nonamedufus

The prompt this month was "baseball" and for a while I wondered just how I'd illustrate it. But then one day on an errand I happened to pass by the city's former Lynx Stadium. The Ottawa Lynx used to be the Montreal Expos AAA farm team and in 1995 they won the International League Championship only two years after they began playing. I witnessed that win and remember fondly taking my kids to Lynx games. In 2007, however, new owners moved the team to Allentown, Pennsylvania. All that remains is an empty ballpark, used mainly by local teams for tournaments. When the Expos folded the Lynx began an affiliation with the Baltimore Orioles from 2003-2006 and ended their Ottawa days affiliated with the Philadelphia Phillies in 2007. But in their 15 seasons in Ottawa the Lynx never came close to those heady days in the mid-1990s. Be sure and visit    P.J.'s blog  and see what the rest of this month's participants developed. (See what I did there...

It was late July and Bob and Ray were forced to amuse themselves indoors because of yet another heavy rainstorm. "The rain is falling down in buckets" said Bob. "Buckets?" said Ray. "I don't see any buckets. Why in hell do people say that. There's no buckets. It's like how people say it's raining cats and dogs. There are no cats or dogs in rain." "I'm not so sure" said Bob. "I once stepped in one hell of a poodle!" And they both snickered as Bob passed Ray the bowl of cheese doodles. "Why do we say those things during a heavy rain" asked Ray. "You think those are bad" commented Bob. "In Argentina they say 'It's raining dung head-frost'" "That's pretty shitty"said Ray. "And in Denmark that say 'It's raining cobbler boys'" said Bob to which Ray replied "Eyelet that one pass." "Okay" said Bob "Moving right ...

I don't know what got into me. Nachos with bacon, cheese and jalapeño peppers as an appetizer, the burrito special and four Coronas. Throughout the night I'd paid the price for that dinner.  Or rather my wife had having to put up with my intestinal acrobatics. The air was blue, given my poor wife's comments, not to mention the lingering smell from my hind quarter's activity. And it had been active. Very active. I apologized profusely as I hopped into the bath and tried to relax a bit until the day got under way. But my insides were still in turmoil and this was demonstrated by the bubbles in the water. Did you know bubbles from farts still smell when they break the surface? Amazing, huh? Isn't science something? I towelled off and got dressed. Orange juice, bacon and eggs for breakfast. I wisely decided to skip the coffee. As I drove to work I noticed an emission problem and it wasn't my car. I immediately rolled down the windows, so as not to to be...

Dr. Notverynice was quite pleased with himself. After three months of working day and night he was finally putting the finishing touches to his Whambam monster. He'd used the finest parts, not always easily attainable but necessary, in order to build a top-notch destructive machine. His plans for world domination were falling into place. The creature was the missing link. He laughed to himself at his little joke. He sat back and imagined Whambam being let loose to run amuck (not the get stuck in kind) among the streets of Pleasantown with citizens screaming in fear and attempting to escape the clutches of Whambam. Dr. Notverynice had planned very carefully and his constructive efforts had been meticulous, right down to the three hundred mile extension cord need to power Whambam. He plugged in the cord that would bring the menacing giant to life. The creature stirred. Its eyes slid open. It's arms quivered while its legs rattled. Dr. Notverynice was thrilled. And wi...

Everyone certainly remembered his most distinguishing feature. He wore a faded brown fedora. Always. No one could recall ever seeing him without it. It was a part of him. He'd always worn it. Ever since he was young he sported that hat, always at a jaunty angle that made him look older but not too serious. His friends would laugh and joke about it but their ribbing didn't influence him. Still he wore it. It might be sunny or cloudy, raining or windy, day or night. Friends took bets on wether or not he wore that infernal hat to bed. He never let on. It was part of his mystique. That chapeau never seemed to age. It was like it was in a constant state of suspended animation. The hat band bore a thin line of discolouration from sweat which was understandable seeing as how he never took it off. There was a dimple on the right side, more like a crumple where he'd place his hand to tip it ever so slightly when he passed a woman or departed the company of a good friend. A...