When I was a kid, if you needed to get your teeth straightened, you had to get braces mounted on your teeth.
Rubber hands and a headgear assembly controlled the tension, and every month you’d go in for tightening and adjustment.
Now, you can get your teeth scanned, and they’ll 3-D print a series of clear plastic guides that align them.
No more painful mounting and twisting of the braces.
No more disgusting rubber bands.
No more ugly headgear.
And no more picking up spy signals from outer space.
My orthodontist smiles, says “Da! Is good?” and offers me vodka.


What good is a bodyguard
When you’re staring at a body on the floor?
She smoked, she drank.
She fucked around.
She took pills, she shot herself up with all kind of shit.
Tattoos to cover up the worst of the needle tracks.
The scars. The bruises.
Cameras everywhere, sucking it all in.
The famous singer, who didn’t sing.
Everyone, shouting her name.
She’s not moving. She’s not breathing.
Wake up. Wake up.
The bodyguard shoves the cameras aside, lets the stretcher in.
Covered with a sheet, loaded into the ambulance.
Oh no.
You couldn’t protect her from herself.

Breakfast Slow – Thirteenth Anniversary

I wake to the smell of hot buttermilk biscuits.
I open my eyes and see black silk.
A blindfold.
“Open your mouth,” you say.
A piece of warm biscuit on my lips, my tongue.
I chew slowly, tasting it.
Dribbles of butter on my lips, my chin.
I lick them off.
Your finger, dipped in jelly.
Grape jelly, you pull your finger back out.
Another finger. Strawberry. Blackberry.
Another piece of biscuit.
Then, a dribble of gravy.
HOT! It’s hot!
You dribble it down my chin, my neck, my chest. Burning.
I tug at the ropes, as you laugh.


The cemeteries are full of indispensable men, said De Gaulle.
And from the looks of things, we desperately need the services of indispensable men.
So, each of you grab a shovel and start digging. I’ll prepare the lab and a batch of the special revival serum. We’ll have an army of indispensable men by sunrise.
This isn’t to say that you’re indispensable. I mean, I couldn’t do this project without you.
Although, if you gave me enough time, I could dig up these men and revive them myself, but it would take much, much longer.
You know what I mean.

Bees in Space

Scientists at NASA wanted to send bees up in a rocket to the space station.
They wanted to see how bees would react to zero-gravity conditions.
Would their honeycombs change their geometry from series of hexagons to some weird, alien topography?
Would their social structure change, where the drones and soldiers ruled over the queen?
So, the rocket went up, and the bees were transferred into the cargo bay.
They escaped, and stung the shit out of everyone on the space station.
Thankfully, none of the crew were allergic, but there were a lot more volunteers for routine maintenance spacewalks.

Gene Pool

Scientists talk about the gene pool.
But they don’t talk about the lifeguard at the gene pool.
Or how much it costs to hire a gene pool cleaning service.
They come out and skim the dead leaves from the gene pool, and maintain the chemicals so that the water is clean and doesn’t burn your eyes when you swim.
The university can’t always afford all those extra costs, so they tend to call it a “gene fountain” or “gene koi pond.”
And they tell their staff and visitors not to swim in it.
Scientists have the most boring pool parties.

Weekly Challenge #631 – PICK TWO DWARVES

Welcome to the 100 Word Stories podcast at

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:

Myst and Tinny


Doc was cursed with having the remainder of his troupe of elves as test subjects. Grumpy in a rage had to be put down, Happy was manic and had to be strapped down, Sleepy has been in a coma for over 9 1/2 weeks, Bashful is scared and won’t come out of the closet, and Sneezy hemorrhaged to death from a nosebleed after an allergy attack. “I’ll never find a cure for Snow White,” Doc lamented. So, when Prince Charming dislodged the poison apple from Snow White’s throat, the story became “Snow White and the Five Dwarfs.” Walt Disney was not amused.


