She tells me that I have no fucking clue.
But, truth be told, I have no glue
Without the glue, my thoughts don’t stick.
I draw a blank, I don’t know dick!
She says:”Make a note and write it down!”
Do you take me for some dumb clown?
Of course I write it down on notes.
And then I lose them, this shit blows goats!
The doctor wants to scan my brain
He hopes that scan just might explain
Why I haven’t ever got a clue
Is it okay if I tell you?
(Alright, I’ve sniffed way too much glue.)
Author: R.
The Silent But Deadly E
A silent e changes the pronunciation of the vowel earlier in the word.
Cod becomes code.
Slop becomes slope.
Wad becomes wade.
However, after years of training, a silent e can also become invisible and a master of the deadly arts.
Hai!
These are ninja e, and they are the deadliest assassins in grammar.
One powerful spin from a ninja e can crush your spine, leaving you a limp rag before their deadly rage.
Try to crawl away.
Try to scream for help.
By the time you realize she, the ninja e is here, you’ve already been killed by her.
Weekly Challenge #289 – “Bubbles”
Welcome to the 100 Word Stories podcast at podcasting.isfullofcrap.com. I’m your host, Laurence Simon.
This is Weekly Challenge Number Two Hundred and Eighty-Eght, 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 Halloween
And we’ve got stories by:
Taralyn Gravois
Chris Munroe
Tom
Abernathy
Sachy
Danny
Zackmann
Norval Joe
TJ
Planet Z
And if you want to spam your social networks with this episode, use the Share buttons at the end of the post.
Taralyn
Bubbles remind me of different times in my life. As a small child my mom gave me a bath with Mr. Bubble.
As a toddler my dad showed me how to blow bubbles.
Then at 10 I got this kit that made cool plastic bubbles that were a swirl of amazing colors.
In highschool, car washes throwing sponges covered in bubbles at my teenage girlfriends. What fun.
As an adult washing dishes and taking a moment to enjoy the slippery bubbles on my hands.
Then having a kid and giving him a bath in Mr. Bubble the cycle starts again.
Munsi
Bubbles rise to the surface, burst, and are gone. And as suddenly as that it’s all over.
He’d thought he could steal from me, thought I wouldn’t notice a few bucks “disappearing” here and there.
I make it my business to notice everything.
I could have alerted the authorities, but it’d been a while since I went hands on, so I solved the problem myself.
An invite to an afternoon on my boat, a bottle of wine and a willingness to wait for my opportunity.
And now, as I sail home, I can’t help but smile.
I’ve still got it.
Tom
In an effort to generate reasonable returns on investment speculators have damn near plumbed every conceivable commodity, but in 2065 the 120 year old guru of hedging Glen Beck initiated the Opera Star Trading Card Stampede. A Plácido Domingo in “Semper Augustus” was valued at 25 trillion Lindens. Just last week I traded a Caruso and an Andrea Bocelli for a Beverly Sills in the Tahitian version of La boheme. You haven’t lived until you’ve heard Oh My My AukAuk. It came with the complementary stick of gum. The gum has no effect of value. Couldn’t blow a damn bubble.
Abernathy
Bubbles the Clown was a burlesque style clown stripper. Not as rare as you might think. Mainly booked for bachelor parties. Always entering a room in a dress made of clear plastic bubbles. Quirky music playing faintly as she teasingly took off her dress. Left with only her cute pink polka-dotted pumps, cotton candy colored pig-tales, and clown make-up. She sat on pies and balloons. Cool-whip squirted out the sides of her tush and balloons popped loudly as her bottom slammed against a chair. Men would cheer and she would smile and giggle. Upside-down split was Bubbles finale.
Sachy
“Thank you for calling 1(800)LONELYU . Please hold while we connect you with the girl of your dreams.”
“Hey there big boy, my name is Bubbles…whats yours?”
“Uh…Dexter”
“Alright Dexter, what can I do for you?”
“MOM! I’M ON THE PHONE WITH MY GIRLFRIEND, GO AWAY! Um…well…I’mma level 45 Mage Paladin from Ure and I want you to be a helpless maiden captured by a Chaos Beast.”
“Dexter? How old are you?”
“16…Hello?”
“I’m sorry Dexter, I have to go”
“No, no. Don’t hang up! Ugh. THANKS MOM! YOU JUST SCARED AWAY MY GIRLFRIEND!”
Danny
Bubbles was a high class prostitute who lived on the upper east side of Manhattan. Relaxing in a hot tub at her condo with John, her statuesque boyfriend, they were both mesmerized by the bubbles rising in their Champagne. ”We need to go to Amsterdam,” John stated. “Where’s that?” Bubbles asked. “In Holland,” responded John. ”Oh, is that where the Hollish live?” Bubbles blurted. “I thought they were Dutch,” John responded. ” Uh, like, no, if the place is named Holland, the Hollish must live there.” So, John and Bubbles run off the the airport, Champagne in hand, off to Holland, in search of the Hollish.
