

"No. They died on the spot. I told you it was a terrible accident."

Weekend Quickie 89 (93) Sunday Edition - Chuck

(200 words Ice Cream Sundae, Weight Watchers, horn-rimmed glasses, a donkey)

"What about that one?" Bob tucked into his chocolate ice cream sundae. I glanced over to where he'd pointed.

"Whoa! Who let that dog out?" I was at it again, scouting for birds at our local summer fete. Not one of them would touch me but that wouldn't stop me from looking.

"Nothing wrong with her," he slurped.

"Nothing that six months at Weight Watchers couldn't solve, no. The monobrow and moustache are a bonus, I guess, eh?"

"Okay, she's not the greatest thing on four...two legs."

"Not much fashion sense, either. I mean, horn-rimmed glasses?"

"Come on, Retro! It's the 'in-thing'."

"Yeah, but I think they're original. And the long, swishing summer dress don't set her natural curves, all seven of them, off well."

"More to grab hold of, Ted."

"You know how to make my day, don't you, Bob?"

"Oh yes."

"Face it, Bob, she's a swamp donkey to the highest degree." He got hurt with that last remark and forlornly placed his spoon back into his bowl.

"Okay, I'll go over there and tell her the engagement's off." He walked away, a broken man.

"Break it to her gently, now. You don't want to get crushed!"

104 – Word Blind

(The next to the last person alive on Earth, image of woman reading a book in a windowseat in a house, you have written the best story you could have ever wrote. Tell me about it. A lawn mower blade)

(50 word special)

She quietly sat there in the windowseat, reading the best story I've ever written about the next to last person alive on Earth, when a lawn mower blade smashed through the window and cleanly sliced off her head. I had told Bernie not to cut the grass in the rain!

(500 words)

She sat there, cuddled up with my new manuscript in the windowseat as the rain came down outside. We were alone in the cottage, no phone, no television, no electricity. Our closest neighbours were miles away across the valley and the nearest shop was in the next county. We'd been couped up in this place for almost three months, both trying to write our own masterpieces of literature, with no contact from the outside world. It was as though she was the next to last person alive on Earth.

"I'm telling you, Dorothy, that is the best story I have ever written and could ever write," I said, breaking the silence.

"Uh-huh." She continued to read, turning the pages slowly.

"I think I've caught the essence of what I was looking for, a little Eliot and Faulkner, some Williams and a hint of Salinger."

"Uh-huh."

In my lap was her manuscript, well-thumbed and earmarked. Not only had I read and reread it a dozen times and left scribbled notes on every page, I'd also left some Post-its in places I thought needed some drastic attention. Hers was a romance, a story similar to Austen and Brontë mixed into the 21st century. A little too quaint for my liking but a good effort.

"Well?" She'd been at it all day, reading and rereading parts of my story, but not saying a word, writing one note, giving any indication of what she thought of it. I was becoming increasingly frustrated.

"A minute," was all she'd say. That was over three hours ago.

I sighed and went to make another tea. When I came back, she was looking out of the window, watching the rain. My manuscript was on the table, lying there like some unwanted beast.

"Ooo, I'd die for one thanks." She took my tea and I went back for another.

"Well?" I asked once again.

"It's good."

"'It's good'. It's good? Is that all you have to say?"

"Yes. It's good."

"Right." We sat in silence. The clock ticked on and the rain hit the window.

"I do, however, have a few questions," she said, clearing her throat.

"Yes?" Finally, some feedback from three months of work. I sweated over this story, stayed up late to complete my daily quota, until I finally finished the first draft. It was then a grind as I drove through my first edit, finding my spelling mistakes and continuity errors, and a pleasure tweaking the melody of the piece until I came to the finished article.

"Yes. What's with all the blood?"

"Blood?"

"Yes. And the lawn mower blade? Why a lawn mower blade?"

I was confused. What lawn mower blade? And blood?

"I...well...erm..."

"Yes, why does one of your main characters die from a spinning lawn mower blade?"

"Poetic justice? She hated mowing the lawn?" What had she read? Was this my book? I picked up the manuscript and flicked through the pages. I could believe it, I had written a zombie clone.

The "Weekday" Quickie #2 – Hail to the Chief!

