Category: Weekly Challenge

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

This is Weekly Challenge Number Two Hundred and Eighty, 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 Wings

How about voting for your favorites?

Or, if the poll is broken, just go to everybody’s site and heap much love upon them (since nobody ever leaves comments here, you know.)

Thomas
Tom
Chris Munroe
Guard 13007
Zackmann
Liadona
Gwenette
Gabriel Tambunga
Danny
TJ
Norval Joe
Planet Z

And if you want to spam your social networks with this episode, use the Share buttons at the end of the post.

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Thomas

A 225 pound pigeon. He tested his wings, flying low over town, with messages written on his naked belly with a felt-tip marker. He had put together the flying suit in his garage, cobbled together from spare bicycle parts, synthetic fabric, and a few gears out of the grandfather clock in the hallway.

Swooping lower on his second pass, he skimmed the feather on the mayor’s hat as she stood , arguing for a rate increase in city services.

Diving lower, Laurence let the major know what he thought of her and her plans, and he left his mark.

On a Friday in 1964, Dominic was tending bar at Uncle Kenny’ s in Buffalo, NY. Late that evening, after a bout of heavy and irresponsible drinking, a group of Dominic’s friends arrived at the tavern with ravenous appetites. Dominic asked his Aunt Angie to prepare something for his friends to eat. Using a part of the chicken that usually went into the stock pot for soup or to the family Doberman, Angie deep fried the wings and flavored them with her secret sauce. The sauce, sprinkled liberally with his ashes, was stored in the cloakroom, under Uncle Kenny’s photograph.

Tom

Timmy tested his wings

Up Down Sideways

All in working order.

Dead 20 minute and he was zooming around

with even the higher order celestial beings.

“I’m an Angle!” cried Timmy

“Well, not really,” said Ralph

“Angles are a specific race of beings.”

“Humans can’t be Angles.”

“But I got wings,” said Timmy

“Mighty nice pair,” said Michael

“Want to race?” Off they flew

“See, I am an Angle!”

“Good point Timmy, hows bout

I make you an honorary Angle?”

He pinned tiny gold wings on Timmy’s white gown

“See that guy down there?”

“Go give him a hand.”

Wooooooshhhh.

Munsi

It’s the wonder of shiftwork, you never know what schedule to expect.

I worked Tuesday to Sunday one week, Monday to Saturday the next. Since I got a day off each week, they didn’t have to pay overtime. See? Brilliant planning on their part.

Now every part of my body aches. But I try not to be bitter. I’m finished now. And I won’t be doing squat with my day off.

I’ll be downtown, headphones on, exploring a city I love and listening to classic rock.

Paul McCartney.

Band on the Run.

I won’t be coming home ‘til I’m relaxed.

Guard13007

What is the thing? We don’t know, but we assume you do. The thing is red, it is large, it is attacking a child over there, and it is shaped vaguely like a radiometric device from the Netherlands from the lab of the mad scientist called George the Crankpost.

We wonder what a crankpost is, but we don’t know that either. We shoved two words together to make another word. The point is to make this officially stupid document filled with exactly hundred words. Because, we don’t know the topic.

We don’t think this counts as a story, do you?

Zackmann

Tom convinced me to spend two weeks in a holiday camp off the grid. We were dropped off
by helicopter on a mesa. No Internet. No phone. There were crafts and books even a stage. I
never expected the effect it had on Tom. I will always remember Tom’s last words to me before
jumping off the cliff “You don’t need wings to fly.” I tried my best to distract him before he hit the
ground but alas The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy is no flight manual. I wish Tom had taken
up archery because he didn’t miss.

Liadona

She took to the stage as she was wont to do. Act II, scene I – a wood near Athens. Over and over. Night after night. Stuck in the same skimpy costume where only the wings were substantial. And the same words were uttered over and over in total disgust.

“Over hill, over dale,

Through bush, through brier,

Over park, over pale.

Through flood, through fire,

I do wander everywhere.”

The lines tripped lightly on her tongue, each word sliding off as if were a jewel that dripped between her teeth onto the forest floor. She must remember to pick those up before she left, escaped was more lie it.

And yet, each word was so precious. If only she could spread her wings and truly fly away from this place. Not just hold onto the wire that helped her to fly. One more night of this and she might sprout her freedom in other ways.

“Pass the pins, please.” The please was new. It wasn’t often that Octavia, a noted expert in her field, asked for anything politely. But I’m not sure if this was improvement or guilt.

Octavia’s designs had gotten us this far. We were in the final Games! The final Interview stage and then onto the island, that wasn’t really an island at all of course. It was one of the largest production sets I had ever seen.

I smiled. “Things are going to be fine, Octavia. Come on – this is Television! What could go wrong?”

Octavia sighed as she put the last pin on my beautiful wings, now fastened to my shoulders as long as the flimsy silk that now enshrouded me didn’t tear. Once finished, she stopped, grabbed my hand and held my eyes. “I’m sorry,” she muttered so softly I almost didn’t hear it before she turned away.

Leaving me on display like a proper butterfly.

Pinned down.

GwynetteWriter

“Fly away with me.” Your eyes shiny with tears, your broken wing dragging across the sands, you walked into the waves, beginning to float. I hovered, flying above you. We breathed in; we breathed out, finding our rhythm. The suns were setting. Stars clustered moon five . . . we breathed in perfect harmony. We sang the soft lullaby of our love’s history and our children came to our calling. Their wings brushed yours, softly caressing your chest. Far out to sea your eyes closed. Warm waters covered you and we dove with you to our sandy graves.

Gabriel

She watches patiently for what she desires.

She hopes they get along, because sometimes they don’t, but it doesn’t matter, when it comes time they work together anyway. One by one they gather, sometimes a disagreement, and despite their different colors and sizes they grab those in front, behind and to their sides. They hold each other as strong as they would hang on a tree, and now in the beautiful shape of her desire. She approaches to feel the wonderful embrace and softness and tiny winds of the little fluttering wings.
Flap, flap, her shadow on the ground below.

Danny

Professor Fredrick Finklestein stood at the edge of the cliff, clutching his latest invention. “Damn the Airlines,” he screamed, staring across the canyon. “I’ll never have to endure airport security again!” The Professor strapped on his mechanical wings, flapped them a few times, then took the plunge into the abyss. He plummeted halfway down the canyon, when much to the Professor’s surprise, the wings actually worked! “This is incredible!” he screamed. Finkestein put on his oxygen mask as the altitude increased, 5000 feet, 10000 feet, 20000 feet! “Look at me, I’m a bird!” the Professor screamed, only to be splattered by a passing 747.

TJ

The guinea pig switchout clinched it. The boy had excellent instincts.
Espionage, subterfuge, cryptography, collateralizing assets by extorting
that gym teacher, intervention for the public good by running that
homegrown virus to earth and neutralizing the hacker, the senator was
officially impressed. These were skills that could be honed. No, the CIA
wasn’t necessarily interested in 16-year-olds – even talented
16-year-olds – as operatives. But as Senate Intelligence Committee
chair Sen. Clark reviewed the reports assembled in front of him, this
Martin Winger stood out to him as a decided person of interest. And with
that, his senate internship application was approved.

Norval Joe

Fly Paper Boy slumped forward, staring into his mashed potatos, looking for answers.
His head snapped up when is sister said, “I think Fly Paper Boy is lame. He doesn’t have wings or a cape or anything.”
“Why bring that up?” He asked her.
“I heard the police are looking for Fly Paper Boy. They say he burned down a house.”
“You can’t believe everything you hear, Jenny,” their mother said, though her voice was clipped and hard.
“Mr. Dinkman was the one who told me,” Jenny said. “He had his uniform on and was looking through Jimmy’s car windows.”

Planet Z

The art classroom at Walnut Springs Middle School was full of flies.

We’d catch them and do all sorts of horrible things to them.

“If you take the wings off of a fly, is it a hop?” asked one kid.

I don’t remember his name, but he was the expert in our group of Middle School Mengeles.

