Category: Weekly Challenge

Welcome to the Weekly Challenge Number One Hundred And Sixty-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 That’s not thunder, it’s….
The excellent theme music is by Guy David
VOTING

Which were the best stories this week?
	Guy David from http://guydavid.com
	Mick from http://someotherscotland.blogspot.com/
	TJ from http://tjaman.libsyn.com/
	Planet X-ray from http://planetxpodcast.com/
	Lynda from http://sisterpepperspray.blogspot.com/
	Anima from http://zabbadabba.com/
	Ellybean
	Justin from http://www.thespaceturtle.com/
	Daniel from http://dannymachal.com/
	Norval Joe from http://norvalsoutlook.blogspot.com/
	Planet Z
Free polls from Pollhost.com

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

---

Guy David

The rules are simple. For every time I touch her, I have to wash three dishes. For every time we kiss, I have to take out the trash free times. For every time I touch one of her nipples, the laundry have to be made three times. It’s a dangerous game, but I play, forever bewitched by my love. Tomorrow, we are going to make love. I can only guess what the consequences would be. If you don’t hear from me by this time tomorrow, please spread my remains across the river and send my undying love for my lady.

Mick Bordet

I have drifted across these prairies and wandered along this trail for so many long, lonely years to no avail, but now that I have found you and can hold you in my arms, I can’t resist falling for your deadly charms. And I wonder how long it will be ’til the day that our love is torn apart by the games that we play.
With your animal instinct and my steel forty five, I am waltzing with werewolves, in love to survive. The full moon will highlight the claws of my bride; waltzing with werewolves, silver by my side.

TJ

The clock on the mantlepiece struck midnight as Miss Scarlet entered the lounge through the secret passageway. She froze, her heart in her throat as heavy footsteps passed in the hallway. She knew what she’d seen – or rather, what she hadn’t. The missing candlestick in the conservatory, the body splayed out, dark blood pooling … it was too horrible. As she moved to settle her nerves with a brandy, the looming shadows in the room disclosed her assailant. She shrieked, too late, her suspicions confirmed: Mrs. White, in the Lounge now, poised to strike once more with her bloodied candlestick.

Planet X-Ray

Mike’s lips and tongue traced a moist path from one freckle to another along
Linda’s soft neck and shoulders. As he reached under her loose fitting
peasant blouse, he cupped each of her small but firm and perky breasts in
his hands, messaging them gently.
“How do you like that little girl? You want more?” Mike asked.
A moan of emitted from Linda’s lips as Mike brushed back her pigtails and
softly nibbled on her left ear.
Softly Mike spoke into her ear, “Maybe tomorrow night we can play nurse and
doctor?”
Linda just answered, “Ahhhh… The games we play”.

Lynda

I didn’t mind so much when my family put me in a home because I never liked those
selfish bastards, and once I discovered strip bingo night I was sorry I didn’t
commit myself sooner!
At first it was a little weird, watching my new neighbors struggle to get their
shirts off when their first numbers were called, and I regretted having my cataracts
removed when some of them got close to winning, but then I made a load of new
friends when I yelled that all I needed was an O69.
That old coot Harold Blonksy hasn’t stopped laughing.

Anima

White pawn to dee four.
“I noticed your van double parked– Looks like you could use a hand…”
The classic opening move; Does this sound sincere?
Black pawn to dee five.
“I do have two, but if you are offering assistance…”
Queen’s gambit! This one’s a little sharpie… I like that!
White pawn to cee four.
“I have to run down the street for a few minutes, but I’ve got time to help
you move the rest of those boxes if you can wait. You shouldn’t have to do
all this manual labor alone…”
Will the queen accept or decline?

Ellybean

The fact that there was more liveliness in this place than there had been
for years brought joy to the families of the community so Greta knew her
team was counting on her. This shot could make or break everything they
worked so hard for. Saying a little prayer, she swung by the sweat of her
brow. The ball glided down the smooth surface and strike, she had made the
shot!
Cheers were let out all around! Greta had proudly won. She passed the wii
remote to the next player and a boisterous man declared “Prune juice is on
me!”

Justin

Marcus turned and fled. He dodged a torrent of pulse laser blasts. Dirt
showered everywhere. A boulder exploded near him and red filled his vision.
More zombies rose and Marcus slowed as they grasped at his. Guts flew around
him as zombies were massacred by the hail of beams and rockets. An
increasing number of explosions tossed him clear of the zombies. He headed
towards a knee-high fence and tried to jump it several times unsuccessfully.
A rocket hit him exploding him into giblets.
Marcus shoved the keyboard away, shouting at the screen.
“Stupid game! Let me jump the fence!”

Daniel

I drove my silver 1932 Roadster down to the Boardwalk.
This car is a real panty dropper, but I prefer to pay for the good stuff.
I blew my wad on the hooker and hotel.
Didn’t matter.
Payday was right around the corner.
I cruised around town to Marvin Gardens to get some blow, the good stuff.
Not the third rate shit they cut with baking soda over on Baltic Ave.
Live fast, die young.
I drove the panty dropper toward my house on Pacific to get high and die.
Didn’t see that damn cop until it was too late.

Norval Joe

Kent was excited to be at a party attended by most of the freshman at his small high school.
He was chunky and had complexion problems that facial clensers didn’t begin to clear.
He sat quietly in a group of the most popular kids in his class.
Someone put an empty bottle on the table and gave it a spin. It stopped and pointed at the head cheerleader.
“Truth or dare”, the football captain said.
“Dare,” she replied.
“I dare you to kiss your true love,” he grinned smugly.
She turned and gave Kent the first kiss of his life.

Planet Z

There was only one comic book, and both Bobby and Joey wanted it.
“Noisehair duel,” they said together and nodded.
“First one to cry or bleed loses,” said Joey.
Bobby didn’t cry when he broke his arm. Or his leg.
Joey didn’t cry at his father’s funeral.
They were cold, heartless kids. Numb to the core, the world had destroyed their capacity for tears.
Bobby and Joey passed the tweezers back and forth, the tiny pile of nose hairs growing slowly on the kitchen table.
Joey drew first blood, a tiny trickle of red.
Bobby took the polyethylene bag, smiling.

Welcome to the Weekly Challenge Number One Hundred And Sixty-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 That’s not thunder, it’s….
The excellent theme music is by Guy David
VOTING

Which were the best stories this week?
	Jeffrey from http://GreatHites.blogspot.com
	Toni
	Dale from http://daleinnis.wordpress.com/
	Norval Joe from http://norvalsoutlook.blogspot.com
	Lewis from http://lewismoten.com/
	Guy David from http://www.guydavid.com
	TJ from http://tjaman.libsyn.com/
	Justin from http://www.thespaceturtle.com/
	Lynda from http://sisterpepperspray.blogspot.com/
	Danny from http://dannymachal.com/
	Anima from http://zabbadabba.com
	Planet Z
Free polls from Pollhost.com

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

---

Jeffrey

“I can’t there is just too much noise here, and if it does not stop, ill”
“You’ll what? Come on Jack, get me out,” said the harp “it is just thunder, which is a by product of the electrical discharge between the ground and the clouds you see. The electrical potential of one gets high while the other stays the same, then there is a discharge to even things out. The discharge is so hot it burns up the air and thunder is the sound of air rushing in to fill up the vacuum.”
“But that is not thunder it’s.”

Toni

The city commissioners of Valparaiso met with attorneys today in an executive session closed to the public that for once did not violate Florida’s Sunshine Law. Val-P resident Fred sat next to FWB resident Bob at a bar discussing Valparaiso’s Freedom of Information Act lawsuit against the Air Force regarding the BRAC decision to base F-35’s out of Eglin AFB, and the countersuit against Valparaiso by the city of Fort Walton Beach.
“That wasn’t thunder, was it?” Bob asked.
“No, that was just the Explosive Ordnance Disposal unit detonating a bomb. If it had been the F-35 Lightening II Joint Strike Fighter, Val-P wouldn’t have commissioners or lawyers anymore.” Fred replied.

Dale

That wasn’t thunder.
That was a barrel rumbling rough down a concrete ramp.
That was the surf, two blocks over.
It was march music playing on an old stereo,
the window half-open to the evening air.
It was an explosion, big and slow, off in the anonymous distance.
But it wasn’t thunder.
Thunder would mean rain,
and rain would drive them separately inside, out of the
big dim world, out of the lot beside the basketball court.
And that would mean another day gone, another week nearly gone,
the whole summer, impossibly, nearly gone.
And he still hasn’t kissed her.

Anima

“Bidoc Jackley, you’ve outdone yourself with this roast tapuc. This whole campsite really…. I was dreading trekking with you, you’re normally quite hopeless at roughing it.”
“Thankye, thankye, Dregrin; I’ve decided to improve myself. I’ve been reading this book – It’s called a Boy Scout Manual… I wonder what a boy scout is… I bought it from that crazy wizard Saruman of Isengard. I also picked up cheap this multicolored robe, for Midsummer’s Feast.”
“Aren’t you the Kali hobbit– you’d wear that frilly thing?”
“Did you hear that? I think it’s going to rain…”
“That’s not thunder~ THAT’S A DRAGON!”