(Write a poem about the President of the United States. Grey Matter, Mars, Insurance, Chunky Chocolate Chips and Guitars)

With tons of chunky chocolate chips and flashy sleek guitars,

And more grey matter and health insurance on the red planet of Mars,

The President of the United States sits and wonders at the stars,

At why his loving caring wife didn't buy more Hershey bars.

Weekend Quickie 94 – TV License

(peaches, cat, a man in a white van, Betamax)

That man in the white van again. Was it time? Or was I paranoid?

I closed the curtains and turned on the lights, ready for another night in. They were showing some Star Trek shows tonight on TV, out of respect for Leonard Nimoy. Looking for a snack, I opened the cupboards only to find a can of peaches. A few hours later, the shows were over, the peaches gone. Tom the cat came creeping in, purring away. Time to feed him. With Tom in one hand, I peeped out to see the white van still sitting outside. Paranoia overload. Was it really time?

After feeding Tom, I went into the basement and searched the boxes. Found it, along with some old tapes. I hoped it worked. Upstairs, I plugged in my old Betamax, switched it on and it came to life. I unplugged the TV cable from the back of the TV and hid it in the secret hole in the wall. There was a ring at the door. I fumbled with a tape and pushed it into the machine, hearing it whirr away.

"Yes?"

"Excuse me sir, but I'm with the BBC. Can I see your TV license?"

The "Weekday" Quickie #3 - Nagyi

(a letter to your favourite grandma, jelly beans, All about the Bass, vitamins, Hump Day)

Dear Nagyi,

I wanted to write you a letter, so here it is.

I really miss you, Nagyi. Are you coming back? I miss those three hour meals over at your place in the darkest eighth with your crazy neighbour breaking up old furniture for firewood and listening to the heated discussions outside between the whores and their pimps. I miss your pogacsa and noodli and ten ton sponge cakes we used to eat when we came over on hump day.

I'm really sorry you mistook that batch of ecstasy pills which accidentally fell out of my jacket pocket when I visited you that time for your daily vitamins and then you proceeded to dance and sing along to the radio playing 'All About that Bass' by Meghan Trainor followed by you lecturing me on the pros and cons of using wooden handled spoons as opposed to plastic until the early hours of the next day. I'm sorry those pills turned your brains into a can of jelly beans and forced the family to send you to a care home.

So if you can read this, if you ever do learn English, I want to say... I love you.

Csabi

Weekend Quickie 95 (Sunday Edition) – Friends

(a Dvd that you hate, a monkey, a pocket watch, the theme song to Friends. 200 words)

"So no one told you life was..."

"Oh, shut up! It's bad enough I have to watch this, let alone listen to you singing the tune!" I hated Friends. They were all so...smug and self-absorbed. And who the hell stays together like that? All my mates ran off and left me with...Dougie. The Dick.

"Sorry."

He took out his pocket watch and gave it a wind as the program began.

"And stop doing that. Jesus, Dougie, you're so irritating."

His lip drooped, making him look like some sad monkey in his bow tie and waistcoat. Who exactly did he think he was? He wouldn't win any fashion prizes, especially with that bumfluff of a moustache.

"I'm sorry, Brian."

"Don't Brian me, it's Bri, okay?"

"Okay. But just think, I could have put in 'Titanic', my favourite."

"Please! You're killing me! That's the worst movie on DVD that we have! I hate it so much!"

"You hate it. I love it."

"Finally. This is the one with the stoned guy. Small blessings. I'm telling ya, Dougie, this was the last time I let you push me into betting 'double or nothing' in tiddlywinks to choose our Saturday night entertainment."

Weekend Quickie 96 – Red haired Potter

(A Goblin, a red haired boy, a booger, Jose Cuervo)

Whoa, that's the biggest booger ever!" Gizmot exclaimed, scratching his arse.

"Nope. That would be the booger of '74. Grew that one in my nose for 341 days. This one was a baby compared to that, only 112." Flith stuck it to the bottom of a chair. "Wait til the cleaner finds that one!"

"For a goblin, you're pretty disgusting, you know that?"

"Yep. But I'm a disgusting but classy goblin."

"Why's that?"

Flith took out a bottle of tequila from his backpack.

"Double whoa! This is a Jose Cuervo, Reserva de la Familia!"

"Only the best for my mate Gizmot on his...birthday! Happy Birthday, buddy!"

