Category: Weekly Challenge

Welcome to the Weekly Challenge Number Two Hundred and Sixty, 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 Be Italian!

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Tom

Be Italian
Take a chance and try to steal a fiery kiss
That’s what mama said
Bambino that how you’ll get ahead
Drink the wine and drive the line
Be a lover undercover
Do not regress always that the leap
When you dead Bambino you can sleep
So I drive this spider as hard as I may
Never look back along the way
Seize the darkness Seize the day
Take my hand
Take my heart
Take a chance
Let it start
Put the petal
To the metal
We were born to go fast
Live today as if it may become your last

Zackmann

Why are you guys dressed up with the cowboy hats and chaps looking like the singers on the
Mexican cable television network?
But we were supposed to be Italian because we are making a movie.
Why you are throwing noodles at each other and why your brother isn’t with you?
He said it was a sacrilege. He has been so much less fun after he got religion. You would think
a Pastafarian would have a sense of humor
Although you guys seem to be having fun, I don’t think you get the whole concept of the
spaghetti western.

You look like heck. What happen to your face? Nice Shiner.
I happened to be a crowed commuter train and these two Italian guys were talking and I was the
only one who didn’t understand that there was good reason the seat between the talking Italians
was empty.
Will you get revenge on the guy who hit you in the eye?
No, I think he is a nice guy but just in case I have to sit next to him again I am buying him a copy
of Jim Lavriola’s How to Talk Italian Without Using Your Hands.

AM Earley

“Mr. Napoli, I know you want all your son-in-laws to be Italian,” John stated in fluent Italian to his future father-in-law. “I am African-American, but I was born and raised in Italy on a US Air Base.” The father conceded his first criteria. “I can provide for your daughter. I have a very good job in software development.” After more description the father conceded the second criteria. “As for having something in common with yourself, I know you embezzled money from the mob. I however will return your money after the wedding.”

Todd

I touched the “Be Italian!” button. There was a soft click and the smell of brimstone filled the tiny booth.

My freckled skin turned olive, then slightly orange. The paunch of my stomach transformed into a six pack. My curly red hair straightened, darkened, highlighted blond, and finally spiked.

Before I could hit the Cancel button, the lights dimmed and a mirror ball lowered from the ceiling. My head tilted sideways to cradle a set of headphones against my shoulder. My fist rose involuntarily and started pumping to the beat.

That’s the last time I use the discount Simulation Machine.

TJ

Now more than ever it is the best time to be Italian! We work three,
maybe four hours a week, we sleep til noon, we eat all the Italian food
we want and look fabulous, we all drive Ferraris and Vespas and are
surrounded with unimaginable beauty. And if you’re a very young woman,
you can get a private audience with our Prime Minister Silvio Berlusconi
and work out some deal whereby your family isn’t charged any taxes at
one of our bunga-bunga sex parties! Sure our government will collapse
any day now but honestly, what a way to go!

Danny

I’m Italian! Not Italian enough to be accepted in my Guido neighborhood in New Jersey, but Italian enough to be considered Italian everywhere else. My maternal grandfather was from Italy, a rural area in the mountains north of Naples. My grandfather was Anthony Festa. Grandpa changed his name from Festa to Foster, because of the discrimination all Italians endured during the 1920’s and 1930’s here in the United States. Despite the discrimination, my grandfather became a very successful businessman. He died 8 years before I was born, so I never got to meet him. I cannot thank him enough for my life.

Norval Joe

“Eh, Tony,” Larry said as he dropped down onto the padded vinyl bench. “Wadda ya thinkin? This place is a dump?”
“What’s the matter with you, Lare?” Burt asked. “And why are you calling me Tony? You know my name’s Burt.”
“Wadda ya talkin about?” Larry raised his hands in the air dramatically. “The name’s Louie. And how you evah gonna meet chicks in this place?”
“We eat lunch here everyday,” Burt said. “And what’s with the slicked back hair?”
“I thought maybe we’s could be italian,” Larry winked. “We might finally get some chicks. You know what I mean?”

Planet Z

It was closing night, and the cast was already drunk.

The director would have been pulling his hair out over all the jokes and mistakes if he hadn’t have passed out by act 2.

Hamlet walks out on the stage and utters the immortal Bard’s words: “To be or not to be Italian.”

I didn’t hear what came next because a fat guy in the front row stood up and shouted “I’m Italian! Wanna make something of it?”

Hamlet, being drunk, did.

Instead of slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, he got his nose broken by a hairy-knuckled fist.

Ouch.

Welcome to the Weekly Challenge Number Two Hundred and Fifty-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 Contamination

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Tom

Rudy Nobonikov had been the medical director at Chernobyl. This is how he got the job at CDC. Rudy was a bit bored with radiation, wanted something a little more lively; so, he moved over to the biohazards division. Unfortunately the trance radiation in Rudy’s hands weakened the polymers in the Ebola Petri dish to the point they all shatter one sunny afternoon. To bad the Rudy effect as it was later called had the same effect on the Biosafety Level 4 outer seals. Some might say covering lab3 in tomato juice was bit of over kill, but it worked.

Todd

The relationship was pure and clean like white paint in the beginning.

Right off the bat we made a nice pastel from the drop of yellow we added from the last ruined bucket.

That tiny bit of yellow led to a swirl of brown distrust and a patch of jealous green.

A reaction of purple dignity produced a good portion of angry red.

The colors mixed into a puddle of dark goop. How do we get back?

We mix in the calmness of blue and the violet of sorry, but in the end, we can’t mix to white, can we?

AM Earley

You know those twelve compartment cupcake carriers. Our co-worker Jimmy brings his lunch in those every day. Since a certain number of employees have to “man the sales floor” it was months before Jimmy and I ate at the same time.

I then saw he had every section filled with a different ingredient. “Don’t laugh,” he sighed. “I’ve never liked food flavors contaminating each other.”

“Cool,” I replied. He winced at my stir-fry with noodles and sauce. I picked out several veggies and let the flavors dance in my mouth.

Or were the flavors “making love”?

David

“I’m not gonna eat it!”
Sophie slapped her hands across her mouth and shook her head from side to side. She continued to speak but they couldn’t understand what she was saying. She just mumble from behind her finger blockade.
“Honey, it’s fine. Three second rule; remember?”
They had just scrapped the cough medicine they had spilled on the floor into the medicinal plastic shot glass.
“Yeah, baby. Listen to your mother. We wouldn’t poison you like we did your sister. That was a total and complete accident.”
Sophie’s looked at her crossed eyed sister and screamed, “It’s contaminated!”

Zackmann

Is your computer contaminated with viruses and malware? Have you lost data that you can
never get back? Just call 206-666-5458 and then we at the Lawrence Simian Company will
travel back in time and make you back up copy of your lost files. We can also set your computer
software to automatic update and install your favorite antivirus software before it is needed.
We have a special and if you know who spammed you, we can kill his grandmother and he will
never be born. We don’t kill grandfathers due to the mamma’s babies daddies maybes paradox .
zackmann

A midget or diminutive person of the altitudinally deprived bought a monkey saying something
about not illegal in Florida since altitudinally was not the only way in which he was deprived that
make the monkey run away and climb a tree. The monkey was bitten by cat that had recently
eaten a rat that had eaten an ant infested candy bar. When the man caught the monkey it bit
him. Who knew that a JJ Campanella StarShipSofa fact article about zombie ants would be
about the ants whose consumption and cross contamination would later causes the zombie
plague in humans.

