Month: September 2016

The Statistical Likelihood Of Jerks

Fran summoned a deep breath and all her courage. She’d never said it out loud before, and now that it was time, speaking suddenly felt a lot like punching through a brick wall. ‘I’m pregnant.’

Garry responded with the ease of a narcoleptic falling asleep at an awards show. ‘Why?’ (more…)


The One

Coffee percolated, muffins seemed overpriced, writers tapped away at laptops in public to make sure everyone knew they were writers (as opposed to hiding in a cave and writing pointless little stories for a blog nobody knows about, as proper writers should).

Jane took a sip of coffee. ‘So remember when I met Steve, and I was like, β€œHe’s the one!” and β€œI’ve finally found the one!”’

Esmerelda made a sympathetic face. ‘Did it turn out that he isn’t the one? Is it because he eats too any pickled onions? Remember I said he eats too many pickled onions.’

‘It’s not that. He definitely is the one. He’s just not, well, my the one.’ (more…)

Boundaries And Responsible Dog Ownership

The tennis ball arched up and then down through the sky, hit the ground, decided to try the sky again, decided to try the ground again, reconsidered the sky, and then finally settled in the grass for a rest.

‘Fetch, boy!’ cried Paul. ‘Go on! Biscuit, fetch! Get the ball! Biscuit, go! Ball!’

‘We need to talk,’ said Biscuit. (more…)

Doctor Ragnarok And The Too Literal Weather Machine

Doctor Ragnarok made an entrance. There were fireworks, blaring drum and bass beats, dancing girls with haunted eyes. It’s important for a super villain to make an entrance. ‘My weather machine, is it ready yet?’

Vincent Fisher had never made an entrance. He was the sort of man who could enter a room without anybody noticing. While wearing a flashing hat and screaming please, notice me! ‘Define ready,’ said Vincent Fisher.

An adjustment of the upper lip of Doctor Ragnarok made it clear that there were whips nearby, and he still hadn’t done his cardio today.

‘It works, my lord,’ said Vincent Fisher. ‘It’s just that it… well, it took the settings a bit… literally.’ (more…)

Game Of Throne

The sword protruded from the stone with the promise of not being covered in mud all the time. And clothes that had never been anything other than clothes. And a bed. He wasn’t entirely sure what a bed was, but it sounded very posh.

Arthur reached out, and grasped the glittering hilt.

‘What’s your economic policy?’ said the sword. (more…)