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The Black Box by Clayton James

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Rob and Paula are sceptical of their town council's unsettlingly bizarre new waste management system, and distracted by their nightmare neighbours. Image generated with OpenAI Waste Management dropped off our new kitchen trash container at some point that morning, and when I first laid eyes on it, I thought someone had made a mistake. Instead of a sturdy plastic tub with an attached lid and handle, as pictured on Waste Management's website, I'd received a black wooden box that looked like something Saruman might have stored his palantir in. Since the envelope that accompanied it bore my name - Robert Conners - and my address, someone had sent me the ugly, medieval-looking box on purpose. The box itself - measuring twelves inches on each side - was as heavy as it looked. After scooping the envelope off my porch, I grabbed the iron handle atop the lid and lugged it into my kitchen, where my calico, Wesley, eyed the box with wide-eyed contempt. When I placed the box on top of ...

In Poor Taste by Luke John Spiby

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18th century beggar Archie applies for a job as the Queen's poison checker, but doesn't expect her to be so flirtatious. Image generated with OpenAI Chapter One The Queen's Antechamber It is much too decadent to describe. That would honestly be a waste of precious time and would probably require a dictionary. A better option, if you're wondering what this particular Queen's antechamber looks like, is to picture the most tacky, over-the-top person you know - if no one instantly comes to mind, that's because it's you - and imagine how they would decorate if they were alive during the Rococo period of the 18th century and had an essentially unlimited budget. Yes, it truly is that bad. Oh, and if you're wondering what exactly an antechamber is: well, it's basically a slightly smaller room that leads to the bedroom - like a waiting room, you could say, because what monarch worth their salt doesn't need an entirely separate room for their subjects ...

Burger Burning Bonanza by Ashley Lemley

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A city journalist heads out to smalltown Texas to document a wild burger-eating festival, and the legendary local determined to achieve the impossible. Image generated with OpenAI It was 101 degrees in Calhoun, Texas. "Feels like 115", read my weather app as a drop of my own sweat landed upon the screen. I was scared to exit the car because outside there was not only a lack of air conditioning, but I spied actual flames. On each visible streetcorner - all four of them - there were small charcoal grills and a small crowd of people gathered around each one. At the helm of each grill stood an extra sweaty man, donning an apron like a Captain's hat. Since the dusty car had pulled up, their attentions were directed away from their vessels and onto it. Onto me. Dirty white t-shirts seemed to be the uniform of Calhoun, I noted as I begrudgingly exited the four-door station wagon that had ferried me from the airport to the town boasting a population of 950. I pulled my roller b...