Every year resolutions we make
Quite determined we vow not to break
But by late on day one
All resistance is gone
And I’ve eaten an entire cake
Only one day in…
Every year resolutions we make
Quite determined we vow not to break
But by late on day one
All resistance is gone
And I’ve eaten an entire cake
Let’s continue the summer theme shall we. There are some sights out there to be seen for sure.
Soaring temperatures
drunk shirtless methodone tramps
all the girls bits out
Today I did actually see what appeared to be a shirtless methadone tramp. I think he had maybe lost his shirt though or left it in a dumpster because it didn’t seem to be about his person. Curiously he also had one trouser leg rolled up to the knee whilst he wore the other in the more traditional fashion.
How do I know he was on something? Well I don’t and I might be super judgy but I think walking down the middle of the road whispering to himself whilst staring wildly at passers by was a bit of a give away.
Still, I’m sure it was lovely to feel the sun on his back as he seemed to be thoroughly enjoying the fine weather we are having.
On the matter of flesh well, you just head down to the market here and you’ll see what I am on about. Whilst I am all for body positivity whatever your shape or size that doesn’t mean I support adults wearing childrens clothes to go and eat sausage rolls on a bench outside of the bookies.
😉
mmmm robbery
day two of diet
would mug a child for sweeties
stab a tramp for cake
Let the games commence
Iran v poland
Its garbage but I’ll watch it
It is the world cup
Short and not at all sweet
Gravity my foe
claims pendulous body parts
sag like melted wax
It’ll be over before you know it I assure you.
I best get to bed
soon, just one more episode
Dawn…curse you Netflix!
It’ll be over before you know it trust me.
Monday back to work
Wake up hoping that I’m ill
Oh damn it feel fine
You know you want it.
Handsome jeweller quite fond of the girls
Lovely hair, rather thick full of curls
He would tempt and seduce
Be they proper or loose
Give them necklaces, often of pearls
Why not eh…
A rugby fan Jennifer smalls
For big men in tight shorts climbed the walls
And she couldn’t resist
The intense violent hits
And the wonderfully misshapen balls
In celebration at the end of a rather serious February
M’s writing prompts for March came with the following instructions:
“…set your timer for ten minutes and begin writing about one of the prompts listed below. Don’t worry about spelling, punctuation, neatness, or anything like that; just write!”
The night was cold
And creatures old
Came creeping from the deep
And to your bed
Dreams in your head
They come your soul to keep
Long fingers bone
Into your home
The knob they slowly turn
And they possess
The things you bless
And for your keepsakes yearn
They feed on lust
Deceit, mistrust
On hearts so black and busy
They see your lies
Your burning thighs
Here come the fizzy wizzy
And as dawn breaks
Their prey they take
And never to return
Bed empty left
Of life bereft
Take heed and lesson learn
In celebration at the end of a rather serious February
Another month of M’s writing prompts lies ahead. I did them all in December but was less successful in January. Let’s see how we do in February shall we.
So cupid woke in quite a mood
thought, “no bugger this lark!
I’m of a mind to be quite rude”
And out he did embark
In search of those who go unloved
Mischievous now his quest
With arrow true, pulled back, take aim
And shoot to lonely chest
With temper foul, his aim not skew
“Just watch this!” he did gloat
And stuck poor Brian, made him love
Old Barnaby the goat
And Barnaby he quite bewitched
His goat loins filled with lust
For Brian in his corduroys
Man/goat love now a must
And cupid laughed and watched them both
Their eyes and bodies burning
A love affair, a passion lit
A tale of cross breed yearning
And to his home Brian did take
Barnaby, who gladly went
And frantic loving they enjoyed
Until they both were spent
And Cupid clapped his hands with glee
his mission quite achieved
he made poor Brian love that goat
and goat seemed rather pleased
And to this day together still
their love endures quite strong
and they take turns at who’s on top
‘cos Brian can’t last long
just a few bits and pieces
A chap with a taste for wild nights
bought a hooker in basque and black tights
unprotected he played
wife found out that he’d strayed
came home scratched and all covered in bites
Young lovers but still in their teens
hormones on fire and tight jeans
got knocked up by mistake
what a big one to make
Oh well, so much for all of your dreams
A POTUS hailed “Son of a bitch”
as the players stood firm on the pitch
don’t you dare take a knee
it’s offensive to me
and my white privileged buddies, all rich
Daily Haiku’s are so last month. I think it’s time to bring back a more meaty haiku ensemble a little less frequently.
