Sunday, June 26, 2011

Do you want this week's Thursday Trophy?

Last week's trophy was awarded to the engineer for his active participation here.  This week's will be a little different:  There is a story here, in pictures (see above).  In order to win, you must make up the words that fit the pictures.  Put your story in the comment section by noon on Thursday, June 30th.  You may enter more than one story.  

At noon on Thursday, a panel of unbiased independent judges the mister and I will choose a winner.  I will announce the winner (and tell you what really happened) in a post Thursday afternoon.  Keep in mind that this is just a friendly little contest* and that the "award" is nothing more than a 2-dimensional cyber trophy. 

*Let there be bloodshed!


Anonymous said...

Big Easy Hot House
Blood Obsession

When it came to thievery, Moses Callahan was a savant. His specialty: botanicals. It had started innocently enough as a casual interest in beverage enhancement. A sprig of mint for a julip, some basil leaves for his gin. His obsession grew in proprtion to his drinking habit. A habit that often made his life complicated. Soon discreet trimmings became brazen thefts. A potted rose bush here, a patch of gloriosa there. Nothing seemed impossible in the 9th ward. That's the place that was abandoned when the water came after the levees broke in '05. People were slow to return, but those that did had a gift for growing things.

Anonymous said...

Among those that returned was Clarence Eustis Beauregard. Clarence was an eccentric, vain, somewhat brilliant man who was a rising star amongst the amateur botanists of the 9th. His specialty: orchids. The kind that incite rapturous delight in afficianados. The kind that sell for a lot of money. The kind that nurture obsession. Moses had met Clarence at a garden expo in the Summer of '09. The confidence man instincts kicked in almost immediately, and Moses was soon lavishing insincere praise and feigned interest upon an unsuspecting Clarence knowing that flattery was the best fertilizer for a prideful blossom. Moses had a plan, but more importantly, he had a buyer.

Anonymous said...

Kelly Simon was an ex-MIT linguist who owned the patents for the spell checking and grammar algorithms that are found in most word processing software. She was a ruthless drinker, an exacting grammarian, had expensive taste in plants and the bankroll to command the very best. She and Moses had met, ironically enough, at an AA meeting in Tallahassee. The attraction was so immediate and hard that they fell off the wagon together and into Kelly's bed. It was during the pillow talk that Moses learned of Kelly's covetous lust for orchids. She was one of those... afficianados. Moses knew the reward would be worth the risk.

Anonymous said...

Eccentrics often have routines, and Clarence was no different. Every Friday night he would venture over to Bourbon Street to take in a show. He loved free form jazz. Some would call it an addiction. Luckily for Moses, it was exploitable. His time spent fawning over Clarence yielded informational dividends. He knew the layout of the hot house, he knew which plants to take, he even had the keycode for the secuity door. Before long, the plants were in the back seat of his 77 El Camino and he was tearing down US 10 towards Tallahassee.

Anonymous said...

Clarence returned that night his head still buzzing with ecclecticism. Despite this, he knew immediately that something was amiss. It was a sixth sense. All gardener's worth their salt have it. A symbiosis with the plants they tend. He ran to his study, sat down in front of the monitor and reviewed the security footage. He knew the thief! He had the make and model of the getaway car! He knew that swift action was imperative! His orchids were delicate. Mishandling them had dire consequences.

Anonymous said...

During the troubles of '05, Clarence had befriended two Louisiana State Troopers that had rescued his pure bred german shepherd from drowning. Like Clarence, the troopers liked free form jazz, and would often accompany him to the French quarter to seek it out. Clarence texted Trooper Davis the situation and details. Davis replied that the car was spotted going east on US 10 towards Tallahassee, and told Clarence to sit tight that he and Trooper Farrish would come and get him soon.

Anonymous said...

The chase was on.

The rollers of flashing blue lights, the mournful slow wail of the siren, the fact that the police car was not passing him, all these things contributed to the senses of dread, fear, and inevitable doom that mingled about Moses in a murky haze. He pulled the El Camino into the parking lot of a convenience store and killed the engine. Twenty miles away. Twenty miles away from safety and riches. Twenty miles away from... her.

Anonymous said...

Habits are hard to break, and Moses was a creature of habit. As he stepped out of the car, he depressed the latch on the door. The keys were still in the ignition. He wasn't about to make it easy on them. Clarence rushed to the car and pressed his head up to the tinted windows. He recoiled in horror. "They're dying!", he screamed. Trooper Farrish was the first to try to unlock the door. He failed. Trooper Davis did as well. Clarence, cleary agitated at this point, took a running start and lept feet first at the back door window. Glass flew in shards as the window exploded at impact. Clarence's torso was balanced on the door jamb. His legs mangled and bleeding into the the seats, the orchids, the soil. It was too late. They were dead.

Clarence, bereft, reached for Trooper Davis' firearm. He aimed as best he could through the tears, and dischared four shots into Moses' chest.

Obsession demands blood. Blood nourishes obsession.

-karen. said...

One afternoon, a dude locked his damn keys in the car. Even his giant biceps and a prybar weren't able to get the door open.

Just then, a drunk scientist walked up and thought he'd stumbled across a giant microscope.

But then, a guy dressed like Casual Friday Batman saved the day with a skinny stick after sneezing and throwing his snot rag on the roof of the car. The drunk scientist kept asking to use Casual Friday Batman's walkie talkie, to no avail. So, a man in a gray shirt showed off his awesome hurdling skills.

the end.