Category: Weekly Challenge

Welcome to the Weekly Challenge Number Two Hundred and Thirty-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 Cabbage!
VOTING

Which were the best stories this week?
	Steven
	AM Earley
	Anonymous
	Katwood
	TJ
	Tom
	Zackmann
	Ted
	Norval Joe
	Planet Z
Free polls from Pollhost.com

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

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Steven

The cabbages gained sentience on a Thursday.
They conquered the Earth by Saturday.
Some humans simply went mad, unable to deal with the vegetable voices
in their supermarkets, in their stomachs. Other humans required more
emphatic persuasion to submit.
A cabbage moving at high speed suffers little damage when impacting a
human skull.
The skull is not so lucky.
That Sunday, mass funerals were held for the victims of coleslaw
violence outside of every KFC. All countries, led by cabbage rulers,
declared peace.
At least the world was finally in harmony.
Until the next Thursday, when the rutabagas started talking.

AM Earley

Cabbage, beer and bratwurst combine to make my dad’s favorite meal. He ate it almost everyday. Oh sure, it tasted good, mom added carrots, onions and garlic. However I learned early on that I never wanted to sit in the same room with him for the rest of the night.
I found staying in my room was my best option, better when I stuffed a towel under my door. So I was stuck with doing my homework, or reading the Encyclopedia Britannica.
Maybe that’s how I ended up before all you nice people as Valedictorian of Elmwood High.

Anonymous

I know everyone poops, and every creature God created poops, but why don’t people clean up after their dogs? Before work today I had to roll the garbage can to the back of the house, around two other townhouses. I was dressed for work, and…guess what? Yup, I stepped in it. It was fresh and stinky and I guess hiding in a pile of leaves, cuz I didn’t see it. Since doggies don’t have opposable thumbs, their owners need to shovel up after them. Maybe I’ll go scrape my shoes on their front steps. Think they would get the hint?

Katwood

It’s a little known fact that dragons love cabbage, which was the root cause of the first dragon attack. The survivors told everyone that they were attacked for no reason by bloodthirsty monsters. That makes a much better story than “we were attacked because we wouldn’t hold up our end of a cabbage trade agreement or return the payment that we took”. This, of course, lead to an all-out war. Now, the few remaining humans hide as well as they can, to avoid being dragged off to grow cabbage. We would do it ourselves, but dragons are notoriously bad farmers.

TJ

Charles Babbage hated cabbage. He built up a machine
A Differential Engine to analyze cuisine
>From all the world over, Hungarian and Russian,
French, Greek and Korean, Rumanian and Prussian
Fed he into one end, machinery would clatter,
Analysis commenced on texture, chemistry and matter
If cabbage found he none, the meal would ensue
Even tho the end result resembled that of goo.
If cabbage was detected, the machine let out a blast
That thus avoiding, Charles did not pass along as gas
Cabbage free, his home took on a positiver air
Tranquil domesticity is all shall find you there.

Tom

A little know fact about the Irish potato famine was the effect of the baby zombies an army of cabbage patch children. Not the ugly toys from the 80s. but truly ugly little walking dead. At night you could hear their mournful cannibalistic cries. “Spuds Spuds” Damn near eat everything in Erie.
Some enterprising souls took to capturing Gabbages for their pots of lead. All that leaded crystal made the those who survived quite well todo. In remembrance of their deliverance Irish boil the cabbage and if they could get their hand on Elizabeth Windsor they’d boil her too.

Zackmann

I hated to move because I really miss my friend named Kim Chi. Every week I would have
supper with her and she loved to cook.She made what she called ham burgers with canned
ham patties and eggs served on an English Muffin. I thought it more of a breakfast but
sometimes we had lunch at night and our breakfast for supper. She always had rice and very
spicy vegetables. My favorite thing she made was a sort or pickled salad with Napa cabbage,
Daikon radishes, and lots of spice but I can’t remember what it’s called.

Please,come with me and take that basket because the Monroes gave me permission to pick
some produce from their garden. They are also a friend of Mr Howe’s who my wife promised
to make some fresh lumpia. Watch out for holes and don’t pick any white vegetables that
shouldn’t be white. Did I mention the Monroes have a vegetarian vampyre rabbit. No, he is
totally harmless and sleeps inside the house until dusk. Bunnicla only eats or rather only drinks
vegetables . Those white cabbages do look pretty creepy after Bunnicula sucks the life out of
them.

Ted

“Roll The Cabbage! Roll The Cabbage!”
It had been an annual tradition as Henry could remember and was one he truly hated.
Every summer the children hunted out The Cabbage hiding in the back of some closet and carried The Cabbage to the hill.
They rolled The Cabbage down the slope, sometimes hitting The Cabbage with sticks and tumbling after The Cabbage. Someone always got hurt, usually Henry.
“Jesus, I hate those bastards,” thought Henry just before vomiting and blacking out at the bottom of the hill. “It’s such a stupid nickname too; why can’t they just call me ‘Fatso’?”
This is my serious entry, the one that will win the Nobel prize. I don’t care how you do the narration, the father should be friendly but a pit paternalistic, “young Helen” can sound like a little girl. Peter’s father (“Corinthian stuffed cabbage!”) should sound like a proud Mediterranean older man, you can do the Greek accent for Peter as well if you want, I trust your judgment, Mr. Midget.

Her father was an art historian too. “Name the three Greek architectural styles,” he challenged.
Young Helen racked her brain: “the plain columns are Doric, the scroll Ionic, the leaves, um….”
“Corinthian. C for cabbage. Cabbage, Corinthian, OK?”
He died after she defended her dissertation on Roman temple carvings.
She met Peