My cup runneth over mainly because an accidental hit of the brew button brought three instead of two 5 oz servings. Luckily the machine has a drain, or the tsunami of caffeine would be on the floor. So the absorbent mat that is in reserve will not be necessary. Sipping the life fluid reminds me of last week’s arrival of too many Warner Brothers look-alikes for comfort.

The grey rabbit said there was going to be a circus. An inquiry to the city assured me that no permit was necessary if it was held on my property, and no entrance fees were charged. We met in person so that the possibility of talking them into a restraining order could have happened. The mutt of a compliance officer refused to prevent what will no doubt become mayhem.

In deep thought, the thirty-story falling piano crash of the doorbell jerked me back to reality. It also set off a round of barking, cracking every mirror in the house. A toss of my old baseball mitt causes Lucy and Twiggy to think a sheep is loose in the place and brings the silence of chasing the lambs.

“Who is there,” is the inquiry through the Ring doorbell.”

“C’est Moi. Phiil Harris.”

“Baloo?”

“Bon mot. The very same.”

“What do you want?”

“Your friends Dan and Tom said you needed a ringmaster for the circus. Also, I have some mail for you.”

“Hold on.” The security shutdown procedure takes a few minutes, and the door is thrown open. Standing there is Phil Harris. “I thought you were dead.”

“This is fiction, right? Here take this and point me to my dressing room .”

Phil shoves an envelope into my hand and then pushes by me. I open the envelope, and it is a message from Linda Hill. It says, Your Friday prompt for Stream of Consciousness Saturday is “mat/met/mitt/mot/mutt.” Choose one or use them all, any way you’d like, in your post. Have fun! Also, there is a note from Tom and Dan. Good luck is all it says.

To have fun, visit Linda’s blog and read how easy it is. Here is the link.

https://lindaghill.com/2023/03/10/the-friday-reminder-and-prompt-for-socs-march-11-2023/

Mat/met/mitt/mot/mutt by John W. Howell © 2023

“Not bad.”

“What?”

“You got all the words of the prompt in that intro.”

“Thanks.”

“One problem, though.”

“What’s that.”

“Your readers want a circus with all those characters. So you’re on the mat to deliver.”

“The objective will be met.”

“A fine mot ‘objective'”

“What are you, a linguist?”

“Mitt skämt.”

“Huh?”

“Swedish for ‘my joke.'”

“How about Swedish, for you are a mutt?”

“The same, ‘mutt.’ Du är en mutt.”

“Well, we’ve pretty much killed this one.”

“We all want a circus.”

“Fine. In the meantime, how about a pub visit.”

“Hello, Uber. Already place the order, and Helmut is on his way.”

Saturday is supposed to be stress-free. This thought comes to mind while waiting for the Frankensteinish AI in the coffee machine to quit doing quantum physics formulas and get to work on my cup of joe. In the meantime, the nagging feeling of unfinished business in the form of two white cartoonish gloved holding a sign last week keeps tweaking my gut.

Finally, the machine begins its process, and before my countdown reaches one hundred, the soul-restoring elixir sputters from the twin spouts. Once done and a sip has calmed my caffeine-addicted nerve endings, a quick look at the Ring doorbell image on my phone confirms the gloves are still there, holding yet another sign. Since the lettering is somewhat weird, the front door must be opened to read it.

Disconnecting the security system involves turning off the hot oil, disengaging the automatic tower machine guns, lifting the subnet from the moat, locking the Trecuchet, securing the ballista, coiling the concertina wire, removing the claymore mines, Lifting the iron gate, throwing back the bolts, and unlocking ten locks. Finally, the door is ready to be opened. “Who is there?” is the message sent through the Ring doorbell.

“Eh. What’s up, doc?”

Throwing open the door and “I’m face to face with Bugs Bunny. “I’m your prize,” he shouts.

“Prize, what prize?”

“What you get for knowing Linda Hill. Here read this sign, doc. I’ll be going now.” Bugs hands me the sign and disappears around the side of the house. Up close, the words on the sign are easily read. It says, Your Friday prompt for Stream of Consciousness Saturday is “prize.” Use it as a noun or a verb; use it any way you’d like. Have fun!

