“Hur hur, Frankie Boy! How many fingers am I holding up?”
Frank groaned. “Ronald, you’re a tortoise. You don’t have any fingers.”
“C’mon, Frankie Boy! Play along!”
“Fine. Zero.”
“Ya got me!” grinned Ronald.
The aquarium was blissfully peaceful for about ten seconds. Then:
“Hey, Frankie Boy, pull my finger!”
“Ooooooooh, shiny!” Mindy picked up the loonie and was instantly surrounded by every grubby-fingered toddler on the playground. “Back, you brats!” she shouted, holding it high. “It’s MINE!”
“I’ll take that,” snapped the kindergarten teacher, snatching the loonie.
“I’ll take that,” said the principal.
“I’ll take that,” said the government.
Venus came home to chaos.
“What is going on!?”
“Hi, honey!” said her husband, Chris, standing behind a hutch with their daughter on his shoulders. “Tina and I bought a few bunnies!”
“A ‘few‘?”
“Well, we took two, but by the time we got home there were a bunch more…”
This story is based on a title suggested by @TsukiakariUsagi.
“Are we there yet?”
“No,” Mary snapped. Two of the kids started crying.
Ben ignored them.
Mary groaned. “Why do we even go for these drives? We don’t like it. The kids don’t like it. Nobody likes it.”
“Fine.” Ben turned the car around.
Beneath them, the road sighed sadly.
This story is based on a title suggested by @THatherty2.
“Look, Pa! A dead rat!”
“Lemme see, Gerald,” said Pa. “Ah, it’s only a skellington and a bit of skin. Musta died a long time ago. Funny how nice he’s sittin’, like he went out calm and peaceful. Makes you wonder, kinda.”
Deep inside Ratankhamen’s corpse, a long-preserved soul-spark flared.
“One last thing, Officer Markham.”
“Yes, Captain?”
“Look out for youths wearing baggy trousers. That’s the mark of the Hooligans’ Club!”
“Yes, sir!” Markham strode off on patrol.
The Captain chuckled. Rookies were so gullible!
He felt differently later, while processing the paperwork for seventeen wrongful arrests of baggy-trousered teenagers.
This story is based on the title suggested by Nicholas Barlow.
“Halt, dragon!” called the knight.
“Who are you calling a dragon?”
“Oh, pardon me,” said the knight. “You looked like a dragon from behind.”
“How rude! I’m just big-boned!”
“I’m terribly sorry, gentle lizard. How can I make it up to you?”
“Don’t struggle,” said the dragon, and ate him.
“You have a gun? That’s crazy! I don’t want that in here!”
“Relax. It’s perfectly safe.”
“But guns are used for shooting things.”
“Yeah, like bad guys. Or moose.”
“But… Wait, what about bears?”
“Sure, I could shoot those.”
“The fewer bears in the world, the better. Get on it!”
This story is dedicated to Kate, who provided the title that inspired it.
“I’m just a lonely cowpoke,” Billy admitted. “I ain’t no gun-totin’ hero, really.”
“Aw, shucks,” Milly muttered. “I was countin’ on you to save my ranch from Bad Bart!”
“I’m awful sorry, Milly.”
“Don’t be, darlin’. Truth is, I’ve been lyin’, too.”
“Pardon?”
“Y’see, pardner, I actually am Bad Bart!”
Mommy bought me a new pair of shoes. I am not allowed to get them dirty at all. New shoes are extra special, Mommy says.
A mean man stepped in a puddle and splashed my shoes today. I punched his face.
Mommy says faces are even specialer than new shoes.
This story was based on the prompt “new shoes” at TypeTrigger.