Author: R.

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 Seventeen, 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 Bar.

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

Thomas
TJ
Serendipity Haven
Bonchance and Sevi
Tom
Guy David
Tura
Chris Munroe
Lizzie Gudkov
Chris The Nuclear Kid
June
Cliff
Norval Joe
RedGoddess
Zackmann
Planet Z

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

Obligatory cat photo:

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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THOMAS

The bar was put up higher. Dubbie thought she could handle the change when it was put up, but she quickly learned that it was beyond her reach. She knew she had to, so she began working extra hard, after school and on Saturdays…practicing and going over everything again and again. When the contest came, Dubbie felt fully prepared. She got in line, and when the bell rang to begin the games, she climbed onto the high stool at the long bar and drank herself silly, beating all the locals in the chug-a-lug, Zambrano, Sink The Battleship, and Who Shit?

##

Ronnie asked the artist to put a bar in her nose — 18 carat gold and heavy, so it pulled her nose down until it touched her upper lip. Punks and hipsters that saw her remarking how beautiful her jewelry looked, but how bad her nose looked. Her friend, Salli, told her what others would not. Ronnie returned to the shop that installed the gold bar. The shop was closed. Ronnie asked Marvin, to cut the bar with bolt cutters, as the threads were jammed. Marvin was stoned. He clipped a half inch off her nose on the first try.

TJ

Security

Karen’s missing daughter could be anywhere. My first thought was to
rouse the night manager, but it was 4:50 a.m. and he was nowhere to be
found. There was a camera in the lobby and a door marked “Security,”
where I imagined the video would probably be. I unclipped a scanner from
my toolkit and fitted it to the slot in the door. Karen’s eyes
widened. “What are you,” she asked. “Strike Force Alpha?”
“I’m a locksmith,” I shrugged. “Who do you suppose installs
these electronic locks?”After some negotiation the scanner beeped, the
lock flashed green and we stepped inside.

Video

Along one wall a bank of monitors showed images from the lobby, as well
as from the kitchen, the laundry room, the bar and the pool. The
kitchen, bar and laundry room feeds covered the rear alleyway entrances
and there was a gated garden enclosure beyond the pool, so along with
the lobby itself, if Laurie – Karen’s 15-year-old daughter’s name
was Laurie – had passed through any of these spaces in the last eight
hours we should be able to track her. I loaded five jump drives from the
recorders and padded back to my room with worried mother in tow.

SERENDIPITY

Every team talk is the same old nonsense – “Gotta do better, try harder, reach further, we’re talking about raising the bar…”

It’s all talk, of course. We nod, make noises in agreement and secretly look forward to a beer and a joke about it after work.

Same again this week: “…we’re gonna raise that bar!”

Yeah right. We smiled inwardly at the mantra and yawned.

We stopped smiling when clocking-off time came round – the damn fools had only gone and done it!

How can you buy a beer, when you can’t even reach to the top of the bar?

BOMCHANCE AND SEVI

Bar by Severina Halostar and BC

Dave leaned back waiting, anxiously awaiting an answer from Megan, a reply to his comments.
As usual he agreed with his girlfriend 100%. There was way too much government supervision into peoples’ private lives. Big brother has bigger ears and eyes now that social media has become popular.
Megan had strong opinions on privacy laws, she frequently ranted about this subject.
He looked at the clock, downed his coffee and closed his laptop.
2am.

People poured out of the narrow bar entrance.

Sgt Dave Anderson smiled, watching a couple stagger to their car.
Eureka!
He would make quota this month!

Bar by Severina Halostar and BC

Tom laughed to himself, hands down, he knew he could do it. The day goes by slowly. As afternoon approaches, the earlier conversation is forgotten.
Tom stops in at the local watering hole with his buds after work, as usual. His enjoyable evening ritual.
Past 1 am, Tom attempted to sneak into the apartment without waking his wife, but she was wide awake and waiting for him.

“You were right honey, looks like I can’t pass one without stopping in.

Already upset, now furious, “You never listen to me fool!
I said I can’t pass the Bar without nonstop studying!”

