I am a substitute teacher.
I am teaching a class in a school made from temporary buildings.
The original school was destroyed by a tornado. This school is a substitute.
All of the children in the class are foster children. Substitutes for biological children that their parents couldn’t have on their own.
Well, step-parents. Their original parents got divorced, then divorced again.
I was supposed to teach biology, but fundamentalists protested, so we’re teaching a science class as a substitute.
At the end of the year, we gave out grades in a different alphabet.
Nobody knows who the fuck passed.

For the want of a poet

President Theodore Roosevelt heard that a famous poet was working for the subway.
“A poet can do much more for this country than the proprietor of a nail factory,” said the president, and he had the poet transferred to an easier job at the customs house.
Word of this incident got out to Wallace P. Hammer, the legendary nail factory magnate.
“Damn you, Theodore Roosevelt!” he shouted. “I’ll teach you to insult my line of valuable fastening products!”
Hammer ordered the production lines halted, and his workers to write poetry all day.
Roosevelt quietly apologized, and then shot a moose.

Poker Night

Poker Night at the magic guild sometimes got fierce.
It was down to one last hand, Aaron and Jane raising and raising and raising.
Jane ran out of chips.
Aaron suggested that she suck his dick if she lost. “Til I come.”
“Fine,” she said.
And she lost.
Aaron stood up, unzipped, and dropped his pants.
Jane cast a spell, and detached Aaron’s penis. And then she sucked it.
Aaron didn’t feel a thing, but after the initial outrage, he smiled.
“It’s not spurting, is it?”
Jane stopped sucking, put Aaron’s penis back on, and got down on her knees.

Take it easy

I’m under a lot of stress.
So, my doctor told me to take it easy.
Which made things more stressful.
Because I was trying really hard to take things easy.
Too hard. Way too hard.
So, he prescribed some pills.
When I went to the drugstore, they had a problem with the prescription authorization.
Then, they had a problem with the insurance co-pay.
After two hours, I picked up a chair and beat the pharmacist to death.
By the time the cops arrived, I felt calm and relaxed.
Now, I’m in prison, and getting into fights every day.
Feels great.

The maid

The maid comes once per week.
We always clean up before she comes.
Not because she charges by the hour. She’s here all day.
No, it’s because some of the things we leave out and strewn around, we don’t want other people seeing.
Or picking up and keeping as evidence for later blackmail attempts.
So, we scrub the floors, deep-vacuum the carpets, wipe the counters, and get everything so shiny, it looks as new the day we bought it.
The maid comes, looks around, and then watches television all day.
As long as she brings us the weed, we’re fine.

On break

“I’m going to take a break,” said God. “I need more coffee.”
He stood up from his desk, stretched, picked up His coffee mug, and went down the hall.
Nobody’s seen Him since then.
The angels aren’t sure what to do.
They thought about hiring a temp, but nobody knows God’s passwords.
And He never bothered to finish the universe’s owner’s manual.
All they’ve got are a few scribbled notes here and there.
And the diagram for a platypus.
“Run this by manufacturing” it says.
Boy, that was a stressful day.
When they let a few mockups loose in Australia.

Weekly Challenge #582 – I can’t believe that…

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:



The Heist
by Jeffrey Fischer

It was the perfect heist. Mike had scoped out the bank while I planned the getaway route. We’d demand everything from the teller drawers which, on a Friday, would be bursting with cash for payday.

The first part went like clockwork. Mike and I entered the bank with our masks and pulled our guns, covering the guard and ensuring no one pushed a panic button. We split the bags of cash and went our separate ways in case one of us got caught, arranging to meet later. That’s when everything went sour.

The cops were waiting by my car. I couldn’t believe that son of a bitch Mike set me up. As the cops read me my rights, I heard another set of sirens nearby. At least my anonymous call prior to the heist got a quick response.


Luv Story

I can’t believe that we’re still together after all these years!
[I can’t believe that I’ve stuck with you all this time]

I never really knew what you saw in me.
[It was your inheritance!]

And after all this time, you still love me.
[I tolerate you – it’s your money I love]

And you’ll stick by me, no matter what.
[Just as long as the money lasts]

So, I know you’ll forgive me, and somehow we’ll get by…
[Whaddya mean?]

