Can someone get me going??

[lewisnotmiller]

Alright. {grabs nearest book on bookshelf--Analects of Confucius & Tao Te Ching. Opens book to three random pages and looks for a word that jumps out at me:}

• impatiences
• illumined
• untaught

(I both respect your sense of humour here, and groaned when I read this. Talk about unexpected challenges!! I thought about cheating, and making a story set in a spelling bee, but that felt cheap...so...here we go...)

'I'm nearly ready, Mum, just calm down!', the teenage girl whined, pulling a sweater on at the same time she tried slipping a shoe on.

'So you should be. The Open Day starts in 30 minutes, and I don't want to miss the start. Someone has to actually care about your future, and it doesn't seem to be you.'

Lila groaned at her mother's words. When she was in a mood, she could be like a bear with a sore head. And she was certainly in a mood. She was hard to deal with at the best of times, but she seemed able to stack one source of impatience on another, and turn them into a raging beast. A beast named 'Impatiences', apparently.

They made it to the Open Day, twenty minutes ahead of the first presentation. Did her mother admit they didn't need to rush around like headless chickens to make it? She did not. But at least Impatiences the Beast was sleeping now.

Lila liked art, and she'd been looking forwards to hearing the University students speak about the Art program. But it was pretty confusing. She understood that the girl with green hair was talking about the light and how it effected her painting. But why did she say 'by shifting the virtual lantern, you will note how the subject's face is illumined differently?' Perhaps the girl thought it made her sound clever, but Lila had noticed she was ringing her hands nervously before the presentation. Perhaps Uni students got as nervous as High School ones did? That was quite the revelation.

By the time they were driving home, Lila's head was spinning. Even her mother's frustrated words at her tardiness in getting her seat-belt clicked in washed over her, distracted as she was. So many words that seemed to make sense, but were thrown together in strange and confusing ways. So many things she'd learnt that didn't seem at all the same as what she'd learnt previously. 'Mum...I think I need to be untaught everything I've been told at High School, so I'll be ready for Uni.'

'Don't be ridiculous. Untaught isn't a real word.'

Lila sighed. Seemed like Impatiences the Beast had woken up...

 

[savagewind]

First off, if anyone came in here with the wrong idea, shame on you. I would never, ever, ever post a double entendre as a thread title. Indeed, I don't even know what a double entendre is.

Secondly...I write as a hobby. At various times in my life I have gone from 'completely mediocre' all the way up to 'semi-coherent, with moments of possible plagiarism'. This mostly depends on how much narrative writing I am doing. I'm constantly writing for work, and that actually negatively impacts my writing ability I think.

So...right now I am rusty. Tried twice in several days to write a couple of silly little stories, and bored myself to tears.

TLDR;
Throw three words at me, and I'll turn it into a ditty, a made-up piece of fake wisdom, or a micro-story. No limits on what the words are (apart from normal RF rules applying).
Prefer no names of people, but if you want to add a name as a fourth piece of information, fire away.

I also do not know what a double entendre is so, therefore, funny. I might have heard about it once, but like most things, I forget. A blessing or a curse...I do not know!

 

[lewisnotmiller]

Pork, concrete, sign.

Once upon a time, there were three pigs.
The first built his house of straw, which is pretty damn silly. The Big Bad Wolf blew the house down, and had pork for lunch.
The second, built his house of concrete. 'That's cheating!', yelled the Wolf.
The pig looked out his window and shrugged. 'My mum used to read me The Three Little Pigs when I was a piglet. You think I'm dumb enough to build out of sticks?'
'Your brother still built his out of straw though!'
The pig raised his piggy eyebrows. 'Did he now? That's just a sign that he wasn't paying much attention to mum's stories, then, isn't it?'

The Wolf considered this, and it was his turn to shrug.

'True enough. What about your other brother? Did he listen to the stories? Did he pay attention? Is his house made of bricks? Or bloody concrete?'

