Improbable scenarios

[Brynn]

They are going to take the mini-horse show circuit by storm. One way this husband and wife team from Michigan will do it is by introducing live music. As their perfectly-groomed palomino mini-horse bucks and cavorts around the show ring, they will wow onlookers with their authentically-sequined western clothing. In a radical departure from tradition, he plays his guitar and sings "Wildfire" as she chases the horse around in an interpretive dance. She will have on a cordless headset mic, and between breaths will join him in the chorus:
"She ran callin' "Wiiiiiiiiiiiiilfire!" She ran callin' "Wiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiildfire!" She ran callin' "Wiyiyayiyayiyildfiiiiiii-errrrrrrrr!" All they need is a wind machine.

[Jack Flanders]

Originally Posted by Brynn

They are going to take the mini-horse show circuit by storm. One way this husband and wife team from Michigan will do it is by introducing live music. As their perfectly-groomed palomino mini-horse bucks and cavorts around the show ring, they will wow onlookers with their authentically-sequined western clothing. In a radical departure from tradition, he plays his guitar and sings "Wildfire" as she chases the horse around in an interpretive dance. She will have on a cordless headset mic, and between breaths will join him in the chorus:
"She ran callin' "Wiiiiiiiiiiiiilfire!" She ran callin' "Wiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiildfire!" She ran callin' "Wiyiyayiyayiyildfiiiiiii-errrrrrrrr!" All they need is a wind machine.

But unfortunately, the mini-horse she named Wildfire busted down his stall door because another mini-horse named Cecelia in a nearby stall from Wisconsin was ready for it. Wildfire was gone but very happy as was Cecelia after they made a break for it to Canada. The husband and wife team from the northern regions of Michigan decided to change their plans.

[Anna]

Originally Posted by Jack Flanders

But unfortunately, the mini-horse she named Wildfire busted down his stall door because another mini-horse named Cecelia in a nearby stall from Wisconsin was ready for it. Wildfire was gone but very happy as was Cecelia after they made a break for it to Canada. The husband and wife team from the northern regions of Michigan decided to change their plans.

they packed up their belongings, jumped on a train and moved to Chicago; where he took up bookkeeping for the mob and she decoupage. Wildfire and Cecelia headed north through Ontario, but Cecelia's arthritis started to kick in. Wildfire decided right then they should follow the sun so Cecelia hopped on his back and they galloped westward towards the Great Pacific Northwest.

[Brynn]

Meanwhile, on an island in the Philipines, a man in the midday sun marketplace reached for a piece of breadfruit. In between the time he began moving his hand forward, and the instant that he touched the breadfruit, he became acutely aware that he had gone back exactly thirteen days to the time when he had been there last. it had been late in the day, and the breadfruit he was now taking from the pile was the one that he would be stealing in a matter of moments. He glanced at the setting sun and realized that if he changed course before it was too late, he would be able to get back to his present time.
However, he decided once more to take the breadfruit without paying to see what would happen if he were forced to live the next thirteen days over again.

[Brynn]

In an otherwise impeccable home, the moldy vase of dead dahlias languished alone on the mantel untouched for the next 27 months.

[Anna]

In Youngstown, OH a letter was dropped into a mail box. At precisely 11:03AM a postman stood in front of the box and drew out a long chain of keys from his pocket, he inserted one of the keys into the lock and opened the box. Bending down, he hurriedly gathered the sealed envelops and shoved them haphazardly into his overstuffed mail bag. Closing the box he proceeded down the street, as he turned the corner a strong gust of wind blew at the open bag and scattered several of the envelops.

[Brynn]

In a house ablaze with lights in Missouri, every single light bulb burned out at exactly the same moment just as the woman who lived there was about to go through her husband's pockets.

[Brynn]

Elvis at the buffet was high on barbiturates as he piled cornbread and pie onto his plate. Suddenly a man in the restaurant stood up, looked him straight in the eye and screamed "I am Richard Nixon!" Twenty five years later, a band named "Shorty Tonedeaf and the Screechers" wrote a song about it, and played it at a bar mitzvah.

