Twelve florid faces jiggle with each laboured step.
All but two men wear suits, their bloated bellies hanging over spindly legs covered by expensive fabric.
Nipples chafed and thighs rubbed raw, they limp into the sanctuary.
They obediently hand over 14 mobile devices, 6 chocolate bars, some salted nuts, 2 flasks of whisky, 3 lighters, 157 cigarettes and 4 vapes prior to frisking.
The fool who attempts to keep his contraband is invited to complete 30 push-ups.
What’s so wrong about blind leaps of faith? When did we decide there was greater wisdom in the illusion of security?
The fool stands on a ledge; the precipice of an auspicious new beginning, eyes enamored with the beauty of the rose in his hand. Arms outstretched and a smile on his face, he leans past the tipping point and surrenders himself to the fall.
What some might call crazy is also an act of bravery—let go and play the fool, you never know where you might land.
Dean had longed for a change for a long time. He felt alone in this small, strange village. Here, each inhabitant spoke their own language, so it was difficult to communicate. Peter, Dean's neighbor, rode around on horseback dressed like a king, his wife, Joana, wouldn't leave the house because she felt everyone was watching her, and their children lived in isolation in a cellar.
Here, Dean was the only one who wasn't a fool, so he was considered a fool. This must have been what Galileo felt, he thought.
It was his first time living away from home, and he was determined to learn how to look after himself.
The main thing he needed to figure out was the washing machine.
He read all the instructions carefully, to ensure there’d be no mistakes.
He even read some of them twice.
Especially the part that said everything should be washed at thirty degrees.
“That sounds easy enough”, he thought to himself, as he quickly threw all his clothes inside, “But how the hell are you supposed to tilt the machine...?” 👕😎👕
“There's an old saying in Tennessee, that says, fool me once, shame on — shame on you. Fool me — you can't get fooled again. We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men and women were created by the go-, uh, you know the, you know the thing!”
"Johhny!” Mrs Robbinson said. “I’ve already told you a hundred times. Stop quoting presidents in the middle of my lessons.”
“When you’re a star, they let you do it. You can do anything. Grab ’em by the pussy. You can do anything.”
Rian… that’s quite the collage—history's blooper reel strung like pearls on a wire of irony. It’s wild, isn’t it, how the words of those in power can become both punchline and prophecy? But I think the Fool I wrote about isn’t the one fumbling the teleprompter or hiding behind bravado. Mine’s the kind who walks into fire barefoot, laughs at the illusion of control, and tells the truth so slant it makes the stars blink.
I can confirm Jay is very real, Rian :) A gem of a person in our community with heartfelt and thoughtful comments. So your detector might need an accuracy check up :)
Alexa once played the fool, believing Brandon’s lies and fake love. But when she caught him with her best friend, Selena, something inside her snapped.
No more tears.
No more begging.
Just silence—and planning.
Later that week, in the apartment where they once shared hopes and dreams, candles were lit, and wine was poured, but Brandon never saw the poison coming.
As he gasped, eyes wide, Alexa leaned in close. “Selena is next,” she whispered, watching the life fade.
Alexa wasn't heartbroken. She was deadly and planning her next revenge.
Whoa—now that’s a Fool scorched by fire and striking back with venom. Fierce, cinematic, and full of shadows.
Mine walks a different edge—less blade, more metamorphosis. And I feel the pulse of Alexa’s fury, and the quiet before the storm. Sometimes the Fool doesn’t trip—they transform.
They don't call people fools anymore. Not like they did when I was young. Now it's dumbass, moron, idiot. Or maybe "bless your heart", if they're Southern.
But that's the funny thing. When people think you're slow, they tend to let their guard down. They forget they're alone and unarmed. You're just the night janitor, given this job out of pity, not merit. Not the sharpest, but harmless. I almost pity them, so secure in their own intellect. Because it turns out these teeth are pretty damn sharp after all.
Now that Fool bites back. There’s power in being misread, isn’t there? Let them scoff at the janitor, the wanderer, the one who talks to the mop or hums to the moon. Meanwhile, the sharpest ones walk quietest, cloaked in underestimation. I love how your Fool doesn’t just play along—they watch, and when the time comes, they unmake.
Under the dim light of doubt, they sharpen their teeth.
Sometimes we can't help but forgive. The act itself full and blooming like a sigh. It is relief, it is a weight lifted. A lightness that becomes addictive.
Is that why some of us keep returning, heart in hands, lifted above our
chin in offering?
We accept the shallow apologies.
Hugs that loosen as fast as they take.