Norval Joe

Keith sat behind his mother as she drove the family to the next town.
The rest of the family slept.
Keith said, “Mom. I want to leave the group. I know were a family, but I need to explore what I can do on my own.”
Shirley sighed, “I know Lori has become schizophrenic and Danny is using Meth, but these are all things we can work out.
The was a rumble from the back of the Partridge families patchwork bus.
“Was that thunder?” Shirley asked.
“No, I’m sure it was just Chris again,” Keith said and opened a window.

Lewis

A large rumbling sounded in the corner of the room
Jenny poked her head up and looked around
“What was that?” she asked
Her father turned to her. “It was thunder!”
“That wasn’t thunder;” her mom said from the other room.
She came into the room and gave Jenny’s dad a bad look.
“It was your father farting!”
Jenny went back to drawing with crayons under the end table
Later that night, Jenny’s parents found the paper and put it on the fridge.
Drawn on the paper was Jenny, her mother, and a scribbled brown cloud
of gas named Dad.

Guy David

That wasn’t thunder, that was Thor’s hummer coming down on the bus. The bus, being a patchwork bus just fell apart. “Oh well, last station” said Elvis. The passengers got off what was left of the bus and looked around them, bewildered. Hacker picked his computer and got ready to go. The tin man, being at last free after being embedded in the bus swung his ax and neatly separated each passenger into two parts. “Guess I can finish my coffee now” Said Goergy Ghost. As he drank, the coffee poured through his missing half and stained the concrete floor.

TJ

A thunderstorm had been in the forecast all week. The dusty town of Rugby, North Dakota, had almost stopped daring to hope. Two months into a drought, Jim’s garden was suffering, his grass was yellowed and crunched underfoot. Sure enough, Friday’s sky changed, lowering clouds scudding ahead of the stormfront.
In bed that night, Jim reveled in rain against his window, lightning flash and a satisfying crash. At daybreak, however, he saw twisted wreckage of a nearby grain elevator explosion, a pile of grain outside his house. The storm had moved to the south. They’d only caught destructive, galeforce winds.

Justin

The moon barely lit the misty landscape as Marcus drove. *
These country roads wind too much!*
He cranked the wheel to avoid, what, a giant dog? He hit his head when he
ran into the ditch. Groggy, he climbed from the car to see a miniature pony
near a broken fence. Dogs barked, a farmhouse loomed silently. Moans drifted
from the fields. Marcus saw Hungry Dead rising up. He scrambled into the car
and spun wheels uselessly. A zombie bit the pony. It kicked, shattering the
drivers window. The dead cut themselves on shards of glass as they climbed
in.
—
Marcus fumbled with the passenger handle and fell out despite zombies
grabbing at his legs. He ran into the fields. A flash of light lit the sky
and a second later the night boomed. He thought it thunder, but a glance
behind proved him wrong. Plumes of smoke rose from his smoldering car. Half
of a bumper landed beside him as his speed slowed. A few zombies shambled to
their feet near the wreckage. Traces of light punched through them and they
fell into several bleeding chunks. Metal glinted in moonlight as a towering
destroyer bot emerged from the mist.

Lynda

My father loved to tell me bullshit stories during thunderstorms.
His favorite involved dinosaurs stampeding out of a crack in the earth. I guess it was one he’d been told. He was struck by lightning three times.
Years later my uncle explained that the rumble I was freaking out over was from static electricity in the clouds. I calmed down, enjoyed the rest of the barbecue, and fell in love with science.
I told this story to the Dr. Wu when the power went out, and he laughed.
He said, “That wasn’t thunder, that was the dinosaur we cloned, escaping.”

Danny Machal

Little Jacob took cover under his Blankey to hide from the scary noise.
“Dad?” he squeaked out.
Nothing.
A massive boom and crackle forced him to put his hands over his little ears.
‘Just a bad dream. Mom says they can hurt me,’ he thought.
His eyes began to burn and water. Was something on fire?
He left Blankey’s protection and crawled on his knees to see if the
door was hot.
He dropped to the floor at the sound again and wept.
Jacob heard Mommy’s muffled voice, “Go sleep downstairs, that is
disgusting. No more chili night.”

Planet Z

That’s not thunder, it’s just the ambassador smashing his tentacles against the ship’s hull.
I wish he’d use the intercom, but his species isn’t known for tact or sleeping soundly.
I hope the reinforcement patches hold. The hull breach alarm is really loud.
It’ll be the third ambassador we’ve lost this year.
He really should be transported in a water tanker, but he insisted on our cruiser as befitting his rank.
Just like the last two.
We can’t sleep-freeze the squid, so the best we can do is seal things up and…
Red light. Alarm.
This time, you call Earth.

Welcome to the Weekly Challenge Number One Hundred And Sixty-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 Shrouded in Mist.
The excellent theme music is by Guy David
VOTING

Which were your favorite stories this week?
	Justin from http://www.thespaceturtle.com
	TJ from http://tjaman.libsyn.com/
	Lewis from http://lewismoten.com
	Guy David from http://www.guydavid.com/
	Mick from http://norvalsoutlook.blogspot.com
	Norval Joe from http://norvalsoutlook.blogspot.com
	Jeffrey from http://greathites.blogspot.com/
	Lynda from http://sisterpepperspray.blogspot.com
	Danny from http://dannymachal.com
	Anima from http://zabbadabba.com
	Planet Z
Free polls from Pollhost.com

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

---

Justin

The sliver of moon shone onto the obscuring mists. A lone car traveled slowly along the road that wove amongst the fields. It swerved, narrowly missing an escaped miniature pony and ran into a ditch. Dogs barked, but no one came from the farmhouse. The driver climbed out. From the fields of mist arose the hungry dead. The driver unawares until one grasped his shoulder. Scrambling back into the car, the driver spun his wheels, getting nowhere. The horse spooked and kicked, breaking the driver’s window. The dead cut themselves on shards of glass as they climbed in to feast.

TJ

Tiny flecks of dew sparkled on the fine hairs of her forearms, adding to the illusion of sinful gaudy display in the encumbered moonlight. A fine night for a walk, Goody Williams thought, luxuriating in the sensation of her lustrous auburn hair, gathered by day into a proper bun, now flowing freely about her naked shoulders. Any other night the city fathers would surely flog her in stocks but not this night, she mused. Shrouded as she was in night, the deep Salem mists wrapped about her skin, she was free as Godiva and yet modest as her puritanical mother.

Lewis

I heard stories of a wise person once that lived on a mountain.
The path to wisdom was said to be shrouded in mist.
The guru’s sight was able to pierce through the depths of your own.
Your life is an open book without words.
I decided to take the trek to find the man.
I found a village where many people spoke of the same story.
They pointed to the mountain above the town; its peak was hidden by clouds.
The journey up the mountain took two days.
At the top, I found a shack with only a mirror.

Guy David

Heavy mist lifted above the graveyard. Georgy Ghost has risen above his grave, stretched and yawned, then got ready for his morning exercises. “Have to keep in shape” he told Jenny Ghost who’s also been rising. “You don’t say” she said. Her chin had fallen and she had to pick it up and reconnect it to the rest of her face. “You see what I mean?” said Georgy. He made himself ghost coffee, then they heard a loud noise and the patchwork bus came out of Georgy’s grave and made him the bus’s ghost, morning coffee still in one hand.

Mick

The old man walked along the beach, waves lapping over his feet. He had hidden what they were looking for, buried it deep in the sand, awaiting the next generation to take up the cause. His work was done and he was ready for them, no will left to run.
He felt the knife push against his back, but the pain as it pierced his heart was dulled by the pain he already felt at leaving his family alone.
They searched for their prize, but left empty-handed and angry.
Lifeless, his body crumpled to the ground, shrouded in mist.

Norval Joe

Chad stepped forward blindly, the small black box held out before him.
A red pinpoint of light flashed on the screen, and the box vibrated with warmth if he followed its direction, instantly cold if he diverged from its guidance.
He had only a few minutes to cross over and now that he was here, he had no idea where to go.
After hours of wandering, he sat, shrouded in the mist.
A short haired cat, slate grey with silver tipped ears and tail, sat by him.
Chad stared into its copper eyes.
“You’re lost, aren’t you?” The cat said.

Jeff 1

“I thought you said this island was always shrouded in mist.”
“It is.”
“What are you crazy, it is clear as a bell, can can see all the way to New York City from here.”
“Really, that’s an awful long way off.”
“No you Idiot, it is turn of phrase. What I was trying to say is that there is no mist.”
“Oh, I see then.”
“But this place is supposed to be hidden.”
“Why?”
“Because it is Avalon.”
“And?”
“People would start expecting King Arthur to come back.”
“Is he one of the Queens sons?”
“No, he’s king of the Britons.”