Sneezy Tom went to the bookshelf and picked up a book.
“Wanna hear a story?”
Grumpy Doc nodded.
“But read a happy story.”
“Doc, what’s a happy story?”
Grumpy Doc turned to look at him, frowning.
“Something that ends well.”
“Then I have to grab another book. This won’t do.”
With the second book in hand, Sneezy Tom started reading.
“… and the two lived happily ever after, her head chopped off and stored in a jar.”
“That’s happy?!”
“Yes, my wife drives me crazy. It’s a shame I can’t do this…”


#1 – Grumpy

There’s one thing that’s guaranteed to put me in a grumpy mood: Dealing with jerks who are perfectly happy going through life acting eternally dopey.

The sleepy heads who sit at green lights, seemingly unaware that it’s no longer red… Only moving, thanks to the blast on my horn behind them.

Or the parents of sneezy, dribbling, mucus-encrusted kids, who think it’s cute to parade them in public; and all those around them, too bashful to tell them to wipe those snotty noses.

“Take one of these, three times daily” said the doc.

It worked… Now I’m the dopey one!

#2 – Twist in the tale

Snow White and the Seven Dwarves… At least, that’d how it used to be. Now, in these days of rampant political correctness, we can’t have any of that.

It’s ‘vertically challenged, differently-abled people’, and – thanks to racial equality – she’s now ‘a person of non-ethnically definable skin tone’.

As for ‘Snow’, forget it: Acknowledging climate change dictates she’s now ‘Seasonally typical precipitate’.

We can’t even keep the ‘Seven’, since it’s offensive to Roman numerals. And hexadecimal. And octal. So instead, we’re stuck with ‘fixed numerical quantity’.

And just wait until you see how they’ve butchered the poor dwarves’ names!


I was very surprised to find a real dragon at the cherry blossom festival. I was not sure if when it picked me up and started flying me over the city, it was being friendly or just taking me home to be eaten by its family.

It was grumpy when my body’s involuntary act due to all that pollen in the air snottified its talons causing me to ooze off, I was relieved it decided not to come back for me.

That is why I have decided not to start a career in the foodservice industry. I’m just too sneezy.


Look on the Bright Side of Life
by Jeffrey Fischer

“Why do you have to be so grumpy all the time?” Susan asked her husband.

“I’m not grumpy, I’m just particular in my likes and dislikes,” Mark replied.

She rolled her eyes. “Just this morning you complained about the toast being burned, how Junior parked his car too close to yours, and how the neighbors started mowing too early. Is there anything you feel happy about?”

He thought for a while. “I suppose I’m happy nothing bad has happened to the house this week. Oh, and that I still have a job.”

Susan smiled. “Good. For a while I was concerned you had nothing. Well, keep those things in mind. We have a meeting with Junior’s guidance counselor in fifteen minutes. And I changed the chores list so that you’ll be making breakfast from now on. And I convinced the Smiths that eight a.m. was too early to start mowing, so he agreed to do it after dark.”

Susan took secret pleasure at the scowl on Mark’s face that stayed in place the rest of the day.


My name is Doc. I took the name when I got my Ph.D. from an online school. Since I moved into an elder care facility, I’ve made some acquaintances with several of the residents, including all of the Greenley brothers. Grumpy, Happy, Sleepy, Dopey, Bashful and Sneezy.

Grumpy was grumpy because of his persistent double vision, preventing him from driving. Happy was doped up, Sleepy was addicted to Halcion, Dopey gobbled downers like M&Ms. Bashful was on the autism spectrum and Sneezy had bad allergies.

We made up word games and created a chart for Santa’s reindeer. It’s listed, below.


Name of Reindeer Trait(s) Special Skills


He loves to go fast!

Sewing and knot tying


Completely extroverted

All kinds of dance
including pole dancing


A bit vain, though affectionate

Prancing and cross


Slightly tricky, slightly sneaky.

Magic and slight of hoof


Handsome and easy-going,

Good with kids and
close to Scout Leaders


Affectionate satyr.

Bringing people together



Singing in choirs


Goes down on himself

Can electrify others
with RV batteries


A little down on himself

Nose glows. Drinking


Admits when she’s wrong

Good at hide-and-go-seek

and fellatio


A Fairy Tale


Jon DeCles

Cole Black looked like his Daddy, so his Momma sent him with her new boyfriend to hunt drugs and told boyfriend to kill the kid. Cole got away, small kid, delicate, met some big muscle boys name Grumpy, Happy, Sleepy, Dopey, Bashful, and Sneezy (‘cause of the cocaine). He figure he put out, they protect him.

