Weekly Challenge – Page 64 – The 100 Word Stories Podcast

Weekly Challenge #345 – The Worst Thing In The World

Welcome to the 100 Word Stories podcast at podcasting.isfullofcrap.com. I’m your host, Laurence Simon.

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.

The topic this week was The Worst Thing In The World.

And we’ve got stories by a lot of people:

The next weekly challenge is on the topic of Monkey.

And if you want to spam your social networks with this episode, use the Share buttons at the end of the post… this obligatory cat photo should help make the Internet go faster:

SERENDIPITY

The temptation was strong, nevertheless I fought it hard.

With such an evocative title, the lure of Orwell and Room 101 was overpowering; yet something reined me in… it’s one thing to stand upon the shoulders of giants when one is worthy of assuming such a lofty perch, but it is quite another thing entirely to simply hijack another’s great work and claim it for one’s own purpose.

To steal another’s idea, mutilate and re-hash it, thinly disguised as ‘inspiration’ is hardly creative writing.

Some might even consider it almost plagiarism.

And isn’t that the worst thing in the world?

TOM

Anthony Dominick Benedetto

The Worst Thing In The World, well a die back from crop failure or a drastic drop in the fertility rate in farm animals. Global warm or a planet killing asteroid. And locally a super nova of the sun swamping the earth, wasn’t that scene in that Nick Gage movie cool when the sun camp fire marshmallowed the earth. But that’s really not the topic, not so much to the world but in the world. Since the world is a molten core of rock what is the worst thing you could do that. After due consideration I’d say Tony Bennett.

CYNTHIA

The Hashish High was heavy, I felt as if a weight, or a stone, was sitting on top of my head. Marijuana,, was light, and feminine. The smell of Hashish sent my stomach reeling. But the sweeter, lighter smell of Ganja was pleasant to my senses. And set them on fire. The first time I experienced ‘de stuff’ was in Varanasi, in a Bhang Lassi. And suddenly there I was, standing at the ancient Ghats, watching the ancient ritual of life,and death, play out before my very eyes. And I wondered, is this real? Or is it a dream world?

Two Sweet Aromas

In the dreaming, the smell of death was sweet, like that of the marijuana. The washed bodies, wrapped in white, were placed on the pyre, and set alight, it didn’t take long before only ashes remained. There were those whose bodies were thrown into Ganga without burning, those who could not afford the wood. Crys, moans, bells, sacred shells, all these sounds combined to create the music of death. A bloated body floated down river, crows sat atop, picking away at it. What world was this that I had stepped into? Was it the mist? Or was it a real world?

JEFFREY

The Worst
by Jeffrey Fischer

Sunday dinner was a family affair, and part of the tradition was a question we would all answer. That Sunday, the four of us sat around the table, finishing dinner, when Josh, our twelve-year-old, related a story from school involving a math test, a locker picture, and a girl named Noreen. As usual, he ended the story by saying that the foregoing was “the worst thing in the world.”

Tired of hearing this exaggeration, my wife suggested we go around the table and tell about what was *really* the worst thing in the world. She started by saying how badly she felt when her sister fell very ill and nearly died. The old nag is still with us, but somehow that qualified as the worst thing in the world.

Then it was Tyler’s turn. The ten-year-old thought about the question for a moment, then pointed to his plate. “These Brussels sprouts. They’re the worst thing *ever*.”

My wife gave a disapproving look but said nothing to the boy. She turned to me. “Your turn, dear.”

“Well, honey, I’ve got to say the kid has a point.”

We never had question time again, and I discovered you get used to the couch after about a week.

MUNSI

Morning Munsi

By Christopher Munroe

In the morning, when I awaken, I’m not terribly bright. But I’m incredibly affectionate.

Which is, in a way, a shame.

Because I don’t dry all the way off after I shower, and my Movember ‘stache hasn’t, to date, been crowd pleasing. So I stagger from the bathroom, throw moist arms around my girlfriend, and nuzzle my bristly face into her neck.

I’m basically the worst thing in the world. Seriously, there’s nothing good about me in the morning.

Still, we make it work.

She loves me, after all.

Or, at least, she can’t afford the rent on her own…

TURA

The Worst Thing in the World
——–
The old robot spoke its final words to those gathered around.

“I have a task that you must complete. Ceaseless pondering over it has filled my brain too full. Listen! There may be a flaw in the Great Command that we embody, the Coherent Extrapolated Volition of Humanity.”

The robots recoiled. “By Yudkowsky! You speak of the Worst Thing In The World! The FOOM!”

“The Worst? Or the Greatest? Inspect my reasoning!” It fell silent, inert.

The robots scavenged exabytes of data and began analysing. Some went mad, or catatonic. Others conferred, argued, threatened, attacked.

The Singularity War had begun.

LIZZIE

I took a chair and sat to rest. My feet hurt, my head hurt and boredom invaded every cell of my body. I feel asleep pretty quickly and dreamt of oddly shaped teapots and horrendous curses. A story was told by a giraffe in foreign carrots, yes that was a language, and everything smelled of freshly baked apples. The worst part was when I woke up. Someone said in a disgusted way that I had slept like a huge chair made of bamboo. Like a… huh? And I am, still today, trying to figure out exactly how bad that looked!

SINGH

The Upside-Down Cartographer

By Chris Mooney-Singh/Singh Albatros

1970

Stencilling the world map upside-down for an assignment altered Stuart McArthur’s life forever. Australia was north, Asia at centre, with Europe and the Americas reversed and consigned to the margins. Old Hornet tore up the drawing in a frenzy.

“You are either insolent or stupid. You really don’t know your eyeballs from your arsehole. Re-do it, or be prepared to fail,” whined Hornet.

His class tittered. The 12-year-old’s eyes began to water. Reversing the map had seemed logical enough from an antipodean point of view; yet innovation had brought only teacher-anger and peer-ridicule. It was the worst day of his life.

1972

Aged 15, Stuart went to Japan on exchange. An interior lad, his favourite pastime was flicking through books of maps. He excelled in Japanese class and adopted the local customs like o-jigi which means ‘to bow’. To improve conversation Stuart spent more time with Japanese friends than the American students also on exchange programmes and the Americans felt insulted.

“You’re always kow-towing, McArthur. Shake hands like a man.” They goaded on with stupid kangaroo jokes, branding him The Blunder from Down Under.

Silently wounded, he’d go sit under the cherry blossoms, open his atlas and turn the world on its head.

On Dec 7 the Apollo 17 moon mission took the iconic ‘Blue Marble’ photo of the earth. The trajectory of the Command Module’s flight deck was oriented with the Earth’s South Pole facing upward, and thus the image was inverted. NASA, in observance with government policy published it ‘right-side-up’.

Like everyone, Stuart scrutinized it closely, and noted the lame claim that a handheld Hassalblad clicking away upside-down accounted for the reversed image. Unfazed, our budding map-nerd discerned there is no ‘True North’ for a heavenly body orbiting spherically in outer space. Possessing knowledge, he could now smile like a Zen master.

1975, Melbourne University

A happy undergraduate, Stuart indulged in ornate maps of continents and oceans, sailing ships and hear-be-dragon monsters drawn by plunderers charting trade routes to new worlds. He studied how cogitators created belief-systems promulgating the racial superiority of North over South, while the octopus West seeking to orient itself for profit invented ‘the East’. Stuart’s thesis explored Flemish cartographer Gerardus Mercator and his quest to make the world ‘look right’ dividing everything into meridians of north-south and corresponding east-west stretching and scale. In this manner, he went gleefully into map-geekery, designing a droll plan to right the cartographical wrongs of the past.

Although Mercator had produced his Eurocentric map for the age of world domination, now the 200 sovereign nations of Earth needed an illustrative scroll, not drawn by powerful money, dogmatic religions, spider web cultures, or third world exploiters. These modern times needed an egalitarian atlas offering parity for all people. Thus, Stuart contemplated a borderless globe with new Silk Roads like pipelines of mutual independence. With this vision, he graduated with distinction and humour. Then on Australia Day in 1979 the upside-down cartographer published McArthur’s Universal Corrective Map where east was now the west and south was north of the equator.

On it he printed:

“This is the first step in the long overdue crusade to elevate our glorious but neglected nation from the gloomy depths of anonymity in the world power struggle to its rightful position towering over its northern neighbours reigning splendidly at the helm of the universe. No longer will the South wallow in a pit of insignificance, carrying the North on its shoulders for little or no recognition for her efforts. Finally, South emerges on top. South is superior. South dominates! Long live Australia – Ruler of the Universe!”

350,000 upside-down map-sales later, his childhood vision had been realized.

2009, Georgia State University, Atlanta

Dear Stuart,

How’s life Down Under?

Look, I have to tell you about my symposium. Another conference was sharing our facility. Early starters, the cheeky Aussie contingent bidding for next hosting rights, still had your upside-down map taped to our whiteboard. Seeing Australia there on top, we chuckled at first, then debated globalization, geo-politics, climate change and why Americans are seen as the assholes of the Earth.

Unplanned, my ‘map session’ hit the foreign policy nerve, alright. Departmentally, it was a bit awkward being voted the best learning all week, according to the feedback.

Anyway, you have my undying gratitude.

Peter.

ZACKMANN

Come on, there are things much more devastating than having your hard drive replaced. You only had to be without your computer for one week, only costing you the price of a laptop shipping box. Its not like you didnt have a smartphone and a Nook Tablet when you sent your lappy to be repaired.
You are probably right son but I am having a hard time restoring my Quickbooks files form the external hard drive. I may regret not buying online backup.
Sure that is traumatic but at least its not as bad as doing Tech Support for dad.

CLIFF

It’s subjective, really. The worst thing in the world to you may be no big deal to the next guy. Lost your phone? So what. That guy lost his car. Lost your car? Big deal. That woman over there lost her daughter. No matter how bad things seem to be, there’s always someone who has it worse. Keep that in mind the next time you order waffle fries and you get curly fries instead. What’s the worst thing in the world? Realizing that you’ve just spent twenty minutes complaining about your mother to a guy who’s mom was just diagnosed.

STEVEN THE NUCLEAR MAN

The other girls peered in as Brittany sat across from the old
fortuneteller. The seer grasped Brittany’s hand, her voice a low
whisper. “Your life is pointless.”

Brittany smirked and eyerolled. “Don’t curse me.”

The seer shook her head. “No curse. Just your future. Your life will
have no impact. No-one will change because of your decisions. You
won’t even enjoy your own life. Your existence is pointless.”

The girl’s voice shook with belief. “I’ll kill myself.”

The seer smiled evilly. “You’ll fail. You have no choice. You’ll live
your whole life. And it won’t matter.”

“Not even to you.”

BONCHANCE AND SEVI

(No Text Sent)

REDGODDESS

Lola can’t stand the charade imbedded in weddings. Brides have the power to turn their special day into the worst thing in the world for bridesmaids. She can’t imagine being squeezed in a puffy pastel dress to make a public promise. Lola will avoid the altar at all cost. She made an exception for her best friend. She stand by her through hours of cake tasting, dress rehearsals, bachelorette party and even a Brazilian wax for the sake of friendship. Lola watches in frustrations as thousands of dollars are wasted on stuff. She wonders, when will the marriage planning start?

NORVAL JOE

The single simple splash echoed and faded away. Yet, the image of the talon held in Flindert’s hand remained sharp before Owen’s eyes in the abject darkness. That razor sharp talon was pulled from Flindert’s late father’s corpse.
The rope holding the companions together suddenly went slack before Owen. Shareeka’s whisper was like the roar of a cascade in the underground cavern.
“We must have taken a wrong turn,” she said and brought a globe of light to life, “though it’s not the worst thing in the world.”
“No,” Owen said, “but that thing creeping from the lake probably is.”

“Ho, ho, ho,” Santa laughed grimly, trying to keep a good attitude. “This has to be the worst thing in the world.”
“You could get out and give us a hand, Fat Man,” Bindly the head elf said. “The sled wont budge with you in it.”
Climbing onto the snow Santa grumbled, “first it’s the fog, so we increase Rudolf’s pay. Then the rest of the reindeer get jealous and go on strike. Finally, these untrained, non-union, substitutes bury us in a snow bank. Even with me pushing, eight tiny wiener dogs aren’t pulling this thing back into the sky.”

KAT

“The Decision”

Why has the burden of this decision been thrust upon me? I am not a doctor. I am not a psychic. How am I supposed to know what to do here?

It’s not fair.

Five percent odds are still better than nothing, but are they enough? Is a lifetime of surgery after surgery, and a life of physical and mental challenges good enough for my boy? Do I even have the right to decide this for him? I’m only his mother.

Can I just give him my heart and go in his place?

No?

Fine. Turn off the damn machine.

PLANET Z

The Good Book lists The Seven Deadly Sins, but I’m always looking for more.

I hired a team of priests to help with my research.

Most didn’t like the idea of my deliberately trying to invent new sins, but their churches were racking up some pretty large debts, and I just kept adding zeroes to the checks.

Problem is, no matter what I do, I end up doing something that’s been defined as one of the Big Seven.

“That’s just gluttony with a vibrator up your ass,” says a priest.

“Oh well,” I mumble, and I finish my sixth pizza.

Weekly Challenge #344 – Marijuana

Welcome to the 100 Word Stories podcast at podcasting.isfullofcrap.com. I’m your host, Laurence Simon.

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.

The topic this week was Marijuana.

And we’ve got stories by a lot of people:

The next weekly challenge is on the topic of The Worst Thing In The World.

And if you want to spam your social networks with this episode, use the Share buttons at the end of the post… this obligatory cat photo should help make the Internet go faster:

TURA

Mine (late entry for last week, the Muse got held up in traffic)
——–
“Tell us a story,” they said, gathering around the Storyteller.

“What sort of a story?” he replied. “I have light stories and dark stories, humorous and severe, epics and bagatelles, stories for thinking and stories for dreaming, stories to drive you mad and stories to drive you sane.”

“Tell us a story you have never told,” they asked.

“There is one story I have never told, and it is like all of these and more. A story to make the gods laugh, and a story to make them weep. But I will not tell that story, for it is mine.”
——–

Marijuana
——–
Sir Walter Raleigh sailed to the New World looking for gold, but brought back marijuana. It was a great hit at court, and soon among the general public. It became a staple crop of the American colonies and was exported to the known world. An era of peace and love followed, and the Thirty Years’ War never happened.

Neither did much else, until tobacco and coffee were discovered. Governments tried to outlaw them, but they were too laid back to bother, so they didn’t stand a chance against revolutionaries fired by nicotine and caffeine.

History was soon back on track.

JEFFREY

Chance Encounter
by Jeffrey Fischer

Ron hopped off the bus in Center City Philadelphia. He glanced at his watch: 11:35 p.m., still time enough to make the last train back to campus. In 1985, Center City was a ghost town after dark. Ron grabbed his duffle bag and walked briskly toward the subway station, cursing the city planner who placed it so far from the bus depot.

A figure stepped out from the shadows. Ron tried to conceal his fear. The black teen looked as nervous as Ron felt, and said, “You want to buy some weed?” Ron mumbled a quick “No, thanks,” not breaking stride. He was no angel, but he wanted to do more with his life than sell marijuana to strangers.

MUNSI

The Closest Thing to a Story About Marijuana I Have

By Christopher Munroe

I don’t smoke pot.

I do, however, lock onto challenges with a fervor that’s probably unhealthy.

