Session November 3, 2018

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The imperial coat of arms with the eagle was first created by Charlemagne when he was crowned in 800.

By CC

It was a good day for a picnic at the beach. Pepin the Short tossed Charlemagne a stack of towels.  “Here, boy. Just take them down to that bench.”

Charlemagne threw the towels in the sand and kicked a rock out of his way. Pepin wasn’t long for this world. 

In his mind, Charlemagne toyed with ideas for a coat of arms. He had to devise something soon.  He grabbed a chicken off the bench and tore into it with his teeth. Bertrada raised her arm to swat at him but turned away tiredly. There was no controlling this one. He would break away soon.

For the family snap, they gathered by the table, littered with bottles of wine. Charlemagne stood at the left, arm around his girlfriend, Himiltrude. He had completed the design in his mind. But he needed to fact check first.

After the photograph was taken, he went back up to the car, looking for Pepin’s bible, a tattered copy of Einhard: The Life of Charlemagne by Samuel Turner.

How profoundly Charlemagne wanted to be free of his father’s bizarre historical obsession! He opened the book to a marked page:  The imperial coat of arms with the eagle was first created by Charlemagne when he was crowned in 800.  

Well, there’s a clue, he thought. An eagle. He looked out over the ocean and felt the pull of its vastness and power. He decided to kill his father over the weekend, took a note book out of his pocket and began to plan the event. 

Later, during the manhunt for Charlemagne, Chuck and Hilda slipped into Mexico and bought a food truck with Pepin’s secret treasure. They lived happily thus for years until buying a sailboat that later sank off Mazatlan, after which they were never seen again, though, as no-one ever actually looked, it could not be verified.

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The collective influence of the executive council was appreciated in London.

By TNT

Collective influence of the executive council had enormous power of control and the ability to consign any written or spoken words. Fake News was all that was allowed. Bookstores were closed and the black market literature was exceedingly popular. 

The last bookstore in London sold all its books to one dealer who would send children out in the streets to hawk classic authors – even Charles Dickens was banned. The collective influence of the executive council was appreciated in London.

 

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No matter how much money you make or how much you have in the bank, finances are stressful.

By MD

When Pam and Tim won the lottery, they did the smart thing, the thing “conventional wisdom” says you must: They kept their winning a secret until they acquired an attorney and a financial advisor.  “After all,” Pam said, “No matter how much money you make or how much you have in the bank, finances are stressful. Now that we are the lottery’s first billionaire winners, we have to learn how to manage our money and avoid the scalpers and the hangers on.”

“Right you are,” Tim said. So the two of them spent a month seeking advice, conducting interviews, and winnowing down the selections to one learned gentleman who was both an attorney and a financial advisor and a real estate agent.

So it happened that they followed his advice and bought a tropical island, away from the “money grubbers,” as their advisor termed it, where Tim and Pam could retire in peace and enjoy a new life with the primitive tribes who lived there. The couple was pleased with this solution to their financial anxieties and felt they had acquired their island at a bargain price – their attorney/financial advisor/real estate agent sold them his island for a “mere pittance” as he termed it. They paid just under a billion dollars. That was, in fact, all of their lottery winnings, but the ambiance and solitude of the island made it ideal for them.

So it was on their first night there, after settling all the furniture in their cozy nest, Pam laid out a romantic beach side dinner for the two of them, to celebrate their good fortune. Unfortunately, their attorney/financial advisor/real estate agent, whose name, by the way, was Dewey Cheatem, failed to mention the active volcano looming in the center of the island. Just as Pam finished putting the finishing touches on the table setting, and Tim had poured the wine, the volcano erupted and the island sank into the sea. Which meant it was Dewey Cheatem who was the actual lottery winner and it was his turn to learn the lesson “No matter how much money you make or how much you have in the bank, finances are stressful.” And ain’t that the truth?

Session October 6 2018

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Forgetting negates the meaning of history.

By RMAF

Salacious Selena Samantha always kept a dizzying life of twirling between the opposites: angels and devils, right and wrong, loud and soft, highs and lows, sweet and sour, darkness and light, and present times and historical times. She always felt a part of two worlds, and she was being tugged on from two totally different, strong entities on opposite sides. She decided to simplify her crowded thoughts and make some changes. She decided to forget half of all her beliefs, starting with complex history. Although she has always been told by her wise father that studying history helps us to understand and improve our present and improve on our future, forgetting history negates its meaning and values. 