If you want to have fun, visit Linda’s blog and read how easy it is. Here is the link. https://lindaghill.com/2023/02/24/the-friday-reminder-and-prompt-for-socs-feb-25-2023/https://lindaghill.com/2023/02/24/the-friday-reminder-and-prompt-for-socs-feb-25-2023/

Prize by John W. Howell © 2023

“Lame.”

“What?”

“Prize, Bugs Bunny, the whole thing.”

“I thought it was clever.”

“You know everyone was waiting for Mickey Mouse.”

“I don’t know that.”

“You don’t read your mail?”

“Of course, I read my mail but didn’t see much about Mickey Mouse.”

“I hoped it would be Mickey Mouse.”

“Why?”

“A change of pace. You are always doing Warner Brothers stuff.”

“They are prize characters.”

“Yeah, go ahead and sneak a prompt word in. But, of course, you take the prize for that kind of thing.”

“You are a little cranky today.”

“I think I’m a quart low on my precious fuel.”

“Are you paid by New Belgium Brewing?”

“No, why?”

“This obsession with VooDoo Ranger is why.”

“Well, it’s my prize for going back and forth with you.”

“And I always pay.”

“But I call Uber. That has to count for something.”

“You take the prize. I give up. Call Uber.”

“You won’t be sorry.”

“I doubt that to be true.”

Ah, Saturday. The day that requires no intelligence or energy. The day when the mind and body take some time to themselves. The day where the agenda is free style and time a seemingly squanderable resource. It is also the day when the AI in charge of coffee has an iron grip on my heart. Begging and pleading only slows the process of turning roasted South American bush fruit into the hot, frothy, aromatic liquid that quells my addition.

It is usually a test of wills on who will crack first. The machine or me. Returning the cursed thing to the store is an idle threat. The machine knows giving up the soothing mainline caffeine delivery system would be harder than losing a limb. Pounding and cursing have little effect. There was a time when the machine shut down entirely and accused me of being technically insensitive after such an episode. Three days of shlepping to Starbucks cured me of any future violent overtures.

So how long will the wait be? There is a stirring, and low rumble followed by three sputters indicating the life-restoring fuel is about to be dispensed into my cup. Be still my beating heart; here it comes. Ten ounces of glory are delivered. Trembling hands caress and move the cup to the lips. One sip and, like Gene Wilder in Young Frankenstein, seeing the monster rise from the table, scream, “It’s alive.”

Linda Hill’s message hits my computer screen at my moment of ecstasy. It says Your Friday prompt for Stream of Consciousness Saturday is “heart.” Use it any way you like. Have fun!

If you would like to have fun, visit Linda’s blog and read how. Here’s the link.

https://lindaghill.com/2023/02/10/the-friday-reminder-and-prompt-for-socs-feb-11-2023/

Heart by John W. Howell © 2023

“What the heck was that all about?”

“We’ve been off for a month, and I thought I would reintroduce the espresso maker and its odd behavior.”

“You almost gave me a heart attack.”

“How’s that?”

“I thought you were having a brain bleed or something. Going on about stupid coffee.”

“Excuse me.”

“What?”

“Coffee is what starts my day.”

“Well, I think you might be a little obsessive over it.”

“Oh, not like you, of course.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Three words. VooDoo Ranger Imperial.”

“Hey, you leave my significant other out of this.”

“Listen to you.”

“Alright, I’ll give it to you. I shouldn’t talk.”

“You ought to get someone to write a song.”

“What kind of song?”

“Maybe a heartthrob country and western.”

“Why?”

“To express your affection.”

“Got a title?”

“Sure, My Heart Belongs to VooDoo.”

“You’re heartless, you know that?”

“Let me buy you one.”

“You’re forgiven. But if you’re going to buy, can we have more than one.”

“Dial Uber.”

In Keith’s words. “Using this photo as inspiration, write a short story, flash fiction, scene, poem; anything, really; even just a caption for the photograph. Either put your offering (or a link to it) in a comment or email it to me at keithchanning@gmail.com before Sunday evening UK time. If you post it on your own blog or site, a link to this page would be appreciated, but please do also mention it in a comment here. Thank you for taking part.”

The link to Keith’s post. https://keithchanning.wordpress.com/2022/12/19/kreative-kue-391/

The photo.

The Pickup by John W. Howell © 2023

“Where are you?”