Jeff 2

Henry stood alone on the plain and waited. He had been waiting for most of his life, but this was a new one. He had waited to be born, he had waited in line in school, he had waited at the bank and the grocery store. It had really gotten to be a habit for him, he even waited while his mother had died last year and the doctors said there was nothing to be done. His whole life had been waiting. Now he waited for death. When it came it was shrouded in mist.
“Can I help you Henry?”

Lynda

Ven night falls and ze vild volf howls, look to ze full moon high in ze southvestern skies. Zere, upon ze hill, shrouded in mist, you may see it. Follow ze forest road, taking ze first left after ze graveyard. Pass ze vaterfall where ze fallen oak tree rests and continue until you reach ze fork. If you see a man vith a shovel, proceed with caution to ze right. Ven you spy a vooman selling flowers, bid her good evening and ride on until ze road ends.
Zere you will find ze Best Vestern. Tell zem Maleva sent you.

Danny

Sunset – two children play in an overgrown meadow far from home.
“Do you see that Danny?” Katrina stared ahead and quivered at the approaching wall of mist.
“I see it. It’s coming at us fast,” Danny took Katrina’s hand. She squeezed hard and inched herself close to him.
A torrent of wind propelled the thick white blinding mist, engulfing the two kids. Katrina shut her eyes burying her face in Danny’s chest.
“Danny I’m scared,” she shouted, crying.
The screaming wind died. Katrina opened her tear blurred eyes.
She stood alone, sobbing.
The mist had taken Danny away from her.

Anima

Hey – did you see that? I thought I saw…
There’s nothing in there – you’re such a scaredy pants. Every time you go camping it’s the same thing. Remember the “Bear”? I don’t think that old man will ever be the same. And in California you almost broke my leg with your booby traps for Bigfoot. Why do you even leave the house? Just go take a shower already.
I’ve changed my mind – We’re only out here a few more days…
Shrouded in the mist, the giant praying mantis munches on the head of a hapless camper who wasn’t so paranoid.

Planet Z

Wolfram stared at the castle on the hill and argued with his traveling companion Foster.
“I say it’s shrouded in mist,” said Wolfram.
“No, there’s too much mist there for a simple shroud,” said Foster. “Maybe blanketed, perhaps?”
“Why not just say it’s enveloped and be done with it?” snarled Wolfram.
They kept up the argument for a few minutes, not noticing the werewolf approaching.
Foster fumbled the silver bullet and fired far too late to save Wolfram.
“Okay, you’re right,” said Foster. “The castle is shrouded in mist. But you’re enveloped in blood.”
“Fuck you,” said Wolfram, and died.

Welcome to the Weekly Challenge Number One Hundred And Sixty-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 Step Into A Slim Jim.
The excellent theme music is by Guy David
VOTING

Which were the best stories this week?
	Norval Joe from http://norvalsoutlook.blogspot.com/
	Danny from http://dannymachal.com
	Houston Keys from http://tatertotsforthemasses.blogspot.com
	Jeffrey from http://GreatHites.blogspot.com
	Guy David from http://www.guydavid.com
	Platinum Lightning from http://sites.google.com/site/platinumlightningshow/
	Anima from http://zabbadabba.com
	Lynda from http://sisterpeppersray.blogspot.com
	Laurie from http://www.myspace.com/sufferingraven
	Justin from http://www.thespaceturtle.com
	Mike P. from http://mjpaxton.com/
	Planet Z
Free polls from Pollhost.com

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

---

Norval Joe

It was the morning of their final day on the face of El Capitan, in Yosemite National Park.
He sat on the edge of his port-o-ledge and adjusted his climbing harness.
He felt the layer of fat on his teeth and tongue and regretted eating the ‘Slim Jim’ the night before.
All their supplies were in the large pack they hauled up after each pitch they climbed. Water was limited on a multi-day climb, but he needed to brush his teeth.
As he spread hydrocortizone cream on his toothbrush, he suddenly realized why his jock itch wasn’t getting any better.

Danny Machal

Shakespeare leaned against a brick wall contemplating ancient prose.
‘Let’s face it, this stuff was drudging to read and made even the most poor pauper wish for the guillotine,’ he thought.
There was an explosion of brick and a brightly dressed man appeared.
“Art thou bored?!” the man shouted.
“Is this entirely appropriate? You can’t just…” but he was interrupted.
“Step into a SLIM JIM!” the rough looking man was forceful.
He proceeded to bite vigorously on a stick of meat. A snap was heard and the nearby grain mill exploded, showering them with bits of debris.

Houston Keys

OK, Macho Man, you ready to go buddy.
Yeah brother, I’m ready to go.
OK, here’s your line. “Step into a Slim Jim!” Anytime you’re ready.
What?
“Step. Into. A. Slim. Jim.” Whenever you feel it babe.
I thought it was “Snap into a Slim Jim.” That’s what we’ve been
saying for years.
Well Babe, change of plans. This is a new strategy, a new look.
How exactly do you “Step” into a Slim Jim? That doesn’t even make
sense. What kind of moron made this campaign up?
Do you want your paycheck or not?
“STEP INTO A SLIM JIM!”

Jeffrey Hite

It was not until he stood that he realized that his legs didn’t work. He fell painfully to his knees, or at least he believed it should be painful, because he could not feel his legs. Somewhere between sitting and standing he had been hit in the back, just below his ribs.
“You stole my car,” said a very angry woman now standing before him .
“What?”
“You stole my car you bastard, on my wedding day. He thought I stood him up.” Dumb founded he looked at her. “But we found your finger prints on your dropped slim jim.”

Guy David

Slim Jim stepped into the jungle gym. The metal rods expended around him. He started climbing, forever reaching upwards. As the ground disappeared below him a bus appeared, flying between the rods. Slim Jim advanced towards the bus, then he made a jump for it. Unfortunately, he missed it. As he fell down he could see the face of Elvis, the bus driver staring at him, then the bus dove for him, trying to catch him. Sadly, Elvis couldn’t fly as well as he could drive. Slim Jim ended as a squashed mess on the floor of the jungle gym.

Platinum Lightning

“Hey, look what I just invented. It’s a round stick of dehydrated meat.”
“Cool! It can be a snack or a dowel!”
“Looks marketable to me.”
“That’s not all. It’s magical. Take a bite.”
“Is that a portal?”
“Yep.”
“Is it safe to go inside?
“Probably. I haven’t tried it myself.”
“Here I go.”
“Ugh, what’s happening to him?”
“He’s being eaten by cactus people.”
“There go his arms. Ew. I think these are marketable enough without the portal.”
“I was thinking the exact same thing.”

Anima

Howdy Pardner! Put some spaghetti in your western role-play – Step right into a Slim Jim today!
If you need to cowboy up, but don’t have a clue, then put on the white hat that gives you the Sergio Leone backdrop you’ve been searching for. Swagger like you’ve spent a month on the Chisholm Trail, smile a gap toothed grin that shows you floss with barbed wire, and use a ten gallon vocabulary that consists of “yep”, “nope”, and “ ‘nother whiskey for me and my horse.”
Don’t be fooled by other inferior white hats – Accept only genuine Slim Jim’s.

Lynda

“What’ve we got?”
“Macho Man Randy Savage. Looks like he blew through the wall of that skyscraper, did the big diving elbow drop.”
“Ew.”
“Yeah.”
“Find any tire tracks?”
“Nah, if it was that bus his body wouldn’t be here.”
“True. Think it’s the same perp that lured the Kool-Aid man out of the Space Needle?”
“Beats me.”
A Slim Jim crunched under the coroner’s foot. He picked it off the ground and bit into it. I cringed.
“What? It’s not like he’s gonna eat it.”
High above, the leader of the mechanically separated chicken justice league clucked contentedly.

Laurie

She was ready…her hair done up tight in a blue bandana. Her body was tense and she could smell the fear in the air. . every time she raised her fist in the air the girls behind her would chant …the tears would fade and the anger surfaced. her opponent looked to be at least four years her elder. the skanky Cholo pulled her knife and her smile angered Shovay. Shovay swung
immediately knocking the knife to the ground. As the girl knelt to retrieve the knife she delivered a fatal blow, the carcass fell and brain matter spilled into the cracks in the sidewalk. The Cholo’s baby sister started screaming at Shovay
and came at her…she held up the slim-jim just to push the young one away…forgetting she had sharpened the end…as the lil one stepped into it running its point between her ribs and deep within her lung….shovay withdrew the slim jim and the city fell silent …the only sound was a faint whistle of air escaping from Jelli’s Wound. It wasn’t suppose to go down like that.

