Author: R.

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 Seventy-Eight, 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 Wild

How about voting for your favorites?

[polldaddy poll=5441200]

Or, if the poll is broken, just go to everybody’s site and heap much love upon them (since nobody ever leaves comments here, you know.)

Almo
Thomas
Xerxes
Liadona
Zackmann
Krazie Kitten
Tom
Justin
Steven the Nuclear Man
Norval Joe
Fricker/Terrazabyte
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.

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Almo

Arnett stood in front of the Harlan County Junior College Bearcats moments before kickoff. It was Arnett’s first football coaching job and he wanted to make sure his players were fired up when they took the field.

“I want you to be ferocious!” he screamed.

“Ferocious!” they replied.

“I want you to be unstoppable!”

“Unstoppable!”

“I want you to be …,” Arnett paused, “wild!”

“Wild!!!!”

On the opening kickoff, the Bearcats’ strongest athlete sprinted downfield, stuck his arm out and took the head clean off an opponent.

“Next time we stick with ferocious and unstoppable,” Arnett whispered to his assistant coach

Xerxes

Gabe looked down at the paper, “the postal service wants to cut 120,000 workers through layoff and another 100,000 workers through attrition?”

“Yep,” came the somber, yet awe inspiring and rumbling reply.

“So… what does this mean for me?” asked Gabe, looking up and raising one bushy eyebrow slightly.

“It’s actually pretty wild. You are no longer required to relay messages to the prophets, step down as the chief of the four favored angels, and finally, you lose the titles of patron saint of postal workers and spirit of truth.”

Gabriel wondered to himself what the unemployment benefits were like.

Thomas

Wild

The county abatement officer posted little, red banners all over my front yard. The markers were plastic flags taped to wire stakes. He pushed a hundred of them into the soil in the front yard. I planted my yard to save water by using ”indigenous plants”. The officer’s job was to mark noxious weeds for the control team to dig up or spray. Not knowing a weed from a wildflower; my yard was overgrown with nutsedge, skeletonweed, sowthistle, spurge, knapweed, gorse, toadflax, puncturevine and purple loosestrife. The plants were healthy and had grown to the height of my roofline.

Wild

She was wild. Untamed. A golden-haired beauty from a big country family. When I saw her with her brothers and sisters, I knew she was the one I wanted. Her father was nowhere to be seen. I left because I had to ponder things. I went back to her house in a few days and spoke to her family. We made arrangements so I was able to take her with me that day. Money changed hands. It was legal in the area. No questions were asked. It was a big litter, and Molly was the fattest of them all.

Liadona

The western wind blew; harsh, hot and dusty. It hadn’t stopped in a week. Isra tied her hair back, adjusting her goggles hoping to block some of the sand blowing strong. Something was terribly wrong.

She’d walked from home for months after the accident. That’s what they called it on the radio before that went dead. North seemed right, away from the desert that once was lush and green along the Mississippi.

But here, at what should’ve been Canada, a wild jungle from South America. The compass pointed North. Was that wrong too? Or was the world turned upside down?

Zackmann

Zackmann’s body was found Friday morning half eaten by what is believed to be a wild animal.
Friends became suspicious when he was not in the BearCrawling Stickam chat room Thursday
night. Mountain Lions had been seen in the area his body was found. The Contra Costa
Sheriff believes his demise was in no way related to his involvement with in an investigation
of something called the Nocturnals. A memorial service will be help at Borderlands Books San
Francisco with the Wrong Reverend Charles McBearCrawling presiding, also broadcast live on
Stickam Thursday 6:30 PM Pacific Time.

To quote Mark Twain and east European politicians, Rumors of my death have been greatly
exaggerated. I was in the wilds of Oregon visiting Crater Lake National Park. Which is more just
cool than wild but don’t tell the animals living in the park. The GPS thought driving through Reno
to get from California to Southern Oregon was a good idea so I did spend an extra three hours
seeing nature which is more trees. There is nothing more fun than putting two teens in a car
forcing them to go places you and mom think are really great.

Krazie Kitten

Caged.
Entrapped.
She had never imagined that it would end up like this. She hardly sleeps, spending each dark night endlessly pacing her cage. Her eyes gaze upon freedom, close enough to nearly taste it. She can barely remember life without these barriers and restrictions. She longs to indulge in her true nature. Desperate to have a life like the one she has lost. The once bright fire in her eyes glows dimmer, diminishing more with each day spent locked in captivity.
Will she ever be free to live again?
She knows only one thing for certain.
She is wild.

Tom

In the wild hairless apes, Homo sapiens, live on average 17 years. In domestic captivity this number increases four fold. The mating practices of Humans are a wonder. While discriminative in their Monogamy they are indiscriminative in their infidelity. The Institute has gone out of its way to create a natural setting for humans to mate, but our best efforts have proven less than successful. Thankfully Drowl Pardash found an ancient Earth reference to an object called a Buick. While the Buick limits the visibility of the actual mating, it’s a small price to pay for a rise in frequency.

