Welcome to the 100 Word Stories podcast at oneadayuntilthedayidie.com.
This is Weekly Challenge, where I post a topic and then challenge you to come up with a 100 word story based on that topic: NEW JERSEY
We’ve got stories by:
- John Musico
- Anima Zabaleta
- Norval Joe
- Dionysis Clowes
- Tura Brezoianu
- Planet Z
The next 100 word stories weekly challenge is on the topic of UNDERGROUND. Scroll up and click on Weekly Challenge to learn how to join us!
NOTE: I feel that my rambling in between stories disrupts the storytelling. And I really don’t like the impersonal robot voice in between the stories. So, let’s try it without anything between the stories for a while and see how that works.
by John Musico
I was flying into Newark NJ, the murder capital of the U.S. My wallet was in one front pants pocket and my jewelry in the other.
The cab proceeded through the factory town of Elizabeth where the stench and smoke hurt my lungs.
However soon after, the surroundings changed drastically. The highway had no trash and was crested by landscaping.
On either side of the highway; trees abounded. I always wondered why NJ is called the Garden State.
We arrived at the Jersey Shore along side vacationing New Yorkers; who cracked NJ jokes and led to my impression of Jersey.
…for when I go to Flames games.
By Christopher Munroe
I want a New Jersey.
One that won’t make me sick.
One that won’t make me crash my car, make me feel three feet thick…
Sorry, I got off track there. I’ll try again.
I want a New Jersey.
I’ll order it eventually, there are places online to have Jersey’s custom built.
It will be stark black and white, minimalist, numbered zero-zero.
On the front and back, where the athlete’s name would traditionally be, will be the word “Sport!”
This way I can wear it to ANY game I want, and it will always be appropriate!
I’m a genius, yes?
#1 – George’s Story – Part 85: Password
Completely at a loss, George decided to try his luck with the computer. Switching it on, he was faced with the familiar instructions to enter his password. It was only after numerous failed attempts using “123ABC”, “password”, “admin” and random keystrokes that he spotted the ‘password hint’ link…
“George, my boy, you are an elite hacker”, he muttered to himself, smiling.
His smile faded when he saw the hint: ‘What word links: boys, shore, cattle and new?’
Needless to say, it took him several hundred attempts before he managed to come up with ‘jersey’.
The screen flickered: he was in!
#2 – Christmas jumper
Every year I drag it out of the box in the wardrobe, for its annual moment of glory. For a good three weeks it goes everywhere with me… work, church and the pub.
I’ve had that Christmas jumper for longer than I care to remember, and it’s starting to show its age – it’s a little threadbare in places. I have to say that it’s no longer in particularly good shape.
Neither am I… which is why, I’m afraid, it’s just a little too small to fit me comfortably this Christmas.
So I guess it’s time, for a new jersey.
by Jeffrey Fischer
In Vegas, the neon and the glitz artfully conceal the real city. Atlantic City tried, but just couldn’t muster the same degree of illusion. Threadbare carpets, tired buffets, and an aura of resignation permeate the casinos and hotels. Still, the faithful – elderly, overweight, and chain-smoking – keep returning, inserting their worn dollar bills and twenties crisp from the ATM. They keep pushing the button to watch the wheels spin, sure that the next pull of the lever will be the one in their favor. The one similarity between the two gambling meccas is that both towns run on hope. It’s just that in Atlantic City even hope is shopworn.
by Jeffrey Fischer
The New Jersey Turnpike named its rest stops after the state’s famous sons: Woodrow Wilson, Thomas Edison, and Joyce Kilmer. Worthies all, but perhaps they don’t resonate with young people the way they once did. Here’s a suggestion to Gov. Christie: you have a deep roster of luminaries with a connection to New Jersey, so why not update the rest stops? Jon Bon Jovi, for when someone needs to apply hair spray, or Charles Addams, if that’s not too creepy. Chelsea Handler, for a vodka break, Peter Dinklage, for those times when a short stop is all that’s needed. Or James Gandolfini, in case Dad needs to bury an unruly child in the woods.
The New Jersey
It was red. That was the first thing she noticed about it as the box fell away. It was red and stiff, with deep creases where it had been folded.
She spread the clothe across her lap running her fingers over the stitching that held the white letters in place across the sholder, the small captain’s C on the front above the the team logo, white and burning.
Splashed across the logo on the front was his autograph. Her childhood hero.
She could not stop the tears from falling as she finaly lifted her eyes from her new jersey.
A Well Defined Relationship Part 80
“Mrs. Parsons there are few sounds in this Universe the will test the mettle of a young man, the drawing of a saber is one. That sound doubled will turn a beer hall silence as a morgue. The company froze as I and your husband engaged. What saved me and by proxy your husband was my total lack of willingness to go on the offensive, to be patient and wait him out. Each of his blow diminished till he was unable to lift his arm.
“yield,” said I
“no I yield.”
