Joe’s always saying “We agree” in response to things.
But Joe’s not speaking on behalf of others.
Well, others that exist.
Joe’s not using the “Royal” we, per se.
Instead, he’s referring to the group that consists of himself and the voices in his head.
He thinks there’s an actual group, but there isn’t.
Who are the voices in his head?
Oddly enough, they consist of several kings of England.
They’re a rather murderous lot, and tell him to kill and behead the people who disagree with him.
I mean them. All of them.
(I hope he doesn’t murder me.)
The Artist
I am also a professional writer, and my work has been published many times in multiple languages.
What books have I written? None. I don’t write books.
I write technical documentation for a software company.
And many of customers use Google’s translation software to read it in their native language.
I realize that my saying that I am a writer is as much a lie as the guy who paints the lines on the street being a painter, who’s work is seen by thousands… perhaps millions.
But I never call myself an artist.
Because unlike most artists,
I get paid.
Where the wind blows
Yesterday was windy.
Now, it is not.
Did the wind die down?
Or is it blowing elsewhere?
When Daisy left town, she said we was letting the wind fill her sails and take her with it.
“I go where the wind blows,” she said, lifting her skirts, and floating with the breeze.
Nobody saw her again for thirty years.
Until the day when the tornado hit.
Daisy’s broken and bloody corpse was found on the steps of the high school.
To this day, parents fit their children with concrete blocks and heavy chains.
And feed them until they are fat.
The Lying Leg
Jenny’s leg was horribly maimed by the bomb blast at the Boston Marathon.
She vowed that she’d run it again, and for a year, doctors tried to save her leg.
But they couldn’t.
Jenny wrote a break-up letter to her leg, and it was finally amputated.
While Jenny was getting fitted with a prosthetic leg, the amputated leg went on a dating site to find someone else.
There were a few responses, a few dates. But the leg used an old photo on the profile, and you can guess how things went.
It eventually gave up, leaping from a bridge.
Charlie The Loser
Legend has it that Charlie Chaplin came in third in a Charlie Chaplin look-alike contest.
What made it even worse is that second place went to the chair he was sitting on.
But the most tragic fact of that night is that Charlie was the only contestant.
All of the other contestants realized that they were competing with The Charlie Chaplin, and they resigned out of respect.
The sponsor of the contest was appalled at Chaplin. To compete in contests to see who looks most like himself?
First place went to the sponsor’s fist, which hit Charlie in the nose.
Cupcake by Justin
Tavis sat at the bar, neon lights changing the color of his birthday cupcake, courtesy of Mr. Romo, the barkeep.
Tavis saw Romo go for the taser shotgun when the obvious tough talked into the bar, eyes on Tavis. Romo went down with a dart in his neck. Tavis whirled, placing two slugs in the chest of the sneak in the booth, courtesy of the bar’s mirror. Next, two in the tough. They both fell collapsed.
Tavis turned away, and heard the click prepared himself, heard the shot, and saw his cupcake blown to smithereens by the tough’s final act.
Triangles
I watched the marching band form patterns and spell out words during halftime.
Oh, I wanted to be in the marching band so much, but I couldn’t play a musical instrument. Nor could I twirl a baton worth a damn.
“Play the triangle,” suggested my mother.
So, I did. And I tried out for band.
Along with every other kid who couldn’t play an instrument worth a damn. Which was every other kid.
We were a marching band that consisted solely of triangles.
By the end of the football season, everyone was either deaf or had severe ringing in their ears.
Cupcake by Serendipidy
They call me cupcake.
You’d think there was nothing nicer – sweet, cute, and so desirable – you just want to have me.
But there’s more to me than just looks – and just like the pastry cupcake – too much of a good thing can be very bad for you.
All that sugary sweetness can make you nauseous, rot your insides, and ruin your health. No matter how good it might look, or how delicious it may be, too much cupcake, over time, can kill you.
I don’t have the time to spare though, so I’ll stick to strychnine instead!
Cupcake by Danny
“Come with me, CUPCAKE!” One of my favorite lines from J.J. Abrams reboot of the Star Trek Franchise. It’s a line that seems both appropriate and timeless in our current age. Case in point, I’m watching the latest episode of Dr. Who, and Bill is shocked to hear the Doctor’s response to her question about freewill, “You had freewill, and look at what you did with it. Worse than that, you had history. History was saying to you, ‘look, I have some examples of fascism for you to look at.’ No. ‘Fundamentalism?’ No.” Quite a mess our current state, CUPCAKE!
Weekly Challenge #580 – Cupcake
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 Cupcake Craze
by Jeffrey Fischer
When cupcakes became a fad, I ignored it. No chance that I’d spend 45 minutes standing in line on a hot sidewalk in the middle of the day in summer for the opportunity to purchase 600 calories and 20 grams of fat for $3.25, contained in a product small enough to slip in your pocket. Well, if you were okay with a very messy pocket.
I don’t blame the entrepreneurial skill of bakers taking advantage of the fad. I blame consumers willing to participate in an orgiastic ritual of overeating.
Oh, it’s my turn? I’ll take three of the Red Velvet, please.
