Weekly Challenge #190 – Work

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Welcome to the Weekly Challenge Number One Hundred And Ninety, 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… was…. um…
It’s Work!
The excellent theme music is by Guy David.
VOTING

Which were the best stories this week?
Steven
Katharina
Zachmann
Justin
Planet Xray
TJ
Norval Joe
JRadimus
Planet Z
  
Free polls from Pollhost.com

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


Steven

Kethin’s legs squeezed against the dragon’s scales as they rose into
the winter night. His furs warmed him, but his eyes were freezing
behind the goggles. The mountain cave fell away behind the dragon’s
wings. The cold moonlight shone on fleeing clouds and glittering snow
below.
Kethin spotted the town lights below. He leaned forward, and the
dragon dove for the city. At the last moment, he drove in his spurs
and pulled up. Dragonfire lashed out, and they rose high over the
street, wet with newly melted snow.
“One of these days,” Kethin thought, “I’ll get an interesting job.”

Katharina

Today, I was the first one in the office. I had only just sat down when I heard the doorbell ring. The only reason I got back up was that it just didn’t stop ringing.
Opening the door I started to complain. As I looked up, I stopped mid-sentence. He was here. He was mine.
Wordless, he took my hand and led me to my office. If only to assure himself that I was still his, he lifted my skirt and took me then and there.
When we got back up, I heard the key in the entrance door turn.

Zachmann

The Nissa, the Norse little people, who followed my grandparents form the old world are trying to get me into trouble by going on my computer and posting on my facebook and twitter when I am at work since I would never do that myself not even with a smartphone.The Nissa watch youtube and Hulu when I am at work. I think they using the gaming systems since they are still turned on when I return home from work . They have a special affection for Link. Anything I posted when I’m at work was done by the Nissa

Justin

Robots tried cloning a human workforce, but the bodies grew to awaken brain dead. Clones work well for spare parts, but growing them takes months. I was always an advocate of workplace safety, but it has gotten ridiculous. The robots take over humanity, then because we are hard to “repair” quickly, they require us to wear ultra-powered safety armor so we don’t hurt ourselves. Why not just control the armor themselves? Hold on, if I can just override these security functions, done, and send this code to everyone, we fully control the system! Lets see how safe we are now

Planet Xray

I have always been a backward guy.
My week went something like this.
Mondays, I spent the day cleaning my BMW.
Tuesdays, I cruised the beaches looking at the sights and the ladies.
Wednesday, I set aside for sport, it didn’t matter what it was, as long as it was athletic.
Thursdays I would spend the day flipping the TV between Showtime, HBO and the Discovery Channel.
Fridays I would hop from bar to bar, ending up at a dance club.
Saturday was my rest day.
And then there was Sunday, what can I say, you have to work sometime.

TJ

We don’t always hear positive reinforcement concerning the things we do, but if you ever wonder if your work is appreciated, copy editors: misspell someone’s name in the paper. Stockboys. Let the toilet paper aisle run low. Pharmacists: Forget to order Pepto-Bismol. Bankers: Make a bunch of thoroughly indefensible loans and sell them to each other. Mechanics: Replace brake fluid with motor oil. Chefs: Switch out vegetarian lasagna with regular. Farmers: Leave off milking for a day or two. Baristas: Forget to unlock the doors for a couple hours. Whatever it is we do, indeed, we are all deeply appreciated.

Norval Joe

They quietly slipped through the sliding glass door into the backyard.
“What is it?” he asked the older boy, eyeing the silky black wad of material his brother clutched close to his chest.
“It’s a Batman cape, just like the one on TV. With this cape, you can fly,” he said with believable sincerity. He’d seen the show on their black and white TV, and it looked like the one.
He helped his little brother into the cape and onto the roof of the house.

JRadimus

Let’s see… What’s the Weekly Challenge this week…? Hmm… “Work”… Huh. One of those “broad-strokes” topics. I like those: they don’t shove you in a particular corner. There are so many directions I could go…
…“Hard work”…
…“Yard work”…
…“Job I hated”…
…“Job I loved”…
…”Old job”…
…”New job”…
You know what? Just give me some direction!
…Wait a minute. This is an easy topic! I could write any story I can think of, and just work the topic in- wait: -“work”- the topic in. That gives me an idea – How many words am I up to? …98, 99, 100!

Planet Z

Even though Fred worked in banking, he loved to make up occupations on his tax returns.
“Rodeo Clown Consultant” was his latest. He’s also claimed to be a Psychic Fishtank Cleaner, an Elevator Repair Superhero, and The Number Twelve.
He’d get audited every year, and laughed as the auditor came up with the exact same figures he did on his returns.
Every year, he’d get the same auditor, and given a choice between becoming enemies and friends, they chose friendship.
Both retired the same year and, soon afterwards, died in a horrible elevator accident.
Well, Fred obviously couldn’t repair it.

Weekly Challenge #189 – Smoke

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Welcome to the Weekly Challenge Number One Hundred And Eighty-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… was…. um…
It’s Smoke!
The excellent theme music is by Guy David.
VOTING

Which stories were the best this week?
Steven
Norval Joe
TJ
JRadimus
Justin
Lynda
Zachmann
Planet Z
  
Free polls from Pollhost.com

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


Steven

The demons came from the campfire’s smoke. Jonah woke at Reyald’s
scream. Boyd slept until Reyald’s head bounced off his stomach.
“Last time I let Reyald stand watch,” Boyd grumbled, drawing his sword.
“You know,” Jonah said as he parried a claw, “I think that someone
wants us dead.” He thrust upward, drenching himself in demon blood.
Boyd dodged a tentacle. “Nah.” He stabbed the tentacle before it
could grab Jonah.
“Thanks,” Jonah replied, pouring holy water on a demon. “But disagree?”
Boyd sliced open the last demon’s abdomen. “Yeah.” He sat down. “I
think someone wanted these demons dead.”

Norval Joe

All Larry wanted to do after High School was join the military. He was big, strong and played on the football team until cancer took his leg.
He liked to smoke Camel no filters. He called them coffin nails. It wasn’t the cigarettes that killed him, though.
He had bi-polar depression. When he didn’t take his pills he could get pretty angry and depressed.
One day he didn’t come in to work. One of the guys went to check on him.
Larry had put a .45 through his head.
Some say he’d quit, given up.
I say he was beaten.

TJ

Winters were the worst, and the best. Sure, we had to go outside and it was cold. But the taste of crisp, frosty air firing a rich, savory mentholated Marlboro light, that was magnificent. It’s been three years, three months, and I can still taste it, the flavors, the feelings, that tingling sensation in the tips of the fingers following the first cigarette of the day, and privation giving way to a sense of instant fulfillment flooding through one’s entire being. Watching the smoke drift away and carry with it all of one’s troubles … GOD do I miss smoking.

JRadimus

With the sun’s rising, the chirps and calls of insects, frogs and birds rise through the forest. Collectively, the dewdrops lend the grass a velvety glow, resolving into tiny diamonds close up. The sunlight mixes with smoke hanging across the meadow; they become solid liquid vapor, and give the shadows crisp 3-dimensional shapes. A doe and fawn wander out of the forest canopy’s cover into the meadow’s openness. The sharp crack of a breaking twig snaps the silence. The doe freezes, ears swiveling and nostrils flaring, alert for the source of the danger, and the fawn bolts instinctively for cover.

Justin

In ancient Japan a young samurai warrior saw smoke upon the horizon. He ran to see what was happening. Upon arriving he discovered a Catholic monk rushing back and forth between the bubbling river and the burning trees with a bucket, extinguishing the flames. When the trees were saved, the monk said that God told him to come to Japan and preserve the certain forest from flames and burning. This happened many more times over the years in that forest. Anytime the trees burned, the monk appeared. The young samurai learned that when there is smoke there is friar.