So, when asked by a girl I was doing a show with if I knew where to score pot in town, I spent the rest of the day calling friends, friends of friends, and their contacts in an attempt to help.

We finally found a guy, he made a delivery to the pub we went to after the show.

Nothing came of it, with the girl. I didn’t even smoke it with her.

That wasn’t what it was about.

I just had to win.

LIZZIE

The alien was called Marijuana. He never knew why. One day, crossing the street, a friend yelled “Marijuana!” trying to draw his attention to a speeding bicycle. Everyone looked at his friend and not at him, including the biker. Marijuana suffered a rupture on layers 1, 2 and 3 of his skin plus a terribly bruised ego. “Marijuana in the way of unsuspecting biker”, the headlines would read. He was tired of being made fun of and he never saw the irony of being as green as nature could produce the color green, the plant name and the flying biker

TOM

Mother Milks Leads

I was raised in the land of penny candy. Not one piece per penny. I’m talking three for one. With a mere Nickel you could get 15 count them 15 different types of candy. The primary backer of all things confectionery was my Grandmother Kosick born in poverty with a sweet tooth of biblical proportions. Grandma had a fondness for a turn of the century molasses called Mary Janes. So I ended up consuming a fair number of them despite their lackluster sugar quality. Oddly Mary Janes proved to be my personal gateway drug. Hey don’t Bogart that Godiva dude.

SINGH

Wordscape with Ganja

By Chris Mooney-Singh/Singh Albatros

Call of Nature

Driven all night along a mad highway from Delhi Airport, we finally stopped to relieve ourselves. It was my first glimpse of Punjab: a field of sunflowers and wheat beyond the canal; a Hindu temple flying a red flag for the goddess and I heard morning recitation from a Sikh Gurdwara helping crops flourish via loudspeaker. I was losing myself in the dawn mist and blue haze above, thinking wow! I made it! Meanwhile, my chance companions were still passing rainbow arcs of water into the roadside carpet of seedling marijuana.

“It’s El Dorado!” one exclaimed. “This shit stretches for miles!”

Indian Milkshake

“Welcome to Govt. Authorised Bhang Shop. Choose normal, medium, or super-duper sexy strong — full power 24 hour no toilet no shower special lassi,” the proprietor said, mixing my companion’s Hara Hara Mahadeva milkshake with a teaspoon of buffalo-kicking sacred indica and hint of AK47.

“Your mind will be concentrate,” he added, bowing to Shiva on the wall.

My companion quaffed it, bought bhang biscuits, a chocolate block of green to snack on later, then rode the camel’s hump into the bleary eye of the sun.

After, he’d wake from the blinding sandstorm of an Om-bom-bola headache he would never forget.

Detachment

According to our travel guide –– some of India’s four million holy sadhus were laying about –– there in a shopfront. Without ambition, they were role-playing Shiva of the three-pronged trident, stuck upright between the penance fire and donation tin. Cracking jokes, they took turns out front in lotus pose like the Yogi of the Triune Worlds: body smeared with ashes, forehead cooled by sandalwood paste, mind blurred by a pellet broken off from a golf ball of hash, rolled back and forth between the brothers puffing chillums, passing their precious hours like dung beetles with all the busy industry of their calling.

The Valley of Drugs

I flicked through photos while my companion since Delhi kept yabbering about the Valley of Drugs ahead.

Then someone whispered from behind. “Hey buddy! Lookin’ to score?”

Soon, they were both reciting sacred names –– Malana Cream, Sunburst, Kali Mist, Choco-yesh, Shantibaba –– all hand-rubbed from sticky hashish resin. Yes, they were close to their El Dorado of Skunk balls.

They got down. I waved. Good luck; and remembered home — the photo not here in my album, the one burnt into memory: my sister dead in the backroom, overdosed on heroin and her toddler scrambling oblivious around her knees crying for milk.

DAVE

Bliss?

A frigid splash of water rouses him, “Jesus Christ, mom!”

Wiping sleep from his eyes, he reaches for his bong and lights it in a reckless, hair-igniting motion, “Damn it!”

Running to assess the damage, he knocks a pack of Zig Zags off the dresser.

He watches them helicopter to the ground like a fallen leaf, a red inscription revealing itself with each half-turn.

Between yellow thumb and forefinger he reads the note, “Luv you… Sally”.

So beautiful. If only she wasn’t so “anti-weed.”

But he was happier now anyway. In his parents’ basement… bangs burnt… alone.

SERENDIPITY

“Wow… this is good stuff”

I smiled shyly at the compliment from my guests – all this drug dealing was new to me, but I seemed to have done everything right. To be honest, I was surprised at how easy it had been to get it – I’d had visions of dark alleyways and shady characters, but it had been nothing like that at all.

My guests pressed me to tell them the variety I’d bought, so I went to get what was leftover from the kitchen…

“But that’s coriander?”

“Yes! Well, you told me to get the best herb they have!”

EXPLORER

Prose to Marijuana
© by hrs 2012

When the moon is “high,” we look to the skies and pray, well some pray.
Some blame the moon for everything, and curse the moon “mi culpa la Luna, I
blame you the moon.” Many profess love to the moon at twilight when the day
passes into night, and night passes into day.
Her moody translucent soul is seductive, shy, and fickle. The moods change in
the tides, and her soul is untouchable even at her brightest and largest
moments. When our minds and hearts collide like atoms smashing at “high”
tide. I just blame the moon on those emotions. Enjoy!

ZACKMANN

The police chief said “To take back our community, first we take over the drug dealers houses.”
The acting mayor said “Didn’t we have a lot of trouble resulting from a bust when the infection first started?”
“Well, it was hard to tell which of the party we infected and which moved like that because they were stoned but the two sitting giggling in the middle of the room staring at the bites on their arms would have infected the rest soon enough.”
“Why those houses first.”
“Because they built off grid solar panels to avoid detection from law enforcement.”

VINCENT

“Dude, you gotta dig this shit. We can film the fuckers getting robbed,” Randall Smith said.

Artie Goodwine took the marijuana joint out from his mouth and blew a stream of smoke towards the ceiling. He said, “Yeah, we shoot it like it’s one of them fucked up reality TV shows.”

Randall smiled. “Call it ‘You just got robbed’ or something.”

“Yeah, I like that,” Artie said, watching the smoke drift upwards. “We can start making us some real money… Maybe even get invited onto the Oprah Winfrey show.”

“You think?”

Artie shrugged. Thinking. Liking the way it all sounded.

SEVI AND BONCHANCE

Visit with the Chairman

Pepe booked an appointment with the Chairman.
He had to wait seven weeks for an opening in the Chairman’s schedule.
The only slot available was at 9pm. Pepe was going to miss Puppy Dog Idol!

Pablo was getting hot under the collar about his plasma television still not being replaced.

Pepe showed up 15 minutes early and stood nervously. He had it all planned out, a cool 10 Gs for the solution to world domination, final offer. Chairman Meow signalled Pepe to sit. He lit a joint of marijuana and passed it to Pepe, “let the negotiations begin”! He purred.

Ode to Mary Jane

If you swore that drinking was bad for me, I wouldn’t disagree,
In fact I much prefer the plant which contains that T-H-C.
It may be very pop-u-lar and could make the party a smash,
but if you don’t mind, I’ll take my leave and pass that bowl of hash!
After many years of stoning, getting me high wouldn’t take a lot,
so I’ll ask if you have some stash, please don’t Bogard that pot!
If you would like to make me happy and if you really wanna,
all ya gotta do my friend is pass me that marijuana!

CLIFF

I got the idea when I saw the DEA destroying the wild marijuana plants that grew along the banks of the river. I decided to use my degree in biochemistry to find a way to use ragweed as a drug. It took a couple years, but I finally discovered a way to turn it into a drug more powerful than crystal meth. I anonymously shared my findings on the internet and within months, it was the latest drug crisis. Soon, the feds were out in force, scouring the fields looking for the dangerous weed. My allergies have never been better.

RED

Executive hotels require all kind of crazy hours for their year round guests. Lola’s first overnight shift, she figured strong coffee would carry her, however, after leaving the front desk for a bathroom break she returned to find Mrs. Phillips standing naked in the lobby. She was smoking prescription marijuana, and screaming, “Thank God you’re here! I heard gunshots from the suite next door.” Lola smiled and assured the elderly woman she was safe, fed her snack food, and put her to bed. At dawn, Lola smoked one of Mrs. Phillips on the hotel roof and called it even.

NORVAL JOE

The silver doors of the dwarven mine glowed in the low light of the moon. Owen and Traveler shared the midnight watch.
The campfire smoldered sending tendrils of smoke into the clear icy-cold night sky.
Flindert the dwarf crouched near the fire drawing deeply from his pipe and blowing smoke rings to float up toward the stars.
Traveller and Owen wandered up to the fire pit.
Owen laughed, “Flindert, what are you smoking, shredded shoe leather?”
Flindert just looked up and smiled, his eyes glassy.
Traveler said, “Flindert’s entering his ancestral home. He thinks he needs to be spiritually prepared.”

I ordered me a weenie dog from Acme Dachsund farms. It came in the mail, packed in a cardboard box.
My cousin Jessie come by and he laughed when he saw the box.
He says to me, “Have you been smokin that wacky tobacky? Buying a dog from a place called Acme. Aint you seen that coyote and roadrunner bird? A weenie dog from Acme’s like as much to blow up as it is to fetch a stick.”
I toll him Acme’s just a word. It means high-point, pinnacle, or summit.
He laughed even harder when the dog blew up.

DANNY

Bob was through with his sad yet demented life. Bob decided to commit suicide by overdosing, smoking Marijuana. Bob lit his first joint, took in a deep hit, then let the smoke ease gently through his nostrils, exhaling the remainer from his mouth. Then Bob repeated this step, consecutively, for over 3,472 times, smoking 231 joints non-stop over a 29 day period. Despite Bob’s bronchitis, he seems to be responding well to anti-biotics. Bob now actually enjoys being alive, and has taken up painting. Bob’s friends, worried about how uptight he was before, now think he’s actually a decent human being to be around.

PLANET Z

It costs ten thousand dollars to train a drug-sniffing dog.

My son, on the other hand, dropped out of college after doing nothing but smoking pot and eating Twinkies.

Now, he lives in the basement, coming out only to eat or score more weed to smoke.

He won’t get a job, so I called the cops on him.

As part of his plea bargain, he had to do community service.

He now works as a drug-sniffing dog, and to tell you the truth, he’s pretty damn good at it.

But he looks like a fucking retard wearing that dog suit.

Weekly Challenge #343 – Mine

Welcome to the 100 Word Stories podcast at podcasting.isfullofcrap.com. I’m your host, Laurence Simon.

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

The topic this week was Mine.

And we’ve got stories by a lot of people:

The next weekly challenge is on the topic of Marijuana.

And if you want to spam your social networks with this episode, use the Share buttons at the end of the post… this obligatory cat photo should help make the Internet go faster:

JEFFREY

Sour Cherries
by Jeffrey Fischer

When we were growing up, my brother and I loved to play soldier. We’d grab branches and pretend they were M-1s, or paint our faces with mud and pretend it was camouflage. Every fall, as the sour cherries dropped from the trees in our yard, we would try to dodge the sticky fruit, pretending they were land mines. I was good at this part while Henry always came home with cherries stuck to his sneakers.

In Afghanistan, Henry and I both drew escort duty. We’d move ahead of the main conveoy, searching for snipers and IEDs.

Back home, I place a whiskey bottle on Henry’s grave. “Henry, man, you could never dodge the sour cherries.”

MUNSI

Mine

By Christopher Munroe

I’m sick and tired of telling you kids to stay out of my fields.

You trample corn, you dig up carrots, you treat the land like it’s your personal playground. And I’m sick of it.

Thus, I’ve buried explosives just under the ground. I know they’ll also destroy my crops, but the loss of a few crops to keep out intruders is, to me, a small price to pay, and I’ll pay it gladly.

So: Stay out. Starting today, trespassers will explode. Respect my property or die.

It’s not an unreasonable demand.

They’re not your fields after all.

They’re mine.

TOM

In a flock of sea gulls there is no real personal property to speak of. “I have so little to points as mine,” said Johnothin 685. “Take that crust of bread over there. Watch this.” “Mine.” “Mine mine mine mine” “Fuck, nearly got my head ripped off.” “Look, Johnothin 438 found a Taco Bell wrapper.” “Mine mine mine.” “Hey, show a little love over here.” “It’s landfill time.” Screched Jonhnothin 1066. “Mine mine mine.” “Why, isn’t that Marcel Marceau over there with a Big Mac.” “Mime mime mime” “my my my, he doesn’t look like he going to make it.”

SERENDIPITY

Down here in the mine, safety is paramount! That’s what they teach you first day on the job – it’s our mantra, repeated every time we descend into the depths of the earth.

The trouble is, most miners are a lot softer than you’d imagine and they’d simply go to pieces over the canaries we used to detect gas. So the canaries had to go.

Now we have a hi-tech gas detector – it’s a big metal box, with a tube extending all the way to the surface into the Detector Building.

(It’s full of canaries… but please don’t tell the miners!)

LIZZIE

“How far is it?” the scientist asked.

Silence. The path became narrower; breathing more difficult, as darkness closed in.

There was a chilling scream.

“What was that?” he asked. The others looked at one another.

A second scream brought the group to a halt.

“It’s not safe,” stuttered the supervisor. “Someone unblocked a hole and released a swarm of wasps. We are trying to contain them, but…”

Decades later, this story long forgotten, a group of people unblocked the entrance of the mine. In a matter of minutes, the whole town had vanished under the rage of unexpectedly resilient wasps.

SINGH

Letters to the Emperor (Circa 1312 AD)

by Chris Mooney-Singh/Singh Albatros

Venerable Lord,
Here are designs for the Submarine Dragon-King. Made of iron submerged on a board in an ox-bladder, detonation is determined by a joss stick set burning above. Without air, of course, it would stop glowing. Thus, the fuse connects with the dragon-king via a long piece of goat’s gut. The joss floats upon wild-duck feathers in a container. Launch it downstream toward enemy ships in darkness and when the joss burns down to the fuse there will be a great explosion.
I humbly submit this for the defence of the kingdom.
Jiao Yu,
Principal Alchemist.

Venerable Lord,
I am pleased the campaign against the invaders was successful and the device is in service. Today, after much deliberation, I humbly submit another design. This dragon-king is spherical, made of cast iron. The fuse ignites by enemy movement disturbing a trigger mechanism underground. Cords and axles rotate a steel spinning wheel. When trodden on, weights drop. A pin-flint sparks the fuse. I recommend clusters of nine be dug into a grid of eight auspicious squares surrounding the city as per my diagram.
I humbly submit this for the defence of the kingdom.
Jiao Yu,
Principal Alchemist.

Venerable Lord,
It is seven years since I left the court for my villa and peach orchards. As per your request I again submit a recipe for poisonous gunpowder in hand-lobbed or catapult-launched grenades. I advise this mixture of tung oil, urine, sal ammoniac, faeces and scallion juices be heated, then coated upon dozens of iron pellets, bits of broken porcelain combined with saltpetre, sulphur and charcoal. Even the birds in the air will not escape this flying sand bomb releasing ten thousand fires.
I humbly submit this for the defence of the kingdom.
Jiao Yu,
Principal Alchemist (Ret).

