The Bureau

Patrick felt like warmed-over crap. Aches gnawed his spine. Coffee tasted like tar in his mouth. Betrayed by coffee. How was that possible?

Squinting at the ceiling, Patrick loosened a long and heavy sigh. “God, universe, whatever, please, please, change my luck for me. I seriously need a change.”

A small person at a gray desk floated in front of him instantaneously. She was about four inches tall, seated as she was, in a pleasant black suit with a white shirt. As he gaped at her and backed away, the napping black cat arose from his desk and hurried over, ready to pounce on the newcomer.

“Control your cat,” the little pale-skinned female with short gray hair said. “I don’t want to hurt it.”

Grabbing Loki, Patrick asked, “Who the hell are you? How’d you get here?”

A little disapproving cluck came out of the little one. “Call me Hortense. I’m with luck prayer services. You prayed for a change of luck. I’m here to address your request.”

Meowing, the cat squirmed in Patrick’s arms while keeping hot green-eyed focus on the little floating agent. “I’m never heard of…what’d you call it?”

“Luck prayer services. I’m Hortense, your account manager. You asked for more luck. Unfortunately, you’re out of luck. In reviewing your account, I see that you were born with a great deal of luck. Intelligent, talented, white, male, born in the United States of good parents…minor issues with them…  No genetic issues. Yes, you were lucky. Unfortunately, you’ve used it all up.”

Tapping a keyboard, she leaned into the screen. “Several car accidents while drink driving in which you escaped unhurt and without legal repercussions. Tornados. Hurricane. Earthquake. Promotions. Stock purchases. Health. You smoked cigars for ten years and had no respiratory problems when COVID-19 struck. You realize how lucky that is?”

“I…yeah, yeah.” Patrick bobbed his head. “I know, I know.”

Loki broke free and leaped for Hortense. Something caught and held the cat in mid-air.

“Told you to control that cat, sir,” Hortense snapped. “If you don’t, I will.”

“I – sorry.” Patrick took Loki and put him in another room and closed the door. Hortense and her desk followed him throughout.

Turning and encountering her in the hall made Patrick jump. “Jesus, you.” He shook his head. “I’ve been thinking about what you said. It sounds like you’re telling me that my luck has run out.”

“I am, sir.”

“That doesn’t sound good for me.”

“No sir.”

“Anyway I can get more?”

“Of course.” One thin eyebrow jumped on Hortense’s tiny face. “It would take more money than you now have but you can buy more luck.”

“That doesn’t sound promising.”

“A deal with the Devil is highly rated.”

“Yikes. Don’t think I’m ready to do that. Isn’t there anything else?”

“You can try to create your own luck. Some people have luck with that.” Hortense chortled. “Or you can steal some.”

Loki yowled at the door and vigorously clawed it.

“Are you seriously suggesting that I steal someone else’s luck?” As he asked, Patrick amended his thinking. “Can I choose my victim?” He was thinking, Tucker Carlson and Donald Trump both seemed pretty damn lucky. Or Soros. Gates. Musk.

“You can but that rarely works out. Hard for most to differentiate between good and bad luck. You might accidently pilfer their bad luck.”

“Well, I wouldn’t want that.” Patrick felt resigned, which oddly made him feel better. It was like, this wasn’t in his control. Knowing that relieved him of responsibility. Nothing he could do about it. “Is there anything else?”

“Well…yes. According to your records, you are eligible for employment.”

Patrick went still with thought. “Go on.”

“If you work for us, you can be compensated in good luck.”

“Who is us?”

Hortense smiled. “We just call ourselves The Bureau. Capital T, capital B.”

“You’re recruiting me.” Patrick suspected a setup. “So I do a job for you and The Bureau pays me in good luck.”

“Yes.”

“I assume whatever it is won’t be easy.”

“They’re normally not. But let me tell you. With your luck, if you don’t take this offer, you’ll be dead in a year.”

That’s how Patrick’s career began. Hard to believe but now he was about to start his tenth mission.

He’d need all of his hard-earned luck to stay alive.

Coin, Flipped

Ron delivers again.

Ron.'s avatarscrambled, not fried

Coin, Flipped

I had a dream: I murdered her husband
and she showed up at his funeral
in his all-time favorite red dress.

“But you should wear black to funerals,”
everyone kept telling her. I agreed, as I
offered up my insincere condolences.

“I know; I know,” she told me, adding
“But he loved this red dress so much 
and I’m saving all my blacks for you.”

“For Me?” I responded, waking suddenly
when my front doorbell sounded and I
found her there, gun in hand, waiting.

—————[|||]—————
Tuesday Twiglet #322
you wear black  ~
———[||]———
Writer’s Digest P-A-D #25
Dream / Reality  ~
——[||]——

twigletwriter digest

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Wardrobe Malfunctions

Are you ready for a funny underwear story? I have none like this. Seems like nothing funny ever happens to me — or Suzanne has great skill at creating comedy out of anything.

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On Wednesday, I decided to do some laundry. When I went to take the clothes out of the dryer, it turned out I was missing a pair of underwear. This may sound like a First World problem, but it was my LUCKY pair of underwear. And I was pretty upset because what the hell happened to my lucky underwear? I’m pretty sure it went INTO the dryer, so where did it go? Is there really an alternate universe where a strange little leprechaun-type man says “Ooh, that’s just lovely. Feel that fabric! I MUST have this lucky underwear which is most certainly somebody’s favourite!” and then you never see it again until there’s a rainbow?

