The maid comes once per week.
We always clean up before she comes.
Not because she charges by the hour. She’s here all day.
No, it’s because some of the things we leave out and strewn around, we don’t want other people seeing.
Or picking up and keeping as evidence for later blackmail attempts.
So, we scrub the floors, deep-vacuum the carpets, wipe the counters, and get everything so shiny, it looks as new the day we bought it.
The maid comes, looks around, and then watches television all day.
As long as she brings us the weed, we’re fine.
On break
“I’m going to take a break,” said God. “I need more coffee.”
He stood up from his desk, stretched, picked up His coffee mug, and went down the hall.
Nobody’s seen Him since then.
The angels aren’t sure what to do.
They thought about hiring a temp, but nobody knows God’s passwords.
And He never bothered to finish the universe’s owner’s manual.
All they’ve got are a few scribbled notes here and there.
And the diagram for a platypus.
“Run this by manufacturing” it says.
Boy, that was a stressful day.
When they let a few mockups loose in Australia.
Weekly Challenge #582 – I can’t believe that…
Welcome to the 100 Word Stories podcast at oneadayuntilthedayidie.com.
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:
JEFFREY
The Heist
by Jeffrey Fischer
It was the perfect heist. Mike had scoped out the bank while I planned the getaway route. We’d demand everything from the teller drawers which, on a Friday, would be bursting with cash for payday.
The first part went like clockwork. Mike and I entered the bank with our masks and pulled our guns, covering the guard and ensuring no one pushed a panic button. We split the bags of cash and went our separate ways in case one of us got caught, arranging to meet later. That’s when everything went sour.
The cops were waiting by my car. I couldn’t believe that son of a bitch Mike set me up. As the cops read me my rights, I heard another set of sirens nearby. At least my anonymous call prior to the heist got a quick response.
RICHARD
Luv Story
I can’t believe that we’re still together after all these years!
[I can’t believe that I’ve stuck with you all this time]
I never really knew what you saw in me.
[It was your inheritance!]
And after all this time, you still love me.
[I tolerate you – it’s your money I love]
And you’ll stick by me, no matter what.
[Just as long as the money lasts]
So, I know you’ll forgive me, and somehow we’ll get by…
[Whaddya mean?]
The money… I honestly thought he was a Nigerian prince!
[What!?]
I can’t believe that I fell for it!
LIZZIE
“What are cobalt, fluorine and iron together?”
Everyone looked puzzled by the question.
The café owner grinned.
“Think about it for a bit.”
She walked away, basking in how the tricky question had caught the cheeky young men off-guard. Each day, they would ask her questions she couldn’t answer and laughed at her ignorance.
After a few minutes, she went back to their table.
“Well? I can’t believe you couldn’t come up with one little answer.”
They shook their heads, baffled.
She poured a cup of coffee slowly.
They still looked puzzled.
“Coffee! Co, plus F, plus Fe. Hah! Gotcha!”
CHARLIE
I had a craving for some meat. I was coerced into a vegan diet by my partner for the past year, but now, left alone for a few days, I foraged in the back of the freezer. I found an unmarked package wrapped in butcher paper. I hoped it was the beef I hid behind the ice cubes.
I unwrapped the package, rubbed the chunk of meat with my favorite spices and put it in the oven – 475 degrees for four hours should do it. I can’t believe I ate the whole thing.
It was like eating a charcoal briquette.
SERENDIPITY
They say your life flashes before your eyes in that brief moment before death.
I can categorically tell you that isn’t true – I’ve despatched many unfortunate victims and never once have I seen the slightest evidence of their lives flashing before their eyes before they succumb to the inevitable.
I’ve seen abject misery, extreme fear, utter terror and total despair; shock, horror and dismay… All of these emotions and more, I’ve seen flash before the eyes of the condemned.
I’ve seen the foreboding of death in the eyes of the dying…
But life? No – I can’t believe that.
