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
• Jeffrey
• Richard
• Tom
• Keeme
• Lizzie
• Serendipity
• Kimi
• Tura Brezoianu
• Arri
• Spate
• Zackmann
• Norval Joe
• Planet Z

What’s the next Weekly Challenge? Come to the website and subscribe to the feed to find out!

MUNSI

Winter

By Christopher Munroe

I can’t deal with winter.

Seriously, this is getting ridiculous, it’s cold as balls and I’m not going to put up with it.

And neither will my balls.

I’m going south. Birds go south for the winter, and so do elderly Canadians, and while I’m not elderly , I’m certainly Canadian and I’m sick of this weather.

The time has come to go the fuck south.

As far south as it’s possible to go.

I’m going to Antarctica.

Wait, that might be too far.

Well, I’ve said it out loud. Antarctica it is.

Hopefully it will be a little warmer…

JEFFREY

Spring Training
by Jeffrey Fischer

The first sign of spring isn’t a robin, or those funny flowers that poke out of the ground far too early for comfort. Spring is just around the corner and the long winter nearly a mere unpleasant memory when the first spring training baseball game gets underway. The game makes for boring television, but is a welcome break from the news of yet another snowstorm. Gio Gonzalez takes the mound for the first time since the playoffs, the wiry southpaw shaking off the rust as he tries to locate his pitches.

Spring is time for renewal and the promise of life – and the time when every baseball team is still undefeated, making plans for its World Series appearance. Such is the power of warm weather.

Snowbirds
by Jeffrey Fischer

The mass migration south starts in October. A few cars at first, a few extra one-way tickets to places like Miami, Tampa, Naples, Fort Lauderdale. Then comes the deluge. Airports are a hive of activity, and filled with walkers and wheelchairs. Usually-empty restaurants are booked days in advance. Shopping center parking lots fill to the farthest rows. Highways slow to a crawl with traffic, white puffs of hair barely peeking above the dashboards of large American cars with license plates from New York, Pennsylvania, and Ohio.

The snowbirds have migrated south once more.

RICHARD

George’s Story – Part 97: Big Disappointment

“Do you realise what it cost me to get you the chance of this tryout? And you’ve made me a laughing stock with your antics!, Julie’s onslaught was relentless, “I can wave goodbye to any chance of promotion myself now!”

“And as for that floozy… that Emily woman… what the hell were you thinking?”

George held up his hands defensively.

“I’m sorry Julie – I really had no idea…”

He gave his wife the puppy-dog look that never failed: “Forgive me?”

“Forget it, sunshine”, she replied, giving him a look several degrees frostier than a cold day at the South Pole.

TOM

The Artist as A Old Man

I was born in the south, but I am no southern. My people have hugged the northern Great Lakes for 300 years. I was a navy brat, delivered in the naval hospital, Bethesda Maryland. Before you South Carolinas or Georgians start your rant, let me point out the fuckn Mason-Dixson line, the one that clearly marks Dixie, separates Pennsylvania the north, from Maryland the south. Stop don’t give me, well it wasn’t in the Confederacy. Because it was full of federal troops. You don’t get to choose where your born, if you’re lucky you get to choose where you die.

A Well Defined Relationship Part 97

As the snake spoke he had the lilting tinge of a southern accent, a Med-Atlantic Channel Island draw. He carefully and clearly listed the branching out comes of each choice laid before the boy, but much to Timmy’s dismay the end result was the death of one or both his parents. “I don’t really have a choice, do I? Wait a second … I’ve already made my choice, didn’t I?” “Took you long enough to figure that one out, pilgrim.” “Then what are we waiting for?” “For him.” The Doctor appeared. “Do it,” said Tim. “Do it,” said the Snake.

KEEME

Southern belle
I’d followed her for months. Through swinging doors, musty heat, glares, and flies… and that scent! Putrid mixture of tears, and rotgut whiskey, “Maybe this ones it.” I counted three men playing cards, a slim man, and the barkeep. I’d have one left for her, even if things went south. The barkeep moved toward me, my hand now on my Colt, room went silent, and still. I whisperd “whiskey” I tossed my money and the mangled poster on the bar. “Where is she?” He said “gone, two days ride thataway!” He looked up and whispered “room #3.” “Get the gravedigger.”

LIZZIE

“South…?” the man said, but Peter’s sense of orientation relied much more on pointing and showing the way than cryptic instructions like North or South.

“Thank you,” he replied, trying to look savvy in the secret ways of… finding the way.

He walked aimlessly through white aisles, past the milk and butter shelves, the yogurts and some mysterious small bottles announcing they’d make anyone’s lazy intestines work just fine.

“South, huh? Why is it always so difficult to find someone who can give a clear, objective reply to a clear, objective question? Where are the bodies? It seems simple enough.”

SERENDIPITY

You have precisely one hour; and your journey will take precisely one hour to complete.

In precisely one hour and five minutes, a twenty ton truck will thunder over the spot where I have left her lying.

Reach her first, and all will be well.

You now face a choice: North, South, East or West?

Choose correctly and she lives; otherwise, the truck wins.

But I am not entirely heartless – I will tell you which road to take – but do you have wisdom enough to hear me?

So, choose well and you will find her…

Stretched Out Upon The Highway.

KIMI

Bolting upright from a suddenly evaporating dream, I grasp at the receding tendrils of details and emotions. Reaching for my ever present pencil and notepad, I fix my gaze upon the vintage Baby Ben alarm clock perched on the nightstand. With it’s nearly perfect crystal face and modern numerals, the timepiece is a powerful talisman which aids in the recollection of my dreams. My mother brought it North with her when she fled the South in 63, the year I was born.

Ah ha! The dream congeals. I fill two complete pages with the ongoing saga of my sleeptime life.

TURA

South
——–
In Oran, the East wind brings rain. The West wind brings salt spray from the far oceans. The North wind brings cool respite after the hot season. But the South wind is feared. Le catamaran, it is called, the mad wind of Oran. It throws its stifling heat like a heavy blanket over the hot season, and brings desert dust that stings the eyes and wears at the lungs of those who must work outside, however they mask their faces.

When a man goes berserk with a machete and murders half a village, people shrug and say, “C’est le catamaran.”

ARRI

Heading South

Mumph, splitting headache. Where am I? Ships hold?
Aw crap – the brig? Shit. Crikey those Dunedin Kiwis can party!
Wait, hold the phone, what am I doing aboard any ship? I’m done with this miserable work.
Well I thought I was. How the heck did I…

“Oi, the dandy mate, he lives! A bit pissed up you were at contract hall the other day. Thought we might lose ya you were so far out. Better learn to control those urges aye?”

“The other day? At sea? A day? What heading?”

“South.”

“Yeah but South from Dunedin is… Oh shit no!”

SPATE

Going South

Uncle Fred went south. Not south to Florida or the Bahamas or anything like
that. South like a direct face plant into his plate during Sunday dinner.
South as in dead.

Nothing ruins the pleasantries of a nice home cooked meal like someone dying
and triggering an improvised mashed potato and gravy explosion.

Snow sat wide-eyed splattered with the collateral damage.

Dim articulated that one single syllable vulgarity that he would offer as
commentary towards just about any variety of circumstance.

Me? I called the ambulance. but not until after we had finished dessert,
Uncle’s favorite: Baked Alaska… southern style.

(music: “Live at the OCCII – Track 04” by Iva Nova / curator
freemusicarchive.org / licensed under Creative Commons
Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 US)

ZACKMANN

“It’s been quite the experience wintering in Lake Winnipeg but now it’s spring. If there is anything I have learned in the past few months is that the red part of the compass points north and The Red River of the North runs south.” said Joe.

“Yeah Joe, we have great memories. The locals coming to see the people from south of the border and the Mounties stopping by.” said Ben.
“Yeah, sure, you betcha, but just telling us we were so screwed wasn’t the least bit helpful.You know.” said Joe.
“Now heading south. To North Dakota and beyond!”

NORVAL JOE

“So are you saying you don’t like my name, or that you think I should act more like a boy?” Bambi asked.
Dergle could see their evening was taking a quick turn south and searched for a way to repair the conversation.
“I like your name,” he said and swallowed. “Really, it’s too pretty for boys. It’s pretty like you. Even with your braces.”
She almost smiled, then the last line must have sank in.
“You think my braces are ugly?” She asked.
“No.” He swallowed again. “I’m sorry you cut your lip, and the stupid monkeys were on strike.”

PLANET Z

Why do we fund all those expensive research stations down at the South Pole?
Well, they make lots of discoveries.
Have you ever said that something “went south”?
Well, they were finding all the things that have gone south.
Plans, terminally-ill grandparents. That kind of thing.
They funded the research project by collecting up all those things that went south and selling them on eBay.
The project was going great for a while, until it went south.
And that’s when the researchers discovered the mythical ninety-first degree South latitude.
And then wished they hadn’t. Because things are really fucked there.

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:

• John Musico
• Jeffrey
• Richard
• Tom
• Serendipity
• Zackmann
• Anima Zabaleta
• Lizzie
• Norval Joe
• Danny Dwyer
• Tura Brezoianu
• Planet Z

There’s one story I left out. It’s by Thomas Pitre.

Yes, I’ve been saying that it’s okay for folks to take a break, and do other things. If they come back, that’s cool, and if they don’t, that’s cool too. As long as they’re creating and exploring their imagination and all of that neat artsy stuff. Do something somewhere, just as long as you’re doing something.

However, Thomas had some opinions on how I should run this thing, some of which I agreed with, but some of which I disagreed with, and some of which required levels of effort that I felt should be on the participants and not the host. It escalated to the point where I told him to “go eat a bag of dicks” and that was that.

When I got that email, for a moment, I thought “This is an opportunity to forgive and forget for both of us.” Then, I thought “Go fuck yourself.”

And that was that. Click click delete, and done.

Yeah, I know. The world needs love and forgiveness and peace. But everybody’s got their limits, and I’ve been on a hair-trigger since some doctor slapped me.

Sometimes, I wonder why I do this. What’s the point of the weekly challenges, or even the writing? With my temper and my hypocrisy, I’m probably the most ill-suited person to host anything.

I don’t know why. But if I keep doing it, maybe I’ll figure it out. Or, someone will figure it out for me, and tell me.

Not that I’ll listen to anybody about anything, right?

Besides the whole “Do it only when you feel like doing it, as long as you do something somewhere” attitude, one other thing I’ve said over the years is that if you don’t like how I do things (or, I suppose, even if you do like how I run things), you’re welcome to send stuff to other podcasts, such as the Drabblecast fan-run Dribblecast. Or, you could start your own podcast. It’s easy, inexpensive, and fun to do. (Well, fun at first. Until someone annoys you to the point where you start telling people to eat a bag of dicks.)

So, let’s all encourage him to start his own podcast, with his own guidelines and rules (or lack thereof) and to share and encourage and inspire. And if he does end up starting one, I strongly encourage you to consider participating in it, if you’ve got the time and the creative energy for it.

---

What’s the next Weekly Challenge? Come to the website and subscribe to the feed to find out!

JOHN MUSICO

Trench
by John Musico, MD

The old man stumbled out of the bar and plodded onward by foot. It rained heavily and was very dark. He slid down the roadside mud and tumbled into a trench. He flashed back to his army days in such trenches and drifted off to sleep.
At dawn, he awoke to multiple rounds of gunfire. Was he dreaming of the war? No, he was on the shooting range of an army base. A voiced called out; “Cease fire, man on the range!” The M.P.’s dragged him to the nearest clinic- mine. I asked; “Exposure?” They replied; “and also quite drunk”.

JEFFREY

Freedom of Speech
by Jeffrey Fischer

Once there was a king who ruled with an iron fist. He worried about his image, however, so he frequently proclaimed that, unlike neighboring kingdoms, he tolerated dissent.

What the king didn’t mention was that anyone who wanted to speak against the regime could do so only in the royal park. True to his word, the king allowed everyone to say his piece. Then he gave the signal to his guards, who killed the dissenters to the last man, rolled the bodies in a trench, and refilled the trench with dirt.

Freedom of speech was important, the king thought, but so was a peaceful rule.

In the Trenches
by Jeffrey Fischer

The Andersons had been married for a quarter-century, and most of those years had been unhappy ones. She nagged him to do more around the house. He nagged her to learn to cook better. She complained he needed to find a higher-paying job. He responded she needed to find a job that paid anything and perhaps she wouldn’t nag him about money as often. And so on.

Witnessing another skirmish in the eternal trench warfare between the couple, Mrs. Anderson’s mother asked why they didn’t simply divorce. The pair replied in unison: “What? And ruin the happiness of two other people?”