He had a whole workshop bag of tools. Jeweler’s mount and magnifying glass. Tweezers and scissors to work monstrous modifications on the flies.

For Christmas, he tried to make a tiny Santa sleigh.

Instead, he got suspended and transferred to a special school.

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

This is Weekly Challenge Number Two Hundred and Seventy-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 Shrink

How about voting for your favorites?

Or, if the poll is broken, just go to everybody’s site and heap much love upon them (since nobody ever leaves comments here, you know.)

Tom
Derry
Thomas
Chris Munroe
Gideon
Zackmann
Gabriel Tambunga
Xerxes
TJ
Danny
Norval Joe
Liadona
Planet Z

And if you want to spam your social networks with this episode, use the Share buttons at the end of the post.

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Tom

“Vi dost you hate your mootar?”

“I don’t”

“Mr. Marquette how are V to make progress vhen you are resistant to the process?”

“Look you Viennese Pin Head

Psychotherapy is a crock

and you have the empathy of Sand Flea.”

“Good Good. Vi do you hate sand fleas?”

Tom rolled his eyes.

“Let me make this real real simple.

My cat died I’m grieving.”

“Oh you do da on the ledge of 40 story building

….vell our hour is up. See you next week?”

Sure. Fine. Whatever.

The shrink handed Tom a bill for $250

And complementary tab of Thorazine

Derry

Half a bowl of guacamole. Lovely, green, smooth and spicy. How can I leave it there? Should I eat the rest? Should I toss? If I keep it, how to keep it fresh? I will cover it with plastic wrap! I pull out a bit from the roll, and it gets all tangled. I pull out another bit, and it grabs the first and merges with the first. I pull out more wrap and suddenly it grabs me in its grip and tightens and shrinks until I am in the bowl with the guac. I am one with the guac.

Thomas

He awoke and realized he was trapped at the bottom of one of his woolen socks. He had shrunk to the size of a button on his pajamas. He worked his way out of the sock and managed to get to the edge of the bed. He was too far off the floor to jump, but he slid down one of the sheets to the floor. His wife was calling, and she couldn’t hear his tiny voice answering. She came into the bedroom with his coffee and, frightened, stepped on the gruesome, pink bug on the floor near the bed.

He would never shrink from duty. When he was six, he’d stand at attention for hours, and he knew the Code of Conduct by heart at seven. His military bearing was excellent, and he could field strip an M-16 in seconds. He joined the Army on his 18th birthday and as a gung-ho volunteer, went to war as a foot soldier right after boot camp. The military transport landed in Germany on the first leg of the journey, and when he stepped out of the plane, he tripped on the stairs and tumbled to the tarmac and to his death.

Chris

I’m having panic attacks again.

I can’t seem to shake the notion I’m becoming… smaller?

If that makes any sense.

I know, I know, of course I’m not. It’s just anxiety and the feeling I’m not properly respected in my work and home life. But in spite of that understanding I can’t shake the feeling that as more and more of my decisions are taken out of my control I’m actually… shrinking.

It’s crazy, isn’t it Doctor?

Doctor?

Can you even hear me?

No?

No, I suppose you wouldn’t be able to hear me, from all the way up there…

Gideon

My weekly therapy sessions had not been going well.

The couch doctor seemed to concentrate on my problems but could not condense her thoughts to something I could understand.

“Listen Doc, we have a contract. I come here to drop off and decrease my problems. I leave feeling deflated, diminished, weakened. You aren’t helping!”

She said “I understand. You feel constricted, smaller, wasted away”.

“Doc, aren’t you listening? I feel that way after I leave; shriveled, dwindled. Reduce your verbiage, narrow your focus. Help me!”.

“I’m afraid I need to shorten our time today. See you next week”.

——————————–

They say a picture is worth a thousand words, so we designed our application to use pictures.

Every action requires the user to click on a picture.

Want to open something? Click on the picture of the closed door.

Want to close something? Click on the picture of the open door.

Want to edit something? Click on the picture of grizzled editor from the Times.

It was a great application. It was adopted quickly by users. The test users said it was a very effective paradigm.

Then they said the application was too big, shrink it. So we used thumbnails.

Zackmann

“I brought the midget some plouts” said Zack.
“It’s my midget not your midget “said Lawrence stomping the ground.
“Of course it is, I have a Toyota”.
“Not my MG sports car, “said Lawrence”, my wonderful narrator, whom I lovingly care for in my
basement in his cage.”
Isn’t that illegal? asked Zack.
“Actually, “replied Lawrence”, it is a legal requirement. Remember the bite scene in Rise of The
Planet of the Apes? Like that only with the midget.
The midget was a Giant until he tried Doc Coleman’s Shrinking Man Formula. Although he is not
thinner he did shrink ”

Gabriel

Steam, cool, steam, cool, endless hours of working but the
reason to continue is important. Pulling
in and out of the steam, and so it shrinks to the familiar size of what it is
intended. Sometimes a wonder of who this
may be but is unimportant of what this is to cause. The cause is the less pain of the missing. Fresh and new this must continue to deceive
those who caused the pain, as what can be so affecting than a susceptible
familiar.

Approach but then flutter back, as they care not to be the
next heads on spears.

Xerxes

When I was a kid I’d spend hours out in the tall grass chasing grasshoppers. When I caught one, I’d hold it carefully, and examine it closely.

I was amazed at the intricacy of the hooked barbs on its legs and feet which enabled it to catch and hold on to slender blades of grass as it jumped hither and yon through the field.

Usually the creature would move its mouth parts, creating a nasty looking brown liquid that we called “chewing tobacco.”

Then I’d crush it.

I didn’t want it to suffer and die from mouth cancer like grandpa.

TJ

With little more to go on than a photo of the missing guinea pig, Martin
swept Tina’s room for clues. He opened her laptop, found her
cheerleading video blog and tracked some activity from rival North Shore
addresses. The creature could just be hiding in the house, but… that
cage was visible in her blog. Martin was no shrink, but he wondered if
Jellybean had been targeted by rival cheerleaders hoping to mess with
Tina’s head before playoffs. Either way, his choice was clear. He
headed to the pet store and – based on the photo – purchased a new
guinea pig.

Danny

I walked into my psychiatrist’s office, Dr. Zeinburg is already glaring at me. I nervously stated, “Look, I didn’t mean to call you a shrink.” “Stop wasting my time and sit down, Mr. Clifton! ” he screamed back. I sat down and started to talk. “Honestly, Doc, I feel like I’m Jewish, except I’m neither rich nor successful, you know, like you.” I started to shrink further into my chair as Zeinburg’s glare intensified. I continued, “O.K., I’m sorry, I know that sounded racist. Honestly, if my Jewish friend’s heard me say that, they would literally nail me to a cross.”

Norval Joe

Fly Paper Boy lay on the couch and looked at the voluptuous blonde sitting at her desk, and asked, “So you’re a shrink?”
“Doctor of psychology, actually,” she said, “but you can call me Donna.”
“Our mutual friend said you might like to talk with me,” her voice was a calming purr. “We can talk about anything you like.”
“Ok. So you’re a doctor,” he said with hesitation. “Well, then, there is something I would like to know. I’m sixteen, and, you know, A boy, and, you know…”
Then he blurted out in frustration, “when will my voice finally change?”

Liadona

Even as she stood at the edge of the pier waiting for the water, she know this was insane. It was larger than they had ever seen before. Not even crazy news presenters who thrilled at flying in the wind were finding shelter anywhere they could.

But Bella stood at the end of the pier with baited breath for her first brush with the storm. It would be a kiss to remember.

Then storm came roaring past. Bella shrank from the damage Irene brought with her. No kiss, all she would remember was that she shrunk.

Sadly, Bella gathered her equipment and her soaked team. “Let’s go figure out how how to shut her down.”

That would serve Irene right for making Bella so small.

Planet Z

During his morning appointments, Dr. Feingold found himself sinking deeper and deeper into his chair.

At first, he thought it was just a problem with the padding, and he needed a new chair.

It was when his shoes were too big for his feet that he realized that it was because he was shrinking.