Justin

I’m on my way to the market when a triceratops runs by me, almost knocking me over. I almost shout, but two more of his buddies are coming up, and I don’t want them to triple-gore me with their horns. A guy with a tall Mohawk walks by with a silent boom box, and the mime who’s putting on a show gets into an argument with him. I have to walk between two warring tribes of children having a rigatoni fight. Next time I go to the store, I’m not going to walk on the wild side of the street.

Steven the Nuclear Man

(This is the link Steven thinks I’m going to forget this week. Heh.)

I take her hair in my hand and pull back. It’s a rough mess of untamed curls, as wild as she is. “You’ve been a bad girl.”

She moans, presses her hips against me. “Very bad, sir. You should spank me.”

I can’t help it. I chuckle and let go. “A spanking! A spanking! Bad Zoot!”

She stands up, straightens our band shirt over her chest. “What the hell?”

“Sorry. I’m just not into S&M.”

She storms out, shoving past the bassist.

His eyebrow raises. “Lose another groupie?”

I shrug. “What’s the lead singer of Satan’s Soldiers to do?”

Norval Joe

Fly paper boy rolled from his bed and stumbled to the desk. Cold sweat trickled down his bare back as he leaned over the keyboard.
“What can I do,” he grumbled. “Someone knew I was at that house for the money. Now they’re framing me.”
Then it came to him There was a kid on the chess team in Junior High that could work out almost any conundrum.
“It’s a wild goose chase, but I’ll search facebook” he said “I think he moved to Minnesota.”
“OK, state, Minnesota, NO! North Dakota. name, Martin,,,,,,,,, Oh Crap. What was his last name?”

Fricker/Terrazabyte

Our planet Earth supports 6.7 billion human lives, each one unique and completely different.

Our Sun is one of an estimated 200 to 400 billion other stars in our galaxy, each one unique and completely different.

Our Milky Way galaxy is merely one of the estimated 500 billion galaxies in our universe, each one unique and completely different.

When trying to comprehend this wild and astronomical vision of the world around us, remember that from the universe down to the world we may be seen as one person, but to one person out there we may be their world.

TJ

He heard her before anything else, an agitated commotion among the
hubbub in the hallway between classes. Tina burst wild-eyed into
Martin’s field of vision, “Martin… Martin…” she wheezed. She
was in her cheerleading uniform and if her sweater had been any tighter
it would be a tattoo. “Sarah said… you could help me…”
“What’s the problem,” he asked. “It’s Jellybean. My guinea
pig!” she cried. “She’s gone missing.” Martin thought he was a
spy, not a detective, but he saw an opportunity to further expand his
skill set. Handing her a tissue, Martin accepted her case with a
handshake.

Planet Z

The Animal Liberation Squad roamed the corridors of the bioengineering lab, hoping to rescue subjects and release them into the wild.

The gates had been unguarded, doors unlocked, and alarms were off.

“Something’s wrong,” said Sparky. He sat down and scratched his ear with his back foot.

“Do you think?” said Fluffy.

Lucky chewed his squeaky bone, which squeaking loudly.

Sparky had told him to leave it at home, but Lucky loved his squeaky bone.

“We’re just chasing our tails,” said Fluffy. “Let’s go home.”

So, they did.

Marking clipboards, their owners said “Good doggies!” and gave them some treats.

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 Seventy-Seven, 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 Radio

How about voting for your favorites?

[polldaddy poll=5413759]

Tom
Gideon
Thomas
Daniel
Danny
Steve
TerrazaByte
Norval Joe
TJ
Justin
Justin
Planet Z

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

---

Tom

It was 1963 the president was dead, but it was the ramp-up to the
Christmas frenzy and all my thoughts were locked onto a 13 transistor six
diode Japanese work of wonder. It was jet black and ivory white with a
large transparent disk in the center engraved with frequency numbers.

Like Jean Shepherd’s Ralphy I had to wage a serious Christmas campaign to
get my transistor radio. There was the argument over hearing loss. The
argument over the corruption effect of rock and roll. Finally I cut a
deal to tune in to Bishop Fullton Sheen’s Sunday radio program

Gideon

I was listening to the radio this morning and heard an intriguing song.

The lyrics told the story of a man whose wife had turned her focus inward.

He started exploring and fell in love with someone else.

He left his wife.

His wife refocused on him and started stalking him.

This presented a conundrum for him – return to the renewed focus of his wife or stay with the focus of his new lover.

I never heard the outcome.

It was a country song and, in my mind, I kept hearing a tune about roadkill, so I turned it off.

Thomas P.

The radio plays all night. I wake often to a loud commercial, so I throw a towel or a pillow over the speaker to muffle it. Last night, I dropped my pillow on the radio and I heard a gasp. I couldn’t make out the words,
so I moved the pillow and heard a voice say: “You’ve got some gall! That’s not polite, and it’s quite unnerving. Don’t do that again. Just turn the radio down. No more tricks.” The rest of the night I lay awake
for hours wondering if I really heard what I thought I had.

