Category: Weekly Challenge

Welcome to the 100 Word Stories podcast at oneadayuntilthedayidie.com.

This is Weekly Challenge, where I post a topic and then challenge you to come up with a 100 word story based on that topic.

We’ve got stories by:

• Munsi
• Danny
• Jeffrey
• Charlie
• Richard
• Tom
• Lizzie
• Serendipity
• Anima
• Norval Joe
• Tura Brezoianu
• Planet Z

MUNSI

My Creed
By Christopher Munroe

What is best in life?

To crush your enemies, see them driven before you, and to hear the lamentations of their women.

Now, it’s 2015, we want to be inclusive, so let me add: Crushing female/non-binary enemies and hearing male/non-binary lamentations is also best in life, in whatever combination is appropriate to your experience, both of your gender and that of whomever you count amongst your enemies.

It’s not “What’s best in life, given a particular limited demographic?” after all.

And if anyone claims otherwise, crush them, see them driven before you, and hear the lamentations of…

…well, of whomever.

DANNY

I have a crush. I’ve had this crush for over 35 years, all on the same woman I left behind in my former life. She was never mine, she never even knew I existed. We talk on a regular basis now, yet I’m sure she still doesn’t know I exist. I’ve thrown away my life for her, well, not really. I’ve thrown away my life for my own selfish reasons. Yet I delude myself into believing life all has some purpose. It doesn’t, because in the end, life is just a fiction, and this crush, is nothing more than my imagination.

JEFFREY

Jenny
by Jeffrey Fischer

As a high school junior, I had an infatuation with Jenny. She sat in front of me in Spanish class. Rather than conjugating verbs, I spent my time daydreaming of conjugating Jenny, contemplating her long, dark hair, her impish smile, and, when possible, her rounded derriere.

She had no interest in me. In fact, she probably didn’t know my name. Nonetheless, I learned why this feeling was aptly called a crush: when I saw her with her boyfriend, someone immeasurably cooler than I would ever be, my teenaged spirits were crushed.

Orange Crushed
by Jeffrey Fischer

Rush hour on Metro’s Orange line is nicknamed the Orange Crush. At station after station, riders enter the cars, first taking the seats, then taking standing room, then taking socially acceptable personal space. People cram onto cars until the doors no longer close. Someone unable to get into a car invariably shouts: “Move to the middle of the car – there’s plenty of space!” as though being squeezed like a tube of toothpaste constituted “plenty of space.”

Small wonder, then, that workers tend to arrive at their offices already in grumpy moods. It’s the perfect way to ensure service with a snarl.

CHARLIE

It was time to say goodbye to my truck. I was acquainted with the fellow running the junk yard, and he agreed that I could run the hydraulic press to euthanize my truck if I helped him drain the fluids and hazardous items from the truck before it went into the press. This included the gas tank, radiator, tires, battery, catalytic converter, air bag units, and mercury switches. I also had to remove the refrigerant from the A.C. It was a lot of dirty work, just to enjoy and videotape the few minutes it took to crush the remaining husk.

Second

I had a crush on Connie Sue Chambers. She sat one desk from the back of the room, one row over to my left. She wore her Girl Scout uniform, and her fleshy legs and her long blond hair would cause my eleven year old groin to buzz with passion. Sitting low in my seat, I could sneak a peek at her panties. Unless I was day dreaming I recall executing some maneuvers while Mr. Turner was at the front of the class. I varnished the night stick, while stealing glances of Connie Sue, sitting quietly and working math problems.

RICHARD

Recipe for disaster

“I’m not sure about this cake”, said my wife, eyeing my creation cautiously.

I could understand her reticence – I’d never baked a cake before in my life, and this was a complete departure from my usual trade – heavy engineering.

But the fact was, I’d lost my job: This was my opportunity to build a new career… Why not pastry chef, I thought?

My wife bit into my efforts and shrieked.

One expensive dental bill later, and my baking days were over.

How was I to know the crushed nuts in the recipe weren’t supposed to be mild steel?

TOM

Simple Joys

Fall in the Wine Country is a tactile experience. Acres of leaves turning color, but the real pleasure driving down highway 29 is in the air. Its known simple as: The Crush. Dozens of wineries over about 30 miles are pressing tons of different grapes. So much liquid is being processed the air is charge with the smell of grapes. The strongest concentration is outside of Rutherford, were the wineries nearly outnumber the residents. I just roll down the window and drink in the Sauvignon Merlot Zinfandel Chardonnay Sauvignon Blanc Riesling. The Crush in Gilroy is a bit more garlicy

LIZZIE

Leo’s favorite place was hanging from the old tree in the park.
He hated school, despite his mother’s words of encouragement. All he cared for was that tree, but the city council decided to chop it down.
Leo was crushed. He climbed as high up as possible and refused to come down.
When the police decided to force him down, he jumped.
To everyone’s amazement, it seemed the tree stretched and moved to soften Leo’s fall.
The tree is still standing. No one had the heart to cut it down. And Leo is still hanging from that tree… after school.

SERENDIPITY

My first crush was James Madison: He was two years above me in school and something of a high achiever.

All the girls had a thing for him. He could have had any of them.

Secretly, I hoped he’d pick me.

He didn’t, of course, he went for Sophie Tucker… She of the perfect skin, top grades, and an ability to wear a school uniform as if it was something out of Paris fashion week.

Of course, I was gutted, but I soon got over it, especially after the ‘freak’ school bus accident… which – unfortunately – crushed them both to death.

ANIMA

Summer Lovin’

Whatcha doin’ Joey?

Nothing much. Waiting for it to darken up enough for the lightnin’ bugs to come out. Got me a jar with holes punched in the lid all ready.

Nearby, neighborhood kids laughed and played flashlight tag. The heat of the day radiated from the ground.

Care if I sit here with you?

That would be alright. Shouldn’t be much longer now. Hear them cicadas sing!

Joey leaned over and invited me to share the rest of his orange soda. It wasn’t icy any more, but sure tasted good.

He also held my grimy hand.

My first Crush.

NORVAL JOE

This week Bartholomew had a crush on Brooke. Her hair was dark mahogany and fell in shimmering waves to the middle of her back. She sat in front of him in math class, next to Rachelle who Barty had fallen for a week earlier.
They couldn’t be more different. Rachelle lacked anything which could be called a curve, had white-blonde hair, and a voice as deep as most boys.
None of that mattered. If a girl made eye contact and smiled, Barty was in love.
In fact, before Rachelle it was the Linda Ronstadt poster in his Grand Father’s attic.

TURA

Crush
———
Montepulciano is famed for its wines, but their finest are secrets known only to the few.

The first pressing collects the juice released only by the grapes’ own weight. It makes the purest of all wines, reserved for the Pope and the cardinals.

In the second pressing they are trodden by the feet of virgins. This wine graces the finest aristocratic dinner tables.

The third is tramped by rude labourers, and goes to commerce. You will never see any higher grade than this.

The fourth deploys mechanical presses. This produces rough wine for peasants, and foreigners who know no better.

PLANET Z

When I was growing up, there were only two flavors of Crush soda: orange and grape.
Wikipedia shows a long list of flavors. I think I’ve seen strawberry, pineapple, and watermelon.
The rest don’t look familiar at all. And some of them sound pretty damn gross.
I mean, I’ve had Crush Pineapple, and it was really bad.
But when I poured it down the sink, it unclogged the drain brilliantly.
For a while, I used Crash Pineapple that way, but the EPA showed up one day and told me to stop.
I was ruining the environment.
I drink whiskey now.

Welcome to the 100 Word Stories podcast at oneadayuntilthedayidie.com.

This is Weekly Challenge, where I post a topic and then challenge you to come up with a 100 word story based on that topic.

We’ve got stories by:

• Munsi
• Jeffrey
• Charlie
• Richard
• Serendipity
• Lizzie
• Zackmann
• Tura Brezoianu
• Tom
• Norval Joe
• Planet Z

MUNSI

Remember Remember
By Christopher Munroe

Remember when that one Guy tried to blow up parliament with a cartload of gunpowder?

Oh come on, you remember. Guy pulls up, gunpowder in tow, he’s intercepted, nothing explodes but he’s ALL OVER the news, people screaming for his execution? It was a whole huge thing, #GunpowderTreason was trending on Twitter and everything, EVERYONE was sharing stories .

No?

Are you sure?

Huh.

Oh, nothing, I was just wondering how that whole thing turned out. After the initial outrage I kind of lost interest.

I guess these sorts of stories get covered differently in the age of social media…

JEFFREY

One Thing to Agree On
by Jeffrey Fischer

Peter asked his dad for forty dollars to fill the car. He really wanted to get away from the boring family reunion. His dad replied, “I remember when gasoline was two bucks a gallon and you could buy a nice house for a hundred thousand.”

Peter’s granddad replied, “That’s nothing. I remember when gasoline was 75 cents and you could buy a nice house for $75,000.”

Peter’s great-grandad wasn’t too mobile any longer, but he still had his memory. “In my time, gasoline was a quarter, and a polite young man pumped it and checked your oil. Oh, and a nice house was $20,000.”

Peter said, “Every generation thinks younger people have it easier.I bet you can’t agree on one thing.”

In unison, all three elders said, “Today’s music sucks. It’s all noise.”

Common Sense
by Jeffrey Fischer

Bryan’s parents often fought. If that wasn’t bad enough, they tended to use Bryan as an intermediary in their battles. Even though both were in the same room, each would direct remarks to Bryan.

“I remember when your mother used to have a hot meal ready when I came home from work.”

“I remember when your father had a good job and could provide for us.”

“I remember when your mother was attractive.” There was a long pause after that comment. Bryan thought his father might have gone too far that time.

“Well, I remember when your father had the good sense to keep his mouth shut.”

CHARLIE

I remember when it was Thursday for the full day. I remember it came right before Friday and a little before my favorite day, Saturday. I think I was two or three months old. My dad was home on Saturdays, and it was the day he threw me up in the air a half dozen times in the surf, and caught me right before I touched the cold Atlantic. The day my parents decided I should learn to swim was the day that dad threw me far into the air, and let me fall into the water. Since I had swum around inside my mother’s womb for nine months already, I took to swimming in the ocean, immediately.

