Why are you using a calculator for your Math homework?
Don’t you know that doesn’t exercise your brain at all?
Back in my day, we didn’t use calculators for Math problems.
We used sticks. To shake at things we counted.
Counting the first few things was easy.
But after a while your arm would get tired.
That’s when you knew when you had too many things to shake a stick at.
I knew a kid who could hold a stick in either hand for shaking at things.
He got sent to reform school for clubbing the Math teacher to death.
Movers and shakers
Some people like the jet-set crowd, and others want to be among the movers-and-shakers.
Not me.
Keep me away from the jet-set. I get airsick easily.
And those movers-and-shakers are real jerks.
Sure, they give you FRAGILE and GLASS stickers to put on the boxes, but do they read them?
No. They pick up the boxes, shake ’em really hard, and then put them on the truck.
Or, if they’re in a hurry, they’ll put them on the truck, and when they get to your new place, they’ll shake the boxes.
I’ll just rent a U-Haul and do it myself.
The dinner party
If I could throw a dinner party for ten, anyone in history, alive or dead, who would they be?
My cat Nardo. I loved to lay on the kitchen floor and watch him eat. I think I have a Youtube movie or two of him eating.
Oh, and my cat Piper. Sometimes, they’d eat off of the same plate, and she’d swat him.
And Bruwyn, the baby panther. I miss him so much.
And then there’s my grandmother.
Oh, she’s still alive.
But considering how all she eats these days is cat food, I wouldn’t have to change the menu.
Atomic Number 80 – Laieanna
Under the bright moonlight, Alan found Randy thrashing around in mucky
water that came up to his chest.
“Randy! What are you doing?”
Randy paused, pointed to the water, then violently banged his head
forward and back.
Alan sighed. “I said we were going to a mosh pit, not marsh. We’ve
been waiting for you.”
“Oh.” Randy put a wet hand to lips in thought.
“Concert’s over, man.”
“Oh,” Randy said again. He sank down until the water came to his
chin. “Guess, I’ll just mellow out here.”
Alan rolled his eyes. “You have got to lay off the hash.”
Neck of the woods
According to the witness, we’re close to Ted’s neck of the woods.
If we walk that way, we’ll be at Ted’s foot of the woods.
On the way, we’ll pass his hip of the woods, his knee of the woods, and his ankle of the woods.
Did you bring the body bag?
Good. Snap plenty of photos before you mark the spot and bag up the remains.
Be quick about it, because there’s wolves in these woods, and they’ll drag off anything we don’t get before sundown.
Man, they sure did a number on this Ted guy.
That poor bastard.
Weekly Challenge #575 – PICK TWO
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 Marching Morons
by Jeffrey Fischer
The March for Science had the most ironic name for a protest. The distance between fantasy and reality for the marchers was a gorge. Persons of pallor pranced down the street holding signs about Commander Data and Kryptonite. One claimed that Hitler was a big supporter of science. If so, his interests were sharply limited to methods of destruction.
Although these people clearly had too much time on their hands, they had no time to spare for actual science. They tolerated no dissention, no questioning of their conclusions. Their closed minds exhibited the very opposite of the true scientific method.
CHARLIE
In Washington, The Gorge was the temporary home to the Tulalip Community College, field hockey games.
The emotions and pallor of the players suggested that the “quiz” they were mandated to take prior to the first field game was not the mellow and benign quiz they expected.
The team rogue, Duke, supplied the “clean” urine for the drug test. It came from the Girl Scout troop camped at the edge of the marsh. Caesar Disembogues brokered the deal.
They all passed the test and were allowed to continue the game, winning by 5 points in a very energetic, 2nd period.
TOM
Under the Sun
In the 1960s network executives were hard pressed to breathe a little more life into the hour drama. One of the formats they tried was the rotating hero. In the show the name of the game the three stars were rotated through the month Gene Barry, Robert Stack, and Anthony Franciosa. When Mr. Franciosa exited the show Robert Culp, Peter Falk and Robert Wagner filled in. Not to be out done NBC ran a show called The Rouges starting Gig Young, David Niven, and Charles Boyer. If you’ve never heard of any of these actors you’re probably a millennial
JON
El Presidente Says There Isn’t Any Problem
By
Jon DeCles
Caesar stared down the length of the gorge. He felt his own pallor. This was not some high school quiz, not some stupid hockey game. He was not going to feel mellow after this encounter: if he survived. This was a rogue monster from the haunted marsh, come to wreak havoc on his tiny town, where all the duly elected officials were pretending there was no problem and letting the bloodshed continue unabated.
He saw movement ahead. He struck a match, lit the cigar his invalid father had given him, and hefted his machete. He blew smoke, then headed in.
RICHARD
Chef’s Recommendation
There’s a rogue chef infiltrating local restaurants. Holding a grudge and out for revenge, but nobody knows who he is, or his motive.
He never uses the same tactic twice – today it might be listeria in the linguine; tomorrow, salmonella in the Caesar salad. You just can’t be sure where or how he’ll strike next.
Personally, I’m taking no risks – I only eat at McDonald’s… It’s crap, and I know it’s going to kill me, but at least I know what to expect.
Besides, it’s a cheaper death than eating a la carte at the local Michelin-starred joint!
LIZZIE
Rogue Quiz
Lilly studied a lot for the quiz about Nature. The prize was wonderful, a prize she had dreamed of for years. Well, she was only nine, but she had dreamed of it for quite a while.
There was only one problem. Tommy. Tommy was an expert cheater and he had won the last few prizes. She could barely look at his smirk.