[Brynn]

A man named Sparky Prissweather paid the city court $27 in order to legally add "Doodle" as his middle name. DMV clerks smirked as they took his picture for his new driver's license, and made copies of his ID for themselves to show their spouses that night at dinner.

[Anna]

Raymond was connecting the new digital tv converter for his mother when he accidentally stuck the red wire into the green slot. Just before he pulled the wire from the slot he heard a voice come through the speaker, “Raymond, this is…” and he pulled the wire, he paused for a moment then frantically put the red plug back into the green slot, he heard nothing.

[Brynn]

John was very angry at the restaurant, because although he was surrounded by people who had gotten their food quite readily, he had been ignored completely. All attempts to get the wait staff's attention were fruitless. Forty-five minutes went by. He was very hungry and still had not ordered.

Gradually, the restaurant emptied. Waiters, stressed, were cleaning up and getting ready for the evening rush. John was personally affronted. He pounded on the tables, feeling outraged. He yelled, but they were oblivious.

Finally, completely frustrated, he flung a plastic plate at the back of a waiter, which surprised the man. It bounced off his arm and took out some glasses on a shelf. The waiter looked around, laughed nervously and just began cleaning up the broken glass.

"I've had it with this place!" John screamed. "I will make sure no one comes back to this rathole!"

He thundered out of the restaurant, slamming the door and fuming. He could not locate his car in the parking lot. In fact, he could not locate even the parking lot itself on the huge property. He cursed when his nice leather shoes sunk deep into long soggy grass as he found himself striding through a field towards an old shed. He'd been drawn to the rustic atmosphere of the restaurant, but this was ridiculous. He began to wonder where in the world his car was, for he couldn't remember.

What the hell - why not check the shed, he thought - perhaps the parking valet had parked it out of sight, but he couldn't for the life of him remember using the service. No. Here were his keys.

Suddenly, a young woman he had not noticed before slipped up beside him and took him politely by the arm. Had she come out of the restaurant? he was confused.

"Sir, we're very sorry to have upset you for whatever reason, but we have to ask you to please not go into the shed - it's very dangerous, and customers often do not realize just how dangerous it actually is. No one goes in there, as a matter of fact. Look, I won't go any further and I strongly advise you to do the same."

"Oh, now you're worried about me, after I sat in that restaurant for over an hour..." He strode into the shed defiantly just to show her how angry he was.
He paused briefly just inside the doorway as bright sunshine poured in on some early model cars that had been there a long while.
Someone or something else was in there. There was no odor exactly, beyond the smell of closed up, dusty air - but it still reminded him of something.It was not good.

The hair at the nape of his neck prickled. He became aware of a sickening sort of wave of something very heavily and very palpably evil - something that was even more enraged than he was. He suddenly felt exposed as if flayed open.
He tried to look around in the half-dark, but he realized quickly that it was not worth it. Nothing was. He backed out the door as it continued to wash over him.
"Run sir. I told you. Please hurry." She was muttering prayers, pleading the blood of Jesus as he turned.
She grabbed his arm and dragged him across the field. As they struggled to get footing in the mud, something inexplicable happened. John suddenly felt every single cell in his body tingle in a way that was more than alive. The malevolence briefly passed through them both on its way out into the void of clean air. They looked at each other, shocked. He found himself gripping both her wrists.

She said "See? You're not the worst poltergeist we have to deal with. not by far. Now go back to where you came from and please don't come back."

At that, he found himself flat on his back in his bed, eyes open and still angry. He looked at the familiar crack in the window, the tiled squares on the ceiling, and began to wake up, although not entirely sure he had been asleep at all.

He recounted how no one had acknowledged him, and how shamefully he had acted, what with the throwing of objects and making a mess and driving the other customers out with his rage.

Acting exactly like, well - the woman had called him a - he thought back to the the nervous, frightened look on the waiter's face as the plate John hurled in a tantrum had clipped the man and whizzed past into the glassware.
Was it possible that in his dream life, his soul had been wandering around without anchor? Had it busied itself haunting the lives of strangers in another setting while he slept? No wonder they didn't see him! The chronic rage burning inside him - the secret resentments and grudges that he thought that only he knew about - was it making others miserable elsewhere?

