Here. Have a drink.
What is it?
Clown juice.
Yeah, it tastes a little funny.
Freshly squeezed, too. None of that frozen concentrate junk or powdered “Clown Drink” crap.
Pure clown juice, straight from the clown.
Squeezed their squirting flowers myself this morning.
What kind of clown?
Circus clown. Only the best Barnum and Bailey label.
Rodeo clowns are just too gritty and bitter. Nobody wants to drink that rot.
And don’t get me started on mimes. Weak as water and sappy sweet.
Hospital clowns, well, they’re too salty.
From the tears they cry after visiting the kids.
Sad stuff.
Author: R.
How do you write 100 word stories? #91
Many folk with serious grills have asked how do you Tom write a 100 word story
How can a mild manner man from Houston afford to cloth, fed, and shelter a banjo playing midget in a word prolithic. That like guy has written harlequin romances, sermon for Pat Robertson, and manuals for maintaining network edge routers. He can and does it all. He asks so little in return and this is how LS is able to keep him around despite the complaint of neighboring sheep ranchers. I have from time to time hired the midget to write a story. I begged him to let me give him credit, but he just shakes his zipped mask, no.
They Walk No More
Things have been crazy here in Middle Earth.
There was a war. Lots of people and orcs and things got killed.
Some midgets and their friends chickened out and fled. They claimed they had to go off and destroy a ring.
Yeah. Right.
The noise died down, the fires got put out, we buried the bodies and repaired the damage to our homes and businesses.
Those ring-destroying heroes? Too hoity-toity for honest hard work.
They said “We’re sailing off to the West.”
Yeah, we got stuck building the boats. Them walking trees really yell when you mill them for planks.
How do you write 100 word stories? #90
Many folk tales with sad endings beg the question how do you Tom write a 100 word story
Timmy had writer’s block. He thought he had said it all, possible twice. In a lazy random glance out the window he saw five saffron robed men walk down Mulberry St. “What the frack?” said Timmy and ran out the door to catch up with them. “Where are you going? (To you Latin scholars Quo Vadis) “Jimmy’s house he’s dead.” “Bummer.” “Not really we are going to read the Book of Dead at his house for 4 days to help him on his way.” Timmy sat and listened for 4 day. When he got home his writer’s block for gone.
Weekly Challenge #260 – “Be Italian!”
Welcome to the Weekly Challenge Number Two Hundred and Sixty, 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 Be Italian!
Go ahead and listen to them and then vote for your favorites (multiple selections are allowed):
[polldaddy poll=4930098]
And if you want to spam your social networks with this episode, use the Share buttons at the end of the post.
Tom
Be Italian
Take a chance and try to steal a fiery kiss
That’s what mama said
Bambino that how you’ll get ahead
Drink the wine and drive the line
Be a lover undercover
Do not regress always that the leap
When you dead Bambino you can sleep
So I drive this spider as hard as I may
Never look back along the way
Seize the darkness Seize the day
Take my hand
Take my heart
Take a chance
Let it start
Put the petal
To the metal
We were born to go fast
Live today as if it may become your last
Zackmann
Why are you guys dressed up with the cowboy hats and chaps looking like the singers on the
Mexican cable television network?
But we were supposed to be Italian because we are making a movie.
Why you are throwing noodles at each other and why your brother isn’t with you?
He said it was a sacrilege. He has been so much less fun after he got religion. You would think
a Pastafarian would have a sense of humor
Although you guys seem to be having fun, I don’t think you get the whole concept of the
spaghetti western.
You look like heck. What happen to your face? Nice Shiner.
I happened to be a crowed commuter train and these two Italian guys were talking and I was the
only one who didn’t understand that there was good reason the seat between the talking Italians
was empty.
Will you get revenge on the guy who hit you in the eye?
No, I think he is a nice guy but just in case I have to sit next to him again I am buying him a copy
of Jim Lavriola’s How to Talk Italian Without Using Your Hands.
AM Earley
“Mr. Napoli, I know you want all your son-in-laws to be Italian,” John stated in fluent Italian to his future father-in-law. “I am African-American, but I was born and raised in Italy on a US Air Base.” The father conceded his first criteria. “I can provide for your daughter. I have a very good job in software development.” After more description the father conceded the second criteria. “As for having something in common with yourself, I know you embezzled money from the mob. I however will return your money after the wedding.”
Todd
I touched the “Be Italian!” button. There was a soft click and the smell of brimstone filled the tiny booth.
My freckled skin turned olive, then slightly orange. The paunch of my stomach transformed into a six pack. My curly red hair straightened, darkened, highlighted blond, and finally spiked.
Before I could hit the Cancel button, the lights dimmed and a mirror ball lowered from the ceiling. My head tilted sideways to cradle a set of headphones against my shoulder. My fist rose involuntarily and started pumping to the beat.