Daily Haiku’s are so last month. I think it’s time to bring back a more meaty haiku ensemble a little less frequently. The deal was to take the rather serious haiku form and treat it with a little disrespect and hopefully a dash of humour.
Secret Santa? No?
You make baby Jesus cry
Ebeneezer scrooge!
Doing shots, fun times
Chug chug, life of the party
threw up on the bed
Oh bugger my subconscious seems to be wandering to Christmas already. No, no, no – that simply will not do!
Got the kids a dog
cavorting, barks of delight
urine stained carpets
Taking out the trash
cabbage juice on my good shoes
bloody cheap bin bags
That’s more like it. tales of the mundane. Maybe 3 more. That’s like a weeks worth of daily late night haiku right there.
Need inspiration
Check Donald T’s twitter feed
juices flowing now
Donald: Players must stand
Women, non whites, poor, sick and
Muslim can kneel though
Oh Orange moron
with your juicy puckered lips
just ripe for prison
I know, enough is enough.
… I had suggested, and I thought quite wittily, that she fetch me a sandwich and a nice cup of tea …
I am just reposting this so I don’t lose it. It was my first ever post less than 3 months ago but I really want to use that post as my blog intro and for the life of me I cannot work out how to do that so I am rehousing this one. Sorry to clog up your feed with it.
Michael
I have never enjoyed Tuesdays. Looking back at the significant moments in my life I am pretty certain that were they plotted on a chart of some description – perhaps a rather nice exploded pie chart – not one of those milestones would appear after a Monday but before a Wednesday.
I recall quite clearly my first kiss and it was on a Friday afternoon in late summer, as far from Tuesday as one might hope to get. My children were most definitely not Tuesday babies, preferring instead to squeeze their way into the work on a Wednesdays and Friday respectively and I married for the first time on a glorious Saturday in July and the second time it was a rather bleak Friday afternoon in March. I could attempt to find a milestone moment on a Tuesday but I shall not because there simply aren’t any. Of that I am certain. I do not, therefore, hold out a great deal of hope as I put pen to paper, commencing with it as I am on a Tuesday evening in early July.
Negative it may well seem, and perhaps I would agree that It is hardly the attitude with which to embark on any new endeavour, but such is my outlook as I sit here in the darkness typing. “So why type?” I hear you ask. Well the answer to that is rather quite simple. My wife suggested it might help me unburden myself and provide me an outlet for things inside that would well be far better out and perhaps prove a route to obtaining a positivity which I apparently quite often lack. I had suggested, and I thought quite wittily, that she fetch me a sandwich and a nice cup of tea which I was also lacking at that precise moment in time – but I received only one of her special withering looks and spent a rather uncomfortable evening in the spare bedroom – sandwichless and parched.
Whilst I make no assertions that this is in fact anything other than late night ramblings, were I to consider this something more poetic and meaningful then as creative journeys go this is simply a first step. Perhaps the journey has not yet begun and this is actually only the packing of a small overnight bag. If this is the only thing I ever write then it could actually be the metaphorical equivalent of picking up an exotically illustrated brochure from the travel agents which I ended up leaving on the bus home and then deciding that actually I won’t go abroad this year and will instead potter around the house and maybe build a small wall in the garden.
Not that we have a travel agents. That closed down when the rift opened. As did most things around here. If there is one thing that I am certain of it is the fact that unless the univers decides to undo that which it has done then at no time soon will I be packing a bag – whether overnight or otherwise – to go anywhere because there simply is no longer anywhere to go to.
https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/tea/
Its probably wholly inappropriate and in rather poor taste. I’d not read it really.
To Everybody
I write this letter with some regret, though not much if I am to be honest.
I, Kris Kringle, hereby tender my resignation and would notify all concerned that I will be ceasing all and any Christmas related activities henceforth and with immediate effect.
Though there are many reasons for this decision, and it is not one that I take lightly, I have for the most part simply had enough and fancy a bit of a change.
