Instant Story

The surest way to hit your target is to shoot first and call whatever you hit your target.

“That’s a long way down. You must be pretty determined.”

“Thanks. I wanted to make certain this was one thing I couldn’t fuck up.”

“Finals?”

“Finals is only the start of it,” she said. “I lost my flat, my girlfriend, my car, my pet, my parents… failing finals just means a lifetime of student debt and a suck-ass nowhere job in the middle of fail town.”

“What was your major.”

“Business and pre-law.”

Jones whistled backwards. “That’s a high target to hit.”

“I had to get outta fail-town. Business and law are lossless industries.”

“So’s porn, but few actually aim to get there.” Jones peeked over the edge. “You’re getting a crowd.”

“First time for everything.”

“Big family or social issues?”

“I dunno.” She sat on the edge. “I’m just… invisible. I’m not pretty. I’m obviously not smart. I’m not talented. I wasted all my time on stupid photomontages instead of studying. I wish I’d never even thought of OwlBearGryphon.”

“No shit. You did OwlBearGryphon? That stuff’s the bomb! You gotta be making tons of money.”

“No, that’d be the people who put OwlBearGryphon on shirts and badges and crap like that. I never put a pixel towards the OwlBearGryphon game or did a frame of that stoopid cartoon… Hundreds of people are making millions and I can’t see a cent…”

“My Nanna always said, ‘The surest way to hit your target is to shoot first and call whatever you hit your target.’ Seems to me you’ve got things a little backwards. Especially all the 'can’t’s and 'not’s.”

“…and here comes the bullshit…”

“It’s just my opinion, mind,” said Jones. “But you are talented. You are smart. And… Ithinkyou'repretty… I bet you’ve got lots of stuff on your computer or whatever that can be just as great as OwlBearGryphon. And nowhere near as… vulnerable.”

“…yeah…?”

“Yeah. Like… if you want to keep something as your intellectual property, you shouldn’t put it up on FreeToPlayWith dot com.”

“See? I told you I was stupid.”

“There’s a difference between stupid and uninformed. While we live, we learn.” Jones sidled closer. “I’d like it a lot if you gave living another go.”

She wiped her face. Looked at Jones for the first time. “You aren’t a cop.”

“No, I’m a failing artist with an ear for business who came up here with similar ideas. And then I saw you and my whole world changed.”

She swung around. Put her weathered sneakers on the gravel of the roof. “So how about a failed business lawyer and a failed arts major team up and see what we can make with each other?”

“Sounds like a deal to me,” said Jones. “And you know the best thing about meeting someone on the worst day of their life?”

“What?”

“It can only get better.”

[Muse food remaining: 15. Submit a prompt! Ask a question!]

A Mage teaching their Apprentice an ancient Bio-Hazard Disposal spell for failed experimental breeding subjects (as we all know, the traditional answer for a ridiculous and/or ridiculously dangerous creature is “A Wizard Did It”), and why Australia’s wildlife is so… unique. (At least, according to the rest (Real Life - Australia portion) of the world.

(And some of us)

“Co-ordinatum expelarmus…”

“Co-ordinatUS, expel-ee-ar-am-us,” corrected the master. “One wrong syllable, Mistress

Anywhere in the story:

Some people are like Slinkies - Not really good for anything, but they still bring a smile to your face when you push ‘em down a flight of stairs

(alternatively, substitute “see 'em fall” for “push 'em”)

Sara objected to formal fundraisers at the best of times, and tonight wasn’t one of them. Her target, multi-billionheiress Egypt Ritz[1], was the exact sort of person Sara had grown to despise on

A story in which this:

“It’s time to do the right thing!”
“By which you mean commit a major felony.”
“Think of it as a series of 208 rapidly successive misdemeanors!”

Occurs.

“This is not right,” said Sara.

“It is legal, sweetheart,” said Daddy. They both knew it, but he had to remind her. Her near-reality orbit frequently ignored things like that which was legal.

“That which is legal

Anywhere in the story, possibly as a result of a situation originating from Forge tinkering:

If we can confirm its existence, then it interacts with the physical world. If it interacts with the physical world, we can, theoretically, blow it up.

“Sara Louise Adrien, what a surprise seeing you here,” said the Doctor. He’d just literally run into her as the worlds changed.

“Ah,” said Sara. “You again.”

“Still dimension-hopping?”

“Yes,

Whoever said words can’t hurt you has never been pegged with a dictionary.

Sara was drawn to the child’s tears. She knew that kind of crying, having done a lifetime of it herself.

“Something the matter, dear?”

“…go ‘way.”

Sara knelt. “I promise I won’t tell you that you’re overreacting if you promise not to tell me I can’t understand.”

The kid looked up.

RAF WWII slang: Exdigitate - get your finger out.

(#00113)

There are days when it was fun and exciting to be married to a genius. This was not shaping up to be one of them.

“Come along, darling, you need breakfast.”

Todd opened an eye. There was bacon and eggs and -sweet heaven, thank you- coffee gently steaming on his bedside table. “Mrghl…”

“Exdigitate, dear.”

“Mnnnh…”

Sara dragged him upright and gently

“If at first you don’t succeed, label it version 1.0.”

“Fuck this fucking thing to fucking fuck!”

“Problems?”

“Why did we release this stupid piece of shit?”

Andrews peered over Laslie’s shoulder. “Oh. That. Budget overruns. Time under-runs. Figgis-fiddis. You name it, that one had it. I think we all ended up calling that one Project Icarus at the end.”

“Doomed to crash and burn?”

Anywhere in the story: “There is no font size big enough to describe the ‘oh shit’ that is about to occur.”

The body corporate had done it. They’d finally leashed the beast of their own making. They controlled the internet. And there wasn’t even time to celebrate.

“Now, we need to start talking about the three 'sisses’. Censorship, sponsorship, and shill. Every single page, every site, every last goddamn corner of the

Parent: [Character name]? How much uranium is in the house…?

Child: [after much dancing about about whether it’s uranium at all, and if so, how much] Okay, a lot…

“Jachyx…” came the warning call of Parental Prime. “How much uranium is in the house?”

Jachyx hid her work and emerged from her private space. “Who says I have any uranium?”

“Security detected fissionable material, grubling.”

Gah. She hated it

You’ll have to forgive my uncle, sir. He has a very unique sense of humor which involves not being funny.

Since she wasn’t riding horses, today’s costume was that of a paige. She was too tall and not chesty enough for the typical wench and the material still hadn’t come through for her chatelaine outfit, it was either a paige or a time traveller and people tended to be hostile to the latter.

Sara

    Old software engineering joke: “Write your code as if it’ll be read three months later by a homicidal psychotic who knows where you live.”

    Spoiler: You know where you live, and will have to read your code three months later, when you’ve forgotten what much of it does.

“Who the hell was the fucktard who wrote this goddamn ugly shitty mess of shitty shit fuck!”

The entire cubicle labyrinth prairie dogged their heads above

In days to come, he would reflect upon the premature nature of that thought. He would ponder it, as a sinner pondered the inexplicable actions of an irritated deity. He would wonder if perhaps, by allowing himself to think it, he had angered the God of Perversity, and Murphy, who is His Prophet. It was the only offense he could think of that might have explained what happened next.

(#000106)

He should never have asked, “What could possibly go wrong?”