What a week of entertainment! I
doubt it's been surpassed for quality and wealth of enjoyment. And though my
picking a winner can be no more than a going through the motions for form's
sake, I really cannot say any one piece is better than the rest so having
gorged on each and every one, I turned to the comments and tried to work out a universal
favourite from them, but that led to even more procrastination as it seemed Perry
had won the popular vote. Possibly. Or Holly. Or … So I decided it had to be me and, after
another read, and because WWI themes have an especial appeal, Jim's 'The spoils of war' grabbed my
attention yet again, so that can be my
final decision. Thank you one and all.
this
week’s words are: Guinness merge
slur
Entries by midnight Thursday 17th December, new words posted Friday 18th
Usual rules: 100 words maximum (excluding title) of
flash fiction or poetry using all of the three words above in the genres of
horror, fantasy, science fiction or noir. Serialised fiction is, as always,
welcome. All variants and uses of the words and stems are fine. Feel free to
post links to your stories on Twitter or Facebook or whichever.
Way to go, Jim. Such a well told, descriptive story.
ReplyDeleteUntitled (for good reason)
ReplyDeleteWhat could be better than a tall Guinness in a frosted glass on a hot day among friends as each tries to out-slur the next?
I know what you’re thinking. That first sentence could use some commas. Well, I tried it with commas and id didn’t look right. Now, as I try to merge in another prompt word, I think to myself what a bad story this is. Some days you got it, other days you don’t. But you should have seen my first effort. The one I erased. El-stinko. Be thankful for this one.
I don't think commas are necessary, but for sure you have to re-think "Guinness in a frosted glass" unless you want to risk assassination.
DeleteCommas only get in the way of you getting to a non-wet pub. But then, you have to allow them for the pour when it comes to Guinness. And a Freudian slipped in with the id there to usher in a greater profundity. Nice combo for entertainment - not every offering need be an epic.
DeleteAfter researching the proper Guinness pour, I see there is mucch to it, a frosted glass not included. My apologies to the afficienados. In the 117 seconds it takes to achieve perfection, a frosted glass would lose its appeal anyway.
DeleteJohn - if someone spends only 117 seconds pouring you a pint of Guinness - seek another bar. No frosted glass required - the temp of Guinness should do that and it takes at least two pours with an interim settle. If they lift a knife to slice off the head, poke it from their hands with a bar stool (social distancing), disinfect the offending implement and get Patricia's Lenny to take a break from juggling to try a record in impaling.
DeletePerry thanks for the clarification. If we ever get to Dublin again (or other bars) I'll remember this.
DeleteI'm certainly glad I didn't memtion drinking Guinness from a can...
DeleteYou never fail to entertain with your most unusual take on the prompts, John. This is no exception.
Deletewhat about the smartypants who can draw a shamrock in the foam when the pouring bit is done...
DeleteA Tall Tale about What Allegedly Happened
ReplyDeleteWar of the fekin Worlds?
I was there.
Hogan’s Ale House packed to the gunnels. Guinness bottles on every table. Pat McGinty on a bar stool, voice slurred from inebriation, whipping up Fenian resistance.
“Our forefathers thrashed King Billy,” says he. “Now we need to marmalise us some Martians!”
Off we march, intent on bringing down a tripod.
There’s fellas with hunting rifles and fellas with shillelaghs. Kieran Pugh with a wheelbarrow stacked with dynamite. At the town cross we merged with farmhands, armed with pitchforks.
“We’re the boys,” cries McGinty. “Someone will immortalise this in a song.”
I have a sudden urge to change into green clothing. I like this. Very festive, despite the ill intensions.
DeleteInspired me to browse and listen to Val Doonigan's Paddy McGinty's Goat. Entertaining despite the historical inversion.
DeleteAbsolutely marvellous and original and brimming with creativity.
Deletejust flat out loved it!
DeleteA Short Song about What Actually Occurred
ReplyDeletePatrick McGinty a Fenian by heart
Watched the invasion and vowed to play his part
Two empty Guinness bottles filled with gasoline
In went the rags where the corks once had been
Voice all a slur he donned his Sunday coat
Those fekin Martians had got old Paddy’s goat
Off to the crossing where the road and railways merge
To bring down a tripod was his heartfelt urge
But all the young ladies who lived in Killalloo
Had beat the bugger to the punch with a dose of Irish flu
Nothing like a short song following a tall tale. Very cool, David.