The money… I honestly thought he was a Nigerian prince!

I can’t believe that I fell for it!


“What are cobalt, fluorine and iron together?”
Everyone looked puzzled by the question.
The café owner grinned.
“Think about it for a bit.”
She walked away, basking in how the tricky question had caught the cheeky young men off-guard. Each day, they would ask her questions she couldn’t answer and laughed at her ignorance.
After a few minutes, she went back to their table.
“Well? I can’t believe you couldn’t come up with one little answer.”
They shook their heads, baffled.
She poured a cup of coffee slowly.
They still looked puzzled.
“Coffee! Co, plus F, plus Fe. Hah! Gotcha!”


I had a craving for some meat. I was coerced into a vegan diet by my partner for the past year, but now, left alone for a few days, I foraged in the back of the freezer. I found an unmarked package wrapped in butcher paper. I hoped it was the beef I hid behind the ice cubes.

I unwrapped the package, rubbed the chunk of meat with my favorite spices and put it in the oven – 475 degrees for four hours should do it. I can’t believe I ate the whole thing.

It was like eating a charcoal briquette.


They say your life flashes before your eyes in that brief moment before death.

I can categorically tell you that isn’t true – I’ve despatched many unfortunate victims and never once have I seen the slightest evidence of their lives flashing before their eyes before they succumb to the inevitable.

I’ve seen abject misery, extreme fear, utter terror and total despair; shock, horror and dismay… All of these emotions and more, I’ve seen flash before the eyes of the condemned.

I’ve seen the foreboding of death in the eyes of the dying…

But life? No – I can’t believe that.


A Wasted Youth is Better by Far than a Wise and Productive Old Age

I can’t believe Paul McCartney is 75. How that happen? One minute its 1963 the next your chew up the front end of a new millennium. Hell Ann-Margret even older, so Raquel Welch. Jane Fonda is pushing 80. Kennedy is 100, but he’s dead so is Bowie, Glen Fry, and Gregg Allman. So what’s your point old man? I’m a god damn Boomer, and we Do not go gentle into that good night, Old age should burn and rave at close of day; Rage, rage against the dying of the light. Thank you Dylan. I think I’ll take a nap




Jon DeCles

Americans have been trained to credulity for several generations now. It was an evil moment when advertising executives were enfolded by politics. The schools slipped from teaching reading, writing, and arithmetic to television appreciation and obedience to authority. Any knowledge that was more than three months old became obsolete; nothing was worth remembering for more than three months, and eventually the group memory of Americans became no more than three months, though everybody possessed an exception: hobby memory, like baseball statistics.

It should not have surprised me when she said: “I can’t believe that you’d think President Nixon would lie!”


Jack’s mother glared at him and said, “I can’t believe that a son of mine could be stupid enough to accept four beans for one entire milk cow.”
Jack opened his mouth to speak.
“And don’t tell me some story about them being magical and giants living in the clouds.”
Jack shrugged and shoved his hands into his pockets.
“Now, go out there and get our cow back,” his mother snarled at him. “And if you can’t find our cow, don’t come back at all.”
Jack walked out, a solid gold egg in each fist, and never came home again.


This is a somewhat factual tale. I’m ignorant of the world around me,
too selfish to take part in learning because I’m just that lazy. It
is on a frequent basis that the news is fed to me as half truths and
silly lies from my husband.

“Did you hear Pink died from a failed cartwheel off the stage?”

“Nuh uh…”

“Reports are out, a cow sent into space is now grazing on mars grass.”

“Sure, whatever.”

“A law just passed you can’t throw snowballs on Sunday.”

“Stop messing with me.”

“Guess who’s president.”

“I..I don’t want to believe that.”


I can’t eat popcorn anymore.
It’s just too tough on me.
And every time I’ve had popcorn in the past six months, I’ve suffered a bout of kidney stones.
Is it causation or correlation?
Doesn’t matter. I’m not taking any chances.
When I go to the movie theater, I am immersed in a cloud of popcorn stench.
It’s so damned tempting.
I ask for a caffeine-free diet Coke and two hot dogs.
The register girl looks at me strangely.
I ask again.
She’s still confused.
So, I take off my gas mask and repeat my order.
Goddamned motherfucking popcorn stench.