Dani's Shorts 5

by Dani J Caile

  Weekend Quickie 118 (??)

  Start with…. Xander ate the spaghetti with fierce. End with… And that’s how you do it, baby.

  Xander ate the spaghetti with fierce Italians hanging over him, forcing him to swallow the crap.

  "Eat, you American with a strange name, eat!" shouted the head waiter, the one who initially took his complaint. The real problem started when he'd asked the manager over and things got a bit heated. About half a dozen of the restaurant staff were crowding their table, including the chef.

  "What are we going to do?" whispered his girlfriend, frightened by the men and being continuously pinched on the bottom by one of the smaller ones.

  "Don't worry, I've got a plan." Xander stuffed one last mouthful in and shrieked. "Ah-ha! I know the problem! It's not the overcooked meat and chewy pasta covered in way too much oregano! You used Amy’s Family Marinara Pasta Sauce, didn't you?"

  The place went silent, the staff, customers, passers-by in the street all stopped. With shocked faces, the Italians fainted and hit the floor. Xander stood up from the table and accompanied his girlfriend out of the restaurant.

  "Well, it's kinda tricky to eat in this city for free but it's not impossible, only one sure way in this place. And that’s how you do it, baby."

  Weekend Quickie 119 (Sunday) (14 June 2015)

  Cat aerobics, Bratwurst, 2 Germans eating Squid, 250 words

  Hans and Lothar chewed through the 'International Meal of the Day' in their canteen, a disgusting mix of squid and crackers.

  "What is zis crap, Hans? Where are zee Bratwurst sausages?" grimaced Lother, struggling with a particularly rubbery piece of seafood.

  "Zay haf to try something new. Today is zee seafood, zee 'Deep Fried Squid in Cracker Crumbs vid Anchovy Mayonnaise'. That is vhat is say on zee menu," replied Hans,

  "Why are vee speaking in zis stupid English accent, Hans? Vee are Germans."

  "Because vee are characters in von of crazy Dani J Caile's Weekend Quickies, zat is vhy," replied Hans, moving the seafood around his plate.

  "Ah-ha, zee Quickie, zat is funny. But vat are zees?" Lother lifted up some of the crackers with his fork. "Zee Treats und Snacks for cats is better than zis!"

  "Oh, Temptations! Yah, zey are gut. These are not," stated Hans.

  They looked across the tables and everyone had the same problem, playing with the food, complaining, chucking their paper plates filled with food into the bin.

  "Yah, yah, Temptations. Zat video vas very entertaining, zee von vid der cat aerobics... ugh," said Lothar, trying to pull out a piece of meat from between his teeth,

  "Lothar, we haf a cat in zee company. There, zer he is!" A cat strolled through the room. "Throw him some of zis, maybe he vill like it."

  Lothar threw some squid at the cat, who sniffed it and walked away.

  "Zat pussy... is a wuzzy."

  Weekend Quickie 120

  Image (man welding his workshop), long term patience, heroic act. 200 words

  There's a hero in that Thompson... and a fool.

  The explosion had brought all of the neighborhood out, and Mrs Griffin had called the Lewisham Fire Brigade right away. Old Johnson had got his gas mix wrong while welding in his workshop for the first time in years. He used to work in the factories up on the hill but now his Alzheimer's made things difficult.

  "Is he in there, do you think?" asked Thompson.

  "Yes, he is!" Floyd from Number 4 shouted over to him.

  "Bugger." There wasn't any sign of the Fire Brigade and the fire was beginning to rage through the hut. "I'm going in, okay?" Not known for his long term patience, Thompson took a rag and dunked it in the garden water feature. He then put it over his head, soaking wet, and ran to the burning hut, disappearing inside. The surprised neighbors watching were stunned into complete silence as they counted the seconds Thompson was inside, the flames growing higher. Seconds turned to minutes as nothing seemed to happen. But as they gave up hope, Thompson came out. With him was a small figure, burnt, dressed in welding gear.

  "Oh, isn't he such a hero?" chirped Mrs Mollings.

  "Yeah, and a damn fool."

  Weekend Quickie 121

  Image – mud/grass hut in the middle of nowhere, thriving business, optimism

  Duga lifted the flap open and stomped his fur-filled boots in the mud, the moss falling to the floor.

