Substitute Teacher
Price: 4.00
(Undisclosed)
The substitute teacher is teaching the class about human anatomy, and how it all works. She uses her own magnificent body to grab their attention, and to illustrate the lesson. Jane can lift and roll a small car, and she shows the class her massive biceps, and amazing quads, and talks about crushing coconuts and men. Imaginative story by Diana the Valkyrie.
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The tosser
Price: 5.00
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I'm a tosser. It's a fairly new sport, derived from the older game of dwarf tossing, but this is the grown-up version. Man tossing. The man is 150 pounds, that's a standard. But it turns out that quite a few men are 150 or less (if they're less, then they can be made up with some weights) and it doesn't matter how tall they are. And it turns out that quite a few men volunteer to be tossed by a big strong amazon giantess. Like me. I'm six foot nine, 290 pounds, and most of those pounds are muscle. I love man tossing, it's a great sport. Picking up a man with his crash helmet on, and launching him over the sand pit to get a longer toss than my fellow athletes - there's nothing better. I hear that next year it's going to be an Olympic sport. We all have our preferred toss-pot. Mine is little Cecil. He's quite short, and struggles to make 150, so we often have to strap a few iron disks onto him to make up the weight. We practice regularly. I also practice with a dummy weighing a fair bit more, but that's not as satisfying as flinging a live man across the sand, so whenever I can get a volunteer, I'll practice with him instead. Cecil doesn't like that, but he doesn't get to say who I toss.
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Pain nurse part one
Price: 5.00
(Undisclosed)
A lot of people don't really understand about pain. I do, because I'm a pain nurse. Pain has two purposes. The obvious purpose is to alert you to the fact that something is wrong. If you pick up a too-hot plate, the pain is telling you to take rapid action before more damage is done. That's what everyone knows. But pain has a second purpose. The sensation of pain is transmitted from the damage site to the brain via the nervous system, and the body responds by taking actions to fix the problem, so that healing starts immediately. But sometimes, the pain sensation is inadequate, or is "referred". A referred pain is when you feel pain in the wrong place. For example, if you have a heart problem, you can't feel pain in your heart - the pain is felt in your left arm, elbow and shoulder. That's when the pain nurse comes in. If the pain is insufficient or referred, my job is to boost the pain. I have a number of different techniques that I can use, but rather than give a textbook exposition, I'll describe some case studies (the patient's names are, of course, anonymised). If you want a textbook, I'd suggest Wall & Melzack's "Textbook of Pain", available from many online bookshops.
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Pizza Girl part three
Price: 5.00
(Undisclosed)
Today I was attacked again - the guy wanted the money I was carrying. He was waving a knife around, but it was a dinner knife and he looked really stupid with it. "OK, OK," I said, "My life isn't worth the cash I'm carrying, it's on the bicycle, I'll just get it." But also on the bicycle was my hockey stick, and that's a yard long. I unclipped it, and swung at his head, as one does. He ducked, of course, but I caught him a good one on the shoulder. He yelled "Bitch" and came at me with the knife, but I got him on the left ear with the second swipe of my stick, and he staggered. Why a hockey stick, you might be wondering. Because a baseball bat looks like a weapon, but a hockey stick looks like sports equipment. Which it is, and I've had plenty of practice with it. So he was still coming at me with his cutlery, so after I'd bounced my hockey stick off his left ear, I did a follow through, spun round and smashed my weapon into his right ear. Now he was dazed, but he still had his knife, so I lined up carefully and whacked his right hand, cracking his knuckles and causing him to drop the blade. Now he was disarmed, I suppose I could have just got on the pizza bike and rode off, but my blood was up and I wasn't going to stop now. The standard strike with a hockey stick is, of course, to the shins, followed by an "Oops, sorry about that!". So I took careful aim, raised the stick and brought it down as hard as I could. There was a satisfying "Crack!" and I knew that my assailant was finished. So I put my hockey stick back on its bracket, got on the pizza bike and rode off into the sunset. Or I would have, but it was night time so I rode off into the moonlight.