The magic of Christmas seems now lost on so many and I no longer feel the support of the people I have for so long served, and I believe they would be best served by Amazon or Ebay or maybe just sending a really nice card or a letter saying something nice you don’t really mean.
The main reason though is the recent controversy my actions have attracted. As I have repeated publicly on a number of occasions, and I would again insist right now, Elves are not children – despite their stature. The incident of March the 3rd this year so widely reported in the media was consensual and under the supervision of Mrs Kringle herself who is rather fond of that sort of thing.
I still contend strongly that there should be no bias against human elf relations. I do not recall such an outcry when Aragorn and Arwen declared their love for one another, and they most certainly did not have to contend with people prying into their homes with long range telescopic lenses. With hindsight perhaps we should have closed the curtains, but I am old fashioned and still believe in respecting the privacy of others – despite my day job.
Due to this hypocrisy, I must now work under the scrutiny of child services until they are satisfied that the welfare of my elves is no longer a matter for concern, and this is not a something that I am willing to tolerate for one day longer.
Whilst I accept that I am a public figure, what happens between consenting men and elves should be their business alone. Despite the disapproval of so many sections of society it comforts me that I have found acceptance in some of the more niche communities on the dark web and my wife and I are proud of the fact that we are now widely attributed with being the creators of the “Upside Down Elvish Spit Roast” and the “Pixie Pile Driver”.
I know the children will be disappointed, but their demands have become most unreasonable in recent years and where once there was joy in building toys for them and seeing their little faces light up on Christmas morning these days we are mostly subcontracting to shoddy far east electrical suppliers who use child labour. Whilst it is true that small hands make light work, on balance I am probably doing children a favour.
I hope that you are able to secure a replacement for my position, perhaps the Chines might fancy it – they have the manpower and distribution channels I am sure. For me, I am going to take a few weeks off and catch up on Game of Thrones and then my intention is to open a vape shop in California. If you ever fancy a new bong or an electric cigarette pop by, I’ll do you a great deal.
Best Regards
KK
Photo courtesy of free-photos @ pixabay
Picture if you will a small village in Africa, and in a small mud hut in this village lives a man.
You know how people just say things? e all do it and today I think I shall mount my high horse and discuss one of those things people say quite casually that more than likely has its roots in some vague truth but is actually absolute drivel.
Now insist as much as you like, but I do not for one minute believe that laughter is the best medicine.
I am a firm believer that in fact, medicine is the best medicine.
Last year I had kidney stones, and as I lay there wishing for death to take me I can assure you that the last thing I wanted was to be regaled with humorous tales. What I wanted was drugs, and lots of them. Ideally I wanted them administered intravenously but I was quite open to the options of those taken orally or as suppositories.
In a near state of collapse as I was I would happily have allowed passing strangers to ram as many fist fulls of whatever took their fancy up my bottom if it came with the promise of even a modicum of relief.
Now I appreciate that there is an argument here on the effects of dopamine on the body, but my counter argument is that were I a syphilis infected crack fuelled man whore on death’s door then I would surely seek respite of an opiate nature in lieu of watching box sets of Black Adder.
Not yet convinced?
Picture if you will a small village in Africa, and in a small mud hut in this village lives a man. Let’s call this man Ebeneezer. Now Ebeneezer has a son who, due to a most awful set of circumstances, is riddled with aids and malaria. Sadly he also suffers from malnutrition, his little belly so terribly swollen and his face crawling with flies. His son is in a rather terrible way and Ebeneezer calls for a doctor, and as it transpires the red cross are in the area and send one over straight away.
“Oh thank you doctor” says Ebeneezer gratefully, “please can you give my beautiful boy medicine to help with the pain?”
Now obviously what Ebeneezer is seeking is something to make his son comfortable, so you can imagine his consternation when he is instead presented with a DVD of the complete works of Monty Python.
“Watch this twice a day” says the doctor “and he will be right as rain in a jiffy.”
I imagine that Ebeneezer was not best pleased, especially given that Ebeneezer does not have a television, let alone a DVD player.
Want to read more of my stuff?
The challenge was to write, unedited, on the subject of “Guess”
Apparently this is the challenge…
“1. Your post must be stream of consciousness writing, meaning no editing, (typos can be fixed) and minimal planning on what you’re going to write.”
