Many folk with nowhere to go on a Saturday night have asked how do you Tom write a 100 word story
I’m a ghostwrite. At 3:45pm Tuesday afternoons my kitchen becomes filled with disembodied forms. Most are from New Jersey which is odd because I live in California. Most don’t have much of a story to tell, when I point this out they get bummed out and float off howling towards the locale Carl’s Juniors. BUT others, well they have had really fulfilled lives brimming with sadness and joy, know where all the skeletons are buried. One guy named Frank was on the white house staff during the Lincoln administration. He told me about this thing Abe could do with his ….
I am the winner. Give me a medal.
I will not accept just a plaque. Unless the plaque is used for displaying a copy of the medal I am wearing.
I do not want a trophy. I do not own a trophy case, and a trophy deserves more than just a bookshelf.
Plus, I cannot wear the trophy around like I can wear a medal.
I will not let you give me just a ribbon. If you give me a ribbon, it had better be used to hang the medal around my neck.
Ribbons can’t stop bullets like medals, either.
It’s springtime again.
I want to go down to the stream and gather rocks and pebbles.
My pet turtle likes fresh ones in his terrarium every spring.
After school, I go down to the creek and fill the bottom of my bookbag with stones.
When I get home, I put my turtle in the sink and carry his bowl to the back yard to dump out the rocks and water
Then I bring the bowl back inside, wash it out, and arrange the new rocks.
A little water, and then I put the toy plastic turtle back in his bowl.
Many folk with high hopes have ask how do you Tom write a 100 word story
Now that I have become world famous and fabulously wealth I have decided to incorporate. I’m more interested in brand Tom then the dribble that hits the page. So I’m paying for my stories and slapping my name on them. “Saaaaayyyyy it’s not so. Joe.” Get a life. Ever major brand you buy is produced in some godforsaken sweatshop in the Pacific Rim. French shirt made in Pakistan. I like to think I’m filling the stomach of some kid in Bhopal. It’s not the product it’s the presentation. I stoke the star making machinery of the popular pulp. Chow baby.
Many folk with rings on their fingers and bell on their toes have asked how do you Tom write a 100 word story
Sometimes your writing is structurally sound, logically presented, the flow and timing is spot on, but it’s just flat. What do I mean by flat? It just lies there. So what do you do? I run the text though an internet English to German translator. It will give it some edge. Then I will run the German through a Japanese translator to give it an ethereal film. Next it goes into a Russian translator which brings up a fare amount of irony. Last it goes back to English which is handed off to the midget and it gets really twisted
This neighborhood is a great place to raise a family.
Especially if you want to raise them from the dead.
Yeah, this subdivision’s built on an ancient Indian burial ground.
What? You don’t want to raise an Indian family?
You’re not racists, are you?
Oh. Good. Well, then… the block over there is built on the site of a Presbyterian church. Maybe they had a cemetery along with it?
Just look for the stones marked “Infant” or “Son” or “Daughter.”
Unless you find a name you really like, because, let’s face it: the walking dead are lousy with new names.
Many folk with teeny tiny hands have asked how do you Tom write a 100 word story
There is no better lens to view popular culture and perhaps more specifically American culture then though Japanese’s animation. I like to watch 8 to 10 hours a day. I find myself regularly yelling at the screen “That’s so Japanese.” It’s weird to see Americanized characters suddenly extolling the virtues of honor, loyalty, sacrifice, and fraternity. Oh did I forget respect. How can a cartoon help you write better? It reminds you of the core values we have abandon for a buck. If you place them into your stories it creates a gnawing sense of loss for a nobler time.
My left knee is a wreck. The surgeons cannot decide how best to repair it. So, delaying action, they take more X-rays.
I think they hope the radiation will cause a cancer that necessitates amputation. It would be so much easier to build a metal leg than repair this one.
Hiring a midget and giving him a samurai sword, however, was taking things too far.
The insurance company disagreed. In fact, hiring sword-waving midgets is covered by Medicare Plan A.
“Just try not to bend down,” says a surgeon. “He might try to chop off your head, despite the contract.”
Many folk with femurs have asked how do you Tom write a 100 word story
You know how those magnetic poem kits work? The old school version is done with rubber cement and scissors. My stories lend themselves to be chopped up and rearranged. In fact that is what gives them that other worldly quirkiness. When you employ the gluing method of story construction it is best to go with phrases over individual words. Easier to stick down. There are two ways to apply the cement. Smear glue on just the back of the words and squishy it in place. Or carefully coat page and parts, blow dry and position. More anally retentive, but permanent.
Welcome to the Weekly Challenge Number Two Hundred and Fifty-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 Warped
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Tom
Marcy could warp space. She did it by singing to Green Pony. A short song in made-up words and reality turned all Klein Bottley. Puppies and kittens did not do well around Marcy. When mum and dad exerted parental authority Marcy and Green Pony showed them the error of their one-dimensional point of view with a first hand perspective. Marcy found she didn’t have a fondness for any authority figure. So she started warping governments. She said, “Governments are generally not good for people.” Some might say this is a warped point of view. You want to tell Marcy that?
