You know how in the movies, some guy gets in a cab, the cab driver says “Where to?” and the guy says “Just drive!” and the cab driver says “It’s your dime, pal.” and he pulls out into traffic and drives around?
Well, that happens to me all the time.
Every time.
For twenty years, I’ve driven a cab, and all I ever do is drive it in circles.
I offer to take people to bars or restaurants or hotels.
But all I ever get is “Just drive!”
I’m going to “just drive” right off of a bridge one day!
Froggy
Froggy went a courtin’, he did ride.
Sword and pistol by his side.
He was also a little drunk.
Okay, very drunk. Drunk as a skunk.
Except that the skunk he ended up courtin’ wasn’t drunk.
She was sober, and uninterested in Froggy.
Froggy wouldn’t take no for an answer.
So, the skunk sprayed him right in his gigantic bulbous eyes.
Froggy spun in circles, screaming bloody murder. We laughed.
We weren’t laughing when he pulled the pistol and began shooting wildly.
Killed three.
And really impressed the skunk.
(Later, Froggy sobered up, saw his bride, the skunk, and ran.)
The Shoe Tree
My parents resisted the temptation to give sarcastic answers to my stupid questions, but they caved in every so often.
“They grow on trees,” my mother said, exhausted from my asking where shoes come from for the tenth time that morning. “In fact, the tree on the corner is a shoe tree.”
She pointed to the plum bush.
“Why don’t I see shoes on it?” I asked.
“They grow at night,” said my dad. “Neighbors steal them.”
I spent a week camped out on the lawn, trying to stand guard over the shoe tree.
I got a case of pneumonia.
Descent
As I stood by the grave, there was a loud bang and the coffin’s descent halted.
The motorized winch had shorted out again.
We’ve been needing a new one for a while, but the boss is cheap.
And a drunk.
“Hand crank it,” I say to the crew, and head to the office.
“Motor blew again,” I say.
“Use the backup one,” he shouts, and he knocks over the empty bottle off of his desk. “Aw dammit.”
“This is the backup one,” I say, and, trembling, I smash in his skull with it.
No winch for him.
He’ll be cremated.
Weekly Challenge #266 – “Bugs”
Welcome to the 100 Word Stories podcast at podcasting.isfullofcrap.com. I’m your host, Laurence Simon.
This is Weekly Challenge Number Two Hundred and Sixty-Six, where I post a topic and then challenge you to come up with a 100 word story based on that topic.
The topic this week was Bugs
There’s an error with PollDaddy and WP-Polls at the moment, so here’s the authors for this week:
I’ll work on the polling bug later today, okay?
And if you want to spam your social networks with this episode, use the Share buttons at the end of the post.
Whiskey Day
If I had known it was the last time we would speak, I would have talked about something more significant than bugs. I look back on that conversation with a mix of curiosity and sadness. That such a mundane conversation, so banal and unworthy, would later take on the importance of the Last Words Spoken between us.
I hold each recalled phrase to the light, and examine every angle for deeper meaning. My desperation to see a missed clue will never be satisfied. They’re just words.
“I’ll call someone next week,” he lied.
I wish I could remember my reply.
TJ
Martin knew that spying required more than patience. He needed to manage
electronic surveillance as well. He set for himself a task of
overhearing something he wasn’t meant to. To this purpose, he tore
apart the innards of an old baby monitor from the shed, broke it down
and, consulting a circuitry schematic diagram in his physics textbook,
hooked the microphone and transmitter to a 9-volt battery and hid it in
his parents’ bedroom, with the receiver in his own. Mission
accomplished. The next morning he removed the bug, and set for himself a
new task: Unhearing his father’s safeword.
Norval Joe
Cans were stacked in corners of the living room and under the coffee table. He couldn’t just throw them away; they were a Christmas present from his mother. In January the anticipation was so intense he could hardly stand it. He marked off each day on the calendar until it arrived. When his first “Canned Ham of the Month” came he ate it ravenously. When February’s came, he made the seasoned meat last all month. When March’s present arrived, he twisted the little metal pin around the seal of the can. It had barely opened when the bugs swarmed out.
Tom
Bugs Bunny. Is that a rabbit with six legs or insect with long floppy ears? “What the hell are you talking about? Bugs Bunny is a Warner Brother’s cartoon character, he’s sort of Mickey Mouse with attitude. “Oh, he’s mouse shaped.” “No, he’s sort of people shaped.” “Why not call him Homo Bunny then?” “No one is going to watch a cartoon called Homo Bunny! He’s called Bugs because he is irritating, just like you. “I’m trying to get a modicum of specificity here, a rabbit who looks like a person, acts like a mouse with a personality of a scorpion
Yup. Stupid.
