Friday Fictioneers: Rodney Dangerfish

Welcome Dear Readers! It’s time Friday Fictioneers brought to us through the miracle of technology and the miracle of Rochell Wisoff Field’s blog Addicted to Purple. 

Go over and check out the picture, write a 100-word story about it and link up! You’ll never regret it.  It’s as easy as shooting fish in a barrel although we would NEVER actually do something like that! Would we?

And now for this week’s picture prompt:

Copy
Copyright – Douglas M. MacIlroy

Rodney Dangerfish

It’s my birthday. But do any of these suckers care?  I don’t get no respect.

The other day I saw a friend of mine,  Buckminster.  I says hey, Buckminster, how’s it goin?  And he says hi Marla.  So I told him, my name’s not Marla, Marla’s my girlfriend.  He says, what a coincidence, she’s my girlfriend too!”

I don’t get no respect.

I told the Big Kahuna it was my birthday.  He says Happy Birthday, Marla.  I says thanks but my name’s not Marla, Marla’s my girlfriend but she has the same birthday.

Big Kahuna says what a coincidence.  She’s my girlfriend too.

Rodney Dangerfish.  He gets no respect.
Rodney Dangerfish. He gets no respect.

Until next time . . . I love you

Trifecta Writing Challenge: Bob’s Face

Welcome Dear Readers to this week’s Trifecta Writing Challenge.  This week we are asked to write a story between 33 and 333 words using the third definition of the word boo: 3 (verb) to show dislike or disapproval of someone or something by shouting “Boo” slowly –

Bob’s Face

“Boo!”    Gwen slowly pushed the word from her mouth and put on her glasses to follow along in the script as her boyfriend, Bob, acted out his lines.

“Boo?  But Gwen –I haven’t even recited the first line yet.”

“I know, Bob.  I wanted to get my criticism out of the way first thing.”

Captain Splitz!  I wouldn’t go into the engine room if I were you.  Not without your bull whip!” Bob emoted passionately.

“Funny,” Gwen remarked.

“It’s not supposed to be funny.”

“No, I mean it’s funny I never noticed your ears wiggle when you talk, Bob.”

“What?”

“They do, Bob.  Here, I’ve got a mirror in my purse.”

“Gwen, please!  I don’t need to see my ears wiggle.”

“Fine.  If you don’t want to see your ears wiggle it’s no skin off my nose.”

“Where was I? Oh yes . . .  Captain Splitz!  I wouldn’t go into the engine room  if I were you!  Not without your—“

Gwen stifled a little giggle.

“Now what?”

“Nothing Bob, keep going.”

“Captain Splitz!  I wouldn’t go— what are you giggling about Gwen!”

“It’s your eyes, Bob.”

“What about them?”

“Funny.  I never realized until now they look like two ice-blue eggs, sunny-side up!”

“Gwen, can we please get back to the script?”

“Sure, you don’t want to  look at your weird eggy eyes, Bob, it’s fine by me.”

“Captain Splitz!  I wouldn’t go in there if I were you!  Not without your bull whip!” Bob looked up at Gwen.  “Well?”

“Well what?”

“Aren’t you going to say anything about my mouth?  Or maybe you want to tell me how weird my hair looks?”

“Bob!  How can you say that?  I’m nothing if not supportive.  How dare you suggest otherwise! You are so lucky to have me as your girlfriend.”

You’re right.  I’m sorry Gwen.  Bob took a deep breath and began again.  “Captain Splitz!  I wouldn’t—”

“But your nose does kind of look like a piece of bacon, Bob.”

“Captain Splitz! I wouldn’t go into the engine room if I were you! Not without your bull whip!”

Until next time . . . I love you

 

Trifecta Writing Challange: Lunch at Applebeezlebub’s

Welcome Dear Readers!

It’s now time for some Trifextra fun. Thirty years ago, Roald Dahl published the book Dirty Beasts, a collection of poems for children about weird and wonderful animals. The last poem, however, is called The Tummy Beast about a boy who thinks there’s someone living in his belly. Your Trifextra challenge is to write 33 words on a beast in an unusual place. No swamps or forests or caves, we really want you to take your beast out of its comfort zone.