'Doesn't matter', the pig said brightly.

'It matters to me. I'm still hungry.'

'No, I mean, it doesn't matter what his house is made of. He ALWAYS paid attention to mum's stories. He is basically the piggy version of a prepper.'

'Well...I'm going to check anyway. Never know your luck...'

The Wolf turned around, and came face to face with the business end of the largest shotgun he'd ever seen.

'Say hello to my little friend', the third pig said to the Wolf, before pulling the trigger.

'Told ya it didn't matter what his house was made of...', the second pig concluded merrily.

The End.

 

[savagewind]

Parsley, Party, Port-of call

 

[lewisnotmiller]

Sedulous, seduction, sandwich.

The man wouldn't describe himself as obese. Just...you know...festively plump. But the groan of the stool as he perched himself on it was somewhat troubling. A diet, then. Tomorrow, perhaps. Not today. Today he was busy. Once a week for a year he'd been coming to this cafe, and they knew him well now.

'Hi Gary!', the fresh-faced girl behind the counter trilled. 'You want the usual?'

'Oh...yes...yes, please', Gary responded in his surprisingly deep baritone. A few murmured words to a cafe attendant was as close to seduction as he got these days. Back in the day, of course, he'd been much more of a ladies man. Really, his inner voice asked. Well, somewhat, he responded grumpily. At least he could make a girl laugh at a joke, or flick her hair at his smile. These days she was as likely to think he was going to devour her as anything.

He waited patiently as she made his sandwich, layering three thick-cut slices of ham with interspersed swiss cheese slices. Some tomato and lettuce, and a heathy handful of jalapenos. His mouth watered at the prospect. When finally he had it in his trembling hands, he watched himself grasp the sandwich with sedulous care. Too much haste, and the fillings spilled out the back, causing much embarrassment for all.

Just minutes later, he considered the dross left from his meal. All done for another week. He licked his finger, and used it to mop up the few crumbs still teasing him.

'You know, Gary, I can make you another to go, if you want?'

'Really?'

'Sure. No trouble.'

Gary chuckled happily. God he loved Subway.

The End.

 

[VoidCat]

Storm, eccentric, pepper

 

[lewisnotmiller]

Pope
Forgot
Birthpill

(Eeesh...PG-13 rating makes this one a little trickier than it would have been. I've already discarded three jokes and a story idea. Lessee...)

Being the Pope was not as much fun as most thought. Sure, having a car called the Popemobile was pretty cool, and it was every bit as bullet-proof as Batman's, but the only people who needed bullet-proof cars were ones with a chance of being shot at. Much less fun.
And then there was the mail. Every day, piles of mail to go through.

'Dear Pope, do you have erectile disfunction...' Ugh. Bin.

'Dear Mr Pope, I am a Nigerian Prince who...' Ugh. Bin.

'Your Holiness, is it more of a sin to use contraception whilst having sex, or to lie by telling your husband you forgot to take your birthpill?'

Hmm...well. At least this woman had used a decent honorific. Sipping on his Skinny Chai Latte, the Pope read on.

'I'd like a baby. And we'll raise this one proper, and all. A good Christian baby, dedicated to the Church. Not like the last one, devil-spawn that he is. Only, my husband, John...well...he isn't so sure. I've been praying and praying for God to somehow grant me a baby, despite John using condoms, only nothing has happened. Then a thought occurred to me. What if I tell John I'm going on the pill? And then I kind of...well...forget to take it? It felt a little sinful to even think about it, but then I thought...perhaps it's God telling me to do this? So I asked my friend Joan about it, and she told me I was daft. God doesn't talk about sex, on account of it being sinful to think about. But what would Joan know anyway? But I'm thinking you'd know, right? So...would God want me to get pregnant and bring a nice little Christian baby into the world?'

The Pope wanted to write back 'Sure, why not? Church attendance could use the boost.' But for all he knew this whole letter was just an entrapment from the Atheists Association as payback for that drive by holy water shooting he'd arranged.
Hmm...how to respond...