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He knows what he likes and what he does not.

By BG

Hal was finally going for it. He had a girl and was ready to tie the knot. He hadn’t taken the same route as all his college buddies and they had been worried about him.  Each and every one of them had married their college sweethearts within 5 years of graduation. Hal, however, had made it to their 10 year reunion still wild and single. They took him aside and proposed that they find him the girl of his dreams. They assured him they could. They assured him they knew his likes and dislikes and could take care of everything. It took a bit of convincing, but Hal finally gave in and told them to give it a try. After all, they quoted over and over, “He knows what he likes and what he does not.” And we know what he knows. So he acquiesced to their insistence. He told them he was going to set a date for the wedding and put in his time-off request so there would be a honeymoon right afterwards. His buddies set to work straight away and the big day had finally arrived. There he stood at the altar. She was ready to come down the aisle. Hal looked up and exclaimed “Wow.”

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A woman in a red dress holds a crescent moon aloft.

By CT

To celebrate the New Moon, a woman stands in her flower garden amidst the sunflowers. Just as she begins her late afternoon ritual, a monarch butterfly lands lightly on a nearby flower.

The woman, wearing a red dress , holds a crescent moon aloft in reverence and joy.

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There is something about a baked potato that is so comforting.

By JS

I spent a lot of time debating. Should I run the half-marathon or not? There was all that talk about Miller’s Bridge – the County didn’t want to replace it; but would the repairs hold yet another year? Only twenty-five people were signed up for the run. How much damage could 50 feet, pounding down to the finish line, do to the old wood structure?

I signed up. If the others were unafraid, why should I play the coward. Besides, there was the all you can eat baked potato feed at the end. All my favorite toppings: sour cream, chives, bacon – about anything you’d want. 

That morning I was not, you might say, at the front of the pack. Dead last would be more accurate. My fellow runners made quite the din as they hit Miller’s Bridge, all packed together like a stampeding cattle herd. When they hit mid-point on the bridge, there was a crunching, cracking, splintering sound and they all, every last one, vanished before my eyes! I was going too fast to stop, and with the assurance of sour cream on baked potato on the far side, I jumped, positive I’d bridge the gap. There is something about a baked potato that is so comforting.

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I told myself he could surely survive another month, and I was not over concerned for his safety.

By MD

I work for Today’s Bride magazine. Surely that qualifies me as a wedding trend expert. I was honored and excited to be assigned to cover the magazine’s first bi-racial lesbian wedding. My husband, however, was not so pleased. 

“This could be dangerous,” he told me. “There might be protests. The religious right, the ACLU, the white supremacists – it could turn violent. I don’t want you to go.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” I replied. “This is a piece of history. I’ve got to be there. I’ve got to record this momentous event.”

It took some strong words, but I finally convinced him to let me go. What I didn’t know was that he planned to follow me there – spying on me, as I later interpreted it. 

It was a truly lovely affair. Both brides were beautiful, the ceremony touching and poignant, the guests delighted to attend. It was my husband who caused the uproar. Just as the minister proclaimed “I now pronounce you wife and wife,” my husband suddenly made his presence known by shouting “You mean woman and woman!” I was mortified. As the two brides huddled together, each protecting the other, I took a last photo from behind and then tackled my husband and took him down. He did not arise. The paramedics were summoned and he was taken to the hospital. They told me he was in a coma. 

I told myself he could surely survive another month, and I was not over concerned for his safety. I returned to the historic wedding celebration, congratulated the two brides, and feasted on roast beef and wedding cake.

To my everlasting gratification, my rear view photo of the two women, side by side in their wedding garb, made the cover of Today’s Bride. I was truly a part of that historic event. I was wrong about my husband, though. He died of his injuries a week after the wedding.

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In winter there is no need to get up early.

By CC

They hung on by a thread. It wasn’t much, but it was all they had left, all they could manage, all they could handle. He stood at the stove, stirring a pot of curried rice. The scent passed over her like a memory; outside the sun turned down a notch, casting shadows over the Sudoku pad on the table in front of her.

Winter was coming. In winter there is no need to get up early. They would probably turn to stone in their bed one night. 

But it wasn’t here yet. They were still hanging on. She walked to the open door and looked out. The wind blew ashes past her feet.  “It’s still burning,” she announced to no-one. 

He left the stove and walked over to the door to stand next to her. He set his hand companionably on her shoulder.  “Did you think it had gone out?”

