R. – Page 722 – The 100 Word Stories Podcast

Weekly Challenge #62 – How I spent my summer inside a Turkish prison

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Welcome to the sixty-second Weekly Challenge, 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 selected by Tom of Footnote: How I spent my summer inside a Turkish prison.
The excellent theme music is by Guy David
Go ahead and listen to them by clicking on the grammophone thingy there in the left column and then vote for your favorites (multiple selections are allowed):

WE GOTS PRIZES:
I will be sending the winner a prize… it’s refrigerator magnets for the podcast. Massive amounts of fridge magnets were mailed out in the past week… watch your mail, and let me know if I’ve missed you.
It is your voting that determines who wins. So listen, vote, and tune in next week to find out who won!

ROCKY

The charge was cruelty to farm animals. I was sentenced to 6 months in this facility. So far it hasn’t been so bad.
I have met a lot of pretty nice people. Over there, that’s Snake. We have a lot in common. We both love cats. We traded recipes.
That guy over there is Big Willy. He doesn’t say much. He must be a clean freak because he spends most of his free time in the showers.
Hey look! There’s a shiny quarter. Someone must have dropped it. They say here, finders keepers, losers weepers..
Right Big Willy? Big Willy? BIG WILLY!!!!

JENNY

Dear mom and dad,
When you said I should summer at Gramma’s house in Turkey I figured it
would be good for us to spend some time apart after the tensions of last
semester.
I realize you’re disappointed that I failed Algebra II. Most parents
would ground their child or take away their phone but I’m pretty sure they
would not plant a kilo of heroine in their kid’s suitcase and then warn
the Turkish officials that a dangerous drug mule would be arriving that
day. Oh and wrapping the drugs in my report card? Nice touch.
You guys are assholes.
Love, Karen

CALEB

It’s no spring picnic spending your summer vacation inside a Turkish prison. The falafel is just awful. The kefir inspires fear. And the baloney sandwiches aren’t very good either. Knowing all this, I decided to win the hearts and minds of my fellow inmates and smuggled in a nice hard sausage for them. Of course we had to hide it from the guards but everyone enjoyed my sausage so much it wasn’t like being in prison at all. Honestly, I can’t wait to go back next summer. Just so long as I get to go to a women’s prison again.

GUY DAVID

I was hungry. Really hungry. I know you’re supposed to save the turkey till Christmas, but it was my summer vacation, and I was in Turkey after all, so it somehow fit. I was just about to put it in the oven when I figures I forgot to put the paprika, and, that I didn’t actually have paprika in the first place. Fortunately, I had a very nice neighbor next door, so I told her the whole story, only, somehow she heard the word “Turk” instead of “Turkey”. I spent the rest of my summer vacation inside a Turkish prison.

TOM

Last year Mom and Dad took us to Disneyland. It sucked. It was phony and silly and the food was really really bad. Dad said he was tired of our bitching and moaning so he said we would be going on a real vacation this year. We had to choose from three fun filled packages. The Shank Shaw Redemption Road Gang Experience, Escape from Alcatraz Marathon Swim and the Midnight Express Turkish Delight. I voted for Burning Man, but we went to Turkey instead. The best part of the trip was Kat Steven’s inmate concert. Folsom Blues in Arabic rocked.

HOUSTON KEYS

No privacy, no peace.
It’s like work without the cubicles. I was pleasantly surprised that the man with the rubber glove was amazingly gentle.
So how did I get here? Who really knows? One minute I’m watching “What’s my Filafil?” and the next I see a woman without a burka. The entertainment police bust in and BLAMMO!
The good side is my mustache is growing in nicely and the torturous screams of my cell mates provide a nightly soundtrack for insanity.
So once I get out I’ll recommend a Turkish Prison to all my friends. Along with the carpets, those are really, really nice.

DAPHNE

Mom said I needed a summer job. It would build character and make some money for school. So I took a job working for my Great Aunt at her turkey farm. I fed the turkeys, cleaned up the barn when they were out in the yard and made sure they had water. One morning I got them all out to the yard and was sweeping up after them when the door to the barn closed. I was locked in.
And that is how I spent my Summer Vacation in a Turkey Prison.