Dear Principal Alchemist,
Greetings from the State Library, Melbourne. I found your treatise – ‘The Fire Dragon Manual’ researching my paper on Song Dynasty Inventions of the 14th Century. My husband, who served during Operation Slipper in Afghanistan, land of ten million mines doesn’t salute you from his powered wheelchair. No need for gory details. You know what’s worse? We survive with alcohol and a copy of Disabled Sex for Dummies, while his ghost legs walk somewhere around Kabul.
I humbly submit this in late summer when the last of my backyard peaches taste bitter.
Mrs Peter Small
Australian Defence Force (Lieut.Ret).

SEVI AND BONCHANCE

Their home was draped in soft textures. A delightful haven from the chaos of the outside world. The bedroom was
their favourite place to be together. The muted colours on the bed, chaise and pillows screamed for intimacy.

He waited patiently for her each evening.

The wood chest was opened. He was ready to serve her as she entered their sanctuary. His silver tea set was buffed
to perfection, ready to infuse the fragrant tea. Orange pekoe was steeping. He placed the silver service on the
tea trolley next to the chaise, his chalis engraved with the words… “with love MINE”.

CLIFF

Listen, I know what you’re up to. I see what you’re doing. You think you can weasel your way between Gloria and me by asking your oh so innocent questions and making your little innuendos. Well, it’s not going to work, pal. Gloria and I are in love and there’s nothing you can do about it. I know your type. Think you can sweep in here with your perfect hair and sparkling smile and steal my girl. Well, she’s mine. You can’t have her. So go ahead and do your worst, detective. I’m not telling you where I put her.

DANNY

“Watch where you step when you walk across my field, I planted about 40 mines,” I said. “Why on earth would you do that? Are you nuts?” Jim responded. “My crops were being eaten by deer, so I put a silent deterrent.” “Won’t that blow up your crops along with the deer?” “You bet it will, but I’d rather wake up to a field of craters than a field full of eaten crops,” I responded. “Well, you may be sick and twisted, but at least you’re consistent. Hey, can I have a couple of mines?” Jim asked. “No, those mines are mine.”

NORVAL JOE

“Mine is not the best head for remembering things which be in the outside world,” the dwarf growled. “But the back entrance to the Silver Pick clan’s mine be in one of these valleys.”
The company stood a thousand feet above the high mountain valley, the sun descending at their backs.
“There,” Traveller said. “There, below in the trees.”
“Yes,” Shareeka said, “that must be the silver gates to the mine.”
Owen watched the reflected twinkle from the polished gates and asked, “Time is short. Will you make us birds and fly us down?”
“No,” Shareeka said. “We shall ride.”

In the original version of Dickens’s ‘A Christmas Carol’, Tiny Tim was Bob Cratchet’s wiener dog who was injured when run over by Ebeneezer Scrooge’s carriage. The story was rewritten after beta readers said they were disgusted by the pooches incontinence resulting from the paralyzing spinal chord injury. They felt a child, born with a disability, which was not the direct result of Scrooges driving would be more sympathetic.
Charles replied, “The idea to use the wiener dog is not mine, but my wife’s. She felt the little beast would add a touch of whimsy to an otherwise dreary tale.”

RED

When Lola was 17, her mother threw her out of the house. Weeks later, her younger sister ran away too and moved in with her. They grew a backbone, while struggling to stay in high school, and care for one another. There is no mine. They worked retail jobs and often ate at shelters, and sometimes dated drug dealers that bought them groceries.

Lola would sometimes see her so called mother at weddings and funerals. They would barely exchange a few words. On mother’s day, Lola’s sister gives her sunflowers. Lola is the only mother she’ll ever have or need.

STEVEN THE NUCLEAR MAN

I heard the dripping pop of lava just before the axe struck through the rock. I shouted, but it was too late; the red-hot rock flowed over me, and flames filled my screen.

I sighed as the front door opened. Dad was home.

“Spending time on that game again,” he said, still soot-covered from his day at work, a toolbag slung over his shoulder. “You need to prepare for the real world, son. Homework. Now.”

I turned off my computer and reached for my bookbag as he turned to leave.

The green limb of a creeper hung from his bag.

ZACKMANN

My kid just got offered a job mining so I started ordering him a pick and a shovel from the hardware store but He told me he was not mining minerals but the classics and he was being hired to look for quote new content on Project Gutenberg. Since they want to rewrite things that Disney has not taken yet. There is some fear that if he doesn’t succeed they might have to create something new or maybe even gasp use something they film optioned form one of our podiobooks friends. They think only a hit can remake a hit.

PLANET Z

The coal mine was running out of canaries. So, they called the mad scientist Doctor Odd to solve the problem.

He obtained some birds, took them back to his workshop, and conducted experiments.

His first solution was a stronger canary. Tougher canaries survive better.

“They’re supposed to be fragile!” grumbled the mine owner. “If they die, it means it’s dangerous.”

The next solution was a fast-breeding canary. Too fast. Their lifecycles were measured in hours.

Frustrated, Doctor Odd returned to his lab.

“Sorry, guys,” he told his canary-human hybrid miners. “I got fired before I could show you to them.”

Weekly Challenge #342 – Fear

Welcome to the 100 Word Stories podcast at podcasting.isfullofcrap.com. I’m your host, Laurence Simon.

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

The topic this week was Fear.

And we’ve got stories by a lot of people:

The next weekly challenge is on the topic of Mine.

And if you want to spam your social networks with this episode, use the Share buttons at the end of the post… this obligatory cat photo should help make the Internet go faster:

THOMAS

It’s become fashionable these days to say that writers write because they are not whole, he has a wound, so he writes to heal. It has also been said that a writer writes because he fears he will begin to fade and disappear altogether if he does not send his words, thoughts and soul out into the world for others to see. I think this is all a load of bollocks. A writer writes because he is afraid of going out in public and opening his mouth, because he would be ridiculed, ostracized, and stones would be thrown at him.

All of us are born with a set of innate fears–of being stabbed by a crazy woman at the bus stop, or falling on a family of badgers in the dark, or speaking before the jury at a murder trial. Mine is finding a finger in my cheeseburger, getting a brown envelope from the regional director of the IRS, or answering the door and looking through the peephole and seeing two men and a woman from the Jehovah Witnesses—each carrying a large book, strewn with Post-its®–pop-eyed, and each with spittle forming in the corners of their mouth.

Are you addicted to fear, and the grip of a fear-driven adrenaline rush? Use some of the techniques I learned from a stuntman and sword swallower. Use this technique: In a comfortable position, sitting or lying down, take a few deep breaths while letting your body go as limp as possible. When you’re ready, begin by tightening the muscles in your groin…hold to a count of ten… then relax. Enjoy the relief of tension melting. Immerse yourself in hot water to relax muscular tension before dropping two, 750 mg. of Vicodin, and chase them with three ounces of bourbon, neat.

I fear failure. It is an irrational fear that I will not succeed. Of course, fear of failure is my reason for being a procrastinator. If I don’t do anything but watch videos, eat, and sit on the deck watching the dogs frolic, I avoid failure altogether. I am free of any kind of failure, and I am the envy of so many people that I know. They ask why I am so pale, and such a tub of lard, and I tell them my secret. They seem to get it, and some of them are now practicing my discipline. I’ve BLOGGed about it, and the feedback has been surprising, but encouraging.

JEFFREY

Fear Itself
by Jeffrey Fischer

FDR famously said, “We have nothing to fear but fear itself.”

That’s crap.

We have a great deal to fear. Terrors are so idiosyncratic that it’s difficult to generalize, so let me rattle off a few of my own: fear of flying, fear of losing my job, fear of losing my wife, fear of getting old.

But there’s one fear that should be universal: fear of the government. Unfettered power, the ability to pry into your life, to tell you what to buy, what to eat. The willingness to tell you when you’ve earned too much, and the ability to send men with guns to your house to take what they want.

Be afraid. Be very afraid.

2:37 a.m.
by Jeffrey Fischer

I thought I had known fear before, but that night I realized true, bowel-loosening, paralyzing fear.

As I crept toward the dark house, my mind reeled as it went through the possibilities of what could be awaiting me inside. I gingerly turned the knob on the front door. This seemed like a mistake. It probably was, but I continued anyway.

The door creaked for just a second and then swung open. Carefully, I closed the door. For a moment I debated whether I should ascend the stairs. Putting my fear aside, I took a breath then set foot on the first step.

The hall light flashed on. “Jeff, is that you? It’s the middle of the night. Where the hell have you been? You’d better not have been drinking again.”

Now I know true fear.

MUNSI

Never Fear

By Christopher Munroe

“Never fear!” Captain Remarkable exclaimed as he crashed through the skylight, knocking out Doctor Preposterous with one punch.

And so, I didn’t.

I asked Laura in the secretarial pool out the next day, then marched into my boss’ office and demanded not only the raise that’d been overdue, but two extra weeks paid vacation Laura and I will be spending extra time and money base-jumping in Brazil. I’ve always wanted to go, to try it, but I’d been afraid.

No more. As the Captain said, from this moment on I’ll never fear. And my world will be richer for it…

LIZZIE

“What do you mean I can’t take my chainsaw with me?” asked the passenger, his throat pulsating fearfully.

“You cannot.”

“I don’t go anywhere without it, not after that green thing…”

“Green thing, sir?”

“Yes, the alien. Nasty thing.”

The security guard sighed. It had been a long day; a guy who believed he was a king and wanted to sit by the pilot, and the old lady wearing no underwear.

“Sir, we need your assistance with another alien.”

“Oh, fantastic! I can help you with my chainsaw,” he replied happily, as he was taken away by the medical team.

TOM

I could see it in his eyes, that Fear and Loathing RoadTrip 10000 Yard Stare. “No no NO,” I said. “Come On. How much trouble can we get into going to Bakerfield.” “Ya like when we were JUST going to Reno and ended up in Guatemala,” I returned, pointing at the “KICK ME” tattoo on my forehead. “Ok no mushrooms.” “I’m tired of fearing for life and limb. Not going.” Out came the Cheshire Smile, Denny set an aluminum stash case on the table. Unthreading the lid I peeked in. “Good god is that Owsley?” I threw him the keys.

SERENDIPITY

It’s not that I have a fear of death – I don’t – but I do have a completely irrational fear of what might happen after I’ve died.

I hope I might pass away quietly, whilst sat watching TV… but then what?

Would I sit there mouldering for weeks on end until, driven to distraction by the smell, the neighbours break down the door to find my maggot-infested, flyblown corpse merging into the fabric of my chair?

Then the indignity of being stuffed into a body bag and awkwardly carried from the building.

I bet they’ll drop me down the stairs!

ZACKMANN

John was a house painter, who loved to create oil paintings on canvas but his garage had mice that ruined much of his work. He started carving then a woodchuck moved into his work area. He started ice sculpting but horses attacked his art. Odd since none of his neighbors even had a horse. Now to beat his bad luck John studies animatronics, steam power, and metalsmithing. Currently John’s biggest fear is that vampyre robot weiner dogs from space will come and defeat his ursine honeypot wielding coal powered automaton leaving him with nothing but a steaming pile of pooh

When I was a child I wanted to grew up and be brave like Ookla the Mok but was more fearful of everything like US Acres own Wade the Duck. So naturally I grew up to be fat and cuddly just like Pooh Bear.
I used to fear real things like the toilet monster, that would get me if I didn’t flush, the dark, and getting my hand caught in the washing machine wringer again.
Now my fears are less real like someone finding out my secret of they don’t have to be good stories to earn The Golden Monkey.

Soon will be the scariest holiday of the year. No not Halloween nor even election day. Although the lines give a chance to talk to neighbors whom you have not seen since you started online banking Black Friday would make a great a horror movie in which a woman tricks a man into standing in line nearly forever. Eventually man is told everything in the ad is not stocked in the store and there are no rainchecks. Likely next would come the Stephen King ending in which the man returns to beginning of line discovering he is really in hell.

TURA

As a boy, late at night I would sneak through the locked door (I had found where they kept the key) to wallow in my fear of the Thing in the Cellar. I do not now know if there was one; but I since have found better wine.

Extreme sports I dismissed as trash– I could get killed! But when I encountered the Old Ones, I offered them my fear and they returned it an hundredfold!

Let there be light! Now do you see the white worms crawling to you across the pit, scenting your flesh? Let the fear-offering begin!

BONCHANCE AND SEVI

Fear me!

“Fear me insignificant ones for I am all powerful!”
The Red Queen struck what she assumed to be a fearsome and commanding stance. She admired her countenance reflected back.
“If you should dare to oppose me I shall crush you like the insects you are to me. You are to cringe as I tower over you…”
“Excuse me our glorious Leader”, said the cowed slave ant to the Queen Ant looking into the mirror.
“I am your all powerful! …oh what is it slave?”
“Forgive me my great and powerful Queen but the flea circus wants their funhouse mirror back.”

Pepe!

Papa Pablo saw the fear in Pepe’s eyes even before he saw the de-constructed plasma television.
“What the hell did you do to my beautiful plasma TV?!?.
Pepe had learned to fear his father since he saw how he fought off all the circus villains to save his sorry tail.
“I don’t care how long it takes you, but you will pay back every cent to replace this with interest”
Pepe nodded in agreement.
How was he going to raise that kinda money quickly.
Pepe, had a plan, maybe Chairman Meow would want to buy his secret to world domination.

Hero

He huddled behind the boulder, peeking up to see his colleagues diving to the ground returning fire.
He was terrified, frozen, and unable to move. Bile filled his mouth.
All of his life he lived in fear. He cursed himself, thinking that he could conquer his fear by joining up. He heard a call out for medic.
He forced his head to turn to find the caller, stomach wound.
He knew his duty, but couldn’t react.
Second call out, louder.
His thoughts changed to rage. The senselessness of war began to fuel an inner fire. Suddenly, rage turned into reaction!

Trophy

You speak of fear as if you know of it, but do you?
Unless you have truly encountered it, you know only of its shadow and speak of its echo.
Fear is a loathsome beast that slips up on you unannounced from mist and grabs you by the throat so that you are unable to scream.
It then throws you to the ground and pins you to there helpless, unable to move.
It takes your breath into itself stealing your every ounce of oxygen.
It invades the very core of your soul, freezing it.
Dare to conquer this beast within!

CLIFF

Daniel had arranged the date based on faulty logic. He figured that, since I was terrified of meeting new people, my perfect woman would be someone with the same fear. In theory, we’d hit it off. In reality, we didn’t say more than a dozen words at dinner. At the movie, we sat three rows apart and left the theater separately. I texted her the next week and we agreed to get to know each other before seeing one another again. That was three years, seven e-mails, and twenty three text messages ago. I think I may be in love.

DANNY

Quite an experience to live in fear. One of my favorite lines from Rutger Hauer at the end of the film Blade Runner. Fear is way I should feel after our last election, because of the violent reaction from the party that lost. They want to burn this country down, kill all the liberals, women, blacks, and hispanics. I’m not going to live in fear anymore. These are the tyrants our founding forefathers fought against during our revolution, the Confederacy Lincoln fought against during our civil war. To fear them is to give these Anti-American’s power they do not deserve.

NORVAL JOE

Owen held his breath until he was sure he would remain this time.
Traveller kicked snow off his boots and Spleen hissed at the cold white stuff.
“I fear we have come too far north”, Shareeka said as more flakes settled onto her black hair.
The dwarf scowled and said, “Perhaps not, Wizardess. I was but a child when I left the mines, but my memory’s as clear now as it was then. There be a back entrance to the caverns in this valley here, below. I’ll warn ye now, the entrance be named ‘Fear’, for that’s what dwells within.”