“No. I don’t think that’s possible, do you?”

“Not anymore. Let’s shut the door. Dinner’s ready, anyway.”

They sat at the table, silently spooning rice into their mouths, until they had finished.

“Winter is coming,” he said suddenly.

“I just had that thought earlier,” she replied. 

Session August 25, 2018

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If your brain is on overload you can’t find happiness.

By CC

He had graduated college in 1982 with a degree in philosophy. Now he had just retired from Dunkin Donuts after an exceptionally long career at the drive-through window, where he had plumbed the very depths of philosophy in concise bursts of thought for so many years. It was time to write his book.

On the first day of retirement he hauled some of his old philosophy texts to a local Starbucks, feeling a sense of liberation. He had worn his best slacks and cardigan over a Banana Republic shirt. After so many years in the Dunkin uniform, he was not quite sure what a real philosopher should look like, but surely this would do for now. He found a tiny table by a window and balanced his coffee cup on top of the stack of books. Then he sat down, absorbing the view of trees outside the window (THIS was retirement!), and made the fateful move of crossing his legs.

When the table jostled. the hot coffee spilled down over the books and dripped mockingly onto his slacks. He sat there blankly for a moment, then, like a blitzkrieg of genius, a concise burst of thought arrived in his mind:  If your brain is on overload you cannot find happiness! He sat back and smiled. How very true! It was all worth it. Books could be replaced, even his slacks, if it came to that. But the wit and brilliance of his mind was a power to be treasured. He glanced around, wondering what impact he made on the other customers, but everyone studiously ignored him. 

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I hope you’re having a great day!

By BG

Ralph was on the Fun Committee at work. The employees chosen to be on the committee were charged with creating events to boost the morale of their co-workers. Sometimes it was easy and fun to plan things to do. They arranged for hot dogs at lunch on opening day of baseball season, got little flags for everyone for Flag Day in June, and just this month served everyone banana splits because someone found out it was National Banana Split Day. Next month, however, would be more of a challenge. They had voted to do a workshop day where each person was allotted a 20 minute time period to lead a little talk or presentation on how to keep your spirits up, think positive, and succeed in the tough work-a-day world with work hours increasing and vacation days getting cut. Ralph was okay with planning things, but getting up in front of people was not something he was looking forward to. He planned to start out by saying, “I hope you’re having a great day!” and realized he could add some audio-visual aids to keep his public speaking dread at bay. He would do his whole talk to the music of “Don’t Worry, Be Happy” and use smiley faces. After that it really ended being the Fun Committee.

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Little sunshine penetrated the Dismal Swamp’s trees and thickets.

By CT

They named her Sunshine when she was born. As she grew, her parents called her our Little Sunshine. The name stuck, so that even the townspeople called her Little Sunshine.

She hated it; oh yeah, she did. She couldn’t wait to grow up, move away, and change her name to something…hmmm…ADULT.

She wandered the bordering forests of the town, heedless of the warnings to avoid the Dismal Swamp. 

One morning, her walk took her straight to the swamp. Little Sunshine penetrated the Dismal Swamp’s trees and thickets. She tramped through the overgrown forest for an hour or more. She climbed over fallen trees, slogged through murky waters, and sweltered in the humid underbrush.

At the far edge of the swamp, she found a beautiful manor. She walked towards the front door, which opened invitingly. She stepped through the door into a wide room decorated in soft shades of white, gray and charcoal. A stairwell led to the second floor.

“Hello? Is anybody home?”

The manor answered and said, “You’re home, Little Sunshine. Be welcome.”

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I knew immediately that the question involved was a theoretical truth.

By TNT

The question? The question had one solution – one answer. But it wasn’t the answer or the solution that bothered me so much as the fact that every answer had a hundred more questions within the answer. That meant it had to be a theoretical truth – not an actual answer.

This made the quiz more difficult. It took five men in suits and ties to research and brainstorm. They each came to different doors to provide a theory that sounded truthful.  Each one of them assured me of their own sincerity, academic resources and mental acumen to solve this. Their combined efforts were indeed creditable. 

But each one contradicted the basic premise of the question. It was a conundrum, a paradox, an allegory that revolved around the truth without ever touching upon the fundamental point of truth when you could say “Aha!” or “Eureka!,” “Excelsior!” or whatever they say when a point is expostulated in extreme poignancy of revelation.