Zackmann
I wish I had not used this house. My wife said she had a friend who would loan us a cabin in rural Maine. The view of the leaves and the color of the trees is wonderful this time of year. We thought we could spend some time away not thinking about the house of which we are eternally bound since we refinanced it near the top of the real estate bubble. My wife and boys went shopping in the next town I hope to see them again, some day. I am alone stuck in the bubble at Chester’s Mill
Norval Joe
Vaudeville was big and she was a star. People came from miles away to see her act. They called her bubbles because of the strategically placed bubbles she used when she danced.
But as movies became more and more popular and theaters popped up in even the smallest of towns, live acts like hers drew smaller crowds until one day she was out, living on the streets like a dog.
The final insult came when she wrapped herself in a tattered vaudeville poster to try and keep warm in the freezing snow. A poster of her, Bubbles, the dancing dachshund.
TJ
Darn these “dress casual” things. I’d dress too casual and she’d be pissed, or I’d be too dressed up and that would be wrong too. I texted her. “What are you wearing?” I asked. Her words appeared in a tiny bubble. “I dunno … what are you wearing?” Oh, a tease! “Nothin’ but a smile,” I grinned. No response. I wondered if I’d frightened her away. Then the flurry of texts. “Hi! I’m back” “Sorry I missed your call.” And “My daughter has ben warned against pretending to be me and will be dealt with.” Well, that was pretty embarrassing.
Planet Z
There was this one kid in school who said the problem with Baptists is that they don’t hold them under water long enough.
They dragged the kid into the bathroom and held his face in the toilet.
What began as a swirly became a full-fledged drowning, bubbles all around, less and less, then…
Nothing.
HAVE YOU BEEN HELD UNDER LONG ENOUGH?
He was limp, no fight left at all.
HAVE YOU BEEN HELD UNDER LONG ENOUGH?
Then, they let go of him, still face-down in the toilet, backing away slowly… no movement…
“He died saved,” I said to the cops.
Plus
What’s all of this fuss
About Google Plus?
You’re suspended? You’re blocked?
Well, color me shocked!
Did you think for a minute
They’d let you stay in it?
The circles and streams
Fill up with your screams
Of protest and threat
They’re not listening, I bet.
If they took time to explain
We’re just a nuisance, a drain
We don’t buy all that stuff
The ads sell, so tough!
Facebook’s just the same
We don’t fit in their game.
When will Twitter become
Like these “real name” scum?
Well, you can all go to Hell
(Time to log into SL.)
Space
Janey the Packrat was always running out of space on her work computer.
After buying a bigger hard drive and archiving files to disks, she still kept running out of free space.
“Try compressing things,” said the office geek.
So, she did. She ran the Compression routine and it said she had plenty of free space.
“What if I compress the compressed stuff?” she asked herself.
Sure enough, she had even more free space.
Ten hours later, as she ran the compression routine for the fifteenth time, her computer imploded, collapsing into a black hole and slowly devouring the earth.
Baby Panthers
On the way to work, I walk through the park next to the courthouse.
Down the steps, into a maintenance area under a bridge where a small cat colony lives.
There’s a calico, a tortie, an orange and white.
And two black cats.
I call them the wild baby panthers.
I carry cat treats in my work bag, and I leave a pile or two when I walk by on the way to work.
And the way home.
I know they’ll never trust me, or rub against my leg, purring or meowing.
That’s fine by me. To give is enough.
Tantor Friend
There’s an elephant in the room. So. What do you mean: SO? I’m saying there a fuckn Elephant in the middle of the apartment. So. If you say that again I’m going to drive this fork into your upper arm. “You said I could have a pet.” A pet’s a cat a pet’s a dog pet’s a bird a pet does not take up 90% of your living space. His name is Ralph he followed me home. No elephant in the history of elephants ever up and followed anyone home and how the fuck did he get up the elevator.
For Ants
When people say to spray for ants
I’d rather that they pray for ants
I think ants are really neat
So I kneel down and bless their feet
I tell the ants to bow their heads
And then my mom gives me my meds
They make the voices go away
Which tell me when I ought to pray
I sleep and dream of Lord Apshai
Who rules all ants from upon high
He then demands a sacrifice
I look around for something nice
And that’s why I burned all my pants
Burnt offerings to the god of the ants.
Amen.
Joe
Thank God Joe was wearing his safety helmet.
Some jackass at the site dropped a brick from ten stories up.
Instead of killing Joe, it just knocked him silly. Spent a week in the hospital.
He’s fine, except that he’s now got this imaginary friend he calls Luthor.
To Joe, Luthor’s real, and he gets really mad when you try to tell him otherwise.
Or point out that Luthor can’t hold a welding torch or the other end of a safety line.
Joe’s on permanent disability now.
But, we hired Luthor.
Guy never complains, and he never cashes his checks.
The Missing Site
When other people can’t reach their sites, they freak out and panic like it’s the end of the world. Me, I don’t worry so much. I figure that the server deserves a break every once in awhile. Let the poor thing get some rest now and then. Plus, I’ve got backups, so in a worst-case scenario, I can always start fresh and reload all of the site data. Here… let me show you… the backups are… they’re… wait a minute… and… The backups folder is empty? Maybe they got saved somewhere else… I mean… they were just here… Oh shit.