RICHARD

#1 – Back

I remember when I was a kid, addicted to Star Trek, Arthur C Clarke and Asimov… The future was going to be amazing.

Unfortunately, it isn’t: Moon holidays, flying cars, teleporters and intelligent robots are still science fiction; we still have to work for a living, iron our clothes and the same inconveniences we thought would one day become things of the past.

The future has badly let me down.

However, I have a cunning plan – I’m waiting for Marty Mcfly and Doc Brown to turn up, and when they do, I’m grabbing a lift… back, to their future.

#2 – Grandpa

Back in the day, grandpa would often take me out into the garden and stand, smoking his pipe and reminiscing about the good old days.

“I remember when this was pasture and farmland, as far as you could see”, he’d say, with an expansive gesture; “Now look at it”

Factories, roads, houses filled the view as far as the horizon.

That was before the asteroid struck.

Now, in the bleak days of eternal winter, I find myself standing in the same spot with my young son…

“I remember when this was all civilisation, as far as the eye could see…”

SERENDIPITY

I remember when I was in school, you used to tease me; you’d steal my homework and bully me in the playground.

Do you also remember?

I think not. You’ve almost certainly forgotten me – an inconsequential, unimportant name from the distant past.

A nobody.

And that suits me just fine – the lack of recognition in your eyes, that blank look you gave me when I introduced myself, work entirely in my favour. Will you remember Nurse Haven when you wake up? I don’t think you will.

But you’ll certainly remember what it was like to once possess legs!

LIZZIE

“I remember when saving a man’s life meant exactly that. People would be praised on TV for stopping someone from jumping off a bridge or for saving them from a train approaching at high speed. They were true heroes.
Nowadays, saving a man’s life means nothing of the sort. Anyone can jump off a bridge with little consequences, no one really cares, and there aren’t any trains anymore.
These days, people are hailed as heroes for saving a dead man’s life. Well, they’re half dead… Honey, where’s the gun? The beasts are at the door again and they are hungry.”

ZACKMANN

Grandpa started saying “I remember when…”
“You couldn’t wait to love me?” interrupted Joe.
“No, that is not what I was saying and have no plans to love you late at night.”
Joe said “Yes, Wen was nose guard for our high school football team junior year.”
“I wasn’t talking about the Wen kid just saying that I remember when earworms weren’t as cool as Stephanie Mabey’s Zombie Love Song but not as sucky as Baby by that Canadian kid with the funny hair.”
Joe replied. “Doesn’t have funny hair, anymore and the worst ear worms were inflicted by Khan.”

TURA

1.

“I remember when it was nowt but fields around here,” said Young Tom.

He was called Young, because he was only eighty years old.

“I remember when it were wild forests, and you could get eaten by boars!” rejoined Old Tom, Young Tom’s father.

“Youngsters!” said Great-Great Grandma. Nobody knew how old she was. “I remember when it were ice year round, a mile thick!”

“Tell us about the ape-men!” said Little Tom.

Great-Great Grandma shot him an evil look. “Any Neanderthal was twice the man you’ll ever be. I remember when…”

I sighed. There was no stopping her now.

2.

I remember when the world was young
The knife-sharp air, the mile-high trees, the tides
Reciprocating like a giant’s breath
So strong one feared the day that he might wake.

The empty skies, yet pure of any life
The swamps where giant sloths boomed, mate to mate
Primaeval oceans, wherein ichthyosaurs swam
And trilobe-teeming mud condensed to rock.

When deep convection drove tectonic plates
Which, jostling, raised the Himalayan peaks
When asteroids combining made this globe
When nuclear fusion first began our Sun.

But tell that to the young folk of today,
And they will not believe, whate’er you say.

TOM

Nostalgia
I remember when a small carton of milk was three cents at my high school cafeteria. Of course this was the 70s when the dairy industry got major subs. In fact the whole lunch program was pretty much one big subsidy. I guess they wanted to produce a generation of reasonably well fed children. My parents wouldn’t spring for a paid lunch, so I had to work in the school book store. I recall eating an inordinate amount of cookies. And a lot of tater tots. What you could get for a buck then would costs you seven dollars today.

MARSHA

(Story was over 200 words when I ran it through Wordcounter. Sorry.)

NORVAL JOE

I remember when the backyard was filled with the happy sound of excited puppies.
I remember when we used to get dressed up and head out in the dead of night to leave puppies on the porches of unsuspecting new owners.
I remember driving in the micro-van with our ears and noses alert for the presence of danger, for criminals and the evil they would perpetrate.
I remember when the pack leader stopped believing in himself, when his plastic card wouldn’t buy us food, and our home was taken away.
I wish we could go live with the Bambi woman.

PLANET Z

I remember when Dan and I took a day off of work and he took a foul ball to the head.
Dan doesn’t remember it, though. In fact, Dan doesn’t remember much of anything.
He just sits there and stares.
I could swear, he’s almost smiling.
You could set his hair on fire and he wouldn’t do anything about it.
I still take him to baseball games.
Maybe he’ll take another foul ball to the head and wake his ass up.
That way, he can tell me the combination to the safe.
Or die, and I can collect the insurance.

Welcome to the 100 Word Stories podcast at oneadayuntilthedayidie.com.

This is Weekly Challenge, where I post a topic and then challenge you to come up with a 100 word story based on that topic.

We’ve got stories by:

• Jeffrey
• Richard
• Charlie
• Lizzie
• Tom
• Serendipity
• Zackmann
• Munsi
• Norval Joe
• Kym
• Tura Brezoianu
• Planet Z

JEFFREY

The Jump
by Jeffrey Fischer

I peered out the open door, watching farmland speed by. The instructor had gone through the safety check one last time. I made sure the parachute straps were snug against my chest and stepped into the air.

As I fell, I counted off the seconds before pulling the cord. The chute flew out; I slowed. Then the ground came at me quickly and all my training flew out of my head. I landed awkwardly on one leg, bounced up, and dragged across the ground until I stopped, rolled into a ball mixed of human and nylon parachute. I hardly stuck the landing, but I made it down alive, which must count for something.

Job Satisfaction
by Jeffrey Fischer

The best part of being a cop, Frank thought, was surprising the perp and slapping the cuffs on him. Right now the guy had no idea his evening would end poorly, but that would change when Frank kicked in the apartment door.

When Frank had the perp’s arms behind his back, the guy unleashed a torrent of curses. Frank’s parentage was questioned, his wife’s fidelity was challenged, and the perp was just getting started. “Stick these cuffs up your ass until they come out your nose,” the guy rasped.

Frank laughed and tightened the cuffs some more. “I think that’s anatomically impossible, sir, but I appreciate your imagination.”

RICHARD

#1 – The Man

There comes a time in everyone’s life when realisation dawns that it doesn’t have to be this way: We make a promise – no more will we be victims of oppression!

My moment came last Thursday, waiting for the bus home.

This particular oppressor was a spotty youth, rudely pushing ahead of the queue… Something inside me snapped.

Time to stick it to the man!

Unfortunately, it seems the man has a bigger stick than me, and a pretty good left hook too.

One broken nose later I decided my moment had passed. What’s wrong with oppression and drudgery anyway?

#2 – Rustling…

Left alone guarding the camp, Laggins cowered beside the fire, muttering decidedly un-hobbit like grumblings about his fellow travellers.

A rustling in the bushes sent his heart racing – he scrabbled in the darkness for a weapon. In addition to several slugs lurking in the undergrowth, his hands finally found a large and heavy stick, which he raised bravely above his head, ready to face the unseen enemy.

A small rabbit then popped out from the bushes, looking at him quizzically.

Laggins laughed and congratulated himself on his bravery, before turning round, straight into the arms of the waiting ogre!

CHARLIE

We threw another stick on the campfire, and stuffed big gobs of hash into the pipe. It was our first year at Summer Camp in the Dardanelles, and we all wished that this was the year we were going to be awarded our colored kerchief for conduct and sportsmanship. Fuck that. I wanted a bag of candy from the gedunk and some cooch. The little trail leading to the rocky enclave where the campfire burned was the highlight of my day. It was pitch black in the forest, and provided lots of opportunities to play grab ass with the girls.

2nd

Not everything I learned stuck. I didn’t know the secret of making dates and names stick in my Art History class. I relied on how small and how legible I could print on my palm and forearm. I shaved my forearm so it wouldn’t interfere with writing. I put a couple of dozen artist’s names and movements on my arm. This got me through the midterm and final exams with good grades. I feel guilty cheating in Mr. Bate’s class, because he was such a sweet, patient man. If he can hear me, I would like to say, “I’m sorry.”

LIZZIE

“And he wouldn’t shut up,” said the prisoner in cuffs.

The detective nodded. A piece of gum was sticking to his left shoe.

“He went on and on about it.”

The detective tried to scrape the gum off with his right shoe. Shit. Now the gum was on both shoes.

“That’s when I hit him. I couldn’t take it anymore.”

The detective stood up. “That was simple enough. I have to go now. I have gum on my shoes. Stick around.”

“Yeah… Com’on… It’s not like I have a choice, right.”

“Right,” replied the detective. “And… shut up about it.”

TOM

The Purpose of Language is to Present Irony

I spent my formative years 13 to 19 working at on all Jewish country club. It was formed in the days when the Chicago gentry was less then P.S. Lots of the members spoke Yiddish as a first language. I had just take up close contact magic. When you’re out on the back nine, four foursomes deep, on the 13th hole, bit of distraction, is in order. “Yea Kid, your patter is excellent, you need an excellent shtick,” said Mr. Garfunkel. He suggested doing my act balanced on my head. Damn if that wasn’t the best advice I ever got.

SERENDIPITY

You don’t want to believe everything you see in the movies about vampires – most of it is complete nonsense, especially all that stuff about killing us with stakes.

That would be far too simple; and anyway, how exactly do you define ‘stake’? Would any old stick do the job? And what about splinters – a very real concern when you spend most of your time hanging around rotting wooden coffins.

