Dani's Shorts 4 Read online

  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 go
t 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."