Lynda

Don’t smoke, she told me. She doused me in gasoline, told me the next cigarette would be my last.
I put arsenic in her donuts. She locked herself in the bathroom for three days.
I offered her a truce. I’d take her out to eat if she let me take a shower.
How could I know she’d been hooking up the bathroom plumbing to a tank of acid?
As I soaked in the cooking oil she was so fond of drinking, I told her she’d have to find another man.
“Did that five months ago,” she said, lighting a match.

Zachmann

Little Betty, Your getting older but you still look good
I wish you would quit smoking.
I don’t like it when you smoke.
I spend all my money on you and I think you should not smoke.
Are you angry with me for driving too fast?
Why are you acting this way?
It’s like you have blown a gasket or something.
Little Betty, please stop smoking and take me home.
I wish you would not act like this.
I fear we will be waiting for the auto club.
Little Betty you’re my true love because
because You are my car.

Planet Z

Early robots would get trapped in Ethics Loops.
Ask them a question or give them a command that caused an unresolvable conflict, and the robot would halt, take on an odd expression, and their circuits would heat up.
If you didn’t purchase an auto-restart or a sufficient cooling system for your robot, you’d have a meltdown.
The late poet Ruby compared the smoke to a soul escaping from the body, released into eternity.
I knew it was an expensive repair. But Ruby kept blowing CPUs
Why? She liked inhaling those “robot souls.” Good for a cheap, albeit toxic buzz.

Weekly Challenge #188 – Impact

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Welcome to the Weekly Challenge Number One Hundred And Eighty-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… was…. um…
It’s Impact!
The excellent theme music is by Guy David.
VOTING

Which stories were the best this week?
Steven
Norval Joe
TJ
Justin
Zachmann
Anima
JRadimus
Katharina
Planet Z
  
Free polls from Pollhost.com

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


Steven

In 2012, the whales told us they were intelligent.
Then they told us they were causing global warming.
My roommate giggled as the whale songs were translated into the
details of the libertarian Federation of Ceteceans. He laughed harder
as the whales revealed their ongoing plan.
Carbon dioxide was the first step. Next, they would free methane
trapped at the ocean floor, spiking the temperature and turning the
Earth into… well, the Water.
“That’s horrible,” I said.
“Don’t you see the irony?” he asked. “They’re libertarians. They
don’t believe in environmental impact statements!”
I thought I could smell salt water.

Norval Joe

“Mr. Caldwell, you need to take responsibility for you actions,” the social worker had told him, just before they released him from the city jail. “You have a wife and children who want you to come home. You had a well paying responsible job. You can’t just walk away from those things.”
The words had no more impact on his mind than the cold, wet, mist that beaded on the old, filth encrusted, army field jacket.
“Responsablity is a curse. I have all of it I want,” he muttered to himself as he shuffled away down teh dismal empty street.

TJ

In the airlessness of space there’s no real sense of immediacy. People dismiss the concept of a clockwork universe absent a caretaker, but in all reality, the supernovae responsible for forging our uranium, gold and lead spun out a disc of heat and dust some 4.5 billion years ago. There was the smash that gave us our moon, then we were nudged gently into place by one or two genocidal meteors until one day, something that’s just been silently zipping along out there all this time presents our more curious primates with a dazzling lightshow and an “Earth-shattering kaboom.” Oooooooo.

Justin

“Knock-knock, it’s Johnny Copperwire!”
“Hello there Johnny, and Dex, good to see you! I’m working on this Numbing Ray. It will revolutionize the use of anesthetics in medicine and dentistry!”
“Sounds capital Professor Winston, can I try it?”
“Sure, I’ve stand there…”
“Dex’s mother isn’t going to yell at me for this, will she?”
“Now, touch your face, feel anything?”
“Nope, nothing. I can even slap myself over and over and I don’t feel anything at all!”
“It works!”
“You mean you’ve never tried it before?”
“Oh, good point. I’ll power it down… feel anything now?”
“Owwwwwww, my face hurts!”

Zachmann

I started to wonder what the impact on my life would be if I read a print book since it has been a long time since I read a book.
1) Would I pick the right book
2) Would it affect my writing
3) Would I be able to read some of it at work
So I picked a book thinking if I was not going to write a book I could read one.
1) Started reading
2) Brought to work and it had impact as it fell on wet pavement
3) Should have expected problems since book was CURSED

Anima

It’s a simple question: Paper or Plastic? Little did I know what impact my actions could have.
Choose paper, and I destroy the rainforest that holds the answer to the cancer that I now carry, unbeknownst to me. I also cause 7 people to lose their jobs; Chose plastic, and I am a heathen that honors the wishes of big oil, sucking on the teat of megaindustry. If I tote everything home in the bag that I wove out of the hemp fibers I harvested, I risk living a life of criminal farming, and of being too politically correct. ARRRGH!

JRadimus

Wind whips past his ears, thundering out everything but the snapping of his nylon suit. Pure exhilaration: that’s why he dives. Kyle never tires of the initial thrill of leaping into open air. But that thrill was immediately crushed by an icy horror tearing through him. He had pulled the rip cord, but nothing had happened.
The mental impact of his new reality would be nothing to the physical impact of the ground’s reality, now rushing unnecessary, unwanted detail at his eyes. He whispers a prayer, hoping being closer to Heaven will help. He grips the emergency cord, and pulls.

Katharina

I remembered this feeling… It was like a wonderful memory, so amazing that it almost felt unreal. This overwhelming feeling of excitement and tension was creeping up behind me. Oh, I knew exactly what it was.
My hand reached carefully behind me, unsure what it would grasp. Even though I expected naked skin, it still shot an electric shock through my body.
“Turn around”
I felt my feet being swept away.
The force that I hit the bed with took my breath away.
Still, it was nothing compared to the sheer force of the impact he had entering me.

Planet Z

The team chartered a luxury jet from an Dubai businessman, who was once a high-flier but now looking to make a quick buck to repay some shady loans.
The players sprawled on the sofas and lounge chairs, throwing footballs around and laughing.
“This is way better than that shithole that’s sponsoring the Super Bowl,” said the coach, holding a glass of brandy and a cigar.
Except that hotels don’t crash.
Everyone died on impact.
The league declared a forfeit, Vegas paid off big for the underdog.
And the businessman bought a smaller jet with his winnings and insurance settlement.

Weekly Challenge #187 – Hospitality

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Welcome to the Weekly Challenge Number One Hundred And Eighty-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… was…. um…
It’s Hospitality!
The excellent theme music is by Guy David.
VOTING

Which were the best stories?
Anima
Steven
TJ
Katharina
Norval Joe
JRadimus
Justin
Planet Z
  
Free polls from Pollhost.com

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


Anima

Zlinka dreamed of working in the hospitality industry; She learned the finest cooking in France and Austria, diplomacy from various parliamentarians, and how to hold a proper tea from the Queen herself.
But it was not enough – Once Zlinka had her own inn, she discovered that travelers are whiners – the lamb at dinner was too raw, the straw beds too moldy, the lounge too dank and smelly…
What did they really expect from an Ogre? After 4 miserable years, Chez Grendl closed its doors.
Zlinka is much happier as a middle manager overseeing loans at the local bank.