RICHARD

#1 – George’s Story – Part 96: Rude awakening

George felt as if he was slowly surfacing from a deep and murky trench. As the drug took effect his memories came flooding back… The application he’d filled out; the acceptance letter; the medical; and the last words spoken by the doctor: “When you wake up, you won’t remember a thing”

Now he remembered everything.

“Hello Julie”, he mumbled to the woman – or rather, as he now realised rather foolishly, his wife – stood in front of him, “What are you doing here?”

“George Attwell!” she frowned at him – “Before we even go there, you have some serious explaining to do!”

#2 – Entrenched

Dad’s vegetable plot was his pride and joy, so you can imagine his dismay when the local population of rabbits moved in.

After a week of nibbled and ruined vegetables he’d had enough – with murder in his eyes, he headed out to the patch, armed with a shovel.

A week later, I gingerly approached the now massive trench he’d dug.

He challenged me: “Who goes there, friend or foe?”

“It’s me dad… What’s going on?”

“You don’t understand, son, This is war!”

His head suddenly appeared above the trench wall, then he lobbed a loaded carrot straight at me!

TOM

The Line Must Hold

Lionel Atwater leaned against the earthen wall of Bond Street. He took out the letter from Mary not so much to reread the words but to touch one thing separated from the carnage about him. The paper nearly transparent and the edge of each letter ringing in a random run of ink. It would now survive the war. The sky was the color of aged cellophane as he made his way along the main trench. There was work to be done at The Chessboard. Signal corpsmen Atwater return to his wireless. All dispatch ended with the same line off: TLMH

A Well Defined Relationship Part 96

When Doctor Proctor materialize he was standing ankle deep in brackish water, in an earthen trench that disappeared into a red horizon. A young solider greeted him. “Timmy?” “Yes Doctor Proctor, or at least one of the possible Timmies. He hasn’t made up his mind, so I may not be here very long.” “I don’t understand” “Do you know what the Tamerlane is?” “I was told it was atomic recombinator.” “Well you got the last part right, but it’s not atomic.” Everything shifted to green, the walls of the Imperial capital emerged, a different Timmy said “It Recombines Reality. ”

SERENDIPITY

Pitch darkness, freezing temperatures and pressure that would pulp you in an instant… Welcome to my world.

There’s a reason I choose this hell as my home – it keeps you tiresome humans out of my way. The deep ocean trenches are one of the few remaining places you’ve yet to invade.

But you don’t stop trying.

Those creaks you hear are not just stressed metal under intense pressure, and that tapping isn’t the sound of cabling against the hull.

What you hear is me: Slowly unscrewing the bolts that hold your fragile lives in the balance.

Welcome to my world!

ZAKCMANN

“Oh dearest, I’ve come all this way. Now there’s a trench between us.”

“Yes my love, that’s the Marinara Trench”

“Isn’t that Marianas Trench and I thought that was in the ocean?”

“It’s still in the Pacific but this is definitely the Marinara Trench. After we discovered these zombies hate tomato sauce, we dug a giant trench around the city then filled it with spaghetti sauce to quarantine them and us”

“Oh Dearest, this trip will be worth it if only I can hear those three special words”

“I’m not infected!”

“Dearest that sounds even better than I love you,”

ANIMA

MY LOVE

My love for you is truer than a compass pointing North. It is surer than a snow white mountain goat, and tastier than spinach feta pie.

My love, dearheart, is deeper than the Marianas Trench, and as unending as the Rose Bowl parade. It defies gravity like Cirque d’Soliel acrobats. I am more faithful than a black Labrador, more loving than a 12 year old tabby. I will cherish you until the sun rises in the west and sets in the east.

But if you eat the last of the oreo ice cream, I will eviscerate you and move on.

LIZZIE

Words trenched into the stone. They could be seen clearly, even forty years later. The excitement of revisiting this secret place made him recall the pact of silence with his sister. He knelt to greet her. Her blond hair had grown thin. “I came back.” She smiled continuously, half of her teeth missing. “Yes, they don’t know you’re here. They never will.” As he slid the stone back in place to hide the entrance to the cave, he read those words one last time. “I hate you.” He had written them himself with great effort back when he was ten.

NORVAL JOE

“Do you want vanilla or Rocky Road?” Bambi asked, opening the freezer door.
“Depends. Do you have anything to put on it?” Dergle asked.
“I have chocolate syrup and chopped almonds?”
“Okay. Vanilla, then,” Dergle said.
They sat across the dining room table. Dergle flattened his ice cream with his spoon, dug a trench down the middle, and filled it with chocolate syrup and nuts. “I’ve never met a boy named Bambi.”
“Well, yeah,” Bambi said, putting her spoon down and scrunching her eyebrows at Dergle. “It’s a girl’s name.”
“Not in the movie,” Dergle said. “Bambi was a boy.”

DANNY

I’ve dug myself into a trench, and I do not know how to get out. Laying the foundation for your house isn’t as easy as it looks when your watching skilled professionals do all the work. Feels like something out of World War One, but I don’t think they dug trenches nine feet deep. At least the cement truck won’t arrive for another hour. Wait, they are already here? Damn Daylight savings time, I forgot to set the clocks forward. Can’t they hear me screaming, “Help!? I can’t die now! Whose going to water all my plants when I’m gone?”

TURA
“In a hole in the ground lived a hobbit,” Tolkien famously wrote. He claimed the word was Anglo-Saxon, but he was at the Somme, and every soldier in the trenches knew about hobbits. Little creatures, like men, you’d glimpse from the corner of your eye.

Some said, if you saw a hobbit’s face, you’d die soon. Others, if you saw one running away, you’d die. Or if you didn’t see one, you weren’t long for it.

Graveyard humour, y’see? We were all going to die. Until the War ended.

But they liked holes in the ground, everyone agreed on that.

PLANET Z

My mother warned me about school.
If I skipped too many classes or blew off my homework, I’d end up digging ditches.
Well, I skipped a lot of classes, and I don’t remember turning in a single bit of homework.
And I didn’t end up digging a single ditch.
I dig trenches, not ditches.
A ditch is something you dig along the side of a road. It’s wider and longer than it is deep.
A trench is deeper than it is long or wide.
What? The power’s out? You smell gas?
Better stop the backhoe and check the map again.

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
• Lizzie
• Serendipity
• Munsi
• Zackmann
• Tura Brezoianu
• Tom
• Anima Zabaleta
• Danny Dwyer
• Norval Joe
• Planet Z

What’s the next Weekly Challenge? Come to the website and subscribe to the feed to find out!

JEFFREY

Use Your Imagination
by Jeffrey Fischer

The lazy approach to writing a sex scene is to bypass the whole thing. The amorous couple heads to the bedroom, at which point the author simply starts a new paragraph with “Afterward,…” The comma signifies the entirety of the act, from carnal activity to cuddling, the author insisting that the reader carry the entire burden of lustful narrative in his imagination. The reader tries, but fails, to construct a fully-realized scene of rumpy-pumpy, nookie, the beast with two backs, et cetera. This is an author derelict in his duty. He’s the one with imagination – give us something to work with!

You Had One Job
by Jeffrey Fischer

The Washington Post recently ran several short pieces on the dating scene, including some personal experiences. One lady confessed to a remarkable 75 dates in a year. Seventy-five! Hard-working touring bands have fewer late nights than this woman.

Those 75 dates yielded exactly zero lasting relationships. She then explained that most of the dates were arranged through Tinder, the app where two people get together based on how well they like one another’s looks. I’m no expert in this, having been married since Mr. Mister and the Pet Shop Boys were popular, but maybe she’s doing it wrong.

RICHARD

#1 – George’s Story – Part 95: After all that

George found it hard to believe that everything he’d recently been through was all contrived – some sort of nightmare interview process that had completely turned his world upside down. And what was he supposed to do now, after all he’d been through?

The after-effects would stay with him forever.

The brusque woman was back: “Give me your arm”, she said, and quickly swabbed it before plunging a syringe into his vein.

“This will restore your suppressed memories”

After administering the drug, the woman waited, watching him quizzically… as his memories began to return, he slowly realised exactly who she was…

#2 – The letter

After receiving the letter, I flew into a blind rage.

I tore your clothes, doused them in petrol and burned them; I ripped your pictures from the album and shredded them; I poisoned your goldfish and threw all your plants in the bin.

After I’d calmed down a little, I emailed your naked pictures to your work colleagues and plastered them all over social media.

And, after that, I re-read the letter.

And realised it wasn’t from you.

It was addressed to next door.

And now, I’m waiting for the sound of your key in the door.

And, after that…?

#3 – You shall not pass!

After the wizard had gone, Laggins’ spoiled breakfast did nothing to lighten his mood and, straight after doing the washing-up, he made a large, intimidating sign and nailed it to his front gate:

‘NO WIZARDS! You shall not pass!’

To make his point absolutely clear, he scattered broken glass along the path, and daubed ‘WIZARDS GO HOME’ in foot-high letters across his front door.

If that doesn’t stop him, nothing will, he smirked.

Later that afternoon, he was disturbed by a discrete tap on the back door… it was the wizard!

“Thought I should use the tradesman’s entrance”, he smiled.

LIZZIE

After dark, evil spirits haunted the town for weeks. “A warning against nuclear tests,” old people said. The Mayor called in all sorts of experts to solve the problem, to no avail. One day, a man showed up, claiming he could end the torture. He had a jar. “It’s magic,” he said. Everyone went home and waited. The next day, the man was gone. Under the jar, a note. “Done.” Inside, dozens of them; they looked like a cross between crickets and fireflies. They were nice to look at, but were they loud. Sometimes, things are simpler than we think.

SERENDIPITY

“After you… ladies first”, you said – so charming, and even in our present circumstances, I had to admire your composure. Whilst those around us were shouting, screaming and fighting, you chose to remain calm and composed, with impeccable manners.

“Are you sure?”, I enquired, “We don’t need to stand on ceremony,”

You assured me you would be fine, nodding towards the remaining bag stuffed under the seat.

Such a polite man, I thought, as he helped me with mine.

“By the way”, I shouted over my shoulder, “That other bag is my luggage, it’s not a parachute!”

Then, I jumped.

MUNSI

Now

By Christopher Munroe

There’s no such thing as after.

We look to the future, wonder what awaits us in a desperate, ultimately futile attempt to avoid what we already know to be true, but reality doesn’t care what we want, or what we believe, it simply is in spite of our wishes, and nothing we can do will change that.

We have no future, separately or together, because there is no future, only moment after moment of endless Now approaching us, unrelentingly.

There is no “After” and the future will never come.

And, as such, it’s our duty to live in the moment…

ZACKMANN

“Now that you have been elected we have requests for you to speak including one at a church but I don’t remember which sect you said you are.” said the adviser.

“Oh, never mind that. Now that the election is over, I can go back to my devout worship of Mammon instead of whichever religion we thought would get me elected. We will take the speaking engagements that pay” said the Public Servant.

“I think I might regret being such good campaign manager” Said the adviser.

“Considering your rates, there’s no pretending you don’t also serve the god of money.”

TURA

After
——–
General Wei said, “An inferior general wins battles without winning the war. A mediocre general wins wars without winning the peace. A superior general is he who wins not only the peace, but all that follows after.”

Therefore before making war, he studied the condition of the enemy’s peoples. With his hidden hand he fomented rebellion, and when the people revolted, his armies assisted them. When he achieved victory, the conquered people said, “we have won freedom for ourselves!” Then they turned to those who had fled across the borders, and said to General Wei, “help us against our enemies!”

TOM

A Well Defined Relationship Part 95

Every time Timmy tried asking a question of the King, he would raise a hand the say “after we’re eaten.” After the orange stuffed peacock Timmy broke in “After is a luxury I don’t have in abundance.” “You’re a wise man Timothy Patrick Parsons. All things after a single choice define how much after you may have.” “You had held the key to every afters.” “Then the snake took it.” “Show me the Snake.” As Timmy correctly reasoned Babylon fade and he was face to face with the snake. “ Are you Tamerlane?” The Snake smiled. “What are my choices?”

Lost in Translation

You would think a mastery of prepositions would be pretty natural in a concert world. After all they describe temporal and spatial relationships. Not the case prepositions demand complex understanding of multiple forms of reference. A thing can have frontness, betweeness, underness, and overness, to itself. But all these attributes change when a second object is referenced. In front of one car is the behind of another, which is of course between the two. I can stand after Benny in line, But mother can tell me to go after Benny. Thank you for your kind indulgence have a good afternoon.