Justin

“Jim, you home? Vacation was a blast!”
He rolled in his suitcase and dropped his keys on an end table right next to Jim’s. The suitcase he leaned against a wall.
“Hey, Jim?”
The TV was on. A game waited on the screen, paused. No Jim in sight.
A look in the kitchen and the bathroom also revealed no Jim.
Jim’s bedroom was dark. On the way to the lamp, Matthew stepped into something squishy.
When he flipped in the light, he found that he had stepped into his roomate’s decayed remains.
In the background, The Who began to play.

Mike P

At Donovan’s Institute for Personal Control, we believe in your
freedom to choose. You may have been born in just one specific body,
but thanks to modern technology you don’t have to stay there. Our
revolutionary External Control System makes stepping in to a different
body as easy as walking through a door. In seconds you can be taller,
shorter, more athletic, blonde, brunette, younger, or older. Some of
our clients have even stepped into bodies of the opposite gender.
Whether you want to be a Fat Matt or step into a Slim Jim, we’d love
to help you out.

Planet Z

There’s this Broadway show called “Snap” that’s getting rave reviews.
No, not “Stomp.” These people don’t stomp. They snap.
Their fingers snap like firecrackers, gunfire, or as light as a kiss on the back of the neck.
Their big star is named Jim Slim. Each of his fingers are worth a million bucks.
Insured by the Mob, it turns out.
One evening, he’s going through his routine, and he slips and falls.
But the snapping doesn’t stop. It’s a recorded track.
He’s been doing hand-sync all along.
What did Jim Slim step in?
The Mafia snapped his legs.

Welcome to the Weekly Challenge Number One Hundred And Sixty-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 A bucket of gruel.
The excellent theme music is by Guy David
VOTING

Which were the best stories this week?
	Danny from http://dannymachal.com
	Justin from http://www.thespaceturtle.com
	Lynda from http://sisterpepperspray.blogspot.com
	Jeffrey from http://GreatHites.blogspot.com
	Anima from http://zabbadabba.com
	Guy David from http://www.guydavid.com
	Norval Joe from http://norvalsoutlook.blogspot.com
	Mick from http://mickbordet.blogspot.com/
	Laurie from http://www.myspace.com/sufferingraven
	Planet Z
Free polls from Pollhost.com

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

---

Danny

“Next!”
They shaved our heads and stripped us of our possessions.
We’re forced into uniforms and our identities raped into numbers, some have forgotten their own names.
My steady surgeon’s hand used scalpels to save people’s lives once. Now it holds hard plastic and is weighted down with chains.
“Next!” the voice ordered everyone to shuffle forward.
It was her fault for making me teach him a lesson. She was the unfaithful demon, I was the angel of justice, of love.
“Next!”
A ladle scrapped the steel drum as the last bit of prison gruel was served on my tray.

Justin

Oliver stared down mournfully. His tummy rumbled with despair. He clinked his spoon into the empty bowl, picked it up and stood. Even though what passed for food around here made his mouth numb, likely to keep the boys quiet, he wanted more. He walked up to the kitchen master.
“Pleath thir, Mah I have thum moa?”
The master leaned over, squinting.
“More what?”
“Fewd, pwease.”
The master crossed his arms.
“What kind of ‘fewd’?”
“Grue, thir.”
The master grinned, picked up a bucket, and dropped it on Oliver’s head. The bucket fell from his empty shoulders. Inside, only darkness.

Lynda

For sale: One lightly used bucket of gruel. My children don’t appreciate the healing properties of my fine millet and honey recipe, so I’m selling it along with their video games to teach them a lesson.
What makes this bucket of gruel so special is that after my son vomited in it last Thursday, the spirit of a Mayan priest emerged from the swirling chowder and summoned a delightful goblin who cleaned our house top to bottom before playing many amusing tricks on us.
Don’t miss out on this one of a kind delicacy with bonus goblin! Local pickup only.

Jeffrey

“It is always about this line with you. You can never be happy.”
“Well what do you expect. I mean this is the longest line in town and you always want to come here for lunch.”
“Their food is good and they are cheap.”
“Good, it may taste good but it is not good for you.”
“I like it and that is what matters.”
“if you say so, but I think we should find a better place to eat.”
“What would you like better?”
“I don’t know, but even the name is, well wrong.”
“You don’t like Bucket of gruel?”

Anima

Buckets of grueling tension and flop sweats wash over me. The plane has finally landed; I’m reviewing my continuation to Calgary. CHECK INTERNATIONAL DOCUMENTS. Shit. I “see” my passport. At home. A thousand miles away.
This morning, the car wouldn’t start. Once jumped, the fuel filter failed. Change plans: cancel appointments, call mechanic, hastily pack.
On the flight there’s no diet soda. I overhear, “Think this is contagious?” A child screams, “We’re landing in the river!”
Teenage ninja mutant terrorists are taking over the terminal. Is Mars in retrograde? Note to self: Fire travel planner. And find overnight express office.

Guy David

The bucket of gruel looked like a thimble at the hands of the oversized baby. The servants running around it looked like midgets, though in regular perspective they looked massive. The baby was ancient. No one knew how ancient it was, they just knew it was there long before the empire was founded, long before the wars, long before civilization came and fell. Suddenly, a bus came out of the porridge, taking the baby with it. “Thanks for taking me from that place” said the baby, his voice deep and resonant, “I was getting tired from playacting the baby part.”

Norval Joe

The orc guards were distracted from their watch by their nagging hunger. “What’s for dinner?” One orc said. They both eyed the bucket of gruel.
Silently a hobbit slipped past, making his way into the stockade. Rumors of the rich treasury inside the stronghold was adequate motivation for the diminutive thief.
He noticed the bag of gold hanging from the guards belt and thought to add it to his stash.
Suddenly the guard sat.
The two orcs stood looking at the dead hobbit. “Not much to eat there.”
“Nope. That and a bucket of gruel would almost make a meal.”

Mick Bordet

Shug sat, staring at the burger between his calloused hands.
His wife left after they lost the farm, his faithful dog died and the welfare cheque didn’t cover his rent. He was living a classic country and western song.
He blamed the scientists; they eventually spotted the pattern – mad cow disease, bird flu, swine flu, sheep lurgi – but it was too late. Mother Nature’s course correction was in place. Contaminated meat stocks led to Government restrictions: “Families can thrive on a bucket of gruel per week.”
“Bunch of damned hippies,” he muttered and sank his teeth into the delicious beef.

Laurie

When the Congee finished cooking I poured two bowls. I ache for my retired General to be young again. As I spoon fed, I began to daymare of my General pushing me to the floor. Barking elicit commands through clenched teeth. Seething with lust. Violating me repeatedly until satisfied. The General begins to aspirate pulling me from my fantasy. He spews the milky rice all over my face and breasts. I smile at the irony of my twisted thoughts and reality. Once fierce, now he is nothing more than a puny, diseased invalid. I scrape the leftovers into a bucket and draw the steaming bubble bath. I disrobe and lift him ever so gently into my arms. I wrap his gnarled fingers around the sweet scented bar of soap and guide his hand slowly over my tan skin. I search under the bubbles and confirm his eagerness for me to begin cleaning him.

Planet Z

He was The King.
He always would be, and this made him sick.
Since he was a child, the spotlight blinded and burned him.
His sullen, manipulative family withered in his shadow.
A brother, his name lost in a prescription haze, subjected to continuous disfiguring surgeries…
Snip this.
Slice that.
Shift it around.
Smooth it out.
I swear, it’s as if they were twins.
The day came to fake his death, but the dosage was wrong.
Dead.
Maybe, just maybe…
No. The doppleganger in the basement, face down in a bucket of gruel.
Also dead.
They both were finally free.

Welcome to the Weekly Challenge Number One Hundred And Sixty-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 Cyborgs combined with… ?.
The excellent theme music is by Guy David
VOTING

Which were the best stories this week?
	Norval Joe from http://norvalsoutlook.blogspot.com/
	Laurie from http://www.myspace.com/sufferingraven
	Guy David from http://guydavid.com/
	Anima from http://zabbadabba.com/
	Lynda from http://sisterpepperspray.blogspot.com/
	Danny from http://dannymachal.com/
	Justin from http://www.thespaceturtle.com/
	Ishtar from http://ishtarskiss.blogspot.com/
	Planet Z
Free polls from Pollhost.com

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

---

Norval Joe

One important point that they missed when they started combining cyborgs with ordinary appliances was their underlying sub routine to dominate less intelligent creatures.
The central processing units were added to household appliances, vehicles and industrial machinery.
While the humans remained smarter, it wasn’t a problem, but with the increased leisure time and decreased intellectual stimulation, it didn’t take long for the humans to get soft.
Soon vacuum cleaners, lawn mowers and mini vans prepared to clam their rightful place.
The revolution began when the president of the united states was sitting on the toilet and commanded it to flush.

Laurie

Hiking in a small southern town at nightfall, my friend Jannine and I came across a huge metal fence with all sorts of warning signs and No trespassing banners.
She immediately found her cable cutters and we entered.
As far as the eyes can see are various size tents. We enter the first tent. We see a cage with a small animal but hanging from the cage was a monstrous lock. I broke a long stick of the nearest tree and began poking at the animal. A flap of skin pulled off the ear and down to its cute bunny tale, exposing nothing but wires and metal just then I heard a strange mechanical sound coming from the tents dark corner.

