Welcome to the 100 Word Stories podcast at oneadayuntilthedayidie.com.
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:
by Jeffrey Fischer
My wife observed that I had gained a few pounds – if by “few” one meant around 20 – so I resolved to do something about it. I ate smaller portions, I exercised more, and I filled up on leafy vegetables. Nothing worked.
As I poured myself a stiff drink, my wife made an arch comment about the number of calories in alcohol. “No wonder you’re not losing weight.”
“Honey,” I replied, “a man has his limits. I’m hungry after meals, I keep eating rabbit food, and if this bicycle weren’t stationary I’d have pedaled to Alaska. Of *course* I need to drink more.”
by Jeffrey Fischer
Sam stepped up to the currency exchange counter. “Hello, I’m traveling to England so I need some Euros.”
The lady blinked. “If you’re going to the UK, you need pounds sterling, not Euros.”
“The UK? No, just England.”
“England is part of the United Kingdom. And they have their own currency, not the Euro.”
“Having two names is very confusing. They should pick one. And their own currency? Since when?”
“The UK never adopted the Euro. They’ve used the pound for hundreds of years.”
“The pound? But that’s a unit of weight, not money.”
“Over there it’s money.”
“Well, what do they use to weigh things?”
“I believe they’re on the metric system, so they use kilograms, not pounds.”
“This is too confusing. I’ll go to Canada instead. Gimme some Canadian Euros.”
“You mean dollars.”
“No, if there’s one thing I know, it’s that dollars are American.”
“Fine, sir. How many Canadian Euros would you like?”
“Just give me a hundred kilograms’ worth.”
He would pound a couple of shots and a few beers, then he’d ask for a mixed drink and start making his rounds throughout the bar. Most of the time he would bring in a couple of cans of laughy string from the trunk of his Volvo and use it to “get the party started.” Without any circumspection or discretion at all, he’d cover one end of the dance floor to the other with yards of pink, plastic goo…a lot finding its way into people’s hair and their drinks. Dennis was an insufferable asshole, but he was our church pastor.
My friend dropped two-hundred pounds. She had gastric band surgery. After putting a thousand-dollar deposit down, she pays $150 month until the fifteen thousand fee is paid off. She was a compulsive eater, just as she is a compulsive talker. Her mouth is always moving, and if she isn’t talking, she’s stuffing herself with chips, cake, cookies and “little” bits of other fat-inducing goodies. After her weight loss, she lightened her hair and let it grow. She still weighs three hundred pounds, but she can walk now without help. Her gallbladder had to be removed and she has chronic indigestion.
My other mate dropped two-hundred pounds at the dog track each month. He had a severe gambling addiction, including purchase of lots of lottery tickets during the week, and spending a fortune on line with sports betting. His children went without, and his wife took two buses across town to work at a fast food place in Twiddlebury. Other plonkers dropped pounds on bets on the weather and what the sex would be of the next illegitimate child born at the nunnery. No one suffered more than his youngest girl, who had to wear the castoffs of her older brother.
#1 – Lycra
For my new years’ resolution, I decided to get fit – not necessarily going the whole hog and getting a gym body, but just lose a few pounds and tone up.
It’s not a pretty sight though – a sweaty, overweight, middle-aged bloke, red-faced and panting, clad head to toe in skin-tight lycra.
The gear alone has cost me a small fortune, but there’s a method to my madness.
You see, I reckon if you’re going to pound the streets, you have to make the effort to look the part… Even if looking the part makes you look an idiot.
#2 – One Pound
I know a pound of lead weighs no more than a pound of feathers, but trust me, psychologically lead is always going to seem heavier.
How do I know? Twenty years loading cargo, that’s how. I’ll take feathers over lead any day!
If it looks heavy, it will feel heavy – no amount of reasoning will make any difference.
Give me feathers, foam, polystyrene or bubble wrap any time and it won’t feel like work; lead or iron, and you’ve an unhappy man on your hands.
Not that management care – all they’re interested in is their pound of flesh.
#3 – Ogre and ogre again
Boggins could scarcely believe his luck – for once everything was going his way, and without any of that unnecessary mucking about slaying dragons!
Gazing down at the gold, he became aware of a dark shadow suddenly looming over his shoulder. A shadow that was disconcertingly ogre shaped and a rather angry ogre, at that.
“I’m going to pound you so flat, you’ll be a hobbit pancake “, the ogre snarled.
Once again, Boggin’s trusty staff swung into action and, once again, the ogre fell to the floor with a thud.
Taking no chances, Boggins resorted to double granny knots!
