Word: Bumbershoot

bumbershoot

/ˈbʌm bərˌʃut/

noun, Informal: Often Facetious.

1. an umbrella.

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                “Why is it that when I take too long to get ready, you treat me like I’m the worst person alive, but it’s perfectly fine for you to take as long as you want?” Jack said, watching his girlfriend scramble around the apartment looking for something.

                “This is important.” She replied quickly.  “I have to find something before we can go.”

                “Okay, okay, fine.”  He just watched her for a moment.  “You know, if you told me what you’re looking for, I might be able to help you, and then we can get out of here.  Maybe if we hit all the green lights we can be there on time.”

                “I’m looking for my umbrella.” She said while scouring through a small closet.

                “Your…” Jack took a deep breath.  “Why do you need your umbrella?  It’s sunny out.”

                “So?  I still need it.”

                Jack pulled out his phone and looked at the local weather.  It was not unheard of for a bright, sunny day to turn miserable and rainy.  “Oh wow, two percent chance of rain.” He said, “Better grab my raincoat while we’re at it.”

                Jill’s glair was icy due to more than just the color.

                “Sorry, but it’s just kind of ridiculous.” He said, undaunted by the bone chilling gaze.  “There’s pretty much no need for an umbrella today.  Why don’t we just go now and forget it?”

                “No.  I never leave home without my umbrella, and I never will.”

                Jack thought back.  He had never actually seen here with an umbrella, but she did carry a very large purse.  She could hide a small one inside that easily enough.

                “Why?”

                “Because.”

                Jack waited for her to continue.  “Why?” He asked when it became clear no elaboration would be coming.

                “Because you never know when an umbrella will come in handy.”

                Jack thought about that for all of ten seconds.  “An umbrella isn’t exactly an all purpose tool, you know.  It only has one function.  I guess maybe you can do something with a full sized one, but come on.  The one you use is a tiny little thing.  It’s not even very good at what it was made to do.  It’s too small and flimsy.”

                Jack was hit by another wave of ice from her eyes.  “You wouldn’t understand.” She said in a voice that matched her look.

                “Clearly not.  Look, Jill, we’re late now, it’s not going to rain, and nobody will ask about an umbrella anyway.  Why not just give it a shot?  And if it really means that much to you, we can stop at a gas station or something and get a new one.”

                Jill stopped searching.  Jack hoped it was because she had given up looking.  No such luck.  She marched towards him and pressed her finger into his chest.

                “Look, buster, carrying an umbrella is important to me.  There’s no compromise, no way around it.  The only way you will ever get me out of this apartment is…”

                She suddenly stopped and blinked.  Jack knew that look.  It was her thinking look. The look that meant she had just remembered something important and was going over it in her mind.

                “Ah, I just remembered.” She said.  “I took it out of my purse in the car yesterday.  Let’s get going.” She said.

                Jill strode out the door, leaving Jack behind to wonder at the antics of his girlfriend.

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An umbrella really is only useful in one situation.  Now, a towel on the other hand, that's useful no matter where in the galaxy you go.

Word: Beastie

beastie

/ˈbi sti/

noun

1. Chiefly Literary. a small animal, especially one toward which affection is felt.

2. Facetious. an insect; bug.

3. Canadian Slang (chiefly Alberta) . construction worker.

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                 John looked at the animal through the scope of the small pellet gun.  His tiny hands trembled.  Even though the rabbit was facing away from him, he somehow knew it was aware of him.  And yet, it stayed where it was, nibbling at the grass.  John lowered the weapon.

                “I can’t do it, dad.” He said quietly.  “I just can’t.”

                “Why not?” His father asked.

                “I just can’t is all.”

                “Now son, there’s nothing to be ashamed of.  That rabbit’s going to be our dinner tonight you know.”

                “It is?”

                His father nodded.  John mulled that thought over.  He came to one single conclusion:  He did not want to eat that rabbit.  How could he eat something that might be related to the rabbits his teacher kept in the classroom?  He really liked those rabbits.  And the only difference his young eyes could see between those and the one in front of him was that those in the classroom were white, grey and black, and the one in the field was brown. 

                “I don’t wanna.” John said again.  “I don’t wanna eat a rabbit.”

                “Why not?  It tastes just like a lot of the other things you eat.”