CHARLIE
I think cupcakes are stupid. When served a cupcake by my mother in law, I drop it, and it always lands face down on her fancy, Turkish rug. She hasn’t learned her lesson yet.
I don’t think a blue collar guy would buy one. If anyone saw him eating it, they would think he was a ladyboy. My son pulled one out of his lunch bag one morning. I slapped it out of his hand, and asked him where he got it. He said the cute, neighbor boy gave it to him. It figures. My son is a big sissy.
2.
The cupcake was the brainchild of Millie Marsepan, a baker and Massachusetts resident. She observed a lot of wealthy, rotund ladies stuffing themselves on cakes and pastries during afternoon tea. They would sit eating, nervously wiping their lips, and watching and listening for anyone in the tea room that might be making remarks about the group of fat ladies eating so much cake, and eating it so furiously.
Millie figured that the smaller cupcake size could be concealed in a napkin or the folds of garments and scarves, thus allowing the ladies to stuff more treats into their voracious gobs.
3.
Ramekins for my Lambikins. Every Saturday, I make a special treat for my poochies. A special cupcake for each dog, made in porcelain ramekins.
They are decorated with a flourish of piped on flowers made of peanut butter and liverwurst. The topping is made in a food processor. I use a special tip for the pastry bag.
I mix 1/2 cup each cornmeal and all-purpose flour with 2 teaspoons baking powder, 1/4 teaspoon salt and 2 tablespoons sugar. I add 1 egg, 1/2 cup milk and 2 tablespoons oil. Mix everything well, then “bake” in microwave for 3 minutes. Voila.
RICHARD
Cupcake
I named my company ‘Cupcake’ – I wanted something quirky, like ‘Google’ or ‘Moonpig’ – it seemed a good idea at the time.
Little did I know how the irony of that decision would come back to haunt me.
The company was a huge success; I struck it rich and began living the dream. Above all, I could indulge in my very greatest of passions: Food!
Now, years later, as I lie here, morbidly obese and near death in a diabetic coma, the only thought that passes through my consciousness is that I really should have laid off the cupcakes!
JON
The Cupcake Generation
By
Jon DeCles
“You mean they are really, truly deprived? Like… Like they don’t even
have cupcakes?”
That’s how it was with the Millennials. A whole generation raised in such
profound insulation from natural reality that they measured happiness by
access to cupcakes; a desert no different from regular cakes but for their
presentation and individuation.
These were people who sat at tables communicating with two thumbs on
cellphones, while real people across from them were ignored. Plugged in
to people who were not present.
Isolated.
The fashion for Cupcakes of Happiness quickly vanished. Nobody missed the
Millennials, who were never really there.
TOM
A Man Called Cupcake
All the best code names had been taken. It was the early 50s and there was
a spy behind every tree. This didn’t bother Cupcake much. He was a huge
fan of the Art of War, the more they underestimated him the better. He was
in the shadows just in front of the dark silhouette of Brandenburg Gate,
the Quadriga hovered in the pre-dawn dim. Napoleon had taken to France as
a victory trophy. Too much for the permanence of victory. If everything
went accordingly, which it hardly ever did, the man called Éclair would be
walking through that gate.
LIZZIE
“My cupcake’s gone,” wailed the man when he was arrested. “My sweet wife, you’ll be on that wall, eternal and beautiful.”
The policemen scanned the room. The only thing they could see was an old portrait.
“Is this your wife?”
The man nodded.
A policeman got closer to the portrait.
“Are you sure this is a woman?”
The man was offended, cursed on and on till they removed him from the house.
“Where did you put her body?”
He shrugged.
And no one noticed the disdainful eyes on that painting, moving towards the door as they escorted the man out.
TURA
Cupcake
———
Have you expanded your comfort zone lately? Try something new today, something uncomfortable! You can start simple, by hugging every stranger you meet. Answer every request at work with “I would prefer not to”. And my favorite, address everyone you deal with today as “cupcake”!
You might get into trouble when a policeman asks for your driving licence and you say “Sure thing, cupcake!”, but you see trouble, while I see new experiences. Studies show that happiness comes not from things, but from memorable experiences! Every experience is a happiness opportunity!
Growth Mindset! Comfort Zone Expansion! How about it, cupcakes!
NORVAL JOE
Shortly after we were married my wife started calling me Cupcake. I knew it was supposed to be a term of endearment, but I didn’t like it. It didn’t sound manly enough, so I asked her to stop.
She wouldn’t.
Two could play this game. She was embarrassed by her wide hips, so I started calling her lamb chops.
She started calling me Slim Jim because… well, just because…
I knew she had a leakage problem every time she sneezed, so I called her puddles.
Apparently, that was too much. She stopped calling me anything. Instead, she called her lawyer.
PLANET Z
Ned was in jail. He didn’t want to be in jail.
So, he asked his wife Stacy to bake him a cake.
“Put a metal file in it,” he said.
Stacy tried to bake the cake, but it never quite came out right.
It was either burned on the edges, or still gooey on the inside.
She was much better at making cupcakes.
“What the shit?” said Ned.
“They came out much better,” said Stacy. “And you can share them a lot easier.”
For what he shouted at Stacy, Ned earned a week in Solitary.
And she never visited again.