DeleteMore of the droll same, with an undercurrent reference to the conspiracy notion that the royals are all Martian lizards - and a nod to HG.
DeleteComes with its own fiddle music and sets feet a-tapping.
DeleteAnd a follow-up in rhyme, no less. You really have raised the bar this week, David.
Deletebrilliant!!
DeleteVery nicely done, Jim. Many congratulations.
ReplyDeleteCongrats, Jim, a WW1 at Christmas does add that poignancy. I'n now going to browse for Stop the Cavalry and have a listen.
ReplyDeleteLAB RATS
ReplyDeleteMary gritted her teeth against the siren’s wail as dark phalanxes of rats from the northwest and south merged just outside the perimeter.
Some boffins who had jury-rigged the ultrasonic barrier theorized that the alien-poisoned river water had forced the rats inland, suffering equable losses to humans, but replenished by a biological imperative kicked into overdrive.
Oddly the usually hormonal teenage humans regarded even a teasing comment about potential camp romance as some sort of slur.
Anaphrodisiacs in the atmosphere perhaps? Or just depression?
Albino generals decanted forward, looking for all the world like the settling of a Guinness head.
A very unusual and very appealing story, Perry. Loved the albino general line.
DeleteHas wokeness reached the teenagers? Those generals are nightmare material.
DeleteI think John pegged this perfectly with "very unusual." These prompts certainly are triggering some out-of-the-box submissions this week and once again, I admire Sandra's ability to sort through these for a winner.
Deletethis is great, what a week for class writing!
DeleteLeadership? [Threshold 328]
ReplyDeleteJust as my stomach hit rock bottom, Raven turned to me and said, 'Could you ride a trike?', his smile a merging of mischief and bravado. In return, I was filled with the joyous blinkered derring-do I'd experienced after downing my first pint of dark-bodied Guinness. (After which my words had badly slurred, along with, I am told, my morals).
But I didn't need reminding of the time I watched Raven dispatch six too-confident teens in as many minutes.
There were only three today.
'So what's the plan?'
'Make it up as you go along. Then ride like the clappers.'
When technology fails, there's always basic engineering and a quick fist.
DeleteA very exciting piece, Sandra. I really look forward to them each confiscating a trike after Raven knocks them off.
DeleteDo they still make trikes today? If they do, I'm sure they've come up with a much more fancy word for them. This was so entertaining, if only for the image of Raven astride a three-wheeling bike.
DeletePatricia, I fear 'trike' was not the right word for the vehicle I was imagining, should've said quad bike, but perhaps whatsername will correct him in the next episode!
Deletethe writing this week, the ideas this week, seem to flow from one contributor to the next as if were all part of one long story, all through that one word! It's really amazing how the prompts, no matter how off the wall at times, can be written into a story with seemingly no effort at all.
DeleteCOVIDEO
ReplyDelete“They’re just sitting there,” a voice slurred through the darkness. “It’s like an old cowboy film.”
Mary was glad Sorcha was back at the camp. Finbar was half-cut again – not the same man who’d carried his daughter from the sewers a year ago while buoying spirits of the rest of the exiles.
But then, what father wouldn’t be inclined to escape images of himself amputating his own child’s leg after it had turned a deep Guinness red from a rat-bite.
“Oh to have governments merge fantasy and science for us and spout about plague waves. No remote quells this horror!”
A good balance of dialogue and prose here. The world you created is grim, but really exciting.
DeleteConversation creates breadth of situation - skilled writing.
DeleteThis has a very nasty undercurrent to it....which is totally delightful.
Deletedefinitely nasty and so well depicted it seems to be real.
DeleteChange of focus [404]
ReplyDeleteWhilst Aleks was amusing Philly Stepcart, John Pettinger guessed she viewed his kneeling at her feet, his cautious attempts to stem the merging trickles of blood as no more value-adding than the tourist-aimed shamrock drawn in the foam atop a slow-poured pint of Guinness.
Opening his mouth to make another sincere-but-superfluous apology, he was forestalled by Aleks, who'd spotted his 'Top Secret Diary' splayed open beneath the coffee-table.
