My team doesn’t tell me…

My team doesn’t tells me when something changes.
It’s not that they forget to tell me.
When I walk into the room, they stop talking.
Or, if it’s important, they stop me in the hall and just stare at me.
Then they follow up with blank emails and memos.
Once, they hired a singing telegram, and the dancing girl stood there and stared at me.
Then, they hired a skywriter to fly his airplane around without releasing any smoke.
Another airplane flew around without a trailing banner.
As long as they keep filling out my paychecks properly, I don’t mind.

Weekly Challenge #638 – Chance

Welcome to the 100 Word Stories podcast at

This is the Weekly Challenge, where I post a topic and then challenge you to come up with a 100 word story based on that topic.

We’ve got stories by:

Towel nest


Take a chance, she said, perhaps you’ll win. And he took a chance, so full of himself. After all, he was super fit. He was given a small boat and told to row South, that he would find the beach. He did. The place was amazing. First few days were easy. Then, a terrifying storm arrived. Everything was damp. He couldn’t find any food anymore. Instead of building a shelter while he was strong, he sunbathed. And then they couldn’t find him. He was in the wrong beach. Take a chance… He almost died. He did win his life back.


Chance has been my support dog for the last five years. He was a former detection dog for the local police department, but was retired when his handler made detective. I knew Chance when he was a pup, fresh from the breeder in The Netherlands.

Chance is solid black, weighs eighty nine pounds, and has an IQ higher than most of my friends.

Chance alerts me when I am impolite to strangers, when I backtalk my superiors, and when I feel like slamming some pissant in the face. He saved me a couple of times from flying off the handle.


A typical game of chance in my town, is riding a bicycle on the public streets. We have an inordinate amount of over or under medicated seniors driving around. They go the wrong way on city streets, drive peeking through the spokes of the steering wheel, don’t use signals, drive with impaired vision, and with deficient reflexes.

Some of the poor devils leave the house and get lost at the store a half mile away. They forget why they are there, lock their keys in the ignition, leave their lights on, and leave their pets sweltering in the hot car.


What am I thinking? I am writing a story with the cue word, chance. I am not intimidated, nor am I worried that I will not be able to come up with 100 words that include “chance” in the text.

I went to a summer camp when I was twelve. It was for rich kids and was called “Chance Ranch”. We were given guns when we got off the bus. Everyone had their own Kevlar vest. For the next two weeks we learned how to get along, control our tempers, and discourage counselors from cupping our balls in the pool.


Beyond Laid Back

My favorite line from Lord of the Rings is: A Chance Meeting, as we say in the Shire. It reminds me of life in Santa Cruz, California’s idea of the Shire. Once I witnessed the following on a bus ride. A young man looks up to see a young girl get on, breaks into a wide smile. They talk for a few minutes. It is obvious from their conversation they have lost track of each other’s whereabouts. As the guy departs the bus, he asks for her phone number. She declines, tell him, till we meet again. So Shire, fursure.


No chance

“No chance!”, I said when they asked me to join the office lottery syndicate.

“Seriously, do you realise just how much the odds are stacked against you? You’re more likely to be hit by lightning, or die falling out of bed!”

I decided to save my money, and laughed at the stupidity of the rest of those fools, throwing theirs away in the hope of those elusive numbers coming up.

Of course, I was laughing on the other side of my face when they did.

“Give me a break guys… You won’t miss a few thousand.”

Their response?

“No chance!”


Some of the most momentous, life changing happenings occur completely by chance.

The chance encounter whilst stood at the bar: An encounter that leads to romance, and a lifetime partnership.

The chance remark in the heat of debate: A remark that starts the thought process that leads to groundbreaking innovation.

The chance interruption… The traffic jam; the diversion; the spilled drink; the wrong turn. The interruption that saves you from the disaster that lay, unseen in your future.

But not today.

Because today, chance has brought you my way.

I am your destiny, and I never leave things to chance.


Game Show: Chance or Quit


Jon DeCles

“Mr. Kelly, you have a chance to win twenty billion squgwarts! Is that exciting?”

“Very exciting, Sir.”

“If you fail at this stage of the game, you will fall a thousand feet into an oubliette at the bottom of which are millions of ravenous, flesh-eating accountants? You got that?”