ANIMA

After

It is stifling warm in the underground bunker. We’re down to the last few packs of batteries for the flashlights. Based on the display of my watch, we have been down here 6 days. But gauging the tension in the air, we’ve been here an eternity.

Think it is safe to go out? I haven’t heard anything in the last 24 hours.

Josh, we said we’d wait 48 hours. If we don’t hear anything by tomorrow… Settle down, now. How much water is left?

DANNY

It isn’t every day that Adolph Hitler is trending on Yahoo!, so I had find out why this sudden resurgence in Facism. It appears Mein Kampf is about to be republished 75 years after it’s first printing, with annotations and criticisms of the original text. Proponents call it a vital academic tool, while critics say it will fuel an already increasing rise in anti- semitism . Mel Brooks said it the best, “With Comedy, we can rob Hitler of his posthumous power.” On the other hand, when a book becomes labeled as too dangerous, the more powerful it rises from its grave.

NORVAL JOE

“I’m sorry you cut your lip on your braces,” Dergle said. “Does that happen a lot?”
“I’m sorry the monkeys were on strike,” Bambi said. “Only when I’ve been eating caramel corn. Do you think Long John is okay in the van?”
“I would rather eat caramel corn than have straight teeth,” Dergle said, then felt stupid for it. “I mean, if I had to make a choice. Yeah. Long John’s fine.”
The dog stood on the driver’s seat, pressing his nose against the window.
“Do you want to come in for ice cream?” Bambi asked.
“Sure,” Dergle said, smiling.

PLANET Z

There is no now.
Only before and after.
Once something happens, it’s over.
Does this mean that everything is just a memory?
Yes.
If you can remember memories, can you remember what hasn’t happened yet?
Yes.
The future is now.
And you can remember is, just like you remember the past.
Just as you’re remembering this.
Even though it hasn’t happened yet.
When will it happen?
When it happens, of course.
But that doesn’t matter.
You already know what will happen.
What are you going to do about it?
Nothing?
Good. Then you already know.
Accept it, and then remember.

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
• Serendipity
• Anima Zabaleta
• Zackmann
• John Musico
• Lizzie
• Tom
• Norval Joe
• Tura Brezoianu
• Rick Thomas
• Planet Z

What’s the next Weekly Challenge? Come to the website and subscribe to the feed to find out!

MUNSI

How The Smiths

By Christopher Munroe

I did stop listening to Depeche Mode.

I didn’t NEED to, like I said, but change can be good.

I moved on to The Smiths. I also will love The Smiths until I die.

Johnny Marr’s the best guitarist of his age, and Morrissey’s a God.

I own every album, both Smiths and solo, and I listen to them whenever I can, the lyrics are genius, and he’s one of the foundational artists of a genre.

Morrissey isn’t my first crush, that was Ally Sheedy, but he was my third or fourth.

Mayhaps I’ve said too much.

Bigmouth strikes again…

JEFFREY

Tomb Raider
by Jeffrey Fischer

“Christ, it’s dark in here!” Professor Stenson exclaimed as he squeezed through the doorway into the ancient tomb. “Let’s get some torches lighted.”

Stenson heard no reply from his two native assistants. He sighed. This was not entirely unexpected, as the pair claimed they feared an evil spirit that guarded the tomb. Stenson was a rationalist, and did not believe in evil spirits, animated corpses, or any other superstitious nonsense. Still, he mused, if he weren’t so sensible, he might well be nervous. The atmosphere gave him an uneasy feeling, as though someone was in the chamber with him.

He fumbled for his matches. Striking one, he used its meager light to get a glimpse of the tomb. It was all he imagined: the coffin, painted in gold leaf, surrounded by countless jeweled treasures. Just before the match went out, he felt rather than saw something move. His last thought was that the natives weren’t as foolish as he believed.

Look for the Union Label
by Jeffrey Fischer

“Unfair!” chanted the three men. They looked cold, parading in a small circle by their large, inflatable rat.

“What’s up, fellas?” I asked. Their leader replied, “We’re protesting the use of non-union labor at this casino.”

“I see. How’s that going?”

“We’ve been here every day for the past ten years, in all weather, demanding the owner use union labor. Sure, it’ll cost him two bucks an hour more in wages, but it’s only fair.”

“So let me see if I’ve got this straight: you’re on strike, often standing in the cold and rain instead of being in a nice, climate-controlled building, making nothing for a decade, all so you can demand, what, twenty percent more than you could have made all along?”

“That sounds about right. But we’re real close now. The owner will cave any day.”

“And how many years will it take for you to make up those lost wages from the last decade?”

“Uh….”

Strike Three
by Jeffrey Fischer

“Mr. Del Rio, under California’s ‘three strikes’ law, the minimum punishment for your crime is a life sentence without the possibility of parole. I so sentence you. Do you understand?”

“Aw, judge yo’ honor, can’t ya gimme a break?”

“Sir, which word do you have difficulty with? Mandatory? Minimum?”

“Naw, but three strikes? Can’t we call it two or sumthin’?”

The judge reviewed Del Rio’s folder. Burglary. Burglary. Assault. Armed robbery. Burglary. Assault with a deadly weapon. The list went on. “Mr. Del Rio, I’m assuming your pleas had some effect on other judges. From what I’m reading, this isn’t a question of strike three – you’ve had a full inning’s worth of strikes against you. Bailiff, take him away.”

RICHARD

#1 – George’s Story – Part 94: Failure!

“Wait here!”, ordered the woman, leaving George alone with his thoughts in the corridor.

He mulled over what he had just been told…

“You’ve been through a rather unique selection process, George. Most organisations of our type run character tests and hypothetical scenarios: We prefer a more ‘hands-on’ approach. You’ve faced a range of situations designed to measure your response to danger, decision making and mental agility, and a whole host of other criteria. Sadly, you’ve managed to strike out with every test!

You are the lowest-scoring candidate we’ve ever had… it’s quite an achievement, albeit it’s your only one!”

#2 – Grandpa

I miss grandpa and his weird sayings – he had ways of putting things that were utterly baffling, but terribly endearing.

Now – as he would say – he’s gone to the great white turtle waxer; dead as a bean on a roller skate, and off the rota at the boxing club.

Total nonsense, of course, but you always knew exactly what he meant and it made for some interesting conversations

His favourite expression was ‘struck down in their prime by a wanton banana’ – all the more ironic and poignant considering how he died.

Botulism, from a rancid plantain.

#3 – They’re back!

The team were back together – Captain Johnson, nerdy Jack the hacker, Sid and ‘Tenacious’ Willy.

How long had it been since the last time they’d beeen on a mission? Too long, and the guys knew it – all too aware of how the easy life and lack of training might have dulled their wits, nerves were on a knife-edge.

They couldn’t afford to make mistakes.

They needn’t have worried – it went perfectly – mission accomplished, objective secured and no comeback at all.

The team celebrated their success, it felt good!

Strike Team Alpha was back in business!

#4 – Breakfast… interrupted

Limbo Laggins was halfway through his breakfast bacon and eggs, when a knock on the door disturbed him. Sighing, he trudged to the door only to find that pesky wizard stood on his doorstep.

“Could I interest you in a quest?”, enquired the wizard.

“No”, said Laggins, attempting to close those door.

“Be very careful, little hobbit, or I shall strike you with my magical staff!”

Laggins looked the wizard up and down before replying.

“What staff?”

The wizard frowned… “Oh bother! Now where I have left that?”, and hurried off down the pathway.

Richard ‘

SERENDIPITY

They do say that lightning never strikes twice. however, as far as you are concerned, not strictly true.

You’d be surprised how many times lightning can strike when you encourage it with a good tall flag pole, a reel of heavy gauge cable with a nice, easy route to earth.

And that’s where you come in… my missing link.

So just make yourself comfortable as I strap this cable to your head and try not tip the water bowl at your feet.

There’s a storm coming, and you know what that means, don’t you?

What a shocking way to die!

ANIMA

College Anyday 2015

Jill enters the crowded college bar, avoiding eye contact with any of the patrons. She is pissed Aaron has bailed on dinner, and contemplating how to get out of the relationship before finals week. It is going to be a mess.

Some guy from the other end of the bar locks eyes on her. Hamn, Strike one.

He sidles up, carrying what appears to be 2 pints of beer. Lite beer. Strike two.

“Excuse me, I am writing a term paper on the finer things in life, and would like to interview you…”. Strike three, Frat boy, you’re outta here!

ZACKMANN

I don’t think I will take a date to a baseball game again. My day would have been better if there had been a baseball strike. The speakers played too loud so I got a fan to give me two cigarettes.I tried to put their filters in my ears but they were Lucky Strikes. My date snuck onto the field, despite my trying to drag her back. She smacked the umpire then ducked which placed my eye in the path of a moving fist. Apparently when you hit a baseball official the umpire strikes back. Fortunately we left then.

JOHN MUSICO

John Musico
Strike

The secret meeting hall was filled.
The union head pounded his fist on the podium;
“We are sick and tired doing all the work, we demand vacation; we deserve promotions! His wings shuddered as he spoke. “Heaven fills daily with more of we angels, merely to do His good deeds for him as he sits peacefully on his throne. When the sun rises; no one goes to work- and our days will be filled instead with the leisure WE have earned!” That was the day heaven became a lovely place. The angels still lounge and gladly pay their union dues.

LIZZIE

Unaware of his demise, Nolan was about to lose everything. His wife Linda, along with her lawyer lover, prepared everything quite thoroughly. “Trust me,” she said. And, foolish as he was, he did. The car, the house, the weekend cottage, everything was gone. However, there was Nikolai. “My darling,” he said, “I’ll take care of it.” Nolan never saw Linda again. The lawyer disappeared. And the properties were magically in Nolan’s name again. “How?” “My darling,” he replied, examining the barrel of his gun, “there’s a monster at the end of everyone’s path. I just happened to be that monster.”

TOM

What He Say?

Strike while the irons hot. Said the Master. He was always saying stuff like that. In all the time he had spent with the old man not one original word came out of his mouth. Further the wise words were always out of context. The last pearl came after the apprentice asked if the master would like another bowl of ice cream. When the dish was placed before him instead of a simple thank you the master said: When you have been struck on one cheek turn and offer the other. It was going to be one very long day.

A Well Defined Relationship Part 94

The energy from the Tamerlane leveled the bandit’s lair then spread out across Denman. As quickly as it struck the entire mass of the planet was pulled back to the Tamerlane producing one glorious mini super-nova.

“President Parsons the Marivoltie Gravis Imperium has just claimed responsibility for the planetary strike on Denman. The newly widowed leader ordered Admiral Poindexter to engage the fleet.

Inside the cube the doctor was struck be a deep sense of emptiness. “I just died,” said the doctor. The dealer nodded.

Timmy?

Mirror.

The dealer dealt one more hand. He busted and so did the cube.

NORVAL JOE

This was the worst date of his life, not that Dergle had been on that many.
Bambi, the checker at the corner grocery story, kept calling him, “Mr. Vander Hoont”, instead of Dergle. He was only three years older than her and though her braces and ponytails made her look like a teenager, she was twenty-two.”
Maybe the zoo was a bad choice for their first date.
Dergle felt off balance.
He had to leave Long John in the microvan, the monkeys were on strike, and Bambi’s lip got cut by her braces when he tried to kiss her goodnight.

TURA

Strike
——–
My great-grandfather struck it rich in the Californian gold rush. But he realised the real business was selling equipment and supplies to all the other poor fools. Eventually, he and his son were running a chain of stores across six cities, and richer than any gold-digger. Then my grandfather sees mail order getting big, so he gets into delivery networks. FedEx is a direct descendant of one of his companies. My father saw computers coming in and got into computer consulting. And me? I charge business leaders twenty thousand dollars a day to tell them how to strike it rich.
——–

RICK

Mama generally came home from work in one of three mental states…
Normal
Nervous Break Down (which is bad … REAL BAD)
and the far more common “on strike”, which meant … if she didn’t get a break she would have a nervous breakdown. During those times our older brother always knew what to do.
The music was Dixieland Jazz
steaks outside on the grill … (dirty kitchen … REAL BAD!!!)
Red wine (he would say “this is the reddest I could find, hope it suits Madame’s pallet” in his best French accent.

Mom would smile so sweetly!

“You’ll make a good husband someday!”

PLANET Z

They say that you should strike while the iron is hot, but they never say what you should strike the iron with.

I used to strike the iron with a rubber chicken, but now that I heat iron before I strike it, the rubber chicken tends to soften and melt all over the iron, making a gooey mess.

