Author: R.

WARNING: After the rookies, I get off on a rather perturbed rant over something Steven the Nuclear Man said on his Ideatrash blog in reference to a simple question I asked on Twitter.
If you don’t want to deal with the politics, religion, he-said-she-said or risk having your head cut off for thinking for yourself, please feel free to skip that section.
The rant begins at 12 minutes. Jeffrey’s tale begins at 16 minutes and 28 seconds.

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Welcome to the Weekly Challenge Number One Hundred And Thirty-Six 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 Thankful
The excellent theme music is by Guy David
VOTING

Which were the best stories of Weekly Challenge #136?
	Anima from http://zabbadabba.com
	Justin from http://water.cc/
	Tom from http://midi.libsyn.com
	Byz from http://eatonbennett.blogspot.com/
	Hattie
	Mary from http://randomness-of-me-blog.blogspot.com/
	Norval Joe from http://www.norvalsoutlook.blogspot.com
	Jeffrey from http://greathites.blogspot.com/
	Ashley
	Guy from http://guydavid.com
	Planet Z
Free polls from Pollhost.com

Go ahead and listen to them and then vote for your favorites (multiple selections are allowed):

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Anima

I reckon I’s got a moment to ruminate…
Lemme see: January, I got T-boned: but Insurance bought me a new used Chevrolet. It don’t burn half the oil the Dodge did!
That there windstorm peeled off the trailer roof and Jimmy put in a fancy skylight. So what if it leaks a little;
Summer drought killed off the grass, so the yard never needs mowing;
And today, a mechanical on this here aeroplane gives me 90 minutes of peace from my whiney sister-in-law.
Indeed, Sugar, I’s thankful for the tarnished linings of all them dark, brooding clouds.

Justin

Every day Abana carries the ten gallon water jug to the well, stands in line, fills the jug when it is her turn, then carries it home. She has to only walk one mile each way. She used to have to walk four miles there and back again. Abana is eleven. She had a brother. He was only four when he died from drinking dirty water. That was before a well was built in their own town, before they could get clean water every day. People who cared donated money to build the well. Abana is thankful for clean water.

Tom

I’ve had a second job for years. I drive around behind Brink’s Armored cars and wait for money to fall out. Been doing it for 40 years, have this friend who owns a used car lot, use a different car each day. Not that hard to do, just a few hour each workday. Came close once or twice over the years. A door swung open, a guy drove off and left a bag behind, but to date no money has hit the road yet. I’m still hopeful. And thankful that Americans is a land where trucks filled with money drive around.

Byz

The door slammed shut in Lola’s face. Could she cope with another pubescent teenager?
Memories of past rebellions sent her pulse rate soaring. A simple request to hang out the washing had caused the girl to turn on her. Was obedience too much to expect?
Five kids had already traveled this route, happily causing chaos. Thankfully, each one had survived puberty’s rite of passage and eventually grown up.
All too familiar tears stung the back of her eyes and throat, reminding just how tough it could get. She would have to be the strong one, for her daughter and herself.

Hattie

Sally pulled the yellow cashmere scarf off her neck and tossed it on the floor in the front hall. She pulled off her wool pea coat and let it fall into a heap. Right foot then left foot she kicked off her pointy toed heels. In stockinged feet, Sally shuffled into the kitchen and poured herself a celebratory glass of chardonnay. The telephone rang as she enjoyed the last drop. Caller ID revealed it was him. She let it ring. The papers were signed today. She didn’t have to answer. What a feeling! Finally free!

Jeffrey

We watched for a very long time until we realized what was happening. The Humans were gathering for their yearly sustenance. We had watched them gather for much smaller in take of sustenance before, but this seems to be their main feeding. It will be interesting to see how they will in take so much of what they call food. We have dissected several of them and know that their internal organs could never process so much at one time. We will move in closer, and see what we can hear. I’m thankful that there will be no dissection tonight.

Norval Joe

A tree is cut down.
Shining with tinsel and lights
It lives forever.
Anticipation.
There will be no sleep tonight.
Santa comes and goes.
Thoughtfully chosen,
Paper, silver, red and gold
gifts under the tree.
A stupid toy mouse.
Nardo knocks over the tree.
They should learn from this.
The kids are all here.
Thankful to be together
Christmas day begins.
Babies first Christmas.
She plays with bows and paper
The toys are ignored.
Traditional game,
Men and boys in the back yard
The boys win again.
Worn out already,
The baby sleeps in his arms,
Grandad takes a nap.