'Dear Mary, thank-you for your letter. God helps those who help themselves. Blessed are the children. Yours in God, The Pope.'

The End.

 

[lewisnotmiller]

Nasa, Giant hamburger, Andromeda

Funding meetings were a pain. Why couldn't the government just hand them a wad of cash, and let them do some cool stuff? Oversight was all well and good, but in truth the constant meetings and discussions, and papers costs far more than it would to just hand them a blank check and let them go for their lives. Well...maybe not 'far more'. But 'some more'. Or at least 'nearly as much'.

Henry O'Mallory had worked for Nasa for nigh on ten years, now, and he still hadn't worked out how to switch off his brain in these drear-fests. It was a skill his team-mates had down pat. Nod at the right times, make the occasional agreeable noise, and then still know when to snap out of their trance enough to talk about things like 'fiscal responsibility' or 'realised benefits matrices'.

Phhht...fiscal responsibility. Imagine talking to politicians about such thing. The same folk who had chartered jets rush them to newsworthy occasions so they could kiss local babies, and cut local ribbons. What a crock.

'Mr O'Mallory...it says here you are asking for a grant of $1 trillion dollars to extend our space research. Just what realised benefits can the American taxpayers expect from this...'

Henry's left eye twitched at that.

'...and how will you ensure good governance and fiscal responsibility.'

Right eye twitched. There were days it would be better to stay home. When the layers of bureaucratic nonsense became so thick you could feel yourself choking on them, it probably was one of those days.

'Well, sir...', Henry heard himself say, as if in a dream. 'We are wanting to send a probe to Andromeda. It's approximately 2.5 million light years from where we currently stand. Our costings are based on the new technologies required to...'

'Okay. But you're not planning to send the rocket from here, are you? You're planning on sending it from...well, it says here 'The Australian Desert'. That raises a few issues with me. Rockets go up, as well all know. And Australia...or Down Under...is on the bottom of the planet...'

'Well, sir...the planet really doesn't have a 'bottom...'

'Good grief man, of course it does. For pity sake, there is a drawing of it right there in your Nasa symbol. Have we put a flat-earther in charge of space exploration?'

'No...I didn't mean...'

'Back to my point, Mr O'Mallory. Why not launch the rocket from Texas? Why give the Australians a chance to steal our technology? Why move it to Australia, rather than here? All those extra light years have to be costly, right? How much does an extra ten light years add to the costs?'

Henry was somewhat nonplussed. Did he start by explaining Australia was an ally? Or that using the Australian desert was the most efficient and expedient launch location, and would cut costs? Or that the Senator appeared to be a complete loon?

'Mr O'Mallory. How much does an extra ten light years add to the cost, please. You will answer.'

'Like...I dunno. 50 billion maybe?'

'Good grief. We're spending an extra 50 billion so the Australians can steal our technology, and the program is being run by a flat earther. And just what do you hope to find for the American people, Mr O'Mallory? Or should I ask the Australians?'

Henry snapped, internally. It was all just too ridiculous. He could yell, punch someone, of just lean in.

'A giant hamburger, sir. There is an ongoing argument between Dr. @KAT-KAT and Dr. @Meow Mix . One thinks it will likely be a Baconator. One, a Dave's Double.'

'Giant...hamburgers? Are you serious, Mr O'Mallory?'

'Deadly serious sir.'

'And which theory from the two doctors do you support?'

'Neither, sir. This isn't a Wendy's. I think we'll find something far beyond anything we've seen before. Perhaps a triple seafood burger. Or a salami patty filled with vegan cheese...'

'Vegan cheese? I'm assuming that's an Australian idea. We certainly don't use that in Texas.'

'My point is more just that space exploration might uncover things we can't even imagine, and if we can just commit to...'

'Is there a way around this vegan cheese problem? How do we mitigate that risk?'

