Hell and High Water

You’re here to rescue me?
No way. I was born here. And I’ll die here.
Come Hell or high water, I’m staying.
Which is worse? Hell or high water?
Hell is forever.
At least high water drains.
Now that I think of it, if there were high water, I’d probably leave.
No sense in drowning and ending up in Hell, right?
Besides, if it’s flooding here, then I’d assume that it’s flooding even worse in Hell.
So, it’s not really Hell or high water.
It’s Hell and high water.
Got any dry matches in that boat?
I need a smoke.


In the age of online travel websites like orbitz and Priceline, you’d think that there’d be no room for budget travel agencies anymore.
But with my new RioTourism agency, cater to the cheapest of the cheap.
You get a bus ticket, bag of rocks to throw, and a sign that protests whatever grudge you’ve got that keeps you from admitting that you are responsible for the failure of a life you have.
For a few bucks more, you get matches and a can of gasoline.
Where do we profit?
From ratting you out to the cops when the riots begin.

Similar Hero

I put on my pants one leg at a time, just like Batman.
I put up my socks, shoes, and shirt, just like Batman.
We wear the same gloves, the same mask, and the same cowl.
But he defends Gotham, using his money for his gadgets and weapons, while I patrol the streets of Chillicothe, Ohio with just my wits and my two fists.
There aren’t many super-villains here in Chillicothe. And the few that are here, well, they’re not so super.
Batman keeps returning his prey to Arkham.
I dump mine in the river. And they never come back.


Tinny likes to nest in warm places.
She curls up in a fur blanket, my robe on the bathroom counter. Anywhere soft and warm.
I woke up this morning to see her nesting in my pants.
I tickled her under her chin, she yawned wide open, and went back to sleep.
After I finished my shower, Myst was staring at Tinny, poking a paw at her.
Tinny cringed away from the paw.
Myst lashed out, and drove Tinny away.
When I got home after work, Myst was nesting in my pants.
Tinny was hiding somewhere. Probably in a warm spot.

Empty Words

I love you.
But I’ll never say it.
Isn’t it enough to love someone?
Do you have to say it?
Words are so empty.
How will they know you love them?
It’s more important to do, than to say.
So, what do you do?
What good is a card? Or a gift? Or flowers?
Give them something they want? Or something they need?
There’s a difference between want and need.
As there’s a difference between doing and saying.
I pick out a card.
A small stuffed bear with a heart.
And flowers. So many flowers.
So many flowers. So many.


Neighbors got an eviction notice.
Dog barking. Kid playing recorder. Patio overgrown.
Number on the gate half fallen off.
Another neighbor’s cat visits our patio.
Her cat loves our flowers.
She lives on the second floor.
Lets her cat use the window to come down and visit.
Our cats are a bit wary, but I don’t mind.
Maybe she can move down to the place next door.
Plant some flowers.
Keep things nice and quiet.
I hear the dogs barking.
Then whining.
And silence.
I hope they move put soon.
I turn up my headphones, and enjoy some mellow jazz.

Weekly Challenge #564 – LICK

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:

Tinny cupboard


Faster than a cat can lick it’s behind. That’s fast, not too fast, not half fast, just fast enough to be efficient, I suppose.

It’s the speed that I assign to my piece-work employees. As they extract the piece from the mold, remove the flashing, and inspect the body of device. I ask that they do it at speed, and that they are consistent with the speed at which they perform the action. If they do not do this, they are removed from the line, beaten, fined a week’s wage, and forced to live in less comfortable housing.

A second offence is a death sentence, or they are exiled to a small island off the coast.


Reaching the Pinnacle
by Jeffrey Fischer

Steve wasn’t a bright bulb. Everyone knew this – even his mother said he didn’t have a lick of sense. His personality did nothing to overcome his lack of intelligence. He had a volatile temper that, when it erupted, was directed toward anyone who disagreed with him.

Mysteriously, these handicaps did nothing to hinder his career. He became a business tycoon, with almost unimaginable wealth. True, that career had its ups and downs, and the downs were embarrassing. The press loves a winner, but it loves picking on a loser even more.

In the end, despite his limitations, he became president… of a huge software company. Go figure.



“It’s mostly cosmetic, only needs a lick of paint! “.

I couldn’t agree – the place was clearly riddled with damp, there was a huge structural crack in the back wall and the spongy feel underfoot definitely hinted at woodworm.

Still, the defects gave me a distinct buyer’s advantage and most of the other bidders dropped out pretty early, rather than throw away their cash.

After the deal was sealed, the vendor laughed: “It’ll take more than a lick of paint before moving in!”

“It’s not for me… And I don’t care about the tenants, as long as they pay the rent!”


…on Pub Games
By Christopher Munroe

“Betcha won’t lick that!”

It’s the disgusting game that anyone can play, you simply need to point to a thing, and utter the phrase.

