Misfits & Miscreants.

Better late than never, I present the latest 1000 word picture project! Thanks to Heather, Matt, Jared, and Sam! Please Enjoy! And, Thanks again to FOUND Magazine for the excellent photo!
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Halberdstadt was a fool, a naïve, ill-informed fool. He spent $20,000 defending himself against a criminal investigation. In the end he cleared himself but the malodorous whiff of suspicion would hang around him forever after. Clearly he was guilty of such disgusting crimes.

The charge was sexual abuse of underage girls, levelled on the basis of an anonymous tip. Anne Petrunik had made the anonymous call. She didn’t think too much about the consequences of ruining Halberdstadt’s life with the accusation. He was clearly guilty. Imagine the vast bulk of his horrible body, crushing the innocent with his bestial ambitions. He’d always been like that.

It wasn’t that Petrunik was a vengeful woman. She’d never had been married to him (Halberdstadt was not the marrying kind, and that alone had to be proof that he was a child molester.) No, her suspicions came from observation. What more evidence did she require than other than seeing a life-long bachelor sitting for pictures of himself in a bus station photo booth.

Yes, Halberdstadt was a naïve fool. He had told Petrunik that he was planning his first trip to Europe. All his life he had wanted to go and this was to be the year. Petrunik hated him for taking the trip. She had never been anywhere before. Who did he think he was, going off like that? Petrunik reminded him that he needed a passport for the trip, and the bus station was a good place to get a photograph for it.

Contributed by Jared Mitchell
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Dear Newlakefield Golf and Country Club,

Let’s just get this out of the way: yesterday was a comedy of errors. The day did not turn out exactly as planned, for either of our organizations. Your Charity Golf Tournament was broken up earlier than you’d hoped, while our description of the intended victim was less unique than was promised.

Regardless, we have a hostage, intended target or not. A member of your organization is bound in an unmarked van, anxiously awaiting the acceptance or rejection of our demands. Enclosed is a series of photographs, taken earlier today, which partially shows Gus, the caddy, unharmed. Unfortunately, the little twirly stool in the photo-booth was stuck, and by the time we noted he wasn’t fully in frame, we’d used up all our change.

Speaking of money, let’s cut to the chase, shall we? If you want your Caddy back alive, and not 9-ironed to you in ball-sized bits, we will require the following:

a) One million dollars, in small, used bills, left in a to be determined locker at the bus station;
b) The return of the land under the 14th hole, as well as the neighbouring water hazard, to the Cree Nation, from whom it was stolen by European settlers whose descendents now represent those who benefit from this land;
c) 7 Club Blazers, in a variety of sizes.

We require a reply by midnight tonight, in the form of an ad taken out on the TV Guide channel of our local cable station.

Sincerely,

Citizen’s Responsible for Action, Politically

Contributed by Stephen Becker
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He’s got the pictures now. It’s all official. There’s one for the driver’s license and another for the passport. That still leaves one for his wallet, and a second to keep on file. He’s got the filing cabinet for it, too. Picked it up second hand. He’s gonna keep proper records this time. Gonna do it right.

Mike from next door designed the flag. Did a nice job, too. He tried to offer Mike citizenship, even a cabinet post, but Mike didn’t seem to go for it. Said that he liked the tax policies, but thought the medical system was a little weak. He’s invited over for a barbeque on Sunday, though, so the diplomatic lines are still open.

He’s considered invading his other neighbour. Warren’s always been a little uppity, and it’d serve him right to have his house and backyard annexed. He’s even drawn up a brief. Fourteen pages long, with a couple of pie charts. He got it printed in colour. On nice paper, too. It’s filed in the third drawer of the cabinet, in the External Affairs dossier. Naturally, it’s stamped TOP SECRET. In red.

He’s decided to keep the currency, for now. Forcing a switch might lead to a run on the banks, scare off foreign investment. He’s gotta play it careful. Wrote to Alan Greenspan for advice, but still no word. He figures Greenspan might want to run the treasury, now that he’s retired.

He’d even offer him citizenship, if he was interested.

Contributed by Matt Wiggin
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The little girl wandered away from the photo booth, clutching her photos in one hand and her mother's hand in the other. Boris pulled the curtain across, deposited coins and waited. He had no idea what to expect - flash number one surprised him. Three more random flashes made him blink. The machine spat out his photos.

"Dammit! The stool was too high!"

Boris departed in a rush, dropping his useless photos on the ground. He felt stupid and annoyed with himself for failing to master something as simple as an automatic photo booth. He could hear his train leaving as he ran down the subway stairs and stood on the empty platform. The next train pulled up, the crowd surged in and Boris squeezed into the doorway. As the train sped away from the platform, he was forced to stare at his reflection in the doorway glass. The double paned glass distorted his chin, making it seem even larger. Normally Boris was not a fan of mirrors, and used them as hastily as possible. His mood sank further.

His stop arrived; he stepped off the subway and slowly mounted the stairs. He saw another automatic photo booth, but quickly walked past it, still angry at his stupidity. He stopped suddenly and slapped his forehead. How else was he supposed to get the photos for his fake id? This time, he lowered the stool and tried again. With his face captured properly on film, Boris continued on to his appointment.

Contributed by Heather Hewer