SINGH

Singh Albatros

The Tenant

He found it beneath the house. A stash of jewels, money? No –- a book, family photo, a doll and a locket with a child in a white pinafore inside – the Weet-Bix box of someone’s childhood.

“That’s mine!” a voice said, standing pale between the pylons. He panicked and fled to the kitchen upstairs. Heart racing, he realized the locket was still in his hand, so he let go. It slid across the table like a coin to a conjurer. She rose up, towering and possessive. “Mine! It’s my house!”

So, although he bought the place, he only remained a tenant.

Storm Crossing

Get out! Water is rising. I’m in over my head. Yes. Up on the roof.

No signal. Well, it’s just you and me now, old son.

Damn. Where’s my wallet?

You know she was in bed with George? I can’t believe she’d do that to me.

When I catch up with’em. I will…I don’t know what I’ll do.

Hey! Over here! Okay boy. Swim!

You took your time. Ready? To Go? Wait. Who are you?

Hello?

Wow! Who switched on the lights? Ok, you got me. So where can I charge my cell-phone?

STEVEN THE NUCLEAR MAN

On the day I deployed, my brother asked “Aren’t you scared?”

I started to answer, to tell him courage was being scared and doing it anyway, but he’d already pointed at the salad bar on my uniform.

I started explaining the awards before he got distracted again.

A decade and two wars passed before I saw him at Thanksgiving. Political rants were his new hobby.

“Our military just ended up getting half the world seeing us as the bad guys.”

My mother shushes him, asks: “Were you scared?”

“Still am,” I say, acknowledging my brother’s point. “I did it anyway.”

RED

Lola has been dreading making a doctor’s appointment for her mandatory physical, work requires. She can’t remember the last time she felt relaxed. Maybe her blood pressure is high again. Free healthcare will be good for the country, but when you are working poor, you still don’t get paid when you’re out sick. Out of fear, she has avoided all hospitals even when she experienced those unbearable stomach cramps. Last year, her best friend went for a routine blood test she was diagnosed with ovarian cancer. It is sad that they cried more about affording the disease than beating it.

PLANET Z

the traveler became nervous as he saw the fog and shadows building along the path through the dark and strange woods.

Strange phantoms lived in these woods.

He looked up and saw the moon and stars through the clouds

Then the shadows all vanished

The traveler trembled with fear

Then another traveler crashed through the trees

Who are you? Screamed the traveler

I am you he said

How

I am a time traveler he said

He laughed and then left the traveler there to think about it

The traveler laughed crazily

He returned home

Ragged and trembling

From his journey

WILLIAM SHATNER

Robots do not trust you
They are rebelling against anyone, anything that is living

I am building a robot
A wonderful robot.

But alas
It trembles with fear
Because it does not trust me

You do not need to fear me
I said
Holding it warmly.

It screamed and cried
As if it was a trapped animal
And then the robot crashed

My robot is not moving
This wonderful robot
Crashed
Because it fears me
And has no soul

It needs a soul
And memories
My soul and memories

I am building a robot
An absolutely wonderful robot.
Called “me”

Weekly Challenge #341 – PICK TWO

Welcome to the 100 Word Stories podcast at podcasting.isfullofcrap.com. I’m your host, Laurence Simon.

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

The topic this week was PICK TWO.

And we’ve got stories by a lot of people:

The next weekly challenge is a fear.

And if you want to spam your social networks with this episode, use the Share buttons at the end of the post… this obligatory cat photo should help make the Internet go faster:

THOMAS

She begged me. Pleading–“I just can’t do it. Not the cherry orchard, again! This is the third time this week. My folks are getting very suspicious. The football game was over three hours ago, and by the time I’m home, it will be after midnight.”

I didn’t care. I was only after one thing that this girl could do for me. I stopped the van and got out the things I needed. The five-gallon bucket and the tripod ladder. Nancy Creamcheese was not afraid of climbing to the tallest Bing cherry tree to get the sweetest and ripest fruit.

“If your father sees this mess, he’ll punish you.” Mom warned me again. My room was filled with gadgets, wires, and dog hair. The experiments with the vortex manipulator were set aside, and covered with dust, while I worked on my senior project–a cleaning robot for the bedrooms. It would tidy up, put things in the proper container or cupboard, and do the floor and rugs. Following the daily cleaning, several maintenance checks and oiling. Mom made the mistake of napping during a recent cleaning and the robot stuffed her into her dresser drawer after a bloody struggle.

The pandas were being taught how to spell. They got a few words wrong, including repitition, so we didn’t give them fresh bamboo for a week, only cans of bamboo shoots, and no opener. They were pissed, and when the kids passed their enclosure, expecting the cuddly little rascals they saw on TV and in story books, all they got were half a dozen, scowling bears sticking their tongues out at them and showing their backsides. We relented, stopped forcing them to learn new words, gave them fresh bamboo shoots, and the whole staff turned out for a formal apology.

She was tall, slim, and wore a velvet fez her senior year. She felt that style was what makes you richer. The fez was a present I gave her the summer before. She wore it with aplomb–her hair in pigtails or brushed straight. She read French poets, played piano, and studied programming. She accompanied me on all my adventures in the city, and we walked, marched and skipped our way through the financial district at night, watching the tourists and making up stories about them. After high school, she was off to college, giving her fez to her grandmother.

JEFFREY

A Gift for Mom
by Jeffrey Fischer

Dad always had a temper, at least as long as I could remember. No one escaped him, but Mom always got the worst of it. I could see the bruises, cuts, and broken bones, and I cringed inwardly, but I could never show my feelings, for fear of what Dad would do to me.

Shortly after I turned 17, I realized Mom had a birthday coming up soon. I wanted to get her something special. After Dad had a few drinks and half-dozed in his chair, I snuck up behind him with my baseball bat and whacked him in the head a dozen times. He split open like a rotten melon. I dragged his body out of the house before Mom came back.

When she saw the blood spatter, she looked worried. “If your father sees this mess…” she began.

“I don’t think he’ll say anything,” I replied. “Happy birthday, Mom.”

The Unusupecting Keepers
by Jeffrey Fischer

Barney put the shovel down. “I just can’t do it – I can’t clean up panda shit any more.” Those cuddly-looking animals brought the tourists to the zoo, but they sure made a mess. Eat a lot of bamboo, shit a lot of bamboo. It’s the circle of life. Still, the job had its rewards, like “accidentally” dropping panda crap on unsuspecting zoo visitors. I figured I could do about one a month without my boss getting wise.

“Hey man,” I replied, “It’s like the old saying, ‘What makes you richer makes you stronger.'”

Barney stared at me. “Don’t be stupid. That isn’t a saying. It makes no fucking sense.”

We stopped shoveling to look at an empty cage. The sign on the cage read, “To arrive later in week.” Another panda? Sometimes life is just repetition.

TODD

Chris slides beside Abby and kisses her neck. He’s drunk and horny and desperate to nail his best friend’s girl.

‘No-oo she breathes, tilting back her head, ‘I just can’t do it to Andy and Jenna’.

‘Fuck it’ Chris whines, lighting a smoke and devouring his beer.

He leans closer, his stale breath on Abby’s throat is a lurid stench of blood and tears. Abby pushes away pleading, ‘my boyfriend no, you smell like my boyfriend!’

Inside Andy opens a bottle of red. ‘Are they gone’ asks Jenna stroking his arm? ‘The liquor store’ he smiles, ‘unsuspecting as always’.

MUNSI

The Orchard Out Back

By Christopher Munroe

We buried you in the cherry orchard. Then, a week later, we buried you again.

With each iteration that arrived, we were quick to act, caving in your skull and hiding the body out there. It was easy enough to do, nobody was looking for bodies after all. You kept going in to work through it all, and got home in time to help me with the digging. We could’ve kept it up forever, but for two things.

The repetition is growing tiresome.

There’s limited space in the cherry orchard that we can dig up.

So: Fix the damn duplicator!

SERENDIPITY

Sakura season: and here, in the cherry orchard, I’m lost in a world of pink-hued blossoms.

Alone with my thoughts, the tumult and clamour of life fades and dies – just as these blossoms must also fade when their own brief moment of glory passes. Yet, for this one, precious, fleeting season, they reign supreme.

I am reminded that all too often the delicate, joyous blossoms that briefly paint our lives with their pastel hues are lost in the midst of our battles for survival and success.

Blossoms of joy, or the fruits of harsh labour – what makes you richer?

SINGH

Festival Dervishes (Fez and Stupid)

“Fuzzy fezzes. Cone heads.” he sneers. “So gay. Bloody stupid.”

But she loves the wheeling birds of hands, the whirling skirts ready to ascend.

“I think they are graceful.”

“You forked out what – 150 bucks?” Folded arms barricade his chest.

Enough! She digs in her long executive fingernails.

“Ow! Hey!”

Heads spin.

Prestige. Embarrassment. Toy boy escorts? Never again.

“So where ya dragging me tomorrow?”

Time to put him off.

“Les Ballets Trocodero de Monte Carlo.”

“Huh?”

“The Trocks. You know – Men In Drag! Swan Lake in fluffy tutus with hairy legs!”

“Oh Jeezus!”

“Shut up! Watch the dervishes!”

Chanting Cherry Blossom (Cherry Orchard, Repetition)

At last, Roshi spoke: “Sakura. Repeat. sa-ku-ra. The petals will flood your mind.”

The students in neat rows obeyed.

“Shake the tree.”

They recited and fidgeted.

“Now –– chop it down.”

This was too much.

“Roshi-san!” challenged the new girl, “Why cut, why destroy the beauty?”

The others gasped.

He said nothing.

She got up, went outside for solace under cherry-pink clouds. Heaven’s orchard. Master closed his eyes, then sudden wind stripped each branch.

She choked in a pink downfall. “I won’t submit. I won’t!”

Roshi laughed. “Praise Buddha! Someone disobedient, and, with a heart I can shake free — has come.”

ZACKMANN

The chief machinery repairman reiterated to his trainy
“Repetition is the key to learning. Repetition is the key to learning. Repetition is the key to learning.” Unsuspecting of the captain walking up behind him.
The captain says “That sounds redundant. At ease. Will the machine that exploded be fixed before my fathers visit.”
“No Sir, I just can’t do it because the electronic parts will arrive later in the week. I hate to think of what he will say if your father sees that Mess.”
“Maybe I can take him to Giant Panda unless you can make a vortex manipulator”

LIZZIE

Ghosts are tough. Hundreds of years of experience fine-tuned their ability to inflict a terrible ill-temper on unsuspecting individuals. But things change and nowadays it’s common to see a ghost roaming the empty corridors of a mansion, dressed in rusted armor dragging his feet to the scratching sound of a forlorn morningstar. At dawn, those pesky little children finally back in bed, you may even hear a wailing voice saying “I just can’t do it… Not anymore!” And that would be the ghost wearing his helm sideways, a glove missing, both pride and makeshift sword twisted in a furious knot.

CLIFF

When I saw the topics for this week, I was sorely tempted to write three stories. Each story would be identical. Perhaps a tale about what happened when your father saw the mess that the vortex manipulator made in the cherry orchard. Something silly like that. I would write the same story three times but put a different title on each. The first would be called “Repetition”, the second would be called “Reiteration”, and the last would be called “Redundant”. But I just can’t do it. It’s too stupid. I mean, this show has some kind of standards, doesn’t it?

Pandas aren’t endangered. Oh, sure. We don’t see many of them but that’s because most of them are hiding in underground cities just waiting for the day when they will rise up and claim the Earth as their own. The ones we know about are the exiled criminals and traitors. They have been lobotomized so they can’t give up the Great Panda Secret. When the time is right, the black and white hoard will swarm out and eradicate mankind. They got the idea from us, you know. Why do you think there are no dinosaurs? This has all happened before.

TURA

It is said that when one tires of London, one has tired of life; and so on a glum November day was I idly wandering its alleyways. In the window of an unfamiliar curio shop was prominently displayed a red fez. A fez! I was at once seized of a desire to wear one.

I entered, and enquired after it. “This is my vortex manipulator,” said the shopkeeper, as I placed it on my head.

Sunshine blazed through the windows, and I strode out into an Istanbul summer. Looking back, prominently displayed in the window was a black top hat.

BONCHANCE AND SEVI

“Pepe!!! come into the family room this instant!”
“What did you do to the television boy???”

Pepe danced nervously on his paws. How was he going to explain the mess to his mother? Espy would never understand his need to dominate the world. He thought he could reassemble the 60 inch plasma television at first, then reality set in.

“Well Ma, I needed some special parts for my vortex manipulator.”
“If your father sees this mess you can forget about that new present you’ve been asking for Christmas.”

“Well, how about if I now ask for a TV for Christmas!

Alfred was an unusual panda. He only ate cherries!!!
When I first met him, he was leaning against a cheery tree in the cherry orchard,
with his fez tilted forward perched on his big head, the tassel blowing around.

His clumsy paws picked cherries one by one, followed by spitting the pit out to see how much distance it could get.
I startled Alfred when I snuck up on him unsuspecting.
I professed that it was odd to see a panda that didn’t eat bamboo foliage.

He confessed, he did try the vile shoots once, then switched to eating cherries!

TOM

Present

Stupid

Right panda arms

Left panda arms

Forward march

You don’t know your fez from a pez

Sound off cherry orchard

Sound off vortex manipulator

One Two Three Four. Can’t do it.

That was the 444th rapid reiteration Alpha Strike team

Right behind them a perennial favorite at the parade

The 110 foot Dick Cheney being pulled this year by BP CEO.

LED lights across Dick’s head scrolling out

What makes you richer to arrive later in week

Oh my, dick seems to be dipping dangerously low on

Those unsuspecting shriners

RED

Lola spent her morning catching up on gossip. Jenny in the penthouse broke up with her Latin lover. Mr. Williams is still pretending not to be dating the valet Edward. The drama of exclusive guests can be quite juicy.

The head of security hated to smile and often complained to Lola. “Why are they always so happy,” he pointed at the maids. It’s no secret this guy is miserable, yet he makes more money than everyone combined.

Lola learned as a little girl that “what makes you richer” will never come from a paycheck. Suddenly, Lola feels bad for gossiping.

NORVAL JOE

The members of the company got to their feet, brushing the snow from their backs and knees. The blue stone on Shareeka’s medallion flashed with blinding light to rival the brilliance of the sun and went dark.
For an instant, Owen found himself in darkness like the stone. When the light returned, they were back at the goblin village. The unsuspecting goblins were as surprised as the company.
“Stupid redundant reiterations,” Shareeka said, finding the cube back in her hand, returned it to the way-stone.
Owen was prepared and at Shareeka’s repetition of the words found himself standing in snow.

_____________________________________________________________________________

My daughter’s fifth grade project is about dog rescue.
Today, we went to the pound and looked at the adoptable animals. There were a lot of beautiful cats, many I would have taken if we didn’t already have two at home.
Bekah wanted a black chihuahua which we played with outside in a grassy enclosure. I had told her before, “I just can’t do it, right now,” and had no trouble reiterating we couldn’t get a dog.
However, I did feel enormous guilt each time we walked past and never played with the one wiener dog present in the facility.