“That makes it all the more exciting!” said Mr. Kelly, who was already covered with a dark green fungus from the previous round.

“Here’s the question then: Why is a Raven Like a Writing Desk? Will you take the chance or will you quite?”

“It’s a chance I have to take!”


The Final Adventure
by Jeffrey Fischer

The starship shuddered from another blast from the plasma monster. “Captain! Shields are down to 20%! If we don’t find a way to reverse course, we’re finished!” The captain drummed his fingers on his command chair, considering the options open to him. Direct remaining power to the engines? Tried and failed. Ditto blasting out. The bridge crew looked expectantly at their leader, but the captain’s expression was grim.

“Gentlemen, we’re out of options. It’s been my honor to work with every one of you. Comms, send a final message to HQ, warning other vessels to avoid this system.”

As the close-up shot of the captain faded and an ad for Ivory soap took its place, Allison gripped my hand. She asked “How will they defeat the monster? This is the end for all of them, isn’t it?”

“Not a chance. This season’s ratings have been through the roof. I expect to see previews of next season any day now.”


“Well. You’re welcome to come, if you want,” Linoliumanda said to Roderick.
“Not a chance,” he sneered and moved to the back of the bus.
“Is it really just us two at the party?” Billbert gulped.
Linoliumanda joined him.
“Yeah. I don’t have many friends.” She sighed.
“Why not? You seem nice to me,” Billbert said, discretely sniffing the air for unusual smells.
“Thanks.” She smiled. “I think most kids are afraid of my father. Sometimes he shouts and threatens.”
“Really? Doesn’t that bother you?”
“Oh, no. He never threatens or yells at me,” she laughed. “Only people I’m with.”


There’s always a chance of a bird strike at an airport.
Tens of thousands of starlings live in the woods and ravines around the airport, and they sometimes fly into the runways and the engines of planes taking off.
So, we send out the Falconmaster with his team of falcons.
Birds naturally avoid birds of prey, so they stayed away from the runways.
There hadn’t been a bird strike in over ten years.
The university came up with a technological solution.
A robotic falcon drone.
It worked well, until someone hijacked the signal.
And ran it into a plane’s engine.

The next weekly challenge topic is Quill

Hi there. This is Laurence Simon of the 100 Word Stories Podcast at

Every week, I post a topic for the Weekly Challenge, where you come up with the stories and I collect them up and share them.

Want to give it a try? The topic of the next 100 Word Stories Weekly Challenge is Quill:

Write a 100 word story on that topic. Then, send it in an email to isfullofcrap (at) with the subject line of WEEKLY CHALLENGE.

Do you have a website where people can learn more about you and your writing? Include the URL to that website.

Also, suggest a topic or topics for future Weekly Challenges.

Most importantly, include a recording of your story. Be sure to introduce yourself to the audience.

If you hate the sound of your voice or can’t record your story for some reason or another, that’s your problem. Deal with it. I am not recording your story for you.

Everything’s due by Sunday morning when I put the episode together. However, if you’re running late, I can put your story up on the feed in a separate post.

Good luck, and as always… keep it brief.

JAN 7 Slack
JAN 14 Involved
JAN 21 Smartypants

FEB 4 Why not?
FEB 11 If only I had…
FEB 18 Grab a bag…

MAR 4 Generally
MAR 11 Braided
MAR 18 Water

APR 1 Hardly
APR 8 Vibration
APR 15 Weak
APR 22 Camping

MAY 6 Fly
MAY 13 Organ
MAY 20 Pizza

JUNE 3 Tip
JUNE 10 Ratchet
JUNE 17 Wafer

JULY 1 Never say…
JULY 8 Stab
JULY 15 Chance
JULY 22 Quill

AUG 5 Power
AUG 12 When the lights went out…
AUG 19 Flay
Out of sync

SEP 2 Win
SEP 9 Driver error
SEP 16 Addictive
SEP 23 Chaos

OCT 7 Dug
OCT 14 Mystery
OCT 21 Turtle

NOV 4 Dispute
NOV 11 Braced
NOV 18 Flower

DEC 2 Too much
DEC 8 Polar
DEC 16 Belt
DEC 23 Irritation

Memory Foam

I bought a memory foam mattress.
It’s comfortable. And I sleep well.
At least I thought I did.
Turns out, I toss and turn all night.
But the foam absorbs my memories.
So I forget the discomfort and restlessness. And the pain.
That would be fine, as long as I don’t forget anything else.
I assume that the memories aren’t totally gone.
They’re in the mattress. Deep in there.
Years of lost sleep.
Years of my life, good and bad.
Years of time with you.
Whoever you are, because for the life of me, I can’t remember who you are.

