I had a tough decision to make, but I couldn’t decide.
So, I asked the town’s wise man.
He said: “Arbitrary decisions are best left to arbitrary means.”
I asked him what the hell he was talking about.
“If you can’t decide between two things,” he said. “Toss a coin.”
I thanked him and went outside to toss a coin.
As the coin turned in the air, an eagle swooped down and snatched it from the air.
I went back to the wiseman, eagle perched on a leather glove, feeding it some meat.
“Leave a tip next time,” he said.
Weekly Challenge #265 – Pick Two
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-Five, 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 Pick Two
Go ahead and listen to them and then vote for your favorites (multiple selections are allowed):
And if you want to spam your social networks with this episode, use the Share buttons at the end of the post.
Tom
Oh those Crazy Rice Students are at it again. This time it’s Extreme Monopoly. The uptick is the fun money has been replaced with real money. And the downtick is it’s now a drinking game, land on a property do a shot of rum and Coca-Cola. Alpha Omega house is semi sponsoring the event along with Rudy’s Bail Bond. 200 yards of polypropylene has been duck tape to the entire bottom floor. The brothers from Chi Delta will have there 1920 ambulance parked in front in case we need a quick run to the RCM. Let the good times roll.
Zackmann
He walked into the school and heard someone inside the Vice principals office Scream “I’m Not
the One whose crazy. You’re the one whose crazy”
Oh Daddy thumbs up for bringing me the ink cartridge before schooltime. We need to print fliers
for our Monopoly tournament. This job has been a new beginning for me. I can’t wait until I can
introduce you to my supervisor whose currently practicing for his Suicidal Tendencies tribute
band.
I’ll take you go out for supper to celebrate and I’ll buy you Malabo Rum but I hope you can stop
at just two.
Daniel W.
“I can’t wait until schooltime!” she said.
“You realize you can jump ahead, right?” I generally skip schooltime – until I need knowledge, that is. Wish I could avoid worktime as easily…
“I do things in natural order. You know that!”
“Seriously, love, why don’t you choose to live in an era before time travel was invented? You’d fit in better there…”
Her fingers caressed my cheek. “Because I’d never see you again.”
How does she do that? Say the right words without several trial runs. I will never understand her, and I will always love her. I know, I’ve checked.
Chris the Nuclear Kid
“Sam!” my mom called. We had just moved into a three story house. I
went downstairs to help mom unpack. It would be a new beginning.
Later that day I went up to explore the third floor of the house.
There was a long hallway with two rooms on each side. At the end of
the hall there was a door. I went and opened it. There was a ladder
connected to the wall of the room. I looked up and saw a door, like
one you would see on the bottom of a tree house. I pushed. Locked.
I went back downstairs. “Hey mom, do you have the key to the attic?”
“Yes, why?” she replied.
“I wanted to see what’s up there.”
“Okay, one second.” she said. A little while later she handed me a key.
“Thanks mom.”
“You’re welcome.” she replied. I went back to the attic door.
“Okay, here goes nothing.” I unlocked the door and went in. it was
dark and cold in the attic but then I saw a game. “Monopoly?” I
reached out to take the box but I could not touch it. It was like a
ghost . “Well darn!”
Danny
I anxiously looked out the back window, Terri had just pulled into the parking lot. I opened the back door, Terri said “Hello, I have someone here who wants to meet you.” A little Maltese dog leaped toward me, held back only by his leash, so exited to see me. Fredrick ran into my house. When I picked up little Fredrick for the first time, I held him in my arms, he licked me on my chin and looked into my eyes, “Hello, Daddy.” What a fantastic way to start a new beginning, as Fredrick and I wander through life together.
TJ
His dad was against it. But from an early age, Martin knew he had the
right skills to become a spy. He was patient. He was observant. He could
sit comfortably nearly anywhere for hours. He was almost the exact
description someone would use to describe nondescript. At 16 he was just
old enough to look a little young to be in a bar, but his first real
piece of spy gear – a fake ID – covered that. His first undercover
mission for himself: Sit in a bar till closing, order a rum-and-Coke,
don’t get caught. Four hours later, mission accomplished.