  "Jampa!"

  The hut-cum-shop was deserted, its shelves empty, cupboards bare of any rat-skinned cosy slippers.

  The weary traveller found a half-rotten stool in a dusty corner and settled himself down, resting his backpack on some straw and his hat on top.

  "Jampa, where the hell are you, you lazy git?"

  Sounds came from the back, someone falling to the floor, with muffled groans and rude remarks following soon after.

  "Here!"

  "Come and serve me, yer maggot!"

  A small lump of a man, ragged hair and ruffled clothes, staggered in and fell over a few empty mango crates.

  "Are you okay?"

  Jampa picked himself up and wiped off remnants of mango skin.

  "Look at the place, Jampa, it's a bloody dump."

  "How dare you say that, Duga, this is a fine establishment, always has been."

  "Where is your optimism? This was a thriving business, a gem of Tibet."

  Jampa shrugged, dejected.

  "I know, I'll change your Facebook profile with the Pride tool..." Duga logged into Jampa's account, password 'goat bladders'. A few clicks and done.

  "Updated."

  There was a knock...

  Weekend Quickie 122

  Emergency, short tempers, image – men building a hut in the snow

  “Are you sure we need to do this?”

  “Yes!”

  The boys dug the poles into the hard snow as far as possible.

  “Really?”

  Vance gave Mathew an evil stare that would kill a goat at six paces. The others, seeing Vance’s reaction, decided to continue on in the freezing cold, doing what they’d been asked to do, build a hut for Vance.

  “But come on, Vance, a hut?” This time it was Mike who got the ice cold stare treatment and even he slowly bowed his head in fear.

  “No!” shouted Jordan. “I’m not doing it, no way, not for him, the stu…!”

  “Who are you calling Stu, you gun-toting goddamn stink…!”

  “Now, now, boys, I know this weather makes short tempers but we’ve got an emergency…” Mike was interrupted by Mathew, hand upheld.

  “Emergency is kind of…”

  “Build that goddamn hut!” screamed an enraged Vance, jumping.

  “Look at him!” Jordan laughed but was hit in the beard by a snowball. He grabbed some snow but Mike stopped him.

  “Stop it, okay?” asked Mike.

  “Okay.” Jordan put it down.

  “But, Vance, I don’t know why you can’t pee outside like everyone else, really,” said Mike, shaking his head.

  Weekend Quickie 123

  Image: two boys crawling in the mud to a duck, pride, professionalism

  Their pride was under threat. Among the Nang Brothers, only Kidlat and Rodel hadn't brought in any food for the fire this week. Ninlog, blind and with a limp, brought in a rat. Dakal, one leg and a dodgy hip, a fish. But Kidlat and Rodel...nothing. This was their chance, a duck sat at the riverside, wing half broken, cleaning off some mud.

  "Shall we rush it?" Kidlat's voice hardly broke the air between them.

  "No, we must use some 'professionalism'," said Rodel, grabbing an imaginary collar on his t-shirt with both hands.

  "What's that?"

  "We must use 'stealth' and 'cunning', and therein catch our prize."

  "Oh."

  Kidlat followed Rodel's lead and slowly dropped down into the mud, covering himself as did his friend. Camouflaged, they went down on all fours and crept closer to the handicapped bird, who instantly started to move to the water. They both stood up and ran for
the duck, who reached the water before Rodel's hand could grab its wing. It was off, paddling away. There was laughter above them and they looked up to see two tough looking sailors glaring at them.

  "Hello boys," said one, drooling. "Would you like a sweetie?"

  Weekend Quickie 123 (second)

  (Dami L parody)

  They'd hid for seven long years but now their pride and professionalism was at stake. No longer could they exist in the mud, members of the Maasai tribe, self-proclaimed top indie writers of Africa, gaining 5 star reviews on Amazon for transparent clone second-rate work by the force of God alone, and a few dodgy Instagram photos. Today they would emerge from the darkness, they knew that the world was now ready for their splendid, perfect prose.

  As they dragged themselves out of the oozing prison which they had called home, ready to meet the Duck of Immense Publishing Superior Houses In Transit sitting by the water, large balls of ice fell from the sky, followed by small lumps of sulphur that stung and made little itsy-bitsy pock marks on their skin, irritating them on their journey to divine fame and frying their hair. Nothing could stop them, no disbeliever, no un-Christian soul could stand in their way, the mud around them being too thick.