Henry felt tired. He shrugged. 'We could drop in at the moon on the way back, and set up a mine there. Everyone knows the moon is made of high quality cheese.'

'Interesting idea. And that would be proper American cow cheese, right? Yes. I like it. Okay, we're going to approve 2 trillion dollars for exploration to Andromeda, as long as you include a cheese mine on the moon.'

'Ummm....thanks?', O'Mallory managed weakly.

The End.

 

[ChristineM]

(Eeesh...PG-13 rating makes this one a little trickier than it would have been. I've already discarded three jokes and a story idea. Lessee...)

Being the Pope was not as much fun as most thought. Sure, having a car called the Popemobile was pretty cool, and it was every bit as bullet-proof as Batman's, but the only people who needed bullet-proof cars were ones with a chance of being shot at. Much less fun.
And then there was the mail. Every day, piles of mail to go through.

'Dear Pope, do you have erectile disfunction...' Ugh. Bin.

'Dear Mr Pope, I am a Nigerian Prince who...' Ugh. Bin.

'Your Holiness, is it more of a sin to use contraception whilst having sex, or to lie by telling your husband you forgot to take your birthpill?'

Hmm...well. At least this woman had used a decent honorific. Sipping on his Skinny Chai Latte, the Pope read on.

'I'd like a baby. And we'll raise this one proper, and all. A good Christian baby, dedicated to the Church. Not like the last one, devil-spawn that he is. Only, my husband, John...well...he isn't so sure. I've been praying and praying for God to somehow grant me a baby, despite John using condoms, only nothing has happened. Then a thought occurred to me. What if I tell John I'm going on the pill? And then I kind of...well...forget to take it? It felt a little sinful to even think about it, but then I thought...perhaps it's God telling me to do this? So I asked my friend Joan about it, and she told me I was daft. God doesn't talk about sex, on account of it being sinful to think about. But what would Joan know anyway? But I'm thinking you'd know, right? So...would God want me to get pregnant and bring a nice little Christian baby into the world?'

The Pope wanted to write back 'Sure, why not? Church attendance could use the boost.' But for all he knew this whole letter was just an entrapment from the Atheists Association as payback for that drive by holy water shooting he'd arranged.
Hmm...how to respond...

'Dear Mary, thank-you for your letter. God helps those who help themselves. Blessed are the children. Yours in God, The Pope.'

The End.

Good story from my one and only opening line i dreamed up for a novel that never started.

 

[Viker]

Butter, dress, oar.

 

[lewisnotmiller]

Ice
Dark
Howl

(Those are almost a coherent set. I declare you the nicest person here. Everyone else is making it tricky!!)

Bad haiku for you

Winter, Snow and Ice
Dark night, rough road, driving fast
A howl of dismay

 

[lewisnotmiller]

Drink
Girls
Arse

(Too much watching "Father Ted", I'm afraid)

(Ha! *ponders* I can work with that I think.)

The warm buzz from a strong drink can do wonderful things as it spreads through your bloodstream.
Turn your thoughts to love.
Well, maybe not love exactly. But girls, at least.
Warm, friendly girls with ready smiles.
Cheeky, flirty girls with come-hither glances.
And sexy, confident girls. Particularly ones with a hot arse.

Another sip of the drink, and another gentle flood of warmth.
Sitting alone at a bar wasn't planned, but it certainly did give one time to pause and enjoy a whiskey.
Draining the glass signaled it was time to move. A little time for reflection and to savour a drink was one thing.
Going home without having some fun was quite a different story.

@Meow Mix stood up, and felt a smile come to life on her face as she took in the room.

 

[Shadow Wolf]

Dark matter
Roses
Skyscraper

 

[Meow Mix]

(Ha! *ponders* I can work with that I think.)

The warm buzz from a strong drink can do wonderful things as it spreads through your bloodstream.
Turn your thoughts to love.
Well, maybe not love exactly. But girls, at least.
Warm, friendly girls with ready smiles.
Cheeky, flirty girls with come-hither glances.
And sexy, confident girls. Particularly ones with a hot arse.