There are other rules and stuff which you can find here:
The Friday Reminder and Prompt for #SoCS Aug. 12/17
I intend to give myself a minute to come up with an idea and then just type and see what comes out. Starting…NOW!
Karl really did not like parties, he was awkward at the best of times and parties tended to make it worse, but Rachel had invited him, and Rachel made his heart beat faster and forget the most basic of words.
Kyle, who as wholly more suited to parties than he was due to his fabulous hair and skinny jeans had always advised him to play it cool with women and to try and make her laugh, though right now he wanted nothing more than to scurry off home and watch TV.
He felt a tap on his shoulder and turned around. It was Rachel.
“Hey you !” she smiled giving him a hug “I am so glad you came!”
She smelled like vanilla milkshake, and he loved vanilla milkshake. Not as much as banana but it was right up there.
“Hey yourself” was the best he could muster, holding onto her for a little longer than he probably should have.
She brushed her hair from her eyes and handed him a red cup of what he assumed was beer.
“Oh Guess what” she said excitedly putting her hand on his arm.
This was his chance Karl thought, Kyle’s words ringing in his ears. He needed to be funny. Make her laugh, girls loved to laugh right.
“Guess you say” he replied smiling awkwardly “Okay, lets see. You have me at a disadvantage but I’ll give it a go.”
Karl rubbed his chin feigning contemplation. Rachel looked a little confused.
“You’re really an alien and you’re here to take over the planet!” he exclaimed grinning. Oh god please laugh.
Rachel did’t laugh, mostly she looked even more confused”
“No I was going to say…” Karl interrupted before she got to finish.
“Oh no wait, I’m not ready to give up yet” Karl continued. “I love a challenge.”
Rachel took a drink from her cup and looked past him towards the door. Karl knew he needed to make her laugh now or he might blow his chance.
“You were going to say that you wanted to get out of here and go somewhere quiet” he said trying his best to be cool and funny and seductive at the same time.
“Er no” Rachel replied taking another drink. She paused for a moment, and Karl could sense someone stood behind him.
“Hey babe” said a voice which he instantly recognised as Kyles.
Rachel smiled uncomfortably “I was going to say I’d started seeing your mate and he was also coming tonight.”
Hmmm
Not easy that lark, you don’t really know where you’re going…or I didn’t. I knew I wanted him to crash and burn and it to be awkward and to actually guess when she said “Guess what ” but that was it. That took about 20 minutes and a few more to correct the typos which I fixed afterwards. I found myself typing a bit slower that normal though to give myself chance to think…
Just a poem about a couple of blokes on a tandem.
Jeffrey and Cho
Had a bike that was slow
Though two people it sure could convey
They would ride through the town
Knees go up knees go down
Every month every week every day
“I am sure out of breath!”
Said a quite knackered Jeff
As he pedalled from A to point B
“As am I ” said young Cho
“Not sure why we’re so slow?”
Because no one can pedal like thee
Now Jeff pondered the fact
He was thin, Cho was fat
And each day they would cycle non stop
They would eat quite the same
So that wasn’t to blame
He thought as they rode from the shop
It was only by chance
That Jeff caught a quick glance
Of how Cho chose to coast as they slowed
“My god!” he exclaimed
It was cho who’s to blame
For their leisurely pace on the road
And from that moment on
The Tandem was gone
And Jeff’s bought a bike of his own
Now cho spends his days
on the xbox he plays
And my, how his belly has grown
Photo courtesy of Dorothy
Want to read more of my stuff?
Consider if you will, how easily a message is transformed by a casually mis-typed emoji.
I’m sure we are all familiar with the tale of the mother who assumed that LOL meant ‘lots of love’ and sent a message to her son informing him of the death of his Grandmother signed off with LOL.
Consider now if you will, how easily a message is transformed by a casually mis-typed emoji.
No? Let me give you an example or two.

I saw your gran last night 🙂 is wholly different to I saw your gran last night 😉
You accidentally add a winky face to that and it gets rather uncomfortable for me. I’m suddenly wanting to know where you saw her because she should have been at bingo. Then I want to know why you were hanging around her and why to god you added a winky face which can only mean something a little sexy. I do not want you having any sexy time with my gran. Good heavens. Stick to a nice smiley and we’re still going to be friends.