CHRIS

Last year, Shawshank prison was selected to take part in a prisoner exchange program with other prisons around the country. Having earned the warden’s blessing after doing his taxes, my good friend Andy Dusfresne was one of the first prisoners selected for the new program.
But there was a mix-up; instead of going to Anchorage, Andy wound up in Ankara at a maximum security Turkish prison, where he was repeatedly sodomized by packs of horny Turkish bull queers. It was September before the mistake was realized and Andy was brought back home.
That was the longest summer of his life.

TO4M

Ok So I forgot smuggling hash was against the law. I saw Midnight
Express but that was years ago. During the summer in prison I learned
a lot of things. Grubs and water are a good meal once you’ve forgotten
about cheeseburgers. Daylight is overrated. So are showers Stench is
the new Axe . A great way to entertain yourself is to take maybe 10 or
12 dead cockroaches (or snacks as I called them) and toss them to the
cell’s silent darkness then spend hours finding them. It wasn’t so
much fun when they landed in the chamber pot.

WILLIAM Z BURROUGHS

April 14th, 1965
Lincoln died a hundred years ago today.
I have ingested half of a Turkish street market, snorting swirling iridescent powders, rubbing quivering jellies on my flesh, quaffing elixirs from ornate vessels and inhaling ancient magical incense. The cops descend upon the bazaar like a plague of locusts, wrestling me to the ground.
To struggle is futile. But I do so anyway, hurling bodies from me like a wet spinning pinwheel hurls away the damp.
A truncheon falls, and all… goes… black.
The devil inside me pulls at the bars of his prison cell, screaming and belching flame.

Thanks to everyone for sending in their stories, and I look forward to what you’ve got to write (and say) next week.
The theme for next week’s Weekly Challenge will be posted shortly.

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Blue Ear Wax

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Everybody knows you’re not supposed to stick a cotton swab down in your ear canal to dig stuff out, but we all do it anyway.
You gently swirl it around in there, even though eardrums will rip no matter how gentle you are.
The cotton swab comes out and…
It’s blue.
Usually, you can expect some yellow or tan ear-wax, but blue?
What could you have stuck in your ear that was blue?
Why don’t you remember?
Do you dig in there deeper?
Do you call the doctor?
Or…
This is why there’s cotton at either end of the swab.

The Trail

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I walk the mountain trail, my rage builds as I pick up each and every empty candy wrapper or soda can.
This path was once beautiful, just a simple trail winding its way upward.
Then, someone got it in their mind to simplify it and pave it and stick vending machines at either end.
The trash barrels are always full, so every so often the wind blows off the top layer of trash back into the trail.
It’s quiet right now, just before dawn. There’s a faint breeze blowing through the leaves.
Pretty soon the tourists will come.
Damn them.

Childhood Squid

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When I was little, my grandfather took us to an old-fashioned Merry-Go-Round. It had hand-painted horses and lions and elephants and…
And a squid. A bright purple squid, its tentacles waving about, and its beak snapping along in time with the calliope.
My brother and I would fight over who’d get to ride it. My grandfather wasn’t much help, because he was Old School. He thought kids ought to fight over such things.
It took thirty-five years, but I’ve found that squid. It’s in a museum.
Keep an eye out for the guard, dear.
It’s my turn to ride now.

Spotters

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The last time I went to the beach, there were lots of watchtowers along the shoreline.
In every watchtower was a spotter, looking over the ocean for swimmers and surfers in danger.
The moment they spotted one, they raised the alarm.
Pretty soon, every watchtower raised their alarm, too.
Then… nothing.
“Don’t you have any lifeguards on duty?” I yelled up at the tower.
“Lifeguards?” yelled a spotter. “We’re too busy spotting. Besides, the public is all about perception of vigilance, not action.”
Since then, I’ve stayed the hell out of the water.
But then, so have the spotters, too.

