Just say "Alexa, play the 100 Word Stories Podcast."
639158
How many shots of tequila did I drink?
Five?
Six?
I can’t remember.
But what I do know is that I feel the worst I’ve ever felt.
I always remember how bad I feel.
So what I will do is wait until I feel better, then I will do five shots of tequila.
When I wake up hung over, I can then compare how bad I feel then to how bad I feel now.
If it’s the same, then I know I had five shots of tequila.
If it’s not, then I know I had six.
Pass me the bottle.
639175
My throat hurts.
It feels like someone clenched a fist around it.
But you can’t see anyone with a fist on my throat.
Maybe it’s my old imaginary friend.
His name was Mr. Fist Around My Throat.
Looking back, he wasn’t much of an imaginary friend. He was more of an imaginary bully. And he beat the crap out of me day and night.
I got even with him, though. I took medicine which stopped my imagining him, and he vanished.
Now he’s back.
Are these the right pills?
I knew I should have drilled a hole in my head.
639158
We have a black cat and an orange cat.
Despite both being short-haired cats, they shed. A lot.
Every time I lay out a black shirt, the orange cat lays on it and sheds.
Every time I lay out an orange shirt, the black cat lays on it and sheds.
I know what you’re thinking: don’t lay out any shirts. Hang them up as soon as they come out of the dryer and the cats won’t shed on them.
You’re not the one carrying a pile of shirts around and the cats looking so cute, you have to pet them.
639161
The Leprechauns lost their gold to humans who followed rainbows right to them.
Leprechauns have long memories and even longer lives, so they worked with what little they had left to make real estate deals and investments to build up their fortunes once more.
Late-night advertisements offered cash for gold, luring desperate humans to mail the shiny metal back to the Leprechauns.
They learned their lesson with the rainbow-attracting pots, and built massive secure vaults deep under Ireland to store their treasure.
To keep the curious humans at bay, they set out a few pots filled with poison-coated Iron Pyrite.
639162
The dealer skillfully floats the cards, gently landing in a pile in front of each of us.
He stands there with arms at rest, waiting for the first bet.
We stare back at him.
He doesn’t blink.
“We ordered sushi,” I said. “What’s with the cards?”
The plastic on the cards is starting to melt into the cooking surface of the table.
We look at each other. Did we go to a Japanese restaurant or a casino?
The cards are a mess.
Somewhere, in Vegas, a sushi chef is waving knives around.
He’ll probably get better tips than our dealer.
639164
Downtown is quiet, abandoned for the holiday.
We get out our skateboards and own the sidewalks and streets for a day.
If we tried this during the workweek, we’d chased by the cops. Maybe even caught and arrested.
No cop cars. No sirens. No noise at all but the sound of our wheels grinding up the pavement.
At the end of the day, we get in our cars and go home.
It takes hours to get home, dodging and weaving the skaters and thrashers filling up the neighborhood.
They work Downtown, so they’d rather stay out here.
Goddamned clueless amateurs.
15552164
Welcome to the Weekly Challenge Number One Hundred And Sixty-One, 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… was…. um…
It’s Telescope.
The excellent theme music is by Guy David
VOTING
Go ahead and listen to them and then vote for your favorites (multiple selections are allowed):
Lynda
Rain. This city is full of it.
I sell things. Last year? Pillows. Now? I was schlepping Singer iSew green technology sewing machines. Big difference.
The 33 pulled into the stop right on time. A bad sign overlooked. I lugged my sample up the steps and swiped my MetroCard.
“Uh, thankyouverymuch,” the driver drawled. He wore a rhinestone jumpsuit and twitched like his pelvis was dislocated.
Didn’t take him long to swerve the bus into some stranger in the crowd. Took longer to dislodge the iSew from my chest and the umbrella from my skull.
Wish I had a pillow.
Daphne
Funny how fate works. My sewing machine died and I had an appointment with the Sewing Machine Doctor. Despite the rain I headed to the bus stop. I boarded and the driver looked familiar but I couldn’t place him. When I got to my stop I had to ask where he got those blue suede shoes turns out that store is next to the repair shop. Arriving there I put my machine on the operating table then headed for shoes. Only to realized I left my umbrella on the table. As I turn around to go back, I bump into you.
