Tag Archives: legal

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Fibbing Friday #276

Pensitivity101’s theme last week was Who said/sang/wrote………………..

1. I want to break free.

The hymn of many a person in prison.  Occasionally one or two manage to make this refrain a reality!!

2. No more the fool.

My redneck neighbor – he’s already reached legal maximum.  He’s not a complete fool, though.  Some parts are missing.

3. Food, glorious food.

What many people think when they see the buffet at a favourite restaurant or cruise ship.

4. The Princess Diaries.

The private journals and papers of that entitled Chica at the local High School.  Don’t let her fool you, she’s got all the notes on most of the guys (and many of the girls too!).  All under lock and key in her luxurious bedroom.

5. The Name of the Game.

Monopoly, Yahtzee, Trouble, Sorry…  I know, Truth or Dare!  The truth is not to take the dare if you can help it!

6. You can’t hurry love.

“Hurry love??!”  He’s already going so fast that he’s back on the couch with a cold beer, and her hair isn’t even mussed.

7. Kiss me Kate.

Ellen Degenerate, the author of the new LGBTQ romance.  I don’t know who Kate is, but consent is always a good thing.

8. Catch a falling star.

They are worth a ton of money to the rock hounds and collectors.

9. Absolute Power.

Corrupts absolutely, as we have evidence of with the Orange Dictat-wanna-be.

10. I’ll have what she’s having.

This is what you get when the dating pool consists of the family picnic.  I’m sure the sister of the redneck wife next door has already offered the husband a cold beer, and a warm bed, as soon the separation is official.

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Flash Fiction #254

PHOTO PROMPT © David Stewart

DREAMS UP IN SMOKE

Cheryl offered to help him with his writing.  A couple who worked at the newspaper dropped by each Friday, and they often discussed the craft.  “Join us.”

The husband said the first thing they did, was smoke dope.  “It frees the creativity.”  He silently demurred, not for moral or legal reasons, but from skepticism.  He’d be the abstaining benchmark.  “I’ll get a beer and catch up.”

A Cheech and Chong blunt got passed around…. around…. and around.  Potatoes, motorcycles, redhead in sales, socks with sandals…. Bright topics bubbled into the conversation – and were immediately forgotten.

There was no creativity here.

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Go to Rochelle’s Addicted to Purple site and use her Wednesday photo as a prompt to write a complete 100 word story.

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Flash Fiction #194

Jose

PHOTO PROMPT © J Hardy Carroll

José, Can You See?

He got here legally three years ago, from Ecuador, to the United States – the land of milk and honey, and gold-paved streets.

No gold, but lots of opportunities for people willing to work. He was now the manager of this little convenience store, saving every penny to bring the rest of his family.

He felt sympathy for the ‘refugee caravan’ marching toward Trump’s wall, but they shouldn’t be allowed in. The infrastructure just wouldn’t support the sudden influx of thousands more. Ignoring redneck racism, they weren’t obeying the laws of HIS new country. Wait in line, the way he had.

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Go to Rochelle’s Addicted to Purple site and use her Wednesday photo as a prompt to write a complete 100 word story.

Friday Fictioneers

Happy Independence Day to all Americans

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Neither Fish Nor Fowl

Ruler

Canada became metric in 1973….  Or did it??!

So, there was Canada, wedged between England and the United States.  We measured things with the Imperial System – all except where the British 160 ounce gallons, the 40 ounce quarts, and the 20 ounce pints became the wimpy, American Lite 128 oz. gallons, 32 oz. quarts, and 16 oz. pints – and except where you bought a pint of beer, and it was only 12 ounces.

In “Metric” Canada, you can’t buy a pound of butter; you get a 454 gram block.  The wife’s Not-Legally-Pint and Quart glass canning jars are 473ML, and 946ML.  A 12 American ounce can of Pepsi is 355ML in Canada.  At least Canada is not alone in this No-Man’s-Land.  I recently found that the serving ‘Standard’ for beer in Australia is 256ML – or, an 8-ounce cup.  The only time an Aussie bar ever serves just 8 ounces, is to some opal-miner’s 10-year-old daughter.

The weather forecast on the radio doesn’t say that we’ll get an inexact 2 to 3 centimeters of snow, it says that we’ll receive 2 ½ centimeters, because the old guy at Environment Canada still says that it’ll snow an inch.

I thought that all this back and forth might confuse immigrants who are thoroughly embedded in the Metric System, but the Polish women at the EuroFoods store seem to be just as capable of dishing out 300 grams of sliced salami, as they are ¾ of a pound.

We’ve only been at this Metric thing for 45 years now, and with typical Canadian lack of determination, we still haven’t fully committed to it.  This is about the softest conversion that I’ve ever seen.  I wonder if there’s some type of Metric Viagra that could firm things up a bit.  😆

As usual, I hope to see you here again in a couple of days.  Now, let’s see.  In Metric, that’s….  😳  Oh well, come back whenever you like.