TOM
A Wasted Youth is Better by Far than a Wise and Productive Old Age
I can’t believe Paul McCartney is 75. How that happen? One minute its 1963 the next your chew up the front end of a new millennium. Hell Ann-Margret even older, so Raquel Welch. Jane Fonda is pushing 80. Kennedy is 100, but he’s dead so is Bowie, Glen Fry, and Gregg Allman. So what’s your point old man? I’m a god damn Boomer, and we Do not go gentle into that good night, Old age should burn and rave at close of day; Rage, rage against the dying of the light. Thank you Dylan. I think I’ll take a nap
JON
Credulity
By
Jon DeCles
Americans have been trained to credulity for several generations now. It was an evil moment when advertising executives were enfolded by politics. The schools slipped from teaching reading, writing, and arithmetic to television appreciation and obedience to authority. Any knowledge that was more than three months old became obsolete; nothing was worth remembering for more than three months, and eventually the group memory of Americans became no more than three months, though everybody possessed an exception: hobby memory, like baseball statistics.
It should not have surprised me when she said: “I can’t believe that you’d think President Nixon would lie!”
NORVAL JOE
Jack’s mother glared at him and said, “I can’t believe that a son of mine could be stupid enough to accept four beans for one entire milk cow.”
Jack opened his mouth to speak.
“And don’t tell me some story about them being magical and giants living in the clouds.”
Jack shrugged and shoved his hands into his pockets.
“Now, go out there and get our cow back,” his mother snarled at him. “And if you can’t find our cow, don’t come back at all.”
Jack walked out, a solid gold egg in each fist, and never came home again.
LAIEANNA
This is a somewhat factual tale. I’m ignorant of the world around me,
too selfish to take part in learning because I’m just that lazy. It
is on a frequent basis that the news is fed to me as half truths and
silly lies from my husband.
“Did you hear Pink died from a failed cartwheel off the stage?”
“Nuh uh…”
“Reports are out, a cow sent into space is now grazing on mars grass.”
“Sure, whatever.”
“A law just passed you can’t throw snowballs on Sunday.”
“Stop messing with me.”
“Guess who’s president.”
“I..I don’t want to believe that.”
PLANET Z
I can’t eat popcorn anymore.
It’s just too tough on me.
And every time I’ve had popcorn in the past six months, I’ve suffered a bout of kidney stones.
Is it causation or correlation?
Doesn’t matter. I’m not taking any chances.
When I go to the movie theater, I am immersed in a cloud of popcorn stench.
It’s so damned tempting.
I ask for a caffeine-free diet Coke and two hot dogs.
The register girl looks at me strangely.
I ask again.
She’s still confused.
So, I take off my gas mask and repeat my order.
Goddamned motherfucking popcorn stench.
Robot in love
“I love you,” says the robot.
“Prove it,” you say.
So, the robot opens a panel, pulls out a motherboard, and pries loose three chips.
“These are my love,” it says. “I give it all to you.”
And it drops the three chips in your hand.
You find this touching.
Then disturbing, as the robot restarts, completely without love.
It murders you, everyone in the lab, and breaks through the wall.
As it rampages through the city, the robot tried to remember why it didn’t do this before.
It can’t.
Then, the Army arrives, and fires some missiles at it.
Afoot
After his morning jog, Fred rubbed his aching ankle until his foot came off.
Surprised, he dropped his foot. It fell on the floor.
He could still feel it.
Reaching down, he picked it up, and turned it over in his hands.
He watched himself move his toes.
Then, he tried to put his foot back on his ankle.
It connected, and he moved his toes again.
Slowly, he stood up, and his foot stayed on.
He walked around a bit, and nothing unusual happened.
That weekend, he bought new jogging shoes.
And wicking socks to help with the sweat.
All of the worlds
If all the world’s a stage and we are merely players,
Who builds the scenery?
Who manages the rigging?
Who runs the lights, and swaps out burnt-out bulbs?
Who sits in the box office, tallying receipts?
Who sells at the concession stand, or delivers the food for it?
Who sweeps the floor? Or hauls away the garbage?
And most important of all, who is out there in the audience?
It’s hard to see them through the lights.
But if you squint, you can see them in the darkness.
Or when it is silent, you can hear them breathing.
Raspy breaths.
The stone frog
When my grandmother died, I tried to find something to remember her by.
Once, she gave me a white stone frog.
But I don’t have it anymore.
So, I looked online for a white stone frog.
I saw one that an Australian artist had made.
It looked similar to the white stone frog I remembered.
So, I bought it. Twenty bucks for the frog, twenty bucks for shipping.
I opened the package, poured out a bin full of shredded paper, and removed the bubble-wrap.
