Wordzzle 69 - The spill

This is my contribution to this week's Wordzzle. Wordzzle is a game in which each week word lists, used to create stories, are given on the blog Views from Raven's Nest. Participating users post their stories on their own blogs.

This is the thirteenth time I've played the game.


Ten Word Challenge:

Chorus line,
clam chowder,
apples,
jack-in-the-box,
puddles,
Iran,
quarry,
housekeeping,
speed,
letter

The clam chowder, imported from Iran, lay in puddles on the floor. The jack-in-the-box, bobbing for apples, paused and looked at it, then went back to bobbing. The chorus line of small mechanical dolls continued their practice session, pointedly ignoring what had happened. A small mechanical maid rolled up and looked at the mess. She clucked at it and shook her head, then began cleaning it up with great speed.

"I work and I work and my housekeeping is never done," she said. "In fact, it is getting sabotaged. I will track down who did this, and when I find my quarry, which I'm sure will be the mechanical butler, I will give him a good talking to. Then I will report him to the Master, in a detailed, emotional letter of great length. And it will be an actual letter, a beautiful handwritten one. No one here answers my emails."


Mini Challenge:

motorcycle,
grandiose,
summer,
flying off the handle,
blue jays

It was summer, and the motorcycle went along in grandiose fashion, with black paint and red and yellow flames and white skulls on it, and blue jays perched on the handle. The exhaust was roaring and rumbling, and the rider went along with a big satisfied smile on his face, his hair and beard blowing in the wind. As he went by a pretty girl, he turned his head and winked, then hit a pothole which sent him tumbling into the bushes and the blue jays flying off the handle.

Hovering in the air, the blue jays looked at the sad situation. "I'll never understand his taste in women," one of them finally said. "She didn't even have any feathers."


Mega challenge:

Chorus line,
clam chowder,
apples,
jack-in-the-box,
puddles,
Iran,
quarry,
housekeeping,
speed,
letter

motorcycle,
grandiose,
summer,
flying off the handle,
blue jays

The jack-in-the-box was missing, and no one knew where he was. He had been gone since the beginning of summer, and many grandiose theories circulated. Some thought he had been caught stealing apples, and had to go on the lam. Some thought his head had popped out of the box much faster than the speed limit, and he was now in jail. Some said it had something to do with the clam chowder, which was also missing. Others insisted he was in Iran as a spy, doing who knows what. One of the mechanical chorus line insisted that he was in a rock quarry carving statues with speedy impacts of his head, but that was so far-fetched not even the rest of the chorus line believed it.

The motorcycle owner heard the murmuring, he could hardly avoid it, but was more concerned about what to do about the housekeeping, since the mechanical maid had quit. Those things were expensive, and he didn't know they could just walk off like that. Perhaps he should have paid more attention to her letter. He was trying to save up some money now, too, to repaint the motorcycle. Maybe he could find a used maid somewhere. He had tried to get the mechanical butler to do all the housekeeping, but it had started flying off the handle, going on and on about something or other. He was never able to make much sense of it and finally gave up.

Brooding, he picked up one of the apples and began to eat it. He had found them a few days ago in a bucket of water. He had no idea why someone would do that. He had had to take them all out and then empty the bucket. There always seemed to be something. He needed to get away from this, he couldn't think anymore about things right now. He finished the apple and started to throw the core on the floor, then hesitated, and finally tossed it in the trash instead. He then went out to the garage.

He looked sadly at his motorcycle, covered with scratches and dents. At least it still ran. The blue jays were suspicious of it, though, since the accident.

He picked up his helmet and looked at it, wondering if he should wear it. He certainly could have used it last time. He finally began to put it on, but then found he couldn't get his head in it. There was something already inside.

Frowning, he turned it over. There was some kind of box in it. Somebody had stuck a box in his helmet. He stared at it for a moment, baffled. He put his fingers in beside it, then, and tried to pull it out, but it was in really tight and he could only get his fingers in a little ways. Shifting position, he moved the helmet under one arm and started slowly working the box back and forth slightly, slowly moving it out. Suddenly it came loose and flipped over and the head of the jack-in-the-box shot toward him. "B-BLAAAHHH!" the motorcycle owner screamed, stumbling back and falling into some oil puddles.

"Boy, that mechanical maid sure does hold a grudge," said the jack-in-the-box. "I'll never understand how she found out it was me."