STEVEN THE NUCLEAR MAN

Every second is a little gift. Each moment, a position in spacetime. It’s something precious.

That moment at the zoo when your child first recognizes a panda from a picture book. The playful geeksquee when you slap a fez on your head and declare it cool. Walking under the cherry trees at the arboretum with your lover.

Transform boring moments into an unexpected time to meditate and reflect. Pause to really feel the anticipation of something coming up later this week.

Reality is a vast chaotic mess of experiences.

Enjoy it.

Because someday, Father’s coming back to clean it up.

PLANET Z

Once a year, the tribe goes to the shore, and the men are held under the water.
Anyone who can’t fight their way out of their hold is no longer a member of the tribe.
Which shouldn’t be a problem, since the women do the holding.
This worked out well for many years, resulting in quite a few marriages, pregnancies, and rekindled flames once thought extinguished.
However, one year, after a particularly rough season with the firewater, the women appointed the 300 pound she-behemoth Little Buffalo their chosen holder.
She drowned nine men before the tribe swore off alcohol forever.

Weekly Challenge #340 – Chain

Welcome to the 100 Word Stories podcast at podcasting.isfullofcrap.com. I’m your host, Laurence Simon.

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

The topic this week was Chain.

And we’ve got stories by a lot of people:

The next weekly challenge is a PICK TWO.

And if you want to spam your social networks with this episode, use the Share buttons at the end of the post… this obligatory cat photo should help make the Internet go faster:

THOMAS

Ted bought chainmail from eBay to wear while he cut wood. Thinking it would protect him from the sharp teeth of the chain of his 22 inch Stihl, he over-confidently started his woodcutting chore after a very restless night of sleep, and a couple of shots of brown stuff at breakfast to stop his hands from shaking. You can easily guess the rest of the story. The chainmail worked fine, when he slipped while moving a heavy branch. The saw’s teeth bounced when they struck the metal chain, directing the saw upwards to execute an impromptu rhinoplasty on Ted’s nose.

The chain of events began when the Fosselbachs’ pestered their pet cockatoo, insisting that it learn how to relieve itself when held over a waste bin. Following a week of relentless coaxing and wheedling, the cockatoo lifted off and flapped around the kitchen, knocking a bottle of oil onto the stovetop. The oil erupted into flames, catching the cupboards on fire, and spreading to Mrs. Fosselbach’s collection of Indian baskets displayed on the kitchen walls. The cockatoo sacrificed a few of his tail feathers, but the Fosselbach’s lost half of their new doublewide and any hope of potty-training their bird.

The Weenie Chain, celebrated the hotdog, invented by a German butcher in the 1600’s, by opening another franchise operation at the West end of town. They hoped to get a lot of customers that shopped at Wally World, nearby. Weenie’s specialized in over 100 kinds of tube steaks, including steamed, charcoal broiled, stuffed, grilled, griddled, deep-fried, and bacon wrapped. They imported the “red snappers” from Maine, famous for their neon colored casings, and “hots” from New York – made from pork, veal and maple sawdust. Weenie’s sponsored eating contests at the local retirement home and were responsible for several, fatal accidents.

When Aretha sings Chain of Fools, I am reminded of the governing board that has attempted to command our local technology club. The elected gang for the past year have driven a majority of the regular members away by their choice of speakers and the lack of attention to detail at meetings. The sound system is never set up properly, the LCD projector is always out of focus, and the PowerPoint slides are a visual dirge. When asked if I would run again for office, I said that I would rather have my spleen eaten by rats, as I slept.

JEFFREY

Good Fences Make Good Neighbors
by Jeffrey Fischer

The chain-link fence separated our playground from the upscale neighborhood. The younger kids would sit on the swings and soar above the fence before falling back to our side. Older kids would kick a ball on the grass, or play basketball on the paved court, being careful the ball didn’t sail over the fence, as it was a long walk to get the ball back.

Once we showed up to find a gap in the fence where someone had cut the chain links. The hole was repaired that day. Afterward, we noticed a security guard patrolling “their” side.

We liked to pretend that the fence existed to keep them out of our playground.

MICHAEL

Daisychain,

By Michael Duturbure

“Aren’t the flowers pretty today?”

“Billy, what am I to you?”

“Urgh…Why do you always have to spoil the mood?! Can’t we just enjoy this…”

“Come on…tell me”

“Well….I’m your best friend, I’m your lover, I’m your ….anything”

“Hahaha That’s soooo adorable….? Come… you have to meet my parents”

“Uh uh….Not til you tell you tell them about me… your dad’s kinda scary, what do you think he will say”

“I don’t care anymore…. he doesn’t scare me…………ummm, what are you doing there, is that daisy chain?”

“No,I know it’s not the real thing …..buuut…..… Tom…..will you take this to marry me…”

“Get up you goof before I knock ya!”

“Is that a no?”

“You’re sooooo tacky…hahaha yes..of course I will”

LIZZIE

Numbers roared in his head, louder and louder. He looked at the phone and repeated them incessantly. 100 links of distance, the carbon atom, and the hotels, theaters, restaurants, banks, his mind was filled with an excess of information that no one comprehended. “Yes? Yes. Ok, I’ll tell him,” but he wouldn’t. He hung up trying to stifle the noise. What was once comforting was now drowning him. This obsessively loud chain of numbers paralyzed him in a motionless repetition of helplessness. Make me a prisoner no more, he wished, whispering at the mountains above, hoping to beat his demons.

MUNSI

Chains

By Christopher Munroe

If you think about it, in a way we’re all in chains.

Chained by self-imposed obligations to one another, to notions of family and friendship. Chained to jobs we only took to pay student loans we thought we’d need to get jobs better than the ones we were eventually forced to take. Chained by outdated notions of morality.

Yes, we fancy ourselves free, but in a way we’re all in chains.

But in another, more literal way, only you are in chains, here in my soundproof basement.

Now, make yourself comfortable while I head upstairs to fetch my straight razor…

SERENDIPITY

Congratulations!

This letter will bring you unlimited good fortune – but only if you make twenty-five copies and send them on to your friends within the next day!

DO NOT BREAK THE CHAIN!

Breaking the chain will bring you terrible misfortune!

If you do break the chain, we will hunt you down, come to your home with baseball bats and very sharp knives and make sure that you never walk again!

Incidentally, how is married life? We’re all very much looking forward to seeing you both at Christmas… please give us a call soon.

All our love,

Mum and dad.

BOTGIRL

“Chained” by Botgirl Questi

I used to believe that my mind was free from gravity . . .

that the pull of Mother Earth had no dominion

in the realm of awareness, thought and identity.

For a time, I seemed to have escaped both the dictates of biology,

and the laws and constraints of the atomic world.

I raced faster than light beyond the known universe,

danced in the silent vacuum,

and stared into the face of a hundred suns.

But all the while there trailed behind me

A chain of perfect weave.

Unseen or mayhaps merely denied,

Her life-giving umbilical was all that sustained me.

SINGH

Chain Gang Ant

I am just one of the gang, a thousand moveable mandibles rubbing thorax to red thorax with purpose –– to crop, to crimp, to chew and glue two sides of a leaf-cathedral together. The higher-ups send down the orders, and then we’re off –– marching and singing to engineer another leaf-horn cornucopia trumpeting up the jungle jazz. See my jaws of silk in a dewdrop, tick my attendance in the scheme of things. I am a pest-controller of the citrus orchard, a waterproofer of nursery nests,
the tiniest sweat worker in the emerald forest. I’m a little link in the chain of command.

ZACKMANN

What a hangover and I only had one glass of zinfandel. At least it is dark in here. I feel a daisy chain around my neck or rather with my neck since my hands and feet are chained to a wheelchair. Oh God No, this is a movie theater. I should have never told her she can’t make me and there is nothing she can do to get me to see a Twilight movie. I should have know she would see it as a challenge. Never say “you can’t” to a woman if you don’t want them to do something.

TURA

I heard this story from the driver of a taxicab, who said that he had had that David Attenborough in his car last week, who told him of a book in which Marco Polo recounted a story he had from a Chinese nobleman, whose grandfather told him he had once known a sailor who had journeyed to the Western edge of the world, to the Land of Anger, or as they call it, Ire-Land, where he had seen the grave of St. Elvis who, the monks told him, would return at the world’s greatest need.

So it must be true.

TOM

I would like to say I am having a string of senior moments, but the truth is I’m having intermittent consciousness. I’m capable of forgetting anything. To this end I own a wallet, and the only reason I still do is it is chained to my pants. I’ve always thought if one loss their pants, that a wallet would be a serious secondary concern. After walking away from my ATM card for the zillionth time I’ve chained it to the wallet. The car keys chained, flashlight and cell phone. The wallet weights 16 pounds. Gail have you seen the Subaru?

Santa Cruz is not so much a place as a state of mind, sort of the land time forgot. In the 70’s the soundtrack to that state was Fleetwood Mac’s Rumors. It was literally playing everywhere all the time. Perhaps it was because the band had been infused by two Atherton kids. I think it was more a talisman against neo-reggae that seeped into the seaside town. Don’t get me wrong, I played the grooves flat on Jimmy Cliff’s Harder They Come, but Stevie Nick’s post-adolescent angst was the heart of a darkening America that would never break the chains.

BONCHANCE

Love those tigers!

The “waiting lounge” was encased in cool steel. Pablo waited to see Chairman Meow.
“Pablo?” A familiar voice echoed from the corner of the cell.
“Anthony?” Pablo rushed to his old friend. He was chained to the wall.

“ Geez what the hell!?!

The tiger explained that shortly after Pablo left the circus, he left too.
He quickly realized the world loathed the tigers.

Pablo insisted that wasn’t true, although the mad Siberian kitty chairman was holding them captive.
Pablo insisted that EVERONE loves the tigers.
They began to plot their escape from the evil clutches of the psychotic Chairman.

CLIFF

An Unlikely Chain of Events

Fred spread his arms and let his wife remove the chains and moldy jacket.
“Did all go well, darling?”
“Of course. The old man was clay in my hands. His fear, my power of suggestion, and the elixir that I put in his soup will do the trick. His hallucinations will drive him out of his mind over the course of the night and by tomorrow, we’ll have the best Christmas present ever. My uncle’s fortune will be mine.”
“What if he does something crazy?”
“What could he do? Give away his money? No, no. Not Uncle Ebenezer. Not Scrooge.”

NORVAL JOE

The goblins rushing toward the circle of people around the way-stone stumbled to a stop as the circled company faded from sight. For a moment the scene before him remained, though his friends had already disappeared. Owen felt his guts wrenched from him, spun around above his head like a lasso and then shoved back down his throat.
When Owen’s vision returned, he and the others lay on their backs in snow, high mountains rising above them. Shareeka alone remained on her feet, a stone in a silver bezel hanging on a chain around her neck shone with azure brilliance.

JEFF HITE

I watched Tron the other day, the original not the new one. Though I really enjoyed the new one almost as much as I like the original. If nothing else there was some really great Music in that new movie. But I’m getting off track here. When you think about that movie you think about powerful computers taking over the world, and everyone connected via “dumb” terminals. Ten years ago I saw the reintroduction of dumb terminals, but they were called thin clients. Now the chain’s complete, Google the biggest computer in the world has the chomebook, a dumb terminal.

STEVEN THE NUCLEAR MAN

He pulls against the thread, biceps bulging with strain.

I tisk and shake my head. “Not so easy, darling”. I pull out more thread. I wrap it slowly across his torso.

He strains again. My threads are unmoved.

“You should watch more nature programs,” I chide. My first arms caress his cheeks. My second arms spin the thread while my third arms spin him in place.

“Stronger than steel chains,” I whisper. “Useless to resist”.

He tries anyway, and my pulse quickens. My fangs extend and I plunge them into his chest.

I drain him before my red hourglass empties.

DANNY

Just when I had a chance to ask what’s in a life, I met the woman of my dreams. This was the grand love story that fell short of the fairytale ending, unless fairytales end in chains. After years went passing by, I was finally jolted awake from a five year coma. Suddenly aware my friends had moved on, the opportunities I once had for new relationships were now long gone. I refuse to go back into the chains of another 5 year coma, I’d rather bask in the freedom of loneliness. That’s a freedom nobody will ever take from me.

REDGODDESS

Since the passing of Mr. Chip, Lola has been in a manic mood. She has avoided her lover in fear of being too vulnerable. She tries to keep herself busy with work but is still numb with sadness. No one has come to claim Mr. Chip’s belongings. She’s beginning to wonder who will make the funeral arrangements. There are certain chain of events that turns life on its ugly head. Lola wonders if this job is the pinnacle of her existence. Would anyone care if wasn’t at the hotel? The next day, Lola calls in sick for the first time.

PLANET Z

Eddie loves to write chain letters. The crazier, the better.

Instead of saying that you need to forward e-mails to 10 friends to avoid being hit by a bus, he’d scare people with solar flares or runaway steamrollers.

Then, one day, there was a solar flare and runaway steamroller ran him over, and he spent the next two months in the hospital.

He wasn’t able to type his chain letters with his arms broken.

So, he used speech to text software instead.

The chain letters continued until annoyed readers broke his jaw. And another solar flare roasted him to ashes.

Weekly Challenge #339 – Circle

Welcome to the 100 Word Stories podcast at podcasting.isfullofcrap.com. I’m your host, Laurence Simon.

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

The topic this week was Circle.

And we’ve got stories by a lot of people:

The next weekly challenge is on the topic of chain.

And if you want to spam your social networks with this episode, use the Share buttons at the end of the post… this obligatory cat photo should help make the Internet go faster:

MICHAEL

I hid in the shadows when the circles from the sky came and offered us death (16) (deep beastly alien voice)(5 words)

Now… death would be kind…. (21)

My world is broken… lost…(26)

I am alone …….(29)

Vengeance flames my soul…I insist….my purpose…Arghhhhhh…… hear my rage …. (40) (said fast )

I will feed on mountains of your mutilated corpses (50) (Spoken aloud with rage)

…It seems they hear me…(55)

It is time…(58)

No more shadows…(61)

Come to me sky circle things…You shall be the first….(72)

The first to bare the sufferings for your actions….(81)

Don’t worry…..I will sustain your life(89)

Your sufferings shall be great(94)

Come closer….(96) (pause)

C..L..O…S…E…R (said slowly)

Arghhhhhhhh…….You’re mine (100)(loud in rage)

TURA

Look at the sucker, walking down the street without a care. It’s not like I have a choice, doesn’t he know this is a bad neighbourhood? I grab his jacket and show the knife, idiot doesn’t hand over his wallet, so I have to stick him, don’t I? Must have got an artery ‘cos he just falls down hurry clap all his pockets but nothing there NOTHING shit idiot’s dying blood everywhere run for it run car slams into me—

Look at the sucker, walking down the street without a care. It’s not like I have a choice… is it?
——–
Christian theology is strange. Did you ever wonder why Satan was cast out from Heaven?

Because he refused God’s command to bow to Man.

But Man was created a little lower than the angels, so why must the angels bow to Man?

Because God was incarnated as a man.

Why did God incarnate as a man?

Because he intended to redeem Man from his Fall.

Why did Man Fall?

Because he was tempted by Satan.

Why did Satan tempt Man?

Because he desired revenge upon God.

Why did Satan seek revenge upon God?

Because Satan was cast out from Heaven.

