No Plan Survives Battle

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Jane, my editor, smiles as she reads my manuscript.
“No plan survives battle,” she says, as she’s said with all my other manuscripts.
The first was a mystery. She turned it into a best-selling cookbook.
My award-winning biography of Simon Bolivar started as a simple romance.
Then came the collection of Dutch poetry, the travel guide to the moon, a guide to Poker…
Everything I give her, she completely changes it… transforms it.
When I read it, it’s still familiar. Like my own writing is trapped within, screaming to be let out.
Bills scream to be paid, too, you know.

The Playboy God

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In his penthouse apartment, God is drinking.
He does this every night.
One, two, three too many.
He wobbles and sways on his barstool, finally falling to the vast black marble floor.
In a final moment of clarity, he retches up the universe.
Then, he passes out.
In this vomit cosmos, we are born, and live, and love.
And die.
After eons of uneasy slumber, God comes to his senses.
Confused, clumsy, and disgusted with himself.
Ignoring our pleas for mercy, he looks for a mop.
Then, after cleaning up, he settles at the bar.
And begins the cycle again.

Breadstick

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Size may not matter in the real world, but the Adult Entertainment Industry is all about Length. And Girth. Sheer impressiveness counts.
In the seamier parts of Hollywood, men like John Holmes, Ron Jeremy, and Biff Wellington were celebrated. Not so much for their acting abilities, but for certain physical attributes they brought to their roles.
In the world of French Adult Cinema, one actor’s name stood head and shoulders above the rest: Jacques LeBoeuf, affectionately dubbed “le Baguette” by legions of fans.
One day, he neglected to apply sunblock before a long outdoor shoot. Afterwards, Le Baguette was toast.

Space Signals

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We’ve been waiting centuries for the signal to arrive, and now that we have it, we can’t understand any of it.
It’s just digital jibberish flowing through the vastness of space, and we have no idea what any of it means.
But it’s out there. And we’re collecting it up, storing it in a digital library until we can figure out what it all means.
Sometimes I wonder if way out there in space, strange beings are gathering up all the crap we broadcast out into the void.
I’m sure the idiots at the RIAA will sue them for it.

Justin’s Sleepwalk

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My wife always said that I sleepwalk, but I didn’t believe her… until now.
While on vacation in Turkey recently, I pushed a woman over a bridge while sleepwalking.
My lawyer tried to get me out of it, unsuccessfully.
I was sentenced to thirty-five years in a prison on the outskirts of Istanbul for my crime.
I don’t sleepwalk anymore. Hell, I barely sleep. I live my days in constant fear that my cellmate, Big Willy, will make me bend over for another “special moment.” I wish I were dead.
Why couldn’t I have just sleepwalked off of that bridge?

Justin’s story didn’t stick to his email when he sent it in for the Challenge. I was too lazy to re-edit the Challenge to add it in, so here it is in all of its glory.
Justin is now eligible for the magnets and the glory of selecting the topic should he win.

Dead Meat

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Sausage lovers throughout America were saddened to hear of the recent death of Bob Evans, Ohio breakfast meat icon and restaurateur.
Evans, founder of the restaurant chain that bears his name, succumbed to complications from pneumonia. He was being treated at the Cleveland Clinic.
When supplies of quality sausage for his truckstop became scarce, he began making his own, thus laying the groundwork for a meatpacking and casual dining empire. Employees credited the enterprise’s rapid growth to Evans’s sage advice.
The family plans a private funeral at which Evans’s remains will be ground up and stuffed into a sausage-shaped casket.

Weekly Challenge #63 – Sleepwalking

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Welcome to the sixty-third Weekly Challenge, 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 selected by Rocky from the Northwest Territories of Edloe Island: Sleepwalking.
The excellent theme music is by Guy David
SOMETHING NEW
Due to popular demand, I am going to include stories that were sent to me, but without a recording. However, since the midget has left for sunny Coral Gables, Florida, those stories will just be posted in the show notes. You’re more than welcome to vote for them, but they will be ineligible for prizes or topic selection.
I feel that this is a fair balance between the podcast and blog natures of this content.
Feel free to share your thoughts on this decision in the comments, and we might possibly come up with an even better and more fair policy for handling these kinds of situations.
VOTING
Go ahead and listen to them by clicking on the grammophone thingy there in the left column and then vote for your favorites (multiple selections are allowed):