We ignore the red flags until they pool at our feet, we forget until something
clicks. Be it, a thought, or a chamber. Then it’s the fool who’ll have the last laugh.
This feels like the kind of truth you only speak once the echo has died down and you’re alone with yourself. That ache—returning with heart in hands, offering softness to the unready—it’s familiar. But oh, the shift, when the Fool sees the flags for what they are and reclaims the laugh. Not mocking, not cruel—just free. Sometimes the last laugh isn’t loud. It’s a door closing with clarity.
Have you ever danced on the edge of becoming, where gravity forgets your name? I have—called Fool, though I wear stars as crown and cradle chaos like a child. Spirals hum in my bones, the old world crumbles at my laugh. I hold fire and wine, pour dreams from an empty cup. Beneath me, no path—only potential, scattered like astrological coins. My eyes never meet yours; they seek beyond. I am seed and bloom, end and origin. Let it fall. I’m not lost—I’m being remade, barefoot in the sky of beginnings.
Were you meditating on the tarot card fool by any chance when you wrote this lovely piece? It's sort of The Fool meets The Star. Which is a great combination.
Evelyn, that was absolutely spot on—yes. The Fool’s been popping up so often in my cards lately, I felt like it was asking to be written. And I love that you sensed The Star in there too… maybe hope trailing just behind chaos, like a shimmer in the dust.
I hear you, Rian—and I appreciate you sharing that feeling. Sometimes the language of becoming can sound like unraveling, especially when it brushes up against the unknown. And for me, this wasn’t about darkness—it was about shedding the old skin, dancing barefoot where the map ends, trusting that something new takes shape in the wild.
I don't mean sinister—I mean sacred chaos. The kind that breaks the mold so something true can grow.
Thank you, Jeannine—that line came like a whisper from some ancient part of me. There’s something tender about starting over without shoes or shields, just soul against sky, isn’t there? I’m glad it spoke to you. May we all find space to begin again, unarmored and full of breath.
What a fool I was to think it wouldn't happen again. After each disappointment I'd say, "This time it won't happen. This time is a better choice."
The first one-cheater. The second-short man syndrome. The third-recovering alcoholic still in love with his ex. The fourth-acted like a father rather than a partner.
The fifth one lasted nearly 22 years. Then a detective and a cop showed up, and I found out this one was a closet pedophile.
The fool capered about. He juggled. He told jokes. Sometimes all three at once.
The courtiers gathered round ], laughing uproariously. The idiots. They had no taste, no real sense of humor. They only laughed when others laughed, who laughed when they laughed. They were easy to amuse because none of them truly had a mind of their own.
None but her.
She sat on her throne, on the dais, above them all, but he would've picked her out of a crowd on the street. Her smile was the only approval he needed.
"Don't be a fool." Gordon never minced words, especially when people around him acted stupidly. This invective was directed at his adult son, whose most recent get-rich-quick scheme involved a peculiar combination of candles and essential oils designed to "bring income on the winds of fragrance."
"There's no such thing as get-rich-quick, son. There's work, hard work, and smart investing." He taught his children better, but this one refused sage advice, instead chasing after things that promised wealth without toil. "Less Jimmy Buffett, more Warren."
The story derived from this prompt is here: https://open.substack.com/pub/algunashistorias/p/microdosing-90-mg-of-a-fool?utm_source=share&utm_medium=android&r=215lck
So here is your next instalment of Golf Shtick.
[25-05-06; 90mg of a Fool; 40 over par, so not too bad]
---
Fool – that was the word they always threw at him in childhood.
Fool at school, fool on the sports field, fumbling fool in the back of black car at the drive-in.
His daddy tried to teach him golf when he was seven.
He kept missing the ball. Couldn’t handle a mashie-niblick for toffee. “You’re a damn fool, Son! What are you? You’re a fool!”
Even his daddy called him fool.
So he gave up golf, and was relegated to the indignity of caddy.
But he was a damn good caddy. Quick, too. They got to calling him Fast Caddy Felson.
But here, inspired by the Tiger, thrashing an’ slicin’ that magical mashie, he weren’t no fool no more.
No, Fast Caddy Felson was the Chosen One.
And they were gonna win!
Fast Caddy Felson rocks! He ain't no fool!
90mg of Microdosing: Fool
Twelve florid faces jiggle with each laboured step.
All but two men wear suits, their bloated bellies hanging over spindly legs covered by expensive fabric.
Nipples chafed and thighs rubbed raw, they limp into the sanctuary.