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Pizza Girl part two
Price: 5.00
(Undisclosed)
Revenge is a dish best served brass monkeys, unlike pizza. So, the next time I see Eric, I use my Pizzagirl power to step on the pedals and catch up with him. I silently approach from behind, and blast him with my compressed air powered horn, sounding at 130 decibels just like a 56 ton 18 wheel truck mere inches behind him. He was suitably startled, swerved, wobbled, wobbled some more and went down, making a very satisfactory scrunching sound as he hit the deck. "Good morning, Eric," I called out merrily as I sailed past. Karma soon caught up with me - it started raining. Cats and dogs. So I reacted the way I always do - I got wet. But the pizza was safely tucked away in my insulated pannier, and I was able to deliver it, still hot. I stood there looking like a drowned kitten while the customer fetched some bread, which wetness I believe contributed to the handsome tip he gave me. Another contribution might have been the way that my wet shirt clung to my thrupenny bits. I'll take whatever I can get, except getting stiffed.
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Pizza Girl part one
Price: 5.00
(Undisclosed)
Yes. I deliver pizza. Because someone has to, and I need a job. With the economy how it is post-Brexit (I still don't understand how we got conned into that) well-paying jobs are as rare as hen's teeth. So I'm a pizza delivery girl. And I'm Pizzagirl because a weird accident happened with the pizza microwave plus pineapple plus anchovies, which should normally never come in contact, let alone on top of pizza. Superman came from Krypton, Batman came from Gotham City, Wonder Woman came from Themyscira. I come from Neasden in London. Superman has superpowers because he's Kryptonese, Batman because he spends a lot of money on gadgets, Wonder Woman because she's an Amazon. Me? See above - the accident. Superman, Batman and WW all have secret identities, so when the accident happened, I realised I needed one. Because superheroes don't get paid. Can you imagine? Superman swoops down and saves a falling woman and then invoices her for $600. Wonder Woman worked part time at Taco Whiz and takes home minimum wage. No chance. So for my secret identity, I put on a pair of plain glass spectacles, because apparently that's all you need. But to be totally sure of secrecy, I also wore my hair in a ponytail instead of the falling locks that Pizzagirl wears.
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Respect all, fear nun - part six
Price: 5.00
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Respect all, fear nun - part six We use 100 pound weights, because if you only use 50s, you get a very crowded bar. Hilde had four on each side, so she was pushing 800 pounds steadily up and down. And then I realised. She had meant kilograms, I did a quick calculation in my head - double it and add ten per cent, and the 450 came to - oh my giddy aunt! "Nine ninety," I told Nora, "she's topping out at 990 pounds. Not even you can do that." "Eight twenty is my current best clean and jerk," she said, "she's pushing a thousand." A thousand pounds, of course, is the hope and prayer of every St Hilda's nun. It's a nice round number - five disks on each side of the bar. Nora eyed her enviously. "I wonder what they use instead of Septadecaherbis", she mused, "and whether I can try it?" "Ask her," I grumped. Nora grabbed my rosary after compline. "We need to talk," she said, and showed me a small bottle. "What is it?" I asked, curiously. "She calls it Siebzehnkraut," Nora said. I sniffed it cautiously, it didn't smell like Septadecaherbis. "I'm going to try it," Nora announced. "Nora! You shouldn't! You don't know how it will react with you." Nora shook her head, and said "990 pounds. I'm so there." A week went by. Pray and lift, pray and lift. We were happy, the offsprings were happy and the dogs were ecstatic - it doesn't take much to make a dog happy. Nora was dosing on Siebzehnkraut, and I was measuring her biceps every day. By the end of the week, she'd put on half an inch to 26 1/2, and her bench press had gone from 670 to 710. It looked like Siebzehnkraut was the real McCoy. I talked to Hilde. "Can we get more of your Siebzehnkraut?" I asked bluntly. "Ab naturlich," she smiled. "I will der mutterhaus schreiben." Well, that was easy. I thought I'd have to twist her arm a bit to get her agreement, and I was pretty sure that her arm was much too big for me to twist. And while we were waiting for the package from Germany to arrive, Hilde shared her own supplies with it.
