Many apologies, dear Reader, for being silent for so long. Life, as they say, has gotten in the way, and time slipped away from me.

But this offering, I hope, will be cause enough to forgive me. This was born of the madness known globally as GISHWHES, and known more locally as the insanity of my oldest friend. (Not that she’s older than all my friends, but that I’ve known her longer than most.) One item on the scavenger hunt list was to get a published Sci-Fi author to write a flash fiction story of no more than 140 words containing the following elements: Misha Collins (actor extraordinaire), the Queen of England (though I believe she is technically the Queen of Britain, but we shall let that minor inaccuracy slide), and an elopus.

Yes, you read that correctly: an elopus. Which is a species hybridisation of an elephant with an octopus. Could be vile and frightening, but could also be cute as a button, depending upon genetic splicing. Or the scientist doing the splicing.

In any case, after a long day consisting of puzzle-solving, driving, kale-induced hilarity, family time and sleep deprivation, with these bizarre elements to work into 140 words or less, plus with extra restrictions from Team SuperSlackers to include in the story, I sat down to my trust iPad and wondered: how ridiculous can I possibly be?

I think this story answers that question rather decisively.

If, by some mad twist of fate, this story goes up for the GISHWHES Hall of Fame or even the Coffee Table Book, I hope you’ll vote for it. But I’ll keep you updated on that particular pipe dream as and when.

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Kale-ing Misha Softly with His Thong

“Ms Misha, what on earth are you wearing?”

Misha glanced down at himself, his eyes glazing over as the sight of his tanned, taut body caused him to bliss out.

“Misha!”

The shrill voice snapped him from his reverie. “Liz, darling,” he drawled, “it’s Kale Tuesday. You know I always wear my kale-bespangled budgie-smuggler on Tuesdays.” He simpered and struck a Playgirl pose to display his assets to his favourite queen.

Elizabeth II, mother of corgis, rolled her eyes and emitted a most unmonarchly nasal snort. “Not the kale again, you ponce. We meant that.” She directed an imperious finger towards his skull.

Misha caressed his new headgear. “Taxidermied elopus. It’s all the rage.”

The Queen of the Commonwealth Kingdoms crossed her arms, shaking her coiffed head. “You do realize that you have your head up an elopus’s arse.”