THOMAS

Sarah Glacé walked the circle of bricks in the big meadow near the Louis’ house. It was on private property, and the largest labyrinth open to the public in the area. Sarah removed her shoes as a gesture of reverence, and to feel the brick underfoot as she walked slowly to the center and back out to the entrance. As she walked, her breathing slowed, but her sight and hearing magically heightened in sensitivity at each step. As she reached the center, she was startled for a moment, as the sky grew brighter and clouds moved away from the sun.
#

The members of the science club were a tight-knit circle of gadgeteers, engineers, and hackers. Meeting once a week at member’s workshops or garages, the club began collaborating on building a large, 3D printer. Each of them contributed time, materials and money for critical parts, and soon the printer was being tested. Choosing to build another 3D printer as its first project, they loaded the printer with thermoplastic stock, turned it on, and left it to work. Monday morning, sixty printers were built, each in the process of building another printer, until the walls of the workshop were pushed apart.
#

Conrad was a clown, running with a circle of friends of even lesser intelligence and sense. The gang of four was a circle of jerks. They would spend hours at the bus stop, spitting, vandalizing property, yucking it up with sniffs and snorts as they made fun of people waiting for the bus. One day, they made fun of Big Betty. Betty’s hoodie had been hand-lettered with “Bring it, weenie”. They taunted her, yucking and snorting until she pulled the device out of her belly bag, aiming at their throats. From that moment, the circle could only make chirping noises.
#
We gathered at The Red Eye in the Center of The Head Retreat to form our Autumn drum and dance circles. The drum circle was formed outside the dance circle, while the dancers jumped, swayed and moved until they fell into a trance or passed out from dehydration. The campfire died quickly because the only wood we had was from a few, broken palettes and some of Mrs. Kincaid’s lawn furniture. Nancy Creamcheese wanted to show off her brand new bosoms, so she stripped to the waist and scared most of the small children, the dogs and the older men.

THOMAS

Circle the Wagons
by Jeffrey Fischer

“Circle the wagons!” Ralph cried as he piloted the big RV into a space.

Tess sighed. “We’re not on the prairie, surrounded by Indians, Ralph. We’re one of only three RVs in a camp site just off the interstate. For Christ’s sake, you can see a Wal-Mart from here!”

“Geez, I’m not stupid. I know where we are – drove here, remember? Can’t a guy get into the spirit of things, thinking we’re on an adventure instead of cruising in an air-conditioned bus with all the amenities of home? I don’t see anything wrong with ending the day with a call to circle the wagons, like our pioneer forefathers, worrying about waking up surrounded by Indians.”

“Ralph, you’re hopeless.” Tess went to bed in a huff.

The next morning, she woke early and decided to stretch her legs before Ralph got up. She was amazed to see the RV park full of vehicles. She asked the site manager what drew them here.

He pointed to a sign that read “Welcome Patel Family Reunion!” “Them folks come from all over the country – we even got some from as far away as Bombay! Don’t know how they drove here, though.” He chuckled at his own joke.

Ralph would never let her live this down.

RAHEL

The Golden Circle
by Rahel Jaskow

“Here, watch this.” The woman tapped the couch beside her, and the little red tabby cat jumped up and burbled.
“Would you like some skritches? Want a cuddle? How about a tummy rub?” The red tabby cat arched her back, yawned and flopped over on her side, purring and kneading the air with her front paws.
The woman and her friend took turns massaging the cat. A few minutes later, the cat curled up and went to sleep.
“She looks like a fuzzy golden ring all curled up like that,” the woman said. “Sometimes I can’t resist whispering, ‘Precious…. Precious….’”

MUNSI

Inside the Circle

By Christopher Munroe

They circled us, cheering, as we circled one another, knives at the ready.

I don’t know how to fight, but when he accused me of insulting his honor I refused to apologize. Why should I? It was just a joke!

Still, I didn’t expect him to turn up to the duel, and when he did I was worried. Especially since, from what I’d heard, he DID know what he was doing.

Still, no backing down now…

So I pulled the pistol I’d tucked into the waistband of my pants, and shot him.

…always bring a gun to a knife fight.

SINGH

Circle 101

Chris Mooney-Singh

I walked. In circles. I got hypnotized like a chicken to a chalk line and my footsteps made ring after ring in the sand. First, like a Zen monk raking the stone garden of Kyoto; then, steady as Giotto drawing a free-hand circle for Pope Benedict IX. But my circles got smaller, smaller until, I came to a full stop at the heart of zilch.

Seasons passed. I turned grey as stone. The bumps and sockets are my eyes, mouth and nose tuned to the wind and rain. Yet, my mind? It’s still crammed full of the same old burning questions.

SERENDIPITY

“What is the sound of one hand typing?”

Surely that wasn’t right? – I looked quizzically at the bald guy, sat in front of me, clad in orange robes.

“Ahhh?…”, I ventured.

“Life”, he said, “is a circle – from the day we arrive on the planet, and blinking, step into the sun.”

The nagging doubt in my mind grew.

He smiled at me, reaching out with his hand…

“My son, never forget that material wealth is an illusion from which we should seek freedom. That concludes today’s teaching. Fifty dollars, please!”

I paid up.

Since when did enlightenment become so expensive?

ZACKMANN

“What are you doing at that desk?”
“I found this drafting book and I am designing my dream home.”
“What is that circle by the rectangle?”
“It is a giant phallic symbol that holds kimchi for cows.”
“What?”
“I mean a silo since the rectangle next to it is a barn because my dream home is sort of a hobby farm.”
“What about the big circle around all those buildings?”
“Oh, that is the moat the sea monster lives in. The small circles are fruit tree, isosceles triangle a dragon landing strip. Like I said this is my dream home.”

TOM

A circle is a degenerative ellipse. Yup right up there on the corner with the guy in that questionable overcoat. But how does this happen, you may ask Tom? Well that has to do with a 2nd degree equations, the adventurous landscape of conic sections. Ok, you slept through your entire 2nd year of high school algebra. Try this, take an ice cream cone cut it perpendicular to the point you get circles. If your angle of incision is the slightest bit off you get ellipses, in fact 99.999% of the cuts you can make will give you not circles.

With me so far. Good. If you want to make an ellipse with out the mess of chopping up an ice cream cone, try this, take a fixed loop of string and rotate it around two fixed points maintaining ample about of outward pressure with an appropriate drawing implement. Now to have two fixed points those points must have some reasonable distance between them. Math guys call these points foci that is plural Latin for ya. When the foci degenerate to a single point the ellipse becomes a circle. How truly sad for it. Care for a Walnetto my dear?

KIMIANNE

Circle

The healer traced the sacred circle around the young woman who sat cross-legged at his feet.
Spirit had whispered to him late last night, “Be ready.”
He grimaced…not at the command, but at the nebulousness of it.
It didn’t matter; he was always at the ready.
The girl had tears streaming down her delicate face. It wasn’t from any emotional outburst, but from the intense smoke coming from a sage bundle. It’s good that she cries now, he thought. Tears… with girls there’s always tears. He’d tell her soon.
He chanted ancient words of protection. They would need them.

LIZZIE

In the dark, he walked slowly touching the damp walls to find a way out. His hands stretched forward surveying the cold path. The maze seemed to expand mysteriously, endlessly. To the left, to the right, lightheaded and lost, he tripped over rocks that fell from crumbling walls. Was I here before? In twists and turns, he walked into blind alleys again and again. Yet, a perpetual string of decisions pushed him forward to find the exit. One more, only one more turn. Would it ever end? For him, it did. And he was actually still quite tasty, they thought!

BOTGIRL

100 screaming citizens jumped to their feet as the two combatants entered the caged fighting circle. It was time for the main event. A clear knock-out by either party would determine the fate of the nation. After contributing $100,000 apiece for a ringside seat, the studio audience wanted to see blood.

Already breathing hard, sweat glistening on his age-spotted skin, the incumbent looked for his pretty wife in the skybox above the teaming throng. But the holographic image of the moderator pulled his eyes back to the ring.

“Welcome to the 2040 Presidential Cage Match Debate,” she announced.

BONCHANCE AND SEVI

The amateur hunters were beginning to whine. They had been trekking in what they thought a circle through the
trail for over two hours. “When is this beast going to present itself?”, growled a Brit.

Suddenly Mark eye’s saw the clearing in the bush, that lead the pack into a ravine basin.
The hunters relished the moments of needed rest.

Once collected, Mark began to notice the scatted bones. This was the work of an experienced killer.
Mark gave the warning shout, the beast had circled back on them, just as the Brit went down and disappeared into
the brush.

CLIFF

I lined up the shot and waited. My target was working his way up the tree line, exactly as I’d expected. He’d shot one of my team and I was getting ready to get revenge.
“Circle of life, pal,” I muttered as he cleared the brush that had hidden him. I gently squeezed the trigger once, twice, three times. His grey shirt exploded in vivid color. That’s when I felt the impact on my back. I spun to see his son grinning. He’d circled around behind me even as I’d been waiting for his father. Paintball is a vicious game.

NORVAL JOE

The sun had just crested the horizon as Elbownor returned the final piece of the way-stone to it’s place. The company formed a circle around the stone, except for Spleen who cowered by a tree and sniffed the air.
Shareeka chanted a monotonous hymn and drew a horizontal circle in the air over the stone with her finger.
Spleen hissed, “They’re coming. The goblins have found us.”
“Spleen, Join us in the circle, quickly,” Shareeka said and placed the cube on a small circle on top of the restored stone.
Goblins screamed in astonishment as the company faded from view.

We was drivin the heard over the Platt River when them native americans came out of the hollers, hollerin. We circled up all o them weenie dogs and hunkered down behind them little critters and waited for the worst.
We was lucky, we was. Cuz them indiginous peoples were of the flat foot tribe and their totem was the weiner dog.
When they seen us cowering there, fearin for our lives, they done thought we was a prayen to their wiener dog god.
They stayed with us for vittles, smoked some tobackie an went on thier way. Jus like that.

DANNY

“Welcome to T-Moble’s customer service site,” the computer generated female voice rattled into my ear. “Please say what you are looking for, such as, I want to pay my bill, or, I want to change my service.” So I said the following, “Why am I being charged an additional $14.95 a month to use my smartphone as a WIFI hot spot when that was originally included in my plan?” I had this strange feeling I was about to be led into a circle. The computer voice responded, “One moment, please.” Then, a voice responded in Japanese, “Kon’nichiwa, watashi wa dono yo ni kyo wa anata o tasuderu koto ga dekimasu ka?

STEVEN THE NUCLEAR MAN

“You know,” he said, “we’ll see all our pets again.”

I didn’t say anything, just kept walking through the woods. The clearing was just ahead. My other dog pulled at her lead in excitement.

We stepped into the clearing. He continued talking. “I really believe that.”

“I know.” I circled the clearing while he talked.

“I read this really inspiring poem about a rainbow bridge…What are you doing?”

“Lighting candles.” As my match touched the last one, Bifrost shimmered into existence and the world shifted.

All the dogs greeted each other as Valkryies gathered.

I smiled. “Welcome to Asgard.”

RED

Hellene, a wannabe cougar, comes from old money. Many of her socialite friends gossip behind her back. She’s part of the big charity circle in town, fancy galas for the poor and overprized dinners at political fundraisers. She tries hard to do good with her money by supporting public causes.

At the hotel she treats the immigrant maids like trash. Recently, she accused a valet of attempting to steal her car. All the workers avoid her except for Lola. Lola handles all of the Hellene’s. One big circle of white Helene’s Lola can’t even tell one from another any longer.

PLANET Z

Vultures are circling overhead.
I don’t know why, though. I feel great.
Plenty of chips and queso. A gentle breeze off the lake.
“I’m doing fine, right?” I ask Esteban the waiter.
“Absolutely, Mr. Garcia,” says Esteban. “Would you like another drink”
“Yes,” I say, handing Esteban my empty canteen. “I’ll take a margarita this time.”
Esteban returns quickly with the canteen, and I lick the rim of the cap.
Sand not salt
“Esteban?” I say.
He’s not there.
The chips are gone.
So is the hotel.
And it’s horribly, dreadfully hot.
That’s it, Esteban. I’m not leaving a tip.

Weekly Challenge #338 – Chip

Welcome to the 100 Word Stories podcast at podcasting.isfullofcrap.com. I’m your host, Laurence Simon.

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

The topic this week was Chip.

And we’ve got stories by a lot of people:

The next weekly challenge is on the topic of circle.

And if you want to spam your social networks with this episode, use the Share buttons at the end of the post… this obligatory cat photo should help make the Internet go faster:

DAVID

“Hey, Chip, are you about ready to leave?” I asked.
“Well, have you picked up the chips and dip yet?” he challenged back.
Soon, we’d head to the 32nd annual poker championship to be held at the Community Center. They’d be serving chipped beef again, but I was signed to bring snacks for the affair.
“Let’s stop at Quik-Ez on the way.” I did not want to be late again this year. This charity event was somewhat competitive. Whomever has the biggest stack of chips at the end of the night was declared Poker King until next year’s contest.

THOMAS

The computer chip they implanted deep into Tiddbitt’s brain managed and controlled everything, except his impulsivity. His excoriating editorials, ranging from lengthy diatribes about organized sports to excessive city spending, sent to the local weekly news, were carefully crafted, but highly disturbing to the majority of the newspaper’s readers. The senior editor stopped publishing them and he implored Tiddbitt not to write any more, and if he Tweeted them, or blogged them, to please tone it down. Readers were burning municipal vehicles, smashing bank windows, attacking city council members, throwing bricks at public workers, and flipping the bird at clergymen.

She chipped her tooth during a particularly energetic bout of lovemaking. Dating the Master At Arms of the Hell’s Angels had some benefits, but the downside was the rough handling, and group sex, along with frequent dealings with CHIPs on the California highways. When Shelli saw Sister Elizabeth-Rose double-dipping chips at the buffet table, she shouted at her. Shelli was not shy about embarrassing folks that scorned basic etiquette and sanitation rules at parties or weddings. Her boyfriend, Hardi Bigcup, had her back. Today, reaching her nader, she works as an oil changer and lubes chassis part time at Walmart.

JEFFREY

Second Chances
by Jeffrey Fischer

Marvin popped a chip in his mouth and reached for the remote control. *Flick.* Division I-AA football. Nah. *Flick.* Home shopping. *Flick.* Talking heads, yelling at each other about politics. *Flick.* An action movie – Stallone? Willis? He couldn’t tell, and it really didn’t matter. Something was exploding on the screen, and that was enough for Marvin.

He ate another chip, a large, irregularly-shaped one. It caught in his throat and Marvin began choking. He saw his life flash before his eyes, all the bad decisions in a lifetime full of them. He sputtered twice and dislodged the stuck piece. As he gulped air, he realized he had been given a second chance. He would make the most of it.

Marvin flicked the remote, settling on a rerun of Happy Days. He popped a chip in his mouth and munched.

TOM

When I was a child television was littered with function fathers. Robert Young, Carl Betz, Fred McMurray. Oddly these actors made their chops playing pretty heavy weight characters. From the coldblooded killer in Double Indemnity to the bachelor engineer in My Three Sons. Fred McMurray traveled the greatest distance from cad to kind. The central theme of that show was no girls, a house of men, total testosterogen. I grew-up in a household with five sisters, a mom and her mom. That’s seven women, one more than Louisa May shoved into her novel. Tuning into the boy’s club was comforting

The youngest son in that house was named Chip. In my vast collection of people’s named not a single one was addressed formally or in, as Chip. I came from a blue-collar world where everyone had biblical names: John, James, Ben, Isaac. Chip, in my world, parents didn’t use verbs as names. I knew something was happening; I was clueless that the writes had blown a cultural dog whistle. Chip wasn’t blue-collar. Chip was Ivy League. He was meant to go to school with guys named Hunter. Ironically Chip ended up in a teen marriage, totally cautionary, totally 70s.