Norval Joe
“Hosmer. Wendell,” The two boys heard their mother call from across the forest meadow. “It’s time to go.” The twins grabbed their gunny sacks, threw them over their shoulders and raced through the ankle high grass of the open field. “What’cha got there, boys?” Their father asked with a wary smile and a raised eyebrow. “Wild lawn gnomes,” Wendell said as the boys tipped the stunned creatures from the bags. They rolled around in confusion and searched for their little red hats. “Not again,” Their dad laughed. “Well, take two or three of the biggest and throw the rest back.”
Planet Z
Clarissa.
She counts her thumbs.
One. Two.
She has two thumbs.
Clarissa smiles.
Before the pills, she would sometimes count none.
Or one. Or three.
Or thousands.
The pills. The marvelous, magical pills.
The doctors made her better with those marvelous pills.
Green ones.
Pink ones.
Blue ones.
Black ones.
So many pills, so many colors.
She lines them up on the table by color, little rows of pills.
She smiles and twiddles her thumbs.
Her two thumbs.
One. Two.
She laughs.
That’s when she sees a pill… slowly… move.
The pill moved.
On its own.
Another pill moves.
And another.
Soon, all the pills are moving, weaving patterns of color on the table.
She counts her thumbs.
One. Two.
Screaming, she jabs them deep into her eyes.
The Drunk
Casey slurred his words like a drunk, but the man didn’t drink. He’d suffered a stroke a few years ago and never quite got his speech all the way back.
He wanted to hang out with us at the bar, though, and we figured he’d make a good designated driver, being sober and all.
We drank ourselves blind stinking drunk, and handed Casey the keys.
Fifteen mailboxes and trash cans later, my truck got wrapped around a lightpost.
“I thought you didn’t drink,” I growled at Casey.
“I don’t drink,” he slurred. “Or drive. I don’t have a drivers license.”
She paints the future
She paints the pain, wide slashes at the canvas, red paint drips like blood.
Wrapping bandages, applying pressure.
The canvas still bleeds; what isn’t covered with red turns grey and sallow.
The red turns dark and black, she can do nothing but watch the canvas die.
Into the dumpster it goes with all the other failures.
You cannot kill art twice.
She casts the spell again, sips another sip of bourbon, and sprays it on a fresh canvas.
Waiting… waiting… feeling…
A pulse!
Dipping the dagger into the red paint, another chant: life… life… life…
The canvas trembles with fear.
Kneecap Rodeo
Yeeeeeeehaw!
It’s Rodeo Time, time to put on our cowboy hats, cowboy boots, and big shiny buckles and thick kneepads-
Kneepads?
Yup. ‘Cause while we countryfolk break horses, the Italians come on down to break kneecaps.
Then Mafiosa with their fedora hats and baseball bats, breaking kneecaps. That ain’t Texas, I reckon.
We cowboys break ’em by blindfoldin and riding them, or denying them food and water for a day before riding.
The Injuns, they ride ’em out to deep water and wear them out.
Then there’s the kneecap whisperer… fell behind in a loan.
Watch out for them Italians!
The Road Not Taken
I remember when I was little, my Papa Robert lived with us.
When it snowed, he’d wander down the road into the yellow woods.
“Go find Papa Robert,” said my father.
We’d suit up and look for him.
Sometimes, he’d take the road to the city and he’d be in the Derry coffee shop in his long johns, warming up, writing poetry.
Other times, he’d be on a side road, wandering in the undergrowth.
He lost a few toes that way.
His glasses all frosty, snow in his hair.
Today, I stand here, trying to decide.
Before my grandkids come.
He Has To Spin
Dr. Harold Weirdland usually ran out of blackboards before he came up with answers, but he bought an iPad and, lo and behold, he came up with answers.