                “I don’t wanna eat something that was alive.”

                His father sighed.  He wondered why his son had said that.  He had never had that problem when he was John’s age.

                “There’s nothing wrong with eating an animal, son.  We do it all the time?”

                “No we don’t.” John replied.

                “Yes we do.  Lots of the things you eat came from an animal.  Hot dogs come from animals.  So do hamburgers.”

                The child’s eyes opened wide.  He did not know that.  He also began to worry what else might have come from an animal.

                “Does pizza come from animals?”

                “No.  But pepperoni does.”

                How could that be?  John loved pepperoni pizza and hot dogs and hamburgers.  He had no idea they came from animals though. 

                “Does it really?”

                “Mm hm.  Pepperoni and hot dogs come from pigs and hamburgers come from cows.”

                John had never seen any of those animals before.  He had seen pictures online and read about them in school, but never in person.  But he could see the rabbit.  He thought about the rabbit being made into a hamburger instead of a cow.  He did not like that thought. 

He even started to wonder why anyone would want to eat something that came from another animal.  It did not make sense to him.  Nobody could be that mean.  But, then again, it was his father saying it.  His father knew everything. His father was never wrong.  That meant it had to be true.  Tears started welling up in his eyes.

“I…I don’t…I don’t wanna eat anything.” He whined.  “I don’t wanna eat animals.”

His father felt a pit form in his stomach.  The family tradition was supposed to teach the boy how to be self-sufficient, and about the food chain and the like.  While it would not make a true hunter, it was certainly supposed to teach the value of eating meat by showing him where it came from.  Instead, it had turned him into a vegetarian.

                The rabbit heard John’s cry and ran off.  The boy’s father sighed. It would take way too long for them to find another one.  And even then, John might not want to shoot and eat it. 

                “Okay, fine.  Let’s go back to the camp and we’ll take about it with your mother, okay?”

                “Okay.” John said, wiping away a few tears. 

                The boy followed his father back to the camp site.  John was thinking about all of the animals he had eaten.  He promised himself that no more would be killed for his sake.    

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Let it be known that I am neither a vegetarian nor a vegan.  I have a diet that definitely includes the consumption of animals.  And I, for one, am not ashamed of it.

Word: Procrustean

Procrustean

[proh-kruhs-tee-uh n]

adjective

1. pertaining to or suggestive of Procrustes.

2. (often lowercase) tending to produce conformity by violent or arbitrary means.

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The man walked down the street, listening to the sound of the almost perfectly synchronized footsteps of the other citizens around him.  It was almost relaxing, knowing that everyone was walking at the same pace as he was. 

                Another sound reached his ears.  A small, tiny clicking noise from just over his left shoulder.  He knew what it was from.  It was his personal eye.  The tiny floating camera recorded everything around it, and the clicking said it was talking to all the other personal eyes that were attached to every other person on the street.  One of them must have seen something noteworthy, and was transmitting the information.  The man did not even pause to look at the tiny devise.  If he did, it might disrupt the rhythm of the morning walk to Work.

                He rounded the corner as he always did, expecting everything to be the same as it always was.  And it was, with one exception.  On the street stood a Cooperation Enforcer.  Normally, the law keeper stood there, dressed in heavy armor with the large gun and capture equipment strapped to it.  Now though, he was not.  The Enforcer was still there, of course, but was currently housed in a large Enforcement exo-suit.  The large mechanical suit was laced with far more sensory equipment and peace keeping armaments and capture devises than one man could ever hold.  The officer had gotten an upgrade.  Well, it was no wonder.  The community had grown in recent years, so the Enforcers had to scale up to keep everyone in order.

                The man saw the Enforcer, but did not stop, or even slow down.  It was just part of the background.  Something for his eye to see, record, and transmit.  The eye started clicking again.  This time, the man could not help but see what was causing the interest.  It was coming down the street in the opposite direction.  A flash of color that was not supposed to be there.

                It belonged to a teenage girl.  She had painted her eye.  She had painted it pink, of all colors.  The man wondered at that.  How had she gotten pink paint?  That color was no longer manufactured.  And why would she use it on her eye?  It made no sense.  Besides, the standard colors of black, white, and grey were more than sufficient. 