He barely made it home before his feet couldn’t reach the pedals of his car, and he had to reach up to turn the knob on the front door.

Flopping around in his clothes, he yelled for help.

The cat came down the stairs, and hissed.

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

This is Weekly Challenge Number Two Hundred and Seventy-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 Wild

How about voting for your favorites?

Or, if the poll is broken, just go to everybody’s site and heap much love upon them (since nobody ever leaves comments here, you know.)

Almo
Thomas
Xerxes
Liadona
Zackmann
Krazie Kitten
Tom
Justin
Steven the Nuclear Man
Norval Joe
Fricker/Terrazabyte
TJ
Planet Z

And if you want to spam your social networks with this episode, use the Share buttons at the end of the post.

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Almo

Arnett stood in front of the Harlan County Junior College Bearcats moments before kickoff. It was Arnett’s first football coaching job and he wanted to make sure his players were fired up when they took the field.

“I want you to be ferocious!” he screamed.

“Ferocious!” they replied.

“I want you to be unstoppable!”

“Unstoppable!”

“I want you to be …,” Arnett paused, “wild!”

“Wild!!!!”

On the opening kickoff, the Bearcats’ strongest athlete sprinted downfield, stuck his arm out and took the head clean off an opponent.

“Next time we stick with ferocious and unstoppable,” Arnett whispered to his assistant coach

Xerxes

Gabe looked down at the paper, “the postal service wants to cut 120,000 workers through layoff and another 100,000 workers through attrition?”

“Yep,” came the somber, yet awe inspiring and rumbling reply.

“So… what does this mean for me?” asked Gabe, looking up and raising one bushy eyebrow slightly.

“It’s actually pretty wild. You are no longer required to relay messages to the prophets, step down as the chief of the four favored angels, and finally, you lose the titles of patron saint of postal workers and spirit of truth.”

Gabriel wondered to himself what the unemployment benefits were like.

Thomas

Wild

The county abatement officer posted little, red banners all over my front yard. The markers were plastic flags taped to wire stakes. He pushed a hundred of them into the soil in the front yard. I planted my yard to save water by using ”indigenous plants”. The officer’s job was to mark noxious weeds for the control team to dig up or spray. Not knowing a weed from a wildflower; my yard was overgrown with nutsedge, skeletonweed, sowthistle, spurge, knapweed, gorse, toadflax, puncturevine and purple loosestrife. The plants were healthy and had grown to the height of my roofline.

Wild

She was wild. Untamed. A golden-haired beauty from a big country family. When I saw her with her brothers and sisters, I knew she was the one I wanted. Her father was nowhere to be seen. I left because I had to ponder things. I went back to her house in a few days and spoke to her family. We made arrangements so I was able to take her with me that day. Money changed hands. It was legal in the area. No questions were asked. It was a big litter, and Molly was the fattest of them all.

Liadona

The western wind blew; harsh, hot and dusty. It hadn’t stopped in a week. Isra tied her hair back, adjusting her goggles hoping to block some of the sand blowing strong. Something was terribly wrong.

She’d walked from home for months after the accident. That’s what they called it on the radio before that went dead. North seemed right, away from the desert that once was lush and green along the Mississippi.

But here, at what should’ve been Canada, a wild jungle from South America. The compass pointed North. Was that wrong too? Or was the world turned upside down?

Zackmann

Zackmann’s body was found Friday morning half eaten by what is believed to be a wild animal.
Friends became suspicious when he was not in the BearCrawling Stickam chat room Thursday
night. Mountain Lions had been seen in the area his body was found. The Contra Costa
Sheriff believes his demise was in no way related to his involvement with in an investigation
of something called the Nocturnals. A memorial service will be help at Borderlands Books San
Francisco with the Wrong Reverend Charles McBearCrawling presiding, also broadcast live on
Stickam Thursday 6:30 PM Pacific Time.

To quote Mark Twain and east European politicians, Rumors of my death have been greatly
exaggerated. I was in the wilds of Oregon visiting Crater Lake National Park. Which is more just
cool than wild but don’t tell the animals living in the park. The GPS thought driving through Reno
to get from California to Southern Oregon was a good idea so I did spend an extra three hours
seeing nature which is more trees. There is nothing more fun than putting two teens in a car
forcing them to go places you and mom think are really great.

Krazie Kitten

Caged.
Entrapped.
She had never imagined that it would end up like this. She hardly sleeps, spending each dark night endlessly pacing her cage. Her eyes gaze upon freedom, close enough to nearly taste it. She can barely remember life without these barriers and restrictions. She longs to indulge in her true nature. Desperate to have a life like the one she has lost. The once bright fire in her eyes glows dimmer, diminishing more with each day spent locked in captivity.
Will she ever be free to live again?
She knows only one thing for certain.
She is wild.

Tom

In the wild hairless apes, Homo sapiens, live on average 17 years. In domestic captivity this number increases four fold. The mating practices of Humans are a wonder. While discriminative in their Monogamy they are indiscriminative in their infidelity. The Institute has gone out of its way to create a natural setting for humans to mate, but our best efforts have proven less than successful. Thankfully Drowl Pardash found an ancient Earth reference to an object called a Buick. While the Buick limits the visibility of the actual mating, it’s a small price to pay for a rise in frequency.

Justin

I’m on my way to the market when a triceratops runs by me, almost knocking me over. I almost shout, but two more of his buddies are coming up, and I don’t want them to triple-gore me with their horns. A guy with a tall Mohawk walks by with a silent boom box, and the mime who’s putting on a show gets into an argument with him. I have to walk between two warring tribes of children having a rigatoni fight. Next time I go to the store, I’m not going to walk on the wild side of the street.

Steven the Nuclear Man

(This is the link Steven thinks I’m going to forget this week. Heh.)

I take her hair in my hand and pull back. It’s a rough mess of untamed curls, as wild as she is. “You’ve been a bad girl.”

She moans, presses her hips against me. “Very bad, sir. You should spank me.”

I can’t help it. I chuckle and let go. “A spanking! A spanking! Bad Zoot!”

She stands up, straightens our band shirt over her chest. “What the hell?”

“Sorry. I’m just not into S&M.”

She storms out, shoving past the bassist.

His eyebrow raises. “Lose another groupie?”

I shrug. “What’s the lead singer of Satan’s Soldiers to do?”

Norval Joe

Fly paper boy rolled from his bed and stumbled to the desk. Cold sweat trickled down his bare back as he leaned over the keyboard.
“What can I do,” he grumbled. “Someone knew I was at that house for the money. Now they’re framing me.”
Then it came to him There was a kid on the chess team in Junior High that could work out almost any conundrum.
“It’s a wild goose chase, but I’ll search facebook” he said “I think he moved to Minnesota.”
“OK, state, Minnesota, NO! North Dakota. name, Martin,,,,,,,,, Oh Crap. What was his last name?”

Fricker/Terrazabyte

Our planet Earth supports 6.7 billion human lives, each one unique and completely different.

Our Sun is one of an estimated 200 to 400 billion other stars in our galaxy, each one unique and completely different.

Our Milky Way galaxy is merely one of the estimated 500 billion galaxies in our universe, each one unique and completely different.

When trying to comprehend this wild and astronomical vision of the world around us, remember that from the universe down to the world we may be seen as one person, but to one person out there we may be their world.

TJ

He heard her before anything else, an agitated commotion among the
hubbub in the hallway between classes. Tina burst wild-eyed into
Martin’s field of vision, “Martin… Martin…” she wheezed. She
was in her cheerleading uniform and if her sweater had been any tighter
it would be a tattoo. “Sarah said… you could help me…”
“What’s the problem,” he asked. “It’s Jellybean. My guinea
pig!” she cried. “She’s gone missing.” Martin thought he was a
spy, not a detective, but he saw an opportunity to further expand his
skill set. Handing her a tissue, Martin accepted her case with a
handshake.

Planet Z

The Animal Liberation Squad roamed the corridors of the bioengineering lab, hoping to rescue subjects and release them into the wild.

The gates had been unguarded, doors unlocked, and alarms were off.