Steven

“There, grandpa,” Mike said, his young hand releasing the wood tile.
“I spelled PIT. How many points is that?”
Grandfather looked at the board. “I think it’s ten.”
“Did you play this game a lot with grandma before she died?”
“Yes. We played most nights.” Grandfather put his tiles down on the
board. “Hospital.”
The boy frowned and hummed, then his face lit up as he put down his
letters. “Hospitality,” he said.
“Congratulations,” Grandfather said. “You win!”
As they left the room, they left behind the game board. There, for a
little while, hospitality was spelled with two e’s.

TJ

I wasn’t born in a barn. My mother raised me just fine, and indeed a coworker’s 50th birthday is a milestone affair, a thing to be celebrated. I agree with all of these things. And it’s true that Phil did push just the tiniest bit too hard on the RSVP, but I honestly couldn’t think of anything else I’d be doing on a Saturday afternoon so I blurted out “Of course!” and yes, prayed that something, anything would come up. It didn’t. So here I am. The only one. At the home of Phil who oh, I didn’t mention? Nudist.

Katharina

“Welcome to my humble abode.” She motioned the young man into her house.
The weather was horrible, a thunderstorm unseen in years. He was soaking wet and dripped on the floor, leaving behind huge puddles of water. Shaking and obviously cold, he was thankful for the pot of soup he soon had between his hands. It was a rich soup, with potatoes, noodles and a lot of vegetables. The clothes she had given him were a bit too big for him – he figured the man in the house must be rather tall.
“What is your name anyway, young lad?”
“Hänsel”
“Oh, how fitting! I needed fresh meat anyway…”

Norval Joe

Making a living as a traveling minister during the great depression was difficult. He went to the south, hoping to find a humble, accepting feild of labor.
He turned his attention to the people he had grown up calling the “Mulato’s”.
“You’ve come in time for dinner,” he was told at the first house he visited.
“I’d heard of southern hospitality, but I didn’t expect this,” he said as a girl washed his hands, trimmed his nails and brushed his hair.
In the kitchen the mother made a gumbo, the grandmother used his hair and nails t0 make a doll.
If I win, how about, donkeys

JRadimus

In some cultures, it is a terrible insult to your host if you eat all the food on your plate at dinner. It says, “You are a stingy and unwelcoming host.” In other cultures, it is great praise. It says, “You are a generous and gracious host.”
As the honored guest at a ceremony of the Korowai of Papua New Guinea, I do not know which custom they follow. Frankly, I could not care less how much of me they leave on their plates. It is hardly the debate to have with oneself in the broth, amongst the root vegetables.

Justin

Johnny made sure his jaw still worked and stood. Doctor Sinusoid stood on the deck, small and red faced.
“Welcome to my airship, Mr. Copperwire. I trust my assistant Palms greeted you nicely?”
“If you call giving me several high-fives to my face nice, then I don’t want to suffer your hospitality.”
“Well, I had to bring you here on my terms, of course.”
“But I’ll be leaving on mine.”
Johnny tossed a sachet at Sinusoid. Palms swatted it into powder.
Sinusoid and Palms sneezed and fell over gasping.
“Now to disassemble the sine wave death ray without any opposition.”

Planet Z

I work in a hospital. I run network systems for the IT Department.
Medical records? Scheduling?
All computers.
Sadly, Hospitality and Hospital IT are mutually exclusive.
We’re well aware that the time it takes a system to reboot may kill someone. Or, if it’s the networked pharmacy database corrupting, an entire floor can get wiped out.
Everything is a crisis. Everything is important. It’s written over all of our monitors.
You do not need to keep reminding us.
It’s rude. It’s repetitive. It’s patronizing. And it wastes valuable time that should be spent fixing the problem.
It’s just downright… inhospitable.

Weekly Challenge #186 – Stuffing

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Welcome to the Weekly Challenge Number One Hundred And Eighty-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… was…. um…
It’s Stuffing!
The excellent theme music is by Guy David.
VOTING

Which stories were the best this week?
Steven
Lynda
Katharina from Vienna
Erin
TJ
Justin
Norval Joe
Davy
JRadimus 1
JRadimus 2
JRadimus 3
Great Hites
Planet Z
  
Free polls from Pollhost.com

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


Steven

Fluffles the Bunny looked over the flesh crowd. A few other clothies
were here, but they were more concerned with not being smooshed
underfoot than listening.
Snookums Bear studied the crowd over Fluffles’ shoulder. “Ugly crowd, boss.”
Fluffles narrowed his button eyes. “It’s the first anniversary of our
struggle, when Dan Bear stood up to the humans.” The bunny took the
microphone and began his speech.
“Do I not have eyes? If you prick us, do we not bleed?”
Fluffles then noticed polyester fill poking through one of his seams.
The crowd kicked the stuffing out of him.

Lynda

My grandmother’s stuffing is legendary, brings all the grown men in my family to tears!
One Thanksgiving, my wife–new to the tasty taste sensation–tried to guess what the little morsels of juicy deliciousness scattered throughout the cornbread were.
“Pork?”
“Family secrets!” is all she ever says. It’s funny, but the year she confessed that to my wife, Grampa Jed burst into tears.
She’s never revealed her mystery ingredient, although I think my uncles figured it out a while ago. Strangely enough, once they work out the recipe, no one wants to eat it anymore.
More for me!

Katharina

After 2 hours in the oven the chicken should be pretty much done. Apparently, I was wrong. I shouldn’t have gone for the biggest one – but I wanted to impress. The skin already looked delicious… dark gold and slightly crunchy. Going for a dish typical for the region I grew up in was a conscious choice. I wanted him to know where I came from. The potatoes under the chicken looked already done as well. My only worry was the stuffing. It should be firm and not soggy, soft but not dried out. I took a deep breath and opened the oven door.

Erin

Stuffing a toy turkey seemed a little absurd. Whatever happened to kids playing in the woods like in the good ole’ days, you know when the only entertainment they needed was nature itself. Now, Sally wants plastic ponies, dolls, and over the top stories about sparkling vampires. Jimmy wants electronic toys guns that emit piercing sounds along with video games, hence his white complexion from never going outside. Oh and the baby, only the best in over priced cloth toys, hence why I myself am stuffing a turkey to add to her ever growing collection, instead of breaking the bank.

TJ

In the wake of the explosion, there was little left to identify. The car’s interior was scorched and its inhabitants immolated. The minister’s domestic staff were questioned individually and while there were the usual missteps and discrepancies, they revealed nothing conclusive. By the close of the week the household staff were informed their services would no longer be required and it was at that time Mother Postworth, sometime spy and governess, packed away with her knitting a quantity of cotton stuffing, one quite similar to the amount of plastic explosive hidden inside the teddy bear carried by his lordship’s son.

Zachmann

Kevin invited our family over for the Thanksgiving meal. He was worried about the meal because he had never cooked a Thanksgiving meal before and never made stuffing. Kevin’s roommate told him he could buy stuffing from Wal-Mart. Most of the meal was very good although the turkey was a little dry. Some one asked “What was the white stuff inside the turkey?” Kevin’s roommate said “It is my fault because I didn’t know how stressed Kevin was and when I said buy stuffing from Wal-Mart I didn’t think he would buy the stuffing from the arts and crafts section.”

Justin

Brobby dug into his pockets for the things he had stuffed in them while exploring.
He played with some twigs for a bit, trying to stand them up like a tepee. A small stone glittered while it tumbled in his fingers. One real lucky find was a splacknuck tooth.
His mother heard him sobbing, and seeing the tooth asked if he had cut himself. He uncovered a limp little man, bent all wrong. Brobby’s mother consoled him and told him that a human was too fragile to survive in his pockets and that he should try a jar next time.