                The man was, of course, not the only one to notice the bright color.  The Enforcer did to.  The fact that his exo-suit was capable of tapping into eye feeds helped with that.  The top of the suit opened and a large flashing light popped out.  Everyone stopped moving.  The Enforcer raised one of the suit’s large arms and fired.  A bright light shot out of it and stopped over the head of the girl with the pink eye.  Sheets of light shot out and formed a neat box around the offending girl.  It rose a small distance into the air and sped the criminal towards the Enforcer.  The man did his job with perfect efficiency, binding the girl and sending a signal for criminal pickup.

                Once that was all done, the walk resumed.  The man did not even turn his head to watch the fate of the girl.  Hers was a minor crime, after all.  She would likely just be sent for minor reconditioning, given a new eye, and then released.  It was quite appropriate, really.  After all, such deviations were just unacceptable for such a perfectly ordered society.

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After you've read the above story, read this story.  This one was not written by me, but I feel it appropriate and topical given the nature of the story that I did write.

Word: Bonzer

bonzer

/ˈbɒn zər/

adjective, Australian.

1. remarkable; wonderful.

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                Life was good.  Very good, in fact.  Wonderful, really.  What could be bad?  He was in paradise.  He was surrounded by very beautiful women, all wearing one type of swimsuit or another, and all devoted to him.  The private beach was calm and the rhythmic sound of the waves was pleasant.  Everything was perfect, really.

                Well, there was that odd sound coming from somewhere off in the distance, but he could mostly ignore that.  The light music mostly covered it anyway.

                One of the women offered him a plate of fruit.  The slices were fresh, juicy, and sweet.  They did have an oddly sterile aftertaste, but it was nothing to worry about.  Everything around had that same flavor, so he had gotten used to it.  It was the same with the beeping.  It was always there, so he had learned to enjoy it.  Neither the sterile aftertaste nor the beeping were enough to detract from how wonderful the place was.

                A woman came and served him a tall, cold beer once he was done with the fruit.  The brew reminded him of one he had many years ago.  It good stuff.  Full bodied and flavorful.  Nothing wrong with that glass.  It did remind him of something though.  He could not quite put his finger on what it was, but definitely something.  Something about a car maybe?  It was odd because he did not need to drive anywhere on the beach. 

                The women looked adoringly at him as he drank.  They were waiting for him to say something.  He obliged by telling them a joke he had made.  It was a truly remarkable bit of comedy, if he did say so himself.  The women ate it up, laughing heartily once he was finished.  Nobody else appreciated his humor, so it was a fine thing to know someone out there shared his sense of humor.

                One of the women wanted to show her appreciation for the laugh by offering him a massage.  He knew this one.  He liked this one, especially her idea of a massage.  She used neither her hands nor her feet for that.  She dipped her entire body in the water and used one of his favorite parts of the female anatomy to rub him up and down, massaging his entire body.  A faint scent of something not unlike strong soap wafted over him as her very soft body wound its way across his torso.  It was an odd perfume she wore, but, like all things, it was not enough to detract from the experience.

                When the massage was done, another woman dried him off.  The towel she used was small, and felt a bit rougher than it looked.  He could hardly argue with the service though, so he did not complain. 

                Once dry, he lay back and relaxed, letting the sun warm him and the music sooth him.  The beeping was only a mild annoyance to the otherwise wonderful experience.  A sound like a woman crying reached his ears.  It was louder than the ever present beeping, but still far off.  Whoever it was sounded familiar, like a loved one he could not quite remember.  It was not one of the swim suit clad beauties though, so he put it out of his mind.

                The day passed in idle bliss.  The women gave him good food and drink, listened to his jokes, and made his stay more than pleasant.  But the sun was setting now, and the darkness of night was starting to encroach on his vision.  He felt like he should get up off his beach chair and find a proper bed.  After all, while the chair was hardly uncomfortable, it was not exactly the best either.  But, when he tried to move, one of the adoring women clasped his hand down, holding it against the chair.  The women wanted him to stay.  That was fine.  He settled into the chair and closed his eyes.

                It was a wonderful place to finally go to sleep.

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Pretty much every man's fantasy, really, with a few changes according to the individual.  Although...one has to wonder what this fellow went through to get it so good.  Hmmmmmmm..........