Vampire News

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My neighbor is a very old German vampire. His English isn’t so good, so he’s always calling me over to explain things to him.
Tonight, it’s the news that’s confusing him.
“What is this NO BLOOD FOR OIL signs they carry?” he says, pointing at a war protest on the screen.
“They think this war is not worth the lives of the soldiers fighting it,” I said. “And they think it’s being fought for cheap oil.”
“Ah,” said the vampire. “I agree. Less blood for oil, more blood for Count Victor.”
He smiles, coughs, and goes back to watching golf.

Lucy

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Lucy couldn’t wait to take the bandages off, but the doctors said she had a week to go before they thought her eyes would be safe to check.
Her eyes… her kaleidoscope eyes.
At first the colors and reflections of reality were exciting and mesmerizing, but the fascination ended quickly as she found herself completely helpless to perform the most simple tasks: reading and walking around.
Dr. Odd patted her shoulder.
“One more week,” he said. “How would you like to listen to some music, Lucy?”
“Sure,” she said.
And on cue, Billy Shears began to play out of tune.

Weekly Challenge #61: Bowling

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Welcome to the sixty-first Weekly Challenge, 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 selected by Chris of Platypus Society: Bowling.
The excellent theme music is by Guy David
Go ahead and listen to them by clicking on the grammophone thingy there in the left column and then vote for your favorites (multiple selections are allowed):

TOM

I heard they have dwarf bowling
down in Australia.
I wonder how that works?
Do you actually roll the dwarf?
If so does the dwarf have to maintain
a tucked profile or do you have restrains
to maintain an assemblance of roundness.
Do you use standard bowling lanes.
Damn that’s got to be hell on gutter balls
err I mean gutter dwarfs.
Do you have to rent two pairs of shoes?
If you get three strikes in a row
do you need a new dwarf?
How does a spilt work?
Is it the pins or
is it the dwarf?

HOUSTON KEYS

Good evening and welcome to the Loserville Bowling Alley “Singles Night.”
Because our lanes are very clean you must wash your balls if you want to use them… WHAT?
Pets are not allowed in the bowling alley so please do not roll gerbil balls down the lanes.
The McKinney wedding will be at two this afternoon, so please be sure to pick up your cups and plates in lane seven beforehand. Thank you.
As mentioned last week, parties of three or more cannot declare themselves a nudist colony, so lane eleven, PUT YOUR CLOTHES BACK ON!
Thank you for your cooperation.

GUY DAVID

We used to go bowling, me and my grandson. They use armadillos as balls and giraffes as pins, but the game is the same. You throw the armadillo and try to knock down as many giraffes as you can.
My grandson loved this game. He would turn to me and proudly say “Grandma Shunra, this is the best durn giraffe knocking we have done yet”.
There was this kid from around the block though, always got in the way. Used to go around the runaway, running over the armadillos and making funny noises, so, I turned him into a frog.

ELISSON

Few people know that the modern game of bowling traces its origins to the steppes of Central Asia. To the very court of Genghis Khan, in fact.
His Mongol hordes wreaked cruelty, death and destruction on all who resisted their sweep across Asia. It was after they leveled a particularly recalcitrant village that Genghis took the head of its chieftain – now detached from its body – and, holding it by the mouth and eye sockets, rolled it down a dusty alley, knocking over a pile of villagers’ bones.
But it was his grandson Kublai who invented the Bowling Shirt.

ROCKY

Bob Landy had always suffered from Dyslexia..
It’s his love of the English language that kept him going, pen in hand, and he
knew one day that he would make a difference in the world.
One evening, He decided to write a song.
He wrote about his love of his favorite sport. He fine tuned and perfect every
note and lyric. Unfortunately, spellchecking wasn’t an option in those days.
Does anyone know what song Bob penned that day? A simple song about a blue
collar sport that would change the face of popular music?
The answer, my friend, is “bowling in the wind” The answer is “bowling in the
wind”..

LAIEANNA

For being deaf and blind, Hoarse has a wonderful sense of his
surroundings. He displayed his masterful skills with the ninth strike
since we began. Despite my careful etchings on the scorecard, he
could tell I was cheating and gave me a silent warning. Then he
stretched his arms in a gesture for needed assistance.
“Oh very well, you win.” I grumbled taking my marker to a new surface.
“I’ll help you find a suitable head.” I picked up the ball with a
drawn menacing face and dropped it on the horseman’s shoulders. His
anger started our eternal chase again.