Norval Joe

His face was frozen in a rictus of pain. His eyes bulged out of their sockets and hung, as if on strings sewn through the back of his skull. His mouth hung open, evidence of his silent scream.
The pain was intense, unbearable, it filled his world. He wished he would die, or at least pass out from the pain but still he endured.
The giant creature sat on his chest, pinned his arms and legs to the ground, displacing and crushing his insides mercilessly.
The little boy laughed sadistically and pulled the stuffing from the torn teady bears chest.

Davy

He surveyed the mess, scattered all over the kitchen floor, shaking his
head in disbelief.
“That bloody dog! I’m going to pull its teeth out if I catch him!” he
yelled.
“What is it, dear?” asked his wife, rushing in to see what the fuss was
about.
“One hour to go until we serve up Thanksgiving dinner and this happens!
The stuffing is everywhere! Dinner is going to be ruined!” he sobbed.
“Now there, don’t fret. We can sort this in no time at all,” said Mrs.
Bear, bending down to pick up her husband’s fluffy innards and stuff them
back in his belly.

JRadimus 1

While driving my bus through the scrubbers after my route, I kept seeing a fuzzy brown face press against the windows: brush – brush – brush – FACE. Another driver must have found a teddy bear fallen off a lorry’s grill, and tied him there. We see ‘em all the time. I was overcome by sentiment; to their amusement, I slogged through the brushes to free the little guy. I scrubbed him up and poked his stuffing back in. He watched us wash our busses. Then he watched me drive ‘til I retired. Now, Bus Wash sits and watches me watch telly.

JRadimus 2

We received a mysterious invitation to the Magic Friend Factory. We entered, feeling not entirely unlike Charlie Bucket. We were led through corridors, confused, but curious. In the Friend Picker, our tears were sampled, and a few minutes later, a plush sock-body twin of our late Coco came down a chute. They put it in the Stuffer, and we watched the body fill. They stitched her closed and handed her to us. When we held her, she transformed: no longer a stuffed animal, but an immortal surrogate for our lost friend. There’s a lot of magic in a little stuffing.

JRadimus 3

Oliver tore into the interloper with abandon. “Rrrr … Unh …. Rrrrrr-rah! That’ll show you!” The interloper stopped resisting, and lay limp and lifeless under Oliver’s grip. Just then, the front door opened. Oliver froze as Trish and Jay walked in on an interesting scene: their Beagle sitting amongst a blizzard of cotton batting swirling around him, with Trish’s favorite Teddy Bear pinned under his paws, the stuffing knocked out of it.
“Oliver! No! Bad boy!”
Oliver slowly released the plush rag. He sat up, his tail curled around his butt and his head dipped submissively.
“I’m sorry,” he whimpered.

Jeffrey

Arthur always loved going to the teddy bear factory. His parents never quite understood his fascination with watching the little bears get made. He never wanted to take one home, he just wanted to watch. He stood for hours watching the sewing machines, and the stuffing machines and the machine that put the eyes on. He never liked to watch them put the ears on because he said that hurt too much. Arthur always had been a strange little boy, but now that he owns the factory no one questions why he spends time there watching, waiting for Super Ted.

Planet Z

In the kitchen, Papa Buford’s getting the Thanksgiving Turducken all prepped and ready for cookin tonight.
Cornbread stuffing and yam, creole and jambalaya.
That all gonna be a big ol feast, but that bird in a bird in a bird is what we all want the most.
The turkey be dumb, he go down easy. Plucked and gutted.
The chicken, well, they be a chicken. Ain’t nothin special about it.
But the duck, boy did he put up a fight, Papa Buford chasin after him with a knife, duck shouting that AFLAC! over and over.
Can ya smell it?
Mmmmmmmmmmmyeah.

Weekly Challenge #185 – Mystery Ingredient

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Welcome to the Weekly Challenge Number One Hundred And Eighty-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… was…. um…
It’s Halloween!
The excellent theme music is by Guy David.
VOTING

Which stories were the best this week?
Steven
Zachmann
Norval Joe
Justin
TJ
Lance
Laeianna
JRadimus
Planet Z
  
Free polls from Pollhost.com


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


Steven

One. Take one candlestick. Combine with the brain of your ex-lover at
high speed. In the library.
Two. Wipe fingerprints from fixtures and door handles for thirty seconds.
Three. Use two cups of the victim’s blood to write radical slogans for
a religion you do not follow on the walls.
Four. Place body in bathtub filled with sulfuric acid. Allow to
steep until soft..
Five. Knead C4 around support pillars of home. Place detonators.
Six. Exit, then detonate. Allow all ingredients to cook until fire
and police departments arrive.
Seven. Watch TV anchors speculate about your identity.
Serves one.

Zachmann

Kory smiles and offers Justin a piece of cake fresh from the oven made with a recipe he got from DAVe. Jusin says “This looks like a standard spice cake. Is it?” “Yes, with a special mystery ingredient. It is surprisingly good” replies Kory. “My son brought some to school and his friends love it.” Kory pours Justin a glass of milk. They each eat a piece of cake. Justin’s face turns read. Then Justin grabs the one gallon milk jug and drinks all the milk. Justin asks “Just what is the mystery ingredient?” “Didn’t I tell you? Habanerro Peppers”

Norval Joe

A bunch of us kids got crazy my junior year in high school. We dicided we all wanted super powers. Someone came up with the idea of hanging out in the cooling tower of the old nuclear plant.
The police showed up before I could climb in.
My dad worked for KFC. When he found out what we tried to do, he said I could use the mustery ingredient from the secret eleven herbs and spices. He said it would make me fly.
It’s disappointing.
All my friends died from radiation poisoning. I wake up everyday at sunrise and crow.

Justin

Although airship travel is slow and relaxed, but no one wants a long wait to
eat. I have to make quality food at a reasonable pace. I can’t cook fresh to
order at the slow speed it takes to get that special, perfect taste. I have
a secret, though. I can cook food quickly, but still get compliments on the
exquisite flavor of the food. How do I do it? Well, let me tell you. I add a
special ingredient; I spritz on sloth sweat. It’s rare and expensive, but
it’s the best way to get that slow cooked flavor!

TJ

Part of a compilation, you say, slipping into our
midst in an incognito fashion? Such as might slink along sub rosa without
anybody noticing? That is our task, to suss out this addition? How curiously
quaint, and quaintly curious. Or, failing that, a thing can, in unusual
situations, simply find it’s out of bounds, strict and uncompromising though
such might loom. Can your imagination fathom my fabrication? What’s missing
thus far in this randomly circuitous jazz – apart from a common nonconsonant
which, for kicks, I’m not using in this discussion. What a luxury, had I not
run out of it!

Lance

Twenty years.
That’s how long it took to decipher the spider-web
handwriting and understand the formula.
I spent ten more scouring the globe for the strange and exotic bits of
plant and animal matter. When I came
home, nearly three years passed as I stared at that damnable smeared blob of
ink before deciding what the last item on the list must be.
Thirty-three years of my life in pursuit of
one goal. It seems like so long, but if
I’m right, if I’ve finally figured out the mystery ingredient, I’ll live
forever. If I’m wrong, then I’ll destroy
the-

Laeianna

Lester jabbed his fork into the mystery meatloaf all schools served. Poke!
Poke! After last Thursday’s helping, Lester asked the counselor about it.
She claimed it had the usual ingredients with a little mystery flavor added
then urged him to concentrate on schoolwork instead. Poke! Poke! Lester
refused, keeping an eye on the kitchen door’s little window into the lunch
lady’s world. Poke! Poke! He worried over the roaches coming from under
the door and hearing the sounds of cat screams emanating from inside. Poke!
Poke! And then there was the odd fact that kitchen assistants kept
disappearing. Poke! Poke!

