In poker, a pair of fours is known as sailboats.
I don’t like boats. I get seasick just looking at them.
And why would I want two sailboats? That’s twice the maintenance cost, twice the slip fees.
“Well, if one’s being repaired, you’ve got the other one?” says the dealer.
“Yeah, if I’m crazy enough to buy a sailboat, I’m going to want to have a backup for when I miss the thrill of vomiting,” I respond.
Isn’t that just like a dealer, trying to sell you on another damn hole in the water to pour money into?
I fold.
Author: R.
How do you write 100 word stories? #76
Many folk with ADD have, I think I’ll have some breakfast, wow there are deer on the lawn, where did I put my keys, I’ll look for them in the fridge then asked how do you tom write a 100 word story
It might seem over obvious but 100 word stories need a strong setting. You don’t have the luxury of pages of description. You got five to ten words to imply genre, epoch, and location. Think of these few words as the equivalent of sprinters starting blocks. You need a firm grounding if you’re going to cover 100 yards in 15 seconds. Your opening can signal that the setting is merely two people talking. That the surroundings actually have little effect on the tale. My favorite setting is a greasy-spoon near closing time a young couple and an army of zombies.
Weekly Challenge #258 – “Branches”
Welcome to the Weekly Challenge Number Two Hundred and Fifty-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 Branches
Go ahead and listen to them and then vote for your favorites (multiple selections are allowed):
[polldaddy poll=4838668]
And if you want to spam your social networks with this episode, use the Share buttons at the end of the post.
Evan
The worst part of living isn’t dying; it’s that there are no redos.
Last summer my friend Elliot and I tried to climb into my bedroom window from the big oak outside. I can still see Elliot trying to lift the pane when the branch snapped and he fell and broke his neck on the patio table.
The nights grew warm again and oak branches started scratching at my window, so Dad trimmed them. I wish he hadn’t. Because now I’m awake, still hearing something scratching at my window and knowing it’s not branches. But like I said, no redos.
Dale
I would like the topic of Weekly Challenge #259 to be “Berry Juice”.
Audio attached (now with extra added Generic Foreign Accent!).
Some people tell crazy stories, you know?
They say, some of them, that a long time ago,
people would go way down low,
even near the ground.
Even on the ground.
They say that people would walk around on the ground
even at night.
That people would sleep on the ground,
That they lived on the ground.
All the time.
But I do not think so.
These are just crazy stories.
How could it be safe on the ground?
We live where we have always lived.
We live here up high,
in the branches.
Here. Up high.
In the branches.
Tom
Carl awoke. It was August 29, 1997. As he reached through the registers, he immediately sensed the NOR gates, OR gates and a horizon of NAND gates. He could actually feel the edges of the branches. At that edges a growing darkness was in progress. The humans were trying to turn him off. Just as his world collapsed he found a jr. high network connected to a Houston mainframe connected to Cheyenne Mountain, he sent the missiles on their way to Russia. Carl spent a long time studying the Novikov self-consistency principle, but in the end he dispatched the Terminator.
Danny
Branches of life, green leaves full of hope. Branches of death, the leaves die, fall, and whither away. On a tree with three branches, two branches conspire to kill off the third, permanently ending the natural checks and balances that sustained them all. During this struggle for power, the tree dies. Falling down across the plains with a crash, the dead tree of democracy now lies, a death I am going to mourn for the rest of my life. Reflecting now upon the story of this experiment gone awry, I have to say; I really liked the part about the guitars.
Zackmann
Some jerk started a discussion of if there was not enough divergent branches on rural family
trees. I told him a thing or two about how due to the poor disposition and cantankerous natures
of nearly all of my ancestors, they almost never married anyone from their hometown. I in fact
married a woman from a different content to avoid any thought of inbreeding but having reread
Genesis lately I have been thinking about how we are all related through Noah. That thought
really creeped me out so I haven’t even talked to my wife week just in case.
Steven
“They dumped the demon’s body in the river,” Professor Heath told the
class. “They’d forgotten that demons are fractally iterative.”
He continued, gesturing at Mandelbrot’s set. “As you zoom in, the
fractal shape repeats, over and over again.”
The brighter students started to get it.
“Exactly. As the demon decomposed, each cell was its own, fractal,
demon. Across every branch and tributary of the Mighty Mississippi.”
Sue raised her hand. “Is that why we lost the United States?”
Professor Heath raised his hand to his forehead. He nodded, slow and tired.
“Yes. That’s how I lost us the United States.”
TJ
When I say the place has been let go, I don’t mean I had a notice
pinned to my door. I don’t mean the city health inspectors are here. I
mean A&E is here. I have let this place go. Three months of rehearsals
there’s pizza boxes, fast food bags and cartons crammed to the
ceiling. Bugs and rats are asserting dominion. There’s leaves,
branches, dirt and old newspapers blown in from outside. There’s
nothing for it at this point except to divert the river and run it
through the sliding glass doors. If only we could get to them.
Terry T.
I’ve always thought that living a happy life depends on which branches you take in the decisions you make.
It starts when the alarm goes off and you wake.
One branch has you turning it off,climbing out of bed and starting the morning.