While Mrs. Blake was not paying attention, Tommy sneaked a peek at his cheat notes and Lilly poked a finger in his ribs. He screeched in pain.
“Tommy!”
Yes, he was disqualified.
That was the best prize ever.
MUNSI
Autobiography
By Christopher Munroe
I’m writing this story on an unexpected day off.
I’ve just gotten a new tattoo, and while it does sting a little, it’s a good sting. I’m in a coffee shop looking out at the people passing by on 17th as I write.
In an hour I’ll be watching the Flames play the Kings. A friend unexpectedly turned up with tickets.
In the meantime, I’ll write stories about a party bus.
Overall, it’s been a good day. Relaxing. Mellow.
The sort I don’t get nearly often enough.
The sort I fancy I deserve.
Mental note to do this more often…
SERENDIPITY
Everybody wants me on their team on pub quiz night.
It’s not that I’m particularly good at general knowledge or that I know my stuff. If anything, I’m pretty useless at all things quiz-related, and a bit of a liability if you’re stupid enough to rely on my answers.
So, why would anyone want me in the first place?
Simple – I’m a sore loser, and I really don’t like being beaten. You’d never describe me as mellow, laid back or chilled… More like ‘homicidal maniac’…
So, when the punches start flying, you really want to be on my team!
TURA
Marsh; pallor
———
The boggaerts of the Great Marsh are nasty, brutish, and short. They live mainly on bog lampreys, which they catch in this way. A boggaert thrusts his bare arm into the mud. Lampreys bite on, and he hauls his arm out with the catch.
Their greatest delight is waylaid travellers, whom they bury naked, and neck-deep. Lampreys burrow into the victim, whose screams are sweetest music. When he is almost, but not quite dead, they haul him out, and eat lampreys and prisoner alike.
Men in the surrounding countryside know them by their ghostly pallor, and kill them on sight.
NORVAL JOE
I’m not going to quiz you on the episode which offended me. It should be pretty clear when I tell you I have a thirteen year old son who has autism and I don’t consider him retarded.
I realize the word ‘retard’ has different meanings to different people. Some people might even name their cat ‘Tard’ because of the physical abilities it was born with, but then tell everyone it’s actually short for Tarder Sauce, because the cat suddenly got famous.
I’m pretty mellow. So, I’ve been offended one time in nine years. That’s a good average for this podcast.
LAIEANNA
“Atomic Number 80”
Under the bright moonlight, Alan found Randy thrashing around in mucky
water that came up to his chest.
“Randy! What are you doing?”
Randy paused, pointed to the water, then violently banged his head
forward and back.
Alan sighed. “I said we were going to a mosh pit, not marsh. We’ve
been waiting for you.”
“Oh.” Randy put a wet hand to lips in thought.
“Concert’s over, man.”
“Oh,” Randy said again. He sank down until the water came to his
chin. “Guess, I’ll just mellow out here.”
Alan rolled his eyes. “You have got to lay off the hash.”
PLANET Z
Caesar lay outside the Theater of Pompey in a pool of blood, his face a sickly white pallor.
Sixty men with knives had attacked him.
Twenty-two wounds on his body, all superficial.
“You proved me right,” mumbled Caesar. “Out of sixty Senators, only twenty-two managed to nick me. It takes the firm hand of a dictator to land just one swift fatal blow.”
“That’s not a fair assumption,” said Brutus. “I’m pretty sure I hit you twice. Well, three times.”
And Brutus stabbed Caesar in the chest, severing his aorta.
“Much better,” said Caesar. “Wait, is that you, Brutus? Fucker.”
Creative Latitude
Some people need creative latitude, but I find that terribly confining.
Especially when that latitude is 90 degrees North or South.
There you are, standing at the North Pole, freezing your ass off with a bunch of goddamned polar bears and Russian submarines.
Or at the South Pole, freezing your ass off with a pack of penguins.
Give me zero creative latitude. Let me the entire equator of creative latitude, and I can dance around the circumference of my imagination.
Well, maybe not the parts over the water. I can’t swim.
And some parts of Africa are seriously fucked-up hellholes.
Get around Dan
There’s no getting around Dan in Accounting.
Not only because you need his approval for expense accounts, but the guy is so huge, there’s just no getting around him.
When he walks down the hall, he blocks everybody’s path.
And if you’re on the elevator and he gets on, you’re stuck in there until he gets off.
But the worst of it is when he’s leaving the parking lot.
He likes to chat with the parking lot attendant, and there’s only one outbound gate.
Don’t even try to drive through the inbound gate. The spikes will ruin your tires.
Patio Days
The patio and lounger have been great these past few days.
Something to read… something to drink…
Pop a few piggies in the Angry Birds game.
Or just close my eyes and think about nothing.
The weather couldn’t be better.
Even on the rainy days, I can open the umbrella and sit back or lay down and it’s relaxing.
But I know that the weather won’t last.
It’ll be hot… too hot.
Even after the sun goes down.
I’ll watch baseball inside.
And wait until October… or November.
When things cool off again.
You only get so many good days.
Nickels
What’s that jangly sound I’m making?
I keep nickels in my pocket for when people say “If I had a nickel for every time that happened.”
When they say it, I reach into my pocket, take out a nickel and hand it to them.
“What about all those other times people say ‘If I had a nickel for every time that happened.’?” they say.
And I say “If I had a severed hand holding a nickel for every time someone said that…”
Then, I take the machete from my belt.
“Where do you think I got the nickels?” I say.