Chicken sandwiches

Reports came out that the chief executive of a chicken sandwich restaurant chain supported groups that were against same-sex marriage.
So, same-sex marriage supporters boycotted the chicken sandwich restaurant chain.
Same-sex marriage opponents started a rally for the chicken sandwich restaurant chain.
In the end, the chicken sandwich restaurant chain reported record sales.
The chief executive became richer.
And lots of people clicked Block, Mute, and Unfriend on various social networks.
However, same-sex marriage became legal in the United States through a Supreme Court ruling.
As for the chickens, well, they still were slaughtered, processed, and turned into sandwiches.

Tempted by windows

The company I work for is moving to a new building.
I am moving from a shared office to my own office.
I have my own door and desk and outlets.
I don’t have a window, though.
Which is good, because my office is pretty high up, and I’m afraid of heights.
I will make my office somewhere nice for other people to visit.
Because other people may have offices with windows.
And I don’t like heights. So, I don’t want to visit them.
Or, if we have an argument, be tempted to shove them out through the window.

White Flight

Sociologists talk about “white flight” from urban areas to the suburbs, or from open communities to gated communities.
But the community of Silver Acres took the term literally.
Before the gangs and drug dealers could get a foothold, the residents of Silver Lake tore down their houses, built airships, and took to the sky.
A few thugs fired their guns into the air, but the Silver Lakers had armored the keels of their ships.
Barrels of fuel dropped from the airships, and Silver Lake became a raging inferno.
The hot air blew the airships higher, above the terrified screams.

Weekly Challenge #630 – PIZZA

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:



As I child, I was lucky enough to have the pizza bones any time we ordered a pizza. We had the pizza on a Saturday night, as we gathered in the den in front of the television. Mom would trim the crispy end pieces for me. She would grate some additional Mozzarella, and pop the pieces into the oven until the cheese melted and joined the circle of bones together into a large circle of crispy, cheesy, chewiness.

Dad and I sometimes shared the Bone Ring as we named it, but he usually was happy with eating the regular slices.


The First Glorious Thing I Ever Ate.

Many years ago challenge topics were chosen by the winner of a weekly poll. The first time I had a majority of listens votes I chose the topic: Pizza. This choice totally drove Andrew Ian Dodge crazy. He said it was the stupidest topic he had ever seen and end a run of 22 stories in a row. He refused to write a story. I feel confident in the decade that has follow pizza has not been the worst topic. Further I think it’s fair to say all 630 topics have been it their way inspiring, as was Mr. Dodge.


“This looks awful. Are you sure they have pizza here?”
“How did you find this place? There’s no one else here.”
“I got an email. They sent me an 80%-off coupon.”
“80%?? Let’s go. Now.”
“Haven’t you heard of the 80% club? They’ll shrink your brain by 80%.”
It was too late. The doors closed.
The next morning, they were found barely alive.
The number of these cases had been growing lately. No one knew how it was done, but everyone knew the consequences.
Discount coupons can be hazardous.


Food of the gods

That sublime combination of tomato, cheese and a light, doughy base, suffused with an infinite variety of flavours and textures. Mushroom, chicken, sausage, onion, fresh herbs and olive oil… I could talk forever of its merits.

Food of the gods indeed, but there’s a downside to this culinary marvel – I can’t eat more than a slice without suffering the most appalling heartburn.

Might explain why the gods always seem to be hurling lightning bolts and in such a bad mood.


Pizzas are not popular in China, and imported Western pizza chains have met with indifferent success. This is despite the fact that pizza was invented there, more than two thousand years ago, during the Qin dynasty, and had many regional forms. But one day, at a great state banquet, one of the guests suddenly picked up his pizza and flung it, frisbee style, at the Emperor. The circular blade concealed inside by a treasonous cook decapitated him.

Pizzas were henceforth banned throughout the Middle Kingdom, pizza ovens and recipes were destroyed, and the very word was expunged from the language.


Wrapped in Wool To Keep It Warm


Jon DeCles

The first pizza is speculated to be that of the Ancient Romans, who baked it on the hot bricks of the hearth after raking back the coals. The dough was made simply with water and chestnut flour. Chestnuts were plentiful, and easier to process than wheat or barley. Pine nuts rather than anchovies provided a contrasting flavor, and a sprinkling of fresh rosemary was covered with a drizzle of olive oil before baking. It was a very rich desert.

Flavius the attractive slave delivered it from the baker, and was subject to the same advances as his attractive contemporary counterpart.


Hotter than the surface of the sun!

That first bite of a fresh pizza that sears the roof of your mouth, instantly flaying the skin in peeling layers from your palate; bubbling blisters erupting from the corners of your lips.

It’s excruciating.

Yet you’re compelled to continue through to the bitter end.

Bite after bite.

Slice after slice.

One piece after another; until, bleeding, torn and blistered, tongue swollen and useless, you collapse, whimpering and broken.