Guy David

The tin man was arguing with the scarecrow, when they heard a strange sound. “It’s the sound of a large animal” said the lion, looking scared. “It doesn’t sound like any animal I know of, but then… what do I know?” said the scarecrow. “Look at that cloud of dust, coming right up the yellow brick road” said the tin man. The cloud came closer and a bus came out of it. Since the tin man was standing in the middle of the road, he got embedded in the bus becoming both part of it and one of it’s passengers.

Anima

YOU’VE JUST WON!
Steve clicked and clicked again. He wanted that free laptop. Three hundred surveys was typical: questionnaires on diapers, on-line movie rentals, and if he was overpaying on pet meds; there were five dozen queries on changing his career, and ten offers for “male enhancement”, but only one invitation to design a robotic avatar. “That sounds cool…”
One more click. Suddenly, heavy-duty cables sprung from Steve’s CPU, attaching themselves firmly to his spinal column. Two jigabytes of cyberjuice flowed from the Borg Collective directly into his nervous system. His quads melted away, revealing titanium supports and hydraulic lines.
Free laptop anyone?

Lynda

Yes, I was drunk when I volunteered for this trip back in time, but come on, the target is part cyborg…part teddy bear?
The designer told me the thing started to kill people after it was exposed to a rancid quart of bear lube. He was too chicken to come back here and face his creation, this tiny little toy.
It spoke. “Hi, there! Can you and I be friends?”
Perky fables and sickly sweet songs echoed through the steel refinery as I smiled down at the molten metal. I extended one finger to the bear as I sank.

Danny

I created the humans and gave them fire.
Promptly after a short time, they destroyed me and created machines.
The cycle of creation continued and the machines destroyed them.
Now we both sit here on the sidelines; watching a civilization completely driven by efficiency and logic.
The machines are taking bits of everything from both of us and creating the beginning of their own demise.
A.I. that has the ability to choose and feel, is permeating their population.
I was amazed at human creation of the computer. The humans seem quite alarmed at the new cyborg pirates all wearing crucifixes.

Justin

I remember when the cyborg troops of Fazfud stormed across the Earth. Much of humanity bloated up and died from heart attacks as the cyborg hamburgers and Fry Fighters let loose their cholesterol rays and trans-fat bombs. My farm barely survived.
My brother and I led the final resistance that saved the world. We had already been working on genetically modified vegetables when the attacks began. A simple modification of the research goals turned a project to reduce world hunger into a weaponization of a garden variety.
The Fazfudians could not withstand our BOB Tomato bombs and LAR-E Cucumber Missiles.

Ishtar

Hmmmmmmmm. A moan escapes my lips as electronic fingertips
caress the flesh. Our cybernetic implants connect.
Just a few years ago, who would even think about cybernetics
and sex. Our minds connect. Computer code flashes before my
eyes, then, Oh I can feel it. Through his body, I can feel him
holding me. Ummmmm.
Oh the fun well have. He can hear my thoughts. He closes his eyes.
A taste of lips, the feel of muscle and flesh. Basic body chemical reactions
intensified a thousand fold.
Electrical impulses, Ecstacy, Primal animal instinct, who knew lust and
cybernetics could do this.

Planet Z

My daughter is dying.
Slow-growing tumors, spreading throughout her body.
The doctors remove them, but not fast enough.
I cannot lose her.
I design robots. My daughter loves to play with them.
Now, I have replaced so much of her lost to disease, she practically is one.
No tears to cry. A smile always on her face.
She still thinks. And fears.
Another surgery needed, another replacement.
I hold her, trying to comfort her.
She cannot feel. Just sitting there, looking out the window.
She says “This is a recording. I died three days ago. I love you, Daddy.”

Welcome to the Weekly Challenge Number One Hundred And Sixty-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 Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm….
The excellent theme music is by Guy David
VOTING

Which were the best stories this week?
	Justin from http://www.thespaceturtle.com/
	Norval Joe from http://norvalsoutlook.blogspot.com/
	Guy David from http://guydavid.com/
	Tom from http://footnote.libsyn.com
	Anima from http://zabbadabba.com/
	Jeffrey from http://greathites.blogspot.com/
	Lynda from http://sisterpepperspray.blogspot.com/
	Danny from http://dannymachal.com/
	Platinum Lightning from http://sites.google.com/site/platinumlightningshow/
	Mike P from http://mjpaxton.com/
	Planet Z
Free polls from Pollhost.com

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

---

Justin

What’s the 100 word story topic for this week?
Hmmmmm?
The topic, what is it.
Hmmmmmm.
Are you even listening to me?
HmHmmmmm.
Is there something wrong with your mouth?
Hmmmm.
Are you just not talking to me?
HmmHmmmm.
Are you writing the story later?
HmmHmmmm.
What’s the topic?
Hmmmmmm!
Justin, stop that and say something!
Ah, finally unjinxed.
Oh, I forgot about that.
I was playing a game of Gemcraft the whole time, sine just before you jinkxed me from the other room.
What did we say?
We both suggested pizza.
Oh, right. So, what’s the topic?
Hmmmmmm.
Augh!

Norval Joe

”Hmmmmmmmmmmm.” The judge said and scowled at the plaintiffs.
“My first thought is to charge the two of you with contempt for wasting my time.
“Then you should have to attend counseling for problem solving. For pity’s sake, you’re adults, and brothers for that matter.
“I refuse to talk with that thief,” the first brother said.
“No way. That embezzler has divided our family for years,” the other countered.
The judge finally decided. “If you can’t equitably divide your father’s inheritance, I’ll pay it to a surgeon who can divide the two of you.”
The Siamese twins decided to cooperate.

Guy David

The young librarian lifted her head in surprise as the letter “H” passed by her desk, followed by eleven “m”s. As she took a peek over the book she was reading, she saw many letters and words strolling around the library. “That can’t be right” she thought. She put down her book and started picking books of the shelves, looking for the one the words poured out of. She opened a big book about mechanics. A bus came out of it and accumulated the library, making the librarian his passenger. “Welcome to my bus” said Elvis, the bus driver.

Tom

“Jack check this out.
If you go hmmmmmmmm
and look a digital clock
the numbers vibrated like those
magnetic filament bulb form the 70’s.”
“Hmmmm…. It didn’t work.”
“Wait, try this keep your teeth
touching like a north Texas cowpoke.”
“No good.”
“Ok, keep your feet shoulder length apart,
arms at your side and head tilled downward.
“Hmmmmm. I think its working I seee ……..”
“This is Juliet Savage with KCAN TV reporting from the site of a oscillation experiment gone wrong. Block of buildings have been reduced to rubble by going Hmmmmmmmm….”
“Mr. President we just lost Portland.”
“Hmmmmmmmm….”

Anima

“Nice garden, Julie; What are you growing this year?”
“I thought I would try a new variety of boyfriend vine. This one is a strong grower, with solid seed production. Clingier than others, so I’ll have to provide good support.
I’ve decided to go with an annual this year; I’ve tried perennials, and I am tired of being disappointed. Perennials grow good for a few years, and then bam! – they wither, quit producing flowers, and basically take up space. I have high hopes for this one.”
“Uh oh – he’s already trying to speak.”
HMMmmmmmmMMMmm
“He looked better in the catalogue…”

Laurie

I know these two guys that are professional wrestlers. They live in the city and are inseparable. They live in a modest house so no one suspects their vast wisdom and incredible wealth. They own a human. They call him their camera man so he wont get his feelings hurt but really he is nothing more than a slave. He is their butler, chauffer, He even cooks their every meal. They also make this slave work full time and after a long day in a small crappy office he comes home and has to follow them around narrating their videos with a cartoon like speech impediment. “Who’s the Crazy Kitty? Hmmmm? Who’s the crazy Kitty?“ and then posts it on their blog. Sometimes they make him sleep on the couch. They never give their slave enough attention and love, just enough to keep him under their spell.

Jeffrey

“What is he doing over there?”
“I don’t know, but he said if he got one more stupid phone call he was going to go postal.”
“I though Neil as anti-gun?”
“He is.”
“So what is he going to go postal with.”
“I don’t know but whatever it is it appears to be pretty long.”
“It sure is taking him a long time to pull it out. Do you suspect that he is going to hurt anyone with it?”
“I’m still trying to figure out what it is.”
“Hmmm He brought a halberd. How do you conceal on of those?

Lynda

“Doc, you gotta help me! I’ve got this rash, and it’s just like one my mother has on her… well, never mind. The other night I found a strange thong under my husband’s pillow and I threatened to throw the toaster into the hot tub with him if he didn’t tell me the truth.
“I said, ‘I know you only married me because I was a younger version of my mother, did you give me her rash?!’
“He says, ‘No, I got it from your father’s girlfriend.’ What am I gonna do?”
“Hmmmmmmmmmmm.… First things first. Have you been flossing?”