“Something’s wrong,” said Sparky. He sat down and scratched his ear with his back foot.

“Do you think?” said Fluffy.

Lucky chewed his squeaky bone, which squeaking loudly.

Sparky had told him to leave it at home, but Lucky loved his squeaky bone.

“We’re just chasing our tails,” said Fluffy. “Let’s go home.”

So, they did.

Marking clipboards, their owners said “Good doggies!” and gave them some treats.

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

This is Weekly Challenge Number Two Hundred and Seventy-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 Radio

How about voting for your favorites?

Tom
Gideon
Thomas
Daniel
Danny
Steve
TerrazaByte
Norval Joe
TJ
Justin
Justin
Planet Z

And if you want to spam your social networks with this episode, use the Share buttons at the end of the post.

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Tom

It was 1963 the president was dead, but it was the ramp-up to the
Christmas frenzy and all my thoughts were locked onto a 13 transistor six
diode Japanese work of wonder. It was jet black and ivory white with a
large transparent disk in the center engraved with frequency numbers.

Like Jean Shepherd’s Ralphy I had to wage a serious Christmas campaign to
get my transistor radio. There was the argument over hearing loss. The
argument over the corruption effect of rock and roll. Finally I cut a
deal to tune in to Bishop Fullton Sheen’s Sunday radio program

Gideon

I was listening to the radio this morning and heard an intriguing song.

The lyrics told the story of a man whose wife had turned her focus inward.

He started exploring and fell in love with someone else.

He left his wife.

His wife refocused on him and started stalking him.

This presented a conundrum for him – return to the renewed focus of his wife or stay with the focus of his new lover.

I never heard the outcome.

It was a country song and, in my mind, I kept hearing a tune about roadkill, so I turned it off.

Thomas P.

The radio plays all night. I wake often to a loud commercial, so I throw a towel or a pillow over the speaker to muffle it. Last night, I dropped my pillow on the radio and I heard a gasp. I couldn’t make out the words,
so I moved the pillow and heard a voice say: “You’ve got some gall! That’s not polite, and it’s quite unnerving. Don’t do that again. Just turn the radio down. No more tricks.” The rest of the night I lay awake
for hours wondering if I really heard what I thought I had.

———

The radio stood up straight next to the typewriter and proclaimed it had something to say, and that I had better put down what I was doing and pay attention.
“You have ignored me a long time, and I want you to know that you have missed a lot of good radio. You’ve missed Art Bell late at night, The Ron and Don Show,
George Noory on Coast to Coast, and the John Curley shows. If you want your mind to expand and keep it from turning into silly putty, turn off that damn TV, and turn me on.

Daniel

When the aliens finally made contact, it was because of a chance scan of our planet that revealed sentient life, which surprised them. They berated us for not trying to make contact ourselves. “Didn’t you have an interest in what’s beyond your own solar system?”

This outraged the scientific community. “We’ve been sending radio signals into space for decades! How could you not know we were here?”

The leader of the aliens’ diplomatic envoy was bewildered by this. “That’s weird. Let me check something… Huh. It seems your transmissions were being blocked by our spam filter. Go figure.”

Danny

Everything I ever had to know, I heard it on the Radio. We watch the shows, we watch the stars, on videos, for hours and hours. We hardly need to use our ears, how music changes throughout the years. Then pictures came, they broke my heart. Don’t care if Video Killed the Radio Star. Just turn it up, the Radio! I need the music, gimme some more! Cause all we hear is Radio Goo Goo, Radio Ga Ga! Let’s hope you never leave, my old friend. You had your time, you had the power, you’ve yet to have, your finest hour. Radio.

Steve

OUT radiating OUT reaching OUT grabbing mind and heart,

FORCING you to think and smile and wonder and laugh

You bob your head, body bouncing, MY MUSIC controls your motions

Your Emotions, too, are glued to me as I unveil you to yourself

You listen, riveted as you pray, you play, you do as I say

I inveigle multidimensionally – mind, will, and emotions stirred, shaken, broken and mended

At the SPEED OF LIGHT, delight runs ‘round the world

I am, AM, FM, longwave, shortwave, WiFi, satellite, STREAMING

Beaming into your world, forever entwined, your life and mine

I am Radio

Vince/TerrazaByte

Dr. Herman Hineschnickel has the world most exciting job. He’s in charge of the land based radio telescope for the SETI Institute, the Search for Extraterrestrial Intelligence. His work day begins like most other jobs in America, with a cup of coffee and a quick review of the TPS reports.

But that all changes once he begins listing for evidence of life in the universe. With headphones on and keen eye on the frequency meter, he initiates this most exciting work. Hour 1 passes, nothing happens. Hours 2 & 3 go by, nothing happens. Hour 10, still nothing. Hours 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18…

NorvalJoe

Fly Paper Boy’s eyes shot open. The clock radio beside the bed blared a tire store commercial. He slapped the off button and the sound decreased a hundred decibels to a reasonable level.
“Five o’clock,” he moaned, “I just got to sleep. Jenny.”
He thought sleepily how his conniving sister messed with his alarm before.
The broadcast broke through his hazy thoughts and he was wide awake again.
” The home of Beaulla Larmpitt, Vinyl Man’s last murder victim, burned to the ground this morning. Police are looking for a white Toyota Corolla seen in the area only hours before…”

TJ

Martin’s father, Henry, was reading the business/metro section as
Martin sidled up behind him.

“So… I found the radio.”

Earlier, Martin had discovered an ancient shortwave radio in his
father’s workbench.

After several rounds of bluster, arguments and recriminations, Martin
could piece together what was behind his father’s nightly beeline for
the basement. Something about ongoing projects, corporate espionage,
dispatches to Japan– shortwave transmissions not leaving a data trail
the company could or would be tracking. The ethics bothered Martin, but
on some level he was relieved.

Later, chatting with his mistress, Henry appreciated his son’s
tendency to overthink everything.

Justin

While I love the experience of trying out a new phone; learning the menus and finding the latest apps, the reason for the new phone is annoying. I really liked the one I had before. It had adapted to me very well, and I’d gotten used to the nuances of the controls, it had my most used contacts memorized. Normally most of that is transferable, but not this time. I got a bad ear infection and the medicine killed the phone cells. My replacement plan allows for me to culture the latest generation in my ear canal, so I’m set.

Steven the Nuclear Man

Just the crackle-hiss-pop of solar radiation imitating breakfast cereal. Listening is dangerous – they might detect my radio, but I’ll risk one set.

A brief whistlescream from the speaker: the electromagnetic death whine of an orbital station. Damn aliens. They gated to the surface instead of coming through low earth orbit, but they’re making up for lost time.

The speaker comes fully alive. Some fool’s broadcasting the national anthem.

I listen, and turn on every radio in the place. I salute, wondering if they’ll vaporize me or the broadcaster first.

And I no longer care.

Planet Z

Funding for SETI projects was been drastically cut across the board.

So, we needed to take a new approach to survive.

It was on my drive through New York, listening to Howard Stern, that I got my idea…

That’s right. I am the world’s first shock-jock radio telescope disk jockey.

Me and my crew, The Morning Xenobiological Collection, fill the spectrum with interviews with topless interns, prank very long distance calls to quasars… all kinds of filth.

Our strategy is keeping us funded and searching, sure, but it comes at the cost of any intelligent life down here on Earth.

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

This is Weekly Challenge Number Two Hundred and Seventy-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 Falling

How about voting for your favorites?

Thomas
Gideon
Zackmann
Laina Ash
Tom
Daniel
Danny
Norval Joe
Justin
TJ
Planet Z

And if you want to spam your social networks with this episode, use the Share buttons at the end of the post.

---

Thomas

The temperature kept falling. I brought the dogs in, fed the iron stove, and sat in the big chair, pulling two woolen blankets over me. I thought of the pony and llamas in the barn. They must be freezing. I cleared furniture out of the way, and brought them indoors. Pretty soon, I had the chickens inside, along with the turkeys, two cats, and the boar. It was crowded and smelly, so I stepped outside for moment and the door clicked fast behind me. I could see them through the window, snorting and huffing and helping themselves to the pantry.