Zackmann
Tell me Bob, what do you think of new bug verses old bug. The New bug is safer and more
complicate and has a harder time functioning if broken than the old bug which is more
dangerous but more reliable than the new bug. The old bug came from Germany then people
started getting from Mexico and the new bug comes from Mexico but most people still think it
comes from Germany. Do you like the new bug or the old bug more? As you know Bob we will
likely have to sample both to produce this years flu shots.
Steven the Nuclear Man
Marcus’ fingers clung to the ceiling plaster, watching the the rotund mayor and short, compact priest. They always run to Rome when things get bad, he thought, tongue running over his fangs.
“Father, vampires exist.” The mayor wiped sweat from his brow. “They threatened -”
“That you had to give them someone every week or they’d drain your family instead. Standard tactic.” The priest frowned. “You made sure we aren’t observed?”
The mayor nodded. “My assistant swept for bugs.”
The priest began to speak, then Marcus dropped the bloodless mayor’s daughter on the desk.
“Not what he meant,” the vampire said.
Daniel
“Prepare the pesticide bombs, soldier,” I said, lowering the binoculars. I’ve been in many engagements against the bugs, though never successfully. We fought hard, but when this encounter was over, as usual, I was the only human survivor. Another city fell because of my failures.
“Why? Why kill everyone but me?” I sobbed in the depopulated ruins.
The swarm amassed, bug upon bug, into a humanoid shape. Tiny wings beat air through an artificial throat, and it/they spoke for the first time. “They die because it’s us or them, but your experiment created us; we will not kill our father.”
Planet Z
The irony of bugs in the control software for the cybernetic cockroaches caused Dr. Gregor to quietly laugh at his console before going back over the code and making the necessary corrections.
Using cockroach-mounted cameras and microphones, he had created the perfect espionage tool. Just crawl a few of these critters into a room and you could eavesdrop on a critical meeting or roam them over classified documents.
Simple and easy spycraft.
As for the unit that had been found in his assistant Olga’s shower, well, he was just testing the waterproofing compound on the microcircuitry and anti-fogging lenses on the tiny camera.
What a beautiful day!
Wally practically danced into the room, soaking wet and smiling as wide at his dripping hat.
“What a beautiful day!” he sang, gritting his teeth madly.
Down in the basement, Clem the Maintenance Supervisor watched in shock as the Sarcasm Compensator shook and rattled, glowing slightly red before spitting out a steaming ingot CLANK!
Clem put it on the cart with the other ingots, where they’d wait for the school to pick them up.
Sometimes, he’d pocket a really good ingot and sell it to a kid at a comedy club.
As if they needed any more sarcasm, right?
CLANK!
The Final Rule
I have a hollow tooth. It is full of poison.
If I am captured, I will crush the tooth, swallow the poison, and die.
Sure enough, I’m in the middle of a mission, and I get captured.
So, I try to crush it, but it doesn’t break.
I smash my face against the table.
Nope. But I do bloody my nose.
Eventually, I get the information tortured out of me, and I’m sent back as part of a prisoner exchange program.
“Tooth’s a dud,” I say.
The agent reaches in, crushes it with pliers.
“Nope,” he said.
And I die.
The Werewolf
Bob points his gun at the werewolf, pulls the trigger… BANG!
The Werewolf goes down and lies still.
Bob waits for a bit, then says “Get up.”
The Werewolf gets up. “Those blanks are pretty loud.”
Bob hands the Werewolf a small red pouch. “Poke a hole in that and grab it to your side when I shoot you.”
“Just get me on the cart and the hell out of town before they do anything worse.”
The Werewolf and Bob went from town to town with their scam, became filthy stinking rich, and retired happily.
(But everybody else was dead.)
The King Of Cakes
It is Mardi Gras, and it is time for the King Cake.
I find this purple and yellow pile utterly disgusting, and I refuse to take a piece.
The rest of the group greedily rips off hunks, devouring loudly, until one pulls out a crinkly diaper.
“What the hell is this?” they say, throwing the diaper to the ground.
“Well,” says Carol, “you’re supposed to bake a baby into the cake, and whoever gets the baby will have good luck.”
Foster spits out some toes. “A METAL BABY!” he shouts.
Everybody begins to vomit.
Me, I reach for the cake.
Arc
Noah sat on a stool and watched the skies darken, rainclouds growing thicker.
All around him, two of every animal stood around, stinking to high heaven and making a terrible racket.
Sadly, not enough to drown out the constant shouts of “YOU FOOL!” from his wife.
He felt something… was that a drop of rain? He held out his hand, wondered if it was raining already.
“So, are you going to load up your ARK now?” sneered his wife.
Noah looked at the gigantic, narrow wooden curve he’d built and sighed.
“I swear, I thought he said arc. Damn homonyms.”