God forbid that comes from like a parent or a sibling, that’s a whole new level of messed up and there is no way I can spend Christmas with you all.
More?

Now imagine you were to send the following:
I saw your sister and her husband at the park yesterday.
If you add the tongue out winky face instead of the regular smiley face then again I am wondering wtf, was getting sexy with my gran not enough for you? I am then forced to ask what in the blazes happened with my sister and her rather dull accountant husband Greg that required any sort of tonguing? They’re not the tonguing type of people. Please stop.
At this point I am considering having to ask you to leave me and my family alone.

There are lines one should not cross, and I think careful typing is essential to ensure that you do not send the message below with the smiley icons above:
Hey stranger, popped round to your place but you weren’t in. Was great to see your mum and dad after all these years
That is too far, I mean sweet Jesus what sexy stuff did you do that made you go all winky face and then then cry? Was it both touching and deviant? Were there cuddles?
I now want you to delete me from your phone and call the authorities.
So there you have it. Just a few tips…be careful out there. Next week I intend to explore the incorrect use of the abbreviation for ‘At The Moment’.
Michael
Want to read more of my stuff? No. Don’t blame you, no offence taken.
https://afterwards.blog/2017/07/29/a-collection-of-miserable-limericks/
https://afterwards.blog/2017/07/14/probing-a-cautionary-tale/
https://afterwards.blog/2017/07/03/first-blog-post/
https://afterwards.blog/2017/07/14/we-unlikely-few/
https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/casual/
https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/casual/
Title photo courtesy of JohnHain @ Pixabay
“Hey Boss, have you seen what Mary’s been writing?”
“That footprints in the sand woman?”
“Yeah her”. Jonah scratched his head and laughed. “Did you have anything to do with it? I know what you’re like, whispering in their ears like you care”
“Look, I never asked to get stuck on this planet ok, I never asked to be immortal and I certainly never asked to be anyone’s lord and saviour. He continued, quite vexed, “2500 years I’ve been here. I get bored. Not once have those upstairs even bothered to so much as pop in and say ‘Good Job’ or read one of my reports. I’m sorry”
“What did you do?”
“Ok I did pop into her dream and I gave it all that ‘I was carrying you ‘ business. I also gave her cancer.”
“Boss, you’re such a dick.”
Inpired by A Frank Angle at
https://afrankangle.wordpress.com/2017/07/10/on-footprints-in-the-sand/
Today I shall sit in my chair
and write a poem of despair
or something deep or maybe sad
but nothing fun and nothing glad.
With teenage angst perhaps I’ll write
of when my jeans became too tight
or of my hair when it fell out
or of last Saturday’s beer drought.
Ill dim the lights and play whale songs
and bemoan all the world’s wrongs
and type about my slow net speeds
of morning traffic hell in Leeds
Ill hug myself and watch the rain
wear baggy clothes and spout my pain
That time TIVO missed GOT
or of my boats main sail ripped in ’03
My pain is shared so now you feel
the things I do that make me real
Perhaps you’ll like to show you care
my tale of woe, pain and despair
I woke one day only to find
Aliens probing my behind
Imagine if you will my shock
Lying undressed bar just one sock.
Now I’m not the type of chap to moan
but I’d only just set off for home
from work when there to my surprise
An alien vessel fills the sky.
And after that it’s quite a blur
I recall a creature with blue fur
and a cold insertion twixt my thighs
and tears streaming from my eyes.
Then nothing until I awoke
On a metal slab with another bloke
who struggled wildly to get free
and looked just as surprised as me.
And there we lay for quite a while
imprisoned by these creatures vile
until they entered fur and claw
with tails that dragged across the floor.
I blurted out “I must protest
I need to get this off my chest!”
They simply blinked big eyes and peeked
inside my new friends bottom cheeks.
“Now please forgive my attitude
I do not mean to be so rude
but bloody hell this is not fun
please do not rummage in his bum!”
No response, they weren’t aware
it was as if I was not there
they seemed intent on exploration
to my compatriots consternation.
“Now come on really must you poke
inside the bottom of that bloke?
What is it you hope to find
secreted inside his behind?”