Which were the best stories in Weekly Challenge #63?
Jenny the Bloggess
Caleb Bullen from Black Tie Martini Club
Tom from Footnote
Elisson from blog d’Elisson
Guy David from The Sixteenth
Terrence from Never Was
Laieanna at Hodgepodge Point
Chris from Platypus Society
Radar from SL Under The Radar
Justin from Random Thoughts
Mamacita from What Would Jane Austen Do?
The Deranged Bard From Planet Z
  
Free polls from Pollhost.com


WE GOTS PRIZES:
I will be sending the winner a prize… it’s refrigerator magnets for the podcast. Massive amounts of fridge magnets were mailed out in the past week… watch your mail, and let me know if I’ve missed you.
It is your voting that determines who wins. So listen, vote, and tune in next week to find out who won!

JENNY

She didn’t used to be like this.
Before it happened, she was different.
The assault.
She doesn’t like the word, she doesn’t use it.
She’s very [deeply], and mostly, it doesn’t even exist.
She only remembers when she sees glimpses of the girl she once was. Old journals, vibrant photos from before.
A friend that she hasn’t seen since before it happened.
A friend who recognizes her face, but nothing behind it.
I watch her everyday in the mirror and subway reflections.
Her heels tap hypnotically in a rhythm that says “Not now. Not now.”
I wonder where she’s going.
I wonder who she is.

CALEB

I’m not God. Used to be but I gave it up. Those poor sleepwalking fools. Once a year I would appear to one and give them the chance to ask any one question. They mostly fell into one of three categories: The avaricious like, “what stocks should I buy?” The stupid, “When and how will I die?” and the ponderous, “what’s the meaning of life?”.
Finally this one cat asks me, “do you like your work?” I hadn’t thought about it much but it turned out, I didn’t, so I gave it up. Get more respect as a bartender anyway.

TOM

It was always on the coldest nights of the year. Lenore would wander across the stone floor in bear feet making her way to the ruin of the west tower. Dead to the world in a sleep as deep as the one who lay in the vault below. The help had strict orders to let the lady of the manner go where she wilt. When she reached the tower the song began and none who heard it could long endure its deepless well of sorrow At dawn she was carried off to the bed in the vault of her twin.

ELISSON

Nick was one of those old guys who walked the mall every morning. A regular amongst the Davenport Mallwalkers, he’d been at it for over fifteen years now.
“I gotta get my exercise!” he’d say, heading past Macy’s at a brisk near-trot.
Last week, all that exercise was no help. Some guy stuck a gun in his face and demanded his wallet, and Nick must not have been quick enough coming up with it.
Nick’s sleeping the Forever Sleep now, but it doesn’t seem to slow him down any. I still see him walking the mall…
…but only at night.

GUY DAVID

I dare not go to sleep. If I go to sleep, I wake up somewhere else. It’s OK when I wake up in the canal between Nowhereville and Edloe Island, but that other time I woke up in this place, full of people with spikes who keep other people on a leash. I found out I lost my right arm that night and a knife was buried in my forehead. Cost me most of my lindens, that new arm, but that knife, I’m keeping that. Couldn’t afford to remove it, and anyway, the other avatars seems to think it cool.

TERRENCE

Raoul lived alone. He had for a lone time and he liked it that way.
Sure sometimes he got a little lonely but he could deal with it. He
had tried living with a roommate a long time ago but it did not work
out.
One night his roommate went to bed early. Raoul took the opportunity
and invited Eve over. They were half way through their visit when
Raoul spotted his roommate in the doorway. He could take the empty
milk cartons, he could even take the snoring, but the sleepwalking was
the last straw.

LAIEANNA

Bells chimed from the other room. Throwing back the covers and
falling into my shoes, I grabbed the lantern while dashing out the
bedroom door. The master was already halfway across the field before
I even left the cottage. He was wearing his wizard’s hat that gave
off the faintest of glows.
I followed as close as I could catch up, but for a moment I lost him
completely. When a dark cloud finally passed, I saw him still walking
through the air a few feet above me. I prayed he wouldn’t be over the
lake when he finally awoke.

