Three-Legged Improv

Pigs whizzed past the window and Winston winced. They were headed for Ham n' Egg headquarters, to refuel for another attack on the Chicken planet, and Winston turned the radio up to drown out their gleeful squealings. War was fun for humans, now that the animals did all the fighting.

Spiders, drums, fantasy
 
I awoke with drums pounding blood-ache in my ears, it had been the same dream, that same sexy fantasy with the spiders in it.

Carmen's teasing aside, I realise I really am a pretty messed-up individual. Even for a pan-galactic freighter captain.

Treats - hurricane - captain
 
Hmm, Charles, captain isn't a category. We're look for drama, comedy, fantasy, you know that sort of thing.
 
I crash through the steaming jungle forest, my tusks raised, ready for battle. I trumpet my rage to the sky. The humans have forgotten how they raised our intelligence with their clever monkey machines, but we have not forgotten, and we do not forgive.

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Books, Photographer, Psychological Suspense
 
I've suspected for months that this human photographer is having an affair with my wife, A Traveler's Guide To Old Europe (all those photos of her with her dust jacket removed that she hid from me), but maybe it was a mistake coming here to confront him.
"Come, come, my dear fellow - surely a first edition Geological Survey of Tennessee Coal Deposits can give a little smile to the photographer's camera?"
He's smooth, but he's rumored to be capable of the most dastardly of deeds to complete his romantic conquests...I wonder...why would he have changed from flash bulbs to a magnesium powder flash for photographing a flammable geological survey....AYYY-EEEEE!!!
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Persian carpet, radio host, urban fantasy
 
"That rug really tied the room together, man," said Garreth as he sat down at the microphone to do his nightly broadcast. "Guess I should crate the little buggers." He was lucky the dragons were so young; had they been older, there wouldn't have been a room left to put a rug in.

(never sure what the heck "urban fantasy" is so here we have a radio host and dragons. That works, right?)

A large vibrating egg, Erick the Reasonable, surrealism.
 
Lord Eldersbock, hairdresser to Prince Constant knew he was in trouble, it would only be a matter of time until his crime was discovered. For years he has stolen locks of the royal hair, designing more and more elaborate styles to hid the missing tresses. Now his mistress a lady with a mysterious past threaten to reveal all if he didn't leave his wife.

Candy, miser, steam punk.
 
Balthazar Cribbens wheezed and grunted as he hauled a heavy sack of cogs and escapements through the foggy back alleys of Oil Town. Trading peppermints and chocolates to the clever street urchins of the city for the photo-etheric components they nipped from careless enginewrights was worth the effort. Soon he would be able to construct the reproducing automaton of his dreams, and spend the rest of his days counting the coins it would produce for his coffers.

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Map, accountant, pulp adventure
 
"Damn it Jim, I'm a doctor, not an accountant, but even I can see that there's ten enemy battle cruisers between us and home base."
"Indeed captain, it is illogical to fight such numbers."
Kirk set this phaser on maximum and shot his best friend in the chest.


Rodents, food stocks, SFF.
 
They thought they'd thought of everything. They stocked themselves against every possibility, and slept the three hundred year trip between stars in cryo. While in the cargo bays below, their preparations powered a stowaway society of zero-gee adapted rats.

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Salt Shaker, Pirate, Mystery.
 
The pirate captain searched high and low, sailed the seven seas, chartered islands but still it eluded him. It began with rumour overheard in Jamaica Inn, it spoke of riches untold and long life to its owner. Three and thirty years his quest had taking but still the fabled salt shaker is nowhere to be found.

Meadow, accountant, space opera
 
Jack wondered what the hell he was doing here, on a field of blue grass somewhere about a dozen light years from Earth. The sun, a small orange dot in a sky that wasn't at all the right color, cast weird shadows, and the thin air sharpened his view of the colony ship perched on a hill in the distance.

Guess I'd better start figuring out how the hell to create an economy from scratch.


Zebra, blacksmith, slipstream.
 
I wield my hammer in a monotonous rhythm, in time with the beads of sweat which drop from my face then hiss and vanish as they strike the horseshoe, still hot and angry red from the furnace, which I shape for my master. His mount, captured during one of his raids into the secret lands beyond the desert, is a strange beast, arrayed in the costume of a harlequin. I do not allow its comic aspect to deceive me; although it deigns to carry my master on its back, it is still a wild creature, patiently waiting for the moment when it may regain its freedom, as do I.

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Automobile, musician, mundane science fiction

Mundane science fiction - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
 
'Maybe it's a deer,' I keep thinking to myself. Now I reach the back of the car and no, unless they've started dressing in black tie and carrying trombones, it's definitely not a deer. It's culpability I worry over now; whose fault is it when your auto-drive runs over part of the brass section?

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Luxury Sports Car, Debt Collector, Post Apocalyptic.
 
Slippin' Joe owes the Protectorate half of his organs. He'd given the Treasury his expensive sports car as collateral when he'd asked us for a favour, but forgot to mention this one ran on diesel, and not on quartz like all the other new-gen rides, making a fool of us all, since there's no more diesel on Earth. Now that the Protectorate has brought me in to collect, Slippin' Joe will pay in full, with ALL of his organs, and his pets', and his companions', and his family's...
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nuclear bomb, plumber, mexican soap opera
 
Ahhh, Consuela, cannot you zee dee need for discretion in zees matter?
Zee interrruptio'ne in zee drainiage ast del bano requiretio des delicatio deescretionaraio.
Esta no necessario del Nuke' es el cloggio in dees Sewerage. I breeng Los Drano.


Fat Cat, Fur Ball, Existential Realism
 
"You coughed this up? This!?"

"Not enough for you? You want the meaning of life or something? I got your meaning right here." Pulls out a gun. "What now Joey? You gonna take what I offered," cocks gun, "or do I gotta cough up something else?"

Joey looked his disgust as he took the 3large. It wasn't enough. Not nearly enough. But his lives were running short these days, and his wife had dibs on his last one.

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(Did I do it right?)
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Pharmaceuticals, vault, verse.
 

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