With all the ferociousness of the Big Bad Wolf (but wrong story) disbelief slurring his words, he demanded 'Who's been reading my secret diary?' then correctly read his father's glance at Philly.
Scratches head sheepishly and continues. I hate barmen to carry out that practice. You watch the wonder of the settle only for some wally to spoil the aesthetic with touristy tripe.
DeleteAnd sure aren't top secret diaries just crying out to be read.
I really like this entry. Pettinger getting cozy with Stepcart and Alex going on the warpath. This will certainly move things along nicely.
DeleteOoohhh....a secret diary. You manage to add mystery after mystery, Sandra, in a most tantalizing fashion.
DeleteI don't seem to see many 'secret diaries' coming through in the fiction these days, which is a shame, like here it adds a very different layer to the story.
DeletePop-Up
ReplyDeleteThe Drunken Leprechaun is transient by nature. Here today and gone tomorrow. Sometimes, its façade merges seamlessly with the surroundings. Other times, it assaults the senses with garish illuminations. In particular, a recognizable toucan mascot, fluorescent beak balancing a glass of Guinness like an avian beacon.
Customers soon become three sheets to the wind, slurring their words while ordering either a draught pint of gat or one of the saloon's signature cocktails, including Black Velvet, Irish Car Bomb or the undisputed specialty of the house, a Bloody Mary with tippler's choice of preferred sanguine enhancers.
Been there - if not the actual pub ... and there's no cocktail that can't be improved with a Guinness head - but Black Russians thrive on it.
DeleteNice one, Patricia. The Irish certainly are serious about their drinking. I live in a state on lockdown, with bars and restaurants closed. When they come back, I want to go to a good Irish Pub and put some thought into the art.
DeleteAh, yes, that toucan! From the days of roadside hoardings. And when TV came, Guinness has the best adverts - remember the white horses?
Deleteyes! loved the white horses, and then some idiot ruined it by revealing how they did it... I remember Shaun stamping around the shop in the first lockdown, he had talked with his relatives in Ireland and found them all going crazy, no pub, no socialising! Wish we could say it will all go away soon.
DeleteKursaal (Episode Two Hundred Twenty One) - Rejection And Redemption
ReplyDeleteLenny had hoped to feature in the "Guinness Book of World Records" for juggling the most knives at one time. It was a miserable failure. Arbuthnot was sympathetic but Benny, always disparaging, declared his brother had cast yet another disappointing slur upon the Jester family name. Lenny, however, had plans to redeem himself by solving the Kursaal vanishings.
Investigation began at Lucy Pepperdyne's gravesite, where path and copse merged in shadow. There, Mrs. Pepperdyne decorated a small tree while being watched by a menacing figure lurking in the thicket.
Lenny was unnerved by what he saw.
Could it be?
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To read the earlier installments (a suggestion only) which led to this point in the tale, please visit:
http://www.novareinna.com/kursaal.html
A link to return to "The Prediction" can be found on the site. Thank you.
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NOTE: The Jester Brothers (Benny, Lenny and Arbuthnot) as well as Mrs. Pepperdyne and her daughter, Lucy, have all featured in previous episodes.
Whatever Lenny fears he's seen, I very much expect it'll turn out to be worse.
DeleteWhat? Who? Go see ... er maybe not. Nice build up.
ReplyDeleteI don't think I could juggle even one knife. Yes, Lucy's gravesite is certainly a good place to start the investigation.
ReplyDeletewith this serial, it could definitely be but on the other hand... who can tell what will happen anywhere within a five mile circuit of the Kursaal.
DeleteDRINKING BUDDIES
ReplyDelete“Listen to this, friend,” I said firmly, “Guinness is the best damn dry stout this side of heaven. No slur against others, mind you, but there’s only one number one, if you get my meaning.
“And here’s some history for you. Guinness was first brewed by Arthur Guinness in 1759. Great back then, yeah, but years later a merger of malted barley and roasted unmalted barley gave it a truly unique flavor. Good stuff, eh?
He couldn’t answer because I’d tied him to a bed and shoved a funnel into his throat.
I patted his bloated belly. “Have another, friend.”
There's worse ways to suffer, I'm sure.
DeleteWhat a great twist. I agree with Sandra... if you gotta go, it might as well be like this.
DeleteNice little history lesson leading into a nice little horror tale. Reminds me of a film I once saw called "Feed"....where a man force-feeds women to death. Absolutely delightfully nasty final line.