Not that it matters – it’s simply not true about stakes.

And as for drinking your blood…

Yep, that’s quite definitely true; and tonight, I’m having yours for supper!

ZACKMANN

“My mother wants to see you.” Sara told her husband.
“I am not sure I want to see her. She hit me with a cane.” replied Joe.
“It was a walking stick and serves you right for asking about how it felt to be on the Mayflower when you know my family came on the Jamestown. Even so she has a gift for you” said Sara
“Why would she, when Being the grumpy old lady is you mothers shtick?”
“My father can’t drive safely anymore so she is giving you his car since I refuse to drive a manual transmission.”

MUNSI

A Public Service Announcement
By Christopher Munroe

Teddy Roosevelt once famously said, “Speak softly, and carry a big stick.”

Good advice for its day, perhaps, but I think we all agree it needs to be updated.

“Walk on two big sticks.”

In this modern age, height’s never been a more important factor in determining success. With this in mind, can you deny yourself the opportunity to be your best, tallest self?

Jump on a pair of stilts today, as Roosevelt would have, had he the technology to do so.

This message has been brought to you by the Canadian Stiltwalkers Federation. For more information, consult our website…

NORVAL JOE

“Here you go, good buddy,” Dergle said to Long John. “Fetch.”
Dergle hurled the stick with every ounce of his 235 pounds behind it. It sailed across the open, grassy area of the park in a long arc and bounced to a stop.
The wiener dog looked up at his master and panted.
“Go get it,” Dergle said, trying to sound enthusiastic.
Long John looked over his shoulder at Bambi, siting on a park bench, reading a magazine.
“I get it,” Dergle said, walking toward Bambi. “I don’t believe in myself. Why should anyone, even my dog, believe in me?”

KYM

From the third floor window, I saw a tutued girl turn three cartwheels on the
walkway. Then a rat ran across and stopped, two feet away from the tree side. I thought the oblivious kid with the headphones and sagging skinny jeans would surely step right on it but, alas. Many walked by, all noticing it, even if only at the last moment, giving it a wide berth. Some stopped a moment to investigate. Some got as close as six inches but the rat did not move. I imagined someone poking it. Then the pedestrians were gone. And the rat ran away.

We lay on my couch and I wondered if this was a bad idea. But I went through with it. My first one-night stand. It sucked. Had you EVER done this before, I wondered. But me, I was amazing apparently. I had everything you wanted and now I can’t get rid of you. You moved in and started causing too many extra dishes and wearing my socks. I wonder why you won’t stop breathing; you wonder how you got so lucky. Turns out, I’m not good at one-night stands. But dating sucks. So… this is it, huh? OK. Let’s have dinner.

TURA

Stick
———
I awoke on the bank of a river, as a boat drew up.

“Hi, I’m Sharon,” said the figure in the stern, “I’m your ferryperson for this journey, and this is the sticks.”

“Yes, it is pretty deserted,” I said.

A cat leapt out of the boat. “If you go, you can’t come back,” it warned.

“You just did,” I observed.

“Oh, I can do that,” it replied. “Up to a point.”

A light swelled behind me, and Sharon and the cat with nine lives receded into the distance. The light grew brighter still and resolved into a hospital ward.
———

PLANET Z

One of the funniest comedy routines I ever saw was Johnathan Winters on the Jack Parr show.

Jack handed Jonathan a stick, and the comedian went through dozens of different scenes and characters in under four minutes.

I’m sure that Jonathan had prepared and imagined all of these characters up beforehand, but even to just remember them and roll them out one after the other was impressive.

Call it genius or madness, it sure was fucking funny.

Robin Williams had that kind of magic too.

But they’re both gone now. And we’re left holding the short end of the stick.

Welcome to the 100 Word Stories podcast at oneadayuntilthedayidie.com.

This is Weekly Challenge, where I post a topic and then challenge you to come up with a 100 word story based on that topic.

We’ve got stories by:

• Munsi
• Jeffrey
• Charlie
• Richard
• Kym
• Lizzie
• Serendipity
• Zackmann
• Tom
• Norval Joe
• Tura Brezoianu
• Planet Z

MUNSI

Ultimatum
By Christopher Munroe

You’re either with us, or against us.

Or, now that I think about it, you’ve never heard of us at all and have no opinion regarding us one way or the other.

In fact, given that we aren’t particularly notable, either for good or ill, chances are that it actually is the third thing that describes you.

So, anyway, you’re either with us, against us, or we’re nothing to you, have always been nothing to you, will always be nothing to you and you’re completely indifferent to us.

Probably the latter.

Now get off the fence and pick a side!

JEFFREY

Big Game
by Jeffrey Fischer

“They really are magnificent animals,” I told Taranj, my native guide.

“Indeed, sir.”

“And endangered, you say?”

“Very endangered. Hunted nearly to extinction.”

“And yet…”

“Sir?”

“We’re stuck in this tree while a hungry pride of lions waits for us. If we do nothing, we’ll eventually starve to death. If we try to run for it, we wouldn’t get more than a few feet before being mauled and eaten.”

“You summarized our situation quite well, sir.”

I sighed. “That’s it, then. Nothing else to do. I hate to do it, but it’s either us or them. We’ll have to shoot our way out.”

“Pardon me for pointing this out, but my rifle is at the base of the tree.”

“I see that. Go get it, Taranj!”

“What if I’m attacked?”

“That’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

At Night

by Jeffrey Fischer

Briony snapped the light off then sat under the covers, listening. Her daddy told her there was no such thing as monsters, and she believed him. Still, every night she heard rustling sounds, and what she thought was whispering. Daddy said it was just house noises, but Briony wasn’t so sure.

When her ears picked up the whispering once again, she called out, “Who’s there? I can hear you, you know.”

Silence. Then, from below her, a gruff voice responded, “There’s no one here but us monsters under your bed. Get some sleep, kid.”

“Oh, okay.” Briony settled herself in the covers.

“Wait for it…” said the monster.

“Mommy! Daddy! Come quick – there are monsters under my bed!”

“Geez, kid, calm down. We’re monsters, nothing more. It’s not as though I said we’re from the government and we’re here to help. Then you’d have a reason to be scared.”

CHARLIE

Ultrasound (US) is used for a number of things. I used an inexpensive, portable unit for muscle stimulation and strengthening. Originally, Russian Muscle Stimulators were used as part of the Russian Olympic Team training. I made the decision to experiment, and tasked my device for the discrete, yet profound strengthening of my unit. The smooth muscle was able to adapt to minute tearing of the cellular walls of the pores, thereby making the pore cells larger and more capable of absorbing more blood. If anyone would like to purchase a device, documentation, and a log describing results, please email me.

RICHARD

#1 – Join us

‘Come and join us’, the flyer said – nothing else, just a telephone number.

I was intrigued enough to pick up the phone, half expecting a recorded bible message or telesales call centre. So, when my call was answered by a friendly and reassuring voice, I was a little surprised, to say the least.

I asked her to explain the mysterious invitation, and my surprise turned to incredulity – this was an opportunity too good to let pass by.

So, I joined them, and it was the best decision of my life.

You should too… Would you like the number?

#2 – The Golden Rule

Battered, bruised and exhausted, he staggered through the imposing gateposts, before collapsing into the mud, utterly exhausted.

He had finally made it – the fabled Lair of the Golden Monkeys!

Days later, now recovered from his ordeal, he was summoned to appear before the Grand Council.

“So, tell us: Why should we make you one of us?”

He told of his struggles and dedication, of long nights and countless hours of self-denial, of years of toil and the broken relationships. He told them of his striving for perfection and…

“No, no, no!” Interrupted the Great High Monkey.

“Keep it brief!”

KYM

We lay on my couch and I wondered if this was a bad idea. But I went through with it. My first one-night stand. It sucked. Had you EVER done this before, I wondered. But me, I was amazing apparently. I had everything you wanted and now I can’t get rid of you. You moved in and started causing too many extra dishes and wearing my socks. I wonder why you won’t stop breathing; you wonder how you got so lucky. Turns out, I’m not good at one-night stands. But dating sucks. So… this is it, huh? OK. Let’s have dinner.

LIZZIE

The us we used to be disappeared.

“How did this happen? When did we drift apart?” She did that, talk incessantly. I just couldn’t process what she was saying anymore. It was all a numbing blur.

I still remember the long walks at the beach, holding hands, the salty promises of eternal love.

I still remember, right before the wedding, the eagerness of that forbidden kiss and the way we looked up at the balcony and saw my future wife waiting.

We continued to meet secretly, but this us we used to be disappeared… There was just you and her.

SERENDIPITY

“If you want to be one of us, you have to drink our blood”, said Jenny, offering me a plastic cup.

I didn’t want to drink, but I desperately wanted to be in the gang, so I closed my eyes and swallowed the lot.

It was probably blackcurrant juice; I didn’t want to imagine what else they’d added to concoct their ‘blood’: It didn’t matter – I was in the gang, and staying for the sleepover!

Later that night, sinking my teeth into Jenny’s neck, I smiled at the sweetness of her blood and looked forward to happy days ahead.

ZACKMANN

“Have you ever been in one of those secret clubs?” asked the boy asked his dad.
“Not secret but very few know about uss, that is U double S.” replied his father
“Doesn’t that stand for United States Ship?” asked the son.
“In this case it stands for The Uberfans of Sanborn Smith. It’s currently a small group but someday we hope to be even bigger than bronies with an annual meeting called UssCon. So what do you think ” said father.
“Honestly father, I think maybe it was a bad idea to put a Hairy Mango into you Mango colada.”

TOM

Turtles all the Way Down

Ulysses and Sally were inseparable. Way beyond soulmates, they shared a particular way of looking at the world. It was all about the work. And the work was about to change everything. When it became clear their overlords weren’t about to let them control the project in a manner that served the great good, they made a run for it. “I guess it’s going to be us and against them,” said Sally. Ulysses booked passage to Peking by way of Tokyo. The media call them traders, the government press hard to get them return to the US, to no avail.