I felt an anger from way down
that they’d picked me when leaving town.
Who would believe a humble tailor
with tales of an alien Impaler.
“I’ve hear you lot are so obsessed
with getting people quite undressed
then delving into their hind quarter
is that what your mother taught ya?”
I’m riled, enraged, my dander rising
“Please just stop my butt cheeks prising
and let me go back to my wife
I’m late, not called, and in real strife!”
I know not if it was my words
but my request it seems was heard
and soon they would to my pleas yield
and drop me off in a corn field.
I know not why they chose to take
folk such as us and prisoners make.
Folk laugh when I of my tale speak
how I cold not sit for a week.
One day perhaps I’ll understand
why people all across the land
are probed by these fowl creatures blue
today was me, tomorrow you?
Take heed in case one day you find
an alien in your behind
your wife doubting just where you’ve been
accusing you of deeds obscene
with strangers you picked up in town
finger pointing face a frown
“Think of the kids, please don’t get drunk
and let folk fiddle in your trunk”.
In a world gone mad, where nobody is safe and danger lurks at every turn, there are men who will answer the call to stand up for what is right and to defend the innocent in the face of impossible odds. Here tonight, in a quiet village pub in an unassuming English village, you might just find those men.
That is to say you might, but you won’t.
The men in this pub are like those men, just not quite as courageous or as athletic. They don’t possess the chiselled jaws or the superhuman powers of those other men and those other men possess a certain confidence with the ladies that these gentlemen most certainly lack . Here in this pub you will find men who would very much like to fight crime (given the right circumstances and good weather) but these men also recognise that a game of dominoes and a pint is a wholly safer endeavour and considerably less exerting. and pretty much never results in one losing a limb.
The last of the regulars had left and the landlord of The Three Pigeons had kindly closed up for the night and popped upstairs to bed asking them to lock up when they were finished and pop the key through the letterbox.
Trevor rapped his meaty knuckles onto the table loudly, “Order Gentlemen, Order please!” Silence fell and he continued. Physically he was a rather average and underwhelming man by most standards, other than his inordinately large hands. “Firstly, I would just like to thank you for coming this evening, these are dark times indeed and in times such as these it is incumbent on the likes of us to stand up and be counted.”
He paused for a moment, in his mind rather dramatically, staring at the ‘us’.
The ‘us’ mostly sat and waited to see what would come next. Trevor had always had a flair for the dramatic, it went back to his days in the local am-drams club. After a drink or two he could quite often be found recalling with much fondness , to anyone whom he might corner, details of his finest hour as Tony in West Side Story performed at the local church hall for a crowd of nearly 50.
“Our village is under threat from outside forces Chaps” he continued “and it is perhaps time for us to do something about it.” He stood quite still, legs akimbo, hands on hips.
Gerald, the local post master, was suddenly filled with the urge to sing ‘I’m a little tea pot’. He did not, but he was next to speak. “Trevor, don’t you think that we’re rather past it now? Is it not time for us to leave this sort of thing to a younger generation?”. A number of the others nodded and mumbled in agreement. Johnson, the cricket club chairman and first team captain, even managed as much as a “Too bloody right!”
Trevor looked rather hurt as he liked to think he was something of a local leader. “No, I think it is precisely that attitude that has got this country in the mess that it’s in to be honest and …”
“Now hold on Trevor” Gerald interrupted, suddenly somewhat vexed. “This country is in the mess it is in because a sodding great space time rift opened up and the majority of people went completely bonkers, the government collapsed and we…” he took a deep breath “and we have god knows what spilling out of the rift and making a jolly great mess of everything!”
“Here here” mumbled Johnson., now starting to feel somewhat braver, probably down to the three pints he’d enjoyed earlier.
Trevor drew himself up to his rather average full height of 5 foot 7 and puffed out his chest. He looked rather ridiculous.
“Well I for one am not willing to stand back and watch our village go the same way as the rest of the places around here. I am willing to fight back!”
“Fight against what Trevor?” Asked Alan Benson the local grocer, “you reckon we’re in the sort of shape to take on the likes of some of the things the local Rift Police have been tackling lately?”. He took a swift drink of his pint and slammed down the glass. “It’s getting worse Trevor. Just yesterday they had to rescue Mrs Billings the librarian from her prize winning rose bushes which had apparently grown sentient and were attempting to prune her arms off!”