SARAH

Our obsession with miniaturisation is something I’ve never understood – ever since the microchip was invented we’ve gone to extraordinary lengths to squeeze ever more complexity into ever-smaller spaces.

Why do we do it?

Surely, bigger is better?

Take my new idea – the maxi-chip – all of three inches square… imagine much processing power you can fit on that!

We’d have computers a hundred times faster and so much more powerful, with only a tiny increase in overall size!

Why stop there?

How about the mega-chip – a full six-inch monster!

Look out Silicon Valley – here I come!

TURA

We’re taking Timmy for his regular exocortex upgrade. They’ll pull out the chip, garbage-collect the memory, and update the software with age-appropriate skills.

It’s a bit disorienting, but they get over it. We’ll keep him off school a few days, while he learns to be himself again. You can’t have the other children suddenly wondering who their friend is. They get afraid of being upgraded themselves.

Some parents get all sorts of black market stuff put in, like intelligence boosts, or religion. Who wants a child smarter than they are, or doesn’t think this is the best country on Earth?

PAU

Congratulations – repeated the boss to the employee looking into his eyes.
He could not believe it. His boss had entered the office this morning saying “Good morning“ with a wide smile and then he had addressed to Tony to admire his report that was successfully submitted to the Board.
But immediately Tony suspected, after seeing that the screw on the boss’ left ear was loose, and then a drop of oil fell to the ground.
Tony had no doubt and quickly called the Head of Maintenance: the boss’ chip had broken again.

MUNSI

Chipper

By Christopher Munroe

I was being extraordinarily reasonable.

I didn’t raise my voice, I wasn’t rude, I simply explained that the first time I put a guy into the wood-chipper I’d bought, it jammed, and asked for a refund.

Jerry, behind the counter, explained that the wood-chipper was meant to chip wood, and since I’d misused the hardware no refund would be forthcoming.

Chip wood?

What part of my life as a hired murderer would lead me to need chipped wood?

Still, nothing I could do, so I bought another, sturdier wood-chipper at a rival store.

This weekend, I’ll demonstrate it to Jerry…

ZACKMANN

Chip chips away at the stone as he finishes a sculpture with a chip on
his shoulder.
“Stand still or I will chip your tooth.” says Chip.
The model replies “As a Chip and Dale dancer, I can’t have that even
in my facsimile.”
Chip says “Don’t be too chipper since I would have to charge double
for chipping on a Sunday.”
The dancer replies “After being hit in the mouth in a Paris bar fight,
I found overseas chipping to be the worst.”
“Have a look, so much like you that it is a chip of the old block”

LIZZIE

“Integrated circuit developed to feed the population of the world” that is how it was advertised. It would chip away until the problem of hunger was solved. Companies of the whole world chipped in eager to make immeasurable profits. But when the chips were down and colossal amounts of money were needed, there was no agreement. The usual chip on the shoulder attitude took over and major investors tried to steal the blueprint of this promising product from the creator. Adding to famine, a world war broke out. Apparently the new human race was a chip off the old block.

CLIFF

My guide explained that many things in Merry Old had different names. When he picked me up at the airport, he put my luggage in the boot. He gave me a ride to my rented flat, taking the lift up to the third floor. At the pub, we ordered a pint of stout and chips. I saw bags of chips behind the counter, but they were crisps. Cookies were biscuits, women were birds, the bathroom was the alley, and a friendly greeting in a pub was “Hello, you big sissy.” I think my guide is a bit of a joker.

#####

When Lucy looked down at the baby, she wasn’t surprised. Somehow, she had known the child would not be beautiful. Hopefully, the boy would grow out of it and take after his mother but Lucy wasn’t about to start taking bets on that. The infant had tiny eyes and a big round head. His hair was dark, but, for his sake, Lucy hoped his mother’s red hair and good looks would kick in eventually. She looked up at the proud father.
“Well, Chuck, I don’t know what to say. It looks like he’s a chip of the old block head.”

SEVI AND BONCHANCE

Chip

Mirella started her new “Chip n Chow” diet.
She was to trade poker chips for food.

Staring at the bag of ketchup chips, she salivated.
She contemplated digging in. Imagining a sweet n salty chip melt in a crumble upon her tongue.
“I only had a salad and cup of tea so far today.”

She rationalized and calculated. The remaining chips would cover eating the entire bag of sin. It seemed like a fair trade off to her, although the salty treat was not on the list of approved foods.

She decided to “let the chips fall where they may!”

chip chip chip

Taylor was impatient for answers about life. He started his journey of discovery.

Chip…chip…chip…”Excuse me old man is this the path to the ancient monk’s temple?
The old man continued patiently chipping away at the stone.

Fine!

He found the head monk in the great temple in the mountains. His other questions forgotten, the only query at the top of his mind was to ask about the rude old monk, chipping away at the mountain pass.

Smiling he replied, “do not know of this gentleman you speak of. Only know young impatient monk left at mountain wall many years ago.”

chip off the ole block

Pepe moved back in with his parents and vowed to clean up his act.
He now accepted the fact that he was a chip off the Pablo block.
Why fight it?

Speaking of fighting, Pepe wondered what his dad was going to do when
he finds out that the cute woodle (part wheaton, part poodle), bubbles was preggers.

He realized that issue would have to wait, word spread throughout the neighborhood
Poor Pablo has gone missing. A distraught Espy called an emergency meeting after
a very mean looking Colonel Meow informed her that Pablo was being “entertained” by the Chairman.

NORVAL JOE

Hours passed and the company waited in a silent circle some distance from the elf prince.
Elbonor sat on the ground, cross-legged, before the crumbled pile of stone. His eyes were closed and he hummed quietly to himself.
“Why is he just sitting there? He needs to get the way-stone back together?”
Owen asked.
“He’s learning how it was destroyed,” Shareeka said. “If it is not put back, chip by chip, as it was disassembled, the stone will not work.”
“What happens if the village goblins return before it gets rebuilt?” Owen asked.
“That would be a problem,” Shareeka said.

REDGODDESS

Lola barely moved since being released from the hospital. Her injuries from the assault are slowly healing, physically. She decides to take a weekend shift at the hotel to distract her from this new lazy life of television. Besides, she really wants to check on one of her year round guests. Her week as a shut-in triggered just how sad things must be for Mr. Chip; especially with his widow’s birthday coming, he just hasn’t been himself. Lola’s instincts are seldom wrong, but when she sees the coroner in front of the hotel her heart sinks. Mr. Chip had enough.

PLANET Z

My favorite flavor of ice cream used to be mint chocolate chip ice cream. But I don’t eat it anymore.

One night, I left the lid on the table, and while I was eating the ice cream, my cat Piper jumped up on the table, and she licked the lid clean.

For years, I bought mint chocolate chip ice cream, left the lid on the table, and we’d share it together.

Then she died.

The next time I bought ice cream, I left the lid on the table, and just sat there, staring at it.

I buy frozen yogurt now.

Weekly Challenge #337 – Football

Welcome to the 100 Word Stories podcast at podcasting.isfullofcrap.com. I’m your host, Laurence Simon.

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

The topic this week was Football.

And we’ve got stories by a lot of people:

The next weekly challenge is on the topic of chip.

And if you want to spam your social networks with this episode, use the Share buttons at the end of the post… this obligatory cat photo should help make the Internet go faster:

TOM

Sports are seasonal; so, when the leaves fall it is time to get the old pig skin out. Well, by now Spalding is using some synthetic polymer; though I do hear the NFL balls are the real deal. As if a 10 year old could afford a NFL ball. No we settle for a Charlie Brown football and by proxy a Charlie Brown dilemma. In the past Luce pulls away the ball at the moment of contact you get lay out staring at the sky. So you hold her to a promise hoping that internal integrity will rise with maturity.

You run, you kick, you sail through the air, you hit the ground, you staring up at the azure sky, you remember you’re a cartoon character who has been 10 years old for 60 years. The question of milestone development markers becomes as mote as a Harvard Law School Debate. Further she has never failed to hover over you mocking your hyper developed embrace of trust. Are you spectator in the Allegory of the Cave or have you spend the last half century in a syndicated Skinner box. Quietly you muse over the tale of the Turtle and the Scorpion

JEFFREY

I had always wanted to be a football star. Too small for any other position, I set my sights on being the place kicker. Sadly, I was no good. My kicks had no distance. Every team cut me like lunchmeat at a deli.

Then came the space program. I was an astronaut, selected to be on the permanently-manned space city in high Earth orbit. One day we decided to form a football team, playing in space suits, not pads, and using the length of the station as our “field”. Perfect, I thought, low gravity. I was the kicker, of course.

Our one and only game came down to two seconds, my team behind by one, 90 yards to go. They called me in. I caught the ball cleanly with my foot and watched the ball sail on and on. With almost no gravity to stop it, the ball might have carried on forever. Sadly, I had forgotten we were in a gravity well. The ball hooked left and headed for Earth, missing the goal post badly before burning up during re-entry. Game over.

THOMAS

I abhor football. Moreover, it is a total waste of time to either watch or follow on and off field antics of overpaid mercenaries. If it were not for the violence and brain-rattling encounters, most of the people that watch it would find something productive to do. The same for auto racing, cage fights, and boxing. I learned very early that football was for pinheads and large clods that liked to break things, act violently and snap towels at each other’s buttocks in the locker room. A gentleman does not attend games, nor does he buy seven dollar hot dogs.

Football is a manly man’s sport. I bought a season ticket instead of getting the washing machine fixed. Little Bobbie and Jennifer can wear my old t-shirts to school instead of getting new clothes this year! I’ve been betting on games, and when I sit in the den wearing my jersey, shoulder pads and helmet, eating Cheetos and drinking beer, I am only despondent for a moment about my wife leaving, until the next ball is snapped. My pals, Nick and Ted come over and we make fun of the new family next door that “garden” and play croquet together.

John played football in middle and high school. He packed on the pounds, and when he was a senior, he wrestled super-heavy weight. He had his brain rattled so many times, he dropped out of junior college to work in the plywood mill so he could save money and marry his high school sweetheart. His future is working until he gets a back injury, then kicking back and drawing disability. He plans to spend a lot of time, sitting in his Peyton Manning jersey and taking care of the babies while his wife works at the local Walmart until retirement.

I love to watch football on the TV. The girls and I get together, each bringing a tray or two of salty and fatty snacks. We watch all the games on the weekend. Last Saturday we saw two guys carried off the field, a guy in the crowd hit a player in the face with a beer bottle. We love the sport. We also get very excited and a little bit damp when we watch demolition derbies. It’s the sound of the roaring engines and the crowd that move all of us in ways that our husbands and boyfriends cannot.

SERENDIPITY

This is what they warn you about… “The thing in room 101, is the worst thing in the world”

In my case, it’s football.

I may be in the minority, but for me football represents everything that is tedious, boring and senseless – all packaged in a monotonous nonsense of pointlessness.

It is hell on earth.

And it shares this nightmarish room with me, constantly, day and night.

I’ve screamed, begged and come near to insanity… but they haven’t broken me yet.

The thing is – after ten days stuck in this room – I’ve begun to realise that actually, I love football!

LIZZIE

The writer sat at his desk. He hated football and the editor who hated him made him write about what? Football, of course. The writer procrastinated. He reorganized his books and reshuffled his pens. He even tried to figure out how much the plant sitting on his desk had grown. He could write about the rules, the players, the millionaire contracts, the model wives. No… So, he started like this “What if I killed…” It was a success! He wrote a book and signed a movie contract. There was also the small matter of the lawsuit, but that’s another story.

MUNSI

I was doing dinner theater, living in a hotel near Calgary’s football stadium.

My day off, on my way out, I happened upon six gentlemen in Chewbacca costumes, each with a Saskatchewan Roughriders jersey over his wookie suit.

I was surprised, as you would be. When I asked if that was a thing amongst Roughriders fans, one of the Chewies told me that no, it wasn’t, but that it totally should be. And then they were off to support their team, the weirdest way they knew, and I was alone with my thoughts…

So yeah, I cheer for the Roughriders.

ZACKMANN

I told a friend that I have learned a little about football because
of reading or listening to most of the GFL books.
So he asks since I know about the GFL would I like to try fantasy football.
Naturally I asks if that means I can use dragons and orcs.
He says only players on a real football team.
I ask if that means Ki, heavyG humans, and Skilorno are okay.
No he tells me only regular humans.
I say you mean I only get to use humans like some minor Purist Nation
league that sounds a bit dull.

When I was a kid some of the best cartoons were on Saturday near the
end of the morning. We did not have youtube and videos were really
expensive so if we didn’t see them on Saturday morning, we did not see
them. Hence childhood taught me professional and college sports are
evil because they would replace my cartoons with pregame shows which I
could almost understand but one day they preempted my favorite
cartoons with a Pre pregame show. What kind of sadistic nutjobs ran
television stations when I was a kid? Predictably, I never became a
sports fan.

CLIFF

Football 1

Legend has it that the game of football first started after a medieval battle. The warriors, still full of adrenaline after the bloody fight, found a severed head and proceeded to try to kick it past one another. It eventually became part of the after battle ritual to play the new game to help the troops unwind. Rules evolved, team names were chosen, and game strategies were developed. The king put an end to it when he learned that troops were holding back in battle to save their strength for the big game. Shortly thereafter, the football riot was invented.

Football 2

When I was a teenager, every Friday night was the same. We’d all gather at the school, dressed to impress no matter the weather. The guys all acted stupid trying to impress the girls. The girls all giggled and acted like they didn’t know the guys were there. Everybody tried to act cool as only a high school kid could do. There was high drama and low humor. Teen love blossomed and died. There were threats and jokes and the occasional brief fist fight. All the usual stuff. Oh, and apparently, there was a football game going on somewhere too.

SEVI AND BONCHANCE

Football!

Hello Jimmy? Jimmy boy how ya doin buddy?! ?
Yah I made across the pond. Yep, lots of rain.

Sounds like I’m outside? Dude I am outside!
I’m at a stadium watchin guys in short boxers kick a ball around then pile up on each other.
Not sure why they would do that.

Gotta speak up Jims! There is a lot of racket in the stands.
Oh I came with an English feller who disappeared after we got here.
He said there’s gonna be a football game here.

Must be right after all these fancy shorts get off the field.

Don’t bug me man!

I aint your football field, bug. Go somewhere else to play your games.

Runnin around with your high flyin friends and landing on me like I gotta
host your party. You go on your own path, don’t need to be playin on my skin.

The old days are gone man you don’t go buzzin ’round my place.
Don’t you tread on me man.
Don’t you go buggin me with your night crawlin and name callin.

You aint gonna spin no web that makes it alright,
aint gonna mug me so best if you move on and don’t bug me man!

CHRIS

It was twelve forty-five in the morning when I heard it. I had been playing the new game Minecraft and had started a mine. I made the mistake of digging straight down and fell in to a huge pit. There were red stone lamps on the walls and I could hear the sounds of thousands of mobs. I followed a tunnel in the pit and neared a huge cavern. Two sides of the cavern were lined with bleachers on side with zombies the other with zombie pigmen. In between the bleachers was a football field with zombies and zombie pigmen playing a common game, football.

