A merchant found an old oil lamp. Amazingly, a beautiful genie was summoned as he rubbed it.
“For freeing me, I will grant you one wish,” said the genie.
“I wish I didn’t have to worry about money,” the merchant said.
“So be it,” the genie said, and killed him.
This is the third in a series of stories from King Kool, who has previously contributed multiple other series.
“That’s twenty pounds, thank ye sir,” burbled the bumpy-faced imp of a man behind the counter.
“Twenty pounds?” protested the customer. “For some hole-ridden leather that hardly deserves to be called a boot?”
The shop assistant slammed and locked the door.
“Twenty pounds,” the imp cackled, “in currency or flesh.”
This story was based on a title suggested by @HBird_James.
After long days of deposits, withdrawals, and balance inquiries they often felt dirty when they got home, so they liked to race each other to the bathroom to play the “Who Can Get the Cleanest?” game.
She always claimed she had won, but he liked to make her prove it.
Editor’s Note: Did you spot the double pun in the title?
It didn’t take long for Mr. McFitzwilliamson to prove that swimming in a pool full of coins didn’t work. A pool of twenty-dollar bills left him covered in paper cuts.
So he melted down all of his loonies and swam in that.
He’d never really understood the laws of thermodynamics.
This story was based on a title provided by @Vigafray.
He’d purchased the seventy-five foot yacht on a whim. With a fortune like his, such a toy was a trifle.
The first time he took it out, he “accidentally” ran over three sailboats and threw some lawyers overboard to handle it.
Bartholomew Regis Alberto Tanardier never thought about his initials.
@Charles_Mor told me to write a story about boats, so I did.
Randy burst through the door. “Mandy, do you only love me for my money?!”
Mandy looked up from her fashion magazine, startled. “What? No! Honey! I love you for your… well, for your eyes!”
Randy sank into his chair stuffed with hundred-dollar bills. “Oh, phew.”
Mandy gripped her eye-socket spoon.
At the end of the first season of their reality TV series, the members of Hephty Rithums gathered their producers and kru together to celebrate.
They had lobster, steak, caviar, champagne, and a dunk tank full of money, just because.
They offered to perform a song, but were politely declined.
Every Thursday, Maxwell brought his Mum to Bingo. She never said thank you.
One week, she won fifteen thousand dollars. She took a limo home.
Next Thursday, she called him. “I need a ride to Bingo,” she said. “I spent all the money on clothes.”
He said, “Take the bus.”
He appeared out of the shadows. “Money,” he demanded, his knife cutting down the need for explanatory conversation.
Panicking, I explained I had no job, no life, and definitely no money. He apologised for bothering me and left.
I punched the air happily. The air took it like a man.
This week’s guest story comes from Jamie Middleton. He declined to attach a tagline or description of himself, which leads me to believe that he is either celebrity, a secret agent, or both. Rock on, Jamie!