No, nothing like this had ever been discussed before and for good reason that there seemed to be no answer, no theory, no truth that could stand up and declare itself as the ultimate definitive answer.  So they decided it was unresolvable and could not be discovered by logic or reason. 

But of course there was an answer! They had overlooked one thing! They ignored it and completely misunderstood the reality of Natural instinct and emotional connection – yes, it had to be solved by a woman. It was simply the simplest truth of all. 

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The man is unable to take this path because he is frozen in sorrow.

By RMAF

A fellow climber from our rock climbing club, Solomon Nomolad – we nick-named him “Muscles” – was grief-stricken so we went out climbing to get his mind off his pet goldfish – Goldie’s - demise. 

Halfway up Tower Rock, Sol was unable to continue his rock climbing path because he was frozen in sorrow. Fellow climbers knew this was a terrifying thing to freeze up while climbing. We tried to urge him on, but to no avail. 

So I said, “Sol, when we get down I’ll get you a dozen goldfish!” Another climber said “I’ll buy you a new, bigger fish tank.” Another said, “I’ll buy you a new filter and colored gravel!” Another said “I’ll buy you some seaweed, a thermometer and cleaner fish for your tank!”

Sol was crying over his lost goldfish, Goldie. He took his hand off the rock and took the photo of Goldie out of his shoe and kissed it. He said, “I’ll be seeing you soon!” He let go of his other grip and fell, yelling “Goldie, I’ll be seeing you sooooooooon!”

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“Let me go!” she cried. “I have children at home!”

by MD

There’s a price to be paid for being beautiful, I can tell you. Followed everywhere, the object of everyone’s affection….it’s a rough life. After I reached maturity and laid my first nest of eggs, I began to grow more cautious – never wandering too far afield of that cluster of eggs, yet knowing instinctively I could not – in fact should not – attempt to monitor the hatching and burgeoning growth of my first family. Somehow, though, I wanted to be a part of it all, letting my little babies know I was there for them, instructing them in the difficult art of swallowing large prey whole and alive, and how to slither out of the old skin and feel comfortable in the new one. 

I was there for the first part. From under a rock I watched as my tiny, squirming hatchlings wriggled their way out of the shell and attempted their first, awkward coils. There were eleven of them hatched and I was absorbed in watching the twelfth egg pulsate and roll when it happened. As I crawled towards the egg to assist my tiny offspring inside, I failed to notice the young man crouched nearby, also watching this hatchling drama unfold. As I emerged from under the rock I saw him. He stepped back, obviously overcome by my beauty. Before I could beat a retreat, he swooped down and scooped me up, smitten, I’m sure, with my sinuous grace and my intricate scale-patterned skin.

“Let me go,” I cried. “I have children at home!”

The young man gaped in surprise at my words – few people, other than Adam and Eve, are privileged to hear a snake talk – but times were desperate and I did what I must to save my family. 

He absorbed the shock of my words as we made eye contact. Then again, I’m sure in recognition of my great beauty, he kissed me goodbye and put me down to return to my duties as a mother. 

Thank you, kind sir. May you be blessed to find a woman of your own whose beauty equals mine.

Session July 28 2018

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You cannot fit 10 pounds of hay into a 5 pound bag.

By MD

Yatsumo spent twelve years weaving the cloth for her marriage yurt. While she did that, her intended, Katsaki, created the framework. He set in the paving stones leading to the front door and helped Yatsumo to drape the cloth within the frame. For the final, decorative touch, Yatsumo and Katsaki together wafted the silky embroidered cross piece on the roof. With this task completed, their marriage customs were finalized and the two began their lives together as man and wife.

What Katsaki did not  know, however, was Yatsuma’s propensity for hoarding. Over time, she collected plants, rocks, stray animals, foodstuffs – each item valuable and precious to her, while useless to Katsaki. At least, that was how he perceived it. 

Over time, the cloth walls of the yurt bulged with assorted items and the framework creaked  and groaned with even the slightest breeze. Eventually there was no room for Katsaki, although Yatsumo failed to notice this at first because of all the accumulated junk. One day, realizing it had been several days since she’d seen her husband, she called to him and heard his answer from outside. She flung open the door, not realizing Katsaki was standing right behind the door.

“Why are you outside?” she asked him.

Katsaki answered through the hole his nose had poked through the fabric window. “It should be obvious, Yatsumo,” he said. “You cannot fit 10 pounds of hay into a 5 pound bag.”