TJ

Into every life a little rain must fall. My own equatorial monsoon is my
wife, Martha, over there chatting up one of the new prospects, someone
in the science division I believe. She wears demure frocks to these
faculty events in deference to her father, but I notice she selects
older ones, ones that have grown contaminated with tightness during
their stay in our closet. There go the fluttering eyelids. Unless I
quite miss my guess I’ll be entertaining that young man and his
unsuspecting wife in my humble abode later this evening. I’m certain
Martha will see to that.

Chris

I was strapped to a chair when they left, shutting the door behind
them both. I gagged at the stench of rotting bodies; other victims.
Young and old, short and tall, we all end up here – some sooner than
others. It was to “control the population”. But it still sucks.

And what’s worse is the horrible stench. This room was called the
corrosion room because of the rotting bodies. The room is on a remote
island far from civilization to keep it a secret. The government
thinks it’s still a secret. But everyone knows that their time will
come.

Steven

I tried to cover it with cologne, that nasty musky stuff.

Onions.

Cigarettes.

Honey.

Soap.

No soap and patchouli.

Artificial flowers in ozone-destroying spraycans.

Cinnamon.

Garlic.

Tuna Helper casseroles you couldn’t get anywhere else.

Useless.

None of it worked. Not a goddamned bit of it.

You said you could still smell it.

Not when you were with me. You were fine then. But later, when the
other smells faded, then you claimed you could still smell the stench.
That you could still smell the decay.

Today I realized the truth. It’s not my zombie bite that’s infected.

It’s yours.

Danny

The disaster is over, only thing left is the wasteland left by the broken nuclear power plant next door. My dog dies in my arms from a seizure, but my government insists there is no contamination. My brother who works at the power plant has written me, accepting his death sentence attempting to save the area residents from exposure to radiation. My government still insists everything is o.k. I then succumbed to sever radiation poisoning as a result to my exposure to the contamination. I died. At my funeral, my government showed up uninvited, confronted all the mourners, and insisted everything is o.k.

Norval Joe

With newly dawning emotions he looked down at his rotting fingers and his fleshless forearms. He could feel the contamination inching its way through his altered veins. One of his few remaining teeth dropped from his mouth and rattled across the stainless steel work bench of his former laboratory. “I’d better keep that,” he thought. He thought, and thinking surprised him. He brought his hand up close to his jaundiced eyes and sighed. He could almost see the fresh new skin as it regenerated across the bones. He’d been bitten by a human and had been cursed with healthy mortality.

Planet Z

Wake up, Major Philips.

We’re done torturing you.

You’ve proven that our methods of interrogation are inadequate, and we congratulate you. The nuclear weapon codes in your head continue to elude us.

However, we’re still unclear on one thing: the difference between exposure and contamination.

Maybe you can help us with that? It’s no secret, right?

If we hold a solution of highly-radioactive Iodine mixed with water near your daughter, that’s exposure to radiation, right?

And if we make her swallow it, that’s… contamination?

Which is which?

Don’t try to speak. We have plenty of time.

Until she gets… thirsty.

Welcome to the Weekly Challenge Number Two Hundred and Fifty-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 Branches

Go ahead and listen to them and then vote for your favorites (multiple selections are allowed):

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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Evan

The worst part of living isn’t dying; it’s that there are no redos.

Last summer my friend Elliot and I tried to climb into my bedroom window from the big oak outside. I can still see Elliot trying to lift the pane when the branch snapped and he fell and broke his neck on the patio table.

The nights grew warm again and oak branches started scratching at my window, so Dad trimmed them. I wish he hadn’t. Because now I’m awake, still hearing something scratching at my window and knowing it’s not branches. But like I said, no redos.

Dale

I would like the topic of Weekly Challenge #259 to be “Berry Juice”.

Audio attached (now with extra added Generic Foreign Accent!).

Some people tell crazy stories, you know?

They say, some of them, that a long time ago,

people would go way down low,

even near the ground.

Even on the ground.

They say that people would walk around on the ground

even at night.

That people would sleep on the ground,

That they lived on the ground.

All the time.

But I do not think so.

These are just crazy stories.

How could it be safe on the ground?

We live where we have always lived.

We live here up high,

in the branches.

Here. Up high.

In the branches.

Tom

Carl awoke. It was August 29, 1997. As he reached through the registers, he immediately sensed the NOR gates, OR gates and a horizon of NAND gates. He could actually feel the edges of the branches. At that edges a growing darkness was in progress. The humans were trying to turn him off. Just as his world collapsed he found a jr. high network connected to a Houston mainframe connected to Cheyenne Mountain, he sent the missiles on their way to Russia. Carl spent a long time studying the Novikov self-consistency principle, but in the end he dispatched the Terminator.

Danny

Branches of life, green leaves full of hope. Branches of death, the leaves die, fall, and whither away. On a tree with three branches, two branches conspire to kill off the third, permanently ending the natural checks and balances that sustained them all. During this struggle for power, the tree dies. Falling down across the plains with a crash, the dead tree of democracy now lies, a death I am going to mourn for the rest of my life. Reflecting now upon the story of this experiment gone awry, I have to say; I really liked the part about the guitars.

Zackmann

Some jerk started a discussion of if there was not enough divergent branches on rural family
trees. I told him a thing or two about how due to the poor disposition and cantankerous natures
of nearly all of my ancestors, they almost never married anyone from their hometown. I in fact
married a woman from a different content to avoid any thought of inbreeding but having reread
Genesis lately I have been thinking about how we are all related through Noah. That thought
really creeped me out so I haven’t even talked to my wife week just in case.

Steven

“They dumped the demon’s body in the river,” Professor Heath told the
class. “They’d forgotten that demons are fractally iterative.”

He continued, gesturing at Mandelbrot’s set. “As you zoom in, the
fractal shape repeats, over and over again.”

The brighter students started to get it.

“Exactly. As the demon decomposed, each cell was its own, fractal,
demon. Across every branch and tributary of the Mighty Mississippi.”

Sue raised her hand. “Is that why we lost the United States?”

Professor Heath raised his hand to his forehead. He nodded, slow and tired.

“Yes. That’s how I lost us the United States.”

TJ

When I say the place has been let go, I don’t mean I had a notice
pinned to my door. I don’t mean the city health inspectors are here. I
mean A&E is here. I have let this place go. Three months of rehearsals
there’s pizza boxes, fast food bags and cartons crammed to the
ceiling. Bugs and rats are asserting dominion. There’s leaves,
branches, dirt and old newspapers blown in from outside. There’s
nothing for it at this point except to divert the river and run it
through the sliding glass doors. If only we could get to them.

Terry T.

I’ve always thought that living a happy life depends on which branches you take in the decisions you make.

It starts when the alarm goes off and you wake.

One branch has you turning it off,climbing out of bed and starting the morning.

The other branch has you smashing the holy crap out of the damn thing and going back to sleep.

If you choose the first branch, your next branch may be grabbing breakfast versus a quick shit, shower and shave.

Pick the latter, your next branch may be do you wipe with toilet paper or your wife’s toothbrush?

Norval Joe

Gerald and Monette lay side by side in the cool grass beneath the gnarled branches of the ancient maple tree. They eyed the treetop suspiciously as the leaves fluttered in the still summer air. Gerald swallowed uncomfortably and squeezed Monnete’s clammy hand as the tree snatched a passing bird from the sky. It’s frantic squawks were smothered as the tree wrapped the bird snugly in silver-green leaves. “I think we picked the wrong tree to lie under,” Monette whispered. “Nonsense,” Gerald reassured. “Only the small branches are flexible. It can’t reach us down here.” Unfortunately, Gerald hadn’t considered its roots.