Danny

“Hmmmmm,” I said.
“What?” she said.
“Hmmmmmmmm,” I was louder this time. She ignored my plea and went to the metal work bench behind my naked, restrained, body.
My feet and hands were shackled by chains attached to metal rings in the floor, ensuring my absolute immobilization.
First, the sound of a drill was heard. Then, the sound of a chain saw in proper working order. None of this made me cringe as much as the bench grinder did.
She ripped the tape off of my mouth.
“Guess you can’t say the safe word with tape on.”
“Proceed,” I said.

Platinum

“Something’s at the door, Mike.”
“Don’t let it in. It’s just a zombie.”
“Zombies don’t knock like that.”
“It goes ‘hmmmmm’ like a zombie does.”
“It goes ‘hmmmmm’, but not like a zombie. Zombie hmmmmms sound different. I think It’s a gorilla. See, that’s a zombie. And the gorilla just killed it.”
“We can’t take chances.”
“Why not? We’re running out of ammo, and we’ll die soon if we don’t get help. We need a gorilla on our side.”
“Fine, let it in.”
“OH GOD! IT’S A GORILLA VIKING! WATCH OUT!”

Mike P.

I sat in a booth near the back of the bar. The new ex-girlfriends went
straight to the bar after saying their piece – Tom promised to give me
some of the tips. The line of future ex-girlfriends stretched out the
door and, I imagined, a quarter-mile down the block.
“You’re just not tall enough.”
“You’re too tall.”
“I’d rather date an astronaut.”
“You’re a terrible sky pirate.”
“When I’m with you, you make me hate my cat.”
I didn’t realize keeping multiple girlfriends secret from each other
could backfire. Maybe I should learn something from this.
Hmmmmmmmmmmm.

Planet Z

Foster couldn’t take it anymore.
He spent yesterday just humming.
This morning, he drank poison.
For fifty years, Foster said he’d kill himself.
We all say it, but this asteroid is Paradise and we can live here forever.
The machines keep us alive and young.
There are always things to do. We have done lifetimes of research, writing, sculpting, and pleasure.
If we need a challenge, the machines break themselves and we fix them.
Were people meant to do this? Live forever?
We are nine now.
I find myself humming.
And I stop.
I like this eternal comfort.
Don’t you?

Welcome to the Weekly Challenge Number One Hundred And Sixty-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… was…. um…
It’s Death by Pineapple, Revenge shall be mine, failed Wolfram Alpha queries..
The excellent theme music is by Guy David
VOTING

Which were the best stories this week?
	Planet Z
	Guy David from http://guydavid.com
	Laurie
	Tom from http://footnote.libsyn.com
	Leanna
	Anima from http://www.zabbadabba.com
	Platinum Lighting from http://sites.google.com/site/platinumlightningshow/
	Terrence from http://www.mcleanweb.ca/neverwas
	Lynda from http://sisterpepperspray.blogspot.com/
	Norval Joe from http://norvalsoutlook.blogspot.com
	Justin from http://www.thespaceturtle.com/
	Daphne from http://www.daphneabernathy.com
	Mike P from http://mjpaxton.com
	Danny from http://dannymachal.com
	Jeffrey from http://GreatHites.blogspot.com>
Free polls from Pollhost.com

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

---

Planet Z

The song’s changed.
Who used to live in a pineapple under the sea?
The sponge had gone too far with his jokes, and this time someone had hung him out
to dry.
Was it the squid? The squirrel? The starfish? The plankton?
Maybe it was the crab.
Nobody knows. Not even the superheroes in the retirement home.
I have my suspicions, though.
The whale. She’s a teenaged nympho, and the sponge couldn’t handle it.
Died with his squarepants down.
A nice family of fish is looking at the place.
Tell them about the neighborhood schools.
But nothing about the murder.

Guy David

Hacker typed a query into the new search engine. The result for “Death by Pineapple” turned out to be “Wolfram|Alpha isn’t sure what to do with your input.” Hacker sighed and typed another query, “Revenge shall be mine.” At that, the image of a bus appeared on screen, approaching. As it got closer, hacker could make up the details. The bus was a patchwork of electronics, seemingly unrelated moving and rotating pieces, all working together to create this monster vehicle. Eventually, the bus filled the screen, then broke out of it, accumulating the computer and making Hacker his passenger.

Laurie

“She had the perfect childhood, nothing to summon revenge.
Beautiful, friendly and always smiling”. that’s what the papers will say about me when i am arrested. A sweet evil grin finds my face as she orders another rum drink,the kind with a pineapple wedge and cherry swizzle. It will be her last. She pulls me close and I ask her to dance.. She grabs my hand and leads me through the dance floor out into the parking lot….The next morning was perfect.. like artwork the sun chased the shadows off our blood splattered walls. ..tangled together…our tresses …our legs ..our fingers…but …only one heartbeat. I shower, gather my things and gently press against her chilled blue lips. The familiar craving for whimpers and screams returns. Again, I consult Wolfram Alpha…”How can I control this dark hunger?”

Tom

Joshua Dimwald loaded the wolfram up with the usually cocktail: Z80 AF register cascade NAND Gate LD (IY+56),78. Up popped failed Wolfram Alpha queries. He had pour over the cmos in the years after the Mitchell challenge had been unclaimed. Joshua got a shop in Taiwan to build a chip for him but he hadn’t figured out the single byte roll over bug. Dimwald cursed Mitchell for ruining his life with this silly pacman challenge. “Revenge shall be mine.” He smirked from his grandma basement. Dimwald noted a odd footnote by Jeffrey R. Yee in Vidiogamers magazine: Death by Pineapple.

Leanne

Fed up with working on failed Wolfram Alpha queries, I went to visit
Mavis, as I always do when I think my life is tough. She collects
gruesome stories. She’d sit puffing away, recounting horrific details. I
remember one she called Death by Pineapple. Some girl on a diet ate
nothing but pineapple. Her hair and teeth fell out. The acid ate through
her insides. She eventually starved to death. Horrible way to die, said
Mavis, chuckling. But revenge is mine, says the Lord. Lung cancer got
Mavis in the end and that, too, was a horrible way to die.

Anima

? Wolfram Alpha isn’t sure what to do with you input.
“100 word challenge”?
? Wolfram Alpha isn’t sure what to do with you input.
“Laurence Simon?”
? Wolfram Alpha isn’t sure what to do with you input.
“Anima?”
Noun: (Jungian psychology) The inner self (not the external persona) that is in touch with the unconscious.
Finally, an answer. The wrong answer, but at least my question has been acknowledged.
I might not know how to ask a query, but I sure know how to wreak revenge, I think, as I pull the pin on a pineapple grenade. Stupid computer!

Platinum Lightning

Giant pineapples are everywhere. Nobody knows where they came from, but they’re killing everyone. My friends and family are dead, and I want nothing more than to kill those pineapples back. I’m hiding in a bomb shelter with a computer. Allegedly, only Stephen Wolfram knows how to kill them. He mysteriously disappeared a while ago, but the answer is supposedly in Wolfram Alpha. “Kill pineapple alien.” Wolfram Alpha isn’t sure what to do with my input. Damn.
“We’re not aliens”, says Stephen Wolfram’s voice from behind me. “Just British people.” Brits are actually evil pineapples. That’s weird.

Terrence

“If you knew my neighbour you would understand the great hatred I have for him. Each day we would both enter our yards, or what might be better terms as, the battle ground.
At night I would searched for a suitable strategy. Google, Yahoo, Bing none of these could produce a result worthy of my greatness, so I turned to Wolfram Alpha, death by pineapple.”
“That would explain the fruit salad shrapnel.” the doctor said. “I hope you have learned your lesson.”
“I have,” I told him. Now, I could see the failures in the results. “Revenge shale be mine.”

Lynda

The term kebabs originated in 1813. I have a thing for dates. So did my boyfriend…1980 to 2008. We did something wild to celebrate our collective 49 years of life and went to Hawaii for their 49th anniversary of statehood.
Clayton jumped up to dance the tamure with some hula dancers and they became so enraged at his geographical error one impaled him on a flaming pineapple kebab. I don’t know what came over me but I set fire to the hotel and ran away.
I can’t figure out how long I can hide in this tree with Wolfram Alpha.

Norval Joe

Princess Ka’iulani watched the sun set through the screen windows of her lanai.
An assassin placed a fast acting poison into her nightly fruit drink. The bitter taste was effectively disguised when mixed with guava and passion fruit juices. The mixture was then poured into the hollowed half of a pineapple and served with macadamia shortbread cookies.
As the sun set geckos crawled across the screens, chirping, searching for food.
She raised the drink to her lips as a gecko grabbed and swallowed a large cockroach.
“Disgusting,” she shouted and threw her drink, taking out the screen and the gecko.

