Absurd Short Story Writing Month (AbSSWriMo)

[mathgrant]

Or ASSWriMo, depending on how immature you feel.

For the month of December, I challenge everyone who's interested to write a short story. The title of the story must have exactly three words: two three-letter words, and a six-letter word which is an anagram of those words. The three words may be in any order. There are no restraints on the length of the story. Also, feel free to write more than one if you're feeling ambitious!
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My logic puzzle blog

[mathgrant]

Kat, Attack Cat

I never fully understood why Benjamin Wilkes named his cat Kat. On a similar note, I never understood why he named his dog Doug. As a novelist just like he was, I had always expected that the author of a dozen award-winning murder mysteries would be more creative in naming his pets. Nonetheless, as his friend and his colleague, I had always kept these thoughts to myself.

Until today, that is.

Today, Benjamin had invited me to eat lunch at his house. He had prepared a batch of homemade lasagna baked using a 40-year-old family recipe his grandmother had developed; if there was anything Benjamin was better at than writing his novels, it was cooking lasagna. I always accepted his invitation to eat lasagna without a moment's hesitation, and never regretted eating with him. Today would prove to be an exception when, after swallowing my bite of pasta, I chuckled and made an off-hand comment. "You really suck at naming your animals," I said. "A dog named Doug, a cat named Kat. . . are you gonna get a rat and name it Art?"

Benjamin dropped his fork and glared at me, apparently failing to take my comment in jest as I had intended. "What. Did. You. Say?" he articulated in a serious voice.

"I just said that I think you could stand to be more clever when you name your pets," I replied. "That's all."

Benjamin snapped his fingers three times. I was suddenly caught off-guard when Kat pounced me and began clawing at my face! I tried to push her away, but it was futile; Kat's claws were impossible to extract from my skin. "Get her off of me!" I yelled.

"Not until you take back what you said about my pets' names!" Benjamin said, bearing a heartless grimace which I had never before seen in real life.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" I screamed desperately. "You have the right to name your pets whatever you want to!"

He snapped four times, and Kat jumped into his lap just as suddenly as she had jumped onto my chest. She curled up, looking like a typical housecat. I could scarcely believe that this was the same cat who had attacked me, nor that Benjamin was the same person I had befriended in my college's creative writing class. I took my napkin out of my lap and applied it to my bleeding face. "What the hell was that??!" I asked.

Benjamin closed the blinds on his window, then turned to me. "That was Kat being a deadly weapon," he responded with a smirk. "A serial killer like me deserves killer pets, no?"

"Serial killer?!?!!" I shrieked.

"But of course," Benjamin snickered. "I may not be very creative, but I am very, very good at writing things based off of true events. The parts about the killer being caught are entirely fictional, mind you, but the rest is derived from my own personal experiences!" He put his hands on my shoulders forcefully. "And don't you dare tell a soul if you care about your life. You will be quiet, won't you?"

I whimpered and nodded my head up and down, a gesture of which Benjamin showed visible appreciation via a more friendly smile. "Good. Now let's get back to lasagna, eh?"

The attack had made me lose my appetite, so I just sat still and stared at the lasagna, the layers of pale pasta and stripes of red sauce reminding me of my own pale face now being covered in stripes of blood. I excused myself from the table with a combination of outward politeness and inward trepidation, and drove home to my apartment.

It is now 11:09 PM. I have decided that I am more afraid of a murderer getting away than I am of dying. Earlier, I made an impromptu announcement that I would be signing books at the local bookstore tomorrow, but it is not my intention to actually appear there. In fact, it is my hope that the authorities will grow suspicious when I fail to arrive, and that they will subsequently find my cold corpse splayed out on the floor of my apartment, my trusty pistol in one hand, these very words in the other. With any luck, these words will incriminate him and allow justice to be served. Then again, if his own words haven't incriminated him yet, how slyly will this demon be able to evade mine?

Go to hell, Benjamin Wilkes. Go to hell.
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My logic puzzle blog

[dethwing]

Geeze, dark. Very nice.

[mathgrant]

Red Hat Dearth

"Well, you've got the black mustache," I said, carefully looking over Paul's Halloween costume in progress. "You've got the gloves, and of course you've got the blue overalls and red shirt. I'd say your Mario costume is missing only one thing."

"A red hat with an M on it!" Paul said.

"Of course! Once we have that, the costume will be complete! And I think I know where we can find one."

Following my instincts, I rode in Paul's car to the local haberdashery, Edgar's Headgear; unfortunately, when we arrived, it turned out the store had hundreds of hats in every color except for red. "How can you not have red hats?" I asked Edgar, the elderly owner of the store. "We need one for our Mario costume!" I pointed at Paul.

"And so does everyone else in town!" Edgar replied. "I don't know who this Mario is that you young whippersnappers all worship, but all of my red hats have been bought by other customers who want to be him for Halloween. Now buy something!"

"Maybe we don't absolutely need a red hat," I said, noticing a stovepipe hat. "Maybe you can be a cross between Mario and Abe Lincoln, Paul."

"No way!" Paul said. "It has to be a red hat. Otherwise, nobody will take my costume seriously."