Gideon

Without thinking I replied “I adore you, I love you, I cherish you and I am slowly falling in love with you”.

She laughed, “I don’t think you are the type to ‘fall in love'”.

I thought a second.

“I think you are right – I don’t fall in love but I have been in love and I am slowly becoming in love”.

She asked “What’s the difference between falling and becoming?”

“Falling happens quickly – becoming happens slowly”.

A lightbulb appeared.

“Maybe it should be ‘I am slowly realizing that I am in love with you'”.

———————–

We have a new activity here at the nursing home, my new employer.
Joe has been retained to help reduce the recent increase in resident injuries.
His firm, Safety First, is considered the premier injury reduction firm in the area.
The class is called ‘Falling, Gracefully’, which teaches how to fall without injury, using many techniques taught to those studying judo.
The residents seem to enjoy the class but there does not seem to be a reduction in injuries.
One day they will find the correlation between my hire date, the rise in injuries and my joy in tripping people.

Zackmann

Jim was visiting a garden at the top of a skyscraper when a coconut feel out of a tree hitting Jim
on the head knocking him off the edge of the roof.
Jim took out his cell phone calling 911 saying “Help me! Im falling”
“Yes Mr Ling could you tell me how we can help you?”
“Im Not Pho Ling. Im falling as in plummeting off Simon Tower.”
Jim wishes the on hold song was not Lemon Demons Ive got Some falling to Do.
Landing in the back of a manure truck, Jim decides it unwise to speak further.

Laina Ash

No one ever wants to talks about falling into strange things. Like my co-worker Bill, one day he had the pure look of bewilderment so being nice (even though he steals my awesome creamer,) I asked what was wrong. Stuttering he answered, “I went to take a dip in my pool yesterday but I notice it didn’t look right. So in the process of a closer look I tripped and landed in my pool, but instead of water it was filled with tapioca pudding. It seems Bill Cosby finally snapped and went

Tom

Moriarty thought THIS IS the best the Master of Deduction can do! Pitched
off Reichenbach Falls to a certain rather indecorous death and he states
the absurdly overobvious. To Moriarty’s scrawl Holmes wryly smiles, grabs
the professor’s lapels, drives both hands against his chest, sends the
professor flying outward from the falls. In an equal opposite reaction
Holmes is driven deep within the waters. “Up impossible, down improbable,
out less then beneficial deduction states when all possibilities are
eliminated the only possibility was indeed: IN,” mused Holmes perched on
his rock ledge counting the seconds to Moriaty’s demise

Daniel

I’ve been falling for hours. Why haven’t I reached the bottom yet?

I remember climbing the mountain. A rumbling interrupted our attempt to make camp for the night. It was an avalanche. I ran, but found myself at the edge of a cliff. Desperately, I jumped.

I must’ve died. That’s the only explanation. Why else would I still be falling? This is hell…

The sun rises, and I can see land to my side. It takes me a moment to realize that what I’m seeing isn’t a cliff face, but the ground.

I haven’t been falling at all; I’m flying!

Danny

I woke up, should be a good thing, but I live on the 110 floor of the Empire State Building (truth be told, I squat there, need another 100 words to explain). Anyway, I step out of bed, now I’m falling rapidly towards 34th street. Moments from impact, I’m caught by none other than Mila Kunis! I look at her and scream “Oh my god, I love you as Meg on Family Guy!” Mila screams back at me, “How come nobody in Hollywood takes me seriously as a comedian!” I calmly reply, “Maybe it would help if you put some pants on.”

Norval Joe

“No way he’s falling for this,” Fly Paper Boy thought. He slouched down in his seat and faked asleep. It was 2am, he was out on bail, and parked in front of Vinyl Man’s late mother-in-law’s house.
“Jimmy Thompson,” the officer said, “Haven’t seen you in years. What are you doing so far from home?”
“Oh. Mr., I mean, Officer Dinkman,” the boy said. “I stayed too late at a friends, and got sleepy driving. I’m better now.”
“Tell your parents hello,” Dinkman said as Fly Paper Boy drove away from the house where $1,000,000 lay buried under the porch.

Justin

The Carnival of Esoteric Wonders came into town, and Harold walked to the spectacle, fully reliant on his cane. He knew the time of his long, contented life was nearly up, but he’d never been to a magic show before, so he went to see Chroniac the Amazer. When Chroniac asked for a volunteer, Harold raised his hand, and was chosen. Harold got into the black box, and felt the sensation of falling. When it opened, he was a teenager. He tossed the cane away and cried out ‘Dadgummit! I don’t want to have to go through this again!’

TJ

Had you asked Martin why he was so interested in being a spy, he’d be
hard pressed to say. He was feeling a bit hidebound, perhaps. The
relationship dramas of his fellow classmates bored him and after he got
his real driver’s license he realized he was still too young to go
anywhere. He enjoyed his permit training with his dad, and thought maybe
a more mature perspective would bring them closer together. But his
father never approved of his freelance spy training. And when a secret
panel fell open on his dad’s workbench, he suddenly knew why that was.

Planet Z

I wake up.
I open my eyes.
It’s cold. It’s dark.
I’m laying on a bench
Looking up.
Branches. Dark skies.
Snow is falling.
It is beautiful.
I feel it on my face.
Cold. Melting. Wet.
Blinking it out of my eyes.
I open my mouth
It’s covered. Taped shut.
I reach and
I can’t move my arms
Or legs
Tied to the bench?
I can’t move.
I shake, I yell
Nothing.
I can’t move. I can’t make a noise.
I can’t roll off.
I open my eyes.
It is cold. It is dark.
Snow is falling.
It is terrifying.

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

This is Weekly Challenge Number Two Hundred and Seventy-Five, 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 Armadillo

How about voting for your favorites?

Gideon
Thomas
Tom
Danny
Zackmann
Daniel
TJ
Norval Joe
Relish
Planet Z

And if you want to spam your social networks with this episode, use the Share buttons at the end of the post.

---

Gideon

This morning we chatted and planned our evening together.

“Let’s make it a romantic evening tonight. We’ll start with a nice dinner.
I found a recipe that should be fun. Could you stop by the market and get some armadillo?”

She agreed and we started our day.

She was late.

“Sorry, it took me awhile to find what you asked for”, she said.

I didn’t see any shopping bags with her.

“Where’s the meat?”, I said.

“What meat? You only asked for this”, she said, as she reached into her purse and pulled out her favorite vibrator.

Wrapped in Kevlar.

Thomas

Petro, the armadillo, lost his mate to a man in Peru. He used her strong, round back to make a lute. Petro escaped death by burrowing into the soil and deep into his den. Petro vowed to get revenge. He found his way to the musician’s adobe. He waited until the man left his home and then he dug a deep hole in the dirt floor and covered it with straw and a light covering of soil. When the man stepped on the trap inside his front door, he fell and broke the arms that held and played the lute.

Tom

FlyPaper Boy picked a few Mediterranean Fruits off his forearm “Curse you
Jerry Brown,” he spat. It was the millionth death of his father that had
set young FB on his quest to rid the world of politician. From his cell
FlyPaper Boy spied the tip of that boot that belong to one man and one man
alone, the greatest legal mind in Texas Armadillo Man. Not merely a mere
moral Armadillo Man had the power to cause the strongest soul to curl up
in ball and cry like a six year old girl.

Danny

Hello! Dod Dammit! My name is Cranky Skeebots McGee! I’m an old coot who lives in the sparse desert of Arizona. When I’m not being beaten by the racist cops in Arizona who mistaken me for being a Mexican Immigrant, I harvest dead Armadillo’s from the side of the road so I can eat some damn good stewed road meat! Then I take the shells of the Armadillo’s to make me some Armadillo Pillows! Sure, it hurts to lay your head upon one at first, but you get used to it. Now I lay me down to sleep, Dod dammit!