Release Cycle

We release new versions of the software every four months.
At the end of the development cycle, we declare a feature freeze.
Then, we test all of the features of the software to make sure it all works.
Once we finish testing, we release it to the public.
Developers and companies who need advance copies of features in development can join the bleeding edge releases.
That way, they can test against the upcoming features.
What? We’re changing to three month cycles?
And some day, maybe even two-week cycles?
I get out my aspirin bottle.
Ah, aspirin. Some things never change.

Transportation Vacation

Ships leave once a month to carry men sentenced to transportation.
Exile to Australia.
The trip from England to Australia is a long one, and perilous.
Some crew stab their passengers mid-journey.
Others throw them overboard into the ocean.
A few show mercy, and release them in Africa or some island.
The crew then estimates how long it would take to get to Australia, resupply, and then head back home.
And they go on a vacation.
Whores in Madrid? Wine in Paris?
Whatever, as long as it doesn’t involve smelly, evil prisoners.
Until they need to go back for more.

The Flagpole

I looked out my office window at the next building over.
Their flag is at half mast.
I don’t know of anyone famous that has died recently. Or any local disasters.
Maybe someone at their office died.
That’s a shame.
So, is there a job opening?
Or maybe someone’s husband died… are they hot? Or a rich widow? Or widower?
Maybe I should go over there and offer my condolences.
And bring something… maybe flowers?
They have some nice flowers in the landscaping around the flagpole.
I could pick some of those.
But I’ll wait until lunch to do it.

Jackie the Joke Man

When Jackie was growing up, other kids would tell him “Tell us a joke, man!”
So, Jackie became Jackie the Joke Man.
He tried to turn it into a job, but he struggled.
Folks would say “Jackie, you’re a joke, man!”
He stuck with it, toured and made albums, wrote for popular television and radio shows, and made a decent living.
Now, the young comedians steal his material, and audiences accuse Jackie of stealing their material?
Jackie doesn’t like that shit, and he tracks them down.
“Okay, put down that gun!” they scream. “I’ll pay you for your joke, man!”

New credit card

My credit card expired, so the credit card company sent me a new card in the mail.
I opened the envelope and left it on the table to remind me to activate it.
The next morning, as I was going through my list of tasks to do before heading to work, I saw that the envelope was covered with cat barf.
“Which of you two shits did this?” I asked our cats.
Both just stared back at me, sitting comfortably, and crooking their tails happily.
I guess I won’t be using this card to buy cat treats any time soon.

Weekly Challenge #637 – Stab

Welcome to the 100 Word Stories podcast at

This is the Weekly Challenge, where I post a topic and then challenge you to come up with a 100 word story based on that topic.

We’ve got stories by:

Sleepy Tin


I was willing to take a stab at it. I had never done anything anywhere like it before, but I had enough whiskey in me to try it. The prize was two hundred dollars and a week of free drinks at the bar. It started slow, but the contest attracted a dozen more contestants in a few minutes.

The rules were clear. If you agreed to participate, you had to go out into the busy street and start singing Cindy Lauper’s True Colors in a high, falsetto, while Twerking in a tight, knit, pink, thong.

Naturally, I won, hands down.


Stabbing has become a team sport in many large, metropolitan cities in Europe and the United States.

You can be shopping or taking a leisurely walk with your sweetheart and some maniac will run up to you and jam a long blade into your back or your neck.

They will take a couple of shots at it, making sure they have done enough damage to end your life. They might yell some incoherent words at you, or the familiar Allahu akbar!

If some fool tries this with me, I’d put a few holes in his head with my umbrella sword.


The two men sat on the porch, looking at the inferior ones, they’d say. The porch became a symbol of power, of dominance. Only those who ruled could sit there and watch the others while they went about their lives. Ron felt like he was in jail and those two men were the guards.
One day, in a moment of lunacy, Ron took over the porch. He stabbed one of the men and knocked the other one out. He was king of the porch for 10 minutes. The best 10 minutes of his life. After that, it was all downhill.