A tear rolled down Gizmot's face.

"Ahh, you shouldn't have..."

"I didn't. That one's for me." Flith snatched it back, smashed the top and swallowed the lot. "This one's for you." He threw a 1985 Austrian antifreeze-filled Auslese.

"Thanks."

"Drink up." Gizmot rested on the teacher's desk and looked at the clock on the wall. "So, when's this boy coming?"

"About now, by all reckoning." They both stared at the door.A little red haired boy came in.

"Him? Him? He's the next Master Wizard?"

"Yep."

"Come back, Harry Potter, all is forgiven."

105 - The Battle for Snagglyprinch

(Written in Dr. Seuss Style (The Cat in the Hat), any Dr. Seuss Character (the Grinch), any machine from a Dr. Seuss book, not associated with the character you chose (Bad-Animal-Catching-Machine (If I Ran the Zoo)) , any Dr. Seuss theme not associated with the character or machine (what he was really saying in one of his books)(the concept of war itself, the moral issues related to war and the outcomes of retaliatory acts (The Butter Battle Book))

I lay in the grass,

The sky so sky blue,

And I said, "Oh, my

I have nothing to do!"

"I don't have a worry,

Not a care nor a woe."

So I lay in the grass

With no arrows in my bow.

So all I did was

lay!

lay!

lay!

lay!

With nothing more to say.

Doing nothing the whole day.

And then something went CRASH!

Followed by a god awful SMASH!

I looked!

I saw him!

That trouble and toil!

I saw him, I said,

"You make my blood boil!

Grinch, why are you here?

With that Bad-Animal-Catching-Machine?

Why are you here?

That thing's so gross and obscene!"

"I want to catch Snagglyprinch,"

said the Grinch.

"I need their soup tails,"

said the Grinch, his grin mean.

"A lot of soup tails,"

said the Grinch with a gleam.

Then I stood up

From my stupor and rest.

And pointed a finger

At that insolent pest.

I shouted, "No! No!

You cannot do this hunt!

Those poor Snagglyprinch!

You should not try this stunt!

You go away now!

You go leave this place.

Or I'll make a vow

To show off your disgrace!"

"Now! Now! Do not fret.

Don't worry," said the Grinch.

"This machine isn't bad.

They won't even flinch!

Why, I catch each one

And take off its tail

Without a whimper.

I'm not known to fail."

I screamed "Stop it this instance!"

And took out my bow

I said "Keep your distance!

I won't have this, no!"

"A bow?" said the Grinch.

"That will get you nowhere.

Here is my gun

And here is its pair."

So with a gun in one hand

And a piece in the other,

The Grinch stood his ground

While I searched for another.

"So it's war that you want?

It's war that you need?

Well, here's my new Uzi

That'll sure make you plead!

I can mess you right up!

I can fill you with holes!

So big you'll take in

A family of moles!"

"Oh please!" said the Grinch.

"With that little thing?

All it'll give me

Is one little sting.

Now take this big blunderbuss

Kills six at one go.

Don't you know?

Don't you know?

I'll make a nice lampshade

Outta your little head

So I think it is time

You took back what you said."

I said "Look here, you Grinch

You haven't won yet!

Why, I've still got bazookas

And howitzers set.

If you think you have upped me

Then chances that you

Will come to a sticky end

Stronger than glue!"

"Look here you young scondrel,

It was fun to start with

But now I will call up

My bestest best Sith!"

And we stood there together

Armed up to the teeth,

With shotguns and Uzis and swords

Out of sheaths.

We foamed at the mouth

And trembled with rage

Who was going to turn

The next page?

"Well," said the Grinch,

"Perhaps I might think

Of doing this elsewhere.