Why am I striking my iron with a rubber chicken?

You’re right. I should strike the iron with a mallet in order to shape the iron.

Now, what should I place the iron on while I strike it?

Aha! The rubber chicken!

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:

• Anima Zabaleta
• John Musico
• Jeffrey
• Richard
• Tura Brezoianu
• Spate
• Serendipity
• Tom
• Munsi
• Lizzie
• Norval Joe
• Planet Z

What’s the next Weekly Challenge? Come to the website and subscribe to the feed to find out!

MUNSI

Depeche Mode

By Christopher Munroe

I’ve switched to Depeche Mode and all’s right in the world, because I could listen to Depeche Mode all week every week, forever.

As you well know.

My opinions on the band are known by anyone who’s ever seen me at a club, after all, they’re just incredibly good. Music for the Masses, at the moment, and loving it. Every track is genius, especially…

But none of this is new information.

What am I trying to do, after all, what am I trying to say? I’m not trying to tell you anything you didn’t know when you woke up today…

JEFFREY

“The Destructive Force of a Tornado”
by Jeffrey Fischer

Mary fastened an earring as she opened the front door to the babysitter. “Thanks for coming over. I assure you that Shawn is no trouble at all.”

“How old is he?” asked Caitlin.

“He’s five, but very mature for his age. He’s quiet…” Just then a child started wailing in the next room. “Well, usually. He’s well-behaved, entertains himself with his toys, and puts everything back when he’s finished.” Caitlin followed Mary down the hallway to the den. Sitting on the floor was a child with a mischievous grin on his face, surrounded by Legos, toy cars, several jigsaw puzzles jumbled together, and the remains of a coffee table book that had been systematically shredded.

“No trouble, you say?” Caitlin said.

Mary looked at her son. “I’ve got nothing.”

“The Ultimate Weapon”
by Jeffrey Fischer

The terrorist carried a box containing a small sphere into the apartment where his colleague was assembling a bomb. “Praise be to Allah!” the first said, setting the box in front of the second. “You can stop work on the bomb now, as I have something better.”

The second peered at the sphere. “You have brought us an empty piece of glass?”

The first looked annoyed. “Not empty, my friend. It’s filled with a powerful explosive – called ‘nothing.’ I am assured that this is more destructive than plastique. You’ve heard of matter and anti-matter, have you not? This is nothing, and the principle is the same. When it comes in contact with something, a big explosion happens.”

The bomb-maker looked skeptical. “Where did you find this marvel?”

“On eBay, of course. I’m assured it is the genuine article.”

RICHARD

#1 – George’s Story – Part 93: Emotional roller coaster

Over the next fifteen minutes, George experienced a full range of emotions, from disbelief and bewilderment to outrage, anger and – eventually – resignation.

Weird as recent events had been, the explanation he was now receiving was beyond the realms of possibility. With every word that each of the men spoke, he found himself losing his grasp on what little sense of reality he now clung to.

“So, George, is there anything you’d like to ask us?”

“No”, he replied quietly, “I’ve got nothing…”

He became aware the sneering woman was again stood at his side – only now he understood her disdain.

#2 – Got nothing

I’ve got nothing… No money, no friends or family, nowhere to call home, not even a pair of shoes to call my own right now. It’s not an easy life but I get by – the odd dime from passers-by, handouts from the soup kitchen, and you’d be surprised what home comforts you can find, even out here on the street.

Sure, I’ve got nothing, but that means no job, no responsibilities and no commitments. No expectations and no disappointments. I’ve even had people tell me they envy me!

And you know what?

They don’t know a damn thing!

#3 – Guilty

“I’ve got nothing to say in my defence, your honour, but before you pass sentence, let me ask you just to pause a minute and consider whether you, or any other reasonable person would have done differently in the same circumstances.”

The judge looked at me curiously, then he spoke.

“It was indeed a unique set of circumstances, and considering the evidence before the court, there was little else that you could have done. Indeed, any reasonable person would probably have done the same.

However, regarding what I would do… I’ve got nothing to say.

You’re going down, sunshine.”

TOM

A Good Piece of Advice

Many years ago I apprenticed with a Cabinet Maker. Much like Anakin Skywalker. I was sorrowfully too old to fully integrate into the relationship. The best Mr. Russell could do, oddly enough, was prepare me for my up-coming divorce. He’d been adopted into a rich Chicago Meat Packing family. His choice of brides came from deep within the Junior League A list. Brushing his secret sealing oil on a drawer he said, “I was miserable for 10 years. The only way out was to walk away from everything.” Standing in the empty apartment I conciliatorily mused, “ I’ve got nothing.”

A Well Defined Relationship Part 93

“Sparky what do you have?” “I’ve got nothing.” The E meter while pegged-out showed no sign of Timmy’s presence. “Duke where’s Timmy?” “It’s pretty fuzzy pilgrim, but it seems he is in a cascade time loop.” “That means …” said Senator Smith just before blinking out. “… I was never here,” finished Dino Mod.” Both Banister and Proctor made a mad dash for the Tamerlane. Just as he laid his hand on the box his comrades vanished, replace by El Cid and the 40 thieves, guns drawn, firing.

“Too late,” said the Doctor

“Too late,” said the Bandit.

Then came the Flash.

SERENDIPITY

His eyes burned into me across the desk.

“We know you did it. You had motive, the means and you’re a cold hearted, calculating bitch. Just confess and make it easy for all of us.”

I smiled.

“Where’s your evidence, detective? What do you have that’s going to nail me?”

“You know I’ve got nothing, yet… but trust me, I’ll find it!”

“Oh, I know you will”, I stood to leave the room, “and sooner than you expect”, I muttered, under my breath.

He snarled at me, and drained his coffee – along with the poison I’d slipped him.

LIZZIE

Two lonely hearts, pulled together by circumstances and pain. They talked and danced. They shared their stories and their moments. They shared the others, the others in their lives who didn’t know they were being shared. They shared and got closer. They got as close as that illusive closeness of nothingness, with nothing but fragments of lives and the excitement of the unknown, of warm familiarity, of love. Loneliness is a high price to pay for the determination of commitment. So, they decided to seize the moment, not caring for anyone else but themselves in a selfish illusion of nearness.

ANIMA

VD 1840

Emma looked at the homemade card – 12 hand drawn hearts, in varying states of artistry. Some were neat, others more of a child’s scrawl. Holiday cards were in fashion.

Inside, the text was brief – “Joseph, for all that you do and all you provide, we love you more every day”.

What do you think? Anything else we should say?

From around the room – “Looks great!” “I have nothing more to add” “Can we use the purple ink?”

As Emma was the first and oldest, she signed first, then organized the other sister-wives to sign the simple Valentine’s day card.

SPATE

Snow In February

Dim’s dog Bummer did it.

Should’ve known better… leaving him alone in the Chevy while we worked
third shift.

He ate the candy, chewed the flowers and pissed all over the back seat,
thoroughly soaking the Hallmark card that played Barry Manilow when you
opened it.

“Dimitri, your dog sucks!”

Dim shrugged the shrug of a man that had nothing to contribute.

Now here I was meeting Snow at the Denny’s for our Valentine’s dinner (her
breakfast) and I’ve got nothing for her. Nothing!

But she smiles that smile so lovely.

And in that moment I knew she was everything.

(music: “Soul Wants To Grow” arrangement by Zep Hurme / lyrics and vocals by
Snowflake aka Emily Richards / curator: CC Mixter / licensed under Creative
Commons Attribution Noncommercial 3.0)

ZACKMANN

I hear The Rhode Show podcast with Hugh and Kelli will have its 300th episode this week and would like me to send something in. Hugh Four, Snarkdogg Kent, and The Space Turtle (eehowm) had introduced me to drabbles but also have done many good things so eventually listeners of The 100 Word Stories Weekly Challenge will forgive them for that. Maybe I could start with “This is Zackmann. You might know from disrupting such chatrooms Snark Infested Waters and Bearcrawling but I would just be stealing that introduction from DAVe Avila. Sorry Hugh Four, so far I’ve got nothing.

NORVAL JOE

I verbally wrote a story yesterday morning. It involved two people speaking with New Yorker accents. The man and the woman made humorous comments on twists of word meaning which were somewhat dependant on the way they spoke to have the greatest impact.
I tried repeating the dialog with different accents and inflections but the effect just wasn’t the same.
I was in a hurry to get to work, so I thought I would just write it down later.
Now, for the life of me, I can’t remember the story.
It would have been great, but now, I’ve got nothing.

DANNY

Weekly Challenge 460: “I’ve Got Nothing”

I’ve lost my house, my office, my practice, my dignity, and my bar license. I’ve not held myself up to the high standards of an institution that cannot even stand up for itself. I’ve bought into every lie about the American Dream, working hard for little or nothing, holding up ideals for a society that has none. I’m now told I’m a loser, a taker. I’ve got nothing, I am nothing, and therefore, I will always be nothing. Sorry to disappoint. I am now the voice of the oppressed, the hell of your own creation you wish you never raised.

TURA

I’ve got nothing
——–
“I got plenty o’ nuthin'”, the song goes, and nowhere is that more true than here at the offices of Plenty-O-Nuthin tax accountants. Are you finding it hard to make ends meet on a $10 million income, when the government takes away half of it in taxes, year after year? Lay down your burden with us! Our skilled prestidigitators will magically cut away all of your profits and capital gains when the auditors call, while leaving your bank balance completely unharmed! Join our satisfied clients in the freedom of having plenty of nothing, and nothing will be plenty for you!

PLANET Z

Time Magazine’s cover shows a baby that they say could live to one hundred and forty-two years old.

Of course, if his mother is Jenny McCarthy, he could catch the Mumps, or some other deadly disease that could be prevented by a simple vaccination.

He could also have a mother that doesn’t believe in using a child safety seat in the car. Or making him wear a helmet while he’s on a bike.

Or civilization could collapse from a jihadi uprising, food shortages, global warming…

What good is living over a century, and he’s got nothing to look forward to?

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: Eat

We’ve got stories by:

• Anima Zabaleta
• John Musico
• Jeffrey
• Richard
• Tura Brezoianu
• Spate
• Serendipity
• Tom
• Munsi
• Lizzie
• Norval Joe
• Planet Z

The next 100 word stories weekly challenge is on the topic of I’ve Got Nothing. Scroll up and click on Weekly Challenge to learn how to join us!

ANIMA

I Need A New Job

Next!!

At the unemployment office, the line was moving steadily. It was nearing 9am, and the processor was thinking of his break. The sun was unbearably hot today.

Next!

Name? What was your last job? Why did you leave?

Next!

… I’ve been working in Nazarene as a carpenter, but I’m looking for a change. I am a great people person! The thirty-something smiled hopefully.

I have an opening for a sin-eater. Pays not great, but you would have a very strong influence in your community. Think that might interest you?

You said it was a permanent position?

Absolutely. Next!

JEFFREY

“Waist Line”
by Jeffrey Fischer

Chester teetered back to his seat, balancing two plates and a bowl. He settled his 350 pound frame onto the seat and considered where to start. Lasagne, bread, soup, fried chicken, mashed potatoes, dumplings, fried okra, mac and cheese, and pork roast. Oh, and a salad. He loved buffets, and this one was his favorite. According to Chester, the whole meal was good for him because of that salad. He set the salad aside and speared a dumpling.

Chester never understood why he kept gaining weight. After all, he had a salad almost daily.

“Blind Date”
by Jeffrey Fischer

Jessica arrived at the restaurant for her date. When she spotted Brian, she headed for his table. She was nervous about the evening, not least because Brian said he didn’t eat out much.

She was a little put out when he didn’t stand as she approached the table, but that paled in comparison with the next ninety minutes. Brian didn’t use a napkin, grabbed her water glass, nearly blinded her by squeezing a lemon garnish, ate with his mouth open, and checked for text messages all evening. Then he stuck her with the bill.

Now Jessica lives alone, with only a cat for company and Lean Cuisine for dinner. She considers this an upgrade.

RICHARD

#1 – George’s Story – Part 92: Have I mentioned zombies recently?

“Sorry about her”, smiled the chap in the middle seat, “she’s not too impressed with you.”

Completely bewildered, George simply stared at him vacantly.

“You’ve been a little irrational, the last few weeks…” prompted the one on the left.

George was incensed: “Irrational!”, he protested, “I thought zombies were going to eat my brains”

The man smiled at him: “Well, from what we’ve seen, if there had been zombies, they wouldn’t have had a very satisfying meal. Don’t you agree?”

