It was a night that, between gulps of coffee, we techs called a real shitshow at The ER for Magical Creatures. So far we’d:
- Purged a toxic ingestion from a dragon’s depths. (It was a politician. We voted to put him back.)
- Expressed chupacabra anal glands (a showy, frothy baptism for Linda).
- X-rayed a selkie pup (defecating atoll chunks).
Last appointment, checked the file. “Nail trim for…demonic sabertooth hippogriff? Cool.”
We entered, halted. Re-read file.
I touched my razor-thin scars. Whispered, “Hitchiker’s Guide phase.” My assistant sprinted for a towel.
“Hiya, buddy.” I wiped sweat.
This is subtle and hilarious and innovative.
“Aliens didn’t get into your car and eat lunch with you!”
“I think they were aliens. They were short, greenish and had phasers.”
“Right. Here to take over Earth? Grab the tin foil!”
“I’ll show you. They put their contacts in my phone.”
“You ate KFC and texted?”
“They loved it and we got frothy Starbucks frappes- a tollhouse cookie, too. But McDdonald’s fries – I think they cried. Wait, here comes a text now!”
“Earthling, the depth of your civilization overwhelms us. If you choose to take over our planet, we will comply. Uploading coordinates now.”
I love the fresh take on alien invasion AND that the MC is being scolded for eating KFC and texting!
My wife likes Wordle, but I don’t.
I started with Hangman. A four-letter word got me sent to the principal and a call home.
Boggle drove my parents into a froth shrieking, “That’s not in the dictionary!”
Word Jumble messed with my dyslexia.
Scrabble and its cousin, Words with Friends, dropped depth charges on my head. My peeps aren’t showy, but I still lost.
Then the mother of all word games, the NYT Sunday crossword. It took a toll.
My newest phase is called Curdle.
That’s where I express a lung, screeching AAIEEE!
This hits so close to home I'm a little worried that Kregger is actually me.
People depend on me; important people. My position isn’t as showy as the Neophysicists', even though we both wear white coats. They barely regard me when they come to my station, but they need me.
It happens in phases, carefully monitored: heat; purge; drain. Insert the implement to proper depth, froth forming a wispy atoll at the surface of the fluid.
Dr. Buttonweezer steps toward the door, distracted. He pauses and turns, concern flooding his features as he considers the flask.
“Did I remember to say extra cream?”
He didn’t have to. I’m good at what I do.
Well, of course I'm partial to any mention of Felix Buttonweezer!
But I like this cause it plays on our expectations.
"A word for a series of islets?"
"Distance to the bottom of something?"
Here she goes again doing the NYT's Sunday crossword. Then she's all showy, bragging how she always finishes it. She doesn't tell everyone I'm the one who does it for her.
Now 'she does' Wordle.
"A five letter word with h-a-e in it?"
"I dunno, figure it out yourself."
"Com'on, I'm on a winning streak."
"Not the right word. Gimme another."
"Alexa, you're going through another phase. I can always turn you off."
"CHEAT! CHEAT! CHEAT!" Froth coming out of the speaker.
This just cracks me up completely.
It was very hard to pick just one winner.
I vacillated a LOT.
But in the end I had to go with LynnRodz for topicality and totally cracking me up.
I just love the idea of sending Alexa into a frothy meltdown.
LynnRodz, email me with the kind of book you'd like to get as a prize!
Thanks to all of you who took the time to write and enter!
It was a pleasure to read your work.
But oh boy, did I learn a lesson here. The prompt words just weren't very flexible were they?
Next time I may have to use lochs, locks, and lox!