Zackmann

Our company is introducing a new car design that is inspired by our friend the armadillo. It has
a lightweight armor for the outer body. Therefore we chose the animal as the mascot. Inspired
by he way Disney had artists study the movement of real animals we sent our artist to the
zoo . When the artist returns from the emergency room his studies will continue outside their
zoo enclosure. Apparently they have really sharp teeth and may be unfriendly, Armadillos not
commercial artists. We need to have our ads done soon because we will have our product
launch at ArmadilloCon.

Daniel

A car sped down the desert highway; its driver failed to see the armadillo directly in its path. Squealing in surprise, the armadillo leapt in the air. Yet instead of splattering against the vehicle’s fender, the armadillo grew to 100 feet in length. The car passed harmlessly underneath it. The armadillo stayed frozen in the air as the video was paused and the lights came on.

The speaker addressed the audience once again. “As you can see, gentlemen, the phenomenon of ‘super powers’ is clearly not limited to humanity, but affects other species of the animal kingdom as well.”

TJ

“So … why the series of wacky disguises?”

Sarah smiled and sipped her Italian soda.

“Please, Marty, you’ve been on my radar for awhile now. Sneaking into
the girls lockerroom, those mysterious trips off campus, and all this
time at the mall not shopping. I knew the Mata Hari bit would get your
attention.”

“And the student i.d.?”

“You want armadillos, put out ants. You’re Catherine trying to attract
Heathcliff, you drop a handkerchief. You’re me trying to attract a spy,
you drop your i.d.”

“So long as you’re not my adoptive sister or something.”

“You’d probably have noticed that.”

Norval Joe

“We’re at his place, Ms. Flinch,” the chauffeur said through a speaker. The voice was familiar to Fly Paper Boy.
Esmerelda took a card from her stuffed armadillo purse. She leaned across the compartment toward the boy. Her eyes half closed, she handed him the card and said huskily, “call me in a few days and we can discuss the finer points of our arrangement.”
As he walked toward his house the chauffeur laughed and said, “good luck kid.”
The boy knew those beady eyes.
“Armadillo man,” he said. “I see Flinch takes favors from both sides of the fence.”

Relish

I had never heard of an Armadillo in my entire life. I blame city living and my lack of caring in school. Yet, there it was in the middle of my one bedroom apartment, a perfect giant Armadillo. At least, that is what the animal control lady told me. “They don’t even live in Pennsylvania. What kind of party did you have here last night?,” she asked, noticing the discarded cans and pizza boxes. “The theme was arm pillows. Arm pillow-Armadillo, easy mistake,” he grimaced. The female agent cuffed him. The Armadillo ate discarded pizza slices and refused to cooperate.

Planet Z

The nine-banded armadillo always gives birth to genetically-identical quadruplets.

After years of research, we isolated the polyembryonic genes and spliced them into other animals.

Sure enough, they produced four genetically-identical young.

Armadillos.

The rats gave birth to armadillos.
The pigs gave birth to armadillos.
The monkeys gave birth to armadillos.

Pretty soon, we were up to our asses in armadillos, scurrying around, burrowing into the trash.

We euthanized all the animal test subjects, closed the lab, and moved to a new city.

Which is good, because there’s better schools in this city.

My wife’s pregnant. The doctor says it’s… quadruplets.

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

This is Weekly Challenge Number Two Hundred and Seventy-Four, 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 Dreams

How about voting for your favorites?

Too bad. “The Poll Cannot Be Created” is back!

Gideon
Laina Ash
Zackmann
Tom
TJ Aman
Philip “Norval Joe” Carroll
Daniel W.
Planet Z

And if you want to spam your social networks with this episode, use the Share buttons at the end of the post.

---

We’re gonna try something new this week… yes, the Weekly Challengers are going to send in topic suggestions, but how about all you folks out there in the global Interwebs join in the topic-suggesting process by posting your topic suggestions in the comments!

(One of these days, SOMEONE will pot a comment… well, besides TJ checking in from the Big ND.)

---

Gideon

I have a unique ability – I can predict when changes will occur in my life.

Normally I do not remember my dreams but there are times when I will have a series of vivid, unrelated dreams that stay with me. After six months or so, when the dreams have been long forgotten, events will happen in my life that bring the dreams back to life. The dreams become real. Like déjà vu.

That déjà vu is always followed by a momentous change in my life.
Like the time three months ago when I dreamt I was a writer.
Oh. Shit.

……….

we fly
in the heavens
swooping
wingtip to wingtip
seeking fantasies
together
exploring
the visceral
the erotic
the mundane
clouds of joy
joined by our dreams

we glide
relishing
our shared collection
building the
clouds higher
stronger
glorious
pampering our love

we soar
the moist coolness
of the clouds
envelops us
making it real

then

the caged guinea pigs
of our minds
spin their wheels
furiously
spreading away
the wisps of cloud

we fall
reaching out
grasping in vain
passing our creations
quickly disappearing
clouds of love

we land
safely
two feet on solid ground
our dreams
a faint memory

Elaine

She woke with a cold sweat hoping it was not a dream.

It was all so real, the sight of him smiling, so endearing, so loving.

She could have sworn she felt the warmth of his skin.

The touch of his lips against hers.

Him wrapping his arms around her, him breathing softly her favorite words “Hey Baby..” as she nuzzled into him, the safeness she can never forget.

Yet looking upon his made up side of her bed and the coldness of his ring on the necklace on her chest, she knew this dream was still her nightmare instead…

Zackmann

Peoples of Earth and Crustitia, I know it was a long war and we are rebuilding after hard times
but I have a dream a dream that some day Humans and the lobster people of Crustitia will stand
hands and claws together thinking of each other as friend instead of delicious.
As we were fighting each other and consuming each other…I mean consuming each other’s
resources other powers have become way too strong.
I have a dream that we fight side by side and not only defeat the Space Turtles’ planet but
eventually our biggest menace Planet Z

Tom

Unlike Norval Joe I write my stories in the bath tub, but like Norval Joe (and who wouldn’t) I always go with the first thing that pops into my head, which can be quite painful if it is through the frontal lopes or inner ear. The second thing I do first is choose the music for the sound bed I like to do that in, well, bed. This week I could use Sweet Dreams or Dreamer, Dream a Little Dream of Me, or Dream Dream Dream Dream Dream Dream or I Dream of Jenny, How many words was that?

TJ

Martin caught a flash of red hair as the girl ducked into the Topkapi.
She pulled her hoodie up, shifting her oversized yellow purse to the
outside and crossing to a Hot Topic to watch him pass. She pulled the
blue wig from her bag and shed the hoodie, luxuriating in the A/C across
her naked shoulders and haltertop as she slinked along behind him. He
stopped, and she caught up with him. “Sarah?” he asked, handing her
an I.D. “I thought that was you,” he said to the girl of his dreams.
“You dropped this about three looks back.”

Norval Joe

Fly Paper boy felt more like an animal in a trap than a passenger in a limousine. Esmerelda Flinch, Vice President of marketing at the Women’s Trade Federation, smiled with straight, pearly teeth from across the compartment. The was no humor in her eyes.
“I’ll have a team of the best lawyers in the state make light work of your case,” she told the boy. “In your wildest dreams, you or your parents couldn’t afford such talent.”
“I have a feeling the WTF will make me pay some other way,” Fly Paper boy said, cynically.
Suddenly Esmerelda’s eyes did smile.

Daniel W.

“Okay, back up a sec,” I said, feeling a headache coming on. “Explain that one again…”

“They’re metaphysical parasites that latch on to dreams and feed on imagination.”

“And that’s why people are becoming more apathetic?”

“Yes. As they become less imaginative, they also become more complacent. The government has truly created the perfect tool for controlling the masses.”

My headache just kept getting worse as I tried to understand the concept. Metaphysical parasites? What?

“Hell, if those infected try to think outside the parasites’ preprogrammed parameters, they’ll just get a massive headache that forces them to stop.”

Planet Z

One company developed a system that broadcasted signals into people’s dreams. They used it to put advertisements in there, much like product placement in the movies.

Another company developed a system that acted as a dream wiretap. They used it to sense what people wanted or worried about, then target them with ads based that information.