George slumped, utterly deflated, in his chair.

“Look guys, can you just please tell me what this is all about?”

#2 – ‘Tiny’ Orson Thomas

See that picture on the wall there? That’s ‘Tiny’ Orson Thomas – a legend in his own lunchtime.

It seems unbelievable, but six times he’s completed the Sizzling Steakhouse Challenge – a sixty four ounce rib-eye, fries, two eggs over-easy and a side order of onion rings. His unbeaten record was twenty minutes and he’s considered a hero around these parts.

All the more surprising when you think he was only five feet tall and as thin as a rake.

Of course, it was the steaks that killed him in the end – but boy, could that guy eat!

#3 – Fussy eater

I guess I’m what most people would call a fussy eater, or, maybe you’d prefer just plain weird!

Some people won’t eat meat, others won’t touch dairy, as for me – I only eat food that shares the same letter as the day of the week…

Monday is mash; Tuesday, tuna; I’ll have walnuts on a Wednesday and so on. Weekends tend to be sausages and salmon.

Truth is, it does get a little boring and I do miss some of my favourites. There are days I’d kill for some bacon!

Which is why tomorrow, just happens to be Buesday!

MUNSI

Adam Ant

By Christopher Munroe

It’s dog eat dog out there.

No, literally Dog Eat Dog out there, I’ve been listening to old Adam Ant tunes for the past week and it’s gotten stuck in my head.

Which is great, it’s a classic, it’s just that, given time, I fear it will drive me mad.

The driving beat and repetitive chorus, blocking out all other thoughts, distracting me from my day-to-day life, causing me to lose my edge.

And I need my edge.

It’s dog eat dog out there.

It’s dog-eat-dog-eat-dog-eat-dog-eat-dog-eat-dog-eat WATCH ME DADIO!!!

Sorry, yeah, I may need to switch it to Depeche Mode…

TOM

A Well Defined Relationship Part 92

“You coming with?” “Coming where?” “There!” Timmy took the Gilgamesh card and thwacked-it at the mirror. The silver surface ripped. The card effortlessly passed through. “Damn,” said El Cid. “I guess Through the Looking Glass wasn’t bandit required reading.” “ No Steal this Book was.” “This might be a world class bad decision.” “Aren’t they all,” returned the bandit. The pair passed through the glass. The light was blinding. The heat was crushing. The Boy and Bandit had landed atop a ziggurat in a ring of ziggurats. The king himself greeted them with a plate of food. “Eat,” he said.

Goodbye Smith

“Come on Smith eat just a little,” begged Benny, but the dog just continued lying next to the wood stove. “Ok how about some water?” Smith took a few sips and then lowered his big head. When Death takes his time the first desire that passes is movement. That is followed by a lack of interest in food. When the beloved stops drinking his presence is unescapable. Mother said, “You can stay up tonight with Smith.” Benny was there when the labored breathing settled into a shallow draw. Mother handed Benny a sandwich. “Eat,” she said. Benny shook his head.

SERENDIPITY

Most people prefer a little room when they fly, but not me.

I look out for the obese passengers – preferably the ones who need an extra seat – squeeze myself in beside them and settle down for a long uncomfortable flight.

You may wonder why I choose such an unorthodox option… It’s simple – no matter how bad the turbulence, I’m safe and secure, wedged into place by my fellow passenger’s bulk.

And, should the worst come to worst, and we crash in mountainous terrain, I’ll simply eat them… And absolutely no chance that I’m ever going to starve!

LIZZIE

Eat Your Words

Everything was ready for the recording. The film would be released in just a few days. While the actors grabbed some food from the catering and slowly took their places, a crazed director stormed in. “Don’t you people have food at home? I’m hungry too. I’ve been working since 5 a.m.” One of the actors lost his temper. “Well, Mr. Director, no one will record anything today then…” And he looked at the script. “You can eat this.” That film was never concluded. Since then, all actors eat something right before starting to work, even if they are not hungry.

ZACKMANN

Doctor Monstercliff, I brought my teen here today because when he was considering fad or trendy diets I made the mistake of telling him that I was okay with any diet as long as he used our medical plan to consult a doctor or dietitian first. I know you’re new here to this land. Our peoples have a great deal in common however humans were not created like nor did we evolve from plants like the people of your home planet therefore we need food hence the Breatharian diet is quite lethal for us. Tell him he needs to eat.

SPATE

New Jersey Again

So it’s been at least seven years since I’ve done this trip but I’m back
down in Jersey for the week on business, staying at this hotel that’s wedged
behind a strip of chain restaurants and there’s this big sign out front, in
capital letters: E-A-T. That’s it – just “EAT”.

Now I’ve been committing creative sign alterations since my teenage years.
How could I let an action verb sit so lonely?

Some foam board, spray paint, duct tape, and a commandeered man lift.

Well, unfortunately the lawyers won’t let me share the after picture.

Common nouns can be very descriptive.

(music: “Deleve_SeLiga_Instrumental (press bass rmx)” by error404 featuring
presserror / curator: ccmixter.org/files/presse/12922 / CC Attribution
Noncommercial)

NORVAL JOE

I think meatloaf has to be the perfect food.
You can control the fat content by choosing leaner types of ground beef, if that’s your concern. Or you can increase the flavor by varying the ratios of ground beef, veal, pork or goat. You can select only ground meat from grass fed cattle, use non-GMO grains, gluten free rabbits, or carnivorous sheep.
It’s hard to deny the Meatloaf as a superlative source of protein. Why, it even says EAT right in the name.
But, I don’t understand why, after mixing one up, no one else wants to like the bowl.

TURA

Eat
——–
“Eat spurge, wear flem,” they say up north as a symbol of poverty. Spurge is a marsh reed which can be boiled and mashed into poor sustenance for the lowest of peasants. The tougher stalks– the flem– are pounded to separate the fibres, to be woven into shabby cloth. Etymologists debate whether flem is named for the Flemish or the other way round.

A new restaurant has just opened, serving these and other bygone staples of the destitute: potato worms, crutched friars, gravelfish, and breemliars. Dinner runs $200 for two, plus wine, and the waiting list is a year long.
—-
In southern Japan, the poor are ashamed to eat millet, because they cannot afford rice. In northern Japan, the poor are those who cannot afford millet, but must eat potatoes. In Russia potatoes are a staple (used mainly for vodka), but they consider turnips fit only for cattle. In Germany they eat turnips and give the cattle mangelwurzels. In Wales, they eat mangelwurzels but despise spurge. In Poland, they eat spurge but not barley. In Tibet, they eat barley rather than rice.

Whatever you eat, someone will look down on you for it, which explains a lot of restaurant reviews.
—-
Excellent steak!

By the way, have you ever been inside an abattoir? First thing is, the animal loses bowel control. So that’s all over the floor while they’re chopping the head off, opening the belly, and hauling out the guts to shovel up later for offal. Bandsaw the carcase, hang the sides for three days– see, you can’t actually eat newly dead cow, tough as leather, has to rot a little. Then they scrape off the mould and it’s ready for packing. If there’s inspectors watching, they might hose it down to get the last of the shit off.

Yum!

DANNY

Weekly Challenge 459: Eat

Bea lived with her parents in a modest apartment over the family owned butcher shop. Bea was a beautiful girl who had no problem attracting boys. After dating a few weeks, Bea would often invite her boyfriend over for dinner to meet her family. The boy would soon disappear after dinner, never to be seen again, yet the family always had a supply of strange but delicious steaks. One day Bea broke in the back freezer of the butcher shop shocked to discover the hacked remains of her boyfriends. Grabbing a knife, Bea proclaimed, “Oh Mom, Dad, time to eat!”

PLANET Z

When you’re on a diet, ice cream is a bad thing.

You can try to deny yourself ice cream, and it’s great if that works for you, but I don’t have that kind of willpower.

Instead, I remember something that my mother told me: use a small bowl.

The cabinet is full of small bowls. They sit in there, waiting as I grab a spoon and eat directly out of the container.

So, I try for moderation. Instead of the half-gallon containers, I get the tiny cup sized containers.

Too many of them.

Once again, I deny myself ice cream.

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: Sargon, Hammurabi, Ashurbanipal, and Gilgamesh (The Mesopotamians!)

We’ve got stories by:

• Anima Zabaleta
• John Musico
• Jeffrey
• Richard
• Tura Brezoianu
• Spate
• Serendipity
• Tom
• Munsi
• Lizzie
• Norval Joe
• Planet Z

The next 100 word stories weekly challenge is on the topic of Eat. Scroll up and click on Weekly Challenge to learn how to join us!

ANIMA

The Mesopotamians

The wheels had fallen of the van, again.

Dammit Hammurabi! Did you tighten the lug nuts? Now there is no way we’ll make the gig in Hoboken.

Who, me? Man, you know I can’t remember shit…. That’s why I’m a singer, and not the drummer. Relax, I know what we can do… I’ll say a prayer to Ishtar, and sacrifice a goat (sorry Larry). She and I had a thing back in Cali, so I know Tari will help us out. Plus I think I left my favourite armband in her couch…

Larry, what do you say about that?

Baaaaah!

JOHN MUSICO

John Musico
Before the Old Testament

The archeologist beamed, as he brushed off a clay tablet in the Mesopotamian ruins.
Carbon dating came back as 3000 BC: long before the Old Testament. The glyphs inscribed on the tablet read that the world was created by the Devil for His amusement and had always been evil.
Eventually the Devil became board. He created God so there would be some contrast to better appreciate all his evil.
Upon death, any good man would be cheated of the vices of Hell. No philandering, boozing it up, no freedom to swear, etc. Good men were to be banished to Heaven….

JEFFREY

“Chess Master”
by Jeffrey Fischer

“Paul, as the school chess champ, everyone wants to try to take you down. Now the Science Club wants to play you in six simultaneous games.”

“Eh, no thanks. I’ve seen them play before. THEY think they’re good, but…well, Deep Blue they’re not. On a good day, their best player MIGHT beat Sargon.”

“Sargon? Never heard of it.”

“Oh, sure. It was a chess program for the Apple II, among other platforms. When I wanted to BE a chess champion, I begged my Dad for a copy. Sargon wasn’t on par with the GIANTS of the field, but it was good to learn on. Anyway, forget the Science Club. Six games with them is no challenge at all. It would be like playing a Mesopotamian.”

[And now a word from our sponsor]

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Disclaimer: Actual fight may or may not occur. The phrase “to the death” is a metaphor and not to be taken literally, except in the unfortunate event it happens to be your death. Seek medical help for state of nirvana lasting more than four hours. Void where prohibited by law.

“Names”
by Jeffrey Fischer

“I don’t like it when countries change names of things.”

“Like what?”

“The big city in China, for instance. It’s now Beijing, right? But we used to call it Peking. Or Bombay is now Mumbai. Crazy, right? Now I have to learn new names for things.”

“You’re an old reactionary. Those changes are to make the names closer to what the natives call those places. Westerners tried pronouncing foreign words and something got lost in the translation. You wouldn’t want some foreigner renaming Philadelphia just because it’s hard for him to pronounce, would you?”

“It’s not just pronunciation. Mesopotamia.”

“Yeah, what about it?”

“Once it had powerful rulers, like Hammurabi, or Gilgamesh. Now it’s partly in Iraq, partly in Iran, etc. You can’t tell me that’s just because we were pronouncing it wrong.”

“Now you’re just being silly. Mesopotamia was a region. Countries are countries. They couldn’t all be called Mesopotamia. So be fair. It’s not like countries just change names of cities for the hell of it.”

“Well, don’t try telling that to the natives of Saigon – I mean, Ho Chi Minh City. And Istanbul *was* once Constantinople…”

RICHARD

#1 – George’s Story – Part 91: The Mesopotamians

They say the great kings of Mesopotamia – Sargon, Hammurabi, Ashurbanipal and Gilgamesh were considered to be gods. If George had been living in ancient Mesopotamia, then his status – based upon the withering look the woman now gave him – was somewhere between something nasty you scrape off your shoe, and six week old potato peelings.

“This way”, she commanded him brusquely.

“George Attwell”, she announced entering a room containing a desk, behind which sat three, smiling men.

The woman guided George to the chair gave him a look reserved for the Mesopotamian equivalent of a wet fart, and left the room.

#2 – What’s in a name?

Sargon Hammurabi Ashurbanipal Gilgamesh Harris had a pretty rotten childhood, as you would expect, being named after a bunch of Mesopotamians!

It was all his father’s fault – a huge fan of the group, ‘They Might Be Giants’ – who chose to name his son in honour of his favourite song.

