Farewell to Thee — My Beloved 3 3 3

Dear Readers, today marks the very last entry for the Trifecta Writing Challenge.

 After years of dedicated service to so many of us  writers, the editors have decided to close up shop and pursue new and exciting adventures.

I can honestly say, I’ve never had so much fun writing as I have writing for the wonderful and thoughtful writing challenges the editors at the Trifecta Writing Challenge set up for us each week.

It boggles my mind when I think of how much time and effort, thought and dedication they put into it. And I learned so much about how to write and met so many wonderful writers!

I appreciate all that they’ve done more than they’ll ever know.  And so it is with a heavy heart that I write this final challenge.

Farewell to Thee My Beloved 3 3 3

 Ah! Creative bliss!

Our weekly word bouquet

Where our words did pile up

 In fabulous array!

But over now, just let me say

There’s really nothing worse

When pretty-little, piled-words

Must scatter and disperse

 With much love and appreciation from just a few of those who would have never existed without you,

Tracey Hollaway
Mr. Wondlewinkie
Deputy Darwood Blick
Melvin Meebee
Wesley Nonlinger
Strutner Von Puddlepants
Mrs. MacSmathers
El Guapo
The Knee Deepians
Puffy Weemers
Piedmond Poink
Toots Tenyada
Heebs Hoover
Spendal Braun
Layla Bernice Stub
Annamarie Anabella Dot
Specks MacDiddles
Benjamin Feldermyer
Roger Lapew
Sarah Bubbles
Marty McDump
Chlorine Carmichael’s Mother
Markie MacGiggles
Magnificent Jones
Spinkz McCoy
Valeria Lafoot
Zingy Zanderlini
Judy Beyerstrom
Ingernelly Asp
Myopic Kate
Vince Valdarian
Turnelly’s Junkyard Hamster
Quasar Pottimas
The Angel Landsburyians
Lemonmaringuepieuary
Dilly Dallyer
The Residents of Panhandler Pennsylvania
Father Ozzie
Rear Admiral Rasputin Riboflavin
Jake Spitzwater
Marlene Frappizio
Dr. Sarandon Rap
Pamela Darling
Smolden Farlington
Shelden Pilfington
Little Horribella
Nigel Cornhusker
Larry Flerd
Becky Slater

Yaard Flunder
Don Bunkley
Studs McCain
Charlie Center
Al One
Talligas Harrington
Don Deeble
Helen Henderdorkle
Miss Penelope
Pickles the Snake
King Tut’s Righ and left-hand man
Dr. Cartwheel

 

Until next time . . . I love you

Zingy Zanderlini’s Meteoric Downfall

Welcome Dear Readers!  It’s Trifecta Story Day!  Today we are asked to use the third definition of funk:  3 : SLUMP <an economic funk> <the team went into a funk>

Zingy Zanderlini’s Meteoric Downfall

Zingy Zanderlini worshiped Harry Houdini. But then the tables of Zingy’s  heart were always reserved for any man who wore a cape, carried a magic wand and could wiggle out of a straight jacket while handcuffed underwater in less than a minute and a half.

Zingy’s husband Fred, a musician, wasn’t happy with his wife’s fondness for magicians.  “I’m sorry I can only play pianos, Zingy, and not make them disappear like Houdini does.”  He complained slipping into an insecure funk.   “Maybe you’d like me better if I played the piano dangling upside down by one foot?”

“Yes actually I would!”  Zingy replied.

“You didn’t have to answer that Zingy.  It was just a rhetorical question.”

“I’m so sick of your rhetorical questions I could shoot you seventeen times in the heart , run over you with a steamroller, fold you into thirds, stick you in an No. 9 envelope and mail you to Hell, Fred.”

“See, when  you say stuff like that, Zingy,  I sort of  feel like  you don’t love me  that much.  Suddenly Fred grabbed Zingy by the shoulders and shook her hard.  “If you hate me so much why did you marry me, Zingy?  Why? Answer me!”

Alright Fred!  I will answer you. I married you because when you told me you were a musician, I thought you said you were a magician.  Okay?  That’s the only reason I married you.  It was a mistake.  A big, ugly mistake that you can never make disappear, Fred, never!  Because you can’t make anything disappear.