But then again..." *wink*

List of elements for Challenges 79-105 (including Grudge Matches and Opens) and Weekend and Weekday Quickies 50-96

Challenges and Extras

79 - Genetically Enhanced Garden Gnomes, Camelot, Halitosis, Stratego

80 - Furby, Peel Trident car, a lost Emperor, Dr Pepper

NEWSFLASH: Iron Writers in a Bristle (TIW Blog)

81 (Grudge 10)- bear on a unicycle, all characters are household objects, homemade fireworks, Ninja weapnry

82 - A Arnold Schwarzenegger Commando Action Figure, A New (10th) Circle of Hell (meaning you have to make it up and give it a title), The Dunning Kruger Effect, Perfume Atomizer

NEWSFLASH: Demise of the Deadly Duo? (TIW Blog)

The Mirror - Impromtu Relay (18 9 2014)

83 - image of seeing people stadning over a grave, Saggitians, theme song people would play if you walked into a room, W7JFQ ham radio call sign

Grudge 11 - Neo (from Matrix) holding a Sooty Puppet, One character must be riding a pogo stick, Must contain at least three characters with no spoken dialogue between them, Must implement every line of the William Carlos Williams poem, The Red Wheelbarrow, in order (Lines may be interspersed with other prose but individual lines of the poem must be intact.)

84 - Autumn Preliminary Round (Agatha Christie bracket) - Misophonia, Stockholm Syndrome, Something found on a deceased body that would be an embarrassment to the family, Told from the point of view of an interview of someone not yet born

The Duel of Procrastination - One Man Show (4-6 Oct 2014)

85 - (Autumn Equinox Final) - Learn to train your wife in 5 easy lessons (picture), If you are male, you must write your story from the wife's negative point of view. If you are female, you must write the story from the husband's positive point of view.Main Character suffers from Pseudobulbar Affect. Breast Cancer

86 - (Mathew W. Weaver Challenge) - pickled frog, batarang, goat's hoof, home brewed maple syrup

Grudge 12 - dystopian, red Lionel toy train, (all characters in a cardboard box, one character learning 'duck' language

87 - (Pitman/Caile Challenge) - A group of old west cowboys sitting around a fire, ping pong, an inept hitman, the Gloustershire Cheese Rolling competition

88 - (Richard Russell Challenge) - A bouquet of flowers in a trash can, Draw inspiration from "The Pretender" by Jackson Browne, A critically important secret military message, Encroaching storm clouds

89 - (DL Mackenzie Challenge) - A Montblanc Fountain Pen, Vengeance, Telekinesis, The Tigris River

90 - image of two snails kissing while balancing on floating cherries in water, the Drake Equation, Guy Fawkes Night, fried Bologna sandwich cookoff

Grudge 13 - surviving the rain storm without a shelter, a belligerent raccoon, one half dialogue, one half description, story must be centered around the bubonic plague

91 (Steven L Bergeron Challenge) - Carnegie Hall, Prostate Cancer, Facial Hair, Barbershop Quartet

92 - Molasses flood, a Hobson Choice, the last person alive on Earth, a quilting bee

93 - Soylent Beige (drink), Tap dance shoes, steampunk tiger, half a can of flat Dr. Pepper

94 - Han Solo refrigerator, A jury summons, A tame dinosaur, The story must begin OR end with: "Will you take me away and will you make me your wife?"

95 - Bacon, a pair of skis, a group of faceless aliens in green silver suits -4 - first one putting hand up 'halt' or 'hi', Takanakuy

96 (Winter Solstice Prelim) - A grieving boy, Growing up and growing old, An imprisoning life, An adventuresome journey

97 (Winter Solstice Final) - 1968 Elvis Presley Comeback Special, someone mowing/cutting grass, a note left on a car, argyle socks

98 - Botticelli game, long hair, Tiger lily, Steampunk goggles

99 - (cartoon image of writer (Sylvester the Cat) drinking coffee, smoking and trying to write, a howdah, Told from a POV of an alien who views humans both as food and pets, floor buffer)

100 - anhydrous ammonia, White chocolate or dark chocolate, A flagpole, image of knight being held by 3 guards

101 - Venice Frozen (see image below), A lame llama, Straight jacket, A thumb match to settle a grudge

102 – An event that changes a character's personality, A measuring tape, Tetherball, Haggis

"Escribe de'Trois" Challenge – (a tree stand, star dust, edible underwear)

103 - Iron Handcuffs, Barn owls, A light bulb salesperson, A Bumper sticker

104 - The next to the last person alive on Earth, image of woman reading a book in a windowseat in a house, you have written the best story you could have ever wrote. Tell me about it. A lawn mower blade

