Bunny wants to paint your eggs.
This is the story of three proofs: the biggest one, the blue one and the round one.
One of my assistants left them on my table without any identifying labels, and after this made a kerplunky little hole in the water. That’s right, she stepped into the loo bowl and sank out of sight. She never did return. Perhaps this nightmare ordeal had gotten too much. Not that I blame her.
Anyway, I had to work.
The biggest proof had more than a whiff of arsine sulfide about it. I sneezed, and placed it back on the table. Didn’t want to mess with that one.
I decided not to smell the blue proof because it looked like a dead Smurf that’d been put through a blender then snap frozen in the shape of a bow tie. I licked it instead. It tasted like… a dead Smurf that’d been put through a blender then snap frozen in the shape of a bow tie.
The dots were starting to connect.
Oh, the round proof? The less said about that the better, I guess. Let’s just say that when you squeezed it, it sounded like an asthmatic gerbil dying in an iron lung. It gave me such a fright that I nearly dropped the thing.
Did I mention that everything was becoming much clearer now?
I snapped on rubber gloves and protective goggles, took a rack from the storage cupboard, and cautiously placed the proofs upon it. Then I squelched through watery loo muck to my supervisor’s office and put the rack with the proofs on the table in front of him. He looked askance at said proofs, then at me as if I’d played an extremely offensive practical joke.
I shook my head in a helpless ‘no’, and added a shrug in case the head shake wasn’t enough. I was deadly earnest. What were these proofs actually proof of? And how did we know that they were proofs in the first place? Wasn’t the burden of proof upon these proofs to prove that they were proofs?
So, at that point I did what any sane scientist would have done: I made a kerplunky little hole in the water and stepped in. Yes, that’s right, I stepped into the loo bowl and sank out of sight as my supervisor looked helplessly on.
And the proofs? Well, no one knows what’s happened to them since.
Our dearest Writers and Readers,
Guess what? Now we feel like teachers in a classroom full of naughty children! Albeit genius children. We gave you a mere few lines and you went running off with them like they were a pair of sharp scissors!
Once we showed our admiration for the poetic maverick geek that is the Great Von, you started to bomb us with your boundless creativity and flagrant disregard of the rules. Are we cross with you all? No! We love it!
BUT—and we say this with a dull tone, adjusting the glasses on our noses—you need to be reminded of the rules. Do you hear us, MiamiMagus, David Koblentz, gregorystackpole, rebel1955 (yes, you’re a real rebel!)? Your submissions were lovely, but alas we cannot accept them!
There’s nothing for it. We shall have to keep you back after class for detention. And you shall write the following line one hundred times: ‘captain ahab, hunting still, with wife and son and daughter’. As for you, Peter Pondering, you may go leave early. Yes, as the originator of this line, you get to cut class before the bell rings! Lucky boy!
Oh! But before that we need to remind you of the rules and reveal our next line. We hope you’ll be more diligent next time! (Such naughtiness!)
1) We provide the next line of the poem.
2) You write the following line.
3) You submit your line via the comments section of this very post.
4) We pick the line we like most and add it to the poem.
5) We publish every line to date in a follow-up post.
6) Steps 1-5 are repeated until we have a masterpiece!
wet backs, sharp fangs, dangerous dolphin eyes
waves for crowns and blood in the water
they wade through utter slaughter
captain ahab, hunting still, with wife and son and daughter
their harpoons at the ready, of fearsome size
Tasha Quatro’s head was ready to burst. She’d spent the last few hours trying to find something unambiguous to write about, but every attempt brought only further disappointment. Pineapples weren’t fruits. Tomatoes weren’t vegetables. And now she wasn’t even sure if she was Tasha or a big, fat potato-head.
This homework was killing her. Botany was her least favourite subject, and it hung above her head like the sword of Damocles. She looked over at the nearest table where students from the law faculty worked casually on their own homework. They were laughing like crazy, discussing Nix v. Hedden and sharing sips from a flask of what she imagined was alcohol. Tasha felt a bad attack of envy.
The next day, Tasha went to the Dean’s office and handed in an application to change faculties. Botany was too vague a science for her taste. The world of law seemed much more exciting, more stable and reliable with its facts. It couldn’t be misinterpreted or distorted.
[Though this has 165 words, the case of T&T v. Common Sense decrees that it must be classified as a 100 Word Story. The court records cannot be shown because much of their contents have been redacted, but you can bet your sweet bippy that our arguments were watertight and completely valid. Ergo, this is a 100 Word Story. We’re the ones with the big wigs, fancy gowns and gavel, so what we say goes! Dixi.]