Fred couldn’t look at Zingy anymore.  He stared out the window and into the clouds where a firy ball had just emerged, heading right for their house.

* * *

“Yes  that’s right, officer,” Fred said shifting his position in the rubble. “The meteorite came right though the window, landed on my wife, and she simply  disappeared, ” Fred explained with not as much irony in his voice as one might imagine.

"What is it, Fred?  My hair?  My overly large chin, my weird arm?  What?"
“What is it, Fred? My hair? My overly-large chin, my weird arm? What?”

Until next time . . . I love you

 

Trifecta Writing Challenge: The 33rd Wisdom Tooth God

Welcome Dear Readers!  This weekend’s Trifecta Writing Challenge asks us to write 33 words about a god of our own devising that rules over the human realm with 32 other gods.

Buddhist cosmology tells of Trāyastriṃśa, or the Heaven of Thirty-Three gods, which rule over the human realm. This weekend we’re asking for exactly 33 of your own words about a god of your own devising that shares heaven with the other thirty-two gods. –

The Candidate Who Won the Position for 33rd Wisdom Tooth God

Position desired:  Wisdom Tooth God

Salary Desired:  10% Commission on Gross Tooth Fairy Revenue

Previous experience:  Baby Tooth – ten years

Reason for leaving:  String on doorknob

Professional Goals:  To one day be crowned

gmi760
“Hey look everybody! Here comes the new Wisdom Tooth God.”
“That guy? I’ve seen smarter cavities than him!”

* * *

Until next time . . . I love you

Trifecta Writing Challenge: The Dystopic World of the Angela Lansburyians

Welcome Dear Readers to this week’s Trifecta Writing Challenge! This week we are asked to write a story from 33 to 333 words using the third definition of the word craft: skill in deceiving to gain an end.

The Dystopic World of The Angela Lansburyians.

Angela Lansbury’s smiling face stared up at Jessica as she slowly pushed the currency across the table to the Tarot Card reader.

“An Angela ten?  Most pay only five.  You are generous!  I haven’t seen one of these since before the Lansbury Cloning Wars!”

“Has it been that long?  Hail Angela!”  Jessica said. “Who can keep track of such things with the world in the state it is?

“Hail Angela.” The Tarot Card reader fingered her cards. “Tell me!  Today’s children have no respect for the old ways.  I saw a little boy throwing eggs on the Angela Shrine in the city square yesterday.”

Jessica gasped.

“Yes!  Right under the nose of his mother who was reading her Angela Lansbury Bible “Hail Angela!”

“Hail Angela!”Jessica echoed. “Can you spread out the Tarot cards on my behalf, Sister Fletcher?” Jessica leaned forward intently as the Tarot Card Reader plied her craft.  She closed her eyes and felt the secrets of the cards come into her fingertips before pulling one from the center of the deck.

The first card, the fool: Angela Lansbury walking towards a cliff. “A change is coming.”  Sister Fletcher proclaimed.

Then the second card: The High Priestess: Angela Lansbury seated on a thrown.  “She represents secrets.”

The Tarot Card reader then selected the last card: Death: Angela Lansbury on a white horse.  “Death is coming.  I’m so sorry . . .” she whispered.

Jessica searched the eyes of this sister clone, “Then if death is to come, it will be you.”  Jessica pulled her knife and stabbed the Tarot Card reader in the heart.

“Sorry Sister Fletcher,” Jessica said as she drug her body to the back room, “but death needed you today.” She heard the front door open.

Welcome Sister Fletcher!  Jessica said to the woman who was an identical image of herself. “Would you like a tarot card reading?”

Angela Lansbury’s smiling face stared up at her as the woman slowly pushed the currency across the table.

Angela Lansbury Bucks
Angela Lansbury Bucks

Until next time . . . I love you

Trifecta 33-Word Challenge: How Swiss Cheese Got Its Holes

Welcome Dear Readers!  This weekend’s Trifecta Writing Challenge is as follows:

In The Scorpio Races, author Maggie Stiefvater writes, “It is the first day of November and so, today, someone will die.” Give us the next thirty-three words of this story, as you imagine it. Take it wherever you like, but make it original and make it 33 words exactly.  