CHRIS

When I awoke, I was standing on a stage surrounded by LOTS of people. Next to me on the stage an old man was holding out a book and reading from a prompter.
Where the hell am I?
I’ve been known to sleepwalk, but what’s odd about my condition is I’ve been known to do it for days. Most people don’t even realize I’m sleepwalking when I talk to them.
As my mind clears, I finally register the question the old man just asked.
“Do you solemnly swear to uphold the office of President of the United States?”

RADAR

Their hands reach out, selfishly clutching at things that will doom them. Their minds are darkened by “me, me, me”, their hearts full of malice at any who would get in their way. It’s a contest of epic proportions, who can claim the most victory by gulping down and swallowing the most defeat.
It matters not to them that they spread sorrow and misery to others around them, nor that they will become dust long before their plans of so-called happiness could possibly reap any reward other than shame. And so it goes, and so they continue on, ever sleepwalking.

MAMACITA

By the end of June I was already tired of the heat, and so bored I thought I was sleepwalking, when The Chief came strutting into the newsroom, looking to throw his weight around a little, just to show everybody why he was still The Chief and the one who made the decisions around here; I could tell he was gunning for me because he was waving my last assignment around in his greasy little fist telling me I’d gone over the word count again, and I said back to him, “One hundred words? That’s just one damn sentence.”

JUSTIN

My wife always said that I sleepwalk, but I didn’t believe her… until now.
While on vacation in Turkey recently, I pushed a woman over a bridge while sleepwalking.
My lawyer tried to get me out of it, unsuccessfully.
I was sentenced to thirty-five years in a prison on the outskirts of Istanbul for my crime.
I don’t sleepwalk anymore. Hell, I barely sleep. I live my days in constant fear that my cellmate, Big Willy, will make me bend over for another “special moment.” I wish I were dead.
Why couldn’t I have just sleepwalked off of that bridge?

Z

The Internet is the most complex and advanced communication tool ever built by man.
Spammer N’Gawi Mobutu saw it as a way to scam people out of their money.
He made millions.
The Russians took some of those millions for a trip to the space station, the most complex and advanced vehicle ever built by man.
Mobutu saw it as just a fun way to spend the weekend.
Disgusted, the crew shoved Mobutu into the airlock and claimed he sleptwalked out into space.
Oxygen is the most basic and simple biological requirement needed by man.
Good luck finding it, Mobutu.

Thanks to everyone for sending in their stories, and I look forward to what you’ve got to write (and say) next week.
The theme for next week’s Weekly Challenge will be posted shortly.

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Isn’t that simple?

My funeral

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yesterday night
I was thinking about
my funeral
if i were irish
i’d have a wake
and at that wake
there’d be alcohol
and music
and a guillotine
so my friends
and family
could hold a raffle
and the winner
would get to
cut off my head
(unless, of course
that is how
i died
in the first place)
instead, i am jewish
and there you will be
sitting shiva
for seven days
but just because
you have to sit
it doesn’t mean
it can’t be
on a whoopee cushion
or on a shiatsu
massage device
draped over
your chair

Water Flows

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If you insist on looking back, fine – Let’s all look back.
Water spreads in the ocean.
Water flows down the river.
Water runs through the sewer.
Water runs down the pipes.
Water collects in the drain.
A teardrop rolls down a face, falls into a drain.
Another. And another.
A painful memory recalled.
Drinking a glass of water.
Water flows into the glass.
Water flows through the pipes.
Water flows through the treatment plant.
From your perspective, it’s a painful memory.
But the water doesn’t know or care.
It just flows from place to place, unaware of what it does.

Salt and Pepper

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Her collection started simple – a dog and a cat. The dog held the pepper and the cat held the salt.
Then, she got a bride and groom set. The Bride’s dress used to be as white as the salt inside it.
Year after year, shelf by shelf – the shaker collection grew.
They kept her company in her old age, surrounding her with gleaming beauty.
When she died, she asked that her ashes be poured inside the shakers and her house turned into a museum.
Instead, the ashes were lost at the mortuary, and the shakers are sold off on eBay.