Nine Souls for a Bloody Mary

If you think back to the autumn into winter challenges, you may remember that I found the villanelle challenge psychologically abusive and you may have accepted a free pass to my insanity show in one of these pieces. (Fuck you, Vocal, for that villanelle of regret challenge. I hope it was as torturous for the team to read them as it was for me, as it's only fair to reap what you sow. (Parentheses intentionally left open. Did it again.

And of course, the unofficial challenge itself, all glossy like an Applebee's table tent:

So what happened in this popping of my unofficial challenge cherry?

14 readers (including me) claimed to like it, or at least accidentally clicked or tapped the heart.

17 readers commented (weird disparity of more comments than likes)

Nine readers played my game, bringing gems like these to my Bloody Mary bar (no olives present--you aren't making tomato martinis at my bar).

Everyone's pockets were fabulous.

Paul's pockets: In my pockets I'd have a Babushka style pocket in my left hand pocket that had a series of progressively smaller things in each previous things.

In my other pocket of my jeans the right side I'd have a device that allowed me to teleport. In a jacket pocket I'd have some kind of sweet treat to give to others and in other pocket a small handful of the suns glory.

Mark's pockets: If I could fit anything in my pocket, it would be a solar system. Not necessarily ours, but one that I could take out and stare in amazement at its colors and majesty as I watch it float in space.

Milan's pockets: pretty sure I’d tuck away a thunderstorm, a jazz riff, and maybe a small moon just to keep things interesting.

Marie's pockets: In my pocket I would have a jar filled with true ever lasting love that would make my man cherish adore and love me deeply lol

John's pockets: Memories.

Like my mother bending to kiss my forehead when I was a wee laddie, her long wavy hair brushing my cheek.

Or the steam escaping one of my grandmother's tender angel biscuits after I tore it open.

Any of a thousand lingering kisses shared with my wife.

Or her chasing me with a toothbrush through the house wearing one of my tee shirts and laughing manically.

The first time I held our baby daughter in my arms and her big brown eyes stared intensely into mine.

Or the time at the Frankfurt Zoo when my son took my hand in his and I treasured every moment of it knowing in my heart it would never happen again.

Holding my baby grandson Campbell the first time he laughed, his throaty giggles stealing my heart away, again and again and again.

The last time I saw my father when he was dying, emaciated from cancer and still just happy to see me and happy to be alive.

Or any of a thousand memories of our family gathered for Christmas or Thanksgiving, the house filled with laughter and good fellowship.

Matt's pocket protector: GTFO with your riddles in the dark Bilbao

Jose doesn't need pockets, or perhaps he'll keep them open as storage units if that bec0mes necessary, like if he sees a cool rock and wants to keep it but his hands are full: Personally, I wouldn't carry anything in the universe in my pockets, because I'd prefer to travel light and let the cosmos guide me on a journey of discovery and adaptation, letting the cosmos envelop me, and show me everything that cannot be seen from Earth. That way, my journey would be very light and I would enjoy it more.

Caitlin's pockets: My dad's house in Jamaica, which would remain with me until I received the apology I need, when he abandoned me.

Next, a nice, docile, yet fierce-looking crocodile that would serve as my personal, instant boundary to keep all the needless drama and BS away from me. And finally, I'd carry the Northern Lights in a tiny, contained shimmer because I am too broke to ever see one, and I need that magic to cheer me up, lol. 😝♥️🤗🖤

Diane's pockets: A mood-swinging chameleon: It changes colors based on your emotions, so you’d basically have a living mood ring. Bonus: it could double as a fashion accessory when you’re feeling extra stylish.

A tiny orchestra of hamsters: They whip out violins and cellos whenever you need dramatic background music. Imagine walking into a meeting with your own hamster symphony swelling behind you. Instant gravitas.

A jar of bottled laughter: Whenever things get awkward or gloomy, you pop the lid and unleash contagious giggles. It’s like carrying a portable comedy club in your pocket.

Mikey next leveled it with this: Impossible

Matt Fromm won the Manafort portion (only one who touched that one in time)

John Cox had the best pockets as well as the first response.

You'll have to your own spelunking through my comments for the best kiss information, not handing that over on a silver spoon for you thieves to steal ahead of me. If you're offended by being called a thief, you're not putting your all (and others) into your writing. Grow up and steal something. Like my main man Tom (Eliot) said, "Immature poets imitate; mature poets steal." Changes the way you look at The Wasteland, doesn't it? Yeah, all of those footnotes? That's Eliot bragging about what he stole. Damn fine writing.

Fun fact: if you add "zilla" every time you see "God", life becomes much more hilarious. Godzilla loves you. There is only one Godzilla, and he is the almighty (just ask King Kong or Sasquatch).