In the beginning, coffee in our house was made by dripping water through a filter filled with ground coffee from a can. The result was hot caffeinated brown water. Then, in a quest for better coffee, a French Press was (wait for it) pressed into service. It was more or less the same as water dripping, but was pushed through grounds that came from a bag filled with freshly ground beans. The result was a hot, brown-colored water that tasted more like coffee. Now, where are we? Today, it is a snark-filled monster machine that delivers any kind of coffee drink at the push of a button. You talk about first-world convenience. It has arrived. Today, the selection is a flat white. After delivery of the first sip, the Westminster chimes cause my gold fillings to vibrate and the hounds to levitate while demonstrating how they can bark an intruder to St. Louis.

Tossing a few chewy treats into the soundproof room and slamming the door brings back the silent pre-doorbell condition. Checking the security monitor, it is obvious that an Elmer Fudd look-alike can’t read the “Do Not Ring the Doorbell” sign. The usual exchange of greetings determines that the door must be opened. The security system needs to be disengaged.  With a sigh, the process is started.

The SWAT team needs to be put on standby. A quick text to the leader confirms that status. Also, the flight of A-10 Warthogs must be diverted. Another call to the commander puts that worry to rest. The SEAL team needs to be called off, and a call to the leader makes that possible. A call to the tow truck driver stops the deployment of an M1A1 Abrams Tank. The control panel simplifies the shutdown process of the security system. The boiling oil vats are put on standby, the turret mortars disengaged, the Trebuchet on safety, the concertina wire rolled, the Claymore mines reset, the tower Gatling guns on safety, the moat net dropped, the alligators fed, and the IEDs and shoulder-held rockets put away.  The Proton torpedoes switched off. The gamma ray beams covered. The high-powered maser guns switched to standby, and the nanorobots are chained in the basement. The locks on the door are thrown. And the door opened.

“Have you seen that wrascally wabbit?”

“No.”

“Sign here then.”

While signing, the shotgun in this guy’s hand causes some concern. “You hunting today?”

“No, I work for the delivery company. Just being careful, that’s all.”

Handing back the clipboard, the guy gives me an envelope and holds out his hand.

“Keep your powder dry,” is my tip, and the front door is slammed. Looking at the security monitor, the guy has gone.

The envelope is from Linda Hill (what a surprise). Inside is a message. It reads.

Your Friday prompt for Stream of Consciousness Saturday is “at the beginning.” Use it any way you’re inspired to. Enjoy!

To see what others have done with the prompt, visit Linda’s post. Here is the link, https://lindaghill.com/2025/10/10/the-friday-reminder-and-prompt-for-socs-oct-11-2025/

At the beginning by John W. Howell © 2025

“I enjoyed your at the beginning” opener.”

“I’m surprised.”

“Why?”

“Oh, I don’t know. You never seem to like what I write.”

“Right now I like it.”

“Well, that’s good to hear.”

“What segway are we going to use to get to the subject of the day?”

“You mean VooDoo Rangers, I suppose.”

“You’ve answered my question. Uber is over there.”

“We can’t fit in that.”

“You can sit on my lap.”

“Cold day when I would do that.”

“Why not. I’m not going to bite.”

“Just not comfortable.”

“Good thing I got a backup. Look.”

“Okay. I give up. Let’s take the truck. At least there is room for three.”

“One thing with the truck.”

“Of course.”

“We need to mow a couple of lawns on the way.”

“Sure, why not?”

“You okay?”

“One pint low on the VooDoo is all.”

“Here’s a cooler. We can mow and enjoy a VooDoo.”

“A perfect day in the sun. Hold on till I get my dew rag and overalls.”

“You are the best.”

“You have missed the subtlety of my sarcasm.”

“Just ignored it, is all.”

“Be right back.”

 

 

The joke is on me. Thinking that another disaster was forming with the coffee machine, a standby plan was put into place. The machine sat in darkness, with no sign of life. The first part of the plan was to run through the checklist of operations to diagnose the problem. Water? Check. Beans? Check. Turned on? Check. Plugged in? Oops. Well, there you are. The machine was not plugged in. In short order, that problem was rectified. The sounds and aroma filled the room. Salvation is at hand. The healing elixir pours forth into my cup. One sip, and the ever-present Westminster Chime of the doorbell triggers the Cerberus twins, in the form of Twiggy and Tempeste, to take up the ear-piercing, end-of-the-world warning.  A toss of an organic knuckle bone into the soundproof room and a slam of the door bring back normalcy and silence.

Checking the security monitor, a rabbit is holding a sign. The sign reads Envelope for Howell. Need to sign. Tips appreciated.  With a sigh, the security shut-down process began.