NORVAL JOE

Bambi handed Dergle a plate of spagetti and sat with him on the couch.
“You don’t have to sleep in your van in some parking lot,” Bambi said. “You can sleep here. On my couch.”
“B,b,b,but,” Dergle stuttered. “It would be just you and me here. Just us. All alone.”
“Yeah. So?” Bambi asked.
“I wouldn’t be right. We can’t sleep in the same apartment. We’re not married,” Dergle said, blushing furiously.
“Why?” Bambi sounded upset. “I’d be in my room. You’d be on the couch. You could have your dog be a chaperone.”
Dergle could only shake his head.

TURA

US
———
Once upon a time, there was an ugly country called Uk. It was cold and damp, and it always rained. Because it was an ugly country, its people were ugly, and they did ugly things. They invaded a beautiful country across the sea, inhabited by beautiful peoples, who did beautiful things, but Uk enslaved them all.

Then the peoples said, Uk cannot conquer all of Us together. United, We drove Uk away. Then We drove ugliness away wherever it was, and at last the world was ruled by Us.

And that is how the US, the Universal State, was born.

PLANET Z

We’ve been together fifteen years.
But how together are we?
We have separate bank accounts.
We have separate credit cards.
We file our taxes separately, do our own laundry separately, and because someone has to watch the cats, vacation separately, too.
I work early, and she works late.
So, by the time she gets home, I’m asleep.
And when I wake up, she’s asleep.
We’re together on the weekends, though.
Watching football. Or baseball. Or basketball.
Or picking up plants from the nursery down the street.
A nice dinner out now and then.
What more can you ask for, really?

Welcome to the 100 Word Stories podcast at oneadayuntilthedayidie.com.

This is Weekly Challenge, where I post a topic and then challenge you to come up with a 100 word story based on that topic.

We’ve got stories by:

• Jeffrey
• Munsi
• Charlie
• Richard
• Kym
• Lizzie
• Serendipity
• Tom
• Tura Brezoianu
• Zackmann
• Spate
• Norval Joe
• Planet Z

JEFFREY

The Borrower
by Jeffrey Fischer

Hank and Stu were the best of friends, so when Hank needed a loan of a hundred bucks Stu didn’t hesitate. Ditto when Hank asked to borrow Stu’s car, and when Hank wanted to move in with Stu after Hank’s eviction.

Stu had to admit he was relieved when Hank moved out, only to find that Hank had stolen Stu’s identity and was living large on fraudulently-obtained credit. Good pal or not, this was a step too far. Stu started to dial the police when cops showed up at his door. Seems Hank had been involved in a hit-and-run in Stu’s car. Hank must have figured Stu would lend Hank five to ten years of Stu’s life, because that’s what good buddies are for.

Ten-Four
by Jeffrey Fischer

During the 1970s, my dad succumbed to the CB radio craze and bought a Radio Shack unit for the car. We rarely talked to anyone, but Dad paid attention when truckers warned one another about speed traps.

One day he had the opportunity to return the favor. We had encountered a state trooper with his radar gun out, parked just over the crest of a hill on the interstate. Dad braked just in time, then thumbed the microphone. “Hey out there, be on the lookout for Smokey past the ridge at mile marker 179. He’s in the median. Ugly hat with a radar gun. Ten-four.”

A few minutes later, we heard the bleep of a siren as a trooper pulled us over. The cop leaned into the car and said, “Ugly hat, huh?” That’s how Dad learned the police also listened to CB radio chatter.

MUNSI

On the Nature of Friendship

By Christopher Munroe

You can’t spell “Good Buddy” without “Good Bud,” and that’s why I believe that a true friend will help you find marijuana.

That follows, yeah?

I don’t often smoke the stuff myself, it puts me to sleep, but if somebody comments on wanting some I like the challenge, it makes for a fun game for me.

I’m a grown-assed adult, with zero drug connections, but I’m reasonably intelligent and extremely tenacious, and if I want to buy drugs, then BY ZOD I am going to find someone to sell them!

Yeah, I’m also surprised I don’t get arrested more often…

CHARLIE

My good buddy is my friend, Prince. Prince is a rare Louisiana Catahoula Leopard Dog. He is mid-sized, but only in stature. His IQ was tested at the University of Davis Veterinary School, and measured 130. 130 is a few points higher than the mean IQ of Harvard students. Prince knows over 15,000 words, including common directives like sit, etc. Commands are frequently strung together to form intricate instructions like: “Go outside, evacuate your bowels then come inside for your supper and a drink. Be sure your anus is clean, and wipe your paws before entering. Thank you, Good Buddy.”

RICHARD

#1 – Good Buddy

From the moment I saw it, ‘Every Which Way But Loose’ was my all-time favourite film. More than that, it shaped my career and set me on a lifetime’s quest to live the dream of the long-distance big rig driver.

I won’t say it was easy – it’s a hard lifestyle and a lonely road we truckers drive, but we’re a real community, and sometimes, when I’m perched way up high, looking down on those lesser mortals hanging around my wheels, I can see myself as Clint Eastwood, just like in the film.

Almost…

All I need now, is an orangutan!

#2 – Charlie

I had my doubts about Charlie.

Sure he could write a good tune and his band had bags of enthusiasm, but he just didn’t have the voice for it, or much else, for that matter… He was no Elvis, that’s for sure!

Presley had the hips, the lips, the looks and that look in his eye – not to mention the voice of an angel; what did Charlie have? A pair of spectacles and some catchy rhythms. There was no comparison.

Then he played me his song: ‘That’ll be the day’, and I was hooked.

“That’s good, that’s real good, Buddy!”

KYM

Dear Good Buddy,

It probably seems strange to you that I’m writing you a letter since we talk everyday. Some things are just better expressed in writing. I’ve known you… god… a lifetime, right? In that time, you’ve been an amazing person. Remember you went skydiving because you’re afraid of heights? And you sang in front of 5000 people because you have stage fright? You were… no, ARE my rock star. These last few months have been hard, I know, but it will get better. I’m here for you. Don’t make me leave. Please put the gun down.

Love,
Yourself

LIZZIE

Call him, call him.

He couldn’t call him… What about Helen? And the kids?

That nagging voice at the back of his mind wouldn’t give up though. Just call him and get it over with.

His life would crumble to pieces or it would start anew. The lying, the hiding, the cheating, the faking, all would be a faint recollection of a tortured past.

But the damn questions he’d have to face. Where did you meet him? When did you meet him? Did you ever love me?

Call him. “Hello? Martin? This is Frank.”

That was it. It started. Finally.

SERENDIPITY

A good buddy is hard to find, but you’re the very best.

You have all the qualities, and more, that set you above all the rest.

A good buddy is always there for you, holding your hand, wiping away your tears and helping you back onto your feet.

A good buddy laughs at your jokes, knows your secrets and shares the good times and the bad.

So I know you won’t mind taking the rap for what I’ve done… And, I know you really won’t mind that I used your carving knife, covered in your finger prints.

Thanks, good buddy.

TOM

BrainDead and Damn Proud of It

What do you do when you have no idea of what to write about? Parse the Topic. Well the root of buddy is bud and by context this would be a reference to a person whom shares their father’s name, better than the diminutive Junior, but not by much. Metaphorically a pre-photosynthetic appendage on a family tree. Now placing a “Y” at the end further diminutifies the term, double diminutive. It doesn’t get better, for comparisons: Best, Better, Good, good is pretty much a 3rd rate adjective. Thus you end up with a triple diminutive term of endearment. Ten Four.

Bad Zeitgeist

You know your Fad has reached maximum exposure when someone writes a humorous pop song. The Streaker, King of the Road, Beethoven’s Third Symphony. Did anyone write a pet rock song? When CB-ing smoky and the bandited into mom and pop America the doseit droning of “Convoy” oozed out of every radio pore. In short order even your Grandmother started saying, “10-4 Good Buddy. Right at you Rubber Duck” I wish to god I didn’t have to confess this, but while CB-ing I was actually wearing a leisure suit. Did anyone ever write a song about Polyester Nehru Leisure Suit?

TURA

Good Buddy
———
The original “Good Buddy” app was just a chatbot. You’d let it read your social media accounts, and it would learn to be your virtual companion. It really took off when we bought a robotics company and created the Good Buddy robot companion. We got so huge that when Facebook tried to acquire us, we bought them.

The real money is in the advertising. If you ever chatted with your Good Buddy about where to take a holiday, you went where someone paid us to suggest.

The NSA would love to get access, and “Don’t Be Evil” is so yesterday…

ZACKMANN

Gil and I have been friends for a long time. Every few months when our routes match, we’ll stop and have lunch. Gil has a teddy bear that he calls Monkey McKay. Today we stopped in a truck stop called the Uncharted. After Gil picked out a new souvenir shirt for Monkey McKay, he met me near the Little Debbie’s wafers. Sure enough just like last time I stopped for peanut butter wafers two cars turned into giant robots then started to fight. So here I am stuck in the Uncharted’s dessert aisle with Gil again and his little buddy.

SPATE

Good Buddy

Strangest man I ever met. Everywhere he went, he would be talking to his
imaginary friend called ‘Good Buddy’.

At first I thought he was talking to me. But his words were aimed into empty
airspace and over time I realized I was outside of the conversation.

Then one day I found him folded over, crying.

I put my hand on his shoulder as comfort.

“Good Buddy died” he choked between sobs.

“Reality,” I offered with a sympathetic shrug.

He looked at me squinting through tears. “You don’t understand. He died
twenty years ago today. Good Buddy was my son.”

(music: Galoshes by Podington Bear is licensed under Creative Commons
Attribution-NonCommercial 3.0 International License / curated by
freemusicarchive.org)

NORVAL JOE

Dergle walked into the Bust-a-Gut 24 hour gym.
Long John followed, but stopped at the door and sat.
Dergle turned back, patted the wiener dog, and said, “You’re a good buddy. I’ll be out in an hour.”
The owner, Rick Racker, smiled from behind the counter.
“Can I pay you cash for a month membership, so I can use your shower?” Dergle asked.
“The water’s not working at your place?” Rick asked.
“No. I don’t exist anymore,” Dergle said. “So no one will rent to me.”
“That’s pretty harsh,” Rick said. “Park your van in my lot, if you want.”