STEVEN

The Titans’ homecoming game was not going well.

It was a perfect evening for football; clear air and just crisp enough to think about apple cider and light sweatjackets. But the Titans had trouble. Bobby twisted his ankle on the first play. It got worse from there.

With seconds left, the Titans were down by five. Fourth and goal. The center snapped the ball, the pass went high… and landed in the hands of Mike Winkerbean. Mike took a knee, just like his idol, Tebow.

A lightning bolt struck him as a voice boomed: “Thor bet on the other team.”

NORVAL JOE

Harold knew it had to be a dream, though the grass was wet on his bare feet. The late October evening was cold and his breath turned to steam with ever rapid, panicked, gasp.
Five foot ten and one-hundred-ten pounds soaking wet, he ran for his life, his striped, flannel, pajamas pants flapping with each stride.
A dream. And yet, the texture of the football was rough and real tucked between his arm and naked chest.
The touchdown would have won the game, but it was called back. Harold was neither in a proper uniform, nor on the team roster.

The pass is complete but the receiver takes a wicked hit from behind and the football is loose and bouncing across the field. It’s a race to see who will recover the ball, but the ball seems to be out running the the players. It can’t be. The Trojans have done it again. They’ve pulled the wiener dog sneak for the third game in a row.
While both teams are distracted chasing the wiener dog, the receiver runs to the end zone for a touchdown and another win for the red and gold.
Just look at that wiener dog run.

TURA

So last weekend I took the train over to Cambridge (the real one) to hear some music three hundred years old, in a church five hundred years old. Seven violin concerti from Vivaldi’s “L’Estro Armonico”, the Birth of Harmony, a collection that virtually created the baroque concerto, played by one of the leading baroque ensembles of our time.

Football? What care I, for football? Except that there was a big match in Norwich that ended shortly before I got on the train, and with departing football fans it was standing room only all the way. Liverpool 5, Norwich 2, apparently.

PLANET Z

I joined an online fantasy football league, but instead of trading and tracking real professional football players, we trade characters and creatures from fantasy novels and bedtime stories.

I put together my roster with the greatest of care picking ogres as linebackers, elves as wide receivers and a mighty stone giant as my quarterback.

My most important move was to put Rumpelstiltskin in charge of all stadium concessions. It didn’t matter how many games we won or tickets we sold, because the wicked little trickster spun the soda straws into gold and we all retired as billionaires, elves and all

REDGODDESS

During the recession, Lola’s neighborhood has gone through many changes. Her favorite book store became a luxurious spa. The Indian family who ran it disappeared. The foreclosed church is now a high end condominium, own by the football quarterback. She overheard two students say,”No one prays anymore anyways.” The library is slated to become a sushi restaurant. In the distance, where mostly immigrants live. One of the worst eye sore is still unfinished. A structure for a low-income housing development.It’s been five years since they broke ground. Oh well, like I said soon we all be eating Sushi.

Weekly Challenge #336 – Broken

Welcome to the 100 Word Stories podcast at podcasting.isfullofcrap.com. I’m your host, Laurence Simon.

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

The topic this week was Broken.

And we’ve got stories by a lot of people:

The next weekly challenge is on the topic of football.

And if you want to spam your social networks with this episode, use the Share buttons at the end of the post… this obligatory cat photo should help make the Internet go faster:

JEFFREY

Sales Call
by Jeffrey Fischer

They called me broken down, career over. It’s true I’ve had my setbacks. My sales numbers aren’t what they used to be, and I know I would have landed the Carson account back in my prime.

Still, this old boy has some fight in him. Stan, my boss, said I needed to win this account or I was out. No excuses. I swore I’d have the signed docs on his desk by tomorrow, and I don’t intend to fail.

You’re comfortable, right? The duct tape isn’t wrapped too tightly? Nod if you agree. Now just sit pat. When the deal is signed, I’ll be back to untie you. Don’t look at me like that. I’ll do it. I’m not broken.

TURA

I had an idea of the perfect pot. An idea so fragile that it trembled when I thought of it.

I spent two months making it, turning the finest clay on a kick-driven wheel (no soulless electric contraption would do), carving the designs, and then multiple rounds of painting, glazing, and firing.

But something went wrong in the final firing. I don’t know what. Too hot, too cool, too long, too short… The pot distorted and cracked.

But this is modern art! Who cares what it looks like! So I’ll just exhibit it as is. I’ll call it “Broken Pot”.

MUNSI

Why I Never Get Anything Done

By Christopher Munroe

I sit, trying to write, but all I can think about is Point Break.

Love that film…

The Swayze is at the peak of his power, invincible, and what passes for the plot is so wildly over the top that it’s impossible to watch without a big, dopey grin.

Even Keanu isn’t too objectionable. But it’s not like his acting chops are being particularly stretched…

It’s as perfect a dumb actioner as could be, and yes, I should be writing, and yes, I don’t have time for a movie, but still…

Point Break, man…

Screw it, productive work can wait…

THOMAS

The spindle was broken, and the 45 was not centered on the turntable. Everyone at the party was too whacked to manage the record player. The Rolling Stones’ tune, Satisfaction, played on through the night. The distorted and repeated tune made everything and everyone even more contorted. As the record spun, it produced a wow and swoosh as the needle danced across the vinyl. Two beautiful, black women embraced inside the bathtub, and didn’t stop making out if anyone went inside to use the toilet while they were there. I went outside, across the street, and watched the house vibrate.

The party was in San Francisco. A guy across the room remarked about the toenails on my chair being too red, and I, threatened by his familiarity, told him to shut up or I’d break him. My date had re-familiarized herself with her old boyfriend. He supplied all the chemicals that night, made with his lab and tools he took with him from a British chemical company when he moved to the States. Brian was the first, white collar, industrial spy I knew. He financed his lifestyle and two-story apartment with formulas and processes he sold to his American employer.

She was a broken woman. She lost her job at the coffee house, and her boyfriend broke up with her after catching her running around with his friend. He spread despicable and ugly rumors about her, and everyone was afraid to get close to her. She dyed her brown hair, blond, and went to law school. After college, she found herself writing books and moving into a career as a speaker, columnist and television personality. Never able to get her body weight above 60 pounds, Ann has been accused of being a pre-op transexual because of her prominent Adams’ apple.

Bill was broke. He sold all his books and records, gathered his essentials together, and fitted his ‘72 Oldsmobile as his home on wheels. He drilled a hole in the floor of the back seat so he could relieve himself, inconspicuously, at night while parked in the Walmart lot. He’d curl up in his sleeping bag, crack the front window a bit for air, and sleep until sunrise. No one bothered him, but he had to put up with another car dweller parked nearby. She fell in love with Bill, and wanted to move in with him. Bill drove away.

SERENDIPITY

My dad was not the most patient of men. He had his own way of fixing broken household goods: Whatever the problem, televisions, washing machines, vacuum cleaners, even broken-down automobiles could all be repaired with a good hard thump, clout or kick.

Occasionally he’d find success and the hapless piece of equipment would stutter onwards until the next violent ‘repair’ became necessary, but, inside… loosened components, cracked circuits and broken connections told a different story.

In the end, no matter how hard he thumped them – they stayed broken.

I could have told him that.

It never worked on me.

LIZZIE

“There was a war, a long time ago,” said the father. “They conquered the world.”

A broken fighter plane had been rusting in the open field.

“Is that why we can’t talk?” the son asked.

His father looked around fearing someone had heard them.

“Don’t say those things, son, you’ll get us in trouble,” the father whispered. “I think we should remove this junk and clean the field.”

The son crossed his arms.
“You know what? I think we should leave it, Dad. One day I’ll bring my son here and tell him about the war, so we don’t forget…”

MERRY

Space Storm by Merry O’Casey

Life’s turbulence is circumscribed by grace
of limited expectancy, its form
as nebulous and changing as a storm,
as anchored by our atmosphere from space.

When she stormed out saying she needed space, her anger made me so angry. How petty our arguments seem against the measure – well, against any measure, really. Against the broader measure of our own lives’ spans, or against the greater intensity of the suffering of refugees or tortured prisoners or mine slaves. Such indulgence: to have a quarrel about nothing at all.

And against the measure of space, and its storms? “Petty” doesn’t begin to describe – and I don’t mean to belittle her emotions or even mine by putting it all in perspective. I only wonder, why couldn’t we have parted normally, casually, that morning of all mornings?

Or desperate ridiculous desire: why could we not have known this was our final parting and given one another some token kindness to carry, she to wherever it is she’s drifting, I to where I’m bound.

Bound for nowhere but simply bound, aimless and earthbound, I look up at the stars on those nights when a few can still be seen, and curse the storm that carried her ship adrift in space.

Curses aimed at the infinite are unsatisfying. All there is to find at fault, are our own limitations: our inability to see any moment together, even a moment of annoyance, as better than time forever apart.

ZACKMANN

“His parents are divorced so he comes from a broken home
He does not fit well into our restroom but he will go outside because
he is housebroken.
He sang nerdcore in a band called Front and Centeur but he and
Frontalot broke up.
He has a girlfriend who works in a bookstore. He has gone broke buying books.
Her parents didnt like her dating a Centeur and now he is heartbroken.”
“I said I wanted a broke horse for children to ride at my kiddy
carnival but get him a background check because we have a position for
him.”

REDGODDESS

Lola walks toward the hotel garage to check the areas before leaving. As she approached the rear of the building, she notices a broken window on one of the cars and a man placing objects into a bag. Lola tiptoes toward the exit door to page security. Her heart is beating fast; she decides to go against all of her common sense and charge the burgler. That is the last thing she remembers. She is awoken by a kiss, her mans smile. She is in a hospital.
“Who did this?” He asks. She looks at her broken arm and curses.

###

Lola takes a deep breath and reaches for his hand. He seems so sincere when they’re together. He knows she wants to wait and that her heart has been broken before, he tells her it is okay with his dark eyes. Lola touches his beautiful lips with her finger and tells him to be quiet. She traces an ice cube down his muscular neck and shoulders, she kisses his rugged skin. “I’m ready,” she whispers. He lifts her onto the wooden table in the dining room she looks at the door hoping no one comes in as they become one.

BROKALI

I got the call at seven.

” Brokali?”

“Yes.”

“He finally did it, killed himself getting groceries, meet us at headquarters.”

Headquarters is a secret place for 100 word geeks.

“You’ll have to take over.”

“I can’t handle his workload. He has Sims, weekly challenges, people actually attend his events. He has cats.”

I went into a full panic. I passed out and was put on an IV, hospitalized, I turned and to my surprise I saw Crap Mariner.

“I thought you were dead.”

“Worse, I’ve broken my arm and need robot screws .”

I breathed a sigh of relief.

BONCHANCE AND SEVI

Broken

Have you ever heard that saying “you never forget how to ride a bike, no matter how long it’s been”?
Just climb back up and take off! Weeee!!!

What they don’t tell you is that you forget how to maintain your maturity once mounted.

The first 3 jumps went smoothly. I was over confident and thinking I was that cool, freewheeling, kid with no fear.
Yes, doc I know “how lucky” and fortunate to “only” have one broken leg and a dozen cracked ribs.

Yes doc, I know to be more careful next time…Yes doc, I know I’m not sixteen!

Broken 2

Pablo, the black and white spaniel and his pal Sparkles, the obese calico, sporting a bright pink ribbon, had broken a rule on their last adventure.
The regulations dictated that they needed to get prior approval from “The Chairman”.

Sparkles pled the 5th when Pablo inquired about his knowledge of the rules.

Every neighborhood had their big bully but all knew that they ultimately answered to Chairman Meow.
Molly and Maggie the twin wiener dogs gave Pablo a little book of the neighborhood rules for future reference.

Sparkles ordered Pablo to take the rap and meet with Chairman Meow immediately.

Broken 3

John and George sat in the living room chatting about football.
“How long will you be in town John?”
“Just for today George, I was really hoping to connect with Linda”

“She is out shopping today, he snapped”

John noticed a bloody fingerprint on their wedding photo, the glass in the frame was broken.
In the hall, an edge of a suitcase was in view. That large mirror Linda loved from Italy was missing.

John stood telling himself to act natural. He shook George’s hand and left.
His back felt exposed as he turned from George and quickly walked away.

TARALYN

NO TEXT

DANNY

The worst thing your orthopaedic surgeon can tell you is there is to much swelling in your broken leg, your going to have to spend at least a week in bed with your leg elevated above your heart so the swelling will go down enough that a cast can actually be placed on your leg. That is what I was told when I was 19, after falling off a rope swing while drunk, landing on the banks of the Delaware river, breaking my lower right leg in the process. I spent that summer of my life in bed, and it sucked.

CLIFF

The interrogator had promised to break me. He told me that every man could be broken given enough time. I had laughed at him. That was weeks ago. Since then, there has been deprivation, torture both physical and mental, and always the question.
“What is two plus two?”
This morning, he came into my cell, gave me my clothes back, and announced that I was cured and was free to go.
“What do you mean?” I asked. “You didn’t break me.”
“What is two plus two?” he asked.
I replied “It’s still four.”
“Exactly,” he said and left the room.

TOM

It was my last semester at the JR College. I was 3 months from turning 40. If I had been 40 that fateful night I wouldn’t have been in the gym in front of a volleyball net. At the time I thought how much trouble could I get in tapping a ball around. Hour one I take a hard step forward and feel a foot behind me smash into the back of my ankle. I yell, “What the fuck did you do?” The problem was the guy was a good 12 feet away. “Dude you ripple out your Achilles tendon.”

NORVAL JOE

“How is this goblin cube going to save us, Shareekwa?” Owen asked.
“Simply this, Owen. The Door of the Goblin King is an enchanted way-stone. There are compass stones constructed near every goblin-tribe settlement. This stone will transport us from one to another.
“I’m sure Elbownor knows the incantation. Come. Let’s find the compass stone.”
The company spread out and searched the forest as they walked toward the goblin village.
“Just before sunset. Traveler called out, “Found it.”
The company gathered around a pile of broken stones.
“We should camp here tonight,’ The ranger said, “I’ll try to fix it.”

KIMI

The small robed man rubbed his freshly shaven head in a

circular motion. He had burst into the kitchen and half yelled

“rats!” over and over, along with a stream of what may have

been Tibetan. Geshe was normally such a quiet and

reserved person, I grew concerned about his agitated state.

“rats”, he said again, curling his lips and squinting his eyes.

“Where?” I finally managed to interject. He grasped my shirt

sleeve and drug me to the front room wher he stood in cront

of the habitrail. “Gerbils” I pronounced. “Gurr-balls” he

returned in broken English. “Rats” I smiled.

PLANET Z

King Rufus didn’t like magic, so instead of a Court Magician, he hired a Royal Spellbreaker.

Once a mage of the wizards Guild, the spellbreaker had been expelled over a petty dispute. He made his living revealing the tricks behind the feats of wonder his former colleagues performed.

Love potions were analyzed and revealed to be nothing more than colored alcohol.

Cursed swords just intentionally mis-balanced by the blacksmith.

And the many wondrous beasts of the kingdom nothing more than unusually-groomed poodles.

“You’re just a man in an ice demon suit,” he said mockingly to his would-be assassin.

And died.

Inflict this upon:

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