Weekly Challenge #495 – Stick

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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.

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The Jump
by Jeffrey Fischer

I peered out the open door, watching farmland speed by. The instructor had gone through the safety check one last time. I made sure the parachute straps were snug against my chest and stepped into the air.

As I fell, I counted off the seconds before pulling the cord. The chute flew out; I slowed. Then the ground came at me quickly and all my training flew out of my head. I landed awkwardly on one leg, bounced up, and dragged across the ground until I stopped, rolled into a ball mixed of human and nylon parachute. I hardly stuck the landing, but I made it down alive, which must count for something.

Job Satisfaction
by Jeffrey Fischer

The best part of being a cop, Frank thought, was surprising the perp and slapping the cuffs on him. Right now the guy had no idea his evening would end poorly, but that would change when Frank kicked in the apartment door.

When Frank had the perp’s arms behind his back, the guy unleashed a torrent of curses. Frank’s parentage was questioned, his wife’s fidelity was challenged, and the perp was just getting started. “Stick these cuffs up your ass until they come out your nose,” the guy rasped.

Frank laughed and tightened the cuffs some more. “I think that’s anatomically impossible, sir, but I appreciate your imagination.”


#1 – The Man

There comes a time in everyone’s life when realisation dawns that it doesn’t have to be this way: We make a promise – no more will we be victims of oppression!

My moment came last Thursday, waiting for the bus home.

This particular oppressor was a spotty youth, rudely pushing ahead of the queue… Something inside me snapped.

Time to stick it to the man!

Unfortunately, it seems the man has a bigger stick than me, and a pretty good left hook too.

One broken nose later I decided my moment had passed. What’s wrong with oppression and drudgery anyway?

#2 – Rustling…

Left alone guarding the camp, Laggins cowered beside the fire, muttering decidedly un-hobbit like grumblings about his fellow travellers.

A rustling in the bushes sent his heart racing – he scrabbled in the darkness for a weapon. In addition to several slugs lurking in the undergrowth, his hands finally found a large and heavy stick, which he raised bravely above his head, ready to face the unseen enemy.

A small rabbit then popped out from the bushes, looking at him quizzically.

Laggins laughed and congratulated himself on his bravery, before turning round, straight into the arms of the waiting ogre!


We threw another stick on the campfire, and stuffed big gobs of hash into the pipe. It was our first year at Summer Camp in the Dardanelles, and we all wished that this was the year we were going to be awarded our colored kerchief for conduct and sportsmanship. Fuck that. I wanted a bag of candy from the gedunk and some cooch. The little trail leading to the rocky enclave where the campfire burned was the highlight of my day. It was pitch black in the forest, and provided lots of opportunities to play grab ass with the girls.


Not everything I learned stuck. I didn’t know the secret of making dates and names stick in my Art History class. I relied on how small and how legible I could print on my palm and forearm. I shaved my forearm so it wouldn’t interfere with writing. I put a couple of dozen artist’s names and movements on my arm. This got me through the midterm and final exams with good grades. I feel guilty cheating in Mr. Bate’s class, because he was such a sweet, patient man. If he can hear me, I would like to say, “I’m sorry.”


“And he wouldn’t shut up,” said the prisoner in cuffs.

The detective nodded. A piece of gum was sticking to his left shoe.

“He went on and on about it.”

The detective tried to scrape the gum off with his right shoe. Shit. Now the gum was on both shoes.

“That’s when I hit him. I couldn’t take it anymore.”

The detective stood up. “That was simple enough. I have to go now. I have gum on my shoes. Stick around.”

“Yeah… Com’on… It’s not like I have a choice, right.”

“Right,” replied the detective. “And… shut up about it.”


The Purpose of Language is to Present Irony

I spent my formative years 13 to 19 working at on all Jewish country club. It was formed in the days when the Chicago gentry was less then P.S. Lots of the members spoke Yiddish as a first language. I had just take up close contact magic. When you’re out on the back nine, four foursomes deep, on the 13th hole, bit of distraction, is in order. “Yea Kid, your patter is excellent, you need an excellent shtick,” said Mr. Garfunkel. He suggested doing my act balanced on my head. Damn if that wasn’t the best advice I ever got.


You don’t want to believe everything you see in the movies about vampires – most of it is complete nonsense, especially all that stuff about killing us with stakes.

That would be far too simple; and anyway, how exactly do you define ‘stake’? Would any old stick do the job? And what about splinters – a very real concern when you spend most of your time hanging around rotting wooden coffins.