  They slithered past the thing they forever dreaded, a thing too dark, too morose, too hurtful in their minds...the...the...boat, and dropped into the water...to be eaten by the other fish within.

  Weekend Quickie 124

  Image of a city, desperation, ‘a needle in a haystack’

  The ship flew down to habitat level, skimming the taller buildings of the inferior alien race infesting the planet.

  "Can sensors pick it up now?" screamed X1286382 (friends called him Bob).

  "No," replied his co-pilot, X1295649 (Ted). "To coin a phrase, it's like looking for a 'needle in a haystack'."

  "Don't use those colonials on me, Ted! I'm desperate! Where is it?" He pressed a few more buttons on the display, trying to hone in any search parameters available. Nothing.

  "Sorry, I can't help you, I was having a rest last time we were here." Ted put his arms behind his head and closed his multiple eyes.

  "Come on! You know what the guy looks like! You got it for me!" Globules of ooze secreted from his pores.

  "They all look the same to me, Bob. 1 head, 2 arms, 2 legs. Some walk on all fours."

  "Ah-ha! There!" An image zoomed in on the display, showing a busy city corner and a small wooden mobile structure. "Is that him? Is that him?" screeched Bob, pointing all his seven digits. Ted sighed and slumped forward to the display.

  "No, not him. Really, Bob, it's only a hotdog."

  "Only a hotdog?!"

  Weekend Quickie 125

  Pain, memories, image - woman in front of a mirror putting on veil for wedding

  There's a strange woman sitting at her vanity dresser, arranging a veil. She's wearing a wedding dress.

  "How do I look, darling?" She smiles in the mirror at me. Who is she? Why am I on a bed? Why are my arms and legs tied to the posts?

  "What am I doing here? Last I remember is I popped into a gas station for some chips..." I shake myself awake and pull but the knots won't budge.

  "You're right! It's unlucky to see my dress before the ceremony. What was I thinking?" She giggles but continues to mess with her veil. Is she completely insane? Memories of my own wedding day flood through my mind, the ring, the reception, the dancing. Three years and she took all I had. The pain still runs deep. But this? Do I know her? Do I know this woman?

  "Do I know you?"

  She drops the eyeliner and makes a dramatic gasp with both hands on cheeks.

  "How...how can you say such a thing! Father!"

  The door bursts open, a large man with a shotgun runs into the room. It's my turn to make a move.

  "OK, so no Doritos. How about Pringles?"

  Weekend Quickie 126

  Image – stainless steel tank and ‘machinery’, a prototype invention, An unanticipated by-product, Incredulity

  "Impressive," nodded the CEO, watching as Davis, his Head of Research ran around pressing switches, pushing knobs and pulling levers on the machine.

  "It's only a prototype at the moment but as you will see, sir, it'll bring us success like we've never had before!" Davis held his pose and with one last press, the invention went into action. "By adding all the hippest beats, the sounds of the most recent Top 10 hits, the best of fashion, the 'happenist' moves of the moment from the dance floor, we can, with this, create the greatest 'Boy Band' ever!"

  "This, I'd like to believe," said the CEO, fiddling his thumbs.

  After a great hiss, out popped an all-singing, all-dancing 4 piece Boy Band.

  "Aren't they great?" screamed Davis.

  "What the hell is that?" pointed the CEO. From behind the boys came a sight which brought terror. Bill Cosby.

  "No, I...I don't understand. How can this...?"

  "Looks like your machine created a little 'unanticipated by-product'."

  Davis fell to his knees in utter incredulity and stared at the egotistical, womanising hedonist puffing out jazz melodies from his whiskered cheeks.

  "So close, yet so far," smiled the CEO, closing the door behind him.

  Weekend Quickie 127

  Image of bully pushing kid’s head on desk, best friends, gratitude

  "I...I...didn't bring any money," squirmed Kevin, sitting at his desk as Carl, the school bully, and his sidekick Dave loomed over him.

  "Well, that's gratitude for ya! I make you my best friend and you can't be bothered to pay for my school lunch when I'm in dire need? Now is that right, I ask you? To leave a friend, a best friend, out in the lurch like that? Eh?"