TOM

Mark slid the Bombay and Schweppe across the bar to the nun. Mother Theresa nursed the drink while maintaining a 10,000-yard stare. In a delightful Belgium slur she mused “What the F! Does Mother Senton got, I ain’t got?” Mark stops polishing a tumbler and posed the possibility of still being alive as a deterrent to actual sainthood. “Ya, but was she a Martyr, No, and a bloody American too boot. Did she personally meet three, three popes? I’m a goddamn living legion.” “I think you meant legend.” “Whatever. Saint Theresa it rolls off the tongue, T-res-a. Damn Nazi”

GUY

I watched the progress bar as I uploaded myself into the new body. It was a fashionable one, female with huge wings, white as snow. As the upload completed, my old body slumped down lifeless and I was ready to test the new model, invigorated and youthful. I stood there for hours, naked in front of the bathroom mirror, examining every pore on my naked skin, feeling myself. My breasts where heavier then I thought they would be, my wings lighter. I would make a new life for myself, start anew with this new body. I was at last reborn.

TURA

On the glass shelves behind every bar there is always a display of strangely shaped bottles full of strangely coloured liquids, and you know, I’ve never seen them used.

At one bar I discreetly photographed them every few days. The fluid levels never changed, but the bottles themselves moved from one picture to another, so I made a time-lapse movie. They’re alive!

And they know I know. I haven’t been in a bar since, but this morning at home I found a miniature of some garish yellow liquid with a long Italian name. I took it outside and smashed it.

MUNSI

So last week’s mission didn’t exactly go smoothly…

You were caught slipping the note into the book, the librarian alerted an international network of booksellers and librarians, and now you’re on the run, legions of angry, literate assassins hounding your every move.

I can’t help, in some small way, feeling responsible.

Tell you what, run to Canada, hide here until it blows over. I’ll meet you at Tipparary’s, even buy the first round.

It’ll be okay.

Because here, at the bar.

You’ll feel safest of all.

We can lock all the doors.

It’s the only way to live.

In bars…

LIZZIE

It was right there, they thought. At least, that’s how they remembered it. But it wasn’t right there. Hours of roaming the city, blinded by neon lights, and the two could simply not find it.

“You didn’t bring the card,” John said.

“Again?!” sighed Peter.

Suddenly, one wrong turn and there were four of them… The strike hit Peter on the temple.

“What are you looking for?” asked the stranger.

“Nothing,” replied John.

“Finish him off.”

A faint “No…” was muffled by the cold iron bar swooshing in the air.

A card slipped from John’s back pocket saying Pigeons’ Bar.

CHRIS THE NUCLEAR KID

When I awoke I looked at the map I had noticed the night before. Putting the paper on the map I found that it made an outlined tunnel system that supposedly ran under the town. The entrance was under my room’s bed.

I moved the bed from the wall and saw a trapdoor with a old lock. I kicked the lock breaking it lose then opened the door. A gust of dusty air rushed out and I climbed down the old ladder.

Following the tunnel I came to a large bronze door. But, sadly it was locked. So, I left.

JUNE

When I dropped out of college, home became a hotel room.

This is because my parents lost their house two weeks into my “journey”.

Homesick, my brother and I smoked pipes and watched reruns of Cheers.
When he passed out, I left the room.

Insomnia is a way of life when your bed is an armchair.

The hotel bar was closed to me, and no one knew my name. So I wandered
the dead streets outside, writing songs of loss.

Eighty songs later, I am glad I could not get a drink.

Though I found other ways to destroy myself.

CLIFF

I used to work at this watering hole that attracted a bunch of cartoonists. I don’t know why. Apparently we were just the closest joint to the animation studios. This was back before all the cartoons were done by Korean computers, of course. So this one day, an Artist comes in and I thought all hell was going to break loose. He was drinking his Cosmo and putting down our regulars as hacks and sellouts. I really thought it was going to come to blows. So, I took care of it with his second drink. I slipped him a Mickey.

This story is dedicated to my friend Tom who is the artist behind the webcomic ThoseFunkyIdiots.com. I’d record the story and shameless plug myself but a tiny ninja stole my recording equipment.

NORVAL JOE

The farmer sat at his dinner table, alone, too tired to eat. His wrinkled face sagged, his sun-spotted pate tipped forward as he dropped into sleep.
He might have thought it a dream if his heart wasn’t pounding through his rib cage, as the wizardess burst into his home.
Her grey eyes flashed and she asked, “Are there any windows in the house?”
An elf stepped to the hearth and began to chant.
“No, none,” the farmer grunted.
“Good,” the woman said. “Owen, bar the door.”
“We beg your hospitality, good man,” Shareeka said. “A storm is about to break.”