Tom
The King hit the execrator crashing through the gates at Area 51. He was hell bent to get Jack and Adolph off the desiccation table before the Doc could do any more damage The code name for Kennedy was Umbrella and Hitler’s was Sewing Machine. The improbability drive had produced the perfect surreal moment. The chance meeting of a sewing machine and an umbrella on an operating table. The King was having none of that peppering the screen with bullets The President, the Chancellor, and King had left the building. Elvis was driving the bus Thank you very much.
Norval Joe
The vascular surgeon leaned over the patient; special glasses magnifying the surgery site. The complicated reconstruction was stretching into its eight hour.
“Elvis drives the bus”, a deep voice boomed from the other side of a screen where the anesthesiologist monitored the patients vitals.
“The patient is waking up, Dr. Dwerma, check the level of anesthesia,” the surgeon barked.
To maintain a sterile environment in the surgical suite, unnecessary non-surgical possessions are discouraged.
No one expected the chance meeting of a nurses umbrella in the leg of her scrubs with the anesthesiologists sewing machine footstool would cause him to evaporate.
Guy David
Elvis was driving his bus, lovingly nicknamed “the umbrella.” He wasn’t really Elvis. It was just a nickname someone gave him. He didn’t even look the part, looking more like a chance encounter between a frog and a rabbit on the operating table. He didn’t remember how he got his nickname, but it stuck. As he was thinking about all of this, he failed to see the sawing machine. His wheel smashed it with such force that it got embedded into the bus, becoming part of it, much like many other mechanical parts left on the road throughout the years.
Platinum Lightning
They call me Stitchface.
That’s because I’m a sewing machine by trade. But in my eyes, that’s just a cover.
I was fixing up the pads on an operating table, when I saw Larry through the open doorway. “Hey, Larry!” I shouted.
Larry got all nervous. “Whaddaya need now?” said Larry. “More shade?”
“Very funny”, I said. “Remember that you’re made of cloth and I can easily sew your tongue to your penis. I’m looking for Elvis Winston, and you know where he is.”
“He’s a bus driver now,” said Larry. “Number 1485.”
Mick
Being trapped in this particular alternate reality is not all bad. The ‘Glorious Revolution’ of 1688 never happened; thus, no Jacobite uprising. Thousands of lives were spared.
Take young Andrew Presley; he was able to settle down in Aberdeenshire instead of fleeing to South Carolina. I met his descendant driving the 39A bus out of Glasgow just a week ago, a different genetic mix in his faded looks, but as I handed over the fare, there was the trademark “thankyouverymuch”.
I taught him “Are you lonesome tonight?” and cried as he sang it all the way to Easterhouse.
Ishtar
“Its over, Its finally over.” he mutters to him self with relief.
Sure things were great at the beginning, the money, women,
the power. As with all stories, all good has to end.
Drug use, long crazy nights, movies that never really taxed or
let him grow. He was self destructing.
Over 5 years he saved the money he needed. Paid off the
appropriate people. Soon everyone would think he passed away
tragically.
“Its time” he says. Elvis Drives a Bus. Who would think it.
Driving into the sun, his last thoughts:
“Your finally free of your past. What next”
Laurie
On my way to Rome, I was laughing with friends about how the bus driver looked like a cross between Elvis and Chris Farley. My giggles were interrupted as I answered my phone. The coroner said “brace yourself my sweet…she’s dead…Ms. Poppins is heaven bound and the family is requesting your best.” ..with an evil grin I managed to say “it will be delivered to you by tomorrow noon“…I have been obsessed with her since I was a mere toddler. I am a designer of the finest suit shop in London and I have received a request to create my only true love’s final suit…she lies there on that cold steel gurney…Autopsy yet to begin, her corset undone just perfectly …see her beautiful bounty peeking out the top…her tailored suit was just as i had left it… ripped and muddy and her umbrella still at her side …I visited my old attic and there in the corner, ready for our last dance, was the first machine I ever owned…I quickly carried it to my flat and swooshed my new machine aside…it refused as if to say ..”I didn’t think we would ever have a chance to meet” …then it gave way and I began to create A gown that all of England would envy …as I approached the funeral their were 1000’s lined up to see my precious nanny dressed like nothing short of a Proper Saint…I will always love you Mary.