PLANET Z

Dr. Pepper used to advertise that you should drink a bite to eat at 10, 2, and 4.

But if you drank that much Dr. Pepper, your teeth would rot from all the sugar, and you’d be dead from diabetes before forty.

Hell, you’d be better off drinking vodka that often and early.

Unless, of course, you’re a truck driver.

Cletus always kept a jugs of Smirnoff’s in his cab.

He crossed the median line one day and went head-on with a church van.

He was driving a Dr. Pepper truck.

See? I told you that shit will kill you.

Welcome to the 100 Word Stories podcast at oneadayuntilthedayidie.com.

This is Weekly Challenge, where I post a topic and then challenge you to come up with a 100 word story based on that topic.

We’ve got stories by:

• Munsi
• Jeffrey
• Richard
• Kat
• Lizzie
• Tura Brezoianu
• Tom
• Charlie
• Serendipity
• Zackmann
• Norval Joe
• Planet Z

MUNSI

Mirrors

By Christopher Munroe

I’ve replaced the ceiling of my bedroom with mirrors.

The walls too.

My quilt and sheet set are now made of reflective material, and I’ve covered what furniature I have with mirrors as well. This way, wherever I look, I can’t escape the vision of myself, reflected back at myself, all the way to infinity.

It’s been suggested that this will drive me mad, and it might. There are days where I feel like it’s driven me mad already…

Nonetheless, it is necessary.

Something, after all, had to be done, to compensate for my own lack of capacity for self-reflection…

JEFFREY

Life in the Fast Lane
by Jeffrey Fischer

The Porsche 911 rocketed down the highway, effortlessly exceeding the speed limit by 40 miles per hour. The car was Larry’s gift to himself, purchased with his annual bonus. His life was in the fast lane; he deserved a commensurate car.

As Larry glanced in the rear-view mirror, he saw a Corvette rapidly gaining on him and pushed harder on the accelerator. For several miles the two cars weaved through traffic, playing a high-stakes game. Then Larry looked in the mirror again to see the ‘Vette drop back substantially. Larry chuckled. Life in the fast lane, loser.

Only then did Larry see the police cruiser coming up quickly, lights flashing and siren wailing. Larry knew what next year’s bonus would buy: a radar detector.

Two Reflections
by Jeffrey Fischer

Hand in hand, Connor and Aileen entered the funhouse, which turned out to consist of but a single room. This contained nothing but two mirrors, about ten feet apart.

Aileen stepped in front of the first and saw a grotesque, bloated reflection. The image had bad skin, bulges in unsightly places, and a rats’ nest of hair. The second mirror displayed a much different Aileen: lithe and pretty, with an inescapable feeling of *lightness* about the image.

Connor took his turn. The first mirror showed a handsome, athletic man, and he smiled at his reflection. The second mirror displayed a mean-looking version of Connor, whose smile was a cruel sneer. Try as he might, Connor could not make the image change.

When the couple left the fun house, a carny passed them a card that read, “The mirrors reflect how you see yourself and how you really are. It is for you to decide which is which.”

RICHARD

Self-Aware

Have you seen the experiment where scientists leave a mirror in the jungle and film the reaction of passing animals in order to measure the level of self-awareness of various species?

Personally, I’m not that impressed with the findings that such experiments reveal – I don’t think that observing an animal react to its own reflection is any real indication of self-awareness.

Take me, for example: I have an absolute loathing for mirrors and if I should happen to pass one, I’ll take great pains to ignore it at all costs.

I don’t want to see my reflection – I’m painfully self-aware!

KAT

Mirror:

I don’t like mirrors.

Never have.

They embody so much of what is wrong with our society.

Why do we even need mirrors?

So we can make sure we measure up to other’s ideals of beauty?

So I can obsess over my crow’s feet, the acne scars that will never go away, or the extra chin that seemed to just appear one day?

When I think of mirrors, I think of the evil queen in Snow White and the story of Echo and Narcissus.

Can you imagine a world without mirrors?

I can.

No mirrors, no more bathroom selfies.

Hooray!

LIZZIE

The antique Victorian mirror had a silver handle, beautifully carved. It glowed each time someone picked it up. Every single person thought that was good, after all everybody secretly wished to be special. The problem was that the more the mirror glowed, the more dangerous it became. No one knew that as soon as the mirror reached a state of glow overload, the first terribly unfortunate soul to hold it would turn into a cranky shriveled old witch. Darn bad luck that Harry was the one who grabbed it. And yes, he is now officially a cranky shriveled old witch.

TURA

Mirror
———
I fear mirrors, for always he is there, facing my seventy-three years with an indeterminate prime of youth. I suppose I looked like him once, but did I have that air of contemptuous superiority?

His tailored clothing is not more expensive than I could once afford, but more than I ever cared to. The face behind his face hints at vices much indulged, yet it is I who weaken with the years.

I speak, but he never replies. I think he will not until I lie dying, to tell me that this world was the reflection, and his the reality.
———

TOM

Keepsakes

Great Aunt Franny’s mirror was the only object she kept from the old country. My Great Grandfather bought it at a market in the Jewish ghetto Vienna. The story goes that the merchant had acquired it from a sufi who had to flee Istanbul. It was said it had been stolen from the Khedive Palace that hugged the Asian coast of the Bosphorus. The silvering at its edge had clouded considerably so her father had gotten it for a little more than a hand full of Maria Theresas. After her wake I searched for the mirror, but never found it.

CHARLIE

It looked old and neglected in the gym mirror. She was 22, and she asked me if I liked the tramp stamp she had for a couple of years. She pulled down her bikini bottom. I saw a big ass and a horrible tat. I asked her, pointblank, where has that ass been? It was a forty- year old ass on a girl only half that age. I’m sorry. That’s no way for a college, swimming coach to talk. I’ve got my own problems. After the areola reduction surgery, I’ve been far too conscious of body images, and I apologize.

2nd

When I studied communications, I concentrated on the unit and practicum that dealt with Neurolinguistic Programming…specifically the technique of mirroring a person to induce in them a frame of mind that allowed control of behavior with my actions, breathing, speech, etc. I put my studies to work the first time I sold a used, British sports car. I kept eye contact while I slowed down the pace of my speech, my movements, and my breathing. In a few moments, I had my customer mirroring me…even as I reached for the contract and the pen she would sign the contract with.

3rd

You need to step away from the mirror every once in a while, and look for another reflection, like the one in the eyes of the people and your dogs, who love and admire you. I know a guy that takes selfies of himself every chance he gets. He takes pictures of himself driving, eating, at work, on the commode, etc. He loves himself. Few others do, since he is a boorish clout, and a self-important twerp. When the door closes in the morning, his wife breathes a deep sigh and drinks a big glass of white wine before breakfast.

SERENDIPITY

I went on an effective communication skills course to build closer relationships with the people I had to work with. It was there that I learned how to mirror non-verbal communication, in order to establish rapport.

I became very good at it, and before long I wasn’t only reflecting mood and temperament, but I was beginning to mirror attitudes, opinions and thought-processes too. Empathy became sympathy and, over time, I gained an understanding that went far beyond professional interest.

Recently, I’ve started mirroring behaviours and activities… not such a good thing when you interview murderers and serial-killers for a living!

ZACKMANN

John exits the restroom squinting.

“Have you seen my sunglasses?” asked John.

“Who do you think you are, Corey Hart? It’s the middle of the night.” replied his roommate.

“Have you ever heard of a mirror universe?” asked John

“Like in Star Trek where everything that is good is bad?” said the roommate.
“Well not in this case. I found a portal under the bathroom sink to a place that everything is reflective. I tried exploring but nearly every time I shined my flashlight at something the reflection nearly blinded me. Here they are. Now to explore brave new worlds ”

NORVAL JOE

Carina and Katrina were twins, mirror images of each other. Everyone thought they were identical, but that would be impossible. The mirror, remember, reveals your true opposite.
Carina was right handed. Katrina was left.
When Carina had a witty thought, her right eyebrow rose of its own accord.
Katrina’s was her left and her thoughts were devious.
Carina was pure hearted and good and when she smiled a deep dimple formed in her right cheek.
Katrina had a dimple as well, but as you’ve surely guessed, it appeared in her left cheek, and something truly wicked was about to happen.

PLANET Z

The General’s assistant has been caught with the rebels.
The rebels were dead, and a firing squad had been assembled for the assistant.
“Any last words?” asked The General.
“How can you stand to look at yourself in the mirror?”
The General smiled.
“I don’t. If you remember, I have people like you to shave me, check my hair, and make sure that my tie is straight.”
The General game the command to fire.
The firing squad took aim, turned, and shot The General.
“And command your troops,” said the assistant.
The firing squad reloaded, turned, and shot him, too.

Welcome to the 100 Word Stories podcast at oneadayuntilthedayidie.com.

This is Weekly Challenge, where I post a topic and then challenge you to come up with a 100 word story based on that topic.

We’ve got stories by:

• Tura Brezoianu
• Jeffrey
• Munsi
• Richard
• Lizzie
• Serendipity
• Zackmann
• Tom
• Norval Joe
• Planet Z

TURA

Scoop
———
I hit “send” on my report, and relaxed in the glow of a job well done. It had been no easy matter to gain access to the rebel leaders and interview them, while all the other journalists stayed in their cosy hotels and relayed thinly rewritten government communiqués.

Within minutes the reply came back. “Your story an exclusive. Congratulations!”

The rebels’ final assault on the capital was planned for that day, but as the hours went by, there was no sign of any disturbance.

The next morning I received another message from my editor.

“Your story still an exclusive. Why?”

JEFFREY

The Scoop
by Jeffrey Fischer

“Extra!” the paperboy cried, “Mob boss caught in sting!” He waved freshly-inked newspapers above his head. Businessmen on their way home from work slipped him a coin and walked away with a copy. “Read all about it, exclusive to the Register!”

Two beefy men in matching pinstripe suits and fedoras walked up to the boy. One boxed out anyone else from approaching while the other said, “Got a real scoop, do ya, kid?”