REDGODDESS

Lola woke up twenty minutes after her alarm went off. After a quick shower, she threw on her plain blue uniform, and busted out of her apartment for the bus. She was welcomed by the dragon lady fuming about incomplete service requests. By midday, there was a smoke smell complaint, an overflowed toilet in the penthouse and accident by a dog in the elevator. She was ready to walk out for good, when she stuck her hand in her pocket for master keys, instead found a business card with a handwritten message, “meet me at the bar for a surprise.”

ZACKMANN

“I found a recipe for super great cookie bars that are said to taste even better than those coconut collision cookies you love from the coffee shop next to Boarderlands Books sf.” boasted Dylan
“Wow, are those supposed to be so big?” said Zack
“I followed the recipe. I can’t imagine what went wrong.” replied Dylan.
“Which spoon did you use for measuring the baking soda?” asked Zack
The one that is marked with Capital T for tea spoon.” said Dylan.
“That is for Table Spoon. Lowercase ts is for Tea Spoon.
Sometime you can raise the bar too high.“

PLANET Z

The last time I saw Ricky, the rollercoaster attendant lowered the lap-bar into place.

The cars went up, teetered over the hill, and raced along the track.

Everyone screamed and raised their hands.

At the end of the ride, people laughed and got up.

Except Ricky.

He was gone.

“Where’s Ricky?” I asked the attendant.

“Who?” he said.

We looked everywhere.

They shut the ride down and searched.

Gone without a trace.

I smiled… the time portal worked!

“I’ll see you in a week, Ricky,” I whispered.

A week later, he reappeared.

And got creamed by a speeding rollercoaster car.

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 Fourteen, 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 Strike Team Alpha.

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

Guy David
Zackmann
Thomas
Chris The Nuclear Kid
Serendipity Haven
Tura
Tom
Steven The Nuclear Man
Chris Munroe
Logan Berry
Lizzie Gudkov
Cliff
Sachy and Abernathy
RedGoddess
Danny
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…

Obligatory cat photo:

(That’s Gray Stripey. He visits us a lot. Bruwyn and Myst get along with him and let him enjoy the catnip piles.)

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.

---

GUY

The first Bread-and-Butterfly was documented by the good reverent Charles Lutwidge Dodgson in his celebrated book about the origin of the species, titled “Through the Looking Glass”. When his conclusions came out, whole teams of other researchers came out on strike claiming the human race didn’t evolve from some Bread-and-Butterfly alpha. I guess most of them didn’t even read his book. They just confused his with that other Charles, the one who wrote the book about the origin of chess. Or, was it the other way around? Guess I should ask the red queen about it.

ZACKMANN

The teen boy excitedly squeed “Are you Munsis Minions of Team Alpha? It is so exciting to meet you.”
The public relations officer replied “Sorry to get your hopes up kid but Team Alpha and Team Beta are stuck in Alberta. The zombie task force has had some setbacks but don’t worry team Sigma is here and we shall prevail. It’s your lucky day kid. We got a truckload of something from Louisville. The good news is today is Team Sigma Bat Day. The bad news is you’re likely to need it but when we succeed only to play baseball.”

THOMAS

Strike Team Alpha released the earworm virus in midtown Manhattan a few weeks before Christmas when the whole area was already inundated with Xmas music and sales jingles spilling into the street from storefronts. The team’s purpose was to drive the Xmas shoppers mad and to cause them to riot, destroy local landmarks, break windows, throw bricks at the police, and bang tourists on the heads with homemade picket signs. The Strike Team Commander, Wallace Gloatbridge, was a disgruntled ex, government worker, and fiction author from Massachusetts. The virus spread rapidly, and the team fled to their squat in Brooklyn.

##

Strike Team Alpha was a tight-knit group of fiction writers from South Texas. They wrote fiction on spec and contract, selling to magazines and small shopping guides. The team commander, Mary Alfalpha, and her lieutenant, Sarah Dipity made sure all grammar and spelling was correct, and any team member stooping to profanity would have to surrender their membership and privileges. The team met their demise during an particularly brutal attack by a gang of black booted grammar Nazis from the Carolinas that stormed their headquarters wielding dictionaries and thick thesauri. The team fell to overlooked braces, semi-colons, tildes, and em-spaces.