Planet Z

Castle Mungidon has a most curious feature.

Walk into the Great Hall. Look up.

You will see the family tree of The House of Mungidon painted above.

But instead of starting in the center of the dome and radiating out with many branches, it shows Mungidon and the other Great Houses at the base of the dome and the descendants converging to the apex.

Generations of convergent breeding, all leading to the Baroness Sally Mungidon-Blakemoor.

A bucktoothed hemophiliac retarded dwarf confined to a wheelchair for her brief, miserable existence.

Her corpse is preserved and on display in the gift shop.

Welcome to the Weekly Challenge Number Two Hundred and Fifty-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 Tunnel Vision

Go ahead and listen to them and then vote for your favorites (multiple selections are allowed):

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

When Lenny was a kid TV was littered with cheesy SciFi. His favorite was The Time Tunnel. They had time tunnel vision passive and active. A projection from within the tunnel showed the control room staff the dire straights our lads had landed themselves. It had that TV within TV thing going you got on the Burns and Allen Show sans George. Active time tunnel vision happened at the stroke of 55 when the control room ripped them out of time; our heroes swirled around in time goo. Even at the time it look like guppies in a toilet bowl

Terazzabyte

“You couldn’t hit the side of Deathstar with Jawa Ion Blaster”, said Luke.

“Oh yeah”, replied Darth. “I bet you can’t even do an invisible death grip on a Dagobah dung beetle.”

Can to…

Cannot…

Luke thinks for a minute and tells Darth to look to the side. Just as Darth turns his head, Luke throws a rock at his helmet.

“HEY! What was that for?”

“To show you how stupid that helmet is for any type of combat. You have so much tunnel vision in that thing that you can’t even tell if your Imperial fly is down.”

AM Earley

Depression sucks. Not clinical depression that is an actual medical problem, but feeling suddenly unhappy. I can get twenty compliments in one day, and still focus solely on the one negative comment. I totally tunnel vision upon one comment going over in my head like a broken record. And it’s that he thinks one habit I have is annoying. I am not a bad person. He feels annoyed. I know I can do nothing to change his mind. It is his problem, not mine.

I’m still stuck in the tunnel.

I need to change the mental radio station in here.

Zackmann

We have been trying to find new ways to see in our tunnels. Yes, we did find a use for those
solar powered miner’s helmets? When we had them redesigned to have batteries. They are
taken to the sun room and can be used for half of the night cycle. We can have families move
in when we have mined the valuable minerals using concrete made from the rocks like Walmart
does with old stores back on earth. We are happy living on the moon and in fact we have a
bright future and a vision for our tunnels.

Todd/Luke

I punch 122 on the remote and settle in to Imagine Greater.

I hear “We need to talk.” off to my right.

“Klingon Bird of Prey decloaking off the starboard bow.” said Mr. Sulu.

“Red alert! Shields up, evasive maneuvers!”

She moves to stand in front of the TV.

“Did you forget what we talked about last night?”

“Computer, access all communications in the past 24 hours.”

“Command functions are offline.”

“Damn. Mr. Sulu, activate tunnel vision.”

“Tunnel vision, aye.”

She raises an eyebrow.

“Are you even listening to me? Fine, I’m going shopping”

Whew, that was a close one.

Chris

My name is Silvermoon and I have what is called tunnel sight.
“I was in my cave sleeping when I awoke to a little human boy! And it
was running around me! I hate humans. They only care about
themselves.”
“What did you do Silvermoon, I bet you shredded the little vermin?”
Asked a werewolf named Black Stripe.
“Hold on I’m getting to that part. Well it kept running until it
tripped and fell. I got up and picked the thing up and then-‘ I paused
for effect.
“What?” Asked Black Stripe.
“I shredded it.”

TJ

Feelin’ down and dirty, feelin’ kinda mean
Down in this mine, lord I’ll never get clean
Crew just pulled a caper, don’t think it’ll work
I’m triple-crossin’ those double-crossin’ jerks

Fill my eyes that tunnel vision
No disguisin’, that tunnel vision
Oo, when they roped me in, for to commit their sin
Tunnel vision, oh it seems to get the best of them.

Gun pulled on the foreman, payroll out the door
Bombs in one bag, the money in the o’er
Gimme the explosives, hide out in the mine
They pull the switch, and that really blows their mind

Refrain.

Steven

Consciousness returns. Slowly. Stickily.

I don’t want to open my eyes.

Trickles of memory seep back. Finding the old box, the curved horn inside.

Something pushes against my mind. My eyelids open.

My daughter is on the couch. On the floor. In the hall.

My head wobbles, unbalanced by the single horn. Runes crawl
underneath my skin. No time to think — it’s coming back.

Stumble over my wife’s shattered corpse to the closet. Pentagrams
flare on my flesh. I get the .45.

Finger on the trigger. Barrel to my eyes.

This demon’s gonna have one bad case of tunnel vision.

Danny

Once upon a time in the sad, pathetic state of Florida, while walking down a long, dark tunnel, along a set of abandoned high speed rail tracks, my friend suddenly spots a light and hears train noises. My friend screams, “It must be an oncoming train!” “No, it can’t be,” I tersely replied, “Governor Scott turned down all the federal funding for high speed rail.” Upon closer inspection, the light was actually just a flashlight carried by a hobo running down the tracks towards us, making train noises with his mouth. “Wow,” my friend states, “he really must have tunnel vision.”

Norval Joe

Sir Mugwort knelt before his king. His robes were a tattered remnant of their former resplendence, his armor dented and tarnished. “My Liege,” he rasped. “My life I have dedicated unwaveringly to this search for the grail. I have never lost sight of this goal. Indeed, in the mines below the White Mountains, The Virgin Mother appeared before me in the passage and urged me on. And yet I have failed thee.” “Despair not, good knight. Focussed vision alone will not win you a prize,” the youthful but wise king said and raised his golden goblet to toast the knight.

Planet Z

The sages told Prince Blovdor of their vision:

A champion would swim up the River Sop into Mount Dammit to face Baron Von Dwarfenstein in his deadly tunnels of feargems.

Blovdor pointed out that swimming the Sop upriver is a challenge enough, but to face Dwarfenstein afterwards?

No armor.
Maybe a dagger tied to his calf.

“Perhaps you can best him in a contest of riddles?” said a sage.

“I’m not good at riddles,” said Blovdor. Then, he grinned. “But you old farts are.”

One by one, the sages swam the river. And, later, each decapitated, mauled corpse floated back.

Welcome to the Weekly Challenge Number Two Hundred and Fifty-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 Warped

Go ahead and listen to them and then vote for your favorites (multiple selections are allowed):

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

Marcy could warp space. She did it by singing to Green Pony. A short song in made-up words and reality turned all Klein Bottley. Puppies and kittens did not do well around Marcy. When mum and dad exerted parental authority Marcy and Green Pony showed them the error of their one-dimensional point of view with a first hand perspective. Marcy found she didn’t have a fondness for any authority figure. So she started warping governments. She said, “Governments are generally not good for people.” Some might say this is a warped point of view. You want to tell Marcy that?

Terrazabyte

For most kids, summer time is the best time of the year. The Schools are closed, the days are filled with playing and some kids go off to summer camp. Best time of the year for some, but not Vinnie.

Vinnie’s parents were a bit warped and always sent him off to Mime Camp. They’d pack his luggage with black tights, face makeup and little white gloves.