———

The radio stood up straight next to the typewriter and proclaimed it had something to say, and that I had better put down what I was doing and pay attention.
“You have ignored me a long time, and I want you to know that you have missed a lot of good radio. You’ve missed Art Bell late at night, The Ron and Don Show,
George Noory on Coast to Coast, and the John Curley shows. If you want your mind to expand and keep it from turning into silly putty, turn off that damn TV, and turn me on.

Daniel

When the aliens finally made contact, it was because of a chance scan of our planet that revealed sentient life, which surprised them. They berated us for not trying to make contact ourselves. “Didn’t you have an interest in what’s beyond your own solar system?”

This outraged the scientific community. “We’ve been sending radio signals into space for decades! How could you not know we were here?”

The leader of the aliens’ diplomatic envoy was bewildered by this. “That’s weird. Let me check something… Huh. It seems your transmissions were being blocked by our spam filter. Go figure.”

Danny

Everything I ever had to know, I heard it on the Radio. We watch the shows, we watch the stars, on videos, for hours and hours. We hardly need to use our ears, how music changes throughout the years. Then pictures came, they broke my heart. Don’t care if Video Killed the Radio Star. Just turn it up, the Radio! I need the music, gimme some more! Cause all we hear is Radio Goo Goo, Radio Ga Ga! Let’s hope you never leave, my old friend. You had your time, you had the power, you’ve yet to have, your finest hour. Radio.

Steve

OUT radiating OUT reaching OUT grabbing mind and heart,

FORCING you to think and smile and wonder and laugh

You bob your head, body bouncing, MY MUSIC controls your motions

Your Emotions, too, are glued to me as I unveil you to yourself

You listen, riveted as you pray, you play, you do as I say

I inveigle multidimensionally – mind, will, and emotions stirred, shaken, broken and mended

At the SPEED OF LIGHT, delight runs ‘round the world

I am, AM, FM, longwave, shortwave, WiFi, satellite, STREAMING

Beaming into your world, forever entwined, your life and mine

I am Radio

Vince/TerrazaByte

Dr. Herman Hineschnickel has the world most exciting job. He’s in charge of the land based radio telescope for the SETI Institute, the Search for Extraterrestrial Intelligence. His work day begins like most other jobs in America, with a cup of coffee and a quick review of the TPS reports.

But that all changes once he begins listing for evidence of life in the universe. With headphones on and keen eye on the frequency meter, he initiates this most exciting work. Hour 1 passes, nothing happens. Hours 2 & 3 go by, nothing happens. Hour 10, still nothing. Hours 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18…

NorvalJoe

Fly Paper Boy’s eyes shot open. The clock radio beside the bed blared a tire store commercial. He slapped the off button and the sound decreased a hundred decibels to a reasonable level.
“Five o’clock,” he moaned, “I just got to sleep. Jenny.”
He thought sleepily how his conniving sister messed with his alarm before.
The broadcast broke through his hazy thoughts and he was wide awake again.
” The home of Beaulla Larmpitt, Vinyl Man’s last murder victim, burned to the ground this morning. Police are looking for a white Toyota Corolla seen in the area only hours before…”

TJ

Martin’s father, Henry, was reading the business/metro section as
Martin sidled up behind him.

“So… I found the radio.”

Earlier, Martin had discovered an ancient shortwave radio in his
father’s workbench.

After several rounds of bluster, arguments and recriminations, Martin
could piece together what was behind his father’s nightly beeline for
the basement. Something about ongoing projects, corporate espionage,
dispatches to Japan– shortwave transmissions not leaving a data trail
the company could or would be tracking. The ethics bothered Martin, but
on some level he was relieved.

Later, chatting with his mistress, Henry appreciated his son’s
tendency to overthink everything.

Justin

While I love the experience of trying out a new phone; learning the menus and finding the latest apps, the reason for the new phone is annoying. I really liked the one I had before. It had adapted to me very well, and I’d gotten used to the nuances of the controls, it had my most used contacts memorized. Normally most of that is transferable, but not this time. I got a bad ear infection and the medicine killed the phone cells. My replacement plan allows for me to culture the latest generation in my ear canal, so I’m set.

Steven the Nuclear Man

Just the crackle-hiss-pop of solar radiation imitating breakfast cereal. Listening is dangerous – they might detect my radio, but I’ll risk one set.

A brief whistlescream from the speaker: the electromagnetic death whine of an orbital station. Damn aliens. They gated to the surface instead of coming through low earth orbit, but they’re making up for lost time.

The speaker comes fully alive. Some fool’s broadcasting the national anthem.

I listen, and turn on every radio in the place. I salute, wondering if they’ll vaporize me or the broadcaster first.

And I no longer care.

Planet Z

Funding for SETI projects was been drastically cut across the board.

So, we needed to take a new approach to survive.

It was on my drive through New York, listening to Howard Stern, that I got my idea…

That’s right. I am the world’s first shock-jock radio telescope disk jockey.

Me and my crew, The Morning Xenobiological Collection, fill the spectrum with interviews with topless interns, prank very long distance calls to quasars… all kinds of filth.

Our strategy is keeping us funded and searching, sure, but it comes at the cost of any intelligent life down here on Earth.