Tale Weaver #194 – Genius or Idiot – 25th October 16, 2018 – Idiots Are Us

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It didn’t happen all that often but when it did you sat up and took notice as you never knew what the outcome might be.

This was the second such gathering of Idiots Are Us.

They came from everywhere, idiots are far more plentiful than you imagine.

To qualify was easy, you just had to have the temerity to insist you were an idiot and you were in.

Of course, not everyone was that way inclined after all there were reputations to be upheld, but the true die-hards were ever willing to let it all go announcing with a sense of pride their idiocy.

The inventors all turned up believing they were on the cusp of fame and fortune and all their invention needed was a tweak here and there, and they’d have it all perfect.

They were a funny lot, the inventors, huddling in small groups looking furtively around the gathering as if anticipating some move was about to made on their latest idiot idea.

Josh Kirkinsup’s “Gentle Sleeper” was the success he had not anticipated. His idea with the “Gentle Sleeper” was that when you woke in the middle of the night, the ‘Gentle Sleeper’ would, with what Josh described as mother’s touch, rock you back to sleep.

At his first demonstration with the mass of idiots gathered around, his “Gentle Sleeper” catapulted Myron Takawiz from the bed severely injuring three of his ribs. There was much consternation and general agreement that the “Gentle Sleeper” was an idiot idea, and that alone placed Josh into the upper echelon of idiocy.

From that moment on he was revered and put on a pedestal by the other idiots.

After all it took a lot of work and effort to produce an idiot invention and Josh had been successful with what seemed very little thought or planning.

Like so many idiot inventions his “Gentle Sleeper” was only a stroke or two from genius. The sheer thought of achieving such a level of invention was basically anathema to all idiots.

Being labelled a genius was enough to have one excluded in very unceremonious ways from the brotherhood of idiots. When it came down to it what self-respecting idiot wanted the shame of genius lumped onto them.

 

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2018/10/25/tale-weaver-194-genius-or-idiot-25th-october-16-2018/

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Twittering Tales #107 – 23 October 2018

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Something weird happened when the pumpkins developed a skin, not unlike his own.
He had nightmares, where he was in a forest and hands, and arms appeared around the trees, he felt threatened,
scared and somewhat confused more so by the flock of crows circling their old house. (273 characters)

Written for: https://katmyrman.com/2018/10/23/twittering-tales-107-23-october-2018/

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Bonus Wordle “The Letter F” – Freda Fresh

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This week’s words: Flutter Fault Flesh Fruitless Froth Foreshadow Fashionista Flight Attendant Forfeit Flibbertigibbet ((n.) a gossip) Femininity Floodgate

Freda Fresh has one great fault,

Apart from being drop dead gorgeous

She’s a flibbertigibbet, a flight attendant,

Forever telling stories about the faults of others.

If you ask her about her day, you are opening the floodgates

She spews forth all manner of froth and fortune

On the unfortunates, she has in her care.

She flutters her eyelids, exudes femininity

And any intervention is a fruitless exercise.

Freda considers herself a fashionista wearing the latest creations

From the exotic ports, she visits

Ever willing to flash some flesh you know when you see her

She will never forfeit her morals for the opportunity

To foreshadow an exhibition where you’ll be left in no doubt

She too has faults, but you can’t help admiring them.

 

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2018/10/22/bonus-wordle-the-letter-f/

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Sadje’s Questions

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In sympathy with Fandango, I have written my answers to Sadje’s searching questions.

How long have you been blogging?

Since 2012.

  1. Do your friends and family support you in this?

They think I have nothing to do so they feel more sorry for me than supportive.

  1. Which is your favourite time of the day?

Morning.

  1. What would be your dream vacation?

Travelling the world in first-class comfort.

  1. What genre of movies you like best?

Movies that have stories that grab me and my attention, heroes against all the odds, unrealistic I know but I like them.

  1. What do you wake up to?

The morning, and I’m grateful to see it.

  1. Are you a morning person?

Yes

  1. What motivates you?

The thought of engaging my mind in some form of writing where I have an idea, and I get ‘excited’ about where it might go.

  1. How do you think your friends see you?

Quiet and philosophical. Oh and often the perfect designated driver.

  1. What would be your idea for saving the environment from pollution?

Governments allowing water to be developed as a non-polluting fuel.

  1. Happy or peaceful, what is more, important to you?

Happy is an elusive goal, and I think its best achieved by staying as peaceful as you can. After all non-peaceful approaches fail every time.

Written for: Sadje @ https://lifeafter50forwomen.com/

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Finish the Story – Oct #9

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After the Long, Hard Winter

Winter had been hard. Harder than anyone in Goosedown had expected. It was six weeks into spring, and Emily never felt better. She was finally able to get out into her garden. The spring flowers had fully said hello and colour was everywhere, but the one thing she was most happy about was the Goosedown Spring Festival that was taking place today.