I lower my blade to the floor
A Well Defined Relationship Part 81
Rev Sockbe stood and reslung his rifle. “Perhaps it was for the best Mrs. Parsons. Good to know one is not a warrior. That is how I came to join the order of St New Jersey. Think of that a man of god unable to forgive the man who caused his calling. “But he is gone sir, doesn’t that end the matter?” “One would image so, but sadly not the case. I come from a race of warriors. When my blade touched the ground I became dead to my people. I can never go home again.” “That makes two of us.
Oh What A Night
Last night I watched Jersey Boys. I was intrigued how well Clint Eastwood would handle a musical. Would it be as lame as Sir Richard Attenborough’s Chorus Line or as surreal as Bob Fosse’s All That Jazz. Surprisingly it held up pretty good. Knowing all the songs by heart helped. I wished I had seen the stage production cause I did not get the four seasons metaphor or the 4th wall intrusions. Usually I detest a dance party ending, but Mr. Eastwood’s New Jersey street lamp quartet was spot on. I had no idea Christopher Walken could dance that well
Just off the New Jersey Turnpike, in an everyday urban street, something is stirring – something monstrous and terrifying!
Some call it ‘The Beast’ – a portent of the apocalypse – an all-consuming and mighty adversary corrupting all who fall within its grasp.
But this monster is cunning: it masquerades as an angel of light, cajoling and enticing its victims with illusions of wholesomeness and goodness.
It is a deceiver that leaves its mark wherever it spawns its evil.
So watch out, residents of that quiet New Jersey street for the mark of the beast…
The distinctive golden arches.
The New Jersey
Jerry, you’ll play forward, number 19. Coach did not look happy.
Grinning from ear to ear, I thought about all the hard work I had put in.
The early morning work outs, staying after school to run laps, skipping parties to make sure I was rested.
I missed the cut the first two years. The players were bigger, and more skillful.
But I closed the gap.
I honed my tactical skills, learning more with each passing day.
Through a series of unfortunate accidents, dubious illnesses, and vicious rumors, the bigger lads dropped off the team.
I love my new jersey!
Eating In New Jersey
Somewhere in a strip mall on the westbound side of Route 46 between Totowa
and Parsippany, there’s this Italian restaurant.
Inside there’s a counter where you can buy slices, but look to the left
you’ll see a narrow passage leading to a dining area where you can eat and
bring your own bottle of wine or a six-pack.
However, if there’s a crowded table of smartly dressed older gentlemen
speaking Italian back there, some tips:
1. The two twitching burly guys standing around are not waiters.
2. Probably best to do takeout.
3. The chicken scaloppini is to die for.
Jonathan won the writing competition! He just couldn’t believe it. The prize was one night spent in the lighthouse, the main attraction of his town. It was said to be the residence of a dreadfully horrid ghost.
With great disbelief, everyone saw Jonathan enter the place triumphantly.
A few hours were enough to drive him crazy. He screamed, he yelled, he begged for help.
The next morning, Jonathan emerged through the door to face everyone’s curiosity, his eyes looking down. After all, he managed to single handedly ruin the main attraction. No one would see that poor ghost ever again.
Four cowboys were sitting around a campfire listening to the crickets chirp. Passing a bowl of tortilla chips and salsa around the circle, one of the cowboys said, “This salsa is awful. Cookie! Where’d you find this stuff?”
“San Antonio,” Cookie said, buttoning his new sweater and heading to the cook wagon. “Good night, boys.”
“Cookie,” the cowboy laughed and called again, “Did you get that new jersey in San Antonio as well?”
“Nope. I got it from the Montgomery Wards catalogue. It came all the way from Atlantic City.”
“Atlantic City,” the cowboy exclaimed, “Well don’t that beat all.”
The tragedy of the Jersey Shore Snowman, whom Wenceslas murdered, and whose dismembered orange body we found scattered under our Christmas tree, threatened to ruin the holiday for us, until we discovered that all the cast of Jersey Shore were New Yorkers, mere signifiers of a construct, and thus themselves mere signifiers of signification itself, a great circle, like the circle of life (memories of Christmases past), or the water cycle, and as we joined in this feast of signs, we somehow found it in our hearts during the season of love to forgive this signification of hate, knowing the New Jersey Snowman did exist after all.
Hullo Dougal! Ye’ll have had yer tea then? But jings, whit’s that beastie out there in the field?
Farmer McTavish got rid of his Old Aberdonian cow, and this is whit he’s got to replace it. But I cannae make out whit breed it is.
Well, it’s definitely not a Modern Friesian.
And it canna be a Recent Charolais.
Could it be a Nouvelle Afghan Dwarf?
You know, I’m thinkin’ it maybe comes from one o’ the Channel Islands.
And it’s certainly an up to date breed.
So we’re coming to a consensus here? It must be a….
Michael rowed his boat ashore.
But nobody said Hallelujah.
Instead, someone shouted “Fuck you, buddy!”
And another threw an empty beer can at his head.
Michael had rowed his boat to New Jersey.
And tied it down to The Boardwalk of Atlantic City.
“You think you can just dock your boat here?” said one of the natives. “What’s a matter with you?”
Michael argued with them for a while, but gave up and rowed his boat away from the shore.
“What rude people,” he said.
Then, he rowed it to Connecticut.
And was shot by a yacht club security guard.