“You’ve bought me 10 pounds of hay?” Yatsumo could hardly conceal her excitement. “Well, bring it in. We’ll put it right here on top of the stove.”

Although Katsaki protested, that’s exactly what she did. By dinner time, the entire yurt was reduced to a pile of ashes and rubble and the divorce customs thus began.

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In the ancient world, it was generally believed that the gods desired to communicate with people.

By BG

According to my grandmother, in the ancient world, it was generally believed that the gods desired to communicate with people. She said people built places they felt would be pleasing to the gods. For as long as I can remember, this was the reasoning for the big stone monstrosity built on the back acres of the family homestead. What I don’t get is why they felt the gods were going to show up for a visit and communicate with them. It is still there and someone in the family is still hoping. If it were up to me, I would make a few changes, tell everybody it is a haunted house and make some serious change by charging people to visit and have a good scary experience.

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A man in a broad-brimmed hat sits at a table with a cake.

By TNT

A man with a broad-brimmed hat sat at a table with a cake. Salima was writing in her journal and noticed him as she looked up, and she smiled at him. He didn’t smile back. He just sat and looked (she thought) at the cake with a depressed expression. The brim of his hat shaded his eyes – all she could see was his unshaven chin. She wondered who he was, she had not seen him at Starbucks before. She thought about saying hello and introducing herself. She was curious. He didn’t look like anyone else who came to Starbucks. A mysterious stranger. She really wished she had the nerve to speak to him. But did he speak English or any language she knew? She was certain he was foreign. Who wore a hat like that inside Starbucks? No-one.

She went back to her journal and became absorbed in it when a hand touched her shoulder. She heard a voice – a familiar voice. She looked up – it was her friend Alix. She glanced over at the table and the stranger was gone. The cake was still there. She asked Alix if she saw the man and Alix shook her head. Salima went to the barista and asked “Who was that man in the slouched hat who sat at that table?”  The barista, named Jim, shook his head and said “What man? That seat has been empty all evening.” Salima asked about the cake. “Oh, I don’t know. It must have been left there by another customer.”

Salima left Starbucks and talked to Alix about the man. Alix thought Salima was having a vision or flashback.

To be continued.

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Goddard began the year working for his cousin, Luther Goddard, who manufactured clocks in his shop in Shrewsbury, Massachusetts.

By CT

Goddard began the year working for his cousin, Luther Goddard, who manufactured clocks in his shop in Shrewsbury, Massachusetts. It wasn’t the job he preferred, but it was a job. 

By April, Goddard was bored. “Clocks are by-and-large uninteresting things,” he said. Luther, of course, couldn’t fathom this as he loved clocks: the designing of them, the making, the decorating, and the bell-like tones of them. 

By July, Goddard was heartily sick of the whole business. Luther decided that they would have a booth at the local fair. He put Goddard in charge. 

“At last! I can have some fun!” Goddard planned a hoopla, and resisted any attempt to disclose his plan.

Luther arrived at the fair just in time to see the large striped canopy draped with signs. “Buy One, Get One Free.”  “Fireworks!” “Open.”  “Credit Cards Accepted.”

Before Luther could run to the booth and stop the foolishness, the canopy erupted with fireworks–propelled clocks whooshing sky-high.

Goddard started looking for a new job the next day…in Wisconsin.

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Behind the adventure and glamour of the frontier wars were hard political realities. 

By RC

I knew that it was my “cross” to bear and so I did it – despite my feelings and the personal sacrifice. Because, behind the adventure and glamour of the frontier wars were hard political realities. 

“Yes, it was war which had drawn me to the West, as it had so many young men, but all too often it was politics which shaped our lives, even the politics of war.”

So my father had written in that last letter home, and I will not give you the whole of it. He had been filled with passion and ideals at the beginning, but the “realities” of politics had driven the idealism out of him and he was left a broken shell of a man, leading a group of “things” which never appreciated his sacrifice. I say “things” but I think you know what I mean. The war to liberate them could not really make them like us. And I mentioned the “west,” but it was really all over the world in time. I wrote about it in many volumes, which I later carried to the sea, letting the waves carry it away. That was my cross to bear.

This was before I boarded the space ship with the remaining humans, bound for some other place in the universe, and left behind what had become the “Planet of the Apes.” Perhaps some human would come back to earth in a thousand years – but I hoped not.