CHRIS THE NUCLEAR KID

It was not that long ago when I made a promise I was unable to keep. I promised to protect the one I loved. But when she needed help most I was not strong enough to save her. I then swore to train myself and become stronger. I joined the military training force for a few years.
A day ago I received an application to the Strike Team Alpha. Now it’s my first day I am slightly worried due to the stories I’ve heard of the place. But its probably worth it. Well I’d better get going before I’m late.

SERENDIPITY

Strike Team Alpha were supposed to be the cream of the crop, but their legendary failure is a textbook example of what happens when you have the wrong tools to get the job done.

Skills honed to perfection, they moved in under cover of darkness – their orders: ‘Light blue touchpaper and retire to a safe distance’.

It should have been simple.

Instead, it was a complete disaster – forty failed attempts later they withdrew; the mission, a disaster.

At the court martial the truth came out: “They sent us out with safety matches… How the hell were we to strike them?”

TURA

Spy-in-the-sky sees Team Alpha coming two miles out. Textbook-perfect manoeuvres but they’re running through it like a replay.

Bam. Landmine. They weren’t expecting that, no landmines there in the videogame. Come on, show some initiative, Alpha! No, they duck for the trees.

I settle behind my sniper scope. First one emerges, right on time. Second. Then mine. Bam. First two panic and run into the rest of Team Delta. I guess we can strike Team Alpha.

There’s one left, hiding in the trees, but we’ll capture him for interrogation, ho ho. The ones with just paintball splashes get it easy.

TOM

The 5th of June 1943 Strike Team Alpha crosses the Potomac under the cover of night. Lt. Bronski hands each member of the team the battered dispatch from HQ. In large black letters it reads as follows: The president of the United States is named Shiklegrubber. Execute Plan Omega. “Smoke Em if you got em,” whispered Sergeant Rock. Little Joe lights up a Luck Strike, which given the circumstances seemed a bit ironic. “We’re not come back are we Sarg?” “We got to get the Spaniard inside the White House and his infernal contraption. That’s the mission private.” Arnesto paces.

STEVEN THE NUCLEAR MAN

The team deployed from their chopper. Strike Team Alpha looked like any other crack military unit…. except for two things. Their unit patches simply had a Greek letter alpha, and they were completely unarmed.

They went from home to home, offering free hugs, and were met with bullets, knives, and shrapnel.

As the final member of Alpha breathed his last, the Old Man turned off the monitor and gestured to his XO. “Send in Strike Team Omega,” he said.

The XO nodded. He reached into the lead locker and started handing suitcase nukes to the members of the final team.

Munsi!

What’s your favorite book?

No, don’t tell me. I wouldn’t be able to hear you, podcasts are a one-way form of communication.

Instead, open word on your computer, write the title of the book, the name of it’s author, and how and why it changed your life.

Write a love letter to the book.

When you’re done, print the page, fold it and put it in an envelope.

Now: Head to your local library or bookstore, find a copy of the book, tuck the envelope inside and return it to the shelf.

Congratulations, you’ve just connected meaningfully with a stranger.

Logan Berry

Capitalism sucks.

Not on paper. It looks like a good system on paper. May the brightest minds prosper. In the real world, capitalism has become a conglomerate of faceless corporations who strive to deprive us of the basics of health and happiness so they can charge us money for manufactured, second hand, sub-standard and unnatural versions of the things we need to function with dignity.

So when my partner has a heart attack, as he did this week, I have as much faith in the system as I would a shark in a swimming pool. Hospitals underfunded and drug companies overfunded mean that someone profits obscenely, and someone suffers.

I need Strike Team Alpha to overthrow this most unethical and soul-destroying system; or, if possible, to sit by my partner’s bed, and hold his hand.

LIZZIE

After years of attacks, the authorities called in the big guns. They were tough, they were dangerous. They were the reason children played in the streets now and women walked home from work late at night. Thieves, drug dealers, murderers and serial killers didn’t stand a chance. Tenacious and all geared up, they would roam the streets hunting predators down. Their motto was KISS. KISS them and KISS them again. They were Kimberly, Ivy, Suzy and Samantha, the Strike Team Alpha of the neighborhood. “Can I have an ice-cream, Granny?” asked 5 year old Peter. “No,” replied KISS in unison.