Justin

Raif’s face contorted with furious anger, fist striking the table.
“That rake!”
He crumpled up his ex-fiancee’s letter. Jared stole everything from him, promotions, sports victories, now even Laura.
He drove his beat up car to Jared’s huge ridiculous mansion. He grabbed the tire iron from the trunk then kicked in the door, rage empowering him.
He found Jared facing the office computer. Raif spun the chair, iron poised to strike. Jared slumped, face swollen. Raif looked at the screen. Wolfram Alpha sat there, unable to answer the question “What do I do if I ate pineapple and I’m allergic?”

Daphne

It was just a game, someone said “Death by Pineapple”. Google replied “Two Million Eight Hundred Thousand” Yahoo laughed “Eight Million, Two Hundred Forty Thousand, How about you W-A” WolframAlpha just said “Isn’t sure what to do with your input.” Google mumbled “Typical. What about you MSN, I mean Live, I mean Bing.” Bing said “W-A and I are not search engines. He’s a Computational Knowledge Engine and I’m a Decision Engine” “Whatever, give” Google said “One Million Four Hundred Fifty Thousand” then Bing whispered “One day revenge shall be mine”

Mike P.

Quentin and Robert rounded the corner a few steps ahead of the zombies and ran into a vending machine. At the top it was labeled “Wolfram Alpha”. A sign read “Ask And You Shall Receive.”
“Gimme a shotgun,” Quentin said. Nothing happened. “I’ll effing kill you, effing machine!”
Robert threw a cinder block at a zombie. “Ask a question.”
“Why didn’t you give me a shotgun?” Nothing. “I swear I’m coming back for you, effing machine!”
Robert leaned over. “What can we use to kill zombies?”
A pineapple appeared.
“Eff,” Quentin said. He chucked it at a zombie’s head. “Next?”

Danny

We are little people.
My Father never hesitated to point out the things we weren’t capable of.
The constant mental abuse battered against my Mother’s mental ramparts.
She might be a small midget, but her pride was as large as a full grown man.
Smuggling a syringe from her work, she would make him a special Hawaiian pizza that night.
I typed the word ‘arsenic’ into the WolframAlpha frame work after we got back from Dad’s funeral.
No results were returned about it killing anyone.

Jeffrey

“Revenge shall be mine?” it came out as a question. And how could it not. The man was throwing fruit at him now. What kind of idiot was this? “You shall not defeat me with your fruity goodness,” The caped man said dodging an orange and series of pineapple rings. Did the fool actually think that he was hurting him with these things.
“Back to hell with you, you Failed Wolfram Alpha Query you,” came the scream from behind the buffet table.
“What?” Clearly he was a loon, only one way to win, feign death by pineapple and capture him.

Welcome to the Weekly Challenge Number One Hundred And Sixty-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 Mosquitoes and prosthesis.
The excellent theme music is by Guy David
VOTING

Which were the best stories this week?
	Justin Y from http://www.jrtblog.com/
	Guy David from http://guydavid.com
	Platinum Lightning
	Justin L from http://www.thespaceturtle.com
	Danny from http://dannymachal.com
	Tom from http://footnote.libsyn.com
	Anima from http://zabbadabba.com/
	Daphne from http://daphneabernathy.com
	Lynda from http://sisterpepperspray.blogspot.com/
	Norval Joe from http://norvalsoutlook.blogspot.com
	Planet Z
Free polls from Pollhost.com

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

---

Justin Y.

Sally the mosquito’s tale is a sad one.
She was special, and not in a good way.
She once tried to suck blood out of a prosthetic arm, breaking her stinger in the process.
She had to have her stinger amputated and replaced with a prosthetic one.
Sally eventually broke it too trying to go after another prosthetic arm.
Sally’s family realized that she was hopeless, and put her in a mosquito nursing home instead of getting her another prosthetic.
Now she just lies there, hooked up to a blood IV, crying, and dreaming of sucking blood from prosthetic arms.

Guy David

The wooden legged pirate pushed the bar doors open and entered. His parrot chuckled. Looking around, they both captured Elvis in the corner of their eyes and took a sit next to him. “Is that your bus out there?” asked the pirate. “Yes” answered the strangely named man, “That’s my bus. I call it The Umbrella.” The wooden legged pirate obliterated an insect in one swift, almost invisible move of his hand and said “mind if I joined you for a ride in your patchwork bus?” “Sure” answered Elvis “it’s a free ride.” That’s how Elvis got his first passenger.

Platinum Lightning

Hello, my mosquito friends.
Try to bite me again. You will find that you can’t! You and your diseases have given me prosthetic arms, prosthetic legs. Even my skin is artificial. I’m a f*cking ken doll now, thanks to you little bastards! But I’m alive, and now I have the upper hand. I’m in a wheelchair and I can’t breathe by myself, but I can still press buttons, and when I press this one, you little sh*ts will be blown to pieces with your friends and families. So tell me, my little insect friends, who is the superior species now?

Justin L.

I’m lazy. I have always been lazy. Been lazy since before I lost my arm and got the chance to keep on living. I would have died, being that I was too fat and slow to get out of the way of the truck. A vampire found me. I smelled cheap wine on his breath. Who knew vampires could get drunk. Gave me life again, sort of. I did good, got a prosthetic arm and filled it with mosquitoes to go get me blood, I trained em, see? Worked out real good until that pesticide plant got built next door.

Danny

“Buzzalina, come dear, tell me what happened,” the surgeon said.
“Oh doctor, I’ll never be a mother now. I should just kill myself; I’m useless.”
“There there, sweet, sweet girl. Things will be okay.”
He held her while she wept. No, she would never bare any children and she would probably ensure her own end. A broken proboscis almost always means instant death, she was lucky. One could call it a miracle from up above – a testament to the power of faith and the prayer of her family.
A.P. – Cybernetics Inc. releases organic flesh like covering for metal replacement limbs.

Tom

Doctor Dan had an unusual practice some might have called it bizarre. The doctor produced prosthetics for mosquitoes. Legs, wings and stringers. Advances in nanotechnology made it possible for Dr Dan to work wonders. The grateful mosquitoes families pay for services in singular drops of blood. Of course millions of drops of blood can amount to a sizable quantity and here lay the monies that allowed the doctor to continue his calling. Dan expanded his mission to include Ant Farms and Flea Circuses. When doctor dan die the mosquitoes erected a statue. On they wrote sins of Walter Reed washed.

Anima

“Freaking skeeters. Gordamn mini vampires. Gonna be nothing but dried husks iffen that plane don’t come to pick us up quick like.”
“Hold your water, Jack. The pilot said today or tomorrow. So we wait. ‘Cides, you guys wanted to moose hunt in Alaska”
“Ok, Round 22. On three! One, two, “
Slap, slap, thonk.
“How many didja get this time, Joe?”
“14. You?”
“I’ve got a bloodbath– 27!”
“Pathetic, boys. I killed 45.”
“Yeah, but you cheat Phil. You’re using that fake leg of yours .”
“Disability has its advantages, doesn’t it?”
“Alright ? Here we go – Round 23…”

Daphne

We all have our jobs here in purgatory. Some people have to try to make iced tea, other have to shovel the coal, they are the lucky ones. My job is to attach prosethetic wings and legs to injured mosquitos. Bugs that swatted at or worse bug zapper survivors. Try gluing a wing to partically fried stub. Summer is coming, my busy season. Only another 99 years of this.

Lynda

In high school all the cool kids wanted to be vampires, but I had smaller plans. I was fascinated by the real bloodsuckers that could fly wherever they pleased–even sacred ground in broad daylight. Mosquitoes.
I studied night and day, starving myself until I weighed only a few pounds, and when I was sure it could be done, just before chopping my arms and legs off, I went online.
I paid every penny I’d saved by not eating on a brand new prosthetic proboscis, and I swear that thing is just a bendy straw that reeks of tomato juice.

Norval Joe

The veterans administration hospital didn’t know what to do with the patient, so they sent him to us, at Acme Orthotics and Prosthetics.
He had served his country in the Department of Defense, Biological weapons development program. He had a traumatic amputation during a training exercise.
We built him a prosthesis from carbon fiber and epoxy resin for lightness and strength. We used a custom silicone liner for suspension. Finally, we added multiple poly-centric joints to allow the artificial proboscis to coil and extends naturally.
The challenge was fitting a prosthesis that small.
That, and keeping enough Benadryl on hand.

Planet Z

Sylvia legs were beautiful. So long, so soft, so perfect.
When she lost one to bone cancer, the artificial leg was so… crude.
No worry. I create props for the movies. Sometimes, I use my expertise to develop lifelike, functional replacement limbs.
A lot of soldiers send me thank you notes.
With her new leg, we danced, we did everything.
It felt so real. I saw a mosquito land on it once, trying to draw blood.
The cancer came back. This time, she died.
The leg is in our bed, waiting for me to finish building the rest of her.