They obediently hand over 14 mobile devices, 6 chocolate bars, some salted nuts, 2 flasks of whisky, 3 lighters, 157 cigarettes and 4 vapes prior to frisking.
The fool who attempts to keep his contraband is invited to complete 30 push-ups.
Turns out the bus didn’t break down.
Turns out, bootcamp has already begun.
I feel the pain in this story, Miguel! The most heartbreaking of life's teachings!
This one was written from experience :) I'm glad it shone through.
Yup, I sure could feel it!
90mg of FOOL
What’s so wrong about blind leaps of faith? When did we decide there was greater wisdom in the illusion of security?
The fool stands on a ledge; the precipice of an auspicious new beginning, eyes enamored with the beauty of the rose in his hand. Arms outstretched and a smile on his face, he leans past the tipping point and surrenders himself to the fall.
What some might call crazy is also an act of bravery—let go and play the fool, you never know where you might land.
Prompt, 90 words of a Fool
________________________________
Dean had longed for a change for a long time. He felt alone in this small, strange village. Here, each inhabitant spoke their own language, so it was difficult to communicate. Peter, Dean's neighbor, rode around on horseback dressed like a king, his wife, Joana, wouldn't leave the house because she felt everyone was watching her, and their children lived in isolation in a cellar.
Here, Dean was the only one who wasn't a fool, so he was considered a fool. This must have been what Galileo felt, he thought.
PROMPT: FOOL
THE WASHING MACHINE
It was his first time living away from home, and he was determined to learn how to look after himself.
The main thing he needed to figure out was the washing machine.
He read all the instructions carefully, to ensure there’d be no mistakes.
He even read some of them twice.
Especially the part that said everything should be washed at thirty degrees.
“That sounds easy enough”, he thought to himself, as he quickly threw all his clothes inside, “But how the hell are you supposed to tilt the machine...?” 👕😎👕
🤣🤣🤣
Drum roll, cymbal crash! 😂
Ka-boom Tish
Haha! Thanks! 🥁😎🥁
“There's an old saying in Tennessee, that says, fool me once, shame on — shame on you. Fool me — you can't get fooled again. We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men and women were created by the go-, uh, you know the, you know the thing!”
"Johhny!” Mrs Robbinson said. “I’ve already told you a hundred times. Stop quoting presidents in the middle of my lessons.”
“When you’re a star, they let you do it. You can do anything. Grab ’em by the pussy. You can do anything.”
Oh my goodness, I'd assumed those were both Trump quotes until I googled the Texas/Tennessee thing. Bushisms, the gifts that keep on giving!
Rian… that’s quite the collage—history's blooper reel strung like pearls on a wire of irony. It’s wild, isn’t it, how the words of those in power can become both punchline and prophecy? But I think the Fool I wrote about isn’t the one fumbling the teleprompter or hiding behind bravado. Mine’s the kind who walks into fire barefoot, laughs at the illusion of control, and tells the truth so slant it makes the stars blink.
I can confirm Jay is very real, Rian :) A gem of a person in our community with heartfelt and thoughtful comments. So your detector might need an accuracy check up :)
Rian, hi I am Jay an live in Einbeck Germany and have a cat named Monty. I am not fake and refuse your allegations
I did not expect to read a real-life horror story this morning. Oof!
90mg - Fool
________________________________________
Alexa once played the fool, believing Brandon’s lies and fake love. But when she caught him with her best friend, Selena, something inside her snapped.
No more tears.
No more begging.
Just silence—and planning.
Later that week, in the apartment where they once shared hopes and dreams, candles were lit, and wine was poured, but Brandon never saw the poison coming.
As he gasped, eyes wide, Alexa leaned in close. “Selena is next,” she whispered, watching the life fade.
Alexa wasn't heartbroken. She was deadly and planning her next revenge.
Whoa—now that’s a Fool scorched by fire and striking back with venom. Fierce, cinematic, and full of shadows.
Mine walks a different edge—less blade, more metamorphosis. And I feel the pulse of Alexa’s fury, and the quiet before the storm. Sometimes the Fool doesn’t trip—they transform.
Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned
They don't call people fools anymore. Not like they did when I was young. Now it's dumbass, moron, idiot. Or maybe "bless your heart", if they're Southern.
But that's the funny thing. When people think you're slow, they tend to let their guard down. They forget they're alone and unarmed. You're just the night janitor, given this job out of pity, not merit. Not the sharpest, but harmless. I almost pity them, so secure in their own intellect. Because it turns out these teeth are pretty damn sharp after all.