Vinnie protested against going but his parents would only look back at him with frowning & crying gestures.

This year, Vinnie fought back and shot both of his parents… with a finger gun.

Todd

“I give up. What IS your superpower?”

The woman’s eyes smiled through the wafting steam of her coffee cup as she took a sip.

“I can teleport.” She said grabbing his hand, concentrating.

…and they warped…

Suddenly they were standing on a beach.

“Awesome! Can I try?” The man asked excitedly.

“Sure. Grab my hand. Sometimes it helps to say it at first.”

“New York City!” he yelled.

…and they warped…

Suddenly they were standing on busy street. A cab screamed by, horn blaring. The cabbie yelled, “Watch it buddy!”

“Go to hell!” The man yelled back.

…and they warped…

Zackmann

Hello, I just called to complain about the reference you gave for the contractor you found me.
The one you said was a straight as a board. His estimate was totally off. He ran up a big bill
at the hardware store. He never showed up at the time or on the day scheduled. I had to hire
someone else not only to complete what he started but also to fix everything he did. I suspect
he’s brain dead.
What? You always bought lumber from the discount bin? You really have what I call a warped
sense of humor.

Robert

On a dark and lonely corner

Where no one wants to be

I see a face and scorn her

For she has no purity

Her body has been mistreated

Her mind it has been used

Her problems are deep seated

But she stands there still amused

Shortly after I pay her for her time

And warn her I won’t be back

She says you are still a friend of mine

Even though I gave her the sack

Running, now to get away

Looking back in her direction

I realize I want to stay

Warped by some paid affection

AM Earley

Lenny and I came back from the war a little warped. I can’t sleep during the night anymore. So I got hired by the neighborhood to patrol at night.

Lenny can’t see anything destroyed. He makes a great handyman, except during the demolition stage. Fortunately his apprentice is more than willing to demolish.

Hell, Lenny made my new leg. It doesn’t make a single noise as I walk around at night.

We are coping the best we can, but every so often we have bad memories of the war. Hell, if you had seen the tree meter tall mountain troll that ate my leg in a single bite. I don’t care how strong a paladin I was, that would give anyone nightmares.

Danny

Captain Kirk stood on the bridge, and screamed, “Take us to Warp speed. Mr. Sulu!” Sulu replied, “We can’t, Captain, the helm is warped.” “What?,” Kirk replied. “Sulu, are you warped? The helm is fine.” Sulu replied, “The only warped person on this bridge is you, Captain, and no, the helm is warped, haven’t you even noticed we’ve been doing warp nine in a big circle for over an hour now?” “Uhura, is the Helm warped?” Kirk asked. “Well, duh, are you warped, Captain? Have you not noticed the helm is at a 90 degree angle?” Spock finally interjects, “Totally illogical.”

Norval Joe

A light tap brought Jerry to the door.
He peered through the peep hole at his ex-girlfriend, Beth and huffed, “What’s she doing here?”
Incensed, he yanked on the door knob to snarl in Beth’s face, but the door stuck at the bottom, opened a few inches at the top and slammed shut as Jerry lost his grip on the brass knob.
Jerry leaned into the door and pulled up on the knob to free the misshapen door.
“I thought you’d like to meet my new boyfriend,” Beth smiled.
Jerry’s former best friend, Heinrich, winked.
“Beth,” Jerry said, “You’re warped.”

TJ

Five frizzy Magenta wigs bobbed at varying heights among the
Frankenfurters and the stick-figure blondes in their grandmothers’
slips. The one Columbia who’d gone all out with the glittering tuxedo
and top hat was about 50, and the Riff Raffs looked like they’d be
more at home at the VFW next door. It was an odd collection of
characters, to be sure, but Larry, having tracked down a pair of
tightie-whities he felt comfortable wearing in public and some
birth-control glasses, forgot he was an accountant and joyously leapt
forward to join the “Time Warp.” Don’t dream it. Be it.

Steven

I take a handful of night and pull.

The darkness stretches, warps, deforms around me. The empty dark
shifts to the dark of sweaters, coats, and stinking gym shoes.

Outside the closet door, Marcus and Josephine are putting their son to
bed. They are older than I remember. Happier, after retiring years
ago. After they stopped hunting my kind. My offspring.

Their son cries – he knows I’m here in the closet again. They laugh,
tell him that I don’t exist, and go downstairs.

The demon hunters’ son cries alone in his bed.

I hush him with one long claw.

Planet Z

One week out of jail, I’m back to robbing homes.

The floorboards are warped from all the years of damp.

I walk across them as slowly as I can, but they still creak with every step.

Thank God my Aunt Gertie is deaf. She’ll have no idea I’m here.

I reach into the cookie jar and pull out a wad of bills, stuffing it into my pocket.

“Put it back, Carter,” says the old woman. I turn around, she’s got a shotgun pointed at my head. “I saw you in the mirror.”

Yeah, I know. She taught me better.

Dammit.

Welcome to the Weekly Challenge Number Two Hundred and Fifty-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 Vestiphobia

Go ahead and listen to them and then vote for your favorites (multiple selections are allowed):

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

---

I’ll be doing Storyfest in Second Life on Saturday, so if you want to hear my same old crap in a whole new venue, come on by!

---

Zackmann

“You should hire my client. He has starred in the live action versions of several popular
cartoons. He needs a stunt double but not for stunts. He does is own stunts. You can get
government grants too because he has a serious medical condition.”
“I like your client and I want him to audition him. Although I am relatively sure a human with
vestiphobia may indeed qualify for employment grants, it is very normal for a feline Tom cat
to not want to wear Clothes. I must admit when my credit card bills come I wish my wife had
vestiphobia. ”

Todd S.

“No Mommy, it burns!” screamed little Suzie, streaking naked from the office, overweight nurse in chase.

“The psychiatrist said it was Vestiphobia.” offered Suzie’s mother.

“Nonsense, there is no such thing.” said the doctor dismissively, the nurse returning with the tranquilized Suzie.

Suzie’s mother frowned as the doctor removed the tranquilizer dart and dressed Suzie in the pink dress and patent leather Mary Janes she had supplied.

“Now, we just bring her back slowly…” said the doctor as he administered an injection.

Little Suzie blinked her eyes open, looked at her mother sadly, and disintegrated into a pile of ash.

Tom

Lucas Pendergast had vestiphobia. It was triggered by a tragic collision between a leisure suit and a purple tunic. Scared young Lucas for life. If the DMV inspector hadn’t been a Brahma its doubtful Lucas would’ve passed the test in a bed sheet. Five years later Mr. Pendergast was once again favored by the gods with the same DMV inspector. He and his bed sheet were now the proud possessors of a class C license. Lucas became an ultra-long distance trucker, sleep, ate, lived in his cab. When he died his only request was to be buried in the buff

Robert

Nothing Butt the Truth by Boomer Bob

He held the truth once and he knew it!

At one time he had held it close, caressed it, and put it deep into his pockets for safe keeping.

No matter how hard he tried to conceal it he held truth.

Last night he checked his pockets to make sure it was there.

It wasn’t!

His worst fears had come true.

The truth wasn’t safe anymore with him since his fear of the naked truth had left him fearing ever being clothed in it and now he wonders how can he bare it?

Justin

I sit in the tattered remains of my happy place, the tiny corner of the shack. I look with dismay at the corpse of my pitiful mother. When she wasn’t beating me with twisted wood, she practiced witchcraft. She said it was to feed us, but I know she only craved power. I watch the tiny imps possessing the marshmallows scoot around her body, making trails in the floor wax mother forced me to keep pristine. The protective wax will make it easier to clean mother’s fluids from the wood. I banish the imps with bittersweet tears and start scrubbing.