Understandably, Sargon became a bit of a recluse, avoiding going out in public as much as possible, and spending entire weekends holed up in his bedroom.

But, he had to go to school: Every Monday morning he’d leave the house knowing the nightmare facing him.

Richard ‘

TURA

Sargon, Hammurabi, Ashurbanipal, and Gilgamesh (The Mesopotamians!)
——–
“What are Men to us?” declared Sargon.

Hammurabi purred, “They give us their best food, and warmth, and leisure.”

“In the palaces,” snorted Gilgamesh. “The rest have us only to keep down the mice.”

“Where we succeed, we starve,” observed Ashurbanipal, “and must scavenge their rubbish heaps.”

Sargon snarled, “Let us return to hunting the creatures of the plain!”

“We are too long among Men,” sighed Hammurabi.

Gilgamesh concluded, “Then we must make our own place here, not become slaves like Man’s dogs.”

And so Gilgamesh, Hammurabi, and Ashurbanipal entered the houses of Man, but Sargon returned to the wild.

SPATE

They Might Be Terrorists

Breaking news just in:

Four suspected Muslim extremists were caught crossing the border near Bisbee
Arizona overnight.

The men, claiming to be Mesopotamian musicians, were apprehended when their
mink birdhouse delivery van sustained severe tire damage and got flooded
with desert sand.

Asked what they were doing there, they stated that they got lost.

Two of the men were originally from Massachusetts but reportedly have ties
to a rogue terror cell in Istanbul.

The Department of Homeland Security suspects they had planned on attacking
the San Francisco Noise Pop Festival using improvised weapons of sarcastic
wit and quirky infectious melodies.

SERENDIPITY

You may have heard of Sargon, Hammurabi, Ashurbanipal, and Gilgamesh: the Mesopotamians, but the chances are, you’ve never heard of me.

There’s a very good reason for that – for I am Nunbarsegunumathauntanabusharinapaksariwan, the greatest and most feared of all the queens of the ancient world. My name is both blessing and a curse to those who utter it.

A blessing, for those who speak my name without fear, fault or fumbling; for they escape with their lives.

As for those who stumble, stutter or struggle… they are sliced, diced and fed to the pigs.

Nobody takes my name in vain!

TOM

A Well Defined Relationship Part 87

It was painfully apparent El Cid would be of little or no uses helping Timmy find a way-out. A memory of his father settled in his thoughts : Sometimes the way out is the way in. “I got to think outside the box.” Making direct eye contact with the dealer, Tim rolled his hand across the table and said “Deal.” Tamerlane let a wry smile flash, broke the seal on a package of Dal Nergos. Timmy tapped his two. The dealer laid out four kings Sargon, Hammurabi, Ashurbanipal, and Gilgamesh. “so we’re playing Mesopotamians. Tell me the tale of Sargon.”

A Well Defined Relationship Part 88

A babe in a basket set adrift on the great river. Raised by the gardener of the emperor. He grew strong in Inanna’s protection. Wine bearer of the court, who troubled the dreams of Ur-Zababa the great. Brandished to the land of Uruk carrying a sealed call for his own death, but their did take the city then all of Sumer. He fell many city walls, was the progenitor of writing, defended against the Elam. The model ruler to the ages. Written in the Book he is Nimrod. He is the first. Do you chose him?”

“Tell me of Hammurabi.”

A Well Defined Relationship Part 89

“He took sleepy Babylon made it the jewel of the fertile crescent. Great powers fell and became part of his vast domain. Of all his deeds the most glorious was separating the Law from the Rule. He created a code independent of the power of the throne. Further to each corner of his kingdom he placed stone steles engraved for all to see and know the law, precise and immutable. Harsh was the law an eye for an eye, but better by far than blood feuds spanning generations. Hammurabi giver of law. Do you chose him?’

“Tell me of Ashurbanipal.”

A Well Defined Relationship Part 90

He was the lion of the Assyrian. Who ruled from great Nineveh and did there establish a library of a 30,000 clay tablets. The tale of Gilgamesh was stored. King of the universe he called himself, but shared the his rule with his beloved brother. He defeated the Nubian king of Egypt and claimed Memphis as his prize. Noble to his people a demon to his defeated. He putting a dog chain through the jaw of a defeated king and then making him live in a dog kennel. Ashurbanipal persevere of word. Do you chose him?”

“Tell me of Gilgamesh.”

A Well Defined Relationship Part 91

“Oh mighty Gilgamesh who’s tale has journeyed cross the universe, but at its core is a simple story of friendship and loss. He bridled chaos with the love of a woman to create the wild civilized man upon whose death would causes the great search for Xisouthros in an effort to beat death itself. “Was his search in vain master Parsons?” “No it is not,” said Timmy pulling that card from the table, turning over his two, the ace of hearts and the suicide king. “I will take from the snake what he stole.” Timmy turned to the dark mirror.

MUNSI

The B-52’s

By Christopher Munroe

Don’t get me wrong, I love the B-52’s. Classic new wave band. Roam, Summer of Love, Good Stuff, all brilliant .

However, the song Mesopotamia, I’m out.

It’s just that they have moments where they’re too cutesy by half, and by “There’s a lot of ruins in Meso-po-tamia” I can’t deal with it.

HOWEVER, I am still feeling the ‘80s vibe, so I switched to Adam Ant. You might agree with this decision, you might not.

That’s fine, I’m used to it.

It happens all the time.

All of those who get to know me, become admires or my enemies…

LIZZIE

Getting lost in the desert was as far from their plan as going to the moon. The ill-organized adventure ended with a group of four friends stuck in a van. Six months later, when the police finally found them, they were mummified. Years of studies followed with no results, until surprisingly they came back to life. “We told you not to touch that stone!” A pursuit ensued; three furious men chasing another. The authorities, perplexed, ran after them too. Last time that long line of people running was seen, it was heading towards… somewhere. At least the line was organized!

NORVAL JOE

I dated a girl in high school who named all of her pets after famous people. I thought that sounded like a good idea because you could sound like someone who’s deeply creative or very well read.
I named a long haired chihuahua Sargon. I thought it sounded powerful. The dog ran away.
I had a pot bellied pig who I named Hammurabi. It disappeared when my house was broken into.
I named a parakeet Ashurbanipal. It caught a cold and died.
All I have now is a goldfish I won at a carnival. That’s right. I named it Gilgamesh

PLANET Z

Our first computer was an Apple Two Plus.
We bought a few games for it, such as Space Eggs and Wizardry.
Then there were the pirated games that friends at school passed around.
A second floppy drive made it easier to copy those disks for others.
Some of them were flawed copies, but the games were so engaging, we promised to buy them for real.
You know, because the software companies depended on that revenue to pay programmers to make more.
But as much as we played Sargon’s chess, we never bought it.
I mean, he died centuries ago, right?

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: If you’re happy and you know it…

We’ve got stories by:

• Munsi
• Anima Zabaleta
• Jeffrey
• John Musico
• Richard
• Lizzie
• Jessica
• Tom
• Serendipity
• Spate
• Tura Brezoianu
• Norval Joe
• Rick
• Planet Z

The next 100 word stories weekly challenge is on the topic of Sargon, Hammurabi, Ashurbanipal, and Gilgamesh (The Mesopotamians!). Scroll up and click on Weekly Challenge to learn how to join us!

MUNSI

Happiness

By Christopher Munroe

If you’re happy and you know it, weep some tears.

If you’re happy and you know it, shriek with fear.

If you’re happy and you know it, and you really want to show it, if you’re happy and you know it, it ultimately doesn’t matter, nobody will hear your screams, will ever find you down here, not ever. Not until my work is finished.

Why are you crying? Are you not happy? Do you not know it?

My attempt at a children’s television program, I’ll be first to admit, was ill-conceived, and it ultimately probably did deserve to be cancelled.

ANIMA

Morning Ritual

What is this crap! Why can’t anyone pick up after themselves around here? And must EVERY SINGLE ONE OF YOU SNORE?

A pillow hurtles towards his head, and his companions all had something to say: “shaddup H”, “Someone woke on the wrong side of the bed”, and “Jeez, ya know what time it is?”. They’d heard it all before, several times over.

Doc piped up – “Take your pills, old man – they are the pink ones… Not the blue ones, those are Grumpy’s. Those ones there.

Twenty minutes later, after the Paxil had kicked in, Happy was happy once again.

JEFFREY

“The Accident”
by Jeffrey Fischer

The paramedic pulled the unconscious body from the car wreck and immobilized the man’s head. The passenger was dead, but the driver seemed largely unhurt. But when the man regained consciousness, he was unable to speak. Worse, he seemed to be suffering from amnesia: the paramedic asked him questions and he simply stared, as though he couldn’t remember any of the answers. A police officer brought over the car registration, which identified the car’s owner as Happy McCoy. “All right, sir,” the paramedic said, “let’s start again. I know you can’t speak or move your head, but your hands and arms seem fine, so maybe you can answer some simple questions with hand movements. Do you know your name? Are you Happy McCoy? If you’re Happy and you know it, clap your hands.”

“Standing Ovation”
by Jeffrey Fischer

Customs change with the times. People know that applauding is a way of signaling to a performer that one has enjoyed the performance. This was not always the case, however. Prior to Elizabethan times, audiences would sit very still, making no sound whatsoever, if they approved of the performance. A rave review involved holding up a single hand and waving it from side to side, again making no noise. This is the sound of one hand clapping. Only if the performance displeased the audience did they clap, with the goal that the noise would drown out the (unwanted) sound of the performer. A notably horrific performance required the audience to stand and applaud. Standing allowed one to pass gas from meals that were heavy on beer and cabbage, thus signifying displeasure both through sound and odor.

JOHN MUSICO

If You’re Happy and You Know It
by John Musico

At the clinic I work at, the nurse and the housekeeper are always miserable.
It’s like they’re having a competition. The labored gait, shoulders hunched from bearing the weight of the world.
La bella miseria; they are in love with misery. You know the kind. Begging sympathy on occasion is one thing, but when it’s every day; it feels like an imposition.
My resentment built. A “Miserable” passed by, dragging as usual. I could stand it no longer.
I broke into a joyous chorus of; “If you’re happy and you know it.”
Now I’m the one who is intensely resented.

RICHARD

#1 – George’s Story – Part 90: Rude awakening

George was jerked back into wakefulness by an excited “Helllloooo!”, opening his eyes to find a blonde, frizzy-haired woman beaming down at him.

Lorretta was one of those women generally described as ‘bubbly’, otherwise translated as ‘incredibly irritating’. Within the first fifteen minutes George’s nerves were jangling and after umpteen repetitions of ‘If you’re happy and you know it’, during which both George and the bored chap were enthusiastically encouraged to join in, he found himself wondering at which point homicide becomes justifiable.

Thankfully, a door suddenly opened revealing a woman in a suit. She sternly called George’s name.

#2 – If you’re happy and you know it…

Long car journeys… I’ve always hated them.

As a youngster, stuck in the back seat with my sister and subjected to endless rounds of ‘I spy’ and pointless repetitive rounds of songs, all supposedly to ‘make the journey go quicker’.

And now, as the driver, forced to put up with endless squabbles, complaining and that mind-numbingly awful song: ‘If you’re happy and you know it’, just going on, and on, and on. It’s enough to drive you completely insane.

These days, I just sedate the kids.

Peace, quiet and no more singing.

Now I’m happy, and I know it!

LIZZIE

What an awful place to die, he thought, staring down from the overpass. Make a wish and be happy, but his mind… Don’t jump. Jump. Don’t jump. Make a wish. Quick, make a wish. But secrets are meant to be kept, aren’t they? At least some of them are. His mind raced as fast as the cars underneath. I hate you so much, I can barely breathe, he thought. Make a wish. Yes, make a wish, just any wish… When he plunged towards that perfect white line, there was no clapping; there was no sound, there was nothing at all.

JESSICA

Tired
By: Jessica Quin

She was sick and tired of Dusty beating her for years now!
She sobbed until she couldn’t anymore.
Then,.. the anger boiled inside her, engulfing her clarity.
Dusty remained passed out on the couch.
She tied him up tight and waited, gun in hand.
He awoke, taking a while to focus.
“Are you happy?”
He managed to mutter a, “Wha-?”
“What-er you talkin’ ‘bout ya stupid wench?”
“I asked you if you’re happy” she responded remaining strangely calm.
“I’ll let you live if you do one thing”
His eyes widened.
“If you’re happy and you know it…
clap your hands.”