Now that Fool bites back. There’s power in being misread, isn’t there? Let them scoff at the janitor, the wanderer, the one who talks to the mop or hums to the moon. Meanwhile, the sharpest ones walk quietest, cloaked in underestimation. I love how your Fool doesn’t just play along—they watch, and when the time comes, they unmake.
Under the dim light of doubt, they sharpen their teeth.
Vampire janitor?
Sometimes it's the ones you least expect!
90mg of a fool
Sometimes we can't help but forgive. The act itself full and blooming like a sigh. It is relief, it is a weight lifted. A lightness that becomes addictive.
Is that why some of us keep returning, heart in hands, lifted above our
chin in offering?
We accept the shallow apologies.
Hugs that loosen as fast as they take.
We ignore the red flags until they pool at our feet, we forget until something
clicks. Be it, a thought, or a chamber. Then it’s the fool who’ll have the last laugh.
Yes!🙌
This feels like the kind of truth you only speak once the echo has died down and you’re alone with yourself. That ache—returning with heart in hands, offering softness to the unready—it’s familiar. But oh, the shift, when the Fool sees the flags for what they are and reclaims the laugh. Not mocking, not cruel—just free. Sometimes the last laugh isn’t loud. It’s a door closing with clarity.
Liked 😘🙏that one Miguel
90mg of a fool
Have you ever danced on the edge of becoming, where gravity forgets your name? I have—called Fool, though I wear stars as crown and cradle chaos like a child. Spirals hum in my bones, the old world crumbles at my laugh. I hold fire and wine, pour dreams from an empty cup. Beneath me, no path—only potential, scattered like astrological coins. My eyes never meet yours; they seek beyond. I am seed and bloom, end and origin. Let it fall. I’m not lost—I’m being remade, barefoot in the sky of beginnings.
Glad you liked it Jay!
Were you meditating on the tarot card fool by any chance when you wrote this lovely piece? It's sort of The Fool meets The Star. Which is a great combination.
Evelyn, that was absolutely spot on—yes. The Fool’s been popping up so often in my cards lately, I felt like it was asking to be written. And I love that you sensed The Star in there too… maybe hope trailing just behind chaos, like a shimmer in the dust.
Oof, I don't know, this sounds sinister. Maybe I'm just paranoid, lol.
I hear you, Rian—and I appreciate you sharing that feeling. Sometimes the language of becoming can sound like unraveling, especially when it brushes up against the unknown. And for me, this wasn’t about darkness—it was about shedding the old skin, dancing barefoot where the map ends, trusting that something new takes shape in the wild.
I don't mean sinister—I mean sacred chaos. The kind that breaks the mold so something true can grow.
Oh that is wonderful, especially that last line, "...barefoot in the sky of beginnings."
Thank you, Jeannine—that line came like a whisper from some ancient part of me. There’s something tender about starting over without shoes or shields, just soul against sky, isn’t there? I’m glad it spoke to you. May we all find space to begin again, unarmored and full of breath.
What a fool I was to think it wouldn't happen again. After each disappointment I'd say, "This time it won't happen. This time is a better choice."
The first one-cheater. The second-short man syndrome. The third-recovering alcoholic still in love with his ex. The fourth-acted like a father rather than a partner.
The fifth one lasted nearly 22 years. Then a detective and a cop showed up, and I found out this one was a closet pedophile.
I'm at last a recovered fool...
Reminded me of an old joke. "I never make the same mistake twice... I make it five to seven times, just to make sure it was a mistake."
The fool capered about. He juggled. He told jokes. Sometimes all three at once.
The courtiers gathered round ], laughing uproariously. The idiots. They had no taste, no real sense of humor. They only laughed when others laughed, who laughed when they laughed. They were easy to amuse because none of them truly had a mind of their own.
None but her.
She sat on her throne, on the dais, above them all, but he would've picked her out of a crowd on the street. Her smile was the only approval he needed.
The king frowned.
May 5 Fool 90
"Don't be a fool." Gordon never minced words, especially when people around him acted stupidly. This invective was directed at his adult son, whose most recent get-rich-quick scheme involved a peculiar combination of candles and essential oils designed to "bring income on the winds of fragrance."
"There's no such thing as get-rich-quick, son. There's work, hard work, and smart investing." He taught his children better, but this one refused sage advice, instead chasing after things that promised wealth without toil. "Less Jimmy Buffett, more Warren."
His son didn't get it.
It's called manifesting, Dad!
"Less Jimmy Buffett, more Warren." Haha... 😎👍
I hoped someone would get that! Seemed appropriate since Warren Buffett announced his retirement today (at 94!)
They must have dropped that one on his head....
something!