“We age because the world spins!” shouted the mad doctor. “But if we spin in the opposite direction, we’ll stop aging. Maybe get even younger.”
So, the doctor spun.
All day, he’d spin, which made things difficult when it came to eating, drinking, teaching classes, and going to the bathroom.
To spin while sleeping, he combined his bed and a clothes dryer.
He was dizzy, but his diapers were soft and warm.
The Ass End Of Dentistry
Every six months, I go to the dentist.
Well, not the dentist. A dentist.
My mouth is such a horror, they either commit suicide to avoid seeing me again or refer me to one of their colleagues.
Not-well-liked colleagues.
Still, every now and then, one tries to prove themselves, and only when I’m in the chair do they realize their mistake.
“Oh my God,” says the latest brave soul. “That’s… awful!”
He then commanded me to take down my pants and bend over.
Instead of doing a routine cleaning, I got a colonoscopy.
(Don’t ask me where the lollipop went.)
Weekly Challenge #264 – Nasal Spray
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-Four, 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 “Nasal Spray”
Go ahead and listen to them and then vote for your favorites (multiple selections are allowed):
And if you want to spam your social networks with this episode, use the Share buttons at the end of the post.
Ellie
She listened to her rapid, pounding heartbeat, heard her rasping breath and excessive, excruciating coughing echoing out into the air, saw her weakened hands shake and shudder. She felt awful.
It was her fault. It was always her fault. She’d insisted that she was ill, to get the sick leave she’d wanted.
Jerry never found about Rick, and every morning her husband left for work none the wiser about what went on after he left.
Of course, this meant she had to pretend to be sick, and actually use the medicine Jerry got her.
And now she’d overdosed. Fucking nasal spray.
Rah
Chalon and Nick were the best of friends.
Matching inhalers. Matching bifocals. Matching list of allergies.
Now they were sick together.
“We couldn’t! The germs!”
“Quiet Nick.”
Chalon is always the brave one, Nick thought.
“It’s our only hope of survival.”
Both stared at the bottle of Flonase.
“I had to forget mine, didn’t I?” Nick sighed.
“I’ll go first.” Chalon picked up the bottle and dosed.
“Now you.”
Nick started to refuse but saw the determination in Chalon’s eyes. With solemn gaze, he dosed.
They huddled together for the last moments until their mothers called them in for supper.
Zackmann
nasal spray
I never like to hear you wheezing
l never like to see you this way
I never want you on me sneezing
I only want to hear you breathing clearly, have some nasal spray
nasal spray
nasal spray
Oh baby I know I know it can be addictive but try some nasal spray
sometimes we all reach for the medicine cabinet for colds like yours today
I am not saying prayer cant help you
but God gave us nasal spray.
Achoo Achoo
Achoo Achoo
I only want to stop your wheezing, please have some nasal spray
AM Earley
June frantically, blindly, searched her purse. One robber had a gun to her head. The other trained a gun on her husband. No one watched her hands. She pulled out her nasal spray, aimed for the robber’s face and gave him two eyefulls in one blast. She easily subdued him, and called 911, as her husband knocked the other robber to the ground.
After the police arrived and the paperwork handled, June apologized for insisting on taking the shortcut.
“It didn’t ruin our anniversary, June. It reminded me why I love you, Mrs Badass.”
Steven the Nuclear Man
The alien sneezed onto my faceplate and Karen gagged. I shrugged in my spacesuit. “They think it’s weird we move air to communicate.” My suit was already translating the booger’s message for us. “With this planet’s wind, you couldn’t hear someone talking. The mucous transmission of pheromones – ”
“I have a doctorate in xenobiology; don’t mansplain it to me.”
I realized I’d blown any chance of a date – and then I saw the nude human. “Garner’s gone all nature hippie.” Garner approached one of the aliens.
Karen gasped. “Oh crap. He’s got allergies.”
Garner sneezed on the alien.