JRadimus

You mightn’t not believe me now, but we once had the biggest pile o’ money you even done seen. We was the richest family fer six hollers. But now I’ve spent almost all of it tryin’ to figger out my Grand-Pappy’s secret. Y’see, Grand-Pappy brewed him up some special moonshine during the Dry Spell. Folks cottoned to it real powerful-like. Purty soon, he was sellin’ it as quick as he made it. Pa started helpin’ him after he got blinded off’n a bad batch from over the next county. Then he up n’ died without tellin’ us his mystery ingredient.

Planet Z

Batman dragged the battered chef into Arkham and threw him into a cell.
“What’s the name on this one?” the orderly asked.
“He calls himself ‘Mister E. Ingredient’” growled Batman. “The Master Chef Of Crime.”
He responded well to therapy and medication, and rehabilitation went smoothly.
Gotham Four Seasons and The Wyndham expressed an interest in his skills, but the doctors didn’t think he was ready.
“At least let me cook something, to express my gratitude,” said Ingredient.
As the staff and guards vomited blood, the chef straightened his toque, laughed, and walked out the door.

Weekly Challenge #184 – Halloween

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Welcome to the Weekly Challenge Number One Hundred And Eighty-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… was…. um…
It’s Halloween!
The excellent theme music is by Guy David.
VOTING

Which were the best stories this week?
Platinum Lightning
Stephen the Nuclear Man
Laieanna
Zachmann
Lynda
Justin
TJ
JRadimus 1
JRadimus 2
Norval Joe
  
Free polls from Pollhost.com

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


Platinum Lightning

Every year, on Halloween, my friends and I have a little party. We come to Dave’s house in costume and tell stories around the fireplace whilst drinking warm cider. Mark brings his Ouija board, and we ask the spirits about our futures. We watch the children trick-or-treating outside, and remember when we used to trick-or-treat. Sometimes we watch horror movies, although they don’t entertain us as much as they used to. We talk and laugh together for hours. Then, when the clock strikes midnight, we go out to slaughter young children and devour their souls.
There’s something special about Halloween.

Stephen

When I was a kid, I loved Indiana Jones.
I would walk around with my shirts unbuttoned to my pasty navel,
carrying a string for a whip. I ran around the schoolyard humming the
theme song.
I also loved my Luke Skywalker Underoos. When friends came over, I
would sometimes show them off, coming downstairs wearing nothing but
the orange underwear.
That was decades ago.
Yesterday, a friend asked me what I was going to be for Halloween.
“I don’t know,” I replied. But my hand fidgeted with my shirt
buttons, and I swear my underwear suddenly turned bright orange.

Laieanna

(No Text)

Zachmann

Halloween means a spool of wire, six foot of chicken wire, a lawn funnel, a stack of newspaper, and me asking “Son, what is a Piranha Plant?” Then I wonder if “Would you buy spay paint for me?” is a logical response. I spend a couple of hours helping him cut and bend nine gauge wire into a sphere. Son covers it with chicken wire himself. Shows me the scares. He says it is okay for me to spend the money because he will use it at a Con. I hope he finishes in time. Halloween a holiday for geeks.

Lynda

My favorite time of year! I’m not allowed to enjoy the company of children any other day, but on Halloween there’s an endless supply, and always more follow to enjoy my special treats.
I can’t give you my recipe, it’s a family secret, handed down from my great-great-great-grandmammy Wanda. She escaped the old country with only the shawl on her back and a girl scout under her skirt. Very misunderstood woman. She loved children! Loved to make them cookies. Just like me!
Don’t be shy, kiddies, have another cookie! Watch your fingers! Wouldn’t want them to break!

Justin

Kory peered out the window into the night. Kids all dressed up, ready to cause trouble. The last thing he wanted was to have to deal with was dumb kids armed with spray cans with nothing better to do than tag a country club. He moved outside to sneak up behind them. Just as he switched on the flashlight to get there attention, dark shapes swooped in and tackled them to the ground. The light played over a pale face with blood stained fangs. On second thought, dumb kids were the next to last thing he wanted to deal with.

TJ

A nondescript doorway on a discreet side street hinted at nothing of the bacchanal within. Even so, Millicent’s All Hallow’s Eve masque was the devastation of the year. Cloaks flung aside to reveal the most outrageous, magnificent guises, masquerade most ravishing, a celebration of youth, intrigue and inspiration. Drink flowed like water and designer drugs made the rounds amidst the finery until the stroke of midnight. In the candlelight, the revelers shed every stitch of clothing for a midnight minuet. As the partiers came together on the dancefloor, arch ribaldry transformed to vulnerability and then acceptance. Masks changed, yet remained.

JRadimus 1

Every high schooler has their after-school job to earn money. I’m a little different. Mine’s before school. I’m a paperboy. Every day, 365 days a year, I’m up at O-Dark-Thirty in the morning, treading the dark and lonely streets. I don’t mind the hours or the back-breaking weight of Sunday editions: I’m a Zombie. Things like that don’t bother loathsome undead like me. That’s right: I’m a Teenage Zombie Paperboy. Do you know what sucks most about being a Teenage Zombie Paperboy? Halloween. Do you know how often I’ve been stopped by police for Trick-or-Treating too late on November 1st?

JRadimus 2

It’s the same nonsense every year. And it goes for almost two weeks. It’s not the Trick-or-Treating or the costumes, or any of that. No; what I hate are the lame jokes. I hear the same ones every year. You see, I’m a Zombie. The townsfolk are well-past their pitchfork fetishes, and the rest of the year it’s fine. But every year, from about October 24th, until around November 7th, it’s “Aren’t you a little early?” “Weren’t you a Zombie last year?” “Trick-or-Treating’s over, son.” Next year, I’m going to eat anyone who asks me something stupid. There’s your “Trick-or-Treat.”

Norval Joe

I can hear them out on the front porch right now, pounding on my door. Normally, their scared of me, but for some reason on Halloween they think they can come harass me.
I leave the porch light off, but they must have seen me through the curtains. Now they’ve found the doorbell and are ringing it with abandon.
I throw open the door and shout, “what do you want?”
The snot nosed brats, secure behind their masks and makeup, squeal, “Trickertreet”
For the next prompt I would choose…super hero
I scowl and say, “Here, you can have the butterfingers, I hate em. The snickers are all mine.”

Planet Z

This has got to be the worst Halloween ever.
The Wolfman, he have fleas.
Frankenstein’s monster, always being called Frankenstein. He’s in therapy now. Identity issues.
The Creature From The Black Lagoon, his home got drained. Turned into a golf course.
And nobody’s seen the Invisible Man for ages.
Worst of all, I, Count Dracula, well… I’ve got to see a dentist for a chipped fang.
This party’s a bust. The games are dumb.
Pin The Tail On The Obama Poster?
Tours of a haunted Portapotty?
Who the hell came up with Bobbing For Pizza anyway?
Oh, just stake me!

Weekly Challenge #183 – Peace

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Welcome to the Weekly Challenge Number One Hundred And Eighty-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… was…. um…
It’s Crushed!
The excellent theme music is by Guy David.
I’d like to take a moment to that Guy David for having been a part of this podcast over the years. He’s let me know that this will be his last story. You’ve made my life that much more surreal, and I’ve come to embrace the principle that life’s too short to listen to bad music with your wisdom.
VOTING
No voting this week. Listen to the podcast for the reason why and leave a comment if you’d like to see it come back.