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Hamilton was now touched by feelings quite new to him, by something more than sentimental concern.

By CC

Hamilton had kept the thing in a jar in his back yard for a few months, removing the lid when it rained and dropping in pieces of fruit now and then. He wasn’t sure what it was – but it wasn’t a human child. Perhaps it was a changeling? He didn’t know what the thing ate, but apparently it didn’t need much food. Hamilton didn’t really know why he kept it in a jar to begin with, just that it seemed a little precious to him when he saw it first, with its long iridescent hair and violet eyes. 

The changeling was actually a hybrid, half gnome and half fairy, and had, because of this misfortune, had been banished from both camps and forced to wander the countryside alone, foraging for his survival. He was named Abrychemin Volegolai and was quite capable of lifting the lid of the jar himself and crawling out any time he pleased, and this he did every night after the misguided Hamilton went to bed. Abrychemin would slip in through a window and eat whatever he pleased from the fridge, sometimes a good leg of lamb, sometimes a container of ice cream, and once, a Caesar Salad with half a bottle of dressing. He suspected the Fairies had kicked him out not only because of his gnomish appetite but because he never gained weight on it. Yet, he thought idly. It had to happen some day. He knew that the DNA would kick in eventually. 

As much as he liked the fridge, the sad thing was, Abrychemin liked his jar equally well. It felt safe in there, and it was amazing that anyone actually wanted him.  

One day while Abrychemin was dozing in his jar, Hamilton took off the lid to take a look at him. Hamilton was now touched by feelings quite new to him, by something more than sentimental concern. He thought, I’ll set it free, and if it loves me, it will come back. So he left the lid off the jar and set a small ladder against his garden fence. 

The next day he found Abrychemin sitting on the ladder, swinging his tiny little feet to and fro. Hamilton sat down on the ground next to the ladder and said, gently, “Aren’t you the most precious little thing! Am I feeding you enough?”

“Glad you asked,” replied the little creature. “Let’s have a proper lunch for a change.”

After lunch, Hamilton made up a little bed for Abrychemin on the sofa. Hamilton left the ladder up by the fence to reassure him of his independence, but the next day Hamilton found the ladder carefully placed behind the shed.

Session June 30, 2018

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And then the impossible happens.

By CT

The Annual Holiday meeting of Cats, Inc. promised to be a delectable feast... roast turkey with gravy, pan-fried trout, a selection of fine cheeses, live mice, and ice cream for dessert. 

The members devoured the turkey, slurped the gravy, decimated the trout, and demolished the cheese. Mr. Fatcat had volunteered to bring the mice, as he lived on a farm with a prolific mouse population. He had called President Fangclaw the previous night to report he had 20 mice caged so that each member could enjoy two mice.

Mr. Fatcat left the table to collect the cage. The members drooled in anticipation. 

And then the impossible happened. Mr. Fatcat returned with an empty cage! The mice had escaped!

What an uproar! A pandemonium of hissing, growling and meowing was brought to an end by President Fangclaw, who said, “We still have ice cream.”

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The whole region was constantly guarded by warriors.

By TNT

He was the baker’s boy and delivered the bread to the warriors every day. They rewarded him well sometimes with chocolate. The whole region of Alsace Lorraine was one of the first taken by the Germans and the German troops were mainly from German farms. They liked the region because it reminded them of home. The only problem was that it rained almost every day and the boy had to keep his bread fresh and dry or the warriors would not buy the bread. He couldn’t carry it in the basket – he had to put it in a wooden barrel and let his big German Shepherd dog pull the barrel which rolled well and bumped over rocks but never spilled any bread. The Germans laughed, but were impressed by his ingenuity.  

As a result he made more deliveries and sold more bread, buns and bakery goods. He became famous and well-liked by everyone. It was not a surprise when his father opened a second bakery. They were doing so well that there was a contingent of French underground Resistance that used the boy to take messages. 

The Germans were drunk when they called the boy over to buy bread. The boy dropped the barrel and the bread rolled out. When the Germans split open a loaf of bread they found a message from the French Resistance, so they shot the boy in the head and laughed. They threw the rest of his bread to the swine.

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Aside from making it more affordable, producers had to insure that the produce appealed to women as readily as men.

By MD

“It ain’t just a matter of moola,” L.B. said to his fellow producers, “we gotta appeal to the dames.”