“Standing on the corner by this green pole on Wayfair street.”

“What’s the cross street.”

“All I see is one sign.”

“What does it say?”

“One way.”

“Yeah, that helps. Can you give me anything that would pinpoint your location?”

“I have a red purse.”

“I mean a landmark.”

“The First National Bank, you mean?”

“Okay, is the bank in front of you or behind you?”

“Behind me.”

“Ah, I think I see you.”

“Terrific.”

“But I must go around the block ’cause I can’t get over.”

“Oh, just take your time. No rush at all.”

“You are being sarcastic, right?”

“You sure pick up stuff quickly for an idiot.”

“Now, now. This could happen to anyone.”

“NOT TO SOMEONE WHO IS SUPPOSED TO BE THE GET-A-WAY DRIVER; IT DOESN’T.”

“Okay, be calm. I’ll be there in a minute.”

“I sure hope it’s before the cops do.”

“Don’t worry, they’re behind me.”

“Wonderful.”

Anyway. It seems like a long wait for the machine to build that delicious, frothy, steaming cup of soothing syrup. Other activities can occur while hoping for a total lack of technical hick-up that delays delivery. Shopping online can go uninterrupted while the snorts and creaks of the machine verify continued operation. Finally, the aroma of the liquid fills the air as the cursed AI master delivers the goods.

Grabbing the cup and the first sip reminds me of the continued worry in the backyard. Pepe has been working for a week on setting up the ballista to launch the rocket out of the yard. Then, last week, the comments section produced Resa’s suggestion that the Trebuchet could launch the skunk after the missile is gone.

Such a possibility will bring welcome relief to my sanity and olfactories. The only flea in the ointment is devising a plan to get Pepe to sit in the Trebuchet for a moment before release. Also, a consideration must be made for Pepe’s safety since he will fall at a velocity that could produce injuries. A parachute of some kind would do the trick. So, the next problem will be getting Pepe to put on the chute before sitting on the Trebuchet.

As the furrows in my brow threaten my vision, the warm scent of Pepe fills the living room air. “Pardon, Monsieur, but the ballista is loaded and ready for take-off.” Trying to keep as much distance from Pepe as possible, I nod. He places an envelope on an end table and raises his eyebrows. “Let me read this. and then we will go out to inspect the ballista. Holding my breath and moving slowly, the envelope is scooped off the table. Once opened, it reveals a message from Linda Hill. It reads. Your Friday prompt for Stream of Consciousness Saturday is “start your post or one paragraph with the word ‘anyway.'” Bonus points if you start your post with “anyway” and regular points if you use it in a paragraph somewhere else in your post. Enjoy!

If you would like to participate in this exercise of fantasy, visit Linda’s blog and read how easy it is. Here is the link. https://lindaghill.com/2022/12/16/the-friday-reminder-and-prompt-for-socs-dec-17-2022/

Anyway by John W. Howell © 2023

“Anyway, you did get the bonus points.”

“Yes indeed. Nailed that sucker.”

“So what are you going to do about the skunk?”

“As you read, I have a plan.”

“That skunk will empty his stink tanks on you if you try to put him in a parachute.”

“I know. So, there has to be a way to trick him.”

“You know your neighbor has a black and white cat.”

“Yeah?”

“Why don’t you outfit it with a parachute and then convince Pepe that they could go skydiving together.”

“Hmm. Not a bad plan. How do we keep the cat calm?”

“Sheesh, what am I? The military joint chiefs? That’s your problem.”

“Yeah, okay. Just thought you had an idea.”

“Give it some beer. I don’t know.”

“Wait a minute. How about some catnip?”

“Now you’re talking. Drug the cat.”

“It is not like drugs. They just love it, that is all. All Pepe has to see is the cat in the chute. The catnip will keep her happy.”

“And distracted from the chute.”

“Exactly.”

“Speaking of distracted, isn’t it time for the Pub run?”

“You want to stay here. I just got a twelve-pack of VooDoo Ranger Imperial.”

“Not sure twelve will be enough.”

“Trust me, it will.”

“How do you know?”

“Imperial is 9% Alcohol. Six for you is more than enough.”

“I’ll take your word. Got snacks?”

“Goldfish and peanuts.”

“Perfect.”

“And the price is right.”

“Even better.”