The 100 Word Stories Podcast

Welcome to the 100 Word Stories podcast at podcasting.isfullofcrap.com. I’m your host, Laurence Simon.

This is Weekly Challenge Number Three Hundred and Ten, 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 Fool.

And we’ve got stories by a lot of people:

Tura
Sevi
Serendipity Haven
Chris Munroe
Lizzie Gudkov
Zackmann
Thomas
Almo
Chris the Nuclear Kid
Steven the Nuclear Man
Tom
Fourworlds
Guy David
Cliff
Danny
Norval Joe
Red Goddess/TalkMarie
Planet Z

And if you want to spam your social networks with this episode, use the Share buttons at the end of the post… imagine they’re like these rocks:

Hurl them through the Interet’s windows… spread the love and welcome and hope!

The more people see this on Google Plus, Facebook, and Twitter – the more explaining you’ll have to do with your loved ones, coworkers, and parole officers.

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Tura

In olden times, only the Fool could tell the truth to the King, and not be executed. The King had to seem Wise, but only his Fool was truly Wise.

So Wise did Fools become, that during one disputed succession, the Fool himself was crowned King. And the Fool’s wisdom was seen for the shadow of his betters’, and sat on the throne he was only an ordinary fool.

But those who would be King were satisfied, for now they could plot and scheme without fear of the King’s Fool. And thus have we been ruled by fools ever since.

Sevi

Reflecting back on one’s life
Do you remember…

The silly “boy” crushes of yesteryear
Insane acts of behaviour with strangers
Over indulging, until you begged for forgiveness.

Wild and crazy nights
Only to awake violently shaking your head
Swearing you will never do that again!

How many times can one be so uncool?
Did people gossip about your stunts
Laughing at you over steaming hot coffee chat?

You became the front page news!
Growing older, maybe maturity will cure the insanity
On that sentinel birthday
Enter a life of stability and boredom!
You will never be again that silly fool!

Serendipity

They say a fool and his money are easily parted. The particular fool in question was ‘Rooster’ Arlington; a chicken farmer, not known for his wit.

That’s how Chickensurance Inc. came to be.

It was all legal – proper policy and certificates, and a killer sales pitch – “Look at it this way, Sam, regular livestock insurance won’t cover you for natural disasters… you get a tsunami, earthquake or lightning strike – you lose the lot – with Chickensurence you’re covered! Five bucks investment per bird gives a fifty dollar return.”

Twenty thousand policies – sold!

How was I to know it was twister season?

Zod

I won’t use this prompt as an excuse to do a story about Mr. T.

I’m better than that, and I’ve gone to that well too many times already.

I mean, it’s 2012, does anyone but me even remember Mr. T?

I have the breadth and depth of my creativity to explore, and I can come up with something original and insightful if I work at it.

But it’s hard to resist! Knowing I could turn this prompt into a Mr. T gag so easily makes every word I type agony!

Will nobody take pity on me?

Zod damn it…

Lizzie

“No time to explain! Get in the car!” said the total stranger. “Just get in the car!”

“Why?”

“Just do it.”

And he did. He couldn’t believe himself. He did get in the car. They drove for hours to a town called “Hell”. He chuckled. They got out of the car and walked to an old house.

“Come with me.”

And he did. As they entered the house, he could not believe his eyes. It was a massacre. There were people hanging from the ceiling all over the house. The man looked at him.

“Fool, you’re next. It always works!”

Zackmann

In the news of today.
Christopher Moore author of Fool has release a cookbook called Cordon Bleu.
Zombies are blocking the freeway.
Unemployment is at one percent.
Walt Disney company says it is sorry about ACTA, SOPA, and PIPA.
Zombie Jesus waits for you under the spaghetti tree
Wait, Chris Moore’s new book is Sacre Bleu.
There are no known zombies despite how most of you will look on your morning commute.
The economy still sucks
Major corporations are still evil.
and Jesus is still not a zombie.
This is the last time I do a newscast on April first.

Thomas

Little Johnny learned that there is no fool like an old fool when he was in the second grade. The old fool that he knew, intimately, was his grandpa Big Johnny. Big Johnny would spend hours playing catch the thumb while he rocked in his big chair on the porch. He’d put his left thumb up, and try to catch it with his right hand before he tucked his thumb into his fist. He’d do this for hours, and sometimes grandma Minnie would play too, laughing so hard that she leaked when Big Johnny missed ten times in a row.

##

Chuckles played the fool, indulged in buffoonery and acted foolishly. This kept Chuckles out of the military when all his mates were being drafted, and by acting foolish and naïve, he was never punished by his parents or the IRS for making errors on his tax returns. He drooled, stuttered, rolled his eyes, picked his nose in public, passed wind, shop-lifted, cut in line. Playing dumb had many rewards, including qualifying for Pell Grants, weekly groceries at the food bank, and copped feels from his girlfriend, Dione. When caught driving too fast without a license or insurance, he played dumb.

