“Nerd!” said Mitchell.
“Am not!” retorted Greg.
“You’re sitting in your parents’ basement playing with a computer. Face it, you’re hoopy.”
“Shut up!” Greg screamed. He grabbed a floppy disk and winged it at Mitchell’s head.
Mitchell ducked. The disk shattered on the wall.
Greg sighed. “Today’s fail count: four.”
Editor’s Note: This story was based on a call on Twitter for a noun, an adjective, and a verb. @MasterGunner314 responded with floppy disk, hoopy, and fail.
Winter. Thick snowflakes were making an exodus from the wombs of the clouds.
“Existence is suffering, but I believe our essence lives on and ascends to the Cloud Mother to be reborn,” said Seth Snowflake. “Life is a cycle.”
“That’s stupid,” said Sam Snowflake. “Life sucks, and then you melt.”
Kim groaned and awoke.
It was early morning, but unusually bright and hot.
Kim slipped into her bathrobe, flung open the blinds, and screamed.
A dying red sun filled the sky. Earth’s orbit was rapidly, dangerously contracting.
Kim shrieked and hammered on her speed-dial. “Tan-Hut!? I need a pre-tan NOW!”
Thunder shook the sky as rain pounded the glass ceiling. A chaos of wires descended from a rod at the ceiling’s peak to a bed upon which an unliving giant laid.
Lightning struck; the body spasmed and arose.
It opened its mouth, then collapsed.
“Should’ve installed Ubuntu,” muttered the scientist.
The heifer chewed her cud.
That funny one-legged man stood in front of her, holding some kind of metal tube and balancing precariously on a crutch.
Now he was pointing the metal thing at her forehead. It smelled delicious.
Later, in the farm house, George softly rubbed his bandaged hand.
“We agree, then, that the tables we’ve pushed together are, in fact, congruent rectangles?”
“Agreed,” said Phil, Sandra, and Kyle.
“I’d like to table a further motion: let it be resolved that this brick is not congruent with these tables.”
“See?” whispered Joe to Mary. “Told you geometry was exciting!”
Editor’s Note: This story was based on a call on Twitter for a noun, an adjective, and a verb. @evan_williams responded with brick, congruent, and to table.
Patience. One round, one chance. No errors are allowed. Tranquility. The jarring of the heart’s voice deters and distracts. If you still its wild fluttering, nothing is impossible. Steadfastness. Be ready for the ensuing chaos. It’s time.
The weapon fires; the crowd scatters; the politician falls; the mission is complete.
This Guest Writer story is from Zachary “Nomadic” Williams, who notes that he is not trying to suggest any specific situation or any specific person. He just had assassinations on the brain at the time of writing. At some point or another, don’t we all?
He awoke under a blanket of stars.
Confused, he stumbled to his feet, wondering how he got there.
“I didn’t really drink that much, did I?”
As if appearing from nowhere at all, a little green man stood next to him.
“Nah, but thanks for the good time. Call me!”
This Guest Story comes from James Turner. James is a member of LoadingReadyRun.com, an internet sketch comedy group that updates with a new video every Monday. LoadingReadyRun (LRR) recently launched www.commodoreHUSTLE.com to hosts LRR’s web TV show commodoreHUSTLE, which updates with a new episode on the first Monday of each month.
“Someone’s in my house trying to kill me!” cried Timothy Thicke into his cell phone. “I’m by my bathroom window.”
“Duck, please,” said Evan Edgelow into his bluetooth headset, two thousand yards away.
Thicke ducked.
Edgelow fired his sniper rifle.
“Got him,” Edgelow said. “He was coming up behind you.”
They pulled the sun from the sky.
They harvested its energies, overcoming their world of sand and wind and forging a green and fertile new home, where pleasure reigned.
Their utopia fluorished as their sun died.
I destroyed its prison. I saved the sun and abandoned their paradise to entropy.