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One liner Wednesday: Alternative dictionary…

I know that these alternative definitions aren’t always that clever, but once I get one in my head, I have to use it, otherwise I can’t think of anything else. So I’m aware this is rather obvious, but;

“Handicap” – Convenient headgear.

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Posted by on August 16, 2017 in Blogging, Humour, One liner Wednesday

 

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One liner Wednesday: Alternative dictionary…

I know a lot of these alternative definitions require a certain amount of flexible thinking on your part, especially with some of the spellings, so you’ll have to forgive me for;

“Alkaline” – The queue at an off licence*.
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(* a liquor store)

 
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Posted by on August 9, 2017 in Blogging, Humour, One liner Wednesday

 

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Stream of Consciousness Tuesday: The Accumulator, part forty…

Well fancy that; I’ve got a couple of days off work and SoCS is a couple of days late, what a surprise. Another burst of activity in the garden at the weekend meant that I didn’t have time for any writing, but I thought I should continue this story with help from Linda G Hill and her prompt from Friday;

“ “limb.” Use it any way you’d like “

Right then, let’s go…

The Accumulator, part forty.

Scene: The beer garden of a busy riverside pub. It is two days later.

Several families are enjoying a meal on the scattered tables and picnic benches, children and a few dogs play in the shallow river, while the sounds of lively conversation and laughter drift across the garden in the summer sunshine.

On the pub’s terrace, where customers can enjoy the view in a more peaceful setting, tables with parasols are far enough apart to allow diners some privacy and the conversation here is more muted; a group of businessmen on a working lunch break, a group of elderly ladies with a cream tea and a few couples relaxing with drinks.

And in the corner, one man sits alone; the remains of a salad and an empty coffee cup on the table in front of him, he is maybe fifty, grey haired, smoking a small cigar and gazing at the picturesque view like any other tourist, occasionally glancing at cars coming over the small stone bridge which crosses the river just upstream from the pub.

As the camera glides closer to his table, the man leans forward, grinds out the cigar on his plate and rises from his seat, obviously about to leave. Then something catches his attention and he looks up, suddenly alert.

The camera follows the direction of his gaze and the shot tightens on a car, panning left to follow the dark saloon with tinted windows, as it crosses the bridge and turns into the car park on the other side of the building, at which point it disappears from sight.

The shot continues a slow pan around the terrace until it stops at the sliding glass doors, wide open in the heat, through which we see a tall young man in a dark suit walking quickly through bar towards us. He steps out into bright sunshine and shades his eyes from the glare with one hand as he scans the tables, a relieved look of recognition on his face as he heads our way.

The camera now completes its smooth circuit of the terrace and returns to face the grey haired man, who has turned to welcome the late arrival with an impatient frown, pointedly tapping the crystal of his expensive watch as the man approaches, hand outstretched, smiling nervously.

“I’m most terribly sorry, Mr Dorn, I got held up behind some sort of…agricultural vehicle, I think it was, couldn’t get past it for several miles, I’m sure the driver was intentionally…”

The man’s voice trails off when he sees Dorn’s expression, looks down at his unshaken hand and lowers it self-consciously, then moves to the chair opposite as the older man sits down, takes out another cigar and lights it, puffing a cloud of smoke straight across the table into his face.

When the smoke clears, the young man waving a hand in front of him with a look of distaste, Dorn is smiling at him, albeit without humour.

“I’m going to go out on a limb and say you don’t get out in the country very often, Chief Inspector Paddick. More of a city boy, are you?”

“It’s not exactly my patch, you’re right there, sir.”

“But nevertheless, you’ve gone to the trouble of driving here to seek me out in my rural hideaway, delaying my attendance at a pheasant shoot I might add, due to your tardiness, so I take it you bring me news of some considerable import.”

Dorn gestures encouragingly with his cigar at the other man, sitting back and fixing him with an appraising look as he clears his throat and begins to speak.

“We have been monitoring any unusual communication traffic in the areas you specified and last night we got lucky. Some civilian called in a report of a burning vehicle out at the old cotton mill and when a fire crew went out there, they found the black van, completely burnt out. Looks like it was torched, no trace of your man or either of the target subjects, but get this; the body of the woman, that missing nurse, was discovered by a couple of my lot when they checked inside the building.”

“The woman, she’s dead?”

“Yes, it made the men who found her pretty sick, by all accounts, quite a mess apparently.”

“And no sign of where the other three might have gone?”

“No sir, not at the scene, but there was one more thing…”

“Well, spit it out, man!”

“This was delivered to Scotland Yard yesterday evening by bike courier, no return address.”

The Detective Chief Inspector, who had been secretly reporting to The Department for the last five years, reaches into his jacket and passes an anonymous brown envelope to Dorn, who takes it from him with a questioning frown as he sees it remains unopened.

“It’s addressed to you, sir, we didn’t want to open it before you read it.”

“Very good, you did the right thing, well done.”

Dorn starts to tear open the envelope, then pauses.

“Tell you what, you probably want a bite of lunch after your long drive, why don’t you go and order a snack from the bar and I’ll join you for a drink in a minute or two. Charge it to my table, I have an account here.”

Paddick looks slightly uncertain for a moment, then he nods and gets up, walking back into the pub before Dorn tears the end off the envelope and tips out the single sheet of paper.

Only six words are printed on the page, obviously torn from a notebook, with ragged perforations along the top edge;

“We’re going to make you famous”

After staring at the paper for thirty seconds or so, Dorn places it on the plate next to the cigar butt and picks up his lighter. With a click, the flame touches one corner of the paper and Dorn watches until it shrivels into ash, then he takes out his phone and dials a number from memory.

His face now a blank mask, he waits for an answer.

“It’s me…The woman is dead…Yes, that’s what I thought, but now we have a bigger problem…We need to meet.”

************

To be continued (using next weeks prompt {which can now be found HERE})…

#SoCS

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One liner Wednesday: Alternative dictionary…

For today’s alternative definition, we turn to the world of fashion (or not, as the case may be);

“Divest” – One of those psychedelic hippy waistcoats.

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Posted by on July 26, 2017 in Blogging, Humour, One liner Wednesday

 

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One liner Wednesday: Alternative dictionary…

Some alternative definitions have dropped out of common usage, some through lack of topical relevance and some, like this one, due to changes in social attitudes;

“Massachusetts” – The dentures of a plantation owner.

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Posted by on July 19, 2017 in Blogging, Humour, One liner Wednesday

 

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One liner Wednesday: Alternative dictionary…

Today’s entry in the Alternative Dictionary actually made me laugh out loud, (so, given my record, I don’t expect anyone will find it even slightly amusing) but see what you think;

“Molasses” – Appreciated by lecherous gangsters.

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Posted by on July 12, 2017 in Blogging, Humour, One liner Wednesday

 

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One liner Wednesday: Alternative dictionary…

I’ve given up trying to judge whether these alternative definitions are going to be successful in the real world, or only in my head, so I’ll just leave this here and see what happens;

“Platitude” – The demeanor of a waiter.
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