The SWAT team needs to be put on standby. A quick text to the leader confirms that status. Also, the flight of A-10 Warthogs must be diverted. Another call to the commander puts that worry to rest. The SEAL team needs to be called off, and a call to the leader makes that possible. A call to the tow truck driver stops the deployment of an M1A1 Abrams Tank. The control panel simplifies the shutdown process of the security system. The boiling oil vats are put on standby, the turret mortars disengaged, the Trebuchet on safety, the concertina wire rolled, the Claymore mines reset, the tower Gatling guns on safety, the moat net dropped, the alligators fed, and the IEDs and shoulder-held rockets put away.  The Proton torpedoes switched off. The gamma ray beams covered. The high-powered maser guns switched to standby, and the nanorobots were chained in the basement. The locks on the door are thrown. And the door opened.

“Eh, what’s up, Doc?” The rabbit hands me a clipboard and asks for a signature on the line marked with carrot juice. After signing, he hands me an envelope and holds out his free hand, paw. A clear sign that a tip is expected. My tip for the day was articulated to the bunny before slamming the door. “Reality is that which, when you stop believing in it, doesn’t go away.”

The envelope is from Linda Hill. Inside is the message. Your Friday prompt for Stream of Consciousness Saturday is “joke.” Use it as you see fit. Have fun!

To see what others have done with the prompt, visit Linda’s post. Here is the link. https://lindaghill.com/2025/10/03/the-friday-reminder-and-prompt-for-socs-oct-4-2025/

Joke by John W. Howell © 2025

“Well, that was another tour through your madness.”

“I guess you could call it that.”

“Why don’t you just tip those messengers with money?”

“I think it is more fun to lay out a philosophical one-liner.”

“Well, maybe for you.”

“Besides, how is a cartoon character going to spend a tip?”

“Hmm. Never thought of it that way.”

“Also, I could add how a figment of my imagination is going to drink Voo Doo Rangers.”

“Hey, you hold on there, my friend. First of all, I’m no figment. Second of all, I can drink a ton of Voo Doo Rangers.”

“A ton? Don’t you mean a liquid measure like a barrel?”

You know what I mean.”

“Yes, I do. I was just pulling your leg.  A joke as it were. You are a real as it comes.”

“Aw, thanks. Uber is over there.”

“A classic with custom wheels.”

“Yeah, I’m not sure, but it looks like a 1970 Mercedes 300D SEL.”

“You got me. All I know is there is room for both of us.”

“And we only have to make one stop.”

“One stop?”

“Yeah. The guy is also an Uber Eats delivery person.”

“So what is he delivering?”

“Chickens.”

“Chickens? How is that possible?”

“Well, a farmer needs some more chickens, and Uber Eats delivers anything.”

“So when we get to the pub, we will smell like chickens?”

“You know the pub. No one will notice. Let’s go.”

 

 

The coffee machine flashes a sign on the touch pad. “Clean me or go to a hotel for coffee.” Punching the “clean” button was the better alternative. Yes, the wait was 20 minutes, but it was well worth it. Holding a fresh hot cup of coffee with its curative vapors was my reward. A careful hoist of the cup and one sip plugged the hole that metaphorically appeared in my skull. No sooner done than someone brought home the stupidity of a doorbell.  The Westminster chimes triggered the protective instincts of Twiggy and Tempeste. Their defense systems engaged at full volume and pitch, which potentially could make ears bleed.

A toss of a handful of kibble into the soundproof room, followed by the slamming of the door, brought a sweet peace from the hounds back to the valley. Checking the security monitor for the infidel stupid enough to ignore the “Do not ring the doorbell” sign, a horrific sight met my eyes. It was none other than the Tasmanian Devil holding a letter and drooling on my front porch. No need to go through the hoops of asking him to drop it there, since from experience, Tasmanian Devils are short on conversation.

With a sigh, I begin the security shutdown process. The SWAT team needs to be put on standby. A quick text to the leader confirms that status. Also, the flight of A-10 Warthogs must be diverted. Another call to the commander puts that worry to rest. The SEAL team needs to be called off, and a call to the leader makes that possible. A call to the tow truck driver stops the deployment of an M1A1 Abrams Tank. The control panel simplifies the shutdown process of the security system. The boiling oil vats are put on standby, the turret mortars disengaged, the Trebuchet on safety, the concertina wire rolled, the Claymore mines reset, the tower Gatling guns on safety, the moat net dropped, the alligators fed, and the IEDs and shoulder-held rockets put away.  The Proton torpedoes switched off. The gamma ray beams covered. The high-powered maser guns switched to standby, and the nanorobots were chained in the basement. The locks on the door are thrown. And the door opened.

The devil begins to spin, and my weak “Howdy” goes unanswered. The letter flies from his hand and falls to my feet. From inside the tornado comes a spinning paw. No doubt an attempt to hound me for a tip. Scooping up the letter, I shout: “A soft answer turns away wrath…mine is No!” and slam the front door. It is a good thing the door is made of steel, since it sounds like the Devil hopes to tear it down.

