George The Pirate – Bullet

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
He spent a lot of time reading books. He liked to read.
He always carried a small book in his shirt pocket.
“Put that book away, George,” said the captain.
“This might one day block a bullet,” he said. “I’ve read stories where someone shoots someone else in the heart, and the bullet gets blocked by a book in their pocket.”
George smiled and sat down.
On his flintlock pistol.
“Ouch,” said George. “Help?”
George read his book while the ship’s surgeon removed the bullet from his ass.

Weekly Challenge #699 – Dresser



“This is not a dresser. It’s a cupboard.”
The seller tried to convince her that it was a dresser, a modern dresser, a modern looking dresser. The seller talked a lot. He also smiled a lot. No, he sneered. That made her uncomfortable. He tried to convince her that the shelf standing next to the supposed dresser belonged to the package although it looked completely different. In fact, it wasn’t a shelf at all. It was a coat rack.
She didn’t appreciate being tricked.
It was difficult to stuff all the pieces of the seller inside his stupid modern dresser.


When Left With a Single Course of Action

With a furrowed brow he pondered the ruin of all things. The deepest furrow newly added to the rows of ancient weights was for his niece Amada Longbridge. A girl with infinite inspection and little else. Was this the third or the fourth time ransom to Barbary Pirates had been transmitted to his agents on the continent? No matter it was this or rounding up rowers for a foray up the Amazon.

“Your Lord,” quietly spoke Arnfleck “Yes.” “A wire from the Americas.” As he read a new furrow settle in above the last. “Seems we’ll need more than Lawyers, Guns, and Money this time.

And there it Sits

It caught my eye as I rounded the corner to the bathroom. In the room forever referend to as the sewing room, a good thirty years after any sewing was done, sat the dresser. I forgot it was there. I had given it to our intentional niece Zen when she had made the sewing room, her room. That was before she became wife and mother. I never cared for the green paint job and at the time of purchase planned to strip it down and leave the raw wood exposed. That was fourth year ago. I’ll get around to it.


Set dresser

I always wanted to work in the movies, but it’s a tough industry to get a foot in the door, and you have to work from the bottom up if you’re serious about making it to the top.

I started in low budget porn flicks, working as a set dresser for such classics as ‘Dyking Miss Daisy’ and ‘Ocean Does Eleven’, but my big break came in ‘Every Which Way, Butt-Loose’, when a cast member dropped out and I was asked to be an anal stunt double.

It brought a whole new meaning to ‘working from the bottom up’!


When the lights came on, the dancers separated. Linoliumanda held tightly to Billbert’s hand.

The principal, Ms. Frunsio scowled at the assembled youth. “If we find out who turned off the lights, you will be suspended.”

Tony stepped in front of Billbert and looked down at him with a sneer. “Well, aren’t you the fancy dresser.”

Marrissa giggled. With his arm around her waist, and hers around his, they shuffled away like a pair of drunks.

Billbert looked at his white t-shirt and new blue jeans and compared himself.

He looked the same as most of the boys his age.


I’m not unusual in wanting to keep alive the last memories of dead relatives; I just have a few more than usual.

When so many of your family die in unusual circumstances, leaving no immediate next of kin, I’ve always been there to take the ashes and give them a new home.

I have so many urns, I bought a dresser to keep them all together.

All, that is, except Aunt Maude.

She always hated the heat, and cremation just didn’t seem appropriate.

So I chopped her up and keep her in the freezer.

Handy for the occasional Sunday roast.


i don’t own a dresser.
Instead, I own a large armoire and a rolltop desk.
I put my socks, underwear, and shorts in the armoire.
And lay my pants along the top of the rolltop desk.
I hang my undershirts up in the closet.
And then hang them paired with button-down overshirts.
All black, mind you. Because I look good in black.
One of the cats likes to pull out the armoire drawers and crawl in them to sleep.
They shed all over my clothes. Sometimes, they vomit, too.
Then she goes back to sleep.
In another drawer, of course.

The next topic is VOID

Hi there. This is Laurence Simon of the 100 Word Stories Podcast at

Every week, I post a topic for the Weekly Challenge, where you come up with the stories and I collect them up and share them.

Want to give it a try? The topic of the next 100 Word Stories Weekly Challenge is VOID

Write a 100 word story on that topic. Then, send it in an email to isfullofcrap (at) with the subject line of WEEKLY CHALLENGE.

Also, suggest a topic or topics for future Weekly Challenges.