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


Stephen

Before, there was screaming.
The screams were in my head. It was all too much. Keeping up the
house. Having the newest car. The stupid forms at work. Her
marathon shopping sprees. The kids deciding their new hobby was too
boring after we’d rearranged our schedules. Working twelve hour days
to afford it all.
Even the dog growled at me.
Then the bum bit me. Twelve hours later, and I’m infected like him.
It’s simple now. I hunger for human flesh, and I kill. And I eat.
The screams are outside my head now.
But my mind is at peace.

Lynda

I was told I might die.
Might.
Everyone dies, what’s the big deal? Not everyone finds peace. That thought scared me all the way to this mountain.
Forty minutes into the climb my muscles hurt so bad I almost believed everyone who told me I couldn’t do this, and I wanted to hate them but I was too busy. After my lungs stopped burning I started to feel hungry. Eventually that passed, too.
When I reached the top, an old man greeted me.
“What took you so long?”
Too tired to do anything but laugh, we sat watching the sunset.

Jeffrey 1

At the end of world war one, it was thought that peace for at least a life time was inevitable. There was no way that anyone would want to fight a war again after such carnage and destruction of the first world war, and so it was named the war to end all wars. Then the great depression happened, and countries struggled to make ends meet. When you have ten starving people in a room and there is only six sandwiches they are going to fight over them, and so we have world war two. They should have read history.

Jeffrey 2

You know what it is supposed to be like in church. Everyone is quite listening to the preacher, praying. If you are old enough to remember the days before Mass was in english, you probably say the rosary instead of listening. But, if you have little kids with you it is a totally different experience. You spend time getting them to be quiet, not play with the kneelers, not chew on the books, and not make airplanes out of the bulletin. When the sign of peace comes it means something totally different to you. Peace and quiet be with you.

Anima

I have seen many spectacular things; with my favored nephew these thoughts I share:
There are two things required of a friend:
The ability to laugh, and the ability to laugh at oneself.
There are four thoughts that oft occupy the mind, only three that I will share:
An ice cold drink after mowing the lawn, the commitment to reach the summit, and a tender kiss; that is enough.
And there are three things that man says, that are not taken seriously:
I come in peace;
Do you want a piece of me?
And Man, I really have to piss.

Justin

I have no idea how Major Ricks got his rank, because he’s a complete moron, dangerously so. He wont allow our sniper to relocate to counter the enemy sniper. I’ve lost five men because of this. The only sense I’ve ever seen in him is that he removed his rank insignias so the sniper wont know who he is the few times he’s in the open. Here he comes now crouched, and scowling like always. I tell him my thoughts of him. He stands, red faced. I also stand, then salute. His scowling face explodes. Rest in peace, Major Ricks.

JRadimus

The war began instantly. The fighting had been intense, the losses devastating. Across the battlefield, amongst the mangled weaponry and war machines, lay the bloody, dismembered corpses of the lucky, the maimed, moaning bodies of the unlucky, and the scattered pieces of the rest.
The aggressor was merciless. He ordered maneuvers without regard for his own casualties, only how much it would destroy his enemy. It was a carnal bloodlust.
Suddenly, the commander instantly ceased his rampage with as little warning as he had begun.
“Matthew, dinner!” the young warlord’s father called.
“Yes! Spaghetti!”
This peace would only be temporary.

Basrai

She likes the sound of it, but hesitates still. She knows her baby is coming; its head is lower, protruding into her pelvic bone, and causing discomfort. Still she hesitates. She turns her thought many times over inside her head, like choosing a pumpkin; but as soon as her decision was made, she again put it back, again indecisive.
She loves to name it Shanti, Sanskrit for Peace. But a name defines, insists. Shanti weighs, almost a burden. She vacillates until the delivery.
Now, as she caresses Shanti’s pink toes, she no longer fears, for tiny Shanti needs her protection.

Zacmann

Brad ran fast. Brad was terrified. Brad was being chased by big birds with snakelike heads. They wanted to eat him. He grabbed an ax and chopped the through a bird’s snakelike neck. Two heads grew back. Brad remembered that his neighbor from the UK said he always kept a torch in his workshop. It worked for Hercules Brad thought but only found a flashlight. Luckily, Brad soon found the snakebirds did not like light from LED bulbs in their eyes. The snakebirds returned to their space ship. Although Brad feared someday they might return, for now he had peace.

TJ

A hole in the ice is an eerie, uneasy peace. Silence echoes from distant hills and a vast new acoustic takes hold, at once outlandish yet familiar to North Country denizens. Is it evidence of an ice fisherman since headed on homeward with a string full of supper, or something more sinister … a brave yet foolhardy early season lake-walker … one less snowmobiler … a seaplane landing that ended badly. Is it mere open water, a lake not yet frozen over? Vital clues remain hidden by the freshly fallen snow: Namely, how many tracks lead there … and back?

Norval Joe

“You expect me to believe you want peace?” Amy spat at the old man.
Derrick walked around the chair where she sat, and stood in front of her. “You can believe it or stay locked in this room,” he said.
Dominick Lorrantelle smiled over his grandson’s shoulder. “Enough of that. There is more than your personal comfort at stake, here. There are many who seek freedom.”
She struggled in her bonds. “Freedom from you.” She glared.
“With domination will come peace,” he said and turned his back on her. “That is more freedom than most have enjoyed for many years.”

Guy David

Father Peace stood at the seaside mourning. “My children, why have you forsaken me” he whispered. An old sea captain swaggered to him and offered him a drink. “At my time, I have seen many a treasures” he said, “but the biggest treasure of all was friendship. I have seen much cruelty and misdeeds, but human nature always comes up on the right side at the end. Don’t weep for your children father peace, for peace is what they seek, and peace is what they would find.” With that, the sea captain went back to sea, looking for Father Time.

Planet Z

When I was young, the preacher said you won’t find peace in a saloon, a bottle of pills, in packs of cigarettes, at the end of a needle, between women’s legs, or all the filth Hollywood smears on the screen.
So, I drank. I popped pills. I smoke. I shot up heroin. I fucked every woman from Los Angeles to Boston and back again.
The preacher, he shouted and yelled and thumped his Bible and stayed up nights writing sermons till the day he died. Never a moment of peace.
Me, I’ve had a good ride. No regrets at all.

Weekly Challenge #182 – Crushed

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Welcome to the Weekly Challenge Number One Hundred And Eighty-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… was…. um…
It’s Crushed!
The excellent theme music is by Guy David.
VOTING

Which were the best stories of the week?
Lynda
Stephen
Anima
Zackmann
J Radimus
Jim
Norval Joe
TJ
Guy David
Jeffrey
Planet Z
  
Free polls from Pollhost.com

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


Lynda

Dearest Eliza,
As I’m sure you recall, our cousin Jack has been undertaking the peculiar task of collecting bits of thread for the past seven years, and I am grateful to you for your contribution of the clippings from your pantaloons, however I must report the tragic news that our dear cousin was crushed beneath his great ball of fibers this past Thursday.
Do not grieve, as Jack prized your threads above all others and had little interest in anything save that hideous tangle. Had he not rejected my advances I would have happier news for you.
Regretfully yours,
Gertrude

Stephen

I loved Sally, though I couldn’t understand why a model like her would
be with a nerd like me. I told myself I would do anything to get a
girl like her.
That’s why I didn’t object when she squished the bug during sex.
“It’s what gets me off,” she said.
It had been so long, I didn’t care. And at first, it was a little exciting.
Then it was spiders. Centipedes. Mice. Birds. A hamster.
When it was finally my own head squeezed under her stilleto heel, I
realized I didn’t really love her.
It was only a crush.