Your opponent, now roped in, must lick, or concede defeat, which for some is nearly impossible, especially after a few drinks.

And trust me, this is not a game anyone plays sober.

I’m good at it, I have almost no impulse control, so to most I’m a formidable opponent.

Though I admit, I’ve lost more than once.

When asked to lick the FLOOR of the party bus, for example, I got while the getting was good…


The Late, Great…


Jon DeCles

America needed her Conservatives. They reined things in, kept her Liberals from going too far. They maintained the balance.

Enter the Neo-Con-Artists. They made Conservatism flashy and fashionable: but they also outspent the Liberals thousands to one. They undermined the principals of Conservatism, and left the true Conservatives looking dusty and dowdy.

Barnum said there’s a fool born every minute, and two crooks to take him.

Barnum and Bailey has folded, unable to compete with the Circus in Washington.

Ronald Reagan is best remembered for taking down a wall.

Donald Trump may be best remembered for putting up a wall.


You Can’t Lick Our Dick


Jon DeCles

Well, that was not officially Nixon’s slogan, and it certainly was belied by his loss to John F. Kennedy in a race for the presidency, and his loss for the governorship of California to Pat Brown. But the man had resilience!

He ran for president again in ’68 and won. He ended the draft. He opened trade with China. He initiated an anti-ballistic missile treaty. He transferred power from the central control of Washington back to the States. He enforced desegregation and established the Environmental Protection Agency. He was president when we landed on the moon.

He was a Republican.



Being a child of the 50s I am bracketed between Elvis and the Beatles. I wish I could say the Stones, but alas I didn’t get a vote in the meme. By the time KISS showed up it was way to indecorous to lay a musical claim on the band. So in the passing days and nights I never heard a single KISS song until … Lick it Up. Well what can I say? Brilliant, the high-water mark in Western Civilization. Everything that went before just silly little love songs. Please pass the white grease paint. Black Shamrock what’ya think?


I watched the flames lick the coals in the grate, painting their flickering, insubstantial images in the darkness, like a story unfolding before me.

It seemed to me they were speaking to me, the crackle of the flames whispering secrets in my mind and compelling me to respond.

“Burn!” They seemed to say; “Burn it all… Burn everything to the ground”

It was a voice that could not be ignored; one that I simply had to obey.

I’m sorry about your house, but really I’m afraid that it’s all your fault. I always said you should have fitted central heating!


Late, as always.
Her pathetic little assistant, buzzing with enthusiasm for his new job and who had the annoying habit of licking his fingers to turn every page of every report, had proven to be quite the slacker.
When she entered her office, nothing was done. Unacceptable. The problem was that the eccentric middle-aged man now owned half the company. She’d have to get rid of him, but how?
Pushing him down the stairs? Too obvious. Hiring someone to get rid of him? Too expensive.
Then, mysteriously, he became quite ill.
They say reading reports is hazardous to your health.


When Wanda accepted the position of Tiger Trainer at the Morganstern Brother’s Circus, she assured the Ring Master, that she had an almost telepathic empathy with animals, and that she wouldn’t need to use a whip on the large cats, as the previous trainer had.
“Watch this,” she said and walked fearlessly into the cage with the tigers and held out her bare arms for them to lick. “Seeee? They’re showing me how much they love me.”
And they did love her. Every ounce. The three tigers ate everything but her sequined costume and the red ribbon in her hair.


“If they say jump off a bridge, will you?” his mother asked, “or stand in front of an oncoming train? And if they dare you to stick your finger in the mouth of a snapping turtle, are you going to do that?” Max only offered up a shrug she was too furious to notice. “Why would you lick a metal pole in winter?”

Stuck lying in the hospital bed after his incident, Max snuck a hand down to shake his pocket. Three quarters and a Snickers weren’t bad rewards. If they upped the ante, he would consider the other stunts.


On the plains of Audhumla, a shower of rain is rare and passes in minutes, hardly more than dampening the ground. But the petrichor brings creatures from far and wide to lick the minerals leached from the broken grey slabs. The glabbeeks come first, lizards no larger than a finger, that can travel miles to reach the lick. Then the girondelles, nervous of predators, but hungry for the minerals they need. And certainly the feloids will arrive and pick off one or two of the herd, and the scavengers will have their share.

Thus life on Earth continues, after Man.


I knew a girl who hired herself out as an assassin.
She got the job done, and got out. Nothing fancy.
Usually, she’d pay some homeless guy to shoot her target, or shove them under a bus.
Walk into a public restroom, stuff the wig into a purse, wipe off the makeup, turn her jacket inside-out, and she’d walk out a different person.
She didn’t do anything fancy or sexy, like licking her gun.
“That’s a great way to shoot off your tongue,” she said.
One day, she’ll kill me to cover her tracks.
“Free of charge,” she says, smiling.