Beastlies: The Squid of Foreboding

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This soggy, multi-suckered soothsayer launches itself out of rivers and lakes to shout doom-laden warnings of bad things to come at startled passers-by.

“Bad things are going to happen!” it yells, its tentacles flapping about all agitated.

“What, worse than a six-foot squid leaping out of a river to shout at me?” the passer-by will often ask, quite naturally.

“Oh, right, yeah, no, probably not actually,” the squid will say. “Sorry for wasting your time.”

And the Squid of Foreboding will slither back into the water, a bit embarassed, but with a weird, dark feeling that this will all happen again quite soon.

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Beastlies: Dark Lord Statin

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People seeking to lose weight often call upon the demonic services of the Dark Lord Statin. He is clinically proven to reduce cholesterol levels. He does this by hacking off chunks of your arms, legs, buttocks etc with his rusty sword. The weight literally drops off you!

Although the side-effects of the Dark Lord’s treatment can include dizziness, asymmetry and/or death, he’s still quite a popular alternative to dieting and/or exercise.

Friday’s Short Story: Sacrifice

storyteller It had been made quite clear during the interview process that if I wanted to climb the ladder at Timely Holdings I would have to be prepared to make certain sacrifices. It was also made clear that if I didn’t want to climb the ladder then I had no place at Timely Holdings. So yes, I told them, I wanted to climb the ladder and therefore sacrifices would be made. In fact, I was all about sacrifice, I told them. Had I not put that in my personal statement, about sacrificing? No? Well I certainly meant to. After the stuff about focus, innovative solutions and working well as part of a team and also on my own initiative. I got the job.

So when, at the end of my first week my line manager strode towards me in a goal-orientated way, me being the goal and his orientation being spot-on, and told me that I would have to work on Saturday, who was I to argue? I was on the first rung of a ladder that was going to take me all the way, baby.

Which is why I sacrificed my weekend. Which is why I was sitting alone at my cubicle at 2pm on that Saturday afternoon when Satan strode towards me in what I had grown to recognise as a goal-orientated way. Continue reading

Friday’s Short Story: The Ghost of Dave

storyteller Harry had definitely gone to bed drunk, and he had certainly eaten a lot of cheese. These were two facts: solid, uncontroversial, the kind of truths you could rap your knuckle on.

“I am a bit drunk, and I have eaten far too much cheese on toast,” he said out loud, but the ghost just stared at him, impassively.

He had never seen a ghost before. He didn’t believe in ghosts. These were also facts. Stating facts was helping prevent him from panicking. Continue reading