"Ubaner, I have your order!"
"It's about time! What took you so long?"
"Sorry, it took a while to climb the beanstalk."
"Never mind that. Hand it over."
"Here you go, ma'am. Have a good day."
"Hold your horses, mister. Let me check it first."
"I'm on a tight schedule."
"And I'm on a short leash. Breadsticks, check."
"Extra napkins. Hot sauce. Apple crumble, check."
"Are we good?"
"Wait a damned minute. This is a microtown."
"Yup. Have a good day!"
"Don't you move a muscle! I ordered a microcity!"
"You'll have to take it up with the people you ordered it from."
"I'm taking it up with you!"
"I'm just the messenger."
"So kill the messenger?"
"That's not how the saying goes."
"Have you seen 300?"
"I'll take the order back, if you want."
"The hell you will. I'm keeping it..."
"Great. I'll be going now."
"...but I want dessert."
"I don't have any............have a good day!!!"
"Stop! You're burning off tasty portions of yourself!"
General Rapson frowned at the massive sleeping form in the middle of the city. The giantess was disturbingly large. Only some of the skyscrapers stood taller than her vast recumbent body.
"As you can see, sir, they managed to subdue her," said the adjutant.
"So it would seem," said the General in his gravelly voice. "However, nobody has enlightened me as to how they accomplished it. I am also clueless as to how long she's going to be out."
"Yes, sir. Which is why I've brought you their representative, Mr. Jones."
The General's frown turned to the small man in what appeared to be a white uniform. In his hands he held a cap, which he fiddled with incessantly.
"Can you tell me why my army isn't needed?" the General asked, ominously.
"Well, sir. General. Mister. Sir," stammered Jones. "We've seen the results of military attacks on this giantess. It usually doesn't end well for us civilian types. Not meaning any disrespect. So we decided to try something different." He paused.
"And?" the general rumbled.
"Oh...of course. We sent her an ice cream truck."
"I don't follow you."
"She really likes ice cream," Jones explained. "She peeled it open like a little fun size candy bar and enjoyed the contents."
"So that mollified her?" asked the General.
"To be honest, sir, it wound her up even worse," said Jones. "So we sent in more ice cream trucks. And when we ran out of those we sent in dessert trucks, candy trucks, and trucks with sugary drinks. Well, sir, after a couple of hours she flopped over and started snoring."
The General pursed his lips. He glanced at his adjutant, then back at Jones, then out at the snoozing giantess. After a bit he shook his head.
"You weaponized sugar," he muttered. "Best damned idea I've heard in years. How would you like to have a government contract?"
She stood a staggering 8 furlongs tall, which was more than big enough to rattle the teeth (and towns) of anybody in the area as she wandered about, with strides covering nearly 3 furlongs at a shot.
Her eyelashes measured 2 rods in length. Interestingly enough, that was just a little shorter than the daunting view of her massive, pearly white front teeth. And if you're really fond of consistency, you'll be glad to know that her fingernails were just a bit longer than that.
Her feet measured about 11 and half chains long, and about 4 chains wide, which I'm sure you'll agree is a considerable amount. Wherever she stepped an area measuring 1 rood was obliterated beneath her soles, usually to a depth of several fathoms. How's that for rude?
When people said she was in a league of her own, what they were really suggesting was the minimum distance you wanted to be away from her, if you valued your skin. Additional leagues substantially improved your chances.
Finally, because people are bound to ask, the volume of just one of her daunting breasts was no less than 500,000 wine tuns. This likely explains the failure of people to get out of her way, because when that much curvy goodness is bouncing and bobbling around, it's hard to focus on other, more trivial issues, like survival.
Out of respect, and a healthy fear of retribution, there will be no discussion of her weight...
I'm feeling lazy. I don't want to create nuthin'. I had to be all chirpy and bright for a webinar, rather than yawning my fool head off. And that was after several hours of meetings. Then I found out that I get to wait six more weeks before I'm going to (maybe) start the process of getting my favorite chewing tooth back. Meanwhile my poor kitchen is being reimagined. So I've been living off of a variety of terrifying frozen meals.
But lo! Spring sprang just enough for the asparagus to pop up...
So I had that for dinner. It was nice. Looking forward to more. Gonna have to plant some other stuff soon. However, eating healthy was not a cure for my laziness. I still don't wanna create nuthin'.
I have an idea for tomorrow's journal. I'll have fun with that. And if the muse is merciful (HA!), maybe I'll have a few more ideas to nooky away. Gotta get ahead of the ball for once.
It's a nice night. Pleasantly cool. Slight promise of rain in the air. Birdies are warbling merrily in the gathering twilight. There's a kitty in the window appraising their songs, and probably wondering if they're crunchy.
That's all for now...
Ed turned on the radio,
"If you live around the northeastern part of North America," said the newscaster, "enjoy these last few days and nights of peace and quiet before the cicada group called Brood X crawls out of the ground."
"Is that a bad thing?" Jessica asked. She was sprawled out lying prone out the ground with her huge head near Ed to better hear the radio.
Ed turned the radio back off. "Well," he said, "I've heard they can get as loud as 100 decibels. That's like a motorcycle, a lawnmower, or a jackhammer."
Jessica made a face. "How long do they do it for?"
"A week or two," he explained. "They don't last long. But for a little while it's going to be really, stupid noisy. I have no idea how easy it's going to be to sleep."
"Why do they do it?" she asked.
"It's the fellas calling out to the gals," said Ed. "Luring them close with their dulcet song. Kinda like being serenaded by a combination of Def Leppard, Rammstein, and a Harrier jet taking off."
"Males, huh?" said Jessica, furrowing her brow. "It's always the troublesome males."
"Good thing we're so endearing," said Ed.
"Keep telling yourself that," she told him, giving him a gentle pat on the head with one colossal fingertip that knocked him flat.