Do you have a website where people can learn more about you and your writing? Include the URL to that website.

Most importantly, include a recording of your story. Be sure to introduce yourself to the audience.

I put the episode together on Sunday morning. However, if you need more time, I can put your story up on the feed in a separate post.

Good luck, and as always… keep it brief.

JAN 6 corner
JAN 13 adult
JAN 20 The Devil
judge, delivery, your, lion, unicorn, cherry, Incense, if

FEB 3 transmission
FEB 10 mug
FEB 17 sharp
bob, stitch, eaten, pittance, delete, trumpet, ribcage, ticke, Ziegler

MAR 3 wordy
MAR 10 kill
MAR 17 why can’t you be more like your sister?
MAR 24 confluence
standard, grafitti, blinding, blithering, pony, sparkle, amuse, Fire

APR 7 emotive
APR 14 charge
APR 21 potato chips
hire, heart attack, strip, weaponize, fink, nancy, Bumbling, volt

MAY 5 jack
MAY 12 slurp
MAY 19 zone
stunted growth, bath, passive, pelt, atmosphere,nameless,tendency

JUN 2 surrounded
JUN 9 losing
JUN 16 logic
JUN 23 plot
reason, discretion, zone, stunt, simple, deadwood, Tuba

JUL 7 current
JUN 14 devotion
JUL 21 peer
alligator, bath, vindictive, caterwaul, mildred, bruises, That’s Life, mush

AUG 4 speed
AUG 11 lady
AUG 18 partners
German, in the darkness…, vehicle, halfway, cute, color-coded, Pan

SEP 1 furrow
SEP 8 dresser
SEP 15 void
SEP 22 net
void, intertwine, den, get, fudged, meltdown, Tan

OCT 6 smutty
OCT 13 sturdy
OCT 20 tool
saucy, holidays, turtle, boom, cluster, chainsaw, Breast

NOV 3 boom
NOV 10 who cares?
NOV 17 option
panel, acid, blaine, current, coma, stink, Taste

DEC 1 sassy
DEC 8 the F word
DEC 15 broken
DEC 22 throne
probiotic, seventh, fletch, brown manilla envelope, mention, that’s what she said…, Support


pulled from the water
hop to it
treading water
do the needful
nobody gets out of here alive
We apologise for the inconvenience
What’s that on the radar?
Pick me?
It’s not you, it’s me
signals from outer space
here be monsters!
who’s blood is that?

George the Monk

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
After he was suspended for pooping on the swab deck, he tried being a Buddhist monk.
They shaved his head, gave him robes, and asked him to chant all day and night.
He got pretty good at it.
It was when they handed him chalk and asked him to make mandalas that George ran into trouble.
Instead of scraping the chalk to make beautiful patterns, he drew dirty pictures on the temple’s floor and walls.
Rubbing his hand through the stubble on his scalp, he returned to his ship.

George’s Mentor

Fred was a pirate, and he was a very good pirate.
Unlike George, who wasn’t a very good pirate.
The captain asked Fred to coach George.
So, Fred and George worked out a set of goals.
And they held weekly progress meetings.
Fred ran George through a series of drills, and then practice exercises to apply what he’d learned.
“I think I’m getting the hang of this,” said George.
And he ran Fred through with his cutlass.
“Oops,” said George.
George tried to bury Fred at sea.
Despite being moored at the port.
Fred’s bloody corpse flopped on the dock.

George the Drugged Pirate

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
This caused him a lot of anxiety and stress, so he went to see a therapist.
The therapist asked George why he was a pirate, and if there was anything else he wanted to be.
“I just want to be a pirate,” said George. “There’s nothing else I want to be.”
The therapist prescribed some anti-anxiety medication, and it helped with George’s stress and anxiety.
But he was still a mediocre pirate. He just didn’t care that he was mediocre.
And he did a half-assed job happily ever after.

George the Pirate Sails

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
Sure, he could spot ships from miles away, but they weren’t treasure ships.
They were heavily-armed frigates, fellow pirate ships, or other worthless or dangerous targets.
“It’s not like they’re going to fly flags that say WE HAVE TREASURE or something like that,” said George.
So, George sewed some flags that said WE DON’T HAVE TREASURE to offered to every ship they’d meet.
“It’s reverse psychology,” said George. “Whoever buys one is trying to hide the fact that they have treasure.”
“Where did our sails go?” asked The Captain.