Almo

I was walking through the mall when I saw my ex, Cindy, shopping at Saks. “Is this what my alimony is going for?” I asked as I walked up behind her.

“Who the hell are you?” she said.

“You can’t fool me, Cindy. You can dye your hair and get colored contact lenses, but you can’t erase that tattoo.” I reached under the hem of her skirt to find the rose on her thigh.

That’s when she slapped me, a hard right-hander across the face that left my cheek flushed, mostly from embarrassment.

You see, Cindy is a lefty.

Chris

I wasn’t like most people. My parents died in a fire on my tenth birth day.

When I was eleven I found a chest full of weapons. There were swords, bows, arrows, and armor. I trained day after day until I mastered every weapon in the chest.

When I turned fourteen I was ready to begin my journey. I planned to travel to the nearest village for supplies and perhaps make a friend.

I wasn’t a fool so, I packed large bag with food, clothes, and extra weapons. I slung the bag onto my back, and began my long journey.

Steven

The valley lies before me. Sounds of muskets and dying men echo, bringing the scents of gunpower and blood. I close my eyes on the carnage and wonder if I shall see home and Elizabeth again.

My sergeant’s hand rests upon my shoulder. “Captain, look.”

But I do not need to look. I do not need intelligence from the balloon scouts. I do not need to strain to hear the sound over the din of battle.

I can feel the gargantuan footfalls as the enemy’s steam walkers come over the ridge.

“Goodbye, Elizabeth,” I say, and rejoin the Light Brigade.

Tom

Ok the Universe is cold capricious, and often malicious at it doles out
its share of comic humor upon us semi sentient souls. But somewhere in
that black heart it saw fit to add 5 days to my mother pregnancy. That
tiny adjustment reduced the amount of future ridicule by a whooping 95%.
Its bad enough have a name which rhymes with Salome. If hear that one
again I got an ice pick ready. But to have been born at April Fool’s day
that had future serial killer written all over it. Thank you universe for
throttling your Tomfoolery.

Fourworlds

I used to think of myself as The Fool. Not a fool. The Fool. You know, the Tarot card. I was a long haired lad with a light heart and an untroubled mind; blindly grasping at each passing object of desire; completely oblivious to both the receding chaos in my wake and the approaching chasms I always just missed stepping into.

Decades later, I’m not that guy anymore. I’d hoped to mature eventually into The Magician, but never developed the discipline to get there. I resonate most strongly these days with the Ace of Wands. I can live with that.

Guy

He follows her around like a dog, and Yogerthy Yogurt loved it until he started chasing cars, barking and digging holes, hiding bones in her backyard. She tried throwing a stick into a bottomless well but he climbed out and fetched. She tried driving him to ever increasingly remote locations and accidentally forgetting him there, but he kept returning. Even when she refused his marriage proposal, bone ring and all, he kept coming back wagging his tail. She eventually had to call the dog catchers for him. The guys from the asylum just didn’t have dog food on their menu.

Uncle Monster

I just knew I would find it this time. The day was going perfect and my journey was taking me closer than I had ever been. After a slight deviation, I found my way back on the narrow secluded path leading to that beautiful dream I was reaching for. I walked along with great confidence that I would finally have the wonderful “prize” I sought so feverously! I could see the goal, I moved along quicker than ever and reached the end anticipating my prize, but to my dismay, found only a note that read “April Fools, you missed again!”

Danny

Walking into this putrid establishment, I expected to get the run around by the staff. I first interrogated the hotel clerk. “Don’t lie to me! Tell me, the suspect, is she here?” “Well yes,” the clerk repsonded. “She was here at 3:15, then she left, came back at 3;17, left again, was promptly back at 3:20 to use the bathroom, claiming some emergency. She left again at 3:30, came back at 3:33, hailed a cab, and we have not seen her since. “Bullshit! Do you think I’m a Fool?!!!,” I screamed. “Well, duh,” the clerk responded, “While explaining this, she was able to get away.”

Norval Joe

Owen felt out of place in the tavern, but not because of his age or the alcohol served at the bar. It was the sheer number of people crowded into the dark, smoky, common room. Raised on a farm he’d never seen this many people in his whole life.
“I’d be a fool to say I’ll take you to the mines of Grool,” the ranger said under his breath.
“I didn’t think you’d be afraid of goblins,” Shareeka teased.
“Nay, it’s not what’s in the mines what unnerves me,” Traveler said, “It’s what we must pass through to get there.”