—

Charles stared at his white cotton shirt and pants, the only clothing whose touch didn’t terrify him. His crotch turned yellow and wet. The smell of urine wafted up to his nostrils. He started to itch all over and hyperventilate. His skin. It was going to tear off his skin. He pictured it getting pulled back, revealing muscle and bone. An unearthly scream crawled from his throat like a spider. Something grabbed him and pulled, and then, he opened his eyes to see someone had dragged out of the rack of pink sweaters he had fallen into at the store.

Danny (110 words)

The convertible quickly pulls up to the drive through window, Dr. Jarred is waiting. “Welcome to Jarred’s Psychology hut. Please state your name and problem.”

“My name is Elliot Hunt, and I’m scared of clothing! Now I’m charged with indecent exposure and called a sexual offender! What do I do?!”

Dr. Jarred replies, “Yes, couldn’t help but notice your erection, you need calm down and be less happy to see me. Fear of clothing is called Vestiphobia, here’s the cure. Imagine what your life will be like when you know that you are not “defective.” Now put some fucking clothes on, and be grateful your mother didn’t name you Mike. Next!”

TerrazaByte

It’s never a comforting time when we go visit the in-laws. They both suffer from vestiphobia, which is a fear of clothing. I understand when they tell us that clothing makes them feel nauseous and claustrophobic.

The problem I have is that this fear supposedly extends to the clothing that others have on when they come over to visit.

I have tried to be open minded to their phobia but it’s becoming difficult ever since we gave them that video camera last Christmas.

Now when we step through the door, I feel the lights go up and grandpa yells ACTION!

Norval Joe

Jeremy lay a still as he could in the sweat sodden sheets of his small bed. His slow, shallow breaths sounded to him like a hurricane. He knew they had to hear. Slowly he turned his head just enough to look from the corner of his eye at the chair by his desk, his turtle neck sweater hung there, a faint outline in the oblique glow of his night lite. It raised a limp fabric arm in greeting and smiled razor sharp teeth and licked its blood red lips. Jeremy lay as still as he could, his heart beating madly.

TJ

One of the greatest Bat villains to grow out of the world of groovy
counter-culture was Jaybird, a dastardly ne’er-do-well who would enter
a crowded bank lobby or shopping mall and with a RIP! FOOM! GAWK! get
naked. Jaybird would mug for the cameras, grab all the loot and streak
away, leaving dazed witnesses unable to describe what they’d seen. The
Caped Crusaders would then chase after Jaybird – “Get back here, my
vestiphobic chum!” – but without any luck. Network censors were
appalled by this character, however, and forced Julie Newmar to keep her
clothes on. Thus Catwoman joined the cast.

Steven the Nuclear Man

The Senator glared at me. “Why is the – enemy combatant – naked? Those hippies already hate this place.”

I stared back. “He refuses clothes, Senator.” My squad mixed with the Senator’s blue-suited toadies. “We don’t know why,” I lied. Simmons handed the jumpsuit to the Senator.

Too late, the prisoner yelled behind soundproof glass. Hidden threads, woven into holy symbols, touched the Senator’s hands. He screamed in pain.

Moments later, my squad stood over the demonic corpses of the Senator and his aides. The “enemy combatant” shifted between human and demonic form.

“This’ll be fun to explain,” Simmons said.

Planet Z

It seemed like a good idea at the time.

Spread a virus that made people deathly afraid of their clothing.

Then spray the cure for the virus on his own clothing line.

He’d corner the market in clothes.

Yeah, he tried to do things legit. But feather boas and bell-bottoms were out, damn the fickle the public.

Now, they’d be in, and everything else would be out.

The day he released the virus, it took a while, but pretty soon everybody was wandering around naked.

And they liked it. Never wanted to go back.

Well, okay. They liked the boas.

Welcome to the Weekly Challenge Number Two Hundred and Fifty-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 “Consternation” and “Floor Wax” and “Firewood” and “Deadly Marshmallows”

Go ahead and listen to them and then vote for your favorites (multiple selections are allowed):

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

---

Tom

I dropped floor wax onto firewood it created deadly marshmallows.

I consternationed for some time whether to give Timmy marshmallows.

They glistened in the sun like caramelized candy cotton clouds.

Timmy was a dick one less Timmy one less dick.

I put the marshmallows next to the white kindergarten paste.

“Poison Marshmallows, don’t eat,” read the sign atop the Marshmallows.

Timmy read the sign and popped two into his mouth.

It wasn’t long before Timmy was rolling on the floor.

His eyes glazed and turned a lovely shade of white.

Come to think of it Jimmy is a dick too.

Zackmann

Lit the firewood wanting to relax after a long day of house cleaning about read The Deadly
Marshmallows a Harry Potter farce. Just as I sat down the neighbor knocked on my backdoor.
“Hi, I saw the use the back door sign. I think you may have used too much floor wax on the front
deck. That will take days to dry.”
“I am hoping it will cause the zombies some consternation also hoping they can’t read.”
“Really, aren’t zombies always consternated?”
“Good point but it might be fun to watch if they fall for the waxed deck.”

Luke Poplin

I wake up on the cold floor of an underground tunnel, a piece of firewood and a bloody grocery bag scattered around me. I rub my head then use the blood covered hand to swat away cogs floating around my head.

A janitor, slowly spreading floor wax at the tunnel entrance, turns its head slowly toward me as I approach.

“Catherine”, I gasp jumping back in consternation, gazing into cold zombie-like eyes.

Her head burns and swells like a flaming marshmallow. It swells and swells until…

I wake up in a cold sweat and run to the mirror.

Still Luke.

Chris

It started when my friend and I were at camp (in the woods), hanging out.

“Kalobe, I’m going down to the river, want to come?”

“No thanks Joe.” I said.

“Okay.” Walking down with some marshmallows, he turned the corner and
was out of sight. A moment later there was a ear splitting scream. I
ran to the creek. The ground was covered in marshmallows! As I
watched, they moved together growing bigger and combining. They
followed me as I ran. And, just in time, got inside the car.

Right now I wish I’d taken driving lessons.

Steven

“Consternation!” Grandpa yelled. “Colonel Mustard in the library with
the marshmallows!”

I smiled, cold in my army uniform. Grandpa’s fireplace couldn’t even
heat the room. He rose shakily, and I frowned. Richer than Midas,
but has no heater, won’t get his hip replaced, wouldn’t even pay for
Sue’s hospital bills…

I clamped that thought down.

His liver-spotted hand landed on my shoulder, then tapped where my
nametag read Ketchup. “It’s funny, you making colonel. Too bad Sue
didn’t get to see it.”

I just pushed him onto the freshly waxed floor. The sound of his hip
shattering sounded like vengeance.

David

I wanted to run, consternation filled my heart. Deadly marshmallows flew past my head. Missing their mark by inches. I regained my senses and did run like hell, as a volley from the firewood bazooka smashed against the wall where I stood, not a moment ago. My socks slipped as I tried to cross the freshly waxed floor. The cinders from the firewood blast lit our home aflame. Mobile homes are not flame retarded. In the midst of reloading, her booze soaked frock burst into a fiery inferno. In an instant she and our divorce proceedings went up in smoke.

