derpgoat

The petroglyphs told the story of an unusual event.

Mr Almonde Pasteva was a researcher who knew how to read petroglyphs and was very famous.

One day he saw a petroglyph with a very old and unusual story.

There was once a family called the Oogaboogens and they lived on a goat farm.

The family consisted of two kids, one girl named Oogmi, her twin brother named Oogum and two parents. The mom Ushulake and the dad Upilllokekuse and this family inspired a lot of items we use today.

Oogmi inspired origami, Oogum inspired gum, Ushulake inspired shoelaces, and Upilllokekuse inspired pillowcases. And one more member was their pet goat who didn’t have a name and every day Upilllokekuse would hit him with a branch. One day they saw a portal, which a weird house car made, so they jumped in and are now a normal family.

“Sarah (10 years old) made some great names in this one. If you could only hear her say them (Oog-me, Oo-gum, Oosh-lake-ee and the last one I can’t even attempt to get out phonetically). She surprised me with this one. I’m proud. That’ll do pig. That’ll do.” – Danny (read other stories by Sarah)

2015-07-20-bw-beacham

© 2015, Barbara W. Beacham

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Mondays Finish the Story – July 20th, 2015

mondays-finish-the-story

July 22nd, 2015

Posted In: Mondays Finish the Story, Short Stories

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puglife

“Execute this foul creature post haste,” the King commanded.

Heads in the throne room twisted about to see who among them had been condemned. The young squire of a visiting Knight trembled in fear at the end of the King’s authoritative gaze.

“Friends do you not smell the stench? This young man has spoiled himself where he stands.”

The entire Royal Court began to take notice of the small throne room being quickly enveloped in the fragrance of sewage.

“Quickly now. We shall resume council in the east wing dining room.”

Strong guards seized the young man ignoring the pleas for mercy and innocence from his Knight. He was promptly beheaded in the square.

That evening as the maids were cleaning the throne room the stench remained.

The keenest nosed among them was determined to track the smell. She was lead to the King’s own royal cushion. There a dark brown stain was found, crusted deep into the intricate embroidery. A pact thick as a bloodline sisterhood was instantly bestowed upon the women. No one who valued their life would breathe a word of the royal shat. Not that you wanted to breathe in there anyway.

Henry VIII’s throne, Dover Castle, UK

Henry VIII’s throne,
Dover Castle, UK

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Sunday Photo Fiction – July 19th 2015

spf

July 20th, 2015

Posted In: Short Stories, Sunday Photo Fiction

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whooopie

“Excuse me sire can you please calm down,” the butler pleaded as prince Nicholas was walking around the room.

“I am King Henry VIIIs great great great great great great great grandson so no one can tell me what to do,” Prince Nicholas shouted at his butler.

“I am very sorry sire,” the butler said in fear.

Prince Nicholas saw the fear in his butlers eyes an said, “I am sorry for shouting at you John.”

Nicholas was very stressed. “Please sit down dad,” one of his children said. “You look stressed.”

“Thank you for saying that Georgia,” Nicholas said as he was sitting down.

“PPBBFFFFFFFFTTT!” The chair made a loud fart noise and Georgia said, “there was a whoopee cushion on granddad’s throne.”

And everyone in the room laughed. Even Nicholas.

“It is no surprise that Sarah’s 10 year old mind would bring us a contemporary glimpse into the life of King Henry’s decedents this week. Mainly, revealing one of the oldest pranks in the book.” – Danny

Henry VIII’s throne, Dover Castle, UK

Henry VIII’s throne,
Dover Castle, UK

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Sunday Photo Fiction – July 19th 2015

spf

July 20th, 2015

Posted In: Short Stories, Sunday Photo Fiction

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greypouon

Jacques stared defeated at his dropped steaming kielbasa. There it lay, gathering gravel and dirt.

“I’ll kill you Maurice.”

A jar of mustard thrown shattered on the ground staining the meat an off yellow.

“My Dijon will live forever Auguste!” A second jar of mustard thrown broke upon the cobblestone in the same place.

Jacques stood transfixed, ignorant of the surrounding chaos.

Crowds stomped the pavement in pursuit of one another.

Jacques lifted the dripping link with his fingers. He hesitated only a moment before taking a bite.

A smile emerged through lips dripping with mustard.

Grey Poupon was born.

PHOTO PROMPT- © Sandra Crook

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July 17th, 2015

Posted In: 100 Word Stories, Friday Fictioneers, Short Stories

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IMG_0303

“When am I?” wondered Jen. “Late 1800s maybe?”

Jen was a member of a band called “Killer Chains” and was known as “Blue Chains.”

But she was also an undercover time traveler which traveled around the world in her house on wheels named “Veronica.”

One day she decided to randomly press a button without looking and stay there for a few hours.

After she pressed the button she swirled through a vortex of colors and old items.

After that she arrived in an old timey place and started driving Veronica around the area surprising every single person that she passed.

My 10 year old step daughter Sarah is back this week with an undercover time traveler. She was inspired by the photo below and one of her most recent Lego creations “Veronica.” Which is apparently a motorhome that enables time travel. – Danny

PHOTO PROMPT- © Sandra Crook

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July 16th, 2015

Posted In: 100 Word Stories, Friday Fictioneers, Short Stories

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