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June 17, 2005

Volume 2, Issue 17

The theme for today is the word dice.

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"The die has been cast, Nepenthor!" said the boy. The die was flung, and she rolled, touching each of her twenty sides to the game board before stopping.

The die was sick of it: being handled by the sweaty hands of shrill, adolescent males; hearing quotes from encyclopedias describing worlds that don't exist. She secretly envied the dice in casinos - like all RPG dice, she condemned six-siders for their complicity in gambling, but deep down she wanted to know, just once, what it was like to be part of a decision that really mattered.

"Aha! +2/+2!"

"+fuck/+you," she thought, bitter.

Posted by: G-Do at June 17, 2005 6:27 AM · Permalink

Another boring afternoon channel surfing. Wait...go back. Yes. there she is. De-lish. Her long hair spilling over her shoulders, the tight sweater, the relatively small but pert breasts. She glances up at the camera and flashes that impish smile just for me. Yum-my.

The camera pans down and she begins to dice some onions and potatos for the meal. Her nimble fingers operate the knife with skill and panache. she scoops the food up and into the saucepan.

She flashes me another smile before she leaves, and promises to be back. Damn commercials.

God how I love the food channel.

Posted by: Gahrie at June 17, 2005 6:30 AM · Permalink

Rachel Ray... *hork*

Posted by: Sekimori at June 17, 2005 6:33 AM · Permalink

Sophie loved cooking. The smells intoxicated her; the sounds made her wild with excitement. The thing she loved best, though, was the challenge.

The lemon dill sauce was nearly perfect – it needed something. After a moment’s consideration, Sophie added a dash of cardamom – perfect. Thought-provoking, but no challenge.

Poaching salmon and grilling asparagus at the same time required care – they had to finish cooking at exactly the same time – but it wasn’t quite a challenge either.

Sophie heard footsteps. She leapt to her high chair, grabbed some diced peaches, and flashed a single-toothed, beatific smile when Mother entered.

Another success.

Posted by: Keiran Halcyon at June 17, 2005 6:47 AM · Permalink

“Charlie, you’ve got a decision to make,” said Frank Jones. He placed a pair of dice and a baseball bat on the table.

I started to rise but one of the thugs behind me slammed me back into my chair.

“You brought loaded dice into my casino, Charlie,” he said. He paused to let me think about it.

I started to shake.

“Charlie, I can turn you and the dice over to the Gaming Commission or I can break both of your knees with this bat. You have five minutes to decide.”

Some choice. Lifetime ban or crippled for life.

Posted by: DocMac at June 17, 2005 7:55 AM · Permalink

Yes. I have dice for eyes. You can stop staring. See? Blink blink blink, snake-eyes!! Long story short, a gypsy, a ferret and a goat and some gin. Usually someone afflicted like this says, "Oh, it's not so bad. You get used to it." Bullshit. It fucking sucks. Just imagine the sound of dice constantly rolling on bone. Yeah, now you're starting to understand. I mean, yeah, it looks all cool in pictures and shit. And it does attract the ladies. Well, of a certain type. But I'm really sick of the "Roll The Bones" jokes. I fucking hate Rush.

Posted by: marc at June 17, 2005 8:02 AM · Permalink

We get all sorts at the casino, but there was one that stood out.

She was a tiny old woman with dark glasses attended to by her seven grandsons. She wasn't much for the slots or roulette, but you put a pair of dice in her hand and she was hot.

So hot that the boss got antsy. Now, those seven boys were huge. I rounded up five more guys just to be prepared.

Luckily, she finally stopped rolling, cashed out and shuffled off of the floor...but not before thanking me and handing me this wooden poker chip.

O Fortuna...

Posted by: Shawn at June 17, 2005 8:28 AM · Permalink

I can’t afford this town anymore, I thought. I counted through my cash again. Not enough. Not nearly enough. After rent and all the taxes, there’s never enough.

And no matter where I go I always end up spending more money. It’s not like a guy like me has that many opportunities, either. I didn’t make any money cooling my heels in jail, that’s for sure.

At least I didn’t spend anything sitting on the train. Too bad I just couldn’t have stayed there for a while.

Well, here goes. Now it’s all or nothing!

Damn! Boardwalk. With a hotel!

Posted by: Jim Parkinson at June 17, 2005 9:02 AM · Permalink

He had marshalled his forces carefully, exactingly, for just this moment. Patiently building his strength for the perfect opportunity to strike.

Troops massed along the borders. The supply chains were long, but the generals in charge knew the penalty for failure.

His early conquests had come easily, with only token opposition. But recently, his fortunes had taken a turn for the worse. Every battle, a bloody meatgrinder. Every skirmish, a near-disaster.

Retreat, regroup. Retreat again, regroup again.

Well, all that was going to change. Had to change. It was his turn now.

With the next roll, Yakutsk would be his!

Posted by: Elisson at June 17, 2005 9:25 AM · Permalink

Come on dice don't fail me now, please!

Risky game it was but beneficial it would become.

Tossing the dice onto the table...

"Eat," one die stated. The other, "?."

She picked up the grape and ate it while giving a slow sigh of relief.

Her partner picked up the dice and tossed them.

"Suck." one die stated. The other, "?."

He looked up into her eyes. Pleasure to be had at her will.

At which point he picked out an ice cube from his drink and sucked on it.

Tease to please she thought. This game was only good played once.