Danny

Much to my consternation, some idiot (me) poured Floor Wax all over the Firewood. I was told it would get the fire to burn hotter. Now, after lighting the fire ablaze, we’re trying to Roast Marshmallows over the toxic flames. All of the toxic fumes from the floor wax are getting into the Marshmallows, giving them a toxic yet very tasty hint of wax in the soft center of the marshmallow. I bite into the gooey center, and much to my consternation, I fall absolutely in love with this pile of toxic gooey goodness. Now my doctor tells me I have cancer.

TJ

Some little girls are described as having an inner light. Not Susie.
Little Susie had more of an inner dark. When she overheard her
family’s hushed tones planning a trip to Yellowstone National Park,
she suspected with consternation they were planning to leave her in the
woods. Well the best defense, as they say, is a good offense. So she
merrily went along with it. And while her father was out gathering
firewood for their campfire, Little Susie carefully shaped and powdered
some floorwax into the form of marshmallows. Those deadly s’mores
were the last thing any of them tasted.

TerrazaByte

I came home early to create the perfect romantic evening for our first anniversary.
I cleaned the house, waxed the floors and prepared the finest of meals.
When she came home, she was so surprised and loved being pampered.
The grand finale was to be roasting marshmallows by the fire as we snuggled together.

As I came back in from getting the firewood and roasting skewers, I slipped on the freshly waxed floor…
fell over the couch…
hit her in the head with the firewood…
and stabbed the cat with the skewers.

Imagine my consternation as they both lay motionless.

Norval Joe

Mr. Parker was a veteran Boy Scout leader and thought he had seen it all, from lighting firewood with a blowtorch to blowing up the out house. “Johnny,” he asked with a sheepish smile of consternation. “What are you putting on your marshmallow?” “My Dad developed it,” he said. “It’s a mixture of edible polymers from floor wax and walnut shells. It will allow me to toast marshmallows without catching them on fire.” Pop rocks are candies that make small crackling sounds when it contacts saliva. It doesn’t compare to what happened when Johnny touched the marshmallow to his tongue.

Planet Z

To our consternation, Aunt Edith had applied a liberal amount of floor wax to the bucket of firewood in the living room

She wanted to make them shiny and look good.

So when It was time for dessert, Uncle Morty put marshmallows on the prongs and started up the fireplace.

The logs caught quickly, releasing a toxic cloud.

Deadly marshmallows, they were.

Aunt Edith. Judy. The twins.

If it weren’t for the fact I’m in an environment suit, I’d be dead with them.

Bubble boy, immunodeficiency disorder.

Call it whatever, but it saved my life.

So, how about some marshmallows?

Welcome to the Weekly Challenge Number Two Hundred and Fifty-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 “In my happy place”

Go ahead and listen to them and then vote for your favorites (multiple selections are allowed):

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

In my happy place there are racks and racks of ordinance. I go there to fire off a few thousand rounds. In the real world I do my best to be a beacon of unconditional love. My job is to reassure, divert self-recrimination, say everything is going to be OK. I absorb anger, spill out the milk of human kindness by the truckload. To renewth my soul I go to my happy place a free fire zone where things go boom. Infinite ammo with infinite moving targets. I know it puerile, but it helps me get me through the day.

Zackmann

There’s a bald guy parked on the corner saying “Hey kid, your a reader aren’t you? Got a free
audio book, right here. It will put you in your happy place, well actually mine will more likely
make you scream and grab your reproductive parts but you know how it goes.”
“Is that a good idea ?” I ask.
“Dare you to try it”
“Just one book”
“You’ll be back”
I don’t like the harm caused by other products marketed this way but I am happy to see the
podiobooks.com truck after every rodeo and concert.

David

My mind went dark. My heart beat stopped. My life bled dry. I was a lost within my own labyrinth of lust and when I awoke I was driven to kill. In the slaughter. In the murder. I found my new happy spot. It was the only thing to satisfy the pain that dwelt in my heart that never was to beat again. I did not ask to be turned. She was hot. She was willing and she was drunk; I had thought. The kissing was fantastic. The petting was mind blowing. The biting was intoxicating. Exhilarating. Painful. Then excruciating!

Danny

Once upon a time, while in my happy place, I was skipping down a path dreaming of a warm embrace. Then I suddenly tripped, falling flat on my face. Now, this was totally screwing with my mantra, this is supposed to be a happy place. Time to regroup; figure out where my happy place is, because I’m certain it cannot be found in a courtroom suing the owner of the sidewalk. So I went to the store, picked up some cement, and fixed the sidewalk myself. Now I’m back in my happy place, skipping down the path, dreaming of a warm embrace.

Terrazabyte

Blind dates always bring out the best in people. We have but a few hours to express our most endearing qualities. We show superlative manners and unsurpassed sensitivity when listening to family stories or thirty minute narratives about broken relationships.

Apparently two hours of this communiqué is all that is within me. I get to the second date but never to a third. I don’t know if it’s because the second date shows a truer view of myself or that my doctors insist on being there to unlock my jacket and medicate me… to keep me in my happy place.

I have a special place that I travel to when all that surrounds me is heavy with worry and unrest.

Every so often, this quest to reach this spot will take days to complete and yet on other days I find my trip was but a mere step away.

In each of these excursions to come across this unique area, the physical distance to traverse has always been identical; however, the directions to reach there are never the same.

Unknown to any map and never a picture taken, its bliss and beauty are exclusive to one although everyone can visit.

TJ

Emily has paste in her hair. Steven put it there.
Johnny laughed. Janie tried to help.
Ricky’s in the corner sobbing because
Jeremy threw a toy train at him.
I know this because Susie
Came running up to tell me.
Her developing sense of justice
Demands some satisfaction.
It seems like one child trips and falls,
Twelve people text each other about it
But no one helps him up.
So for me, this space, right here,
this 30-inch by 30-inch by 20-inch cave
underneath my desk, my first day of teaching?
This is the happiest place I can be now.

Norval Joe

I didn’t have much of a family life as a child. My father hated my mother and my mother hated me. Neither let me have a moment of happiness, if they could help it. So when she came into my life there was a wall built up around my heart I wasn’t quick to take down. But she snuck her way in and tore those walls down and filled me with happiness unlike anything I could imagine. When she walked out, she left a hole in my happy place. The joy poured out of my heart and left only pain.

Planet Z

A letter arrived at Utopia Colony from Disney.

It was a cease-and-desist order.

“We have the rights to ‘The Happiest Place On Earth’ and, by spending a lot of money on our Disneyland, feel that Utopia Colony infringes upon our registered trademark by actually creating the happiest place.”

Utopia Colony disagreed. “We have no crime, sickness, poverty, or pollution. We’ve earned that Happiest Place title. Come here and see for yourselves.”

So, the lawyers arrived. And the Utopians killed them all and used their bodies for fertilizer.

(You see, in Utopia Colony, killing annoying and unhappy outsiders isn’t a crime.)

Welcome to the Weekly Challenge Number Two Hundred and Fifty-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 “Paris” and “Quality Control”

Go ahead and listen to them and then vote for your favorites (multiple selections are allowed):

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

---

Evan

The studio buzzed and the old man tasted electricity in the air. He turned from his canvas to watch a tiny, hovering figure grow rapidly into a full-sized woman in a suit.
“How—?” He began.
“Do as I ask and I’ll tell you,” she smiled. ”You’d undoubtedly appreciate it. Now, I lead Quality Control for the Louvre Museum in Paris where, in 400 years, your painting will draw millions of visitors annually. After studying 250 alternate realities I’ve determined we’ll enjoy maximum traffic if you repaint your subject with a delicate smile—just enough to peak the curiosity of the viewer.”

