R. – Page 755 – The 100 Word Stories Podcast

Weekly Challenge #42 – Toothache

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Welcome to the forty-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 Elisson from blog d’Elisson, and it’s Toothache.
Nine stories were submitted this week. Aww…. single digits!
Two rookies joined in… yay!
And, once again, some disturbing madness from Planet Z.
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 a packet containing at least 1 refrigerator magnet and a CD with the archive of the entire 100 word stories podcast. (Well, minus promos and junk)
It is your voting that determines who wins. So listen, vote, and tune in next week to find out who won!

The full text of each story:
ELISSON

Norman woke up, the side of his face feeling like a Mack truck had run into it.
Crap, he thought. I’m gonna have to see a dentist pronto.
It was his own damn fault. He had indulged his sweet tooth mightily last week.
It began with a cream tangerine. Then, the Montelimar.
He loved the ginger sling (with a pineapple heart), followed by a coffee dessert.
What was better, the cool cherry cream or the nice apple tart? Perhaps the coconut fudge.
But that Savoy truffle was the last straw. Shit. Now he’d have to have them all pulled out.

MARK FROM HOUSTON

“This is tough,” he said, scratching his head.
He’d already missed two topics since his debut. This was his grand re-entrance. It had to be good. It had to be better than good.
The others might have real stories this time, something serious, even. Not just an exasperated monologue railing against some goofball-topic.
“You can make a real story using this one. It isn’t ‘fecal matter’ or, egad, ‘horbrgorble…'” he shuddered.
“I can do this!” he declared.
He put the pen to paper, writing slowly, with purpose.
He had his title. It was a start: “Toothache of a Lame Tale”

BRANDON

He knew that eating the canolis from Vinny’s would give him a toothache. But he didn’t care.
And why should he? It’s a freaking canoli!
From Vinny’s!
Six hours later, he was in agonizing pain.
“Oh, why couldn’t I have stopped at the chocolate cake and cappuccino?” He screamed.
Fortunately, there was a dental office at the end of the shopping strip. With TV’s on the ceiling.
He could get his toothache tended to while killing time watching a movie. Like, say, a horror flick.
Imagine getting your teeth worked on while watching the Texas Chainsaw Massacre

TOM

Hannibal bit down hard on the census taker. Damn that hurts. He questioned his choice of entrees. Buffalo Bob Burgers might have been less taxing on his k9s.
“Benjamin be a dear and pass the Chianti,” alanulated the doctor The pain in his mouth caused him to slurp the wine. If it hadn’t been for Jamie’s fava beans the evening would have proven to tedious.
Raspail wore the chestnut Catherine Martin to which the doctor replied ” love your suite.” Later Lector’s toothache was trumped by Benny’s headache. Jamie’s consuming need to get a head could get under your skin.

ANDREW

“That fucking hurts don’t it?” His companion asked a bloody stupid question annoying the man obviously in pain.
“Well of course it bloody does I have just lost a tooth because I was smacked in the gob by someone trying to get away from the police.”
“Ah don’t worry you are a have-a-go hero…you face slowed ‘im down enough the coppers got ‘im.” His friend said jealously. “I can see the Sun headline: A tooth hero!”
The man with the toothache saw the press-pack bearing down on him. He didn’t know whether to run, pass out or just enjoy it.

TERRENCE

I blinked, my heart still pounding in my chest but, I was regaining my thoughts. The smell started off faint but quickly grew. You know the saying “having the crap scared out of you”? Well, I don’t know who he was or how he did it, but here I am lay in an alley with the crap scared out of me.
I stood and looked around; at least no one else was here to see this. I took a step and before I knew it my hand was on my check.
“Oh great, and now I have a toothache too.”

RAHEL

Theresa was frightened. Phrases like “oral surgery” can be pretty scary for a nine-year-old. But she faced the dentist bravely and told him, “Do what you need to do.”
When it was over, her parents took her home to bed. Theresa staggered up the front walk, holding onto her mother’s hand.
Suddenly a black-and-white cat darted in front of her. Pain and grogginess forgotten, Theresa sank to her knees and began to pet it. Then she looked up at her parents with a glance first of entreaty, then of pure astonishment.
“It doesn’t hurt anymore,” she said.
The cat purred.