Both companies got bought out by an evil billionaire, and their systems were combined into a global mind-control ray.

A certain British spy tried to stop him, but instead of telling him about his plan, he shot the spy.

He was evil, not stupid.

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

This is Weekly Challenge Number Two Hundred and Seventy-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 PICK TWO

Finish line
A cardboard cutout of a movie alien
W.T.F.
Swivel
… on the tip of his/her tongue
Daytime television
Double barrel
Pocket
She’s a straight arrow
Failure

How about voting for your favorites?

And if you want to spam your social networks with this episode, use the Share buttons at the end of the post.

---

Gideon McMillan

Christmas was always the same. She delivered a list of gifts she wanted. I acquired, wrapped and presented them.

One Christmas I decided to inovate; my gift ideas, my own theme.

So proud, I presented the peripherals I knew (knew!) she could use with her new laptop.

Failure.

Nonplussed, the next day I retrieved her list, acquired, wrapped and placed the gifts under the tree.

Santa even left a note telling her what a bad boy I had been.

I waited. And waited. And waited.

Abject Failure!

Until three weeks later, while taking down the tree, she found the gifts.

TJ

Teen spy Martin sent what he’d discovered in his surveillance at the
mall to Richard. They weren’t friends, exactly, but he’d teamed with
Richard on different science projects in the past and noticed where his
mild Asperger’s gave him crazy focus when it came to computer code. A
progress report of sorts came that afternoon, a text from a restricted
number: “Shut down NOW.” WTF? His provider couldn’t tell him
anything. Richard could. By the next morning, he’d pocketed an IP
address, breadcrumbs, backdoors and the data necessary to either turn
Skylar over to the Feds… or to flip him.

Tom

Gary loved to compete in the Special Olympics. His brother Bob loved to cause Gary grief. Gary was afraid of any type of monster, supernatural and other worldly. His brother knew he was particularly frightened of the Predator. Bob had placed a cardboard cutout of the movie alien at the finish line of Gary’s 440 finishing heat. As Gray rounded the track a tractor beam locked on to Bob’s foot and a laser beam vaporized the cardboard prop on the field. Gary won his gold metal and Bob discover the true meaning of that old alien book: To Server Man.

This week’s story topic was going to be What The Fuck, but it seems WTF is part of the South Park canon. Well what’s an author to do when you get hijacked my Mat and Trey … well fly to New York and do damage to Book of Mormon. I had 4000 swivel desk chairs delivered to the theater, with a note signed Love Mom. Have you ever had to escape a blood thirsty mob of gay musical fans, not a pretty sight? Decided time to hide out in Uruguay. George W lent me his writing shack, what a guy.

Bruce was recovering from a ruptured appendix. He didn’t have the strength to change the channel on the set so he was forced to watch 10 hours of daytime television. Soaps, info commercials, game shows, Dr Oz, (who the fuck it that). Finally on third shift rotation a nurse asked Bruce if he need anything. The puzzled look on his face telegraphed to Nurse Betty it was just on the tip of his tongue. Bruce mouthed: T V “Oh you want the channel changed. She clicked on Oprah and left the room. Bruce yanked the IV line. Time to go.

I’m not a very good shot. That is why I use the Double barrel Henry when I’m out on the Edge. This jacket has 49 pockets and every pocket is filled with shells. I tolerated the first zombie wave. When they start singing show tunes I got pretty darn irate. When the walking dead started doing Color Me Barbra I knew I had to end this. Got a 5000 watt preamp in the trees, play Funny Girl to draw them out. On the first note of People I turn and pepper the field. “C’est Si Bon “C’est Si Bon Fuckers.

“She’s a straight arrow” whisper Jeff. “No way dude, woman looking like that, got to be gay.” “You just got a Failure to Lift Off.” Smirked Jeff. “My rocket is fully functional the docking rings on that station are not operation. “Watch the Master and learn” Jeff floated over to Cosmonaut Lena Popolowvich. When he returned his spacesuit was full of floating gobbles of Tang. “Teachable moment?” “Shut UP. Hook up the suction tube.” As Jeff was de-tanging, Cosmonaut Olga Grogorin sat down across Lena. I don’t understand a word of Russian, but my gaydar tell me I was spot on.

Zackmann

” I hope the race is broadcast live since it will be better than anything else on daytime
television.” said Tom.
“WTF, Why do you have double barrelled tail pipes on an electric car?” asked Jerald.
“They are ironic since my local electricity comes from a coal plant therefore having more
emissions than a gas car. ” Tom Replied.
“Do you think you will be first across the finish line?” Jerald asked
“I think the swivel drivers seat may prove a failure .” Responded Tom
“What do you think of the judge?” asked Jerald
“She is a straights arrow.” answered Tom
“Good Luck”

Daniel

“Scott! Wake up! I heard a noise downstairs!”

Muttering to myself, I grabbed the double-barreled shotgun next to the bed and headed downstairs.

Creeping into the living room, I saw a monstrous form standing by the window. Startled and half-asleep, I fired both barrels without even a warning shout. The blast ripped through its chest and shattered the window behind it. Turning on a light, I saw the cardboard cutout of a movie alien that my son had won in a raffle.

Sighing, I started back upstairs. I’d clean up the mess tomorrow.

That’s when the real alien intruder struck.

Ross

Arms pumping, legs churning, he sprinted toward the finish line. The broken pavement beneath his running shoes tried to trip him up, and only sheer luck kept him vertical, and in the lead.

He flipped a glance over his shoulder, gauging how far back the others were. Could he make it before they caught up to him? Lungs and body burning, he prayed silently that it would be so.

He crossed over the line barely ahead of the pack, and collapsed…under their weight.

For the zombies, you see, it was never about the race, but only about the finish.

Norval Joe

Double barrel insults; imprisoned, and in a cell with Vinyl Man; It made the boy feel like a failure.
“Fly Paper Boy.”
He swiveled on his bunk at the sound of the warden’s voice. A familiar woman was him, her name on the tip of his tongue.
“I represent the Women’s Trade Federation,” she said, taking a paper from her pocket. “The W.T.F. is floating your bail.”
“Seriously?”
You could’ve knocked him over like a cardboard cutout of a movie alien.
“Believe her,” The warden said, “This isn’t daytime television. She’s a straight arrow. Your finish line is in sight.”

Planet Z

I see a woman sitting across the table from me, and she’s smiling.

My head hurts. I put my hand to it… bloody…

I look again at her.

I know that I should know who she is, but I just can’t remember.

It’s on the tip of my tongue. It’s… it’s… it’s…

I know I should know, but I just can’t remember it.

I put my hand in my pocket, and I pull out… a photograph…

It’s her. It says “This woman has been paid to kill you.”

I look up, and see her swinging a bloody hammer at m-

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

This is Weekly Challenge Number Two Hundred and Seventy-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 “Even in the quietest moments…”

How about voting for your favorites?

Well, it looks like WordPress 3.2 and the poll system are not happy with each other:

Error: An error has occurred; Poll not created.

TJ
Alexandrea
Guard 13007
Zackmann
Tom
Terrazabyte
Norval Joe
Planet Z

Oh well.

And if you want to spam your social networks with this episode, use the Share buttons at the end of the post.

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TJ

High school junior Skylar wished to know all that could be known. In his
quietest moments, he wished to command the sum total of human
experience. But he had to start somewhere. He’d programmed a string or
two of code to resemble benign background garble that attached, he hoped
discreetly, to social networking log-ins. He found the wifi hotspot at
the mall to be fertile hunting ground. He tripped a few error messages
along the way, but he was already able to view dozens of pages of people
he didn’t know and who’d never friended him. Next stop, cell phones.

EccentriceRant

***Still***

Sometimes, it isn’t in the bright light of day that everything becomes clear. The truth lurks in the shadows and it comes out at night.

He has been fast asleep beside me, peaceful and serene, for the last hour. I almost didn’t hear it, had it not been for the stillness surrounding us.

“Stella.”

Almost a whisper, barely audible even in the quietest moments like this.

“Stella. Stella.”