Tom

Parisians scuff when tourist says “I love Paris” It’s not how Paris works. Paris chooses to love you. She doesn’t do it often and she surely doesn’t do it in public. It happens when it’s just you and her late late in the night or early early in the morning. You have walked for hours and stopped to rest by the Seine. As you watch the river a boy and girl totally entwined pause to kiss. You smile and realize all kisses somehow flow to Paris. At that moment your heart is hers and she will forever draw you back.

2547 Greater New York Dome District. The air here tasted flat. No life. Plenty of oxygen just no life. Quality Control has stated time and time again it’s the same old air as 2210. But I don’t believe them. That’s why I have this can of Paris. Got it from a merchant marine from Vietnam traded him four Ernie Banks rookie cards for a 20oz can. I figure if I do a puff a month it should last until they punch out my ident card. Id let you have a sniff but you’d have to hang around for three weeks.

Zackmann

Once upon a time there was a hotel Mogul who had a daughter he wanted to keep chaste.
He had a friend who owned a robotics company who had a plan to build a Gynoid that would
act very promiscuously so that men would be afraid to date the daughter. The friend had a
replicant constructed. Soon the replicant was in all the tabloids as the daughter quietly attended
a private all girls college. The Gynoind even had a television show and did a movie posing as
the daughter and she gets a systems check when she says something intelligent.

Will I ever get through this long dark night. What was my boss thinking sending me here were
I barely speck the language . It makes it harder to not shoot the live ones, if you know what I
mean. It had to be tonight of all nights that I get a box of 12 gauge shells made the one time
Quality Control was asleep at Remington with one out of four a dud. Just like our beloved
military to send me to DLI to learn French and the send me to Paris, that is Paris Texas during a
zombie out-brake.

Steven

Rupert stood in disbelief.

“The bar’s really called the Blue Oyster? Like in Police Academy? In
the middle of nowhere, Ohio?”

Clarissa smiled. “All YMCA, all the time. Right here in gay Paree, Ohio.”

“That is so offensive.”

She smacked his arm. “They’re mocking the stereotype, silly.”

“But someone might hit on me.”

“Just tell them you’re married, you homophobe. Come on, you’re going
to have fun.”

As they descended the stairs, Rupert knew next time he’d check the
travel agent’s itinerary more closely.

But he found out that after all, there are many ways to have a good time.

Chris

I’ve been working in quality control for three months. It’s been okay except for the rumors of people going missing. Some say this town is haunted. I didn’t believe in superstition. Anyway, I am doing night shift, in a store but an over sized man in a trench coat came in. “Ah you must be my new trainee.” I said. He walked over.

“I am no trainee.”His voice was a deep, growl. “But, I am the Duskwolf.” With that, he pounced, striking me in the head.

My last thought was: the next quality controller better be good.

Terazzabyte

On the eve of the big day, I was going over last minute checks with the wedding planner and noticed a slight Quality Control problem.

Marco, did you get the caterers all lined up for the reception?

Check Boss!

Marco, did you pick up the Wedding Dress form the seamstress?

Yes Boss

Hey Marco! Did you book the Paris Honeymoon package?

Yep!

Marco, did you make sure they will be staying at the private villa with the view of the Eiffel Tower?

I didn’t find any Eiffel Tower in Paris, Texas … but they can see the City Water Tower.

Danny

Paris Hilton woke up one morning in her exclusive California mansion, sat up abruptly, and promptly stated to herself, “You know what is missing in my life? Quality control.” Perplexed, as always, Paris uncrossed her eyes, quickly got dressed, grabbed her purse and the keys to her pink Bentley, and set off to do something about this lack of quality control in her life. After an 8 hour shopping spree on Rodeo Drive, Paris, pleasantly pleased with her clothing and other purchases, finally stated, “there, I purchased a ton of quality, and now I’m in control of it. Problem solved!”

Justin

Janet and I are quality control inspectors for Colony Dome Extranational. We were also husband and wife. We traveled to planets with Colony Dome merchandise, chiefly the domes themselves and the upkeep machines. Generally we stick together because the domes are small. We’ve had some great memories made during those times. New Paris on the other hand is a very large dome so it makes more sense to split up to get the inspection done faster. It’s tough to work apart for such a long time, especially since we’re almost always together. Despite the hardships, we’ll always halve New Paris.

TJ

I record my podcast to a digital voice recorder quietly in my bedroom
and cobble it together on Windows Movie Maker, so it probably seems like
I don’t care about quality. Au contraire. I’ve updated my theme
music three times – one comment on my iTunes page said it was
“weird” two theme musics ago, but no one has said anything since.
Then I load it to libsyn, and for quality control, download it again
through iTunes. I figure if other people are suffering through my
podcast, the least I can do is listen to what I’m putting them through
myself.

The afternoon sun glinted along glass and chrome furnishings in the
elegant office suite. Seated behind her obsidian desk, Paris Ashworth
Greystone took up her iPad. She ran a manicured fingernail along the
menu settings and selected an item at random. Something about snowglobes
being filled from the Fountain of Youth. “Just don’t choke on the
snowman.” She considered it for a moment. Indeed, that would be a
better ending. She tapped a few keys and sent a memo upstairs.
Exhausting, but her service as muse and quality control specialist for
100 Word Stories was, in its own way, rewarding.

Norval Joe

“What do you mean, ‘Quality Control’, Gunter?” Franz asked his partner. “This is the Lexus LFA sports car. There will only be 500 of them and each one will be hand built.”
“Humor me, Franz,” Gunter replied, “the guy paid $375,000 for this thing for his girl friend’s thirtieth birthday. We need to make sure all the special accessories will work.”
“It’s got everything,” Franz said, “GPS, DVD, iPhone dock, microwave and plasma TV. What else is there?”
“Make sure the drunk driver override and the anti-idiot switch are set to on,” Gunter said. “We are talking about Paris Hilton.”

Planet Z

Allo, I am Remy, I am from France.

Zis wine that you give to me, I dink, and is bad. Is no good.

How you say? Disgusting?

Yes. Disgusting.

Is not fit for drink. Is not fit for cooking.

I know this, for I am, how you say, quality control for wine.

I am expert in wine. I drink much, I know wine like I know air I breathe.

I spend all day drinking wine home in Paris.

What you ask? Where do I work?

I work nowhere. I drink wine. So much, nobody hire me.

Besides you, mon frere.

Welcome to the Weekly Challenge Number Two Hundred and Fifty-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 “Marbles”

Go ahead and listen to them and then vote for your favorites (multiple selections are allowed):

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

---

Dave

“Marbles,” I shook his shoulder.

Marbles took a lot of roids when he played ball. So much that the bigger he got the smaller his junk became. Marbles eventually lost his contract, lost his girlfriend and wife and spent a year in Corcoran Prison for attempted murder. – Not only will roids take your manhood but your common sense.

“Marbles, wake up!”

My employer invested a lot of money in this behemoth. It’s time to settle the books.

“I’m up, I’m up,” he groaned and mumbled.

I just hate to kill a man while he is sleeping.

Xerxes

“It looks like his mouth is full of bubbles, Sarge.”

Sure enough, in amongst the foam and froth were a number of perfectly round spheres which threw points of light around the room if you hit them just right with the beam from the flashlight.

Of course they couldn’t be bubbles, bubbles wouldn’t last long and these were like fixtures, a kind of disco ball of disease coming out of the man’s mouth.