DeleteWhat's more, apart from the other high praise, the history lesson was ineresting!!
Delete
ReplyDeleteStop The Week: I Want To Get Off (128)
Shaun’s son collected all things Guinness, using the shop to source memorabilia, then he met someone and got involved… now he’s a classic young father… and we sometimes have Guinness things to sell… the good news is, today I finally finished the inventory, 6 pages of it, and have our fingers xxd the stock will be written off so we can shift it. We’re doing everything slowly and properly, so there is no slur on our reputations when the day comes to shut the doors. I’m waiting on spirit to guide me to a new lifestyle and income…
I'm still hoping your doors will remain open, Antonia. What a great loss to the Isle of Wight the closure would be.
DeleteI'm with Patricia in hoping for open doors. Six pages of inventory - that's a lot of stuff.
DeleteSlow and proper will give peace of mind and satisfaction of a job well done, and if it has to be ended, at least fewer regrets on your part. Hoping you receive your new direction soon.
DeleteChin up and take heart, Antonia! There will be a clam after this storm... if we're all here to enjoy it, that is.
DeleteThe Joys of Mediumship No 35
ReplyDeleteThe Prince is still around, bringing ice cold waves of spirit energy. He certainly has enough… musing on the prompts, I wondered if Guinness matched the Prince’s mulled ales and wines… he isn’t saying, I guess he hasn’t ventured to try it yet. Being Christmas and all that,. I’ve found memories merging, one past year into another, remembering stories, my mother being ill in hospital and forced to drink Guinness, she hated it forever afterwards… I f that happened now, the hospitals would think it a slur on their procedures. It is, they’re not exactly brilliant, especially here…
I remember my grandfather being in hospital and given Guinness as a tonic. I sometimes think he used to make excuses to be admitted just for that particular benefit. I also believe cigarettes were once prescribed to overcome anxiety as well. How little they knew...
DeleteWhen my daughter was born in 1971, my husband brought Mackeson's Stout into the hospital for me every night.
DeleteI know of no one who received beer at the hospital. Once again Americans have been shown up by the Brits.
DeleteThe Mad Italian (187)
ReplyDeleteYou may well ask if the ego-driven Prince had tried this thick brown unpleasant looking ale, he would not stoop to drink such a concoction. He asked and I said, leave it for the lower classes, great Prince, there is no need to allow that concoction to merge with the fine wines you have in your cellar. Let none cast such a slur on your character! It seemed to please him. He has a huge ego and I admit, with a reputation like his, he can afford to be. Not like the person on the other side of the ocean…
Huge ego...slurred character...renowned reputation. Now who could our esteemed Italian be referring to, I wonder?
DeleteIt seems the wine vs beer debate has been going on for centuries. A hard debate to win hands down, other than enjoying both, in moderation of course.
DeleteCripplegate Junction/Part 252 - Can't Go Home
ReplyDeleteGeorge wandered the platform. He didn't recall disembarking. From the carriage, Constance tapped on the window hoping for her brother's attention. Her voice, distant and slurred, merged with the chuffing engine. But George wasn't listening. He was woolgathering.
Beneath an ever-optimistic cheeky Cockney Sparrow image, George regretted the path his life had taken. Things could have been different. Talented baritone...possibly good enough to perform at the Royal Opera House. Gifted rugby player...potentially slated to play for England in the Guinness Six Nations Championship.
All frittered away.
His own fault.
Horrified, Constance watched George step from the platform onto the tracks.
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To read the earlier installments (a suggestion only) which led to this point in the tale please visit:
http://www.novareinna.com/cripplegate.html
A link to return to "The Prediction" can be found on the site. Thank you.
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I certainly enjoy your writng style, Patricia. You create your scenes so well. I do question George's suicide attempt via a train that barely moves.
DeleteLike John, I'm optimistic George will survive (though less so Constance's change of character).
DeleteI think George greatly overvalues his neglected talents. Perhaps stepping before the train is best. I love the phrase 'chuffing engine.'
ReplyDeletereally? George actually going to shock poor Constance? Hope she can shout loud enough to wake George from this woolgathering dream, which is Not Good when a train is waiting to go and you're not looking out for yourself...
Deletecongrats, Jim, class writing!
ReplyDelete