TED

I’ve read everything I could get my hands on. Learned all I could about the art of self dentistry.
One little kernel of unpopped corn, along with the momentum of chewing, and Blammo! I don’t know what I did exactly, but it hurts like a bitch!
I can’t justify the cost of a dentist, so my trusty Black and Decker cordless job will have to do the job.
OK, #45 drill bit, and wood putty should be about all I need. There is a little rust on the equipment, but I don’t mind. Oh yeah, I can’t forget the Tequila.
Here goes….

KELLY

There she sat, smiling so sweetly, looking as if you could hand her crap, and she’d have acted as though you gave her the world. She was the picture of some storybook princess, walking through the forest, singing with the animals. Yuck! About that time, my last straw snapped. I could not take this hippy-dippy, make-love, give-love shit anymore. I could not take one more minute of it. If I’d been made to listen any longer, I would have committed an inhuman act. Instead, I took a deep breath and said, “Please shut up, you are giving me a toothache.”

A bent gear and a warped comb were sitting in a dentist’s office, both nursing awful toothaches.
“I hurt all around,” said the gear. “I should go first.”
“No, I should go first,” the comb moaned. “I have many more teeth than you.”
They argued for a minute. Then, the door opened, and a horribly snarled zipper walked in.
The comb and gear winced at the sight of the mangled zipper and agreed that it should go first.
“Of course I should go first,” said the zipper. “My appointment was an hour ago, but I kinda got stuck in traffic.”

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.
(In case you’re interested, I’ve settled on “Clair de Lune” as the opening music and “Moonshine” by Michael Oldfield from the Tubular Bells II album.)

The Blair Frisky Project

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I used to be able to walk around, playing with toys.
Then, a long time ago, this other orange cat showed up.
At first, he left me alone. He’d play with his toys, picking them up and walking around, howling.
Then, once day, when I was running to the litterbox, he chased me.
I swatted him good, but he didn’t give up.
The big fat grumpus who would protect me went away.
Then the little kittycat who’d beat up the big bully went away, too.
Now it’s just me and him…
Wait.
I can hear him.
Is… Is it safe?

Sunday Morning Misalignment

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The Missus and I sat at the breakfast table, the scattered remnants of our waffles cooling on our plates.
She tossed her head, indicating the stairs.
“Well, we might as well go and get this over with.”
She continued, “It’s always so much harder to do it again if you put it off.”
We looked at each other. A sly grin stole across my face.
“Are we thinking about the same thing?” asked The Missus.
“Aren’t we?” I said.
“You’re thinking about sex, aren’t you?” asked The Missus.
“Well, yeah. Aren’t you?”
“I was thinking about going to the gym.”

Mister Thimble

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When I was little, I’d play Monopoly with my family.
They took the cool pieces, like the dog and the shoe.
All that was left was the hat and the thimble.
So, I put the hat on top of the thimble and called it Mister Thimble.
We were a team, Mister Thimble and I. Best of friends.
He still is my friend. I carry him everywhere.
Late at night, we talk about things.
Sometimes, we talk about you.
I like you, but Mister Thimble doesn’t like you.
Don’t say that Mister Thimble isn’t real.
He’s right here, watching you sleep.

Fresh From The Farm

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After the Great Protein Shortage of 2029, the genetic engineers started getting creative.
People needed protein, and the existing sources weren’t getting the job done. Beef cattle were practically extinct after the BSE epidemics in the late teens. Fish were laden with heavy metals, poultry with pesticides. Legumes were fine – except for their unfortunate vaporous side effects.
But then a brilliant Belgian geneticist had a breakthrough. An excellent protein source: animals that lived in a farmable colony. Roughly three apples high, they made a perfect portion. And in time, people got used to the color.
Smurf and Turf, anyone?