With one last check in the mirror, she adjusted her bright pink hat and set out for the park. While walking there, she met up with …

From morpethroad

Mary from the Dairy trudging along carrying two pails of fresh milk. The milk was for Miss Turnout’s café and scone emporium.

It was clear Mary was not happy as everyone in Goosedown knew of the animosity between the two women. Mary had been in love with the handsome Sir Michael, and it was Miss Turnout who spread vile and vicious rumours about Mary such that Sir Michael turned his back on Mary and went off and married the less than gorgeous Phillipa the Needle maiden.

Mary had long held the grudge against Mis Turnout and every now and then she would clear her throat and deposit the said clearance into one of the buckets. Emily being the sweet and innocent young lady she was and at that moment filled with the expectation of the coming spring and smiled serenely at Mary as she went by.

“There’d be nothing to smile about young Emily,” said the sour Mary as she passed and deposited another into the left bucket, “the rotten old cow destroyed my life, I’m gonna make her rue the day she spread rumours about me, no matter how true they might be. Sorry I should not have said that.”

Emily had no answer to Mary’s statement and was not a girl given easily to gossip so she…

 

I pass the baton to Di @ https://pensitivity101.wordpress.com/

Go Di..

 

 

Written for: https://thehauntedwordsmith.wordpress.com/2018/10/20/finish-the-story-oct-9/

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Thursday photo prompt: Glimmer #writephoto

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He disliked whinging as it was the one thing he hated to be around and right now all that was coming from his mouth was constant whining about how far it was to camp.

Why he had agreed to this day hike was now beyond him, he should have known his fitness was poor, but he’d allowed himself to be cajoled into going to save face and appear to be one of the group.

He knew his behaviour must be irritating on the others who trudged ahead of him never showing any indication that like him his feet hurt, his calves hurt and his pride was seriously damaged.

The hike was billed as easy, and it was anything but that according to him.

He dragged further and further behind as the evening approached and was assured the camp was just over the next hill but that claim seemed to be several hills ago in his estimation.

By now each step was hurting as never before. His shoes were rubbing against his heels, and he knew blisters were building by the minute. His second toe on his right foot screamed at him to rest as another formed there and in his mind was the humiliation of being the one who slowed everyone down.

The group waited for him on the top of the next rise, and as he arrived, they pointed to the glimmer of light in the distance. There was the camp, which came with a sense of relief but still seemed an awfully long way off.

 

Written for: https://scvincent.com/2018/10/18/thursday-photo-prompt-glimmer-writephoto/

 

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Reena’s Exploration Challenge #Week 59

CHALLENGE

“So, you think money is at the root of all evil …..”

In a far corner of the betting shop sits the man down on his luck and all but out of cash.

It’s time for the last race, and he feels in his pocket as much out of hope as anything and finds two, $2.00 coins hiding in the far corner.

It’s not much, but it’s his last hope.

It’s been a mournful day, his money so easily gambled away and now in his mind is what to say to his wife when he returns home penniless. She’s been on to him to give it away, says to him “money is the root of all evil’ and he knows now how true that is.

In the back of his mind, the words of his father echo: “It’s a hard game.”

He rolls the coins in his fingers as he studies the form guide. He desperately wants to salvage something from the day, after all, he told his wife he was going down to put on a few bets, and now it’s almost the end of his day. His mates whom he sits with have long gone, they too had the same luck as him and readily abandoned him once it was clear luck must have been at another betting shop, and there was no chance of any free drinks.

He decides number seven is a chance and if it gets up will pay enough to say he won something.

He parts with his last coins and sits back to watch the race. As he waits, he sees his family at home waiting for him, his wife cooking a meagre meal and the kids expectant in that their dad will come home and if he’s had luck he’ll bring them a surprise, usually a bag of chips and chocolate for their mother.

He looks up to see the race is coming to an end and number seven is nowhere to be seen. Another race where the ambulance beat the horse home. Gambling has its own series of flippant remarks to pass off the ignominy of losing.

There’s nothing left for him but to take his sorrowful self and head for home. He knows the silence and disapproval that awaits him, worse that he’ll have to suffer in front of his children.

“I’ve got to give it away,” he says to himself, “next week I’ll stay in, play with the kids, help the wife, be a husband and dad.”

As he trudges towards home, the pledge he makes himself fades as the lure of the next race meeting pushes such thoughts from his mind.

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Written for: https://reinventionsreena.wordpress.com/2018/10/18/reenas-exploration-challenge-week-59/

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SoCS Oct. 20/18 – Can

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Can

I can because I can and that is why I can.

You say I can’t but I can, so put that in your pipe and smoke it.