  "I...I..." Kevin looked around the class, hoping someone would come and help, but the others sat, ignoring their little situation.

  "I think not! I'm gonna have to give you a reminder of where you an me stand! See that mark scratched in your desk, the one I put there yesterday and you got detention for? That mark means you and me are best buddies! Get it? See?"

  "I..." He tried to move but Carl forced him down, to the amusement of Dave.

  "I don't think you're looking at it close enough! See it now? Eh? Eh?"

  Carl pushed Kevin's face onto his desk, not once, not twice, but three times. As a crack appeared in his glasses he saw on the board that it was only Tuesday.

  Weekend Quickie 128

  Image of audience at a rock concert, a request, adamancy

  "Can you put me on your shoulders? I wanna see more!"

  He grunted but lifted me above the crowd and I sat there, singing, waving, screaming at the band from the back of the audience.

  "That guitarist can play!"

  "Yeah, but they're still not better than Deathly Death Death!"

  "Oh come on! Listen! That drum solo was miles better than their poxy sound!"

  "Yeah, well, they're still not better than Deathly Death Death!"

  "But the lyrics! Listen to the lyrics! "Flying on the chicken leg of heaven". Who else can write such lyrics? Tell me that!"

  "Okay, great lyrics, but still not better than Deathly Death Death!"

  I gave in for a while, taking in the wave of music flowing over the audience, the amazing laser show dancing around the band as they played.

  "The keyboard player, look! See how his fingers flash across those ivories! There's no one better than that!"

  "Deathly Death Death is better!"

  I'd had enough.

  "Take me down!"

  When my feet hit the floor, I started on him.

  "What is your problem, eh? This band is much better than Deathly Death Death!"

  "No, they're not!"

  "Why not?"

  "Because I'm the vocalist of Deathly Death Death!"

  Weekend Quickie 129

  Image of a sea (dirty, frozen), certain death, intergalactic travel, 250 words.

  "Yes! With these beauties I can finally complete my Light Speed Drive and Man will enter the
realm of Intergalatic travel!" He held up a handful of Dumbo octopods in my face and then moved back to the glass wall separating us from the semi-frozen sea. The New Ice Age had hit humanity hard and the survivors were desperate for a way off this damn planet. Professor Kinks was at the forefront of science, though he was known for his 'quirks'.

  "But, Professor, in order to gain enough of the precious Amonious Ceramus II Sulphate hidden within their nervous systems to run the Drive, you'll have to harvest..." I calculated it in my head. "You'll need at least 10,000 of these cute little creatures."

  "And?"

  "We haven't got near enough, not even a thousand. To go down to those depths again would mean certain death and you know it!" We'd lost about 85% of our divers in the last month alone, due to the unknown dangers below. Some nights I woke up in a cold sweat, hearing distant howls and whistles of far-off monsters from the deep. "You know there's only one true way to create that amount of Amonious Ceramus II Sulphate."

  The Professor stopped in his tracks.

  "I know, I know, we have to dull our own brains, and after 4 years we'll have what we need. Yes, I've heard this argument before, but do we really have to..."

  "Yes, Professor, we need to vote Republican."

  "Noooooo!"

  Weekend Quickie 130

  Image of crazed/frightened dirty face of a woman/beast, frog gigging, hysteria. 250 words

  I heard the splashing of water and cracking of branches to my left along the lake's side. It was late, or early, 2:00am. Someone was running towards me in the darkness, at least, I hoped it was 'someone'. I put down my fishing rod and fumbled for my torch. The batteries were dead. Three meters out I saw a dark silhouette of a girl, desperately fighting through the tree roots and mud. She broke into the small clearing and fell into my arms.

  "Run! Run! It's coming!"

  I looked behind her and saw only trees.

  "Calm down, there's nothing there." Her face and hands were coated in dirt, her t-shirt ragged, ripped. But that was nothing. Her eyes showed fear, bordering on hysteria. There was a snap out in the forest and she jumped.

  "It's coming!" She almost wrestled herself from my grip.

  "Hey, hey! What happened? Shhh. Calm down."

  "Me...me and Alice, we...we were out frog gigging, we...we'd reached the record, Dani's record of 129 frogs and...and..." She hid her face into my chest. "It appeared!"