Not So Intimidating Nicknames

“You shoulda’ paid up.” Notorious words from a notorious mobster who ignored the fact that there was a Great Depression going on.

“I just need another week,” pleaded a bad gambler.

“You’ve had four extra weeks.  Now it’s time you meet Joey ‘Tummy Possum’ Doogan.” The mobster threatened. From a dark corner of the room, Tummy Possum appeared.

“Wait, your frightening enforcer name is Tummy Opossum? Not even Skull Ferret or Jaw-lamander? I’d be good with being ended by a Stomach Squirrel,” the bad gambler was less than pleased with the situation.

“I make your abdomen do more than play dead,” Tummy Opossum threatened.

“Oh! That’s good. That’s intimidating.  Nicely done. I’m good with this now.  Let’s do it,” the gambler came to peace.

“You know what? Take a week.  You pull this off, you join my crew.  We need a Skull Ferret on board.”  The mobster said.

 

 

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Wade at the End of the World

If a person could be defined by a sound, Wade could be defined as the rumble of an empty stomach.  People can’t be defined as sounds though, so they are left to be defined by their actions and words.  Wade was better defined as a hunter of prey that probably deserved a head start.

“Would you just stop so I can eat you!” Wade shouted at a very fast chicken. “Dinner for one, to go. Amirite?”

A laugh not his own sounded behind the rubble. At that moment, Wade was defined as the sound of screams on a roller coaster.

Frank’s First Day

via Pixabay

“Any body know what Frank is doing?” Arnie asked.  Frank was new to the flock and the area.  The adjustment was going poorly.

“He’s just acclimating,” Raj said, “he’ll be fine in a few days.  Sarah gave him the tour, Dave showed him the best food, Wendy filled out the on-boarding paperwork.  You remember your first day.”

“Yeah, but this seems…different.” Arnie said.  He and Arnie bounced to where the new guy stood. Continue reading

The Stars Align

“Why have you summoned the council this day, Brother Orion?” Asked the Council Elder.

The question was on the mind of all ten council members assembled around the altar.  The council members stood in their flowing red robes, faces hidden under deep hoods.  The room was poorly lit by flickering candles. On the altar sat a book none other than Brother Orion recognized.

“Council, I have made a discovery,” Brother Orion said.  “This tome tells of a cosmic alignment.  Stars and planets falling into place in such a way that, if we put the altar in the right spot, our goals will be achieved.”

Even from under their hoods, Brother Orion saw smiles from the Council.

“What do we need to do?” The Elder asked.

“The alignment occurs only once every 7,000 years,” Brother Orion informed them.

“Excellent.  The next alignment approaches then?” The Elder asked.

“Well, not exactly.  The last alignment was in June of ’92.  But it is good we begin preparing now.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Council Member Cleo said, pulling her hood off her head, “So we have 6, 975 years until this plan will come into play? Don’t get me wrong, advancing the goals of the cult is always good, but 6975 years from now will more than double the entirety of human history?”

“Well,” Brother Orion started.

“Do we need to plan 7,000 years out? I always thought of our cult as more of a beer and foosball thing with the occasional group chant,” interjected Council Member Rico.

“Yeah, but planning ahead will allow future members to,” Orion was cut off again.

“I’m inclined to agree with Rico here,” The Council Elder interrupted, “file the book, send me an Outlook reminder to make a note about the discovery in the Elder’s log and we’ll go on with our charitable contributions and golf tournaments as normal.  For now though, burgers and beer pong!”

The council cheered and exited the room.  Brother Orion pulled out his phone and started a calendar reminder for the Elder.

The Bird’s Song

“Jenkins!” Dr. Bryant shouted in excitement.  The experiment had worked.  “Quickly, lad! We’ve found success!”

Jenkins rushed into the laboratory with a mop and bucket per custom.  “Sir, I’ve brought the clean up…wait, did you say, ‘success?'”

“Indeed, lad.  Observe,” Dr. Bryant motioned to a bird like creature sitting on the work bench.

“My word,” Jenkins was overcome.  Usually the creatures in the lab had exploded by now.  This one was looking around and trying to flap its scaled wings.  “And it’s call?”

“Listen. Byrd,” Bryant commanded, “speak.”

The bird readied its voice.

“Stop. Collaborate and listen, Ice is back with a brand new invention.”  The creature’s song rang through the lab and the two scientists fought off tears.

“Remember this moment, lad,” Bryant said, ” for history shall certainly want every detail.”

Mission Failure

Alone.

The voyage was to be one of teamwork, companionship.  For years her team trained to take humanity to new worlds.

Being alone was never even a contingency plan.

She ran to the spaceship’s command module.  Her leg aching in pain from the most recent encounter with…whatever they had met our in the black.  She could hear it still; dozens of legs tapping against the floor of the craft.

Her crew mates fell long ago.  She was the last hope to message earth; stop the mission.

Alone she saw a dozen legs in her path.

No message would be sent.

Small Town

Mac’s Diner at the corner of Main Street and Second Avenue in Parkerville served two functions.  First, it served the best waffles within a thousand miles.  Second, it was the town’s unofficial meeting hall.  The mayor rubbed elbows with the baker, the pastor gossiped with the post master; all within the confines of red cushioned booths.   Continue reading