105 - Written in Dr. Seuss Style (The Cat in the Hat), any Dr. Seuss Character (the Grinch), any machine from a Dr. Seuss book, not associated with the character you chose (Bad-Animal-Catching-Machine (If I Ran the Zoo)) , any Dr. Seuss theme not associated with the character or machine (what he was really saying in one of his books)(the concept of war itself, the moral issues related to war and the outcomes of retaliatory acts (The Butter Battle Book))

Quickies

Weekend Quickie 50 - image – desert with cacti and full moon, element – a falling star, emotion - Ablutophobia

Weekend Quickie 51 – image – jar of marbles, element – time travel, emotion – philophobia

Weekend Quickie 52 – image – rain on a night city street, element – wish upon a star, emotion – bittersweet feeling

Weekend Quickie 1st Anniversary - All 52 elements

Weekend Quickie 52 – 300 words max, write a postcard to an enemy, 5 words to use - freckles, heckles, pickles, jeckles, spinach, postcard image - couple at ComCon

Weekend Quickie 53 - 300 words max, write a postcard to an enemy, 5 words to use - freckles, heckles, pickles, jeckles, spinach, postcard image - couple at ComCon

Weekend Quickie 54 - Genre: Horror, Time: 5 minutes, Start with: He liked to eat their skin first..., End with: He sat with a smile on his face and his belly full.

Weekend Quickie 55 Sunday Edition - You just got pulled over by a cop for speeding. You are poor, and way too clever to get a ticket. Write down the scenario below with what you would say to get out of it... It is never too late to practice the art of B.S. No more than 300 Words. No more than 10 minutes.

Weekend Quickie 56 - Genre: Fantasy, Word Count: Exactly 250 Words! Start with: The Alien Forces were moved among the...Include the words: carnage, litter box, Facebook Status, and Charlie Brown. While writing, listen to this song. Play over and over until finished. http://youtu.be/jY9dQ8hUi7U (Edge of Night (Pippin's Song from Lord of the Rings)

Weekend Quickie 57 (Sunday Edition) The Love Boat, The Song: The Love Shack, Picture Below of *The Love Cactus* Genre: Comedy. 250 Words Max

Weekend Quickie 58 - A member of the Iron Writer, an iron, a blunt object, a noose.Write a 200 word story (exact) and use the above elements.Genre: science fiction

Weekend Quickie 59 - You just received your 'Owl' from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry. Write about going through platform 9 3/4 for the first time. You must use the following words:Haircut, iPhone, Dog Collar, Kitchen Utensil. Only 250 words.

Weekend Quickie 60 (Sunday Edition) - You've been nominated to give the next Presidential Election Speech from your State/(Area in which you live–for those of you out of the States). Only in this Speech, your 'hopeful' has lost. Use the words below!Hairdryer, Jar of Pickles, Parliament, Hairy crackers, Massage Parlor. Word Limit: 500

Weekend Quickie 61 - (Amusement Park, Can of snakes, McDonald's, Emotion: Terror)

Weekend Quickie 62 (Monday Edition) - Tom Selleck, Clydesdale horse, Dr. Pepper, refridgerator

Weekend Quickie 63 -(Michelle Obama dressed as Monica Lewinsky, Trick or Treat, carrots, the White House)

Weekend Quickie 64 (Sunday Edition) - The song "Born in the USA", Hungary, Russian hat dance, Happy - 250 words

Weekend Quickie 65 - Murder, Moron, Victory, a feeling of being full - 250 words

Weekend Quickie 66 (Sunday Edition) - Tom Cruise, Protestant, Ian vs Dani, feeling of losing a running race to Richard Russell

Weekend Quickie 67 - Taylor Swift, lollipop, Oklahoma, an International Sidewalk Chalk Champion Artist - 250 words maximum

Weekend Quickie 68 (Sunday Edition) - Write down 5 words that start with the 3rd letter of your first name. (Do not read any more until you do this!) (nail, neither, nowhere, nothing, never). Now, take the third word and write a poem centered around this. (Nowhere). Poem needs to be one stanza long.