“Good lord ” said Johnson.
“Bloody hell man” exclaimed Gerald.
Trevor was not to be deterred and pressed the point. “That is exactly the reason why we need to get the team back together and do something!” They other sat stony faced. “We cannot rely on the council or the Rift Police to protect us we need to look after our own.”
“Trevor, the team haven’t seen light of day for nearly 5 years now, what makes you think we still have it?”
Trevor felt he was making head way now. “You never lose it Alan, you know that. What we did and what we achieved is legend in these parts!”
“There is no way my suit is going to fit me anymore Trevor ” Alan protested. “I’m sadly more than the man I once was”. He looked down at his waistline. Time had been rather unkind he felt, given the food shortages and rationing they’d been subjected to since it all started. “I promised the wife that Id given up on all that super power business”.
“You cant avoid destiny Alan” said Trevor.
“Destiny? Good god man – we were sucked into and then spat out of a rift on the way back from a boozy weekend watching darts in Blackpool and ended up with the world’s most ridiculous super powers. That’s hardly destiny!”
Alan took a deep breath. He knew things were getting worse, he had hoped these days were over though. They weren’t particularly effective super heroes, in fact they were rather poor and far too fond of tea and biscuits to really commit fully to the endeavour.
“Do you know there’s a chap in the next village along that can breathe fire Trevor ” he asked “Fire. From his mouth. Like a bloody great dragon!”
“We may not breathe fire Alan but by god man you’re The Bee!” he exclaimed dramatically. “You strike fear into the heart of those who would do us harm!”
“I can hover four foot off the ground wearing a striped yellow suit Trevor!” he shouted “that is absolutely no use unless you have a cat stuck in a very small tree”.
Trevor knew that if he could get Alan on board the others would follow. “Alan, our suits may not fit but we are still those self same men we were five years ago. We made a difference, and surely we have to try.”
“Oh bugger” interrupted Johnson, knowing that this was a losing battle.
“All I’m saying is let’s give this a shot eh” Trevor continued. He knew he was nearly there. He needed this, he needed to feel what he’d felt all those years ago. He had always believed that they had been chosen for greater things. “How about we get together tomorrow morning at half 9 and…”
“I cant” said Johnson “I need to take the cat to the vet.
“How about half ten then? We all ok with half ten? You can come to my place, we’ll have a nice cup of tea and work out a bit of a plan.” Trevor already had a plan though. He had spreadsheets and rotas and maps and schedules all lined up. This time “The Accountant was ready.
“Fine” said Alan sighing. “Let’s see how it goes but no promises ok”
The others nodded in agreement
Trevor grinned. “Bee, Stretchy Legs, Frog Boy – I think this deserves another pint!”
https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/bumble/
Breathing heavily Bjorn leaned on his bloodied battle axe, surveying the carnage before him. The smell of war and death filled the air and screams of the dying could be heard from every direction.
“And what exactly are we supposed to do with this lot?” he pondered, crows already picking hungrily at the dead.
Helgar laughed. “Don’t look at me my friend, they can lay here and rot for all I’m concerned.” He scratched his thick beard, matted with blood. “And besides” he continued, “My back is killing me and there is no way I’m piling up the dead. And besides have you seen this blister! Digging holes like this Christians prefer will make a right old mess of my hand” Helgar thrust out a bloodied hand, a large blister forming on the webbing between thumb and fore finger. “Look, it really hurts!”
“Oh don’t give me that about your back” Bjorn replied, heaving a large scarred shield from the ground “you’re always going on about it. It looked perfectly fine when you were hacking that Goth’s head off!”
Helgar wasn’t a fan of manual labour. Pillaging and raping were all good and well but fetching and carrying wasn’t for him. “Oh how dare you, you’re one to talk!” he replied, “Were it not for me and my axe you’d have been crow meat by now!”
“How about we just finish off some of the dying and decide then, how does that sound?”
Helgar loved finishing off the dead. It was one of his favourite things, that and ale. And women of course – apart from those British ones he’d encountered in Britannia – they were a rather unpleasant lot. His blue eyes twinkled and a broad smile spread across his bloodied face. “I think I’ll use a sword today though, given how my back aches. It’s a bit less wearing than swinging an axe you know”. He winked at Bjorn playfully.