On The Dotted Line

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The Sultan wrote The Director of NASA a large unsigned check.
“Take my beloved son into space,” he said.
He wrote a bigger unsigned check when his son failed the physical.
“Take him anyway,” he said.
When NASA reported that G-forces had stopped his son’s heart during launch, The Sultan called the NASA Administrator.
“Get my son back to me immediately so we may bury him promptly,” he said.
“It’s an eight-day mission,” said the Administrator.
“And your family is on an eight-day vacation here in my palace,” said the Sultan.
He wrote out three death warrants.
And signed them.

Miles And Miles

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Joe says when you dream of flying, you’re dreaming of sex.
When I ask him if dreaming of sex represents flying, he says “I’m not sure. Maybe.”
Then, when I ask him of what dreaming of having sex while flying is, he says “Maybe you’re dreaming of the Mile High Club.”
I asked him if there’s a “Mile Under Club” for people in really deep mines or in submarines or a “Mile Long Club” for people screwing in an RV or on a flatbed trailer.”
“Don’t forget a bus,” he said.
Yuck. Who’d want to screw someone on a bus?

How Many Angels?

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The Boss shouted “LUMEN FIT!” and there was light.
After some flickering the light went out again.
The Boss cursed up a blue streak.
“SCALAE FIT!” shouted The Boss, and a ladder appeared.
Three angels grabbed it and went up to the light.
One went up the ladder to grab it and two more turned the ladder to unscrew it from its socket.
A fourth pulled a spare out of inventory, swapped lights with the other angels, and they screwed the new one in.
The Boss smiled. It was much more efficient than needing six angels and a dinner table.

The Wacky Adventures of Abraham Lincoln 72

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Abraham Lincoln looked at the recruitment rolls and smiled.
Then, he look at the longer list of deserters and his smile turned into a scowl.
“Why are so many of our fine boys fleeing their posts?” he asked General Grant.
“Newspaper editors, scaring them silly,” growled General Grant, taking a swig from his flask. “But there’d be more if we didn’t shoot deserters.”
“Must I shoot a simple-minded soldier boy who deserts, while I not touch a hair of a wiley agitator who induces him to desert?” asked Lincoln.
“No, Mister President,” said General Grant. “I’ll shoot them for you.”

Weekly Challenge #41 – Fecal Matter

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Welcome to the forty-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 supposed to be selected by Andrew Ian Dodge from Dodgeblogium, and it’s fecal matter.
Eight stories were submitted this week. Single digits… boo!
One rookie this week!
And, once again, some disturbing madness from Planet Z.
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… I still haven’t decided what it will be, but I will be sending them one.
It is your voting that determines who wins. So listen, vote, and tune in next week to find out who won!

The full text of each story:
ANDREW

“Fecal matter?” Gasped the senstive 100 word writer, “what the hell is
that Andrew playing at?”
“Well fecal matter is another name for shit, or rather crap which is,
of course, the name of the host-blog.” Replied her friend on IM.
“But fecal matter what kind of crap theme’s that?”
“Exactly…”
“No!” replied the exasperated writer, “I have my reputation. What
would my readers think of such a tale?”
“That you are a good sport? Happy to take the subjects whatever they might be?”
“After all Andrew has to deal with the lame subjects you come
up with.” He replied.

TERRENCE

Raoul walked down the street from one pool of light, shining down from
a streetlight, to the next. His hood was pulled up and he looked down
at the ground as he passed the occasional person on the street. He
turned down a dark alley and stopped quickly when a large man appeared
pointing a gun at him.
“Hand over your wallet.” The man ordered, shoving the gun towards him.
Slowly, Raoul raised his hands and removed the hood from his head.
The man took one look at him, dropped his gun and filling his pants
with sh…… fecal matter.

TOM

Nichols Flamel roared with laughter “Je n’y Fourche crois pas” he snorted. His ilk had tried everything silver iron lead ivory mahogany polar ice.
The translation on transmutation by the Moroccan rabbi proved ironic beyond belief. “It’s not a goose egg,” he chuckled glazing at the Hebrew text.
Over the next month he had purchased every goose in Paris. The stench was over powering even by Parisian standards. The next year Nichols Flamel was the riches man in all Europe.
His alchemist brothers had taken the wrong path fixating on density and noble elements. Who’d guessed gold from fecal matter?