“You bet, mister! Only in the Register – find out how the Rotini Family got caught. Those guys are going to jail for years, maybe even… hey, what are you doing?”

“I got a scoop, too. Try this headline: Paperboy Found in Pieces. Sadly, you ain’t going to hawk that particular edition. One of your competitors is gonna get the message out.”

The Most Important Meal
by Jeffrey Fischer

I pulled the box of Raisin Bran from the pantry. I couldn’t remember the last time I had it for breakfast. Giving the box a good shake to distribute the raisins more evenly, I filled a bowl, poured milk, and dug in.

“Mmm, good stuff,” I told my wife as she entered the kitchen. “And unlike most grocery items, Post keeps making it better. Remember how they used to advertise ‘two scoops of raisins’ in the box?” My wife mumbled her assent. “Well, this box seems to have a lot more than that.”

“Seems odd,” she replied, pouring some coffee. “By the way, one of your raisins seems to be escaping.”

I watched a black blob walk across the table and felt sick. “Maybe they now have two scoops of bugs.” My wife, the comedienne.

MUNSI

Lois Lane

By Christopher Munroe

Lois Lane is NOT a good reporter.

There, I said it. Somebody has to. I don’t care how many Pulitzers she’s won off-panel, how many hypothetical stories she broke while nobody reading the comic was paying attention, the scoop of a lifetime sits two desks over, and glasses are NOT a disguise.

I don’t care what steps Clark adds to make discovering he’s Superman harder, noticing things is literally Lois Lane’s entire job, she should be better at it.

That said: Clark Kent, in spite of his powers, is a consistently worse reporter than her, so what does that say?

RICHARD

Gelato

I vividly remember travelling to Rome many years ago on a school trip and the day we stopped at my first genuine gelateria.

They had every variety of ice cream you could possibly imagine, and a few I’d never even considered before. Everything from toffee apple to chocolate and tutti frutti!

Of course, I wanted a scoop of almost every flavour, but in the end I had to settle for six large scoops of my favourite types.

The result was as big as my head, and made me sick as a dog… But to me, it was ice cream heaven!

LIZZIE

Annie hated the smell of the farm and she especially hated John, the handsy foreman. But she liked hay and the color red. What a shame hay wasn’t red.

The farm had a machine that scooped bales of hay and took them for storage. Just for fun, she would go in the barn at night and destroy the bales by forking them and throwing the hay in the air.

When John’s bloodied hand waved faintly from underneath the hay, Annie was stunned. “Ops…” She looked left and right and… forked the pile of hay again. “Well, it’s definitely red now.”

SERENDIPITY

We zombies have received a terribly bad press, you know. So, just for the record, we don’t all shuffle round the streets in torn clothing, slack-jawed and vacant-eyed, groaning and moaning for brains.

Most of us are pretty refined: well-groomed and far prefer to sit at a table, with good quality tableware and pressed linen tablecloths and napkins, when we have our meals, accompanied by good conversation and a decent bottle of Merlot.

Of course, we still eat brains, (remember, we are zombies, after all), but we scoop them out first before serving them up on best quality china plates!

ZACKMANN

I have really been enjoying Murdoch Mysteries and Miss Fisher’s Murder Mysteries on Netflix. I let My wife watch her shows first and she likes Criminal Minds but if frustrates me that after so many years they still seem to be looking for some supervillain called The UnSub. That UnSub guy must be smarter than Professor Moriarty. Dharma’s husband is talking about The UnSub for the third consecutive episode tonight.

I think I will just give up on television for the night and just listen to an audio drama maybe an episode of The Scoop Sisters from Icebox Radio Theater.

TOM

The Name in the Game
His name was not scoop, but that’s what everyone at the paper call him. He
had been a major player in his day. Worked on the Sun, the Trib, the Cron,
and the Times. Lost his edge after Iraq. Now he was doing green sheets for
the Lower Lake Record. Sometimes the fates just dump you into heart of
the beast. So it was for scoop when the Valley Fire rip through Lake Co.
His coverage of the fire went national, then global. Won the Pultzer and
wrote the New York Times bestseller: River of Fire. Teaches down at UCLA
these days.

NORVAL JOE

Henry worked for the Crappy Cat Litter company for thirty years. He started as just a boy and worked his way up from floor sweeper to duty assignment manager.
When the economy took a dump they said he wasn’t carrying his load and had to go. He didn’t see it coming until the stuff hit the fan.
Furious, he stormed across the production floor. He was so pissed off that he wasn’t watching where he was going and fell into a bin of clumpable cat litter. They had to get a tractor with a front loader to scoop him out.

PLANET Z

The spaceship’s design was brilliant.
Scoop charged ions from interstellar space into the front, process them into fuel, and fire boosters out the back.
They made a few scale models, and they ran brilliantly, racing from planet to planet within expected parameters.
So, we built a full-sized working prototype out in orbit.
And it just sat there.
Because we’d managed to scoop up all the free charged ions from around orbit.
Every attempt to add booster rockets ended up bending the chassis.
We turned the prototype into a space hotel.
From where you can watch them build the next spaceship.

Music: http://www.bensound.com/royalty-free-music

Welcome to the 100 Word Stories podcast at oneadayuntilthedayidie.com.

This is Weekly Challenge, where I post a topic and then challenge you to come up with a 100 word story based on that topic.

We’ve got stories by:

• Jeffrey
• Tura Brezoianu
• Charlie
• Richard
• Tom
• Lizzie
• Serendipity
• Munsi
• Norval Joe
• Danny Dwyer
• Planet Z

JEFFREY

Camp Counselor
by Jeffrey Fischer

Many teens complained about the camp counselor job, but Randy thought it was great. Sure, six-year-olds exhibited separation anxiety, fussed at everything, and were constantly in a vicious circle of drinking juice and peeing. Randy had a secret weapon, however.

Around ten a.m. he would ask his charges, “Who wants to have an adventure?” Amid squeals of delight, he would set half the group to hide near the barn and the other half to hide around the boatyard. (No one ever thought it was odd that everyone hid and no one sought.) Shortly before parents arrived to pick up their precious cargo, Randy would find and wake each of the kids. It never failed to give him a full day to himself.

The Job
by Jeffrey Fischer

The former Ranger scared the crap out of us his first day on the job when he rappelled up the building and swung into the office, spraying glass everywhere. “Hi, I’m Ted.”

The next week, Ted caught Gladys stealing food from the refrigerator. He had her spread-eagled on her stomach and secured her arms with plastic ties until the department supervisor arrived.

When I next saw Ted, he was securing his commando knife in its sheath before his raid on the IT department. I took Ted aside. “Look, man, every employer has its own culture. You’ve got to try to fit in.”

Ted looked perplexed. “What are you saying?”

“Around here, we take the elevator, we don’t hog-tie fat grandmothers, and we don’t slit the throats of IT guys just to get a printer. This isn’t the Army. It’s not an adventure, it’s just a job.”

TURA

Adventure
———
“Mother isn’t coming, is she?” said my son suddenly.

I’d been putting this off, but it couldn’t be avoided any more.

“No. No, she isn’t,” I said at last. “There are some bad men after me. They found your mother…”

He would cry later, but not yet.

“So this is an adventure,” he said. “But…” I waited for him to complete the thought. “Not a story adventure. We don’t know how it turns out.”

“Yes. We just have to make it turn out as best we can.”

We slipped out to the car, and drove off into the silent night.
———

CHARLIE

An adventure gone undone, or sloppily executed is an adventure gone to waste. My adventures are planned with care and deliberation. I consult with experts to plan the simplest adventure. A trip to the other end of the county calls for a check of the running gear on my vehicle, a packed lunch, and water and snacks for the pooch. It also calls for quick message to my personal assistant to remind her to look in on the dogs, check for open windows and doors, and to trigger interior lighting after sundown, including the bank of halogens on the garage.

Second

The reason for my performance-related panic is due to the fact that I suffer from severe, late onset, anxiety disorder, which makes simple adventures or interactions like strolling down the street a disproportionately tensile experience. One of the signifiers of social anxiety is a heightened sense of alertness. The sound of skateboard wheels whirring around the street corner creates a sliver of unease. A bike bell ringing behind me causes me to grit my teeth and raise my iron-tipped cane in order to ready myself for a strike across the rider’s brow, or a quick jab at the bikes spokes.

Third

Her mother named her Adventure. Adventura, formally, but shortened when she started middle school. She was a tomboy. Wearing low-top sneakers, a scraggly ponytail, and a baggy T-shirt—one of the many outfits in her tomboy oeuvre. She avoided tattoos and any piercings because of her ancestry, and her grandmother, who thought they were disfiguring, disgusting, dumb and dull. Adventure didn’t need anything to decorate her body but her shiny, spellbinding eyes, and her mysterious smile. To say the least, she was a tall, thin, knockout. All the boys loved her. The girls loved her, and the gods loved her.

RICHARD

#1 – Out of the Frying Pan

Laggins was not a happy hobbit!

His ruse to replace the Chalice of Eternal Power with his favourite mug had completely failed to fool the wizard, or any other members of their little group.

“I told you I wasn’t cut out for adventure!” He protested; “You tricked me into joining your stupid quest and now you’re complaining because I’m not up to the job! Well… If you’re that interested in dragons and gold, you can damn well go yourself!”

“Fair enough”, said the wizard, “We’ll go – you guard the camp alone… watch out for the goblins and trolls though!”

#2 – Antihero

Why is it that in the movies being in the wrong place at the wrong time always leads to a great adventure?

In my experience, it tends to lead to a whole load of grief, plenty of shouting, and – all too frequently – real physical pain.

I’m just not made from the ‘Right Stuff’ – I’m not at all heroic, tend to avoid trouble at all costs, and if I do happen to find myself in the wrong place at the wrong time, I’ll do whatever it takes to get the hell out of there as fast as possible.

#3 – Infomercial

Life is full of disappointments.

As a child, I felt badly let down by the local ‘Adventure Playground’ – there were no bloodthirsty sharks, pirates, magical mazes or lost cities to explore – just a couple of rope swings, some monkey bars and a crappy slide.