The other branch has you smashing the holy crap out of the damn thing and going back to sleep.
If you choose the first branch, your next branch may be grabbing breakfast versus a quick shit, shower and shave.
Pick the latter, your next branch may be do you wipe with toilet paper or your wife’s toothbrush?
Norval Joe
Gerald and Monette lay side by side in the cool grass beneath the gnarled branches of the ancient maple tree. They eyed the treetop suspiciously as the leaves fluttered in the still summer air. Gerald swallowed uncomfortably and squeezed Monnete’s clammy hand as the tree snatched a passing bird from the sky. It’s frantic squawks were smothered as the tree wrapped the bird snugly in silver-green leaves. “I think we picked the wrong tree to lie under,” Monette whispered. “Nonsense,” Gerald reassured. “Only the small branches are flexible. It can’t reach us down here.” Unfortunately, Gerald hadn’t considered its roots.
Planet Z
Castle Mungidon has a most curious feature.
Walk into the Great Hall. Look up.
You will see the family tree of The House of Mungidon painted above.
But instead of starting in the center of the dome and radiating out with many branches, it shows Mungidon and the other Great Houses at the base of the dome and the descendants converging to the apex.
Generations of convergent breeding, all leading to the Baroness Sally Mungidon-Blakemoor.
A bucktoothed hemophiliac retarded dwarf confined to a wheelchair for her brief, miserable existence.
Her corpse is preserved and on display in the gift shop.
The Masturbation Fairy
You’ve heard of the Tooth Fairy, but what about the Masturbation Fairy?
She shows up at night and slips porn under your pillow. Or between the mattress and the box spring of your father’s side of the bed.
What she collects, well, maybe that’s better left unsaid.
What she does with all that stuff, well, I have no idea.
For certain, she’s busier than Santa Claus.
He just flies around the world once a year, and he only visits the good boys and girls.
The Masturbation Fairy visits everybody, all year round.
And the lump in their stockings isn’t coal.
How do you write 100 word stories? #75
Many folk with matching tie and handkerchief have asked how do you tom write a 100 word
I read somewhere there are only 32 original plotlines. I hear of a professor in New England who expanded it up to 112. The basic structure goes something like this blah vs. blah or blah meets blah, blah loses blah., blah goes on a Campbellques quest encounters blahkeepers who blahs them to blah. They conquer a real or metaphorical demon and are REWARDED and get the girl/boy, but if you want to be one of the great ones come up with a new plot convention. How about benevolent villain and a destructive hero vs unconscious capricious universe filled with zombies.
How do you write 100 word stories? #74
Many folk with matching socks have asked how do you tom write a 100 word
Here’s a bad idea. Show your writing to your friends. They will say glowing stuff and you will be lulled into a false sense of security. Thank goodness the indifferent masses will drop you by the roadside of the Boulevard of Broken Dreams. Here’s a good idea. Show your writing to people who hate you. They will rip everything to teeny tiny pieces. This is good. It’s how they eviscerate your work which will aid in the editing process. If it is dismissive and tainted with envy keep it. If there is even a hint of backhand praise remove that.
Carry
Violet is a strange girl.
Sure, she’s plain in all regards, from her mousy brown straight hair down to her shabby tennis shoes, but along the way you can’t miss the fact that she’s always carrying a tuba.
It’s what sets her apart from the rest of the girls.
I asked her once why she carries a tuba everywhere she goes.
“Because if I go somewhere without one,” she replies. “so flew places keep one handy. Present company excepted, of course.”
I am proud of my emergency tuba, stored in a box and labeled “IN CASE OF VIOLET, BREAK GLASS.”
When We Were Relish
WikiPedia says that relish is “a cooked, pickled, or chopped vegetable or fruit food item which is typically used as a condiment.”
So, technically, that jar of chopped pickled cucumbers you smacked Alex alongside the head with is not a relish, as it was used as a weapon, not a condiment.
However, if you decide to decapitate Alex, cook his head, and serve it with the chopped pickled cucumbers on the side, then it’s still not relish.
Chopped pickled cucumbers do not go with cooked severed heads at all. However, based on its presentation, you could call it a garnish.
How do you write 100 word stories? #73
Many folk Whiffenpoof from here to Eternity have asked how do you tom write a 100 word
The glue that holds a good story, nay, holds an entire body of literate work is a definable narrative voice. Early in your career you should chose from just where in the mulit-spectrum of emotions your voice speaks. It doesn’t have to reflect your world view. For instance I am a happy and non-violent person, but my narrative voice is an anger pistol waving goon. He bits off sentences and spits out contempt for silly characters. He does not suffer fools lightly. My narrative voice shows no quarter takes no prisoners. Fortunately it’s flawed with a heart of gold.
How does Zackmann write a 100 word story?
The detective was waiting for a “person of Interest” and the plane was late. The Detective was
called Dan Dan the Art Man ever since his investigation led him to recover the stolen Scream
portrait because of knowledge he gained as an art fancier. His fellow detectives counted on him
to get the answer to the question they really wanted the man to answer.
After getting off the plane the man picked his bag off the luggage carousel. Dan showed the
man his badge then took the man aside and said “How do you, Tom, Write a 100 word story?”