Lunch at Applebeezlebub’s

Yes, I’ll have a heinous house salad.

Beverage?

Just demonic unholy water.

Very good.

What’s today’s soup?

Menacing Minestrone.

What’s in it?

Demonically-possessed macaroni mostly.

Hmm . . .

It’s maliciously delicious.

Well, okay — I guess.

Evil Elbow Macroni.  It's what's for dinner.
Evil Elbow Macroni. Is it lurking in your Minestrone?

Until next time . . . I love you

Friday Fictioneers: The Day Beethoven Schlepped

Welcome Dear Readers!

It’s time for the  fabulousness of the Friday Fictioneers where bloggers from around the solar system are challenged to write a 100-word story prompted by the weekly picture hosted and posted by Rochelle Wisoff Fields over at Addicted to Purple.  This week’s picture was provided by Rochelle herself:

copyright – Rochelle Wisoff-Fields
Copyright – Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

The Day Beethoven Over Schlepped

Beethoven!

What now, Mozart?

You broke my piano!

But I was sleeping.

You broke it when you rolled over, Beethoven!  You’re a horrible roommate!

You’re no prize yourself, Zart.

I told you to call me Mozart!  It suits my artistic temperament better!

Really? Better than knucklehead?

That does it! Pack your symphonies and go move in with Schubert.

Ah come on!  You know that guy puts the phony in symphony.  Listen, I’ll buy us a new piano.

And the garbage?

I’m Beethoven, I don’t schlep.

Do I have to call Schubert?

Okay! Don’t get your fingers in a knot! I’m schlepping, I’m schlepping.

* * *

Until next time . . . I love you

Hey Lookee Me! I’m Gluten Free!

Welcome Welcome Dear Readers! This is a post about what happened when I decided to go gluten free.

I went to Fryes this weekend to buy a breadmaker.  I don’t really like Fryes much because I think they are over-priced and while they look like they have a lot of choices, it seems like they always only have one left of the thing I came to buy – which makes me suspicious that somebody bought it, took it home, found out there were missing parts, returned it, and the clerk taped it back up and put it back on the shelf.

But I bought it anyway because I’m too lazy to go to any other stores because I don’t know where they are located complicated by the fact that I don’t know what store it is that I need to go to.

So you see, it’s much simpler to just get whatever is on the shelf at Fryes.

Another thing I don’t like about Fryes is that the clerks, while they are polite and seem helpful, never really are helpful.  It usually goes something like this:

Clerk:  “May I help you?”

Me:  “Yes, I want to buy a breadmaker and there’s only one on the shelf. Are there anymore in the back?”

Clerk:  “I don’t know, I don’t think so.”

Me:  “Can you check?”

Clerk: “No, I’m sure there’s no more in the back.”

Me:  “Well, do you know if this last breadmaker on the shelf here is in a box that has been opened previously?”

Clerk:  “I don’t know.  Let me see.” The clerk looks at the box, “I don’t think so.  But you can always bring it back if it has.”

Then when you get in the checkout line, Fryes has this elaborate maze set up lined with snacks, books, electronics and As Seen on TV items to ponder. It makes you feel like a rat in a maze — a rat with a debit card in a maze.

When you get to the front of the line there is a clerk whose sole job is to tell you which register has a green light. When I went this weekend the guy told me the wrong number! I think he was just standing there blurting out numbers at random  52 . . . 17 . . . 43 . . . . (probably punctuated by thoughts such as I can’t believe I immigrated for this).

But you can’t really blame him for not putting his “all” into it since there is not much opportunity for promotion.  Unless, of course, he could somehow get on as the guy who reads off the lottery numbers on TV.

I stopped at the health food store on my way back from Fryes to get some gluten-free bread mix.  I’ve decided to go gluten-free which is why I bought the breadmaker.  I’m also trying to keep my diet dairy-free and sugar-free.  If I keep this up eventually I’ll be eating a totally food-free diet.

