Oven Baked

“Mate,” said Ptera, “you look peeved!”

“I’m furious,” grumbled Yuffie. “Just left a restaurant where we ordered oven baked giant-duck.”

“Didn’t it taste very nice?” asked Ptera.

“It was alright,” sighed Yuffie, “but the bill was huge.”

I’ve mentioned before that I make far more content than I need. Doodles, stories and new characters. I create at least twice as much as I will use and discard the stuff I won’t use. I’ve got a couple of folders for stuff that I might use someday but not yet.

In a week-long display of disorganisation, I’m convinced I’ve used the last five pictures before, but I’ll be darned if I can remember when and where. Better planning in future required, I think!

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Laundry Room

“Kraken, you looked wrecked,” observed Black.

“Mate I tell ya,” sighed Kraken. “I spent the whole night arguing with the missus about laundry.”

“Oh aye?” pondered Black. “How’d that work out?”

“At 2 am,” grumbled Kraken, “I folded.”

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Lady Bug

“What up, Lady Bug?” asked Monsta.

“Just back from the doc’s mate,” sighed Lady Bug.

“Oh dear,” said Monsta, “everything OK?”

“I’ve gotten a prescription of anti-gloating cream for my smugness,” grumbled Lady Bug.

“Ack,” replied Monsta. “I bet you can’t wait to rub it in.”

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Book Terror

“Alright bruv,” said Blue. “You look a little rattled mate.”

“Well,” replied Black, “I’m reading a horror story written in Braille.”

“Oh aye,” pondered Blue. “Any good?”

“It’s OK,” said Black. “But something bad’s going to happen. I can feel it…”

I did say I wanted horror to return to the Fears… Although… Not really what I meant… *Grins*

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Tiny Math

“Exactly,” said Spider. “So the square route of 169 is 13.”

“Erm, Spider,” interrupted Sprite. “What are you doing?”

“I’m teaching these here pygmies math,” replied Spider, lifting a leaf to reveal hundreds of tiny creatures.

“Why?” asked Sprite.

“Something my mother used to say,” pondered Spider. “Make the little things count.”

Sprite whined.

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Bird Farm

“So the birds took over?” asked Yuffie.

“Yeah,” grumbled Claws. “A hundred pigeons led a violent uprising.”

“Oh dear,” said Yuffie. “Did they take legal ownership of your farm as well?”

“All seventy-six acres,” cried Claws. “I tell ya, it was a planned coo.”

For anyone in need of a laugh this morning, there’s a bird I follow on Twatter. Jon Pigeon. A biscuit obsessed London pigeon who can work social media. twitter.com/pigeonjon

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I & E

“No horse,” sighed Sprite. “Your spellings as bad as the illustrators.”

“Well, the English language is stupid,” grumbled Horse. “I before e my fuzzy mane.”

“It’s a given rule mate,” replied Sprite. “Except for when my foreign neighbour Keith, a weightlifting financier from Leith, was in a feisty heist with eight reindeer.”

“Oh, piss off,” growled Horse.

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Shell Meal

“This is not what I meant,” growled Spectre, “and you know it!”

“Well I’m not taking it back,” sighed Sprite, putting the tortoise in a chefs hat onto the kitchen counter.

“I’m with Sprite on this,” said Yuffie. “I mean, you didn’t specify a brand or anything when you asked for a slow cooker.”

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Police Siren

“I’ve just seen the police knocking down Black-fish’s door,” sighed Blue.

“Oh no,” gasped White. “What happened?”

“Once the door was down, they went inside and began singing ‘Every breath you take,’” replied Blue.

“I see,” pondered White. “So it was a sting?”

Shout out to my new Patreon, Clare London of clarelondon.com and thanks to Warren for the continued $10 Patronage

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Bolts Bad Day

Story by Cyranny

“Hit me again, man!”

The old neon lights flickered annoyingly, giving a cheap stroboscopic feeling to every move the barman made, behind the counter. Bolt pushed his empty glass on the bar.

“If I keep the refills coming, you’ll get totally hammered. You know that, right?”

Bolt’s stare back was probably intended as a clear request to shut up and fill his glass, but since the bar tender didn’t show any intention of reaching for the scotch bottle, Bolt mumbled…

“That would be the plan. Unless you suddenly have scruples?”

The barman laughed, and his very white teeth blinked like a Cheshire Cat disco smile.

“And what is the occasion, if I may ask?”

Bolt frowned, still waiting for his booze.

“Remember the red head girl I offered a ride home, last Friday?” The barman nodded. “Well, I gave her a ride, home. I nailed her. “

The bar tender finally reached for the bottle on the shelf.

“Did your wife….?”

“Yup, she found out. I am a terrible liar.”

The man poured him a double and gave him a sympathetic look.

“Oh, Bolt… I am sorry.”

Bolt downed the drink, and handed his glass for another.

“Yup, I’m screwed.”

This week’s Sunday collab was written by Cyranny of Cyranny’s Cove. Pretty sure y’all know Cyranny by now. A long time Fears’erer, prolific blogger and scribbler of words.

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