I looked around the store. "How about a beret, Paul? You can be Mario's French counterpart."

"Are you kidding?" Paul answered. "Mario's French counterpart would give up instead of rescuing the Princess from Bowser!"

I kept looking around the store. "Hmm, here's a cowboy hat. Remember Western Land from Mario Party 2?"

"Yeah, and don't remind me!" Paul replied. "I have. . . depressing memories. . . regarding my brother Fred and Mario Party 2."

I had no idea what Paul was talking about, and decided not to inquire any further. "Surely we can find something for you. This store has chef's hats, diving helmets, aviator hats, derbies. . ."

"And none of them work for a Mario costume!" Paul shouted with exasperation, followed by a sigh. "Well, I guess I'll just have to dress up as Mario without a hat. But if Super Mario 64 has taught me anything, I'll probably take damage a lot more easily."
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My logic puzzle blog

[Zag]

(I'm leaving it untitled as a puzzle -- a pretty easy puzzle, but we're on GL so I felt obligated.)

I totally missed his sevens. I heard they were great, and if they were anything like his sixes, I'm sure they were. But I can't imagine how they could be; his sixes were a thing of beauty: bright, exciting, clear -- they were nothing like his fives. The fives were filled with irony, with sarcasm, even. Some people considered them to be masterpieces, so maybe I just didn't get them. Well, I hope I ___ ___ ______.

[Thok*]

Low Lat Tallow

Insert scandalous erotic story about two scientists in Antarctica dripping wax on each other for foreplay.

[mathgrant]

[mathgrant]

Naming Gin Man

Todd Hathorn and Richard Watson were the finalists of Littleville's 10th Annual Men's Gin Rummy Tournament. None of the residents of Littleville were certain who was going to win the tournament and be named Gin Man this year; while Todd Hathorn had been the winner for five years in a row, the up-and-coming Richard Watson seemed to have gained much skill from training with his wife Lydia Watson, the champion of the woman's gin rummy division, and the title Gin Woman, five times out of the last six tournaments (three years ago, she had been unable to compete because her chemotherapy had been scheduled for that same day). The crowd went silent as the first cards were dealt.

Suddenly, jaws dropped as Todd laid down all of the cards in his hand. Was he lucky enough to be magically dealt a hand that melded perfectly with no deadwood? "I don't know what's going on here," Todd said, "but I somehow have ten Sevens of Diamonds!"

"I have ten Sevens of Diamonds, too!" Richard replied. "What the heck is going on here?"

Meanwhile, half a mile away, a man named Carley Garrett was performing magic tricks at the party commemorating the 6th birthday of Billy Chapman. "By my mind-reading powers,", declared Garrett, "I have determined that your card is the Seven of Diamonds!"

"Um, actually, it's the Jack of Clubs," Billy said, showing the magician his card.

"What?!?" Carley yelped with visible shock in his facial expression. "First I lose in the semi-finals of the Men's Gin Rummy Tournament, and now this? Nothing's going right for me today!"
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My logic puzzle blog

[mathgrant]

This one will be posted in the form of a puzzle for now. Solve the missing words in the last paragraph.


It was August 8, 1879. Sheriff William Westwood stood outside a small bank in El Paso, Texas with his deputy Bill Brown. "I think this is the next bank Messy James and Rank James are going to try to rob," he stated. "If they come today, those sons of guns will be in for a big surprise from us!"

"Why don't we go inside and guard the bank, instead of standing out here?" Deputy Brown inquired.

"There's no need!" the sheriff assured. "While they are masters at disguising their faces, those James brothers can't possibly hide their disgusting odors. We'll be able to recognize their stench from a mile away, and arrest them before they have a chance to step into the bank!"

Thirty minutes later, two very clean men in clean outfits strolled into the bank, and Westwood and Brown thought nothing of it. A short while afterward, though, the law enforcers were stunned to see the pair running out of the bank holding bags of money as one of them shouted, "The James brothers strike again!"

"What the. . .?" Sheriff Westwood muttered as he chased the robbers on foot. "How did Messy and Rank James manage to mask their reek?"

Deupty Brown pulled his pistol out of its holster and trailed Sheriff Westwood. "I think abc def deabcf, Sheriff."
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My logic puzzle blog

[Death Mage]

And now, a poem.

Not new, Newton

YOU DIDN'T INVENT GRAVITY!




Thank you.
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* These senseless ramblings brought to you by Insanity™. If you just can't figure the dang thing out, it must be Insanity™.
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[Thok]

One Gil Legion

In 972 a legion of Arthurian knights was sent to prison by a foreign court for a crime they didn't commit. These men promptly escaped from a the deepest dungeon of a French castle to the Germanic underground. Today, still wanted by the foreign nobles, they survive as wandering warriors. If you have a problem, if no one else can help, and if you can find them, maybe you can recruit the One Gil Legion.

Yes, the text reference is deliberate, especially the year 972.

[mathgrant]

I pitieth the fool who hath not enough Final Fantasy currency to hireth the One Gil Legion.
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My logic puzzle blog

[casinopete]