Notice those gaping maws…

I checked the washing machine AND the dryer at least twice more and there was no sign of it. Then I searched my closet—same thing. Then I backtracked and followed my…

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Youth Encounter Dream

Dreams about being a hero or celebrity but also about being unknown or not recognized have proliferated the past dream week. One stays strongest in mind.

A minor celebrity, I was visiting somewhere after being on tour. I was my real age in this and had stopped at someone’s invitation and met a group of teenagers. I didn’t know them and they didn’t know me. They were cold, even hostile to me, which amused me. I didn’t care, but enjoyed watching what they were doing. On a stage, they were putting together a game. Their purpose and rules were totally lost on me but I was engrossed with trying to understand them. Multiple sexes, races, ethnicities, cultures were present. They were a bubbly group.

Supplies arrived. They were given to me. Seeing them, I had an idea for a game for them and began employing these stickers for the idea. The stickers were different shapes and colors. Halfway through, I realized, oh, shit, they had plans for these. I began putting the stickers back where they belong. One young woman came up and chastised me, then took the stickers, complaining that I’d ruined them. I apologized. It wasn’t accepted.

By then, I’d learned what their game was all about. I then criticized them about being insular and isolated. I told them they had some great ideas but they should share them with others. They soberly listened and then one identified me as a writer which she’d seen on television. Yeah, yeah, that’s me. They warmed to me then. One, in a white sweater and red pants, came to me and asked me about my foundation. Was it true? Did I really have it? Yes, I did, it was set up to help youth have food and shelter security and encourage education and learning. And, she asked, was I really supporting 5,000 children? The number surprised me, but I verified with my assistant, yes, that’s true. There are 5,000.

End dream

Note: Another post which WordPress refused to save or published, forcing me to do it in stages. Create a base, add and change, add and change more. Irritating AF.

White Privilege: ‘Are you being served?’

Another WTF America moment enshrined on the net.

tengrain's avatarMock Paper Scissors

The United Steaks

In Possum Hollar, customer assistance improves when you are packing heat:

REPUBLIC, Mo. — On April 18, Republic Police Department officers were called to a Price Cutter to respond to a call about a robbery in which a man held an employee at gunpoint so that he would be served meat…

The employee said he received a call from the meat department about a man packing his own meat. The employee approached [Larry Gene Gay, 70, of Springfield] and told him that he could not be there. Gay got upset and said he was going to keep doing what he was doing. The employee said he was not going to help him with the meat.

“Once he held the gun to my throat — pushed it into my throat — I decided to comply,” the employee told police.

You see, the dude with his gun convinced…

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The Writing Moment

They were watching a television show. A body landed on the cement behind an FBI agent. The agent was on a cell. The landing body thudded. She flinched and looked back.

His wife said, “That’s not believable. She didn’t even duck.”

“That’s a choice the creative team makes as part of the storytelling. How does the character react to something like that? Are they calm and unfazed or do they freak? That’s part of the show’s tenure and the series’ atmosphere. I make decisions like that all the time when I’m writing, trying to decide how someone reacts and keep them true to the story and character.”

She shrugged. “Whatever.”

Well, it was important to him.

Inspirational Quote # 4668

I like this interpretation. A season, project, romance ends, another begins. Sort of simplistic but we often think of death as the final ending. I hold that we don’t know. Maybe a quantum void carries us into a new existence. Someday we’ll have these answers and more.

Today, You Will Write's avatarToday, You Will Write

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The Writing Moment

The muses think that he must be finishing the novel in progress. Or maybe it’s a seasonal thing. His imagination is fertile this week. Story and setting ideas keep springing up.

He’s cautious with the muses’ ideas and energy. They favor the blurt, when imagination is unleashed and writing like crazy, unedited and full of energy, is the norm. They’re not fond of the editing and revising, cutting and polishing phases.

He knows the muses, though, and understands their roles. He’s grateful, but to be the writer he wants to be, sometimes the muses must be politely deterred so he can continue the current phases and finish a novel which pleases him.

“Patience,” he tells the muses. “Your time is coming soon. Be patient.”

Snowsday’s Theme Music

The rear door was cracked open.

A shout went up. “A runner approaches.”

Papi, the famous ginger cat, galloped in to great applause and cheers. The door was shut and locked behind him.

Locals crowded around the dashing feline. “What’s the word, Papi? What’s it like out there?”

The heroic floof’s amber eyes flashed. His tail slashed the air. “Snow. Everywhere. Up to my belly. And still, it snows. Quick, I need food. Hurry, damn it.”

It’s been about sixteen hours straight of snow falling. Am I sure that it didn’t stop in the night? No. But it was falling whenever I looked. This is the small, dry powdery stuff. Little relative moisture in it. And it’s piling up. Eight inches in some places around my Ashlandia patch. No wind, so there’s no drifts.

It’s Tuesday, February 28, 2022. Sunrise’s ticket was punched at 6:48 AM. Sunset: (trumpet flourish) 6 PM.

The sky is white, as is the ground, and white stuff religiously falls. It’s like the white album. 30 degrees F out there, so not too cold. Today’s high will be 35. Tonight’s line will be 29. It’s a narrow operating margin. Feels like a good day to stay home. Drink coffee, read, write. Got books, will sit. And we have heat, power, all those things, and food. We’re in good shape compared to quake and tornado victims, and homeless folks. The city and churches have opened shelters and established places for people to go. Breakfast and dinner is served.

The Neurons are showing an impish side, playing Billy Idol’s “White Wedding” (1982). “It’s a nice day, for a, white wedding,” Idol sneers. “It’s a nice day to start again.”

Okay.

Stay pos. Hope you’re doing well wherever you be on this day, and that good things happen for you, to you, etc. Coffee is served. Here is Billy. Cheers

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