How Swiss Cheese Got Its Holes

“It is the first day of November and so, today, someone will die.”

Are you psychic?

Yes. On 11/2/13 a torpedo will blow up the world’s largest block of cheese.

Another psychic message?

No it’s on my calendar:  Buy cheese-destroying torpedo, locate world’s largest block of cheese.

State -of-the- art, cheese- seeking missle
 One state -of-the- art, cheese- seeking torpedo down one world’s-largest-block-of-cheese to go!

Until next time . . . I love you

 

 

Trifecta Writing Challenge: Bob’s Face

Welcome Dear Readers to this week’s Trifecta Writing Challenge.  This week we are asked to write a story between 33 and 333 words using the third definition of the word boo: 3 (verb) to show dislike or disapproval of someone or something by shouting “Boo” slowly –

Bob’s Face

“Boo!”    Gwen slowly pushed the word from her mouth and put on her glasses to follow along in the script as her boyfriend, Bob, acted out his lines.

“Boo?  But Gwen –I haven’t even recited the first line yet.”

“I know, Bob.  I wanted to get my criticism out of the way first thing.”

Captain Splitz!  I wouldn’t go into the engine room if I were you.  Not without your bull whip!” Bob emoted passionately.

“Funny,” Gwen remarked.

“It’s not supposed to be funny.”

“No, I mean it’s funny I never noticed your ears wiggle when you talk, Bob.”

“What?”

“They do, Bob.  Here, I’ve got a mirror in my purse.”

“Gwen, please!  I don’t need to see my ears wiggle.”

“Fine.  If you don’t want to see your ears wiggle it’s no skin off my nose.”

“Where was I? Oh yes . . .  Captain Splitz!  I wouldn’t go into the engine room  if I were you!  Not without your—“

Gwen stifled a little giggle.

“Now what?”

“Nothing Bob, keep going.”

“Captain Splitz!  I wouldn’t go— what are you giggling about Gwen!”

“It’s your eyes, Bob.”

“What about them?”

“Funny.  I never realized until now they look like two ice-blue eggs, sunny-side up!”

“Gwen, can we please get back to the script?”

“Sure, you don’t want to  look at your weird eggy eyes, Bob, it’s fine by me.”

“Captain Splitz!  I wouldn’t go in there if I were you!  Not without your bull whip!” Bob looked up at Gwen.  “Well?”

“Well what?”

“Aren’t you going to say anything about my mouth?  Or maybe you want to tell me how weird my hair looks?”

“Bob!  How can you say that?  I’m nothing if not supportive.  How dare you suggest otherwise! You are so lucky to have me as your girlfriend.”

You’re right.  I’m sorry Gwen.  Bob took a deep breath and began again.  “Captain Splitz!  I wouldn’t—”

“But your nose does kind of look like a piece of bacon, Bob.”

“Captain Splitz! I wouldn’t go into the engine room if I were you! Not without your bull whip!”

Until next time . . . I love you

 

Trifecta Writing Challange: Lunch at Applebeezlebub’s

Welcome Dear Readers!

It’s now time for some Trifextra fun. Thirty years ago, Roald Dahl published the book Dirty Beasts, a collection of poems for children about weird and wonderful animals. The last poem, however, is called The Tummy Beast about a boy who thinks there’s someone living in his belly. Your Trifextra challenge is to write 33 words on a beast in an unusual place. No swamps or forests or caves, we really want you to take your beast out of its comfort zone.

Lunch at Applebeezlebub’s

Yes, I’ll have a heinous house salad.

Beverage?

Just demonic unholy water.

Very good.

What’s today’s soup?

Menacing Minestrone.

What’s in it?

Demonically-possessed macaroni mostly.

Hmm . . .

It’s maliciously delicious.

Well, okay — I guess.

Evil Elbow Macroni.  It's what's for dinner.
Evil Elbow Macroni. Is it lurking in your Minestrone?

Until next time . . . I love you