TOM

A Well Defined Relationship Part 86

“ I got to go,” said Tim. “Tried,” said the Cid “Tried a lot.” “What you saying?” “I’m saying in a 100 years you can exhaust both possibilities and hope. How long do you think you’ve been here?” Timmy thought. At first he wanted to say a couple of minutes. Then he started to watch the dealer hand. It seems to be frozen in mid stoke. Across the cube in a corner El Cid was huddled singing softly to himself. “If your happy and know it sit right here.” Around him 1000s of crumpled paper ball turning yellow with age

The means to your destruction has been

set in motion by the work of your own hands

If your happy and you know it curse the rich.

If your happy and you know it curse the rich.

If your happy and you know then your guns

Will properly show it.

If your happy and you know it curse the rich.

In the slums of New Detroit you won’t find a street corner that didn’t echo with this ditty. The New People as they called themselves had made singing that tune a capital offense. When they found their children humming the tune clueless of the words behind it was when the Carts Squad to the square was formed.

SERENDIPITY

Chico, the terrorist clown, had a theory that the younger you could recruit supporters, the more loyal to your cause they would be.

Kids’ parties were ideal recruiting grounds – he’d show the youngsters how bombs were made, demonstrating with balloons. He’d employ magic tricks to teach the art of concealment and subterfuge, and through the medium of party songs, he taught the kids the terrorist way…

‘If you’re happy and you know it, strap grenades to your body and become a martyr to the cause’

It didn’t scan too well, but it certainly got the message across to the youngsters.

SPATE

Mostly True Tales from the Navy 6
Shipmate Personality Number 3

Hard Luck Harwich had a cloud of doom that followed him everywhere. And he
liked to tell people about it; whether it was his latest ache or something
bad he ate or the fate of his late Aunty June. You’d get an earful. In fact,
he’d try to talk you to death.

Then one day he heard that annoying song playing in the background of his
life and he thought:
“What if I’m really happy and I just don’t know it?”

That thought instantly cheered him up. And he clapped and the cloud went
away.

But everyone still avoided him.

NORVAL JOE

People who are always happy piss me off because they can’t just leave it alone. And they won’t leave me alone.
I’m happy and I know it. My face just doesn’t show it. I have what some people call a “Resting Grumpy Face”. It runs in my family, on my mother’s side.
If you want me to be grumpy, just tell me, “Smile, it can’t be that bad,” or, “It takes fewer muscles to smile than to frown”.
You’ll really know I’m happy if you say one of those things to me and I don’t tell you to bite my…

TURA

If you’re happy and you know it
——–
If you’re happy and you know it, clap your hands, they sang.

Which is a rather disturbing concept. Could I be happy and not know it? Or think I was happy, but be siocidal?

If we built a superintelligent machine to make everyone happy, how would it know? The song suggests you could tell it by clapping your hands. But then the machine might just grab everyone’s hands and bang them together, and it’s like Skynet, game over!

You have to think about these things if you don’t want an AI to go mad and tattoo smiley faces onto everyone.

RICK

It was sweet irony.

Daughter playing with her dolls on the floor as his wife bitched …
“you’ve spent thousands on those guns…
even more on the ammo!”

“All that time spent at the gun range, and the worry of having the damn things hidden in every room of the house!”

Their heads turned as they heard the front door kicked in …
three men, with bats and knives rushed into the living room.

Three shots, it was over!

Three lost lives …
An incredible mess to clean …

He’d never again hear her bitch about guns!
He smiled!
Happiness IS … a warm gun!

PLANET Z

We plugged in the robot and programmed it to be happy.
The robot reached for its power cord and pulled it out of the socket.
So, we plugged it back in.
The robot unplugged itself again.
We removed the robot’s arms, but it rolled away from the wall, which yanked out the cord.
So, we took off the robot’s wheels.
At that point, it let out a continuous scream.
Until we removed the speaker.
Then, we reviewed the code.
“Happy equals one,” I said. “That’s a Boolean TRUE, right?”
“No, it’s an integer value from one to a hundred.”
Oops.

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: MESS

We’ve got stories by:

• John Musico
• Munsi
• Jeffrey
• Richard
• Jessica
• Lizzie
• Serendipity
• Tom
• Anima Zabaleta
• Spate
• Norval Joe
• Tura Brezoianu
• Planet Z

The next 100 word stories weekly challenge is on the topic of IF YOU’RE HAPPY AND YOU KNOW IT… Scroll up and click on Weekly Challenge to learn how to join us!

JOHN MUSICO

John Musico
Mess

To Felix, a mess is a big deal, the biggest. He can’t relax in a room until it’s tidy.
Most people’s nightmares are about being chased by wild animals, falling off a cliff, or the like; real legit danger.
His nightmares have to do with a mess. For example he lives in a house that’s a mess, or his hair’s all messed up, that sort of thing.
Felix was ashamed it was some sort of sex phobia. Felix’s psychiatrist clarified; “That’s a dirt thing, you have order issues, see; it’s control really.”
Felix is still tidy but finally at peace.

MUNSI

Cleaning Up

By Christopher Munroe

…another fine mess you’ve gotten us into.

I suppose you expect me to bail you out ?

Fine. Bring the bone saw, fetch a rug. I’ll dismember the corpse and we can dispose of it at the quarry before coming back to scrub blood out of carpet and walls.

Make sure nobody sees you, there’s no reason for us to be here, so if no trace is found no one will suspect and in a few hours we’ll be home, enjoying a scotch.

But seriously, this is the last time I’m doing this.

I can’t clean up your messes forever…

JEFFREY

“Another Nice Mess”
by Jeffrey Fischer

Stan Laurel and Oliver Hardy found themselves lost in the Iraqi desert. After walking for miles, they saw tents in the distance – at last, civilization! They crawled under a barbed-wire fence, where the portly Hardy lost his bowler hat, and peeked into the first tent they came to. The pair was surprised to see a military kitchen, with dozens of spotless cooking instruments, from stainless steel pots to ladles of all sizes.

Startled by the click of automatic weapons, they turned to face a half-dozen machine gun barrels. Laurel said to Hardy, “Well, this is another nice mess you’ve gotten us into.”

“Why I Tore Up the Adoption Papers”
by Jeffrey Fischer

I open the pantry door to see a carton of milk I placed there by mistake. One sniff is enough for me to know I hadn’t done so recently. Wondering what took the place of the milk, I open the refrigerator. Sure enough, there’s a pair of dirty socks. The washing machine turns out to be where I’ve placed a library book. The book’s spot in the den has a box of dog biscuits in it, which confuses me until I recall I agreed to dog-sit for a neighbor. Say, where is the dog, anyway? I peer into the dog’s crate, which contains nothing but a thawed bag of once-frozen corn. Uh-oh.

RICHARD

#1 – George’s Story – Part 89: Still waiting

Faced with an unresponsive companion, George was forced to concede that there was little else to do other than wait, although what for, he had no idea.

As the minutes stretched out, he found himself asking how on earth he’d managed to get into such a mess. His memories prior to waking at the hospital were still patchy, at best, and as for the circumstances leading up to that turning point in his life, other than the words ‘car accident’ gleaned from the hospital notes, he couldn’t even surmise about what had occurred.

Bored and tired, George closed his eyes.

#2 – Eton Mess

The crowning glory of my dinner party was the desert – my stunning coup de grace: Eton Mess.

A wonderful concoction of whipped cream, strawberries and crumbled meringue, lovingly folded together harmoniously to form a gloriously beguiling and deliciously wicked finale to the evening’s culinary pleasures.

It went down an absolute treat – impressing everyone.

As I closed the door behind the last departing diner, I breathed a sigh of relief and reflected on the evening’s proceedings.

Shame about the pavlova, I thought… but scooped off the floor and served with a flourish, nobody even noticed.

Eton mess, my arse!

JESSICA

Don Foyer
By: Jessica Quin

Don Foyer headed into the hotel shower.
He carefully placed his towel on the hook, taking extra care not to let it touch anything. He left his slippers on because he wouldn’t dare touch the floor. He couldn’t, no wouldn’t allow the germs to touch him! How vile! Disgusting!

On the other side of the city one man squeezed through the door that only opened slightly, he re-emerged gaging and shaking his head. The other men pushed through to find a mess of garbage, the stench insufferable; maggots crawled on the mail piled at the door.

‘Don Foyer eviction notice’

Obsession
By: Jessica Quin

Josh hardly knew her, but she declared her love anyway.
What was her obsession with him?
First time, he saw her in the car outside his job, then the store, the bar and finally, under the darkness of his living room.
“Say you want me too!”
Josh heard the crazed sound in her voice. He moved quickly towards his gun in the basket above the TV!
She took her aim in the darkness and pulled the trigger!
Shots rang out!

Ouch… the burning…
His side was hurting. He looked over, she wasn’t moving.
“How did I get into this mess?”

LIZZIE

When he woke up, the TV was on and he saw his face splattered all over the news. The previous night was a total blur and the woman slumped on the couch of this unfamiliar living-room remained eerily silent. He wore nothing but a black t-shirt. Slightly embarrassed for being half naked, he mumbled an apology and dashed for the door, holding his pants. Don’t worry, he heard. But it wasn’t the woman’s voice. Her head rolled to a halt by his feet. At least, I got rid of one of them, he thought. Yes, one voice at a time.

SERENDIPITY

Crime scene, accident, or just a simple corpse mouldering in an empty house… until the neighbours notice the smell.

Things like that leave one hell of a mess, and somebody has to clean it up… and that’s where I come in.

Blood, fluids, bones, hair and rotting organs are my stock in trade – I bag them up, scrub away the stains and you’d never know anything had occurred.

From unholy mess to pristine clean – I take pride in my job.

And as for all those bits I take away…

What do you think is inside your microwave lasagne?

TOM

Talking about my generation

Each generation strives to create its own unique lexiconic tool box. Emboldened a group of words with hype context. Those of the Mod Gen were rather fond of the word [mess]. It was used as a non-specific sum as in “I have a mess of comic books. And with the modifier [stuff] having even less specificness as in “I got a mess of stuff for Christmas.” It severed to note aimless non-productive enterprise as “ We were just messing around.” Yet in the proper setting it described critical interact as in “Don’t mess with me.” Or “Man, your messed up.”

A Well Defined Relationship Part 85

Le Cid removed the paper and handed it to Timmy. Unconsciously Master Parsons said “Who is Laura Lin Parker?” The Dealer immediately started writing the following.

“Daughter of Texas billionaire Titus Parker. Texas Sharpshooter of the Year 1956. Wife of Rep Governor Ronald James.”

Le Cid chuckled “ Seems JFK got popped for messing with the wrong Texas Deb.” “That was disappointing,” said Tim. “Try something really hard,” prodded the bandit. “Why did my father have to die,” The Dealer’s face changed from serene to puzzled to sad, wrote the following

Poindexter

“Timothy Parson’s god father ?” Asked the lad.

ANIMA

Major Tom

The noise was the first thing I notice: Entering the mess hall, there’s silverware clanging, laughter and conversation, news feeds blaring, boots stomping on the planking. The din is overwhelming me, so recently released from isolation training. 60 days alone in some netherworld sub-basement quarters at NASA.

Someone is standing by me, but I am having a tough time focusing…

Huh? Sorry… what…-

“ I asked, how do you feel about your upcoming mission? Isn’t it a bit controversial, searching for life forms in outer space? What does your wife…”

I mutter, I can’t wait to leave all this behind.

SPATE

Messy Business

Six years of dogging every imagined impropriety. Six years of oversight
hearings and special investigations. Six years watching them audaciously
shrug off scandal after scandal.

Now finally we have them by their slippery golf balls! In a mess of their
own making and by their own admission: nobody of importance was sent!

Bigger than Benghazi! Stickier than some kid’s lemonade stand being targeted
by the IRS!

Why not go to Paris? I’m sure the Secret Service was up for a trip to the
‘City of Love’.

Hold the ketchup. don’t call my french fries freedom fries… they are
Charlie fries!

NORVAL JOE

The prophet Mess Mass Abush was a humble man. He taught his people to live lives of compassion and service for all people; believers and unbeliever alike. As an example of his humility he insisted that no representation of his image should ever be made.
Unfortunately, the alphabet of his people was hieroglyphic. As a result, his name was represented as a blank square.
Over the centuries the meaning of the blank square was lost. Ultimately, disciples of the Nameless Prophet interpreted the empty space to mean, “Anyone to name the prophet should be smashed beneath a giant stone block”.

TURA

Mess
——–
We pwned the Hanover Messe this year, the largest trade show in the world. Their registrations ran on bog-standard Windows, so we hacked ourselves a free booth for a fake company. Then we brought in crateloads of wired and wireless sniffers, cracking hardware, and storage.