The letter contains a message from Linda Hill. It reads: Your Friday prompt for Stream of Consciousness Saturday is “starts with ‘ho.’” Find a word that begins with the letters “ho” and use it any way you’d like. Have fun!

To see what others have done with the prompt, visit Linda’s post. Here is the link.https://lindaghill.com/2025/09/05/the-friday-reminder-and-prompt-for-socs-sept-6-2025/ 

Ho by John W. Howell © 2025

“You got a lot of ho words in there.”

“Thanks.”

“You missed one.”

“Don’t go there.”

“Where?”

“You know where.”

“Ah, homie, you know me too well.”

“Since the intro took way too many words, let’s cut to the chase.”

“Uber is over there.”

 

“Wow. A 1955 Chevy Bel Aire Coupe. What a honey.”

“Yeah, that is the real deal. Looks like someone hoarded that puppy.”

“There has to be a catch.”

“Not that I know about.”

“Okay then. Let’s go.”

“There is one thing.”

“You said no catch.”

“It’s not a catch exactly.”

“Tell me.”

“We have to wax it first.”

“Sounds like a catch to me.”

“No, here’s the wax. It says just apply and wipe off.”

“Do you know how many hours that will take?”

“With two of us? On my honor, no more than twenty minutes.”

“Okay then. Twenty minutes, tops.”

“Trust me.”

“That concerns me.”

 

 

A rough night calls for a smooth coffee. Mine is made, and adding half and half turns the dark brew to the color of toast. The first sip signals the brain that we are indeed going to survive, and it can now lay down the hammer. Once my head recovered from the clanging low caffeine warning, a new threat arose instantly with the Westminster chime rendition of the doorbell.  A toss of a plush toy into the soundproof room and slamming the door put an end to the baying of Igor’s hounds in the form of Twiggy and Tempeste.

The security camera could not pick up the idiot who cannot read the “do not ring the doorbell” note above it. “Who’s there?” is the challenge. “Letter for J. Howell,” the reply. The suggestion of leaving it on the porch was met with the age-old excuse of needing a signature. While thinking of all the times a signature was not required on items like proton torpedoes and machine guns, the security system shutdown is initiated.

The SWAT team needs to be put on standby. A quick text to the leader confirms that status. Also, the flight of A-10 Warthogs must be diverted. Another call to the commander puts that worry to rest. The SEAL team needs to be called off, and a call to the leader makes that possible. A call to the tow truck driver stops the deployment of an M1A1 Abrams Tank. The control panel simplifies the shutdown process of the security system. The boiling oil vats are put on standby, the turret mortars disengaged, the Trebuchet on safety, the concertina wire rolled, the Claymore mines reset, the tower Gatling guns on safety, the moat net dropped, the alligators fed, and the IEDs and shoulder-held rockets put away.  The Proton torpedoes switched off. The gamma ray beams covered. The high-powered maser guns switched to standby, and the nanorobots were chained in the basement. The locks on the door are thrown. And the door opened.

Standing there is a little mouse who looks very much like Jerry from the cartoons. His clipboard is bigger than he is. He shoves it towards me, and my signature is recorded. He hands me the letter and sticks out his hand er paw. A classic quest for a tip. “Value experiences over possessions,” is my tip. Slamming the door and opening the envelope, I see it is from Linda Hill. It reads:

Your Friday prompt for Stream of Consciousness Saturday is “toast.” Use it as a noun, use it as a verb, use it any way you’d like. Enjoy!

To see what others have done with the prompt, visit Linda’s post. Here is the link.

https://lindaghill.com/2025/08/29/the-friday-reminder-and-prompt-for-socs-aug-30-2025/

Toast by John W. Howell © 2025

“You know there will be comments about slamming the door in the face of a cartoon icon.”

“You tell me what you tip a cartoon. Ink? Paper? Or what?”

“I would have gone for a piece of cheese and a slice of toast.”

“You just said that to get in the prompt word.”

“Maybe, but at least the cheese would have been nice.”

“This may surprise you, but I don’t carry cheese around in my pocket.”

“Short distance to the fridge.”

“And what? Leave the front door unprotected.”

“You been smoking weed?”

“No, why?”

“I sense a little paranoia.”

“Well. You know how I am about security.”

“Yeah, we all know.”

“What about the Uber?”

“It’s over there, but maybe we should get some armed guards to go with us.”

“Stop it. Over where?”

“There.”

 

“You have to be kidding me.”

“See that bench on the front. That’s for us.”

“That’s a giant flower pot.”

“True, but all we have to do is remove the brick and be on our way. Here, take these goggles.”

“What are they for?”

“Bugs.”

“Bugs?”

“Yeah, you don’t want bugs in your eyes, and I would keep your mouth closed as well.”

“How does the dribe see?”

“His problem, not ours. Let’s go.”

“I hope this works.”

“Small sacrifice for a VooDoo Ranger.”