He got a drink of water, and wondered about that thing that was lurking, then flying around invisible, that thing that was even angrier and stronger than he was. He found himself thinking about Aboriginal beliefs about dreamtime. He thought about that weird animated movie, "Waking Life."

And then he wondered about all the dreams he had ever had, all suspect now.
Then he shook his head and snorted out a cynical burst of a chuckle. It was too silly, too lurid to be possible. He simply refused to believe it. He got up, got dressed, and gave it no more thought for the rest of the day.

[Hyakujo's Fox]

Out on the patchy front lawn of the Pickford residence there stood a man in a dark blue suit. The suit looked like it was new and had cost at least a thousand dollars. In the left pants pocket of that suit was a brown leather wallet. It also looked new. The wallet contained three dollars and fifty five cents in change, a receipt for unspecified items totaling seven dollars and eighty two cents, and a folded hand written note. Time passed. The sun beat down on the man in the suit, but there was no movement at the Pickford's. The man imagined for a moment a large pitcher of cool pink lemonade. He saw ice cubes and the lemons. He sighed and thought there's gotta be some lemonade around here somewhere. Suddenly he felt a little dizzy. He tried to sit down, but as he did he fell forward onto the grass. He was dead. No one saw him lying there until Dr. Bram Pickford swung his car into the drive, that was around 5:40pm. The police were called and it fell to Sgt. Dan Pettigrew to extract the wallet from the man's pocket, He soon found a small folded note, which he unfolded and read. Somewhat perplexed, he took it over to his partner, Constable Emma Pearson and said 'What do you make of this?' But neither Sgt. Pettigrew, Constable Pearson or Dr. Pickford would ever be able to grasp the implications of the note they found, which had simply read "dumb story".

[Marcus Bales]

“Down arrows … ,” said Raven, while hopping up straight,
“Down arrows were first used by Crazy Horse during
The Siouxp Kitchen Riots they had at Tent State …”
“The soup-kitchen riots?” The Soup Nazi, touring
The liquor selection behind the teak bar
Asked quickly, and then, just as quickly denied
Any interest: “I don’t know what soup riots are!”
He paused, and the silence expanded, then died.
The Raven, though startled by that inexpedience
Resumed his oration as he had begun:
“Down arrows” said Raven, “ensured the obedience
To chiefs without having to fire a gun.
Down arrows were cheap – just a shaft and a head
Made of lead dipped in goose-down or duck-down,” he said.
“Down arrows had notches they painted bright red
While arrows with points had blue notches instead.”

MsRobbie and Lisa changed serious glances,
Then one of them said as the both of them looked
At Raven: “I wonder what might be the chances
That ravens taste good if they’re thoroughly cooked?”

[dddrum]

HOuSE RULE5

• No swearing, cursing, or coarse language.
  
• Casual dress is permitted, but underwear is mandatory, as are barrettes.
  
• The decisions of random passers by, based on no prior knowledge or understanding on their part, are final.
  
• Rapscallions will be beheaded. Oh my, I am sorry; I stammered there. They will be headed... ah, headed home. (So don't you be dissin no lil green onions, bra.)
  
• No one will be seated after the programme starts.
  
• No one will be sated before the banquet concludes. (Wafer-thin mints will be provided.)
  
• All buggery will be conducted on a one-at-a-time basis.
  
• I am, I AM the Pirate King.
  
• Have fun, but remember: babies are dying on another thread.

tThank YOu,
Tha Mnagmen

[Brynn]

The tiny room (more of a closet, really) that was hidden in the middle of the house had attracted other living beings besides Beecherman - mostly insects of various sorts. Once, after many weeks of absence, he was startled to find a brown mouse trapped inside. It was one night, when the rest of the house was asleep, Beecherman opened the door and it flew out, presumably as startled as he, but in a far more grateful mind set. That's what Beecherman thought, at least. He could have sworn it said "thank you."