I went to the shop today and purchased a dozen “CAN” lollies

Each one I sucked and then sucked another

I wanted to stand outside your house just to prove I can

But then people would talk and we wouldn’t want that

So, I took a selfie of each lolly as I sucked it because I can

And you the fun part of all this??

I can and you can’t.

 

Written for: https://lindaghill.com/2018/10/19/the-friday-reminder-and-prompt-for-socs-oct-20-18/

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Tale Weaver/Fairy Tale # 193 – Fairies. – The Fire Patch.

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Google Images: Labelled for re-use.

I was digging in my garden when I was rudely interrupted by a voice asking me what I thought I was doing.

I looked around thinking it was my nosey neighbour kidding around again. But no one was in sight, and I thought I must be hearing things.

So, I sunk my shovel once again into the ground only to encounter a more strident voice repeating the earlier request.

I looked down and there standing against my shovel was the tiniest man. At least I thought it was a man. It did have trousers on.

I stood there providing the situation with my best gormless face and focused on the little man.

“People live here,” he said, “do you know you are disturbing our lives by digging as you are?”

“Who are you?” I asked wondering if I was dreaming.

“Silas Missage,” replied the man, “head fairy and custodian of the fire patch.”

“Fire patch? There’s a fire patch?”

“Of course, every self-respecting garden fairy cultivates and respects his fire patch.”

“I don’t understand,” I said sounding more and more incredulous.

“Garden fairies love what you folk rudely refer to as ‘fire weed’. To us, it is nature’s beauty all rolled into one single plant. It provides us with sustenance, fuel and most importantly firewood in the colder months. So, I would humbly request you cease digging the plants up.”

“Oh, I see and if I don’t?”

“You don’t want to go there. We can get very cross.”

“Really? But this is my garden.”

“No, it isn’t.” With that my shovel turned into child’s plastic shovel, the sort you’d use at the beach.

“As I was saying,” said the small man, this is our patch, and I’d appreciate it if you buggered off and found something useful to do elsewhere.”

The little fairy had made his point, and I wondered if my yard had in recent times become possessed as I’d had a similar experience when I tried to move the wood heap.

412

Fireweed.

 

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2018/10/18/tale-weaver-fairy-tale-193-fairies/

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Finish the Story #15

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The Funniest Vacation Ever!

Alan spent the winter of ’86 thinking about all the road trips he was subjected to as a child in the old family station wagon. His two children had never experienced hours filled with playing I-spy and highway bingo followed by staring out the window convinced you passed that cactus three hours ago. He decided the time had come for his family to have that experience.

“Everyone in the car,” he said on the first day of summer break in ’87.

“What?” Andrew had just settled onto the couch for a day of tv viewing.

“No!” Jenny shouted as she covered the phone with her hand. “I’m talking to Becky!”

“Why?” Alex said as he tossed his football in the air while he waited for the other players to wake up.

Alan stood in the hallway and shook his car keys. “Now!”

Three disgruntled children and a very confused wife slowly passed by on their way out to the car.

“Where are we going?” Patty asked her husband as they passed the last exit for their town on the highway.

“We’re going to a great place that I know you’ll love.

“Disneyland?” Jenny asked as her face lit up.

“Kinda.”

“Universal Studios?” Andrew asked, growing excited.

“Sort of.”

“Knotts Berry Farm?” Alex asked.

“You’ll see.”

Even Patty grew excited until Alan turned off the highway onto a dirt road and drove for five hours.

“Our first stop,” Alan declared as he pulled into a parking lot.

Alan grinned ear-to-ear while everyone else’s jaws dropped as they looked out the car windows and saw//

From Michael at Morpethroad

they had arrived at an authentic western town.

All around them was the smell of the west. Horse poo, mud, human excrement it was all there to be enjoyed.

The kids were not in the least excited. They recoiled from the scene, burying their noses in their handkerchiefs while urging their father to drive on.

Suddenly around them, there were gunshots. A bullet passed through the window next to Andrew’s head, his sister Jenny screamed, and then the car door was swung open, and a grizzled man shouted at them to get out and seek cover because the Irish Gang had hit the town and they were the meanest, most ornery cowpokes west of the river.

The kids and their parents did as they were told all finding themselves crawling through the mud towards the cover of a horse trough. Around them bullets flew, the children terrified and thinking their days were over made it to the trough where they hid holding onto their parent’s hands. The parents, Alan and Patty, clung to each other as bullets whipped through the water in the trough spraying them with water that tasted strangely like horse.

Then as unexpected as the gunfight, Alan was grabbed and dragged out into the middle of the street. Patty screamed in fear for her husband who was quickly tied up and made to kneel in the mud of the street.

One of the attackers, Snide O’Gorman, then produced a rope and flung it over a light pole. The rope had a noose, a noose that was placed around Alan’s neck.

The kids were beside themselves when…

 

I pass the story to Sadje – https://lifeafter50forwomen.com/

 

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