“Ya got that right,” Sam Goldwyn replied. “But who in the name of all that’s holy knows what women want?”

That’s where I came in. As a woman, and a produce expert, the three Hollywood moguls right away knew I was the “dame” for the job.

At our first meeting, I looked Sam Warner right in the eye, while Goldwyn and L.B. Mayer stood aside. 

“Aside from making it more affordable, producers have to insure that the produce appeals to women as readily as men.” The three producers nodded. “For that reason, I need you to bring your baskets of mixed fruit to my home so I can see how it will look in my living room.” The three producers agreed.

On the appointed day, the truck pulled up to my porch, laden with baskets of succulent fruit. I directed the placement at various spots in the kitchen and living room and, in the presence of the three producers, studied it with a practiced eye. 

“Nope,” I pronounced. “It’s all wrong. It won’t do at all.” L.B., Goldwyn and Warner’s shoulders slumped. “It’s atrocious,” I said. “To make it right, you guys need to completely redecorate my first floor. New furniture, new appliance, new lighting, new carport, new paint.” The three looked doubtful but I was firm.  “You want this produce to appeal to women as well as men, correct?” I asked. Resignedly, they nodded. Three weeks later, the job was complete, the fruit was in place, and shooting began. And because I got a new first floor out of the deal, I only charged them $40,000 for my services. I know for sure the produce as it now appears, will appeal to the female demographic. Whether the movie is a hit or not, I can’t pretend to know.

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The only possible output of a system lacking any discipline is self-destruction.

By B.G.

She knew now that it was not going to come true after such a long time overshadowing her life. Her conventional, dutiful brothers and sisters had done what was expected and were off with careers and families and separate lives. She as the only free spirit was still at home and just put up with it, wondering, going on with her life and interests in her unorthodox ways so unlike her siblings, and waiting.  She had been waiting to see if what her father had always commented would happen to her. His life and thoughts ruled by science were always so orderly and of course disciplined and his thoughts to which she had been accustomed were ever so logical. He repeatedly quoted “The only possible output of a system lacking any discipline is self-destruction.” Everyone took heed and the family was all quite disciplined, except for her as the only free spirit. It just did not work. She figured she would eventually reach the stage of self destruction. It never did happen. Years passed. She ignored the nasty scientific thoughts of her father and finally felt satisfied that an undisciplined free spirit would live on. It just didn’t apply to her. She went out and jumped for joy.

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As its nature became clearer, the great majority grew apprehensive.

By RMAF

As its nature became clearer, the great majority grew apprehensive. So they packed up their mere necessities, left their homes and journeyed northward to the Mexico/U.S. international border. After all, they’ve heard these “truths” many times – “It’s the land of the free,” “there’s a breachable border system, a kind welfare system, and the streets are paved with gold.”

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I want my home to be a place of comfort and joy.

By CC

I want kids. I want to live near the ocean. I want a Subaru Forrester. I want to be a soccer mom. I want my home to be a place of comfort and joy.

That’s what I asked of Joel when we married. You would think I might have got at least one of those desires fulfilled. But that wasn’t his plan.  

I never knew what his plan was, truth be told. We ended up childless, in a sterile box of a cabin on the side of a cliff on what looked to be the moon. He said it reminded him of his childhood home, and suggested that the wild chinchillas that roamed the rockery surrounding the cabin could be a stand-in for the kids he didn’t want us to have.

It wasn’t difficult to knock him off the cliff one sunny afternoon. He didn’t make a sound all the way down, and only then did I wonder if, perhaps, he was autistic. Later, I did a great deal of research and decided that he probably was. 

When I sold the cabin it didn’t occur to me that some one might wonder where he was. That someone might stumble across his body. Of course it didn’t occur to me that he might have survived the fall, got up and walked away, either. I thought he was autistic, not a space alien. But then I did some more research and discovered that he could have been from outer space after all. There were so many clues. I had to find out.

It took about 6 months to get the money together for an expedition back to the mountain, but I persevered and went on the hunt for his body. I couldn’t find a thing. Bingo.

From that time forward I found myself glancing often at the night sky, wondering if he was watching me or planning revenge.  I married again and we lived near the ocean with our two kids and Subaru, but every now and then I thought about my time with that strange being in our mountain cabin. And one day, after the kids had gone off to college, there came a knock on the door. It was a police officer asking if I’d ever been married to Joel. I denied everything then went to pack my bags for a nice long vacation, which I deserved by now.