Justin
The life of a rock and roll star had been eating away at Elvis. Prince Namor, a big fan of The King, arranged a fake death and offered the chance to undergo a genetic change and live in Atlantis.
Now Elvis drives a tour bongo, an exciting venture. One time a grumpy shark attacked. Elvis fought it off and incapacitated it. At the hospital, an operation found the shark had an upset stomach from eating an umbrella and a sewing machine.
Elvis enjoys his submarine life and sometimes performs at casinos, playing songs like “Sea Dog” and “Jail Reef Rock”.
Lance
Sure I’ve seen Elvis. Hasn’t everyone? Drives a bus for OC Transpo up in Ottawa. He was cool, too. Gave me that smile.
Pass me that umbrella, would you. It’s a little hot in here. No, the big one. Next to the sewing machine. Thanks.
Ottawa’s pretty popular in celebrity afterlife. Einstein runs one of the university bookstores. Churchill vacations there in the summer.
Hold still. Just a few more stitches. There you are, Mr. Price. Good as new, more or less. Yes, I highly recommend Ottawa. You can tell Jack and Marilyn that when you see them at lunch.
Anima
The motor swivels hips… the brolly ribs expand, filling either pegged jeans, military khakis or vintage jumpsuits.
The chance meeting of a sewing machine and an umbrella on my operating table provided the inspiration for my best automaton yet!
Safety conscious, I tried bump sensors from a roomba. They sucked. So I nicked the parking proximity sensors from my neighbor’s truck.
Install one GPS unit from the pawn shop, a pirated shared music library, TCB sunglasses and ELVISmaton is perfected!
Three clicks in the muni HR computer… There! The #7 crosstown is now driven by E.
Enjoy the ride!
Danny
It was a rainy afternoon in Seattle when they got off the bus for lunch. Eight homemade renderings of the King all sat around the teppanyaki table as the chef danced with razor sharp ginsu knives. Gold Elvis clasped his hands around his throat, a large piece of beef wasn’t going down, and the Heimlich proved ineffective.
Gold Elvis writhed in panic and toppled a bottle of oil onto the griddle. The flames ignited a White Elvis rhinestone cape triggering the sprinkler system. Gold Elvis fell to the floor, an umbrella popped open. The Benihana chef acted quickly with a Ginsu Tracheotomy
Beginner’s luck, he said, wiping the blood on his apron.
Planet Z
People say I taught my dog Elvis to drive.
I didn’t. He’s self-taught.
He’s a good driver, too.
Sure, he’s only five and can’t read, and he’s a dog, but the county gave him a special permit.
We’ve been on television and such.
The city asked him to star in a commercial for the bus system. Elvis would drive a bus.
It was raining that morning. And he’s not so good when cats cross the road. Steers to hit them.
Twenty stitches. And he lost his driver’s license.
I hope he doesn’t lose his pilot’s license, too. He’ll be devastated.
639160
I’m looking at my windowsill.
There is a pie there, cooling slowly.
I try to smell which flavor it is, but I can’t tell.
You should be able to tell what flavor a pie is from smelling it.
So I’m wondering if this is really pie.
I’ve heard rumors about this. Stories.
Bad stories.
I should be careful.
So, I poke it with a knife, and the pie crust moves.
It’s a fake. A doppieganger, pretending to be pie.
I stab it with the knife.
It’s a delicious, blueberry doppieganger.
Satisfied, I reach for the ice cream and a fork.
639161
Every prospective assassin is given a run through the simulation to determine if they’d fit into the agency.
They are handed a note that says “Go to the Foster Building and kill Wilson. Do not check in until you have killed Wilson.”
There are three people in the Foster Building with the last name Wilson, two with Wilson as a first name.
If the assassin does some basic research, they’ll figure out which is the right Wilson to kill and pass the test.
Those that kill all five fail the test.
And blowing the building up is a huge no-no.
639163
every time i hear someone say that i’m as crazy as a shithouse rat, it pisses me off.
i’m far, far crazier than a shithouse rat. in fact, in group therapy, when i was put in a room full of shithouse rats, the shithouse rats all cowered in a corner while i just sat there and grinned.
one by one, i bit their heads off and ate them. their crazy skulls crunched between my teeth, like rat-flavored candies.
now the doctors just drug me and tie me up. but to be honest, i’ve never been a fan of group therapy.