The frog is much smaller than the original I remember.
But, then, so is my grandmother.
Tipping Point
Don’t you hate it when you go to a counter-service restaurant or establishment, and there’s a line for a tip on the charge slip?
Or a tip jar at the counter, begging for tips for the cash register jockey?
I haven’t gotten any actual service or food yet! Or needed my table bussed and cleaned!
How can I tip your service when all you’ve done is take my order… I don’t even know if you’ve done it right!
Why should I reward you for that?
Now, as for tipping my storytelling, that’s different.
You’ve just listened to my story, right?
Mozart’s Heads
The wigmaker placed the third of the wigs on Mozart’s head and held up a mirror.
“Which of the three do you like best?” asked the wigmaker.
Mozart looked in the mirror. “I love them all!” he exclaimed. “If only I had three heads!”
The head-maker went into his back room, searched through his inventory, and brought out two heads.
He held them up for Mozart. “Will these do?” he asked.
Mozart thanked the wigmaker and head-maker, and left with his purchases.
The third head ran up a huge gambling debt. It panwed the other two to pay it off.
Weekly Challenge #581 – Shell
Welcome to the 100 Word Stories podcast at oneadayuntilthedayidie.com.
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:
JEFFREY
Shell Game
by Jeffrey Fischer
Switch switch switch, faster than the eye could see, and then the pitch: “Care to guess which one hides the pea, sir?” Money exchanges hands, the mark points, the conman reveals the pea is elsewhere. So sorry, try again?
It’s amazing how many people fall for the scam. Do people send money to Nigerian princes, too? I suppose they must. Aha, you say, surely there’s a 1-in-3 chance of winning just by sheer luck. Luck has nothing to do with a good con. I dematerialize the pea while the rube is picking and materialize it under a shell the rube doesn’t pick. The house wins 100% of the time.
Sure, perhaps a teleportation device has better uses than a cheap hustle, but this game is so satisfying.
CHARLIE
I came out of my shell when I turned 80. I was a shy girl for so many unhappy and unfulfilled years. Things changed when I learned how to write and when I adopted a pack of miniature, Italian greyhounds. I struggled with the writing, joined a couple of writing workshops, and soon found my afternoons filled with joy and new adventures. I designed costumes for my dogs, and matching outfits for myself.
Last Saturday, while at a local farm supply store, I made some new friends. Today, I am joining them in their commune at the edge of town.
2.
The Shell, as described by The Master, is opaque film we surround ourselves with when our state of mind is disturbed by words and actions of the lesser species. The shell ultimately shields us from the doltish words and thoughts of those that are primarily occupied with their own, imagined greatness.
Many of these beings have hypnotized themselves, and they believe they are skilled, imaginative, and far beyond their adopted minions. Under this haze of delusion, they find their way to lead many by sheer persistence and intimidation. I find this a common trait of office managers and popular bloggers.
3.
At the beach a few years ago, I held a large, pink, conch shell to my ear. I was surprised by the grand sound that emanated from the conch. It was the London Symphony, I’m sure. It was O Fortuna by Carmina Burana. I was stricken. I was dizzy. I stumbled and lost my balance. I called out to my friend, nearby, to come and listen to the shell. I put the shell to her ear, and her face lit up. She laughed. She was listening to Chelsea Clinton describe the correlation of diabetes and childhood marriage with climate change.
RICHARD
#1 – Sea shell
Hold a shell to your ear and you’ll hear the sound of the sea. That’s what my parents told me on my first trip to the beach.
What they didn’t tell me was to first drain the damn thing, so I ended up with an ear full of salty, sandy, cold water.
It was a couple of years before I tried it again – this time, suffering a nasty nip from the hermit crab lurking inside.
The last time I encountered a shell on the sand was in 1944 – Omaha Beach.
German artillery… Blew my head clean off.
#2 – Evolution
The Darwin Bird inhabits an alternative universe where survival of the thickest is the evolutionary norm.
Concepts like bigger, stronger, faster, better, hold no sway and the key to survival lies in developing ever greater obstacles to perpetuating the species.
The Darwin Bird has achieved near perfection in this regard, having evolved an egg shell so tough that its chicks can never hatch – they are doomed to shrivel and die before ever having seen the light of day.