Would you like another slice?


Weekly Challenge 630: Pizza
Posted on May 14, 2018 by dannydwyer
Vito tried to calm a customer outraged at his brother slapping the dough on his bare chest to make pizza by saying, “you think that’s bad, you should see how he makes the doughnuts.” The customer stormed out in a rage. Over the next week, Vito and Tony were shocked at the sudden decline in business. They had NO customers at all.

They agreed to be on “Gordon Ramsay’s 24 Hours to Hell & Back,’ to figure out what was going wrong. Gordon screamed after walking in on Tony making the doughnuts, “Start by taking your dick out of the food, dumb-ass!”


Billbert leaned over, held his stomach, and stared at the ground, waiting for the pain and the students to go away.
When the nausea passed he looked up to find a single student standing there.
She smiled. Neon blue cat ear headphones perched on her blond head matched her blue eyes.
“I’m Linoliamanda. I’m sorry he hit you.”
Billbert gathered up the shreds of plastic. “Yeah. Me too.”
“Do you want to come to my birthday party on Friday? We’re having pizza.”
Billbert shoved the remains of the plastic bag in his pocket and said, “Yeah. That sounds like fun.”


I like to watch the How It’s Made television series.
The episode on Frozen Pizzas is fascinating, showing how much automation there in is the process.
The machines they use are fascinatingly complex.
If I had become an engineer, I’d have liked to have designed machines like that.
But what I find most fascinating is that instead of having to watch The Discovery Channel when they air this show, I can watch any episode by searching for it on YouTube.
On Demand is so fascinatingly complex.
If I had been a software engineer, I’d have liked to design that too.

The Dirty Player

Fred was the dirtiest player.
No, he wasn’t dirty because he broke rules.
I can’t remember him getting a penalty or a fine.
Nor was he dirty from gambling or cheating.
He played cleanly and honestly.
Fred’s dirt was dirt.
Totally filthy. Repugnant.
Everywhere he went, he was surrounded by a billowing dirt cloud.
A real-life Peanuts Pig Pen.
No matter how much he showered and bathed,
He couldn’t explain it.
He was just a magnet for dirt.
Scientists put him in a clean room.
And he still got dirty.
Fred’s team waived him.
Because he wasn’t very good.

Music Lessens

The people who live in the apartment next door have a kid.
The kid must be in remedial music, because they play the recorder every night.
Badly. The shrill music pierced the walls.
After a while, the recorder stopped.
And things were quiet.
Until I heard an electronic keyboard playing one night.
Every so often, actual music comes from the keyboard, but that’s the tutorial mode.
When it slips back into ugly cacophony, I know the kid has taken off the autopilot.
Want to teach the kid something useful?
Get them some headphones.
Teach them respect for the neighbors!

Poisoned Wine

Long ago, our family fled the Nazis for America.
Generations later, we flew back to see what had become of the old country.
Our vineyard was still a vineyard.
Run by another family from the village.
Who claimed to have run the vineyard for centuries.
They had taken our name. And taken our land.
We bought a bottle from them, uncorked it, and poured it at their feet.
The finest wine is poisoned with a single drop of arsenic.
Once tainted, you cannot filter it back out.
Or sufficiently dilute it with all the tears in the world.
Forever ruined.


If you fill
A telescope
With Jello
It’s a Jelloscope
Look far
Look near
Jello there
Jello here
If you look
In the wrong end
The Jello will
Flow and bend
What flavor
What color
Custard, pudding or pie?
Or that hospital crap
Why why why?
The Jello in
The Jelloscope
It ruined the lenses
You fool! You dope!
We’re stuck at sea
No land in sight
And our telescope
Cannot work right
How will we find
Our way back home
We’re doomed! We’re doomed!
We’re doomed! We’re doomed!
Pass me the compass
Before you fill it with oatmeal


Billie needed to get her hair done. Her roots were showing, and the split ends were coming back.
But her regular cosmetologist was booked. And couldn’t fit in any walk-ins.
So, Billie went to a cosmologist.
“Of course I have time for you,” said the cosmologist. “The earth is over four billion years old, and we believe that the universe is nearly fifteen billion years old. What’s a few minutes here and there?”
They discussed galaxies and quasars and pulsars and comets.
After several sessions, Billie’s hair was an absolute fright.
Which explains how Albert Einstein’s hair got that way.

Shot my best friend

I shot my best friend Rex.
It was an accident, I swear.
Besides, he’s fine.
The bullet missed anything important.
And the surgeons got the bullet out.
He keeps the bullet in a glas jar on his shelf.
And he’s always showing people his scar.
“This is where my best friend shot me,” he says.
So, why did I shoot him?
There wasn’t a reason. None at all.
We were shooting at beer cans on a fence, and he held up a can and…
Hey, it was his idea. And he wanted to use shotguns.
Imagine that mess, right?