TERRENCE

The twins cried in the corner: the older of the two with festering
wounds and pale skin, threw up into a pail beside him; the younger
looked to be little more than skin and bones. Across the room the
oldest brother, who made the youngest twin look over weight, was the
source of the twins’ terror. He flicked the lights on, and then off
again. Raoul’s fourth brother, who was a mass of muscle, picked up
the nearest object he could find and threw it at the oldest brother.
Raoul couldn’t understand how people mistook this disaster as Angels
bowling.

CALEB

I used to go bowling every Friday night but then the pins banded together and formed a union. Seems they were tired of the constant abuse being hurled at them night after night and they refused to lie down any longer. Well, pretty soon the word got round and they started hurling the balls back at us. The whole thing got so ugly they had to shut down main street and call up the national guard. I’ve learned my lesson though about oppression; I aint abusing helpless pins anymore. On Fridays now, I go to a nice peaceable cockfight instead..

CHRIS

I always knew the church bowling league was competitive, but I never thought anyone would get killed over it. Turns out Brother Jarvis of the Southside Church of Christ bowling team had seen Pastor Willis of the First Lutheran Church of Springfield footfault one too many times during the league championship on Tuesday. He was gonna let it slide, but when Pastor Willis faulted on that spare in the tenth to win the match, well that just set Brother Jarvis off.
Instead of shaking his hand, Brother Jarvis tackled Pastor Willis and beat him to death with a rented shoe.

PLANET Z

No, I’m not smuggling a midget in my pants. I have elephantiasis of the testicles: Gigantic Ball Syndrome.
Doctor says I can get them removed and go on hormones, but I can’t afford that. I’m just a working guy.
I used to be an orderly at an insane asylum, but pranksters would call in asking how we kept our nuts in.
Then I worked for Planters Nuts. People were always calling me asking how big my nuts were.
Now I work in a bowling alley.
What could possibly go wrong?
Hey, can you hold on a second? The phone’s ringing.

Thanks to everyone for sending in their stories, and I look forward to what you’ve got to write (and say) next week.
The theme for next week’s Weekly Challenge will be posted shortly.

Party Girl

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Another night, another boring party.
Josie walked out into the hall, picked up her cell phone and dialed her answering machine.
One ring.
Two rings.
Three rings.
She was already starting to sweat.
Click.
How exciting.
Her message played in her ear. Same message she’d had on there since the day she bought it.
After the beep, she whispered the filthiest, most depraved phone sex message in the history of mankind.
Hanging up, she headed back to the bar.
Drank herself stiff.
When she came to in the morning, there was a message on the machine.
She played it.
Perfect.

Now

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When I visited Karen in the hospital for the last few months, Karen would catch me looking at my watch.
“Am I really so boring to be with?” she’d ask.
“I’m sorry,” I replied. “It’s just a habit.”
And I’d take off my watch.
After Karen died, another watch arrived in the mail.
It was Karen’s.
It doesn’t have hands or a battery or anything in it.
Just the word “NOW” written on it.
At first, I found myself looking at it out of habit, but in time, I looked at it to remember.
I haven’t taken it off yet.

Which were the best stories of Weekly Challenge #62?
	Rocky Torok of Edloe Island
	Jenny of The Bloggess
	Caleb from Black Tie Martini Club
	Guy David from Guy David dot com
	Tom from Footnote
	Houston Keys from Tater Tots For The Masses
	Daphne from Going Broke
	Chris from Platypus Society
	To4m from Tom’s Podcast
	The Ghost of William Z. Burroughs

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Which were the best stories of Weekly Challenge #61?
	Tom from Footnote
	Houston Keys from Tater Tots For The Masses
	Guy David of The Sixteenth
	Elisson from blog d’Elisson
	Rocky Torok from YP.com
	Laieanna at Hodgepodge Point
	Terrence from Never Was
	Caleb from Black Tie Martini Club Oddcast
	Chris from Platypus Society
	The Mad Bard From Planet Z

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