Two Truths and a Lie

Oran loathed ice breakers.

“Okay, gang, now let’s try for a fun one two truths and a lie!” The leader of this little workplace team builder event said.  For some reason the words received a round of applause.  Oran understood so little of the office he spent so much time with.  He tuned out as the rules were explained and the first few coworkers told blatant lies as truths.

Oran noticed his turn was quickly approaching.  He racked his brain for a lie.  He was no good at lying.  He pondered a soap pun for a moment, but bailed on the idea as too meta for the crowd.

“Oran, you’re turn! Try to stump us, ye the master of the purchasing department.” The leader said, pointing an open palm at Oran to somehow indicate it was his turn.

Nervous laughter started Oran’s speech.

“Well, let’s see here.  Two truth and a lie.  This is tougher than it seemed at first!  Okay, okay.  I grew up in Nebraska. I am the herald of the intergalactic emperor T’Li the Crusher of Weakness, bound to destroy all those who oppose his rule, and my favorite movie is West Side Story.”

Laughter erupted from the crowd.

“Well, that lie was pretty easy to spot! Thanks for showing us your poker face, Oran! Let’s move right along then.”

The excursion’s leader had skipped the rest of Oran’s turn entirely.  To this point, the vanguard of T’Li’s galactic army had been waffling on sparing Earth and it’s inhabitants from destruction.  This ice breaker event had sent his opinion moving in one very certain direction now.  He had never even seen Nebraska, and now his coworkers would not know such a tidbit.

 

 

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Cassius and the Barn

The night had turned grim.  Cassius, bucked by his horse, was lost in a land far from home.  He knew but two things; first, the approaching storm brought with it a dire time for any caught outside. Second, the dot on the horizon appeared to be a barn.

He ran with all the speed he could muster and crashed through what remained of the barn door moments before hail began to fall from the sky.

“What fortune,” Cassius said, panting against the doorway. Continue reading

Waylan Used to be Cool

On Saturday, Waylan and the family piled into their car and made a stop at the local home improvement store.  There was a project to be done!  The project required cement; bags and bags of ‘just add water’ cement.  Four bags, 50 pounds each, lifted from the floor to a flat bed cart.  Up six inches, over 12.  The lifting should not have been a problem. It was.

Waylan wrenched his back after picking up the third bag.   Continue reading

Gone Awry

“That was a disaster,” Mark stated the obvious.

“I am so sorry,” Marie apologized for the hundredth time.  For the hundredth time, she laughed through it.

The kids were finally settled down and consuming the second attempt at dinner that evening. Promises of a movie night were the only thing that stopped the screaming of just an hour ago.

“I mean seriously, what was the logic there?” Mark asked

“It was kinda funny.” Marie justified. In time Mark would agree, but it had been a long night.

“You waited for the sandwiches to arrive, to be in front of the hungry and tired children, to tell them that Lazy Cat Deli served cat meat only.” Mark reminded her.

“And now we know they very literal children,” Marie said, happy to have made a discovery.

“We also know we can’t go to Lucky Panda for years. I loved Lucky Panda.” Mark could not hide his sadness.
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Claude Knows the Future

“Ladies and gentlemen, I give you…the future,” Claude removed a small napkin to reveal a different container.  The audience was unimpressed.

“What are we looking at here, Claude?” Asked the restaurant’s owner, stumped by the shiny metal container on the table.

“The future is chrome?” The head waiter asked.

“The future, my friends, is packaging!” Claude removed the lid of the shiny metal container with grand flourish.

“Now the future is a nondescript brown paper box?” The head chef asked.

“So it would appear,” Claude said, teasingly, “but, behold!” With another dramatic motion, the box was opened.

“Another package?” The owner questioned.

“I don’t want to eat a Russian nesting doll for brunch.” The waiter complained.

“I don’t want to fill those at brunch.” The chef guffawed.

“But friends, there is but one more surprise.  Open that final, wee, envelope,” Claude prompted with a hint of mystery in his voice.

The owner reached out to the envelope in the tiny box, atop the shiny tray that was once beneath a dark red cloth.  The paper was unfolded with care and quickly read over.

“This is a dumb way to resign, Claude.” The owner said.  The piece of paper was tossed to the table in disgust.

“Later, dummies!” Claude said.  He threw his apron on top of the paper and walked away.

 

 

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Marty Made It

“Ah, it ain’t that bad,” Dan joked.  He proceeded to cough blood.  “At least you stopped the zombies. You saved us all.”

“It’s just you and me, Dan. We’re all that’s left,” Marty said.

Dan lay propped against a ram shackle chicken coop, knowing his final moments were upon him.  Marty knelt, weeping and shaking.

“Wait, wait. Seriously?” Dan asked.  He shimmied himself to be more upright and looked Marty right in the eyes.  “You’re going to be the sole survivor of this? Boy howdy, that’s terrible luck.”

“What?” Marty was confused. Continue reading

Clarence’s Movie Experience

Clarence looked around the movie set with awe and confusion.

“Mr. Down,” someone called from afar.  Clarence was never comfortable being addressed as ‘mister’.  Despite spending years in public service, ‘Mr. Down’ would always be his father’s name.  He turned to see who was seeking him.

A round man ran toward him.  The film’s producer, Wyatt Pickle.  Clarence doubted that was the man’s given name, but liked to think there was a full lineage attached to the Pickle name.

“Wyatt, good to see you,” Clarence said.  His affable nature and sturdy handshakes were keys to his story; the story that was now being immortalized in a blockbuster movie produced by Wyatt Pickle and a team of movie industry elites. Continue reading