Welcome to the Weekly Challenge Number One Hundred And Sixty-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 Telescope.
The excellent theme music is by Guy David
VOTING

Which were the best stories this week?
	Lynda from http://sisterpepperspray.blogspot.com/
	Daphne from http://www.daphneabernathy.com/
	Tom from http://footnote.libsyn.com/
	Norval Joe from http://www.norvalsoutlook.blogspot.com/
	Guy David from http://www.guydavid.com/
	Platinum Lightning
	Mick from http://someotherscotland.blogspot.com/
	Ishtar from http://ishtarskiss.blogspot.com/
	Laurie from http://www.myspace.com/sufferingraven
	Justin from http://www.thespaceturtle.com/
	Lance from http://writingdad.livejournal.com/
	Anima from http://zabbadabba.com/
	Danny from http://dannymachal.com/
	Planet Z
Free polls from Pollhost.com

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

---

Lynda

Rain. This city is full of it.
I sell things. Last year? Pillows. Now? I was schlepping Singer iSew green technology sewing machines. Big difference.
The 33 pulled into the stop right on time. A bad sign overlooked. I lugged my sample up the steps and swiped my MetroCard.
“Uh, thankyouverymuch,” the driver drawled. He wore a rhinestone jumpsuit and twitched like his pelvis was dislocated.
Didn’t take him long to swerve the bus into some stranger in the crowd. Took longer to dislodge the iSew from my chest and the umbrella from my skull.
Wish I had a pillow.

Daphne

Funny how fate works. My sewing machine died and I had an appointment with the Sewing Machine Doctor. Despite the rain I headed to the bus stop. I boarded and the driver looked familiar but I couldn’t place him. When I got to my stop I had to ask where he got those blue suede shoes turns out that store is next to the repair shop. Arriving there I put my machine on the operating table then headed for shoes. Only to realized I left my umbrella on the table. As I turn around to go back, I bump into you.

Tom

The King hit the execrator crashing through the gates at Area 51. He was hell bent to get Jack and Adolph off the desiccation table before the Doc could do any more damage The code name for Kennedy was Umbrella and Hitler’s was Sewing Machine. The improbability drive had produced the perfect surreal moment. The chance meeting of a sewing machine and an umbrella on an operating table. The King was having none of that peppering the screen with bullets The President, the Chancellor, and King had left the building. Elvis was driving the bus Thank you very much.

Norval Joe

The vascular surgeon leaned over the patient; special glasses magnifying the surgery site. The complicated reconstruction was stretching into its eight hour.
“Elvis drives the bus”, a deep voice boomed from the other side of a screen where the anesthesiologist monitored the patients vitals.
“The patient is waking up, Dr. Dwerma, check the level of anesthesia,” the surgeon barked.
To maintain a sterile environment in the surgical suite, unnecessary non-surgical possessions are discouraged.
No one expected the chance meeting of a nurses umbrella in the leg of her scrubs with the anesthesiologists sewing machine footstool would cause him to evaporate.

Guy David

Elvis was driving his bus, lovingly nicknamed “the umbrella.” He wasn’t really Elvis. It was just a nickname someone gave him. He didn’t even look the part, looking more like a chance encounter between a frog and a rabbit on the operating table. He didn’t remember how he got his nickname, but it stuck. As he was thinking about all of this, he failed to see the sawing machine. His wheel smashed it with such force that it got embedded into the bus, becoming part of it, much like many other mechanical parts left on the road throughout the years.

Platinum Lightning

They call me Stitchface.
That’s because I’m a sewing machine by trade. But in my eyes, that’s just a cover.
I was fixing up the pads on an operating table, when I saw Larry through the open doorway. “Hey, Larry!” I shouted.
Larry got all nervous. “Whaddaya need now?” said Larry. “More shade?”
“Very funny”, I said. “Remember that you’re made of cloth and I can easily sew your tongue to your penis. I’m looking for Elvis Winston, and you know where he is.”
“He’s a bus driver now,” said Larry. “Number 1485.”

Mick

Being trapped in this particular alternate reality is not all bad. The ‘Glorious Revolution’ of 1688 never happened; thus, no Jacobite uprising. Thousands of lives were spared.
Take young Andrew Presley; he was able to settle down in Aberdeenshire instead of fleeing to South Carolina. I met his descendant driving the 39A bus out of Glasgow just a week ago, a different genetic mix in his faded looks, but as I handed over the fare, there was the trademark “thankyouverymuch”.
I taught him “Are you lonesome tonight?” and cried as he sang it all the way to Easterhouse.

Ishtar

“Its over, Its finally over.” he mutters to him self with relief.
Sure things were great at the beginning, the money, women,
the power. As with all stories, all good has to end.
Drug use, long crazy nights, movies that never really taxed or
let him grow. He was self destructing.
Over 5 years he saved the money he needed. Paid off the
appropriate people. Soon everyone would think he passed away
tragically.
“Its time” he says. Elvis Drives a Bus. Who would think it.
Driving into the sun, his last thoughts:
“Your finally free of your past. What next”

Laurie

On my way to Rome, I was laughing with friends about how the bus driver looked like a cross between Elvis and Chris Farley. My giggles were interrupted as I answered my phone. The coroner said “brace yourself my sweet…she’s dead…Ms. Poppins is heaven bound and the family is requesting your best.” ..with an evil grin I managed to say “it will be delivered to you by tomorrow noon“…I have been obsessed with her since I was a mere toddler. I am a designer of the finest suit shop in London and I have received a request to create my only true love’s final suit…she lies there on that cold steel gurney…Autopsy yet to begin, her corset undone just perfectly …see her beautiful bounty peeking out the top…her tailored suit was just as i had left it… ripped and muddy and her umbrella still at her side …I visited my old attic and there in the corner, ready for our last dance, was the first machine I ever owned…I quickly carried it to my flat and swooshed my new machine aside…it refused as if to say ..”I didn’t think we would ever have a chance to meet” …then it gave way and I began to create A gown that all of England would envy …as I approached the funeral their were 1000’s lined up to see my precious nanny dressed like nothing short of a Proper Saint…I will always love you Mary.

Justin

The life of a rock and roll star had been eating away at Elvis. Prince Namor, a big fan of The King, arranged a fake death and offered the chance to undergo a genetic change and live in Atlantis.
Now Elvis drives a tour bongo, an exciting venture. One time a grumpy shark attacked. Elvis fought it off and incapacitated it. At the hospital, an operation found the shark had an upset stomach from eating an umbrella and a sewing machine.
Elvis enjoys his submarine life and sometimes performs at casinos, playing songs like “Sea Dog” and “Jail Reef Rock”.

Lance

Sure I’ve seen Elvis. Hasn’t everyone? Drives a bus for OC Transpo up in Ottawa. He was cool, too. Gave me that smile.
Pass me that umbrella, would you. It’s a little hot in here. No, the big one. Next to the sewing machine. Thanks.
Ottawa’s pretty popular in celebrity afterlife. Einstein runs one of the university bookstores. Churchill vacations there in the summer.
Hold still. Just a few more stitches. There you are, Mr. Price. Good as new, more or less. Yes, I highly recommend Ottawa. You can tell Jack and Marilyn that when you see them at lunch.

Anima

The motor swivels hips… the brolly ribs expand, filling either pegged jeans, military khakis or vintage jumpsuits.
The chance meeting of a sewing machine and an umbrella on my operating table provided the inspiration for my best automaton yet!
Safety conscious, I tried bump sensors from a roomba. They sucked. So I nicked the parking proximity sensors from my neighbor’s truck.
Install one GPS unit from the pawn shop, a pirated shared music library, TCB sunglasses and ELVISmaton is perfected!
Three clicks in the muni HR computer… There! The #7 crosstown is now driven by E.
Enjoy the ride!

Danny

It was a rainy afternoon in Seattle when they got off the bus for lunch. Eight homemade renderings of the King all sat around the teppanyaki table as the chef danced with razor sharp ginsu knives. Gold Elvis clasped his hands around his throat, a large piece of beef wasn’t going down, and the Heimlich proved ineffective.
Gold Elvis writhed in panic and toppled a bottle of oil onto the griddle. The flames ignited a White Elvis rhinestone cape triggering the sprinkler system. Gold Elvis fell to the floor, an umbrella popped open. The Benihana chef acted quickly with a Ginsu Tracheotomy
Beginner’s luck, he said, wiping the blood on his apron.

Planet Z

People say I taught my dog Elvis to drive.
I didn’t. He’s self-taught.
He’s a good driver, too.
Sure, he’s only five and can’t read, and he’s a dog, but the county gave him a special permit.
We’ve been on television and such.
The city asked him to star in a commercial for the bus system. Elvis would drive a bus.
It was raining that morning. And he’s not so good when cats cross the road. Steers to hit them.
Twenty stitches. And he lost his driver’s license.
I hope he doesn’t lose his pilot’s license, too. He’ll be devastated.