George the Birthday Pirate

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
If you saw him standing there, you’d think he was a good pirate.
But looks can be deceiving.
George didn’t go on pillaging raids.
Instead, he performed at childrens’ birthday parties.
He’d tie up the birthday boy or girl and hold them for ransom.
The ransom would be cake and ice cream for everyone.
He and the kids would sing pirate songs. Wave their plastic cutlasses around.
George was really good at that. And it was really fun.
And he got all the cake and ice cream he wanted.

George the Pirate Doesn’t Quit His Day Job

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
But he was popular as a performer at children’s’ birthday parties.
He had a ventriloquist act with a stuffed parrot on his shoulder.
George would say something, and then the parrot would make a joke.
George also had a talking treasure chest. The lid would open and close like a mouth.
Sure, the kids could see his lips move, but they still loved the act.
“It’s nice act,” George remembered his father saying. “But don’t quit your day job.”
So, after the gig, George would return to the ship.

Weekly Challenge #698 – FURROW



Something was different. She could feel it. She turned the pages slowly, trying to figure out what was going on. She couldn’t see any difference, but she knew something had changed. Then, suddenly, she turned to page 22 and there it was. A whole paragraph was different. It had nothing to do with the rest of the story. She frowned. She turned to page 23. Everything looked fine. She turned back to page 22. The paragraph was gone. She slammed the book shut and put it back on the shelf. The writing demons were out again. And so it started.



Furrow is such a difficult word to insert into a story, unless you happen to be speaking to a farmer, buying a tractor or writing a novel about a struggling writer whose brow was furrowed with frustration about his inability to use the word ‘furrow’ in a creative manner.

Halfway through, and the writer’s brow furrowed as he pondered what to do with the next fifty words.

“Why can’t we write about pirates?” he uttered in frustration.

“Because”, said the kindly librarian, “what would we write about for ‘Talk like a pirate day?”

“Now, knuckle down, and write about furrows!”


The rabbits at Appleby Farm were better organised than most. Rather than take pot luck at finding a worthwhile meal, they organised a foraging council and planned to burrow beneath a furrow and purloin the carrot harvest from below.

The first year was a resounding success, and the council resolved to extend the burrow beneath the freshly planted parsnips the following season.

Farmer Brown was not a rabbit, and was infinitely more intelligent. After losing his entire carrot crop, he laced the second planting with strychnine.

It worked better than expected…

The following year’s rabbit crop was the best ever!


The scholar-cleric with his furrowed brow
That labours long to pierce the ancients’ thought
Whose learning’s but a library of scrolls
And never once the truth of things has sought;
Who reads one argument and sets it by
Another passage arguing against,
Then other fragments brings from other books
And writes a new work patch’d from all the old,
Yet never steps outside to see the things
Of which these authors wrote — such dullards all
Know nothing of entangling with the Real:
Such is the only road to knowledge sure.

Better to make one observation new
Than endlessly debate about the True.


Jay held his breath, stifling the giggling for all he was worth. He felt Trish doing the same, lying next to him in the furrow between rows of cornstalks. They were still as statues as the white beams of flashlights crisscrossed above them, red and blue flashes painting the landscape. Amid the radio squawks, and clamor from the deputies’ fruitless searching, Jay stole a glance to his right, and saw Trish grinning back, felt her squeezing his hand, her eyes sparkling with excitement and police lights. He didn’t know what he’d been thinking, but he knew what he was feeling.


With the power off, the only lights shown from the distant admin building and did little to illuminate the crowded room. Most of the kids chattered and laughed, others let out artificially high-pitched screams to add to the confusion.

Linoliumanda kissed Billbert. This was good. It took him back to the quick kiss in Linolumanda’s bedroom and the sensations he had wanted to experience again.

Unfortunately, the lights came on. Billbert and Linoliumanda floated head and shoulders above the crowd. They quickly dropped to the floor.

The principal stood on a riser, a frown furrowing her brow, scanning the room.


When we planned the music festival, we made a list of the things we needed.
Food, water, electricity, stages, and so on.
We worked up plans for everything.
We went to other music concerts and sports events with stopwatches and clipboards, estimating the traffic to the bathrooms.
Then, we set up the budgets, and sold tickets to raise funds.
Across the city… across the state… across the country…the money rolled in.
And the people came from all over, setting up their camps and tents.
On the first day… nothing.
We’d forgotten to book acts.
Or budgeted for an escape plan.