Posted by: Jade at June 17, 2005 9:25 AM · Permalink

Wes rolled the dice, and looked over at his opponent with glee. "Four sixes to beat, Henry."

Henry Brown picked up the dice, and neither man saw the third man, Constable John Selman, enter El Paso's Acme Saloon with his gun drawn, nor his reflection in the small mirror behind the bar. Selman fired once, hitting Wes in the head, then stood over the body, firing twice more.

John Wesley Hardin - Texas' deadliest gunslinger, who had killed over thirty people - was killed by a gunman he had hired to kill another man whose wife he was having an affair with.

Posted by: hnumpah at June 17, 2005 9:28 AM · Permalink

The little man opened the briefcase reverently. Inside, packed from one side's velvet lining to the other in neat array were scores upon scores of dice, dice made from metal and ivory and bone and wood, from crystal and marble and clay. "Choose", he rasped.

Jake plucked out three ivories. Aaron selected gold, silver, and tin. Aaron threw first: three fives. Jake closed his eyes and threw. The dice rattled. Fearfully, he opened his eyes. A six, a six, and...yes! "I...won?"

"Aye, ye did at that. Very well, you may ask me one question, and I will answer in truth."

Posted by: Jeff R. at June 17, 2005 10:03 AM · Permalink

His own headlights glared back at Johnny, bouncing off the fog blanketing the sandy road. His eyelids beat in time with the windshield wipers. Occasionally, he wiped a tear off his face.

He had tried to explain why he’d spent their date money on the fuzzy dice.

“You love this damn hot-rod more than you love me!” Darla had said, slamming the door. “I never want to see you again!”

Now the dice were all he had. They looked nice, though, as they caught the light of an oncoming locomotive.

Johnny pulled onto the tracks and turned off the engine.

Posted by: Jim Parkinson at June 17, 2005 10:12 AM · Permalink

It's lunchtime for Les, and things just arent' going his way.

"Hey, can I get salad instead of soup?"

"I don't know, let me ask", the waiter replied before going to the manager.

"No dice", he replied.

Just great.
"All right then," Les complied. "I'll take chicken noodle".

After work, he goes to get a new pair of slacks.

"Can I write a check?"

"Let me ask", the check-out girl replies before going to get the manager".

"No dice," she tell him.

"Can I pay with my credit card?"

"let me see," she tells him.

"Sorry..."

"No dice", he finishes.

Posted by: AALT at June 17, 2005 10:40 AM · Permalink

He’d tried everything. Observational humor. Impressions. Wordplay. Tonight, he was going to try his hand at props.

Had he really sunk so low?

Three more blocks to the club. His prop box was heavy, but they’d promised him fifteen minutes if he could get there by 11:00. It was 10:45 now. Just enough time to go over his set.

He passed under a window, where he could hear a mother reading to her child. “Hickory dickory dock…”

Andy stopped dead in his tracks. This was the inspiration he’d been waiting for. “Hickory dickory dock…”

Fuck you, Gallagher. The Diceman cometh…

Posted by: copygodd at June 17, 2005 12:15 PM · Permalink

Months of work and Stan's Chevy was bitchin' cherry. The teal paint was as deep as a swimming pool and the chrome sparkled like fireworks on a summer night.

Pam squeeled when he first picked her up, sliding across the tuck-n-roll white-leather seats.

Summer of '71. Cruising the boulevard then ending on Site Drive. With the glitter of the town spread in front and the fuzzy dice swaying from the rear-view mirror, they did things that made him feel deliciously turned inside out.

Today Stan demurs on Vegas vacations -- just walking by a craps table can bring on an erection.

Posted by: Darleen at June 17, 2005 12:31 PM · Permalink

A two and a three. Five.

A pair of binary stars went nova simultaneously. Billions of sentient beings on a nearby planet were annihilated.

A five and a two. Seven.

A new quark appeared and started a chain reaction, destroying a gas giant instantly. The explosion made its sun unstable.

A pair of sixes. Twelve.

A huge nebula turned a startling shade of ochre. A tiny newborn sun within turned inside out.

Snake Eyes. Two.

For an instant, the speed of light quadrupled. Nobody noticed.

Albert shook his head. “Why, God?”

“Because NOBODY tells Me what to do, Mr. Einstein!”

Posted by: Jim Parkinson at June 17, 2005 12:48 PM · Permalink

"And by some chance I had brought my dice along."

Turns out, I'm a loser in the next world just like the last. In no time I've lost my money, my wallet, and even my clothes.

Some things are more important, though. You don't bet the bottle. You pass it around. Which I did.

Damn shame, though, what happened to the guy what won my nice checkered coat. When we got to the gates we all had to hush it up, making up a cock-and-bull story about a guy learning a lesson. Pete ate it right up. What a chump.

Posted by: Jeff R. at June 17, 2005 2:11 PM · Permalink

The map said that the drive from his house in Jackson, Kentucky to his son's house only takes 45 minutes, but each time it seemed to take an eternity. Perhaps it was the gorgeous monotony of the forest. Most likely it was the anxiety of knowing that his son was in trouble again and needed to be bailed out, the shame that he raised a trouble-maker and a loser. Finally, he set the brake, turned off the engine, and got out of his car, and thought the same thing he always thought when arriving here: Dice, Kentucky, what a dump.

Posted by: Doctor Bean at June 18, 2005 7:26 AM · Permalink