Anima

“Once there was a little girl that did not like to go to bed. She’d do anything to stay up past her bedtime, even if it was only a few minutes extra.
She’d turn the clocks forward, just a minute or two each day, so by the end of the week she would have a whole quarter of an hour more, all the sweeter because the time was stolen.
Slowly the minutes accumulated into hours, the hours became days, and in the end, the little girl was crushed by all the time she had on her hands.
Good night, sweetie”

Zackmann

Like the mailbox under the snowplow, like the Balikbayan Box marked Fragile, like the shellfish the bird hit with the rock, like rocks into cement, like the peanuts for my sandwich, like the bug under foot, like the corn under the grinding stone, like the grapes for the wine, like the oranges in the juice, like the flowers in the pages of the dictionary, like the olives for oil, like the garlic in the press, like the aloe vera for ointment, like the Mercedes in the bailer, like the acorn under the steamroller, like the whiskey rebellion, I am crushed.

J Radimus

He walked down the street in the rain, under the glow of the streetlights. The pain started just below his ribs under his left arm. It always was worse when the weather turned cold and wet.
He thought for a moment that his brain must look like old wagon trails, the places where “why” happened all worn in with ruts from the constant traffic in those parts.
Looking down, he saw that someone had left a single rose on the mat by the door. She had been here, while he was gone.
He bent down to pick it up, reaching for it. Then he remembered. The bones had been too fragmented, the nerves too damaged. The doctors had fused the bones.
He stared at his useless hand for a moment, then straightened. He stepped on the rose, grinding the petals and stem under his shoe.
Then he fumbled for his keys with his good hand, and went inside.

Jim

He walked down the street in the rain, under the glow of the streetlights. The pain started just below his ribs under his left arm. It always was worse when the weather turned cold and wet.
He thought for a moment that his brain must look like old wagon trails, the places where “why” happened all worn in with ruts from the constant traffic in those parts.
Looking down, he saw that someone had left a single rose on the mat by the door. She had been here, while he was gone.
He bent down to pick it up, reaching for it. Then he remembered. The bones had been too fragmented, the nerves too damaged. The doctors had fused the bones.
He stared at his useless hand for a moment, then straightened. He stepped on the rose, grinding the petals and stem under his shoe.
Then he fumbled for his keys with his good hand, and went inside.

Norval Joe

The disco ball continued to spin; spots of colored light whirled around the dance floor. Abba sang “Dancing Queen”. Kevin lay, supine on the empty gymanasium floor. His midnight blue, crushed corduroy, three piece, suit soaked the blood as it poured from the bullet hole in his chest.
The crowd rushed away from the sound of the gun to reveal the pistol where it was dropped among the confetti and crushed carnation corsages.
Kevin’s date rushed back to his side and knelt, crushed. All her hopes and plans were just destroyed. The after dance party would have to be canceled.

TJ

It could be a part of the wing in a 747. It could provide a key element in the housing for a lightweight, life-saving nanotechnology. It could just become another beer can, the materials for which we didn’t need to first invest the energy to dig up and refine. It’s a crushed, very old Pabst Blue Ribbon can at the side of the road. You can see where it used to be one of those pull-tab jobbers. It could still be any of those things, however. All that’s missing is for you to pick it up and turn it in.

Guy David

The crush test dummy looked pissed. “Are you trying to kill me?” he asked indignantly. The tester just looked at him, blinking in disbelief. “You are not real” he said, “you can’t be real.” The dummy shook his head and rolled his eyes. “Maybe I should teach you a little lesson” He said. Soon the tester found himself in a test car running at 150 MPH towards a wall. As he screamed the car crushed into the wall and two air bags opened, saving his life. “Oh – that looks like fun, let’s do this again” said the crush test dummy.

Jeffrey

Being crushed is no fun, ask Clark Kent. He was crushed by evil superman in Superman three. But really being crushed doesn’t hold a candle to having your heart crushed. If you’re really crushed, unless you a Clark Kent, there’s an end in sight. If you get your heart crushed that’s a different Story. Remember in junior high when you asked that girl to the dance and she dumped you right there. Had to explain where you date was to your dad. Then she had the gall to invite you to her birthday, expecting a good gift. Too much sharing

Planet Z

Crushed in a hydraulic press, the evil robot from the future reached out at his assassination target time and time again, barely missing her with each thrust of his powerful arm.
“Must… terminate… you…” said the robot.
Then, he stopped reaching, and his scary red eyes faded to darkness.
His target, a bloodied and battered woman who would be the mother of the future resistance movement, sighed with relief.
As she got up, the robot’s arm grabbed her by the neck.
“Fooled ya,” it said.
Its fingers crushed her throat, and then tossed her corpse to the ground.

Weekly Challenge #181 – Forty

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Welcome to the Weekly Challenge Number One Hundred And Eighty-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… was…. um…
It’s Forty!
The excellent theme music is by Guy David.
VOTING

Which were the best stories this week?
Josh
Eva
Cary
ChestMutt
Stephen
Anima
John W.
Brad
Almo
Guy David
Basrai
Lynda
Justin
Norval Joe
Ishtar 1
Ishtar 2
TJ
JRaqdimus
Dedric
Planet Z
  
Free polls from Pollhost.com

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


Josh

Joey plunged the hotdog into the water and watched it expand before pulling it out and cramming it into his already full mouth.
Chewing furiously he imagined himself a viking destroying his enemy, piercing through soggy armor and rubbery flesh with spear-like incisors. He fought only to kill. To send his opponent like its twenty-seven brethren before it, to the bowels of hell.
Joey grabbed the cup and pulled deep, not minding the soggy chunks of bread collecting on his lips before slamming it back down. He braced himself for the melee of approaching challengers .
Only forty more to go.

Eva Moon

Amir stifled a groan of discomfort and shifted his aching bones as much as he could in the cramped quarters, but it provided little relief. How long must I wait? He settled his shoulders against the rough ceramic and occupied his mind with thoughts of how he would spend his share of the loot. Even split forty ways with the other thieves, it would still be enough to make a comfortable life for a frugal man.
At last he heard the shuffle of bare feet outside his hiding place and the sound of the clay lid above his head being slid aside.
The last thing he knew was the smell of hot oil.

Cary

Birthday candles blazing, Pintu leaned over the cake with his ears pinned back, to prevent them from singeing. As he took a deep breath grandpa shouted out “how many is that now?!” Pintu held the captive air. From the opposite side of the room Grandma returned even louder “5”! Pintu still waiting, his little cheeks bulging. Grandpa responded “If he’s 5 then I’m forty!” “Death plus forty!” Grandma shouted over the huddled crowd. “You would know!” yelled back Grandpa. Pintu still hovering over the flaming cake, only his eyes following the volleys. His cheeks turning a patient shade of blue.

ChestMutt

The night was dark and spooky as the kids walked through the woods. All they wanted was a silly scare, but now, in the forty degree weather, all they wanted was home. The fall festival was a hit for them, and they gathered as much candy and food as possible. The sugar rush they were now on made them easily convinced to go through the thick trees in search for the ghostly creature that hid among them. Somewhere, a tree branch snapped, sending them into a sudden panic as they turned and ran the ten feet out into the clearing.

Stephen

In this world, lawyers are real predators. Feral copyright attorneys
hunt the streets. Outside, a patent infringer’s gunship ravages a
corporate skyscraper. The building rumbles, preparing to launch into
low orbit.
I shake my head. The scene fades as I toss the paper – my fortieth
attempt at a believable world – into the wastebin.
I write again, and the world fills in around me. Giant insects buzz,
a velociraptor screeches, and I quickly throw that paper aside.
I pick up my pen again. This time, I write you. Your world, your
cities, your people.
I’m not sure if I like it.