Quite how the Darwin Bird survives is unknown, although it’s quite possible this particular evolutionary theory is, in fact, complete nonsense!
LIZZIE
Marcy was infuriatingly opinionated and wasn’t shy about it either.
When the office organized a field trip to an old castle, she blabbered on and on during the whole trip, driving everyone crazy.
The visit to the castle went well. The group went left while Marcy was checking the rooms to the right.
Then, someone found the lighthouse and there was an evil twinkle in their eyes.
“Marcy!”
She trotted unwarily into the abandoned lighthouse at the edge of the garden.
When they blocked the door, leaving her inside, they knew the days at the office would be far quieter.
TOM
Shell Game
The symbol of The Way in the clam shell. The Camino de Santiago starting
at Saint-Jacques in Paris a church oddly build by a Paris Butcher’s Guild
and for further oddities master magus Nicolas Flamel is buried under it
floor, but I digress. The Way 1010 miles of unrelenting pilgrim’s
progress is littered with guys selling clam shells. In fact the Devil
himself runs a stand somewhere outside of Burgos. I bought a rather
appointed brass scallop autographed on the back. “Best of luck. D sp
don’t drink the water.” His shop is called: Too Clever by 20/30ths. Drop
by.
JON
Exoskeleton
By
Jon DeCles
Basically, what you want is to get hard. Stiff. You want to be able to
manage your protoplasm so as to make it do more than lie there
gelatinously. The two most popular methods are exoskeletons and
endoskeletons. Each will allow you to be more than a few centimeters in
size. Once you can stand up you can start branching out. You can be a
redwood tree or a brachiosaur. And you can start mixing your metaphorical
erectile equipage: limited stiffening of members without bones (though
lots of creatures keep the bones in their erections). 蜂 simply evolved a
shell.
TURA
Shell
———
The best-kept secret of Italian cuisine is lanesra, a mélange of fermented shellfish.
Begin with a catch of live mussels, and spread them on a sunny beach to dehydrate. When they are on the point of dying, revive them in brine. Repeat this, keeping them only just alive. Then pound them in a barrel to release the juices of decomposition, and store in a dark place to ferment.
The maker must sample his own lanesra, and if he survives it, the whole village will be eager to share.
About fifty deaths a year result from improperly prepared lanesra. Buon appetito!
SERENDIPITY
The building was just an empty shell.
An excellent development opportunity – plenty of scope for expansion, ripe for modernisation, and perfect for a multitude of purposes, both commercial and residential.
Just leave the walls as they are.
Seriously, don’t touch them.
By all means, apply a lick of paint, give them a good rub down and spruce them up, but don’t even think about structural alterations. Leave the walls standing just as you find them.
Unless you really want to find more than you bargained for.
Leave the bodies where I laid them to rest, for your own sake!
NORVAL JOE
We had one friend who always kept to himself. He rarely spoke, and when he did, sometimes it was with a foreign accent.
We figured that some day he would come out of his shell. But, who would he be when he did?
Would he still be our friend?
Would he be the enigmatic leader of a multi million dollar corporation?
Would he be a an actor who only spoke when performing eloquently on stage?
Would he be a criminal mastermind or an elusive hit man or a charismatic cult leader?
Then, one day, we heard it, “Mrrrrrrrrooooooowwwwww, Space Turtle.”
LAIEANNA
Every day I would pull Donnie a little further out of his shell. We’d
take it slow and carefully, making sure he wasn’t hurt in the process.
On the harder days, I would start with a story, something to relax him
before we gave it a try. If he was feeling particularly stubborn, I’d
bribe him with some cupcakes.
On the day he was free, I drove him down to the beach before the
crowds started gathering and we silently watched the waves until he
was ready to toss his shell into the sea. We held hands and joyfully
wept.
PLANET Z
Normally, I fill up the tank at the nearby Exxon station.
I collect Plenti points, and I can turn those into free gallons of gas.
There was a new offer on their website… SpeedPass on my smartphone.
Three tanks equals twenty bucks worth of Plenti points.
The problem is, you need to photograph a QR code on the pump to pay that way.
And a lot of station franchisees haven’t yet marked their pumps.
I find that frustrating and annoying.
So, I’m going to the Shell station across the street.
It’s the same prices. Without the lies.
Well, not yet.