Not that it matters – it’s simply not true about stakes.

And as for drinking your blood…

Yep, that’s quite definitely true; and tonight, I’m having yours for supper!


“My mother wants to see you.” Sara told her husband.
“I am not sure I want to see her. She hit me with a cane.” replied Joe.
“It was a walking stick and serves you right for asking about how it felt to be on the Mayflower when you know my family came on the Jamestown. Even so she has a gift for you” said Sara
“Why would she, when Being the grumpy old lady is you mothers shtick?”
“My father can’t drive safely anymore so she is giving you his car since I refuse to drive a manual transmission.”


A Public Service Announcement
By Christopher Munroe

Teddy Roosevelt once famously said, “Speak softly, and carry a big stick.”

Good advice for its day, perhaps, but I think we all agree it needs to be updated.

“Walk on two big sticks.”

In this modern age, height’s never been a more important factor in determining success. With this in mind, can you deny yourself the opportunity to be your best, tallest self?

Jump on a pair of stilts today, as Roosevelt would have, had he the technology to do so.

This message has been brought to you by the Canadian Stiltwalkers Federation. For more information, consult our website…


“Here you go, good buddy,” Dergle said to Long John. “Fetch.”
Dergle hurled the stick with every ounce of his 235 pounds behind it. It sailed across the open, grassy area of the park in a long arc and bounced to a stop.
The wiener dog looked up at his master and panted.
“Go get it,” Dergle said, trying to sound enthusiastic.
Long John looked over his shoulder at Bambi, siting on a park bench, reading a magazine.
“I get it,” Dergle said, walking toward Bambi. “I don’t believe in myself. Why should anyone, even my dog, believe in me?”


From the third floor window, I saw a tutued girl turn three cartwheels on the
walkway. Then a rat ran across and stopped, two feet away from the tree side. I thought the oblivious kid with the headphones and sagging skinny jeans would surely step right on it but, alas. Many walked by, all noticing it, even if only at the last moment, giving it a wide berth. Some stopped a moment to investigate. Some got as close as six inches but the rat did not move. I imagined someone poking it. Then the pedestrians were gone. And the rat ran away.

We lay on my couch and I wondered if this was a bad idea. But I went through with it. My first one-night stand. It sucked. Had you EVER done this before, I wondered. But me, I was amazing apparently. I had everything you wanted and now I can’t get rid of you. You moved in and started causing too many extra dishes and wearing my socks. I wonder why you won’t stop breathing; you wonder how you got so lucky. Turns out, I’m not good at one-night stands. But dating sucks. So… this is it, huh? OK. Let’s have dinner.


I awoke on the bank of a river, as a boat drew up.

“Hi, I’m Sharon,” said the figure in the stern, “I’m your ferryperson for this journey, and this is the sticks.”

“Yes, it is pretty deserted,” I said.

A cat leapt out of the boat. “If you go, you can’t come back,” it warned.

“You just did,” I observed.

“Oh, I can do that,” it replied. “Up to a point.”

A light swelled behind me, and Sharon and the cat with nine lives receded into the distance. The light grew brighter still and resolved into a hospital ward.


One of the funniest comedy routines I ever saw was Johnathan Winters on the Jack Parr show.

Jack handed Jonathan a stick, and the comedian went through dozens of different scenes and characters in under four minutes.

I’m sure that Jonathan had prepared and imagined all of these characters up beforehand, but even to just remember them and roll them out one after the other was impressive.

Call it genius or madness, it sure was fucking funny.

Robin Williams had that kind of magic too.

But they’re both gone now. And we’re left holding the short end of the stick.

4 thoughts on “Weekly Challenge #495 – Stick”

  1. Lots of different takes on “stick” this week. I particularly liked Tom and Zackmann’s use of “shtick.”

  2. Thank sir, I always (unless I cheat ) go with the first thing that pops into my head. Its sort of the opposite of writes block, its block head stream of conscience ( with out the pretty multi-colored fish ). Does produce some odd story lines, and sometime no story line at all ( tether to a mid March Kite ). So far I haven’t run into the “Pizza Topic of Death” that produce a flat line in my brain pan. One week I chose Pizza at a topic which total piss-offed Andrew Ian Dodge, broke his run of 24 in row. This was a long time ago. But I do believe in the cruse of the Pizza of Death.


  3. Shhh, don’t give Laurence any ideas, or we’ll have “Pizza of Death” as a topic one week. Come to think of it, I’d better start jotting some thoughts down for that topic; I have a feeling I’ll need them.

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