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Respect all, fear nun - part five
Price: 5.00
(Undisclosed)
Respect all, fear nun - part five It was the terce prayer hour. We were all three of us in the gym; the off springs were outside playing with their dogs. I was lying on my back, doing reps with 500, when I noticed a crack in the ceiling that looked like a jagged bolt of stylized lightning. When I finished my set, I showed it to Nora and Mandy. My eyes followed the crack, and the wall was also cracked. "That looks bad," said Mandy. "Is the building falling down?" asked Nora. "I think we should treat the building a lot more gently until further notice," I suggested. "So no more dropping the weights to the floor; lower them gently." "And we should pray," said Nora. "Of course," I said, "but we should also get a good surveyor, to tell us whether this is nothing, or very bad. Roger stood, transfixed. He'd never seen a nun doing bench presses before, he's never seen a woman with 26 inch biceps before and he'd never seen a St Hilda's nun except me, and I was covered head to toe in my habit. He just stood there, paralysed with a mixture of respect and fear. He was imagining what Nora could do to a man once he was helpless in those huge arms. And I thought, Gotcha! I prophesy a discount.
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Respect all, fear nun - part three
Price: 5.00
(Undisclosed)
By Diana the Valkyrie The Westingfield Baptist Church I thought that things were going well. We'd avoided the possible defunding, we'd avoided being closed down on hygiene grounds, and the future looked rosy. Hah! We'd even managed to get an increase in funding, on account of Oakfield Developments repenting of their sins, and the world looked golden. Hah! The off springs at the orphanage were happy, we three nuns were happy (they even named a brand of tobacco after us), and the dogs, as ever, were happy. Happiness bloomed all over. And, for the third time, hah! Satan had not finished throwing his tribulations at us. The first sign that something was going wrong, was when I heard chanting coming from the road outside the orphanage. I listened hard. It sounded like "Stop the nonsense". I had to google that, and what I found was totally shocking. I called a staff meeting; me, Mandy and Nora. And I explained to them what nonsense is, and they were as shocked as I was. "I have to ask," I said, "but are either of you ...?" "Certainly not!" and "No way!" were the answers, followed by "I'm surprised you even thought you needed to ask!" "Well, I said. "Nuns have been known to ..." "To what," said Nora. I looked hard at Mandy. "What?" she said. "Candles," I said. She blushed.
Diana Valkyrie Westingfield Baptist Church defunding closed down hygiene grounds funding Oakfield Developments repenting sins orphanage nuns tobacco dogs happiness Satan tribulations chanting staff meeting Mandy Nora shocked ask candles blushed.
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Respect all, fear nun - part two
Price: 5.00
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Respect all, fear nun - part two An inspector calls The letter confirming that the defunding had been rescinded, duly arrived. No surprise - Justin Graham had sworn on a bible that this would be done, and that's binding. But our celebrations were short-lived. That letter was swiftly followed by another, telling us that we were going to be inspected. If that sounded ominous, it's because it was. Not because we were doing anything wrong, but because today's America is a place where officials like the mayor make use of official systems to get what they personally want. Yes, that is corruption, but this is how it is now. We were in his way. He wanted the orphans to be in his privately run, for-profit, orphan machine - and the sisters of St Hilda wanted the orphans to have the best experiences growing up, that we could give them. I told Nancy, the Mother Superior. "Deal with it," she said, not unkindly. "I have great confidence in you, Fiona, and I'll pray for you." Prayer is good, of course, but I wanted more. "Could I borrow one of the novices?" I asked. "What for?" asked the Mother Superior. "When the inspectors call, I want to shadow them, to make sure they don't make up stuff about us. So I need the extra pair of hands. Could I borrow Daisy?" "You mean, Sister Vache?" "Yes." "OK, that's fine, you can have her for two weeks." She was called Sister Vache for a reason. And her nickname was Daisy for the same reason - a cow's udders can hold six gallons of milk, and a cow's teats are about two inches long. Daisy wasn't anywhere near that big - but nicknames don't have to be accurate.
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