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Just a fun short story to go in the story contest. This has a completely different tone from my first story, and it fits neatly between it and its second part. I did this to kinda lighten up, because I want a break from writing about WWIII. (It gets to you after a while. 
) Anyway, no further ramblings...
There was, in the town of Warwick, an old lady named Ms. Ipswich. She got very angry if anyone called her Mrs. Smith, as her husband was dead. Her husband, thankfuly, was dead, as she liked to put it. In short, she was a very mean lady.
A British public school was behind her house, and kids would play cricket in the area. But any ball that went over her barbed wire fence was a lost ball, without any questions asked. Particularly because the balls often landed in her rose garden. She spent 12 hours a day working on her rose garden, 8 hours sleeping in a lawn chair near it with a shotgun across her lap, and the other 4 yelling at people.
So, needless to say, when the British Royal army forced her to sell her home to the government so an arms manufacturing plant could be built there, she was not a happy camper. Literally, a camper. She built a tent near her rose garden, protecting it from the British troops.
But at last, the government lured her into giving up her gun. Then they overpowered her, and she was dragged, biting and scratching, to Saint LeAnne's Asylum. Then the government began construction.
In less than three months, Ms. Ipswich escaped from the asylum. Three days later, the manufacturing plant blew up.
(Yes, I do know where this is going. its going to be silliness, but it will be controlled silliness.
)
So, what do you think so far? Funny? or not funny?
) Anyway, no further ramblings...There was, in the town of Warwick, an old lady named Ms. Ipswich. She got very angry if anyone called her Mrs. Smith, as her husband was dead. Her husband, thankfuly, was dead, as she liked to put it. In short, she was a very mean lady.
A British public school was behind her house, and kids would play cricket in the area. But any ball that went over her barbed wire fence was a lost ball, without any questions asked. Particularly because the balls often landed in her rose garden. She spent 12 hours a day working on her rose garden, 8 hours sleeping in a lawn chair near it with a shotgun across her lap, and the other 4 yelling at people.
So, needless to say, when the British Royal army forced her to sell her home to the government so an arms manufacturing plant could be built there, she was not a happy camper. Literally, a camper. She built a tent near her rose garden, protecting it from the British troops.
But at last, the government lured her into giving up her gun. Then they overpowered her, and she was dragged, biting and scratching, to Saint LeAnne's Asylum. Then the government began construction.
In less than three months, Ms. Ipswich escaped from the asylum. Three days later, the manufacturing plant blew up.
(Yes, I do know where this is going. its going to be silliness, but it will be controlled silliness.
)So, what do you think so far? Funny? or not funny?
.
With the arms manufacturing plant gone, England was losing defensive power, and the smaller Germany now had a shot at a takeover. They just had to swiftly invade England before its superior industry could turn the tide back.
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