Chris the Nuclear Kid
I could not smell anything. As I walk through the door I felt something ooze from my nose. I turned to face the bathroom mirror and saw a glob of green. It oozed even faster getting bigger, then fell off. But, it was big as a basketball!
It started to wiggle, so I backed away. Then, as the thing took form, it looked like a humanoid. It started to move towards me, but I grabbed the nasal spray and sprayed the thing. After a while there was nothing but a puddle of green. Thank goodness there had been a drain.
Tom
Professor Amyl nitrite had unearthed an ancient scroll in a tomb in Southern China. After much analyzation by his colleagues the document was authenticated as the work of Sun Tzu author of the Art of War. What made this scroll so astonishing was that the descriptions within were absence from any existing version of the Art of War. The title of the scroll was the Art of Sneezing. It described how a warrior may use nasal spray to disarm an adversary. A rare spice from ShoeYang caused a strong irritation in the nose, but greater in the eyes. Sot bad.
Danny
Damn, these allergies. I’ve tried corticosteroid, topical decongestant, antihistamine, and natural saline nasal sprays, as well as a combined use of all sprays. Even with a combined use of all nasal sprays, it feels like I’m on a rollercoaster, the topical decongestant causes obscene swelling and damages the delicate mucous membranes in the nose, the corticosteroids reverse that swelling but dries out my nose, which the natural nasal sprays relieves. I’m certain the nasal spray companies have conspired together to make products that each create problems the other products solve. Then I finally realized, just get rid of the dog.
TJ
You’ve gotten them mixed up again.
I did not. Spencer Tracy was a detective.
No he wasn’t.
He wasn’t?
No, you’re thinking of Dick Tracy.
Dick Tracy was an actor.
No, Dick Tracy was a comic book detective from the 1930s. Spencer Tracy
was an actor.
Maybe Spencer Tracy played Dick Tracy?
No, that was Warren Beatty.
Oh, I see. Spencer Tracy was in “Gone With the Wind.”
No, he was in “Inherit the Wind.” Warren Beatty was in “Dick
Tracy.”
PLEASE! This is a family podcast.
*snort
Pardon me, but I’ve got to clean diet Coke off of …everything.
Norval Joe
Gilbert slammed his textbook shut with a curse and swiped at his watering eyes with the back of his sleeve.
“These allergies are going to make me fail my English final,” he sniffed wetly and searched for a Kleenex.
Throwing the soggy tissue into the waste basket he stumbled into the bathroom and found his roommate’s bottle of nasal spray.
The first day they shared the room, Gilbert promised to never touch his friends medication.
“Experimental,” Gilbert scoffed. “If it works for Jerry, it’ll work for me.”
Along with the antibodies to hold zombiism in recession came Jerry’s infectious germs.
Planet Z
Ladies and Gentlemen!
Hard times have hit the big top. The circus is coming to ruin.
The elephant’s allergies are acting up, and we can’t afford nasal spray.
The ringmaster’s pawned his rings, so he wears those black gloves all the time so his love, the bearded lady, don’t notice it.
Try the cotton candy… taste funny, don’t it? They’re using a cotton-poly blend now.
And the trapeze act out of Lebanon, The Flying Mohammeds, somehow they got on the No Fly List. Damn this 911 bullshit.
The caliope’s missin a few notes, and the goddamned clown car’s run out of gas.
Everybody get out and push.
Silence
When I first saw “Soylent Green” I watched it with my mute pal Bobby Greene and said “Hey, that’s about you… Soylent Green, Bobby Greene?”
Bobby flapped his hands at me, but I never learned any of that sign language crap.
“Write it down, jackass,” I growled, and he picked up a steno pad and scribbled out FUCK YOU in big letters.
We watched the rest of the movie, Edward G. Robinson dies and Charlton Heston finds out the secret about Soylent Green.
YUCK wrote Bobby.
So, I killed him. Cooked and ate him too.
Hey, Soylent Greene is delicious!