Another sip of the drink, and another gentle flood of warmth.
Sitting alone at a bar wasn't planned, but it certainly did give one time to pause and enjoy a whiskey.
Draining the glass signaled it was time to move. A little time for reflection and to savour a drink was one thing.
Going home without having some fun was quite a different story.

@Meow Mix stood up, and felt a smile come to life on her face as she took in the room.

Turn the lights off on us, like a moth left in the cold:
In the dark, begging for more.
When the urgency strikes you,
You'd better not lose your nerve!
It's the rush that the cockroaches get
At the end of the world.
It's alright, it's alright—
There's a pail by the bed if you need one (but you're doing just fine)
When in Rome we shall do as the Romans,
When in Hell we do shots at the bar!
Last call, kill it.
We don't think in terms of the morning afters,
And we don't honor a single word of the night befores.
In the meantime we're just thoughtless,
Incessant buzzing apparatuses.
Disillusioned and lonelier than the last man standing.
It doesn't get any better than this.
So run like Hell.
This is a rock and roll takeover!
Living each day one night at a time.
There were mercy ****s, there was blood.
You should have been there by my side.
This is passion!
This is red-handed denial.
I have no lover,
And she hasn't the prettiest eyes.

 

[lewisnotmiller]

Turn the lights off on us, like a moth left in the cold:
In the dark, begging for more.
When the urgency strikes you,
You'd better not lose your nerve!
It's the rush that the cockroaches get
At the end of the world.
It's alright, it's alright—
There's a pail by the bed if you need one (but you're doing just fine)
When in Rome we shall do as the Romans,
When in Hell we do shots at the bar!
Last call, kill it.
We don't think in terms of the morning afters,
And we don't honor a single word of the night befores.
In the meantime we're just thoughtless,
Incessant buzzing apparatuses.
Disillusioned and lonelier than the last man standing.
It doesn't get any better than this.
So run like Hell.
This is a rock and roll takeover!
Living each day one night at a time.
There were mercy ****s, there was blood.
You should have been there by my side.
This is passion!
This is red-handed denial.
I have no lover,
And she hasn't the prettiest eyes.

Is that yours?

 

[Meow Mix]

Is that yours?

Negative, it's my bar anthem though

 

[Meow Mix]

Cigarette
Boob
Garbanzo bean

 

[lewisnotmiller]

To all I haven't yet go to...I will!
Work is a little nutso, and I'm finding myself having to...well...work.

 

[Brickjectivity]

To all I haven't yet go to...I will!
Work is a little nutso, and I'm finding myself having to...well...work.

The idea is to make it fun for you not to overwork you. Do or do not. There is no commitment.

 

[lewisnotmiller]

obstreperous
frog
sleep

(Heh...I think I have one for you...)

@Vinayaka looked across the room and rolled his eyes. He'd been teaching too long, he knew. Once upon a time, a group of obstreperous malcontents throwing insults and paper across the room at each other would simply have been a reason for him to break out his 'teacher voice', cutting through the rebellious air of the room and restoring order in nary a moment.

But these days that seemed like an awful lot of effort to go to. Shouldn't he be respected based on his accomplishments and position? Did he REALLY need to go through this every single day?

Besides, he had a frog in his throat. Yelling didn't seem like a good idea at all. So what to do? He could make an example of the biggest and toughest of them, of course. That worked, sometimes. Cow the rest into submission. The thought of it was exhausting. The day had barely started, and already his thoughts were turning to a warm bed, and a nice sleep.

He saw a half-eaten piece of fruit fly across the room. He heard a screeching noise as a fresh argument erupted. He saw half the room ignoring the mayhem, and instead posting on social media. This was ridiculous.

'All right, all right', he finally yelled, ignoring his croaky voice. 'Can we just get this staff meeting started please?'

The End.