RedGoddess

Rita devoted the last 11 months around executing her dream wedding, with high school sweetheart, Rob. They met on a blind date through friends. It was love by the time the pie a la mode was served after sharing an entree. They rented a one-bedroom apartment in her parents’ neighborhood. They carpooled to work. She was even contemplating quitting her job to be closer to his. Everything was set for her spring wedding on Cape Cod, minutes from the Kennedy compound. After seeing a Blue Man group show, he declared, ” I can’t do it.” She felt like the biggest fool.

Planet Z

Farmer Nedwyn spotted The Traveler walking along Market Road.

“Are you sure it’s him?” the mayor asked.

“Black cloak and cowl, silver staff,” said Nedwyn. “And The Cards were already in his hand.”

The Cards Of Fate.

The mayor sighed. “I hope it’s a good fortune.”

A table and a chair were dragged out of Mossbeard’s Pub and placed in the town square.

All work stopped. A crowd gathered.

The Traveler sat down, dealt out three cards, and turned each over.

Death.

Death.

Death.

The crowd gasped.

“Just kidding, people,” croaked The Traveler, and he got out the real deck.

Welcome to the 100 Word Stories podcast at podcasting.isfullofcrap.com. I’m your host, Laurence Simon.

This is Weekly Challenge Number Three Hundred and Nine, 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 Rhymes With Itch.

And we’ve got stories by a lot of people:

Logan Berry
Tura
Sevi
Julie
Serendipity Haven
Chris Munroe
Lizzie Gudkov
Zackmann
Guy David
Tom
Danny
Red Goddess/TalkMarie
Cliff
Norval Joe
Planet Z

And if you want to spam your social networks with this episode, use the Share buttons at the end of the post.

The more people see this on Google Plus, Facebook, and Twitter – the more explaining you’ll have to do with your loved ones, coworkers, and parole officers.

Oh, and since it’s the internet…

There. Obligatory cat photo.

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Logan Berry

Sneaky Footsnap was a snitch,
He had a plan to make it rich.
Bertha Cussmore was a witch,
Who made a fortune selling pitch.
Sneaky dressed up like the bitch
Certain none would note the switch.
His clever ruse had one small hitch,
Sneaky Footsnap had a twitch.
By virtue of this telling glitch.
Sneaky wound up in the ditch,
Lifeless, cold, without a stitch.

Tura

“Burn the rich!” chanted the crowd blocking the road. I asked one of them, “What’s this, an Occupy revival?”

“No, ‘rich’ is short for ‘rhymes with itch’. We can’t call odd old women with too many cats…you know, rhymes with itch. That would be Hate Speech!”

“But there’s no such thing as witches–” A rubber bullet immediately knocked me to the ground, so I didn’t get to see what happened next, with the tyres and petrol cans, while the mob and the riot police looked on.

Afterwards, they charged me with Hate Speech, Denial, Obstructing Free Expression, and Provoking Violence.

Sevi

Links of strong steel
Hitched securely
Behind wheels of freedom

Desire to travel somewhere
A wish to wander elsewhere
True desire to escape
From the pain within me
The external torture
You inflict within

All around me
The hot sharp knife-like words
Piercing through my soul
Screaming through my vulnerable body
Rendering me helpless and
Unable to move away from it
An Inability to make it stop
Boxed into a dark damp hole
No exit to escape

One day
Clarity offers hope
An oppourtunity to break free
From the constant torture
From the pain
Step on the gas. Go!

Julie

OK, so it rhymes with itch.
I went to Catholic school, and we were not supposed to use certain words. Not that I didn’t have the temptation to do so, but there were consequences. We didn’t have Starbucks, or Dunkin in those days either. The coffee sucked, and so did the plaid polyester uniforms.
Our Vice Principal was named Sister Fish. Marjorie Fish. No joke. She rhymed with itch. A lot. Especially when she caught me smoking in the girls’ bathroom and I tossed the cigarette and hit her in the leg, burning a hole in her support hose. Busted!

Serendipity

It was the Flea family’s holiday and Father Flea was determined to make it a cultural experience.

“We’re going to the literature festival!”, he announced, to the groans of the rest of the family, “I’ve picked up a programme and there’s plenty for us to do.”

“Will there be amusements and games”, Bobby Flea asked?

“Candy Floss and hot dogs?” – from Gemma, with a winsome look.

“No. We’re going to listen to poetry”, came father’s response, to universal groans, “It’ll be fun – an all day event called, ‘Flea poetry through the years – Rhymes with itch'”

Would it be fun? Probably not!

Muns

I’d thought losing my soul would hurt. It didn’t.

Well, maybe a little, but only for a moment.

Afterward, I thought I’d feel empty, like something important had been taken from me, and that much was true.

Something had been taken from me.