Mary

“What’s an eight letter word for ‘expressive of gratitude’?”
“Are you still messing with that crossword? Don’t you realize how much we need to get done?”
“Fourth letter is ‘N’.”
“We’ve got to get this whole house clean. Why’d we buy such a big house?”
“Ends in ‘L’.”
“I hope I bought enough food. I can’t believe the entire family is coming to dinner.”
“It might start with ‘T’.”
“At least nobody’s in the hospital this year.”
“That’s it! Thanks honey!”
“What?”
“The word is T-H-A-N-K-F-U-L, and you just made me realize how much I have to be thankful for.”

Ashley

She froze, focused on the dark form standing before her, steadied her breathing and prepared to fire.
Before she could squeeze the trigger, Jacome stepped from the shadow of a tree and raised his hand, weapon pointed to the ground.
Rica said, “You had better be thankful you’re not a regular. Your ass was about to be toast.”
Replied Jacome,” I could say the same.”
On a precipice far above, a regular sniper eased off the safety and caressed the trigger once, then again.
After awhile, the jungle slowly began to come back to life, for the short term anyway.

Guy

The ceremony of “The Thankful” was about to begin. “We have so much to be thankful for” said Kurt, their leader. Simon brought the wine. Berta brought the cheese and the crackers. They all span around in the circle and chanted, then Emily threw red flowers into the air. Everyone cheered. “It’s like a wedding” laughed Amanda in joy, “it’s the ultimate binding.” Someone opened the campaign and they all toasted, then it was time. “Bring her” cried out Kurt, holding the sacrificial knife. There was a murmur, then a stunned silence as they realized the forgot the sacrificial virgin.

Planet Z

Of all the Care Bears, Thankful Bear was the most quiet.
When someone did something for him, a simple heartfelt “Thank you” sufficed.
Any more than that would be seen as obnoxious or disingenuous, he thought.
Sure, he was thankful for every day he lived, every meal he ate, and every night he slept somewhere warm and safe.
He didn’t need to shout it out every time he felt it like all the other babbling Care Bears.
His attitude on gratitude didn’t make for good film, so he was cut after the first season.
For that, he was thankful, too.

Welcome to the Weekly Challenge Number One Hundred And Thirty-Four 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 Hey These Aren’t My Pants!
The excellent theme music is by Guy David
VOTING

Which were the best stories of Weekly Challenge #135?
	Eva Moon from http://evamoon.net/
	Anima Zabaleta from http://zabbadabba.com
	Sougent from http://sladventures.sougent.com/
	Justin from http://www.thebeandom.com/spaceturtle
	Jeffrey from http://greathites.blogpspot.com/
	Norval Joe
	Mary from http://randomness-of-me-blog.blogspot.com/
	Ashley
	Guy David from http://www.guydavid.com/
	Tom from http://midi.libsyn.com/
	Planet Z
Free polls from Pollhost.com

Go ahead and listen to them and then vote for your favorites (multiple selections are allowed):

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Eva Moon

“Hey these aren’t my pants!”
If you had asked me what my feelings might be, were I in a situation to utter those words, I would never have guessed “delighted.”
But that turned out to be exactly the case. After weeks of stringent dieting, self-denial and exhausting exercise, I was ready to meet my old college boyfriend. But when I went to put on the pencil-thin pants I’d bought just for the occasion, I couldn’t get them over my hips, much less, zipped.
I stood with tears in my eyes until I noticed I’d grabbed my son’s pants by mistake.

Anima

Oi!, these ain’t me trousers!
They’re mine.
You realize, it’s been six weeks since we returned from Scotland.
Think you can start talking normal again?
Lassie, I’m a MacShillysheigh~ a verra proud Highland clan, not to be
trifled with. ‘Ose pants are they?
Whatever.
When I married you, you were Jack Shay. Just because you found some
distant fourth cousins, all of the sudden you’re Braveheart.
Must you wear that ugly orange and purple plaid skirt and fur purse?
IT’S A KILT, SASSENACH!, AND SPORRAN!
Fine, kilt… Just so long as we agree who wears the pants in this family.