To my young mind, it was overrated hype – a triumph of advertising over reality.

Today, I realise I was being taught a valuable life lesson. Few things measure up to the expectation and the world is full of con artists out to sell you a lie.

The trouble is, we still believe it.

TOM

Max is your Man

The advertisement in the London Times read as follows: ADVENTURE in 20 point Garamond. No follow up address, nor an establishing phone to ring up. Max checked the ad section over the next three weeks and found the same single word reaching out and grabbing his attention. On a whim Max head down to the Times Advertisement Department. A rather crumbed clerk at the desk met his eye. Max replied: ADVENTURE. The Clerk drew a revolver and point it at his head. “Are you quite sure of that young master?” said the clerk. Totally unflustered Max said, “Quite So.”

LIZZIE

The tracking adventure ended abruptly when Lana tripped and fell off a cliff. Instead of the expected anguished agitation, her tracking companions looked down in silence.

“She was never good at this.”

The others shook their heads.

“Should we try to fetch her?”

The others shook their heads.

“Look for help?”

The others shook their heads. And they stood there for a while.

A cell-phone rang.

“It’s Lana’s. Should I answer?”

The others shook their heads. And they continued their tracking adventure.

“Good thing we paused a bit up there. I was getting out of breath.”

The others nodded enthusiastically.

SERENDIPITY

Love’s great adventure turned out to be something of a disappointment – a bit of a misadventure, if you ask me.

Over the last twenty years, I’m sure we’d both considered divorce; maybe even quietly despatching each other with a dose of rat poison, when things became a little heated.

But you don’t… you knuckle down, accept that this is how things are, and count your blessings.

Twenty years – even twenty sad, uninspiring years – merit some sort of celebration.

So, here we are: food, wine, candles, flowers, soppy cards and tired smiles.

(Did I mention the rat poison?)

MUNSI

Adventure!

By Chris Munroe

Life’s an adventure.

Insomuch as you’re stranded on a rock hurtling through space faster than you can possibly comprehend around an atomic furnace that’s constantly exploding.

Life, however, is NOT an adventure insomuch as you, probably, spend much of it doing the same things over and over, both at work and in your “free” time, out of habit rather than genuine desire to partake in said activities, whatever they might be in your particular case.

So, yeah, mixed bag.

If the first thing’s good enough for you, hooray! If not, responsibility to create additional adventure is yours, and yours alone…

NORVAL JOE

My daughter didn’t want to do anything this summer besides talk to her friends on skype and play minecraft.
Ignoring her heated protests, I signed her up for the Isosceles Logic Adventure Camp.
Had I known they would spend eight hours a day for five days doing nothing more than playing sudoku, I probably wouldn’t have signed her up.
It turned out okay and all the kids really got into this Japanese puzzle that actually was developed in America.
They had an intense tournament on the last day of camp and my daughter ended up a second degree black belt.

DANNY

I’ve been listening to the videos of “The Cars” on YouTube allot lately, and I’ve come to two conclusions. One, If I were as good looking as Benjamin Orr, Branka Petrovic would be attracted to me, and two, if Benjamin Orr never saw a doctor, he would have never died of Pancreatic Cancer in 2000. I get it, you feel severe pains in your stomach, time to see a doctor. But where is the sense of adventure? What the hell, I’m going to die anyway. I remain convinced, if I to refuse to see a doctor, I’ll live longer than expected.

PLANET Z

Long ago, I owned an Atari game console.
The graphics were basic and crude. Just colored blocks, really.
One of my favorite games was Adventure.
You were a simple block that sought a rudimentary chalice.
Navigating the maze, you had to avoid dragons.
I remember my heart racing as I dodged their attacks.
The sword was just a simple crude arrow, but it sure killed those dragons.
These days, with the complicated controls and intense 3D 4K graphics, you’d think I’d be lost in these worlds.
It’s too overwhelming for me.
I slide in the Adventure cartridge, and power on.

Welcome to the 100 Word Stories podcast at oneadayuntilthedayidie.com.

This is Weekly Challenge, where I post a topic and then challenge you to come up with a 100 word story based on that topic.

We’ve got stories by:

• Jeffrey
• Charlie
• Serendipity
• Richard
• Lizzie
• Zackmann
• Tom
• Norval Joe
• Danny Dwyer
• Tura Brezoianu
• Munsi
• Planet Z

JEFFREY

Earthquake
by Jeffrey Fischer

Eight floors up, the shaking was noticeable if not alarming. Heads peeked out of offices and above cubicle walls to find out what was happening. West Coast natives knew the signs of an earthquake but couldn’t believe one might be happening in DC, while East Coast natives searched for explanations. Mine was that a particularly obnoxious driver, stuck at the light down below, had a powerful stereo.

Fire alarms clanged and everyone made the slow procession down the stairwells, out of the building. As we stood in the shadows of the skyscrapers, we wondered why it was safer to risk being hit by debris falling off facades than to remain inside. Still, outside on a sunny, temperate afternoon was not the worst place to be.

The Hideout
by Jeffrey Fischer

The building specs showed nine floors above ground and two underground, which made the set of stairs heading down from the sub-basement and the locked door at the bottom all the more mysterious. Vic opened the lock with what Ellen was sure were illegal picks and the pair crept through the doorway.

Inside, the firm’s top executives sat in plush armchairs, sipping drinks out of crystal goblets. “Oh ho, Jackson,” one said, “We’ve been discovered.” The company CEO waved a decanter. “Care to join us? We’re enjoying a lovely glass of Proletarian Tears. Vintage 2013, if I’m not mistaken.” The senior VP chimed in, “An especially good year. We fired 20% of the work force. Tears of fired employees taste the sweetest.”

CHARLIE

The building was vacant a long time. Squatters had taken over, including a dozen meth zombies, heroin addicts, and retired circus clowns. The clowns were insidious, to such an extent that the addicts left…no longer able to handle the insanity, vulgar antics and games of the clown posse. One of their favorite parlor games was to play “shoot twixt wind and water.” It involved a game between the male and female clowns. My shyness and the propriety of this forum prevents further description. The clowns also enjoyed demonstrating how to “have one’s corn ground”, a popular game of the 1800’s.

Second

Building a strong coalition of writers was her current goal. She put the word out using social media, and via her BLOG. Soon, a dozen writers joined her stable of regular contributors. She helped them find venues for publishing, and lined up open mic nights for poets and writers to read their work. She had some rules. Some of them necessary, some frivolous. Writers had to submit all work in the Comic Sans font, avoid French derived verbs, never write in the first or second person nor take any manner or stand on religious, political, artistic, or second amendment matters.

Third

Her build put the Dymaxion structures of Buckminster Fuller to shame…built like a modular, fire-clay, outdoor lavatory, she could sing and she could dance, but all she had to do was make herself available for dates, and her future was assured. She started dating a fellow that was very powerful and rich. Cranston was tired, and forty years her senior. Laurie let him kiss her if he used Lavoris and wiped his mouth. No tongue, no lingering. He could touch her on top, but not below. The old gent was grateful, and showered her with gifts and a generous pre-nup.

RICHARD

William

William’s life had always been miserable. He blamed his parents – how on earth could they have been so thoughtless? But, maybe society in general was just as much at fault.

Despite his misfortune, he made something of his life – leaving behind the torment of schooldays, and setting up his own successful business. Even so, he was never really happy with his lot.

Eventually he concluded a change was necessary: He completed the paperwork, paid the fee and left the Registrar’s office with a smile on his face.

Hello Bill Smith, and good riddance to the hated Bill Ding!

SERENDIPITY

All my neighbours think I’m a DIY nut – she’s always building they say, have you seen all the work she’s done on that house?

They do have a point; the place has changed considerably since when I first moved in. My first venture was filling in the cellar – that took some time, not what you’d call an overnight job, but some things you just can’t rush.

I’ve bricked up the odd fireplace, and rebuilt some of the old plasterboard walls.

My latest project is a new patio… Working on the foundations now: Just need a few more bodies!

LIZZIE

They say building your own house is an empowering experience, buying your own lumber, your own nails, your own tools. Matt especially enjoyed his fuel-powered chainsaw with a ground breaking design; it was absolutely amazing. And no one was allowed to touch it. Yes, the others got splinters stuck in their eyes, fingers hammered till they were black and blue, but the fun it was to saw those logs was unbeatable. However, when someone saws a hand off by mistake, that can be a bloody mess. In the waiting-room of the hospital, Matt sighed. “Good thing it wasn’t my hand…”

ZACKMANN

“Have you seen the ghost?” asked the cleaning woman.

“No, but thanks for giving me something to think about before leaving me alone in the building for the rest of the night.” replied the security officer.

“Someone died here, you know.”
“Oh, I’m sure someone died everywhere by now and every business in California big enough to have security is haunted because whoever leaves me alone for the remainder of the night always tells me they are. I have concluded that if anyplace I work has been haunted the ghosts didn’t mind having someone around to call the fire department.”

TOM

Building a Stronger America, Not

Some may argue that the 80s was the most eclectic decade of the pre-post human era. For your consideration I offer Talking Heads. Hands down the best cover of Take Me To The River. More Songs About Building and Food its sort of an anti-soundtrack to a anti-life. Even the cover art is way cool ins a sub zero sense. Anything but a head shot which is the joke a guess on you if you weren’t paying attention. Damn near wore the vinyl out on side two. I love saying side two. Thank God for CDs. Once in a life time.

We Just Did Stuff

I lament the loss of building that this generation of youts must endure. No opportunity to build tree houses, or forest forts if you prefer. The Boomers had enough scrape lumber to build may small cities. Midnight Requisition frown upon by parents was tolerated by construction worker as long as you didn’t get greedy. Our best structure was four stories. Granted each floor was 5 to 3 feet tall. Pretty Cool. We never had a blue print, we never had a drawing, we never had a plan. All we had was about a thousand nails. Couldn’t do that today.

NORVAL JOE

I understand now that I tried to the enter the self publishing world backwards.
I just went out there and released my book on Kindle and Create Space expecting people to find it and buy it.
I should have spent several months before the book launch building my platform.
I’m already preparing my platform for a book I am just outlining.
It’s a non-fiction, self-help book, called, “Why You’re Smarter than the Next Guy, and How You can Profit By It.”
I’m starting a facebook page for egocentric sociopaths looking for ways to develop passive income without working for it.