Momma found him, done up like a Mary Kay lady, shared her poisoned chitlins with him, best he ever had: he went to sleep.

Muscle boys find him, put him in a glass box, sit around praying. Ain’t heard yet that Prince is dead.


Do No Harm

Doc had finish this second rotation. Linda found him in the break room stuff in a chair. “Sleepy?” she inquired. Doc opened one eye and raised a hand to his temple. Hand never quite got there. Eye flutter shut. Linda got a blanket and pillow from housekeeping. Tucked him in. Made her way back to ER. It was a full moon, there would be plenty of customers. When he woke the sun was about to arriving or about to departing. He couldn’t tell if it was dawn or dusk. Didn’t really matter. Long as the coffee flowed he was good.


You are feeling sleepy, drifting away, eyes slowly closing; entering the realm of dreams; your happy place.

But tonight, it won’t be your happy place – it will be mine. A space filled with fear and pain, a space filled with anger and hate, a space of infinite darkness.

Tonight, you will dream, but only nightmares – horrors from to run from in terror, then wake screaming, drenched in cold sweat.

And you will scrabble to turn on the light.

And then, when the darkness clears.

I will still be there: Reaching out to you from the foot of your bed.


Linoliamanda’s face went bright right, though she looked happy.

“What’s the matter?” Billbert asked as they headed up the street.

She fiddled with her cat-ear headphones and shrugged. “I’m usually too bashful to talk to people I don’t know.”

“Linoliamanda is unusual,” Billbert said. “Is it a family name?”

“No. My father sells floor coverings and my mother wanted to name me something French. Here’s my house.”

A van pulled up with the words, ‘Carpet Doc’ on the side. An angry looking man climbed out.

“There’s my dad,” Linoliamanda said. “Don’t worry. He just looks grumpy.”

“Sure thing,” Billbert muttered.


Obama said that if you like your doctor, you can keep your doctor.
Well, he lied. And he lied about medical costs going down, insurance premiums going down… he lied about everything.
It’s so bad, you know Doc from the Seven Dwarves?
Instead of dealing with the bullshit, he retired.
Happy stopped getting his pills, became grumpier than Grumpy.
Dopey went through withdrawal and stabbed Bashful.
Sneezy stopped getting allergy treatments.
And Sleepy?
Well, that was a side effect of the chemical castration regimen he was on.
Snow White had to brain him with a skillet to maintain her virtue.


Bob was the fastest case profiler in law enforcement.
He could pick up any case file, and after five minutes, he had a description of your culprit.
The thing is, Bob was also the biggest liar in law enforcement.
Because he’d pick up the case files from his own crimes.
“The killer is seven feet tall, bright orange, and has chainsaws for hands,” he says. “Oh, and wears a bowler hat in the shower.”
As his coworkers thanked him and began their manhunt, Bob clocked out and went out to eat.
And start hunting for his next victim.

Bundle of nerves

Jenny was a good girl, but her friends thought she was just a big bundle of nerves.
Which, I suppose, is fair. Because she was just a big bundle of nerves.
No skin or bones or fat or muscle or anything else.
After her accident, all the doctors managed to save was her nervous system.
Just a brain, spinal cord, and spidery nerves in a jar of electrolytes.
When guys asked her out on a date, she knew it was for her brains, not her body.
Although some liked to wave magnets over her and cause weird sparkly light displays.

Mister Smarty Pants

They called Marty “Mister Smarty Pants.”
But it wasn’t his pants that was smart.
It was actually his underwear.
They were a strange hybrid of boxers and briefs, and when he wore them, he felt so much smarter.
Perhaps it was the way they held him there that led to increased confidence, and with that confidence came the appearance of greater intelligence?
You know, how glasses and a lab coat make people sound more authoritative?
Marty tried to wear those, too. And nothing else.
He got arrested for public indecency, despite his attempts to talk his way out of it.