ELISSON

In the Land of Looxembourg, Fecal Matters were adjudicated by the Duke of Dookie.
He did not come to sit on his throne by noble birthright alone. He had studied Excremental Existentialism at Poopoo University – where the official Pootball Team Cheer was “Squeeze another touchdown out for Old Poo U!” – receiving his Dooktorate in Defecation for proving that shit, in fact, exists. De Facto Defecatio.
Now he was faced with a difficult case. A Stool Pigeon had caught the Vice-Chancellor adulterating his turds with Undigested Corn, a felony.
The Duke did his duty. “I sentence you to die…arrhea!”

TED

It’s a shitty world!
It seems that everyone is trying to take the fun out of everything these days. You can’t blow smoke in a babys face anymore, and it’s considered “insensitive” to torch a bag of dog poo on your neighbors front porch. Even that Lawrence Simon guy keeps saying that Podcasting DOT is full of crap! What the hell is DOT anyway, and why would you want to Podcast it?
Ah, well. Sometimes you just have to say “what the hell?”
I guess when all is said and done, it doesn’t matter. It just doesn’t fecal matter..

RAHEL

Bithia bent to her task. Like all royal children, she must serve in a temple, and today her job was to empty the litter pans.
Examining their contents, she smiled. Praise Bast, no more worms! Her formula had worked.
Outside, a whip cracked and a man groaned. Bithia’s eyes filled. “Lady Bast – or any god who may be listening – please put an end to that,” she prayed. “If only I could do so myself.”
Her work done, she summoned her maids. “I need a bath,” she said, leading them to the riverbank …
… for a dip that changed history.

MARK

His first creation looked just like Richard Nixon. “I am a sculptor,” he thought. Later, controlling hue and texture with diet, he produced other masterpieces: Beyonce, Rodman, Condoleezza. Artistically, busts worked, but abstracts just looked like piles of crap. He imagined himself the founder of poopism, the creator of fart art.
Eventually, he discovered, with beet-red hair, a corn-pearl necklace, and a greenish dress covering smooth brown shoulders, a perfect Lindsay Lohan. His wife would have to admit to his genius. He called out for her. She arrived just as Fluffy escaped, followed by the whoosh of the toilet flushing…

LAIEANNA

“Just two drops a day and one release a month. Yes, folks, you can now have relief from constant bowel movements with no side effects. Guaranteed! This is the bonafide real deal. Our remedy comes with all synthetic ingredients and is at low, low price. Step right up and see your life change forever.”
He was good and everyone bought his wares. Instructions were followed and life did change. A month passed, to the day, and every used toilet exploded. The town was flooded, burying everything. The salesman smiled and went back to his sales at the next sinning city.

Two monkeys walk into a bar.
The bartender asks the first one: “So, what will you have?”
The first monkey says “I think I want a banana daiquiri.”
So the bartender mixes him up a banana daiquiri.
Then he asks the second monkey what he wants.
The second monkey says “I want a beer and a shot.”
The bartender asks the second monkey “Why don’t you want a banana daiquiri? Don’t all monkeys like bananas?”
“The second monkey throws a lump of crap at the bartender. “Yeah, I like bananas, but not all monkeys are daiquiri-drinking faggots like him.”

Who rocked the house in Weekly Challenge #42?
	Elisson of blog d’Elisson
	Mark from Blank as a goat
	Brandon
	Tom from Footnote
	Andrew of Dodgeblogium
	Terrence from Never Was
	Rahel Jaskow of Elms in the Yard
	Ted’s Podcast
	Kelly Burt from Come Let Me Whisper
	The Deranged Bard From Planet Z

Free polls from Pollhost.com

Who had the best story for Weekly Challenge #41?
	Andrew Ian Dodge of Dodgeblogium
	Terrence from Never Was
	Tom from Footnote
	Elisson from blog d’Elisson
	Ted From Ted’s Podcast
	Rahel from Elms In The Yard
	Mark H. the Spin Doctor
	Laieanna from HodgePodge Point
	The Mad Bard From Planet Z

Free polls from Pollhost.com