DANNY

What the hell am I building when I surround myself with negativity all the time? I gave up my practice to work for someone who calls me stupid because I’m losing my hearing. I have to agree, I am stupid. I’m stupid for following someone so negative, who clearly has an anger problem, who has taken every shred of pride I used to have against me, and screams at the top of his lungs about how worthless I am. It’s about time I questioned the people I call friends in my life. Because quite frankly, they are tearing me down.

TURA

Building
———
You wish to visit the Palace? No, sir, this great building is merely its gatehouse.

But beware! Further on the road you will come to a far greater building, bustling with seeming activity, and will take that to be the palace. But that is the second gatehouse, inhabited only by mechanical puppets.

After that will be a third, vaster and more convincing still, and a fourth.

You cannot reach the palace. The procession is endless. Some say that its Architect waits at the end. But I think He is trapped there, waiting for the one who will unravel His magic.

MUNSI

How to Build

By Christopher Munroe

One piece at a time, focusing on the one, until a unified whole emerges.

THIS is how to build a thing, whether a structure, work of art, or a life, one piece upon another, focusing on the piece at hand, trying not to worry what the next might bring.

Trust each piece.

Trust yourself.

Your structure, your life, WILL with time emerge…

Or: Make a detailed plan, in advance, thinking things through and planning for any eventuality, then follow that plan.

But I’ve never been able to do that.

So one piece at a time it shall have to be…

PLANET Z

Some say that a church is just another building, but there’s something special about a church.
It’s a community hub, where families come together, or singles can find other like-minded singles.
It’s a place of sanctuary, especially for illegal immigrants. I mean undocumented workers, because, I’m sure my paperwork is in here somewhere.
It’s somewhere to park when you don’t really trust the valet at the restaurant next door.
And it’s the last place where the cops will look for a hydroponic grow room.
The pastor’s glaucoma’s gotten really bad this year. Or so he says.
Would a priest lie?

Music: http://www.bensound.com/royalty-free-music

Welcome to the 100 Word Stories podcast at oneadayuntilthedayidie.com.

This is Weekly Challenge, where I post a topic and then challenge you to come up with a 100 word story based on that topic.

We’ve got stories by:

• Munsi
• Jeffrey
• Charlie
• Richard
• Lizzie
• Serendipity
• Zackmann
• Tom
• Norval Joe
• Tura Brezoianu
• Planet Z

MUNSI

The Mugging

By Christopher Munroe

It was a beautiful night, and I figured “What the hell?”

I’m a pretty big dude, and while it was late and the neighborhood isn’t the best, I wanted an adventure walk, headphones in, and figured there’d be no harm.

Little did I know.

From the alley he leapt, and I was too taken aback even to think of defending myself as he grabbed his cheeks, stuck out his tongue, contorted his face and, as quickly as he’d come, dashed into the night, leaving me shocked, confused and tremendously vulnerable…

… and that’s the story of how I got “mugged.”

JEFFREY

Mug Shot
by Jeffrey Fischer

His mug shot was a frightening sight to everyone, including Wayne himself: unruly hair, bloodshot and unfocused eyes, assorted cuts and developing bruises, and a snarl that explained the restraints that were just out of range of the camera.

The next morning, in the harsh fluorescent light of the interrogation room, Wayne held his aching head in his hands. He was sober now, and scared. The cop on the other side of the table kept asking Wayne what he recalled about the previous night and Wayne truthfully replied he had no memory past about nine p.m. What scared Wayne the most was that the cop refused to answer when Wayne asked if he had hurt anyone. He strongly suspected the answer was yes.

Eventually the police would charge Wayne, at which point he would call his lawyer. Until then, it was just Wayne, the cop, the lights, and one hell of a headache.

New Friend
by Jeffrey Fischer

Morrison was the kind of guy who made friends easily. People instinctively liked him, and he had a way of putting others at ease. He would often bring home these new friends for dinner. His wife couldn’t convince him that this was both a bad idea and inconvenienced her.

This time he could see in her face that she wasn’t pleased with his latest acquisition. “Kathleen, meet Tony. Tony and I met because I left work a little late, and took a shortcut through that alley – you know, the one that you said was so dark that anyone could be lurking in there. Sure enough, Tony was lurking. After he mugged me, we got to talking, and, well, here we are!” Morrison and Tony both smiled a little sheepishly at Kathleen. “Oh, by the way, do you have a twenty Tony could have? My wallet was a little short when he demanded my cash.”

CHARLIE

My favorite was the white, ceramic mug I used in the service. In over three years on the base, it was never washed. It was dressed in a patina of dark roast, and the incidental coating served as insulation. I could carry a steaming cup of coffee from the lounge to my desk — with the temperature remaining stable, even on colder winter days in New Jersey. It served me well, and was disgusting enough to get a rise out of the buttoned-up, knife sharp, creased Commanders. The more they groaned and grimaced, the more I treasured my precious mug.

Second

An obvious tale that refers to, or based on, MUG, would include mug shot. The best mug shots are the before and after shots of meth addicts. A female addict can age twenty years in two years of heavy use. Dentists won’t treat an addict because of the condition of their mouth…even the Dentists that do volunteer work in mobile clinics. I am moaning now about a loose, bottom incisor. There is some discomfort when I gnash down on something like a macadamia nut, but I can’t imagine the horror of a whole mouth full of dead or dying teeth.

Third

Mugging was a pastime in my area of town. I was buzzed, having stopped at the diner for chili and beer. It was dark, and I started walking home, pausing for two guys hanging out near the entrance to an alley. One of them jammed a pistol into my chest. I reacted, having trained in Krav Magna with some older friends. I pushed the slide back on the pistol, preventing firing, and kicked the guy’s knee. I heard a crack. I had the pistol now, and forearmed the second guy in the throat. Both were down when the police arrived.

RICHARD

Dragon’s Lair

Limbo Laggins was most unhappy – “Hobbits”, he stated to nobody in particular, “are not cut out for quests and adventures. Ewww!”

Gingerly, he inspected what he had just stepped in – dragon poop – making him acutely aware of two important facts:

Firstly – he should have worn his boots.

Secondly – the dragon’s lair was very close.

A huge roar, up ahead, sent him scuttling for cover. Cursing the wizard, he realised he stood no chance of finding the Chalice of Eternal Power.

Rooting through his satchel, he pulled out his mug… Maybe, in the dark, it might just pass?

Worth a try!

LIZZIE

Years ago, my neighbor Ronan bought an 18th century hand-painted mug for a handsome amount. “It’s an investment,” the seller had told him.
After losing his job and struggling for years, Ronan tried to sell the mug back to the same seller. The man sneered.
“But… I paid you a fortune,” said Ronan.

Yesterday, I went to the store. Ronan was behind the counter.
“Are you the owner now?!”
He nodded.
“Where’s the other guy?”
“I don’t know,” he sneered, while taking a beautiful long-knife from my hands. “Don’t buy this, it’s a fake.”
Yes, Ronan is a good man.

SERENDIPITY

Everybody in work knows not to touch my mug – it’s a special mug, with sentimental value.

It’s been with me since day one: Seeing me through three promotions, numerous job changes and one disciplinary.

It’s been my constant companion throughout countless meetings, focus groups, late finishes and early starts – that mug has outlasted many of my colleagues and has been more reliable than anybody I’ve worked with.

Best of all – it’s the perfect size for my coffee.

So, when the new guy broke it, I had no choice, I killed him.

I have to go now… Time for my mugshots.

ZACKMANN

Clara’s Sister-in-law confided that she hated her husband’s big ugly mug. Clara hated it too. One day her brother had been splitting wood. Clara saw his big ugly mug and she picked up the splitting maul then accidentally hit the big ugly mug roughly forty times. “Oh no, that mug was a gift from his mother.” cried her brother’s wife. Clara put away the maul then calmly explained that her mother gave it to him because it was ugly, her husband hated it too but wouldn’t give away a gift and how this accident that made everyone happy was unavoidable.

TOM

Ceramics 101

I was fortunate to attend a seriously well-to-do high school. Just one of those random rolls of good fortune on my parents’ part. Not only did we have art classes, we had a master potter in residence. Before a student was allowed to throw on the wheel they had to master the Zen of Coil Pot Construction. The coiled form I made was a six inch mug with walls 3/4 of an inch thick. I was a miracle it didn’t explore in the first firing. After the second firing my teacher ask for it to put in the school’s permanent collection

NORVAL JOE

We used to live in a zero lot-line house. In the backyards there were small portions where the were no house walls and were filled in with a six foot high walls for privacy.
Neighbor’s cats used to scale them to get into our yard and poop in the grass.
I found that putting baby oil along the top of the wall kept the cats off.
I’ve always wondered, how many babies does it take to make one bottle of baby oil? Do they render down a burlap sack of them, or do they just collect their drippings in mugs?

TURA

Mug
———
There’s a fad in geek circles recently for drinking your food. A complete food replacement in a bottle, it saves all that irksome chewing and swallowing, not to mention the drudgery of cooking. Soylent was the first, then Joylent and Purelent. The latest is called Queal.

These people certainly have a way with words. Purulent queal! I’ll have a steaming, suppurating mug of that! Freshly expressed mucus from the nether parts of hand-reared Komodo dragons, fermented with rotting mussels, mixed with live tadpoles and bottled. At least, that’s what the name suggests to me.

Herr Ober, bitte noch ein Queal!
———

PLANET Z

When I was a kid, my mother used to make soup in a pot on the stove, and we’d eat it from bowls.

Then, when we moved into a house with a microwave oven, she still used the pot on the stove. But I’d use a casserole dish with a lid in the microwave. Still ate it from a bowl.

When I was on my own, I’d use an oversized coffee mug in the microwave. Only had to wash the mug and the spoon.

And the microwave, too. Because I keep forgetting to use a small saucer as a lid.

Music: http://www.bensound.com/royalty-free-music