Anyway, this little visit to the health food store cost almost as much as the breadmaker did.  I guess health food stores operate under the assumption that, if you shop at their store and eat their healthy products, you will be less likely to have a heart attack when you see how much your health food purchase came to.

So I got home and poured in the gluten-free bread ingredients into the breadmaker (no parts missing btw . . . YAY!); plugged it in and it started making bread.

Making bread is scarier than making other baked goods because it has yeast in it which can make it do things on its own accord. Plus it’s in a machine that has been designed especially to help bread do what it does on its own accord; so you have to trust that it is going to do what it is supposed to do and not suddenly take on a life of its own and expand to fit the size of the kitchen or some other sci-fi thing like that.

But I am happy to report that I made the gluten-free bread without having to call my homeowner’s insurance agent, and it turned out exactly as it was supposed to turn out.

Which is apparently to taste just like cardboard only with crumbs.

But once I slathered it with butter and honey, it tasted fine.  So much for the dairy-free and sugar-free diet. But who cares because now I can say:

Hey lookee me!  I’m Gluten-Free!

Until next time . . . I love you

The California Ark Storm!

Welcome Dear Readers! Here’s a post I wrote awhile back.  I don’t remember how far back, but I’m pretty sure I wrote it within the last 100 years.

The California Ark Storm!

“There’s supposed to be a Storm to Remember coming this weekend!” my mailman warned.

Really!  I’d better get my camera out for this one.

Devestation caused by the storm to remember.

For the hearty souls who brave the threat of a major earthquake each and every day, Californians are surprisingly wimpy weather-wise.

For instance, rain is something out of which all California children must be kept.

What if they were outside, say, walking, say, and it started raining actual raindrops?  They are wet you know, and they are hurtling to earth at death-defying speeds.

Yes, it’s true the average California child has lived through six earthquakes so far, but that’s nothing when you compare it to getting slapped in the face with a bullet of H20.   Every Californian knows a thing like that could cause permanent nerve damage!

Californians would hate Seattle

In Seattle, where the sun shines so rarely it’s often mistaken for Venus, it’s just the opposite.

Weather exists only as degrees of dampness.  So Seattle-ites whip out their sunglasses the instant the sun makes an appearance.  They are quick on the draw, these Damp People.

You’ll be driving along on the Seattle freeway when suddenly the sun appears, ufo-like, from behind a rain-soaked, humidity-filled fog bank.  You quickly glance over at the cars on either side of you — and what do you know?  The drivers already have on their sunglasses.  Huh?  Why do they even own sunglasses?    Five seconds later, when the sun dashes behind a 120-percent-chance-of-rain cloud, all sunglasses are quickly removed, twirled between thumb and forefinger and expertly returned to holsters.

Now Weatherians (new word I just made up, feel free to spread it around but be sure to capitalize it) gleefully tell us that California is long overdue for a super storm called the Ark Storm.  Experts (people who hang out at Ark Storm scenario summits) tell us that the last Ark Storm hit California in 1861 causing a flood of such epic proportions it wiped out the entire 1861 California Cattle Industry estimated at the time to be 7 cows, 2 chickens and a pig.

Devastation of the 1861 Ark Storm!

Some experts who were actually listening at the Ark Storm Scenario Summit remind us that two really Stormy Storms hit Northern California in 1986 and 1997.


Devastation caused by the storm of 1986 and 1997.

Even though I was unlucky enough to be living in Northern California during both of these horrific storms, luckily I didn’t notice them.

But being a True California, I’m just sure I drove my kids to school both those days.

Until next time . . . I love you

Trifecta Writing Challange: Anything But That!

Welcome Dear Readers.  This weekend’s Trifecta Writing Challenge is to write 33 words about something that scares us.  You can see more details here.

Anything But That

Earthquakes and snakes scare me to death

And pictures of people who take crystal Meth

But Zombies and monsters and Krueger’s named Fred

Don’t scare me as much as a cellphone that’s dead

 

Copywrong Linda Vernon Humor
Copywrong Linda Vernon Humor

Until next time . . . I love you