Sougent

It was hot in the laundry room, sweat dripped down the face of James
Robert as he labored over the mounds of laundry.
Oh, the indignities he suffered for the cause, he thought, as he surreptitiously made the exchange and left unnoticed.
The next day a man wakes up, puts on his pants but notices something is terribly wrong.
“Hey, these aren’t my pants!”
A confused President Lincoln wanders down the hallway mumbling.
For you see, James Robert, Jim Bob to his friends, was a special agent from the Confederate Psychological Warfare Department.
And that’s….. the rest of the story.

Justin

Sargent Slaughter slammed the magazine into his automatic rifle.
“Corporal Simon, bring my red vest!”
“Yes, Sir!”
The Corporal got the vest then gave it to the Sargent.
“Why do you wear a red vest into battle, sir?”
“So if I get shot, the red will hide the blood, and the soldiers wont lose
morale.”
The Sargent slung the rifle over his shoulder then walked out of the bunker.
The Corporal pointed.
“Private, bring me those pants!”
“Yes, Sir.”
The private brought them over.
“Here you go Corporal Simon, Sir.”
“Hey, these aren’t my pants, I need the brown ones!”

Jeffrey

This morning there was a war between myself and my body. You see my
body didn’t want to get out of bed, I was relentless. In the end I
won the war. However, my body did win some key battles and the loss
inflicted on both sides were severe. There were the normal ones of
course: the cold toes and eyes that will not open, legs that don’t
want to move and fumbling fingers. Then there were the usual ones,
the headache and backaches are new, the razor nicked face. But I did
win, hey wait these aren’t my pants.

Norval Joe

API, New York City
A newly found archive of recordings was found at the former recording site of
Folkway Records. An untitled excerp was found that is beleived to have been recorded
by folk singing legend, Bob Dillon. All that remained of what may have been a
complete, but unreleased song, is:
We laughed a lot, and then we cried,
our love was strong, but then it died,
So, she turned to me like she was in a trance,
and I said to her, “Hey, these aren’t my pants.”
It makes you wonder, what did we really miss out on?

Mary Elizabeth

A week had passed since Krista learned of her husband’s affair, and she
still hadn’t figured out how to confront him. She was hurt and angry, but
wasn’t sure she wanted her marriage to end.
Then out of the blue, a package arrived in the mail. The hotel where Scott
stayed on his last business trip was returning some items he had left
behind. Krista opened the small box and choked back a sob.
“How long has it been going on?” she demanded. Scott didn’t seem to
understand.
A scrap of lace landed in his lap. “These aren’t my panties.”

Ashley

Jeremy stumbled across the road and into a large camellia bush. Once
there, he began to dress in a rush.
Even though he was to marry Maragaret in two weeks, certain decorum was
expected in this small southern town. Her father’s big gun also helped.
Jeremy snatched his pants about half-way up before they stuck. “Hey,
these aren’t my pants,” he exclaimed and snatched them back off. Just
inside the liner was a clearly printed name, Jack Simpson, Margaret’s
first love.
Wondering about his future, Jeremy gazed up at Margaret’s window as a
cold breeze silently began to waft by.

Guy

Dwardlwuff The Troll looked around him in disgust. Those elves sure left their mess around. Ever since the mags had them sign those peace treaties, the trolls had to treat those darn elves nicely and even (oh – the horror), with respect. Dwardlwuff sure missed that amazingly delicious Elves Soup, and those Elves Snacks, oh… those Elves Snacks. Still, those elven maidens where nice, soft and friendly and inter-species copulation was looked at by the mags with enthusiastic approval. The troll started putting back his pants, then shrieked in pain, shock and horror. “Hey, these aren’t my pants!” he exclaimed.

Tom

I heard of this competition in Texas, think it was called the Infidelity Olympics or whatever. The contest I remember was the Jump out of bed, pull on your pants, dive out the window. So I headed down to Amarillo and sign up in the novice category. I was doing pretty well until I discover the pants I grabbed had the zipper on the side. “Hey, these aren’t my pants!” I yelled just as the judge kicked open the door with a shotgun loaded with rock salt. Out the window I went in my Gloria Vanderbilt’s. Swan to the salt.

Planet Z

It is a tradition to announce promotions by running a soldier’s pants up the flagpole and making them climb the pole to get them back down.
I passed the sergeant’s exam with flying colors and I knew I was getting three bars soon. So when I was shaken awake at 5AM and told GO GET YOUR PANTS I jumped out of bed and ran for the flagpole.
As I climbed, I heard laughter instead of applauds as I reached… the skirt?
My promotion was coming tomorrow. The Commanding Officer’s secretary was getting hers today.
I slid down, angry as hell.