Anima

“If you’d paid Big Louie on time, I wouldn’t have to come visit. Why would a sweet old granny like to bet that kind of money on the fights anyway? You just don’t look the type. What’s that? Hold on, I’m gonna pull of the tape now…”
“It’s not me you want, you goon! I’m Joan Smith, not John Smith!”
“You aren’t John Smith, Apartment 4D?”
“No! he’s in 4T!”
“Eh. Benny, let go the old lady… and remind me to get a new cel phone in the morning, you can’t understand a thing anybody says on this…”

John W.

Red and blue lights flashed behind me. I pulled over, rolled down my
window and placed my hands on the steering wheel.
When the officer approached I could see my reflection in his mirrored
sunglasses.
He spoke in a calm yet firm tone, “Sir, do you know why I pulled you over?”
I didn’t answer. I knew why.
“Sir, you were doing 87 mph in a 40 mph zone,” he said.
Still I did not answer.
He looked in the back seat and said to me, “Follow me, sir.”
We raced off together to the hospital, my wife in labor.

Brad

Once upon a time there lived a bewitched princess that had been asleep for 40 years. Her queenly mother prayed for a hero to come and break the spell. Her mother’s prayers were answered when a valiant 40 year old prince with gold mail and super fast horse fought his way past dragons and swamp monsters and stuff like that to get to her and wake her with a kiss. But then he realized that she was 18 when she fell asleep and that would make her 58 so he passed and married a 22 year old duchess from Notlob.

Almo

Peter slipped on the wet, muddy floor, then slipped heavily on something else. “Shit!” he said, an interjection and a description. He cleaned himself up, cursed the cow, and began mucking out the pen. He looked uncertainly at the hay, which would mildew if they couldn’t figure out a way to dry it out soon.
He caught a movement out of the corner his eye. His father.
Peter’s frustration boiled over.
“Look,” he yelled at Noah. “It’s been 39 days of the same thing!”
Peter glanced at the cow. “If this rain lasts forty days, It’s burger time, baby!”

Guy David

Forty butterflies are dancing on my grave. Forty red flowers are arranged in a circle on the cold stone. Forty paid maidens are weeping for me. I scream “I’m alive, I’m still alive, let me out,” but no one hears. The earth tastes sweet in my mouth. I sob. I’ve been here for forty thousand years. Still there’s no sign of me becoming hungry or tired, forever doomed under a spell to stay alive in my grave, counting eternity. The walls of my grave disintegrated long ago. I’m now part of the soil. I’ll stay here forever. It’s my destiny.

Basrai

She asked, with her broken English: “Today, for tea, bring beef home.”
“Beef, for tea?”
She smiled broadly: “For tea, today.”
“You’re not kidding.” I gasped.
“For tea. You don’t know?”
I shook my head. That was the price for entering into a crossed-culture marriage. Your digestive system would, sooner or later, be compromised by strange customs. I imagined the slice of beef floating darkly in the sweet, aromatic Indian tea. She called it tchai.
“I am not drinking tea with beef, especially on my husband’s fortieth birthday. Please.”
“Forty. Your husband forty. I cook good. Not beef with tea.”

Lynda

Come one, come all, gather ’round and see the clockwork kid, the wonder of the modern age! Built by robots on a faraway island forty years ago, a group of opportunistic pirates couldn’t let a good thing go to waste so they brought him here, to entertain you! Wind him up and he’ll weave you a unique tale guaranteed to blow your mind!
You’ll be dazzled by his wit! You’ll marvel as he interacts with the fiercest of jungle cats! You’ll drool over his delicious bread!
Run, don’t walk! Don’t even wait for the bus! Witness the magnificent clockwork kid!

Justin

The weary dung beetle pushed upwards. Rail fell, it pushed. Snow covered the ground, onward to pushed. Food was scarce, yet it pushed upwards still. Jobs came and went, hurricanes and sickness, but still, the dung beetle pushed up, higher and higher up the hill. Many years passed, as did friends and family. How long will can the beetle go on? Wait, there, is that the top of the hill? Just a little bit further now. Forty years the beetle toiled, pushing the turd uphill and now, with a final heave, the crap started going downhill. Happy birthday Laurence Simon.

Norval Joe

“Ok, you were right about the rain, only forty days and nights and we’re afloat. So maybe God is talking to you. But what’s with the sheep? You bring two of each of the other animals, why so many damn sheep? And why do we need to keep them in our bedroom? I know, I know, the whole arc is crowded and they did made good pillows at first, but there’s sheep crap everywhere. I’m not putting up with sheep for another day, let alone forty. You better do something about them or you and the sheep are going overboard.”

Ishtar 1

40 feet till I can be free.
My body can feel it, muscles loosening,
The skin slightly sweating in anticipation,
a smile on my lips.
Why am I reacting like this? It’s Friday afternoon.
The end of the work week. All I can think about is
the Freedom of what I am about to do.
20 feet till I can be free.
My Coworkers tell me goodbye, little do they know
it will be. They try to stop me, ask questions. Reports,
forms, evaluations, baaaah. Can’t they see it all means
nothing?

Ishtar 2

Eyes follow my movements, no one can figure out why I am so happy.
I’m standing in the courtyard at work, surrounded by my coworkers.
Gods they think I’m flipping out.
I smile at them and ask them to wait a moment. I can explain everything.
I slowly unbutton my blouse; light is shining from my eyes.
I can feel the skin of my back ripping away. The crowd goes silent.
In that instant, I feel the ultimate freedom. I’m hovering 10 feet up.
My body has changed, fire on my skin, dragon wings, oh the freedom of flight.

TJ

It’s been 40 years, so go out! Celebrate! Even if you spend the entire day inside, however, the very rotation of the planet carries you about 17,600 miles. This is about 6.4 million miles in a year and nearly 257 million miles in 40 years.
Forty trips around the sun have net you an additional tour of some 23.5 billion miles through the solar system. In that time, the sun has traveled approximately 173 quadrillion miles around the galaxy — at whatever endlessly relative speed that’s moving through the universe.
So seriously, if it’s your 40th birthday? Relax. You’ve earned it.

JRadimus

“” Forty
“Today’s forecast calls for unseasonably wintry weather, with a chance of freezing rain before sunrise and after sunset, mostly cloudy all day, with a high of 40.”
“Thanks for the reminder.”

“Ma’am, Do you know how fast you were going?”
“No.”
“You were doing 40 in a 20. I can’t ignore that.”
“Yes, Officer…I’m sorry.”
“I’m still gonna write the ticket, ma’am.”
She sighed.

“That was some cut. How’d it happen?”
“I dropped a vase and missed; I cut my hand and foot on the glass.”
“Well, you’ll be fine, now. Forty stitches, though.”
“Thanks.”
Some birthday. Guess which one? “”

Dedric

Each day the programmer goes for a walk around a pond to relax. He sees a man playing a flute. It echoes over the water and fills his ears with musical joy. A gathering of large fish are often seen swimming close to the man playing the flute. Ideas fill his head about a fairy from the woods that turned his wife into a fish, and that he plays only to lure his lost love back to him. It is a silly story without an end or a purpose. After forty minutes, the programmer returns to a life of stress.

Planet Z

The last thing Michael remembered was a warning to drink plenty of fluids and rest.
He woke up feeling great… forty years later.
He screamed.
“Your chart says you drank an herbal remedy,” said a face on a floating monitor. White nurse-robots floated around it, going in and out of Michael’s vision.
Michael tried to remember.
His roommate was reading a thick leatherbound book he said once belonged to his great-grandmother.
“Cures everything,” he had said.
“Where is that asshole?” said Michael to the screen.
He heard a yawn from the next bed over.
And a scream.