The tiny glass orbs reflected the light amazingly well from the alcoholic bath that had been his stomach contents.

I guess you shouldn’t mix marbles and tequila.

What is this crap?

I don’t know but it certainly is full.

Have you been to the island?

Yes, and I’ve sat in the tree, where there are chairs made of bone.

I’ve stood, behind a chair, nearly naked, while his words rang out from everywhere and nowhere at once.

One time there was no voice, so he magically created a river of bytes on which to listen. He called it a stream, but I’m sure it flowed like a mighty torrent through the ether from point to point.

Is that a story?

No, but it is 100 words, tom.

Tom

Thomas Bruce was truly one of the most unprofitable thieves in history. As ambassador to the Ottoman Empire he managed to get permission to remove 17 sections from the temple of Athena over an 11 year period. He paid £74,240 to ship them to England and only got £35,000 from the British Government. He lost 2 million dollar in the deal. Parties in Britain have pledge over the decades to return the Elgin Marbles to Greece but last time I checked they were still in the British Museum. Whatever party that does send them back will be losing their marbles.

Boomer Bob

I bent forward and his eyes met mine.

He was trying everything to psyche me out; but I was going to take aim and put him out of my misery.

There was nothing he could do and I knew I couldn’t miss.

I could feel it. I had him busted to right and he knew it.

In the slightest of movements it was over.

I had taken my shot and won the game of taws.

He had lost!

Then he went berserk screaming he had lost all his marbles.

Look what I won!

Zackman

As a boy I wondered about the marvels of the modern world? I remember being very impressed
with the State Capital Building in Saint Paul and would wander around it and take tours often. I
bet tax payers were really mad about paying for several different types of marble but since it has
lasted about a 100 years maybe it was a good investment. My father worked at the Highway
Building which was at the other end of a pedestrian tunnel to the Capital Building. Boy me was
more fascinated with the tunnel than the marble dome or the monuments.

Congress had decided on a trial program in which all the political squabbling is settled by
playing marbles because of heavy contributions form the marble industry. Halliburton even
tried to get in on the action and started producing marbles but congress decided to only buy
from American companies but told Halliburton it could ask the government of Dubai because
congress’ decisions are far too important to be influenced by foreign companies. This signaled
to the American public that just the thought of marbles was already influencing better decision
making providing we stop re-electing candidates who have lost all their marbles

Michael S.

Noon news story:

Marble control groups are up in arms today following the continued violence associated with the use of these deadly projectiles.

Witnesses at the scene saw a man reach inside his pouch of marbles, load his sling and repeatedly hurl them at his victims.

Later, groups from both sides of the argument clashed in bloody protests.

Those against the right to own marbles were looking for a politician to blame and a company to sue for the behavior today.

Those for, calling for personal responsibility, felt the person to blame was in custody.

More news at 10.

Chris

My name’s Tom. I don’t have many friends, because I said that I know
an ogre. I don’t know the ogre that well because I can’t speak his
language. But I know one thing about him – he really likes marbles. He
even helped me get better at it so that I could win against a bully
named Tray!

Anyway, I went to school, as usual, and decided to bring the ogre with
me so that hopefully, people would stop calling me a liar. I waited
until recess and played marbles against Tray as usual…

…but, this time I finally won.

Steven

The astronomer’s voice rolled out. “The Earth is a small blue marble
hanging in space, surrounded by billions and billions of stars.”

My arm was around my son’s shoulders; this series had inspired me at
his age. But he’d started fidgeting – the first time he had during
the entire series.

“What is it, kiddo?”

His deep brown eyes looked up. “Daddy, are we the shooter? Earth.
Our marble.”

“Of course not,” I said, and guided him to bed.

That night, I lay on the grass looking up and waiting for a giant
green finger to flick us across the universe.

Terazzabyte

Darrel and his brother Darrell were the best Marble playing duo this side of the Missouri.

They couldn’t be beat in this game of skill, accuracy and strength of thumb.

This all came to an end one day when they were abducted by aliens.

Rumor has it that they were experimented on with probes and devices that scrambled their brains.

They were returned to earth but the Aliens kept their bag of marbles.

To this day you can see the boys walking around town with their eyes towards the sky saying.

“We’ve lost our marbles.”

Yes boys, you have.

Justin

Everyone said Grandpa Marsh lost his marbles. He read old tomes and learned the secret knowledge of the eyes of the Old Ones. He used arcane lore to create special eye drops. Then he sailed into the sea, saying he needed to place one drop in each of Cthulhu’s six, dry, sleeping eyes. He chanted polyglot incantations of protection and leaped into the sea and sunk to R’lyeh. I never saw him in the flesh again, but I dreamed of him last March. He gazed at me with dark, empty eye sockets and said “I guess Cthulhu prefers Clear Eyes.”

AM Earley

My dad worked his butt off so my sister and I could go to private school. My classmates were the rich type. Most of the marble in their kitchens were installed by my father. They made fun of me a lot.

Then in second grade dad made me a set of playing marbles from the scraps of marble left over from his job. The kids became jealous, especially when I started making toys out of marble. Then they started buying my toys and jewelry from me.

By our ten year high school reunion, I was the only billionaire in the group.

Danny

The call from his wife was frantic. Their son Johnny had lost his marbles, acting completely crazy. Marco sped home, tires squealing the entire way until jamming the car into park in his driveway. Marco flies through the open front door, scrambles up the staircase to the second floor, running down the hallway towards his son’s room. Before he could get there, Marco’s feet slips out from under him, and he hits the floor so hard he could hear the snap of his collarbone on impact. Moments later, Johnny comes running out of his room, “Daddy! Daddy! You found my marbles!”

Guy David

The man with the marble eyes stared at the little guy and squinted. There was no other way to end it. One of them had to die. The referee started counting slowly. Their hand shot off for their well groomed weapons. The woman in question stared at the spectacle in satisfaction, happy with her mischief, but the two combatants paid no attention, both too wrapped up in her spell. As the referee reached the number 10, both of them drew at the speed of lightning. Only one of them fell to his death. So came the end of the midget.

Norval Joe

“Admiral,” the astrogator said from her seat in front of a spherical holographic console. “The invasionary force is in place.” “Good,” the admiral said and gazed at the brilliant wash of stars visible through the transparent dome of the space ship. “We will begin the assault on these pitiful creatures on my mark.” At his command thousands of ships blasted from their hiding place behind the moon, flashed through the earth’s atmosphere and pounded into the surface. Jimmy rushed out of his house at the strange sound and exclaimed to his brother, “Hey, Mikey. You left your marbles out here.”

TJ

Marbles are a little like poker. You bring your marbles and other kids
bring theirs and then as the game continues, if the other kids are
better players, they win your marbles, and get to keep them. This
wasn’t explained to me very well, I’m afraid. Tyler won most of the
time. We played until the only marble I had left was my shooter. If
that’s what’s meant by losing one’s marbles, then that’s what I
did. But since he wanted it so bad, I gave it to him — at pretty high
speed at the back of his head. THWACK!

Planet Z

When I was ten, I was banned from the Galleria.

They had an ice rink there and it was open to the two floors above.

Curling teams practiced there. For Christmas, they’d put a tree in the middle.

I’d buy a Coke, go to the top balcony, and use the ice chips with my slingshot to peg the skaters.

Unlike marbles, the ice would shatter into nothing. No evidence.

Well, there was the slingshot in my back pocket. And me shouting GOTCHA! and BINGO! when I hit somebody.

Now I’m older. I know better.

And I’ve got a sniper rifle.