Guilt. Shame. The burden of caring about the needs of others.

Their absence is a weight removed from my shoulders.

I finally feel free.

My high priest takes the soul, weds it to the phylactery, and sends it with my minion to be hidden somewhere it will never be found.

And I rise from my altar, immortal.

izzie

The old witch who knew zilch about motorized vehicles kept driving her broom into the drainage ditch. She didn’t know there was a switch to override the broom’s ignition glitch. Yes, it was an older model, just because the witch liked everything kitsch. So one day a fellow kitsch witch told her that Mr. Fitch, the rich man with the barber’s itch, had solved the broom’s problem with a simple machine stitch! The witch was very suspicious which made her scream in a high pitch “I hate machines!” and again she nose-dived into the drainage ditch which was full of…!

Zackmann

“I don’t know if old medicine is always a bad idea. Much of our modern discoveries originated with third world medicine men.” said Alex
“Are you giving up on modern medicine?” asked Jake
“No not really, we tried modern medicine first although what granny has currently seems incurable with modern medicine. Granny saw this professional on a morning talk show, who has had a great deal of success with cases like hers. We decided to try her before using Hospice”
“Is she a specialist?” inquired jake
Alex replied
“Well, you could say that but her job title ends in itch”

Guy

I wanted to make a speech
In order to find my own niche
But I just couldn’t reach
My papers who where scattered at the beach
So I gathered them each
Into a notebook I stitched
Still the words began to screech
Until my voice came at the wrong pitch
And they had to pull down the switch
Less my audience I would enrich
And make them rich
So I had to ride my ostrich
All the way to a ditch
Where I was picked up by a witch
Who didn’t even flinch
As she turned me into a sandwich

Tom

Rhymes with itch

Sounds with ditch

No No

Two syllables

first syllables

fly

mosquitoes

no

your flapping your

arms

your a condor

don’t give me that look

your the jerk who’s going to lose us this game

ok

your pick something out of the ground

and your smelling it.

It a flower?

yes

flower

and

something comes out of the flower

and it bits you

no

it stings you

a bee

good

second syllable

your riding a horse

no

your flying a horse

no

your flying on a a

broom

be broom

well fuck you too

your a witch

bewitched

Danny

The Witch with a severe facial Twitch, who lived in the English town of Ipswitch, looked at the topic for this weeks challenge, certain that Crap Mariner was challenging her to write a story without swearing. The Witch, whose name was Mitch, accepted the challenge, insisting if she did swear, she would beat herself with a switch. Mitch clacked away on her typewriter, completing the story without a hitch, despite her facial twitch. “Here you thought I couldn’t get through this weeks challenge without calling myself a bitch!” she exclaimed. After a long sigh, Mitch beat herself with a switch.

RedGoddess

In this depressing economy, many are doing jobs they thought were only reserved for high school drop outs and so called illegal aliens. Working Americans find themselves at the mercy of those shall we say “rhymes with itch.” Depending on the day and the imprint of their assaulting insults, many names are reserved for those bosses, managers, upper management and the rest with big titles but lacking in little common courtesy. People’s identities and dignity should not be tied to their jobs, hourly wages or where they rank on the poverty line. When least expected, Karma will scratch them out.

Uncle Monster

I was tired of reading my own stories so I put an ad on Craigslist. I got one response. It was not quite what I was expecting.

Hi. I’m responding to your ad for voice talent. I’ve been at this for some time and I know my way around a recording studio. I can send you samples of my work. I’m currently employed but I’ve decided that it’s time I got out of the basement and struck out on my own. My contact info is attached.

I think I’ll keep reading my own stuff. I just didn’t like his pitch.

Norval Joe

Spleen launched himself across the woodpile at the boy. His razor sharp claws extended and acid-icor dripped from his fangs. He dropped to the floor and hissed at the woman and boy across the woodpile. He lept with all his might, the muscles of his thighs like tightly wound springs. He flew across the woodpile at the boy and could taste his blood.
The woodpile still between them, he screamed and launched himself again, only to drop to the ground, where he’d started.
“What are you, a witch,” Spleen hissed at the woman.
Shareeka laughed.
“Something like that,” she said.

Planet Z

Deep under Mount Thundercloud, we found The Shadow Machine.

Acres of pipes and motors and engines. Built by the ancients.

It still feels warm.

What does it do?

I don’t know. Nobody does.

All these plans and blueprints and manuals are in the language of the ancients.

All their power.

Just waiting.

Buttons. Switches. Dials.

Which to use first?

What? Google has the language of the ancients in its Translate site?

Oh. Okay.

We’ll take the plans and manuals back to…

It’s on your mobile?

Damn. That’s impressive.

Powerful.

Who the fuck needs this ancient shit, right?

Let’s go home.