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:
You call us old and say we’re weak
You think the boomers are meek.
Didn’t anyone ever teach you,
you should be seen and not speak.
We’re your moms, dads, grandmas and grandpas.
Grew up with swings and seesaws.
We didn’t need helmets and pads,
or playground safety laws.
You say we spent all your money,
on pensions and social security.
How much did you plan on making,
with your new liberal arts degree?
Some day our role you’ll take on.
You’re gonna miss us when we’re gone.
My last words to you millennials,
everybody just STAY OFF MY LAWN!
Bilbert took a couple steps and jumped into the air. Again, only a weak buzzing from the poket of his backpack and he landed back on his feet.
“That’s pretty weak,” Roderick said. “It’s too bad you made fun of me like that. Now, I’m going to have to beat you up.”
Frantically, Billbert pulled off the backpack and opened the buzzing pocket.
His eyes lit up when he saw the plastic grocery bag. Stepping through the leg holes, he pulled up the bag. Holding on with one hand, he leapt into the air and flew out of Roderick’s reach.
Weak On The Concept
By Jon DeCles
Yesterday I was shopping at Safeway. The cheerful female voice of the omnipresent commercial announcement was burbling on and on about the sandwiches one could purchase in the deli department. I heard in astonishment that one could get sandwiches featuring ‘delicious gluten-free meats’ from the deli case.
People who write advertising copy often have impressive degrees from universities, much like people who copy-edit books for publishers. They are really good at putting the right spin on their words. They are universally weak when it comes to the content of their copy.
I got into hundred word because of gluten-free copy-writing.
Some Like it Beyond Hot
Allan dipped the spoon into the bowl. “It’s still weak,” he said to Colin. “Well we’ve add both the Red Devil and Green Devil. A mess of chills that would incinerated a goat’s digestive track, and the pepper both Carolina Reaper and Trinidad Moruga Scorpion. What left?” Allan reached up to a shelf containing an unmarked bottle. Dropped an eye dropper down the neck. Drew up a single drop of liquid. “The juice of Pepper X.” “You’re out of your fucking mind, but be it far from me to curtail your insanity. Allan down the sauce. “Not weak,” he rasped
The Inexplicable Force
by Jeffrey Fischer
Scientists have found four fundamental forces in the universe: the gravitational and electromagnetic forces, and the weak and strong forces. More recently, they have uncovered a fifth force, more powerful than the others.
Ever wonder why hipsters like bad-tasting beer, or overpaying for pretentious-sounding dishes in restaurants? Why are some rich people drawn to the Prius? And how is it that the woman who is clearly out of the guy’s league besotted with him? It’s the inexplicable force! Striking seemingly at random, it becomes the superglue of physics. You won’t find the hipster trying a decent beer or the Prius driver learning that gasoline-powered engines in decent-looking cars are the way to travel.
And Sarah Jane… pure logic says she should dump that schlub of a boyfriend for me, but it never happens. Yup, the inexplicable force in action.
“My stomach is weak,” she said, a tray filled with amazing food looking back at her.
At the restaurant, they were used to her moaning. But she ended up gobbling it all down.
One day, they dared her to cook. She hesitated, but she wasn’t one to run away from a challenge.
When the insurance company showed up, it was impossible to identify where the kitchen was, and it was nearly absurd to even attempt to tread through the barrier of debris by the front door.
That’s when they heard, “My stomach is weak and now my leg hurts…”
#1 – Weaker sex?
People who say that women are the weaker sex have clearly never met my wife!
That’s not to say she doesn’t ask me to carry the shopping from the car, take the bins out, remove stuck jar lids and do all the heavy jobs in the garden.
Not that you can blame her, after all, I’m six foot three in my socks and built like the proverbial brick outhouse, and I was a professional wrestler in my heyday.
But she doesn’t make me do all those things because I can handle it; she does it because she can handle me!
#2 – Make mine a double
If there’s one thing I hate, it’s my drinks weak.
Weak, insipid, tasteless tea or coffee is a crime against humanity, and there’s nothing worse than being served something undrinkable when visiting friends. I smile, take a sip, then leave it to cool, untouched, at my side.
It’s hard to be polite, in those situations, but I try.
I don’t like my alcohol weak either. Forget the ice and water, forget the mixers: Give it to me straight.
A double, at least.
But then, it’s even harder to be polite.
Probably why I’m no longer invited to friends for drinks!
Never weak in any way. nor surrendering to any kind of pressure. I’ve survived indigenous people’s wrist burns, and dozens of nuclear wedgies during school gym classes. I still have some pencil lead in my buttock from the pencil Pete Poggi stuck under me as I sat down in chemistry class in the tenth grade.
Today, as an independent business person, I exercise my will and demonstrate my strength. If I get a new client that is a lawyer, insurance man, dentist or doctor, I add fifty percent to the hourly rate when I invoice them for computer network maintenance.
My cousin has a weak mind, and a brittle marriage. Her husband has taken up with a skank he met at his AA meeting. They are both out of work, and they like the weed as much as the gin and Ranier Ale.
She called and asked if I would meet with her. She hopes I will help her “take care” of her old man after she gets a big policy on his life.
I figure that we can do it next time he changes the oil in his pickup. I’d kick the jackstands out, and collect half the policy.
The strong survive and the weak die.
That’s what my boxing coach always said.
So, when I killed him, that’s what I said to the cops.
Okay, so I punched him after he caught me robbing the gym after hours.
But it isn’t what you think.
He said I could keep the money if I beat him in the ring, bare-knuckles.
Final exam, he called it.
And I guess I passed, because I laid him out with one punch.
Cops didn’t agree. Neither did the judge.
Now I fight in the prison gym, and the guards place bets.