Weekend Quickie 69 - Two people meeting for the first time, the number 8, catfish, the feeling of being anxious. Max 250 words

Weekend Quickie 70 (Monday Edition) - The winner of a thumb wrestling competition, time capsule, tax audit - 70 words

Weekend Quickie 71 - The feeling of being tired, winter thaw, hamburger patties , armed and dangerous little red riding hood

Weekend Quickie 72 - You just found out that you won 1 million dollars, Amputated ear, James Franco, Ballet Shoes - 100 word Max

Thanksgiving- The All Week Story– part 1 - You must title your story. Your story will begin with the second letter of your middle name, and end with the street that you lived on as a child. You need to have three characters, and only three, and one must be a Dr. Frankenstein fan. The beginning of your story must take place in a rest area restroom. You need to use the following words: tea cosy, Neosporin, and cranberry sauce. 900 words.

Thanksgiving- The All Week Story– part 2 - One of your characters must die.One of your characters must break out into song. One of your characters just found out that he/she is a shapeshifter. 300 words.

Thanksgiving- The All Week Story– part 3 - you will add a new character to the mix, and she is the daughter of one of the characters in your story. One character will also discover something very important. 150 words.

Thanksgiving- The All Week Story– part 4 - a flashback for one of your characters...in the flashback, you have to mention the Iron Writer, and one of the writers that participates in the group.200 words.

Thanksgiving- The All Week Story– part 5 - a sudden snow storm, an odd televized event, and a short poem.159 words

Thanksgiving- The All Week Story– part 6 - one of your characters sends an important letter, while another thinks about his/her past.200 words

Thanksgiving- The All Week Story– part 7 - Someone is saved, Someone dies in the arms of another, a sunset

Twelve Days of Christmas Iron Writer Style Day 1 - A Christmas Story. Red Ryder BB gun, turkey-eating dogs, double dog dare. 400 words.

Twelve Days of Christmas Iron Writer Style Day 2 - It's a Wonderful Life!Write your own version of what happens when a bell rings! It has nothing to do with angels, and everything to do with gargoyles and demons! You must use the words: Garland, Baubles, Charlie Brown and Stella. 400 words

Twelve Days of Christmas Iron Writer Style Day 3 - Love Always. One character is Alan Rickman, the song Billy Mack, "Christmas is all around". 400 words.

Twelve Days of Christmas Iron Writer Style Day 4 - The Muppets Christmas Carol. You must use the Muppets as characters, Michael Caine, Song: "I want a hippotamus for Christmas". 500 word max

Twelve Days of Christmas Iron Writer Style Day 5 - Brian Rogers as the Grinch, Five gold rings, the roast beast, A ten and 1/2 foot pole. 500 words

Twelve Days of Christmas Iron Writer Style Day 6 - Your story should center around "Buddy the Elf", Spaghetti with maple syrup, six geese a laying, lingerie, and this all should be taking place during a zombie apocalypse. 500 words

Twelve Days of Christmas Iron Writer Style Day 7 - Rudolph, Reindeer Games, Abominable Snowman, Seven Swans a Swimming. 400 Words

Twelve Days of Christmas Iron Writer Style Day 8 - Tattoos, Eight maids a milking, handcuffs, coal. 400 words

Twelve Days of Christmas Iron Writer Style Day 9 - War, Nine ladies dancing, The Song White Christmas. 250 words

Twelve Days of Christmas Iron Writer Style Day 10 - Christmas Lights, Shitter's full!, 10 Lords a leaping!, a fried cat, Christie Brinkley and 'Mele Kalikimaka' (hawaiian Christmas song) 500 words.

Twelve Days of Christmas Iron Writer Style Day 11 - Two robbers, the song "Rockin around the Christmas Tree", a stolen toothbrush, Eleven Pipers Piping. As many or as few words as you want

Twelve Days of Christmas Iron Writer Style Day 12 - A Danny Elfman Song, 12 drummers drumming, Tim Burton, a large moon. No word limit.

Weekend Quickie 75 - A Nude Waiter, $75.00, Chipmunk, the feeling of Amusement. 150 Words

Weekend Quickie 76 - You have gone back in time and are now a child again; write a letter to Santa using the following words: Tonic, Cranberries, Love, Smoked Salmon

Weekend Quickie 77 (Sunday Edition) - Write a 250 word short using the following: baby, Kissing, Fern, Spaghetti, The feeling of being amorous

The Christmas Quickie 78(in the shape of a tree) -(Make a Christmas poem in the shape of a tree! Make this poem all about you and your family traditions! Use whatever words that you would like, and have fun doing it.)