Terrazabyte
For most kids, summer time is the best time of the year. The Schools are closed, the days are filled with playing and some kids go off to summer camp. Best time of the year for some, but not Vinnie.
Vinnie’s parents were a bit warped and always sent him off to Mime Camp. They’d pack his luggage with black tights, face makeup and little white gloves.
Vinnie protested against going but his parents would only look back at him with frowning & crying gestures.
This year, Vinnie fought back and shot both of his parents… with a finger gun.
Todd
“I give up. What IS your superpower?”
The woman’s eyes smiled through the wafting steam of her coffee cup as she took a sip.
“I can teleport.” She said grabbing his hand, concentrating.
…and they warped…
Suddenly they were standing on a beach.
“Awesome! Can I try?” The man asked excitedly.
“Sure. Grab my hand. Sometimes it helps to say it at first.”
“New York City!” he yelled.
…and they warped…
Suddenly they were standing on busy street. A cab screamed by, horn blaring. The cabbie yelled, “Watch it buddy!”
“Go to hell!” The man yelled back.
…and they warped…
Zackmann
Hello, I just called to complain about the reference you gave for the contractor you found me.
The one you said was a straight as a board. His estimate was totally off. He ran up a big bill
at the hardware store. He never showed up at the time or on the day scheduled. I had to hire
someone else not only to complete what he started but also to fix everything he did. I suspect
he’s brain dead.
What? You always bought lumber from the discount bin? You really have what I call a warped
sense of humor.
Robert
On a dark and lonely corner
Where no one wants to be
I see a face and scorn her
For she has no purity
Her body has been mistreated
Her mind it has been used
Her problems are deep seated
But she stands there still amused
Shortly after I pay her for her time
And warn her I won’t be back
She says you are still a friend of mine
Even though I gave her the sack
Running, now to get away
Looking back in her direction
I realize I want to stay
Warped by some paid affection
AM Earley
Lenny and I came back from the war a little warped. I can’t sleep during the night anymore. So I got hired by the neighborhood to patrol at night.
Lenny can’t see anything destroyed. He makes a great handyman, except during the demolition stage. Fortunately his apprentice is more than willing to demolish.
Hell, Lenny made my new leg. It doesn’t make a single noise as I walk around at night.
We are coping the best we can, but every so often we have bad memories of the war. Hell, if you had seen the tree meter tall mountain troll that ate my leg in a single bite. I don’t care how strong a paladin I was, that would give anyone nightmares.
Danny
Captain Kirk stood on the bridge, and screamed, “Take us to Warp speed. Mr. Sulu!” Sulu replied, “We can’t, Captain, the helm is warped.” “What?,” Kirk replied. “Sulu, are you warped? The helm is fine.” Sulu replied, “The only warped person on this bridge is you, Captain, and no, the helm is warped, haven’t you even noticed we’ve been doing warp nine in a big circle for over an hour now?” “Uhura, is the Helm warped?” Kirk asked. “Well, duh, are you warped, Captain? Have you not noticed the helm is at a 90 degree angle?” Spock finally interjects, “Totally illogical.”
Norval Joe
A light tap brought Jerry to the door.
He peered through the peep hole at his ex-girlfriend, Beth and huffed, “What’s she doing here?”
Incensed, he yanked on the door knob to snarl in Beth’s face, but the door stuck at the bottom, opened a few inches at the top and slammed shut as Jerry lost his grip on the brass knob.
Jerry leaned into the door and pulled up on the knob to free the misshapen door.
“I thought you’d like to meet my new boyfriend,” Beth smiled.
Jerry’s former best friend, Heinrich, winked.
“Beth,” Jerry said, “You’re warped.”
TJ
Five frizzy Magenta wigs bobbed at varying heights among the
Frankenfurters and the stick-figure blondes in their grandmothers’
slips. The one Columbia who’d gone all out with the glittering tuxedo
and top hat was about 50, and the Riff Raffs looked like they’d be
more at home at the VFW next door. It was an odd collection of
characters, to be sure, but Larry, having tracked down a pair of
tightie-whities he felt comfortable wearing in public and some
birth-control glasses, forgot he was an accountant and joyously leapt
forward to join the “Time Warp.” Don’t dream it. Be it.
Steven
I take a handful of night and pull.
The darkness stretches, warps, deforms around me. The empty dark
shifts to the dark of sweaters, coats, and stinking gym shoes.
Outside the closet door, Marcus and Josephine are putting their son to
bed. They are older than I remember. Happier, after retiring years
ago. After they stopped hunting my kind. My offspring.
Their son cries – he knows I’m here in the closet again. They laugh,
tell him that I don’t exist, and go downstairs.
The demon hunters’ son cries alone in his bed.
I hush him with one long claw.
Planet Z
One week out of jail, I’m back to robbing homes.
The floorboards are warped from all the years of damp.
I walk across them as slowly as I can, but they still creak with every step.
Thank God my Aunt Gertie is deaf. She’ll have no idea I’m here.
I reach into the cookie jar and pull out a wad of bills, stuffing it into my pocket.
“Put it back, Carter,” says the old woman. I turn around, she’s got a shotgun pointed at my head. “I saw you in the mirror.”