I thought I’d take a stab at the hundred word story writing thing.

At the time, I had no idea of the evils of the drabble – in fact, if you’d told me at the time that it can become a habit as addictive as crack cocaine, I’d have laughed at you.

Shows how much I knew!

It’s nowhere near as bad as crack though, obviously…

Apart from the compulsive need for more, ever more; the cold sweats; the rage; the mood swings; the feverish nightmares and the inability ever to let it go.

No, nothing like crack at all!


Pole Position
by Jeffrey Fischer

The big-boned woman at the other end of the bar winked at him. She wasn’t his type, but he was a “two at ten and a ten at two” sort of guy and the bartender had already shouted for last call. He made his way to her and decided on the direct approach. “Wanna see Mister Stabby? Let’s go somewhere private and he can come out and play.” She agreed and they drove to a cheap motel.

As he started to undress, she stopped him with a hand on his arm. “You don’t want to see what I have under there?” he asked, leering drunkenly.

“I sure do,” she said, discarding her skirt, and the bulge was obvious, “but me first. Meet *my* Mister Stabby.” He yelped and ran unsteadily to his car.


Addictive Damage

“I’ll take a stab at it,” said Jerome. The ‘It’ was six feet four, weighed in at 290 pounds. Jerome, no piker himself, was well over 11 feet and 400 plus. He had to make his way over a few bodies to get to ‘It’. If ‘It’ had a superior mental capacity there would probably have been twice the bodies, this was not the case. Dumb as a boot, just mean as junk-yard dog from LA. So when Jerome got into the bit radius ‘It’ lunged forward. Jerome dropped to one knee raised his blade upward. ‘It’ provided the force.


You know what? I’m starting to get tired of your constant failure to leave your husband and move in with me.

You tell me you don’t want to cause him pain and that every time you psych yourself up to do it, you lose your resolve and realise just what a special person he is.

You tell me about all the wonderful things he does for you, and that even though you want to be with me, he’s done nothing wrong; nothing to deserve being dumped.

You tell me, you just can’t stab him in the back.

But, I could!


The eagle lands with a thud knocking the wind from the lamb’s body. Its front talons clamp around its ribs, and the rear talons stab it through. It heaves its prey into the air, and eventually returns to me, deposits the body, and goes to its recharging station.

Eagles are almost extinct, but these are the next best thing. We’re also working on a pack of robotic wolves that can bring down a man. The military are interested in that one.

The lamb will not go to waste. I have a recipe for new-born lamb that is to die for.


Roderick looked about to hit Billbert when Linoliumanda climbed on the bus. She sat behind the two.

With a gentle stab of her finger into his shoulder, she said, “Billbert. You’re still coming to my party tomorrow night, right?”

“Hey. No one invited me. Are you disrespecting me?” Roderick grabbed a handful of Billbert’s shirt.

“Come on, Roderick. You don’t really want to go. It’s just seventh-grader stuff,” Billbert begged.

“You could come if you want, Roderick. It’s just me and Billbert.” Linoliumanda shrugged.

“What?” Billbert gasped.

“Forget it. I don’t want to go to any seventh-grade party,” Roderick sneered.


A Simple Inquisition


Jon DeCles

“Why is a raven like a writing desk?”

“Hmm, I’ll take a stab at that. Because Poe wrote on both of them!”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Well, you understand, Edgar Allan Poe wrote on the subject of a raven, and he also wrote the poem, on paper, which was on a writing desk. So he wrote on both a raven and a writing desk.”

“I am afraid that both of them being utilized by a poet in completely different categories of usage is not the same thing as a case of similarity. You fail! Now, the pit or the pendulum?”


Fuckin’ beer guys, are they on strike?
Frankie got up and went to get beer, but he never came back.
He felt a stabbing pain in his chest while waiting in the line, and he dropped like a sack of potatoes.
The medics got him to the hospital.
They checked his pockets, but Bill always held on to the tickets.
And he never took his phone to game.
“Where the fuck is Frankie with our beer?” growled Joey. “God damn Frankie!”
The doctors called Frankie’s wife, she called us with the bad news.
We had to get our own beer.