That’s the last time I use the discount Simulation Machine.
TJ
Now more than ever it is the best time to be Italian! We work three,
maybe four hours a week, we sleep til noon, we eat all the Italian food
we want and look fabulous, we all drive Ferraris and Vespas and are
surrounded with unimaginable beauty. And if you’re a very young woman,
you can get a private audience with our Prime Minister Silvio Berlusconi
and work out some deal whereby your family isn’t charged any taxes at
one of our bunga-bunga sex parties! Sure our government will collapse
any day now but honestly, what a way to go!
Danny
I’m Italian! Not Italian enough to be accepted in my Guido neighborhood in New Jersey, but Italian enough to be considered Italian everywhere else. My maternal grandfather was from Italy, a rural area in the mountains north of Naples. My grandfather was Anthony Festa. Grandpa changed his name from Festa to Foster, because of the discrimination all Italians endured during the 1920’s and 1930’s here in the United States. Despite the discrimination, my grandfather became a very successful businessman. He died 8 years before I was born, so I never got to meet him. I cannot thank him enough for my life.
Norval Joe
“Eh, Tony,” Larry said as he dropped down onto the padded vinyl bench. “Wadda ya thinkin? This place is a dump?”
“What’s the matter with you, Lare?” Burt asked. “And why are you calling me Tony? You know my name’s Burt.”
“Wadda ya talkin about?” Larry raised his hands in the air dramatically. “The name’s Louie. And how you evah gonna meet chicks in this place?”
“We eat lunch here everyday,” Burt said. “And what’s with the slicked back hair?”
“I thought maybe we’s could be italian,” Larry winked. “We might finally get some chicks. You know what I mean?”
Planet Z
It was closing night, and the cast was already drunk.
The director would have been pulling his hair out over all the jokes and mistakes if he hadn’t have passed out by act 2.
Hamlet walks out on the stage and utters the immortal Bard’s words: “To be or not to be Italian.”
I didn’t hear what came next because a fat guy in the front row stood up and shouted “I’m Italian! Wanna make something of it?”
Hamlet, being drunk, did.
Instead of slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, he got his nose broken by a hairy-knuckled fist.
Ouch.
How do you write 100 word stories? #89
Many folk dancers with brightly colored costume have asked how do you Tom write a 100 word story
If you haven’t read John Irving, do. In fact read both side of his writing. His early works were heralded as great works of fiction, but they didn’t sell. So he sat down and came up with a list of 10 elements that would peek the interest of the general public. He sold a lot of books, but the critics paned him. So what did he use to light up his prose? Body odors, Incest, and dead parents. No one every lost a nickel betting against America’s capacity for sucking down titillation. Famous in life famous in death your choice
Bottle Or Can
Oswald, laying back in his weekly bath, not that there’s much room in the tub left for water to call it a bath, shouts “BEER! NOW!”
Bertha’s sick of being treated like a damn servant. She brings up a bottle and a can. “Which would you have?”
“Bottle,” he says.
She breaks the bottle over Oswalt’s bald head. Glass shatters all over him.
A torrent of profanity fills the air. “What you go do that for?” growls Oswalt.
“Oh, you’d prefer the can?” asks Bertha, and she puts it in one of his dirty socks and bludgeons him to death.
Biography
I woke up this morning to discover I had an exact duplicate.
We quickly confirmed similar memory and appearance, but had no idea when or how the duplication took place.
Also, we both insist we are the original me, even though I know it’s me.
We reach for my wallet at the same time.
It’s a fair fight. We’ve evenly matched, reach and strength, and then everything goes black as my lights are punched out.
I’m sure I clocked him hard, too.
When I wake up, he’s gone.
My wallet’s still here.
And that’s how I got this black eye.
Roses Aren’t Red
I write greeting cards for a living.
Valentine’s Day is a way’s off, but it takes months to come up with new cards and get them printed in time.
Plus, stores are putting cards out earlier and earlier every year.
After sitting at my desk for a week, the best I could come up with was a heart in greyscale.
Inside the card:
Roses aren’t red.
And violets aren’t blue.
I’m colorblind, jerk.
If it gets rejected, I’ll just sell it to an online freebie greeting card company.
Sure, it’s cutting my own throat, but my art must be appreciated.
How do you write 100 word stories? #86
Many folk with beer steins in their hands have asked how do you Tom write a 100 word story
After opposable thumbs binocular vision is our keenest evolutionary attribute. Its collective use over time has given us a collective sense of pattern recognition. The downside to this is we tend to stuff reality into a pattern and after repeated viewings we fail to see errors in the pattern. In writing we counter this will the aid of a second set of eyeballs. We find an editor. Your editor can me a spouse (bad idea) it can be a friend (worst idea) or a paid professional with years of experience (smart idea) Editors make you look smarter pay them well.