#4 – The gospel according to Norman: the parable of the annoying neighbour
It came to pass a man was aroused from his rest by a hammering upon his door.
“Why, neighbour do you pound upon my doorpost at this late hour summoning me from my bed?”
“Sir!”, the neighbour replied, “My young wife has wandered from her chamber and is lost! Will you help search for her?”
“Indeed, I will not – for a husband who loses his wife has no business asking another for assistance.”
The man closed his door, thereupon which the neighbour continued to pound.
Which bothered the man not, since he was far too busy pounding his neighbour’s wife!
By Christopher Munroe
Pound cake is delicious cake, made with flour, butter, eggs and sugar in a 1:1:1:1 ratio, baked in either a loaf pan or Bundt mold, then either dusted with powdered sugar, glazed or on rare occasion served with a coat of icing.
Recipes vary by region, but that’s the basics no matter where you go and, ordering a slice of pound cake, that’s approximately what you should expect.
“Pound Cake” is also a kiss off you can say to someone in the heat of anger, but it’s a confusing one that I wouldn’t recommend.
But that’s neither here nor there…
“You’ve got your pound of flesh. Let her go.” He growled.
“Come, come James, did you really think it would be so easy? I have everything I want now. You, the girl and the bomb.” The villainess retorted, as she slithered toward him.
She stopped suddenly and her eyes widened. He waited for her to continue, but instead she slumped to the ground in front of him, revealing the so-called “girl” behind her.
“She talks too much. Gave me a good chance to get out of my restraints.” She held up a large wrench. “And to get this handy thing.”
I like to think I’m contributing something to society – keeping the streets clean and safe, and giving those poor strays a little care and kindness.
Of course, working at the pound isn’t glamorous – it’s a hard, dirty, smelly job; and being voluntary, there’s no wage at the end of the day.
That’s not to say there aren’t perks – those special moments when we can rehome a stray with a loving family.
As for those who don’t find a home… They go into the mincer – I get a good price for the meat from McDonald’s.
I’m lovin’ it!
Thump. Thump. So my kid who is sensitive to noise can’t sleep. Neither can I. Thump. Thump. He tells me using the noise reducing headphones doesn’t stop the house from shaking and being on the opposite side of the house from the thumping doesn’t help any. This is the last time I buy a house that isn’t at least ten feet away from the next house. It’s like living in the goddamn Tell-Tale Heart every time the neighbor who shares a wall turns on his bass heavy stereo. I’m hearing the Tell-Tale Heart but I haven’t even killed anyone, yet.
Andrew only wanted to belong to the group of cool guys.
“According to the book, to be accepted you must eat a pound of salt,” they said.
So, he agreed.
The result wasn’t good.
His family, friends, and doctors asked him why, but he never gave the guys up.
When he was about to die, he recalled having read that in China nobility used to commit suicide by eating salt.
His intention had definitely not been to commit suicide, quite the opposite.
The guys denied everything, even the existence of the book.
Andrew’s last thought was “Ugly people, happy monsters.”
London Bobby Nigel Bakersfield was patrolling his beat when he spied several boys harassing a woman.
Rushing to the woman, Nigel yelled “What’s going on here?”
With that, the boys scattered away,
“Are you alright madam?” Nigel inquired.
“Not bloody likely, I’d say” She replied, “those buggers just grabbed 2 pounds of Earl Grey tea I just bought for £6.15.”
Nigel handed the woman a crisp £10.00 note, grinned and said,
“I’ll make sure they pay well for it, I’ll be pounding some sense in to those young bloke’s heads”, slapping his baton in the palm of his left hand.
Background music was The Space Runaway by Alexye Nov
Billy needed one more ten pound sack of steer manure and his project would be complete. Mixing the stuff at a one to one ratio with plaster of Paris he created a modeling material that was easy to shape, had a long working time and was light enough when fully dry that it wouldn’t be too hard to move the finished project.
Working the modeling material around a wire frame he finished the head of a life sized model of Donald Trump. He couldn’t wait to display his statue outside the hall where the presidential candidate was scheduled to speak.
Her place is a mess, in the middle of a shitty neighborhood.
She’s a lousy cook, and the pound cake came out of the freezer.
But, man, could she fuck like lightning.
All guys had to do was get past that first dinner, spend a few minutes in the bathroom quietly throwing up, swish some mouthwash around, and they were in for the ride of their life.
Sadly, for them, and her, none did.
So, she got a few cats, fed them whatever canned stuff was on sale, bought an expensive vibrator from Amazon, and ordered out a lot.