Weekend Quickie 79 - Double Trouble, Love, Snickers, The feeling of being satisfied. 150 words

Weekend Quickie 80 Sunday edition - Write a New Year's Resolution with the following words: Turkey neck, George W. Bush, The Matrix, Candy, The feeling of being overwhelmed.

Weekend Quickie 79 (81) - (A Marvel Superhero, A Sandstorm, Oreo Cookies, The feeling of being a Stud. 150 words)

Weekend Quickie Sunday Edition 80 (82) - (The Song "I like them Big and Chunky", a Donkey, one of the Iron Writers, a Cat. 150 Words)

Weekend Quickie 81 (83) - Love, Ice cream, Murder, Heterophobia. 150 words

Weekend Quickie #81 (84) - Skittles, spurs, image of woman on horse (cowboy style), feeling of being perplexed

Weekend Quickie Sunday Edition 82 (85) - A picture of the Frozen sisters, Elsa and Anna, Cheese, aA conman, a song from the movie The Sound of Music.

Weekend Quickie 82 (86) - A Snow Day, Cajun food, a letter to a stranger. 150 words

Weekend Quickie Sunday Edition 83 (87) - Superbowl halftime show, Peanuts, Allergic reaction to stadium seating.150 words

Weekend Quickie #84 (88) - A loser, an old license plate, a figure 8. 150 words.Genre: Fantasy)

Weekend Quickie #85 (89) Sunday Edition - Barbed wire, a cat in heat, sled riding, a broken down zamboni. 200 words. Genre: romance

Weekend Quickie 86 (90) - Edible Underwear, Godzilla, a Mannequin that looks like your mother, Victoria Secret. 150 words

Weekend Quickie 87 (91) Sunday Edition - RPaticorn (Robert Pattinson), a Brick, a Palm tree, a Japanese Fisherman. 150 words

Weekend Quickie 88 (92) - 200 words. A priest, a rabbi, a cowboy, a photo of a roller skate disco

Weekend Quickie 89 (93) Sunday Edition - 200 words. Ice Cream Sundae, Weight Watchers, Horn-rimmed glasses, donkey

Weekend Quickie 94 – peaches, cat, a man in a white van, Betamax

Weekend Quickie 95 (Sunday Edition) - a Dvd that you hate, a monkey, a pocket watch, the theme song to Friends. 200 words

Weekend Quickie 96 – a goblin, a redhaired boy, a booger, Jose Cuervo

The "Weekday" Quickie #1– Lunar New Year - Rules: you may only use the letter a four times in your story. There will not be any mammals in this story. 250 words. Chinese Lunar New Year, the name Dieter, a carrot

The "Weekday" Quickie #2 - Write a poem about the President of the United States. Grey Matter, Mars, Insurance, Chunky Chocolate Chips and Guitars

The "Weekday" Quickie #3 - a letter to your favourite grandma, jelly beans, All about the Bass, Vitamins, Hump Day

Other work by Dani J Caile

All books are available on Amazon!

'Dani's Shorts' (Volume 1)

'Dani's Shorts' is a collection of 500 word short stories based on the elements given in the Iron Writer Challenge. These 28 short stories show a range of Dani's favourite writing styles, including pair dialogues, internal thoughts and sardonic parodies.

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/351327

'Dani's Shorts 2' (Volume 2)

Yes, it's Volume 2 of TIW shorts! Yet another collection of totally pointless exactly 500 and exactly 200 word nonsense to entertain you while doing whatever you do when reading. I hope you enjoy these short snippets just as much as you enjoyed Volume 1.

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/409062

'Dani's Shorts 3' (Volume 3)

Wow, it's already Volume 3 of TIW shorts! The third collection of totally pointless exactly 500 Challenge and exactly 200 Weekend Quickie word nonsense (plus a few relays and collaborations) to entertain you while doing whatever you do when reading

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/470944

"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....

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 a small freebie...

'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

Coming soon...

Baby Shoes (anthology)

100 authors, 100 stories, 1000 words each

The Desert Bus (anthology)

Who exactly is travelling on the 'Desert Bus'?

Along Bobbed a Peanut

Brad Shaw investigates a murder on a remote island.

The Invasion

Humanity, on the brink of extinction, is forced to make one last stand against unknown invaders.

And remember, if you are 'up to the Challenge', then go to...

http://theironwriter.com/

...back to the top...