“Oh will you shut up about your back! “Said Bjorn, swinging his axe casually into the chest of a young Goth warrior who lay groaning as he clutched a rather nasty stomach would.
“Ooh look at this” Helgar exclaimed, reaching down to snatch a gold pendant from around the neck of a fat corpse. “This will look great with that cloak I took from that priest last week!”
“Oh I like that“, said Bjorn, slowly pushing his thick blade into the heart of a young shield maiden “it’s a bit like that one I wore to Tobar’s wedding.”
Helgar remembered it well. “Oh now that was a great night! That roast they had was gorgeous. I’ve never tasted anything like it.”
“I think it was the salt and garlic you know” said Bjorn. “I spoke to him afterwards and he said the fellow for Aarlsberg has a chap who gets it for him”.
Bjorn pulled out a small knife and bending down slit the throat of an older Goth chieftain. “Funny you know Helgar, I like to send off the older ones a little more intimately.”
Helgar snorted “you’re all heart my friend”.
Bjorn wiped his blade and put it back in it’s sheath on his belt. “You know what else I was thinking?”
“What” said Helgar.
“I was thinking about doing some poetry”.
“Whooooo” exclaimed Helgar excitedly as he removed the head of a chap who was already missing an arm. “Poetry you say? I did a bit when I was younger you know.”
“Did you Really?” Bjorn responded, “I never had you down as the poetic type”
“Oh yeah, did a great piece about a long boat once. I painted a rather vivid picture apparently”.
“Hmmm” Bjorn mused. “I’m definitely going to have a go when we get back to the village. I always get a bit bored when pillaging season is over”
“Great idea” Helgar replied. “It will help you relax. Lately I’ve been doing some basket making. Helps immensely with the creative urges”.
“Well you are a dark horse aren’t you“.
“Oh yeah” he grinned, stabbing a thrashing horse in the eye and driving his blade deep into its brain until it lay still on the blood stained grass. “What a waste of a bloody good horse!”
Helgar adjusted his armour; it had a terrible habit of riding up on him. “You hungry?”
“Starving” Bjorn replied, “Have you got anything to eat? “
“No but I left some bread up with the rest of my stuff up on the hill. Shall we go get something to eat and carry on with this later?”
“Sounds good to me, we can finish this later they’re not going anywhere”. He smiled. “We can take a look at that blister as well”.
Https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/bury/
“Ill tell you what Charles” said Bernard, shuffling his newspaper and staring out of the large communal room window. His eyes followed an older woman in a blue dress being walked by a small pack of dogs on the lawn outside. “Things are a lot better than they used to be you know”.
“Uh-huh, is that so?” replied Charles distantly, not looking up from his cross word and scratching his head through a thick mop of white hair. He was having a real problem with three across.
“Oh yes, absolutely” Bernard insisted. “Look at the world now. It’s not like in our day Charles. Kids don’t know how lucky they have it.”
Charles muttered loudly “20th century Canadian Liberal, four letters”?
Bernard wasn’t listening, intent only on voicing his opinions whilst continuing to watch the woman in the blue dress, who was now struggling to disentangle herself from the dog leashes which were now wrapped around her legs.
“They never had to deal with any of the things we had to deal with in our day you know!”
Charles lifted his head from his crossword. “And what was it we had to deal with Bernard?” he asked. Three across was really starting to frustrate him.
Bernard fell quiet, staring out of the window, his eyes fixed somewhere in the distance.
Charles knew it was mean of him to do that, he knew that Bernard wouldn’t remember. He never did.
The woman in the blue dress had lost her battle with the dogs and was now attempting pick up a jack Russell in one hand and at the same time prevent the Chihuahua from attempting to mount a rather indifferent looking Rottweiler with the other.
Suddenly Bernard returned to the room, his face animated. “Now that’s ambition Charles” he exclaimed, pointing towards the woman in the blue dress.
“Look at that, that little bugger doesn’t know it’s a Chihuahua! It thinks it’s a Rottweiler Charles!”.
Charles looked over, smiling at his old friend. “Indeed it does Bernard, indeed it does”
https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/grit/