“Stella?” A question and a name, but to which I don’t, and can’t, answer.

He turns in his sleep.

Throughout the night, my lips remain sealed. And my eyes, wide open.

Guard 13007

Tick-tock, tick-tock, all day long. The clock went on and on. Slowly, driving me insane, though it seemed quite inane. They asked what were wrong, it could not be too long. Alone with that clock, it was quite a shock.

Words meaningless, I tried to write. Try as I might, the words stayed dull. This I must mull. Even in the quietest moments, the clock still ticked, still talked. It whispers of things to do.

The clock, the clock. Talk, talk. It tells me many things, tells me who to kill. Don’t worry, it hasn’t said your name yet today.

Zackmann

None of us knew what would happen with the computer implants. I wish I had stayed reluctant
to become a first adapter. Everyone thought the company was aboveboard, until the tower sent
a signal that made everyone with an implant walk to the nearest manufacturing plant of Future
Now Robotics Company making them become zombielike workmen, unknowingly making
weapons for the Robot Wars. Thank God the air force blew up the transmission tower.
Now, even in the quietest moments, I can still hear the call, the call of evil, calling me into the
dark, the call of The Computer King.

Tom

I suffer from ringing in the ears. Even in the quietest moments it rumbles on like a distance school bell. Never stopping. Never dropping below a whisper. When people call for a moment of silence they experience a pool of empty calm. A meditative state that somehow triggers an incoming flow of ethereal bliss. What I get is effectively the volume turned up to nine. All I can do is tuff if out fill 60+ seconds with a blinding rotation of random thoughts, happy for the returning flood of world noise that masks the ringing. My world has no silence.

TerrazaByte

I have found that even in the quietest moments, when all that surrounds us has been silenced, there are so many other things still clamoring for our attention.

It’s those noisy little things that we tend to push to the back of our thoughts, thinking that we can deal with them at another time.

They never go away; they just sit there making their presence known… even in our quietest of moments.

So put down that cell phone, close that lid on the laptop and go take care of the little things and your next quiet time will be truly quiet.

Norval Joe

Fly Paper Boy lay on his bunk, fully dressed, still unwilling to believe he was in prison. Vinyl man, just a few feet below on the bottom bunk, wheezed and rasped in the depths of sleep.
“He’s asleep,” he muttered. Even in the quitest moments, when the other criminals snoozed soundlessly, the boy couldn’t stop his racing thoughts.
“This can’t be happening,” he thought for the thousandth time. “I’m one of the good guys.”
“It’s under the porch,” Vinyl man said between snores. “I buried the money under the old woman’s house.”
Suddenly the situation seemed brighter to the boy.

Planet Z

Even in the quietest moments, you have to keep your guard up.

The mad mathematicianess Lisa Common-Denominator is always scheming… plotting…

We allow no paper in her cell.
No writing implements.
Not even chalk. We cannot risk it.

However, she still manages to swipe materials. And use her blood.

A check, on which she’s added zero. “And zero cents.” No change there.

A timer, on which she’s added zero. From thirty seconds to three minutes. Six times longer, not ten.

A calendar, on which she’s added zero.

July… fortieth?

The prison walls rumble, and then I hear the sirens.

Escape!

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

This is Weekly Challenge Number Two Hundred and Seventy-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 Apple Pie

How about voting for your favorites?

And if you want to spam your social networks with this episode, use the Share buttons at the end of the post.

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Zackmann

How can you be cooking apple pies at a time like this? Can’t you see the city is under siege and
being destroyed?
Relax dude, had to.
Why
Because we are out of pumpkin.
Theres a zombie in a spacesuit what should do.
Chillax, tell him were not very smart but we love Old Time Radio then point towards college
housing.
Zombie says Doctor Despicable is coming and you bake pies, are you sure your brainless?
Of course I am did you hear me use the words Dude and chillax?
When Doctor Despicable gets here I’ll lunching on college brains .

Pies, oh I love pies and destruction. What a wonderful day with more explosions than the Fourth
of July. Some wise citizen baked me a whole front deck full of apple pies. What is wrong, were
you out of pumpkin?
Sorry Doctor Despicable but all our pumpkins disappeared through a mysterious hole in the
space time continuum.
Lobo, load the pies into the Winnebago. To show my gratitude, I will not intentionally destroy
your house. Did you happen to see a zombie in a spacesuit or an odd man eating beef jerky or
mayonnaise sandwiches and babbling about Tony Danza?

Guard 13007

The editor rejected my manuscript. I called him up to ask about it, “Why did you reject my writing? It was good! I had extant word choice!” I picked a word at random from the wall, trying to remember what ‘extant’ meant.

“What? That doesn’t even make sense! And what’s with the word ‘enunciate’ all over? People don’t ‘enunciate’! They yell, scream, whisper, say!”

“Well my characters do enun… uh, enunciate!”

“And why the hell is it titled ‘Apple Pie’? That makes the least sense of all!”

“It makes perfect sense!” I yelled back, hanging up and grabbing another slice.

Tom

My oldest friend is a descendent of Johnny Appleseed. Seems more that just apple seeds got sow across the Ohio River valley. His mom had this recipe for Apple Pie that has been dated around 1760. Some speculated it could be from Elizabeth Chapman who handed it down to her son John. I’ve had some of that pie and can safely say if Mr. Chapman infected the settlers of the early Midwest with that heroin of desserts he would have had folk clambering for apple trees. I still have a hankering for a steaming piece of Mrs. Throne’s apple pie.

Danny

“What do I want for dessert? 　Hmm, I always imagined NJ Governor Chris Christie running on the platform of: 　”Vote for me, I’m as American as Apple Pie.” 　It’s a sick, twisted vision planted in my head. 　Clearly I’ve gone to far this time. 　I love apple pie, now I can’t get the image of that bloated corpse every time I dig into my favorite dessert. 　Again, I have desecrated a dessert by my sad yet demented view of partisan politics in the United States. 　So I think I’ll have the cherry pie instead.” 　The waiter, sighing heavily, walks away.

Steven the Nuclear Man

She struggles in the trunk. The Chevy’s steel frame muffles her
thumps and cries; the cotton in our ears does the rest.

The CEO of EMI glances at me, but I stare determinedly ahead. This is
too important. Too much rides on today. This isn’t our normal gig,
but it’s one we have to play.

She is gorgeous, even tied, even gagged. I knew – KNEW – how she was
responsible from everything from Greensleeves to Blueberry Hill.

We shoot her, bullets thrashing her flesh, her body tumbling down the
dusty levee. Our careers in the music industry are safe once again.

Norval Joe

The family across the street had a fourth of july party and invited us out of a neighborly spirit.
We had all the traditional food and music. There were tamalies, carne asada, and pasoli. For desert we had churros.
The was a mariachi band that played all the popular favorites. Songs by Banda archangel er quince, Los Tigres del norte and Los Angeles Negros.
Before the fireworks we busted open a pinata of President Obama.
Two months ago, they threw a party almost identical to this one.
I thought, this time they’d at least have apple pie.
Welcome to California.

TJ

Martin ordered a slice of apple pie and took a seat against the window.
With the afternoon sun streaming behind him he had the best perspective
on the coffeeshop while he himself resisted the notice of others. This
bookstore café was also one of the three best spots in the mall for
scoping out the food court and more to the point, the wifi hot spots. He
wanted to do some actual epsionage and discovered his notebook wireless
computer had been encountering a homegrown virus here. He’d been
narrowing suspects for awhile now, and was closing in on… The Hacker.

Planet Z

Ronnie came up with a lot of crazy pie-in-the-sky ideas, but an actual pie factory in the sky was his craziest.

He was going to bake pies in the sky for passengers.

“Why not bake them on the ground and carry them onboard?” we said.

“It’s all about the smell,” he replied. “That fresh-baked pie in the oven smell. Oh, that aroma!”

Now, this was the thirties, and airplanes weren’t the huge jetplanes they are today. Not enough room.

So he talked to the Germans, and they agreed.

As the Hindenberg burned, Ronnie screamed: “My pies! Oh, the oven mitts!”