By the end, we’d downloaded the entire contents of 85% of the mobile phones that passed through (including Angela Merkel’s), and had access to almost everything with a computer inside. We could have wrecked the industrial robots, but we only use our powers for good.

Yes, that was another fine Messe we got ourselves into.

PLANET Z

Mother made a mess in the kitchen.
Father made a mess of the family finances.
Son made a mess of his school grades.
Daughter made a mess of her relationship.
Grandpa made a mess of the inheritance.
Rover made a mess on the carpet.
Baby made a mess on the wall with crayons.

Thank goodness for their neighbor, Luigi. He made a mess of spaghetti and meatballs and garlic bread, and called everyone over for a feast.

They had a great dinner together, and had a good time.

Until Grampa got drunk, and talked about the war.

Luigi stabbed him.

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: PIRACY

We’ve got stories by:

• John Musico
• Munsi
• Lizzie
• Jeffrey
• Richard
• Zackmann
• Anima Zabaleta
• Serendipity
• Rick Thomas
• Spate
• Scott
• Tom
• Norval Joe
• Chelsea
• Tura Brezoianu
• Cliff
• Planet Z

The next 100 word stories weekly challenge is on the topic of MESS. Scroll up and click on Weekly Challenge to learn how to join us!

JOHN MUSICO

Piracy
by John Musico

I first came across the issue of piracy when I tried downloading music from the internet.
When I worked on a TV series which included picture in picture scenes, I further learned the fine for copyright infringement is $150K per transgression.
So. I posted as many of my own pictures on the net as I could. I gave them unique titles that were easy for me to Google.
In just one week, I found 10 of my pics used on some stranger’s website.
My scam was a bit evil, however, with a million in the bank; I’ll sleep just fine.

MUNSI

Pirates

By Christopher Munroe

When Johnny Depp was kidnapped by actual Somali pirates, we all agreed it was going to be amazing. News networks went berserk, comedians got ready and we were primed to follow this amazing, if socially irrelevant, news story wherever it might take us.

It was, after all, the sort of amazing TV that didn’t come along every day, and we were excited to make the most of it.

Three days later the pirates killed him.

Because in real life, pirates do that.

It was kind of a downer.

Ah well. Hopefully the next thing will be a little more fun.

LIZZIE

They approached the ship at night. Two went up to the control room. The rest looked for the crew quarters; everyone was fast asleep. The captain wasn’t. After a scuffle and a black eye, he gave up. Much to his surprise, the leader of the group demanded the cargo. “But… It’s books.” The boxes were unloaded and taken away. The school of the village would finally teach proper English. The media hurried to state that even pirates have a heart, the authorities protested vehemently and the pirates’ only thought was that in the future, they’d make their demands more efficiently.

JEFFREY

“Spoilers”
by Jeffrey Fischer

I enjoy watching movies on DVD rather than in the theater. Not only is my living room more comfortable and quieter than the theater, with no rowdy kids or the glow of smartphone screens interrupting the story, but movies always come with a little extra. Even before the action begins, the FBI warning shows up, and I know G-Men are on the job, stopping movie piracy. I’m not quite sure how I could charge a fee for watching the piece of trash that is about to follow, but I sleep more soundly knowing my more clever neighbors aren’t making a buck out of it.

“Bad Day at the Office”
by Jeffrey Fischer

Two Somali pirates were at a bar, talking business over a vintage fermented goat’s milk. “How was your last kidnapping?”

“Wonderful, Allah be praised. A rich American infidel and his mistress on a yacht. I received two million dollars in ransom.”

“Allah be praised. On my last trip, I caught a small cruise ship. It was a fundraising trip for both Hillary Clinton and Jeb Bush. Each wants to be the next leader of the Great Satan.”

“That must have resulted in a large ransom indeed.”

“One would think so. But both the Democrats and Republicans refused to pay even a single cow for their return. The Republicans told me to push Mr. Bush overboard, while the Democrats offered me a show on MSNBC to do the same to Mrs. Clinton.”

RICHARD

#1 – George’s Story – Part 88: Waiting

When George finally found the waiting room shown in the images, he was somewhat shocked to find the room already occupied by a rather scruffy looking guy, thumbing through an old magazine.

Taking a seat, George cleared his throat and introduced himself: “I’m George, and you are?”

“Bored”, came the response; “Got anything to read on you? I’ve read this piece on internet piracy about twenty times now.”

George shook his head.

“Pity”, said the stranger, returning to his magazine.

“So, er… what exactly do we do now?”, asked George.

The stranger nodded towards the waiting room sign:

“We wait!”

#2 – Yar!

Where did the romance of piracy go?

Long gone are the days of splicing the mainbrace, muskets and cannon, peg legs and brass spyglasses; and I can’t remember when I last saw a privateer run up the Jolly Roger and heave to.

Talking parrots and cutlasses have had their day, and you’re more likely to hear a string of Somalian, than ‘shiver me timbers’ in a piratey voice!

Swashbuckling adventure on the high seas isn’t quite the same with machine guns and machetes.

But, some things haven’t changed.

You can still make a tidy profit, in dollars, rather than doubloons.

#3 – Yo ho ho!

I won’t say that I knew what I wanted to be when I grew up – my ambitions changed from day to day.

When I said I wanted to be a pirate, my parents told me to be realistic: so I opted for astronaut, to which they said, ‘come back down to earth, son’.

I tried, but didn’t have the brains for a surgeon, or the brawn for a fireman.

So, instead, I lurk all day in my room, burning counterfeit DVDs to sell down the market.

Proved my parents wrong – I grew up to be a pirate anyway!

ZACKMANN

Ratsy was born on March fourteenth so naturally he was given the first name Pi. He loved television especially movies with rats in them. Especially ones in which rats worked in kitchens like Rizzo helping Long John in the galley. On a computer tablet he would watch cooking videos on youtube then practice cooking when he was alone. Eventually he achieved his lifelong dream: becoming a real life Ratatouille. Now he make the best desserts. You can look far and wide but you are very unlikely to find another rodent who is as good a pastry chef as Pi Ratsy.

ANIMA

The Dream Pirates

James woke with a start. He tried to remember his dream, the one with savage indians and treehouses, but only came up with half images of clocks, hooks and toothy crocodiles.

He tried to remember; he thought he’d been flying. He thought he’d been happy. But even as he roused himself out of that half state of early morning awareness, James felt the joy slipping away.

Sailing ships became math problems; his overdue book report and homeroom filled his waking senses.

The Dream Pirates had struck again, stealing childhood’s dreams worth gold, replacing them with realities wooden nickels and fears.

SERENDIPITY

You laughed when you read the warnings… ‘Piracy is a crime’: So what, you thought, everybody does it, and the entertainment industry makes enough money as it is.

Oh, they certainly do.

Enough money to employ me… and I’m coming to get you.

For every song you’ve ever stolen, every movie you’ve taken and every game you’ve copied, I am going to make you pay the price.

And I’ll expect every penny, with interest, paid in full on demand.

I will find you.

And you will pay.

And, if you can’t…

I’m going to make you walk the plank!

RICK THOMAS

A “Not So Roughshod” Pillaging
__________________________

They met in a bar by the bay …
green eyes, brown hair, broad shouldered he ravaged her again and again …
he and his friends had taken over her apartment like pirates raiding a ship!
They ate her food, drank her liquor, smoked, cursed, treated her as a servant wench …
at one point or another they had all put their hands on her inappropriately!
The raucous behavior was incessant, her home a wreck in the space of a long weekend.
Now they were gone … order restored …

Her heart ached for their return!

They were the best three days of her life!!!

SPATE

The Choice

Slow death is delicate agony. An Esther Williams black and white
synchronized water ballet of goodbyes. Fully extended arms as metronomes,
reaching in unison, counting the moments. backstroke goodbye, backstroke
goodbye; swimming away until strength is no more and then quietly slipping
beneath the surface of the pool.
Fade out.

Fast death is an act of piracy. An abrupt Charles Laughton led boarding
under cover of darkness. Pillaging substance, raping permanence; it sets
the ship afire, leaving you to jump alone into the black turbulence of the
sea.
Celluloid breaks, flapping to projector white light.

Which ending would you choose?

(music: “New England Is Interesting” by BOPD / curator: freemusicarchive.org
/ licensed CC BY-NC 3.0)

SCOTT

Piracy:

Peddling bootleg DVDs in Asia can be a risky business. Authorities love to make statements with high profile arrests, and even better if the offender is a foreigner.

Randy knew this, but he wasn’t worried. “Ten years of piracy and still counting. Besides, it takes a pirate to catch a pirate,” he’d say.

Therefore he was a little startled one day when his front door flew past him and crashed into the back wall. In the doorway stood an ancient buccaneer, teetering on a wooden leg. “A hundred years of piracy, and still counting,” the pillager bellowed, unsheathing his sword.

TOM

A Well Defined Relationship Part 84

“Where are I,” said Timmy. “We are with Tamerlane,” said Cid. The boy and the bandit where standing in a dimly lit cube 16×16. On one wall hung a 16th century mirror. Against an other was a child’s seesaw. In the center a green velvet black jack dealer’s station. Behind a man was removing single sheets of paper from a four ream stack and carefully writing on each. “This is the big bad secret,” troubled Tim. “Oh indeed Master Parsons, you’re looking at Piracy on a galactic level. Ask about a secret. “Who kill Kennedy?’ The dealer wrote the following.

In the Name of the Game

Tony was a runner. This was in the days of 5 ¼ floppies. He had gaming friends in both the South and North Bay. In San Jose he knew sector/track/byte sum crackers. In Concord he knew a guy with a garage full of q/a kicked Datalife disks. The best was to go to jail for copyright infringement was in the labyrinth of law which was mail fraud, thus the need for someone to be the sneaker-net. That was Tony, Buses to Bart, Bart to Buses. No one in the chain charged for their respective service it was Piracy without profit.

NORVAL JOE

Harold enjoyed his position as assistant headmaster at a boys’ school, though he knew he was hated by most of the students. The boys could hate him. He had what they wanted and knew that the little brats would pay well for it.
Over the years he had tried many ways to turn a few bucks from smuggling items into the dorms. He had sold soda, energy drinks, candy and pizza. Hands down, Harold’s most successful hustle was selling pirated video games. They cost almost nothing to rip off the internet and there wasn’t a boy who didn’t want one.

CHELSEA

The pirate

He stood at the now of his ship looking out at the calm blue ocean before him. All his life he’s been told no at every turn. That simple word had shaped him into the man he was today.
Every person who’d ever told him no hoping to break him a little more each day had only served to make him stronger. The only thing they had accomplished was to push him closer to this day.
“Hoist our colors!” He called to his crew.
He looked up as the black and white flag caught the ocean breeze, he was free.

TURA

Piracy
——–
“Arr!” said Cap’n Jack Black to his crew.

“Yarrr-har!” they responded.

“Listen up, mateys,” the Captain went on. “Afore Billy Bones died, he gave me ‘is treasure map! It’s a little island don’t appear on the charts, three days out to sea from here. Are ye rarin’ to go?”

“Yarrr!” they cheered.

“Google Maps doesn’t show it,” said one crewman, consulting his iPhone.

“It be tidal, it be,” riposted the Captain. “Only shows at low tide.”

“That would be a shipping hazard,” said another. “NOAA maps say there’s nothing there.”

“Arr,” said the Captain. “Piracy just isn’t fun any more.”

CLIFF

In the Golden Age of piracy, she was the best. She would have been the pirate queen but nobody ever knew her name. She looted seven Spanish galleons in one raid, sent them to the ocean floor, and everyone thought they had sunk in a storm. She raided ships in the oceans Atlantic, Indian, and Pacific. She once convinced the entire crew of a French treasure ship to abandon their vessel and make for shore in lifeboats due to ghost and curses. And who was this mysterious woman? Weren’t you listening? I told you that nobody ever knew her name.

PLANET Z

For centuries, your status in piracy was determined by how much you stole.
Then, the most important factor was the color of your beard.
Bluebeard… Blackbeard… Yellowbeard… you’ve heard of them, right?
Pirates started dyeing their beards with all kinds of colors.
Redbeard… Orangebeard… Pinkbeard… Ochrebeard…
Things got way out of hand, and merchant ships were sailing safely while pirates were too busy dyeing their beards.
A conclave of pirate captains came together to set beard standards.
No more wild colors. Beards could only be dyed to match the pirate’s hair color.
And that’s when they started using colored ribbons.