######

“Not good,” Strike said peaking through the window.

Team nodded.

“What are you talking about?!” Alpha was angry.

“You go first, Strike.”

“First?!”

“Yes, explain what we mean,” replied Team.

“Ah!” said Strike with a sigh of relief.

“This is a covert operation. What’s the problem?” asked Alpha annoyed.

Strike and Team looked anxious.

“Let’s go,” commanded Alpha.

Suddenly there was a loud noise, a shot.

“Uh-oh…” said Strike.

Team nodded.

“See, I told him. His wife wouldn’t like the surprise. This Strike Team Alpha anniversary gift was a bad idea. Too kinky…”

Strike nodded.

“Coffee?”

“And cream,” replied Team.

Cliff

“You are part of this Strike Team Alpha.”
He wasn’t very imposing. His three goons were, however.
“Strike Team what?”
“Don’t play stupid.”
“Who’s playing?”
Actually, I was. As the new guy, I’d gotten to play bait. I’d sat in this café for three days waiting for the Literature Purity League to notice me. They were self appointed censors. They censored writers, not words. People had disappeared. In response, Strike Team Alpha was born.
From where I sat, I could see Munsi and Treed blocking the exit. These fools were about to see what writers could really do.

SACHY AND ABERNATHY

and now a word from our sponsors…

This is Captain Arctic here to tell you about my new ice cream; Strike Team Alpha. If you have ever wanted to be a superhero like me, you need Strike Team Alpha. This is a supernatural cold blast chalk full of American Pride with red, white and blue candy tidbits that will make your taste buds soar to new heights.

Side effects may include; Jumping over buildings in a single bound, shooting webs out of your wrists, laser and/or x-ray vision, invisibility, turning green, super human strength and explosive diarrhea.

RED GODDESS

There is a undying war being waged on low wage workers and the working poor. During new employee’s orientation, there is high optimism and promise to solve problems together. Human resources department really exists to protect the rights of companies not to ensure the employees are treated fairly. Then, who can employees turn to for grievances and better treatment in the workplace? There is only one group that can come to the rescue, “Strike Team Alpha.” Since this team is action oriented and militaristic, they will go in there, unlike mediators, and solve all the problems with one permanent move.

DANNY

“Target has been spotted!” the Captain screamed into his headset, command control responded, “Mission is a go!” “OK, Go, Go, Go!,” the captain screamed, as Strike Team Alpha jumped from the B21 bomber, plummeting to their target below. Parachutes deployed at 500 feet, the strike team quietly descended on their target, the buildng below. The door was kicked in, weapons fully drawn, the team was confronted by, an unarmed 4 year old child surrounded by 10 other toddlers. The 4 year old quickly responded, “Thhhpppppp!!!!” “Uh, command control, you just had us raid the Tiny Tots Pre-School.” The laughter from command control was deafening.

NORVAL JOE

The targets stood like ancient warriors, tall and silent, awaiting the attack. Fearless and stoic they stared back at the champion chosen to lead the assault.
Unassuming, almost pitiful in his weakness, like David of old facing Goliath, the first in the band of competitors stared across the field of battle. He took the projectile in his hand, stepped forward and hurled it toward the phalanx. With a crash they flew about knocking one another down.
“Strike, Team Alpha,” the announced called.
The first player of Team Bravo dried his hand, retrieved his bowling ball and stepped onto the lane.

The dwarf sat on his stool and stared at the ground.
“How long must we wait for an answer?” Owen asked.
The ranger replied, “dwarves live much longer than humans and therefore take much longer to make decisions.”
“Yes, but,” Owen said, “he’s sat all morning without movement or word. We only have so much time to get the princess. Do we really need him?”
“Ours will be the first group to enter the caverns since the goblins overran them,” Shareeka said. “Though he was a child when he escaped, his memory of the caves will be invaluable to us.”

PLANET Z

My company designs shoulder sleeve insignia for military uniforms.

Those are the patches you see on a soldier’s arm that says what service unit they’re a part of.

The strangest request came from the Army for their elite Strike Team Alpha unit.

Not only did this clandestine group not wear uniforms, but they were not supposed to ever identify themselves.

Due to regulations and bureaucracy, though, they had to have a patch.

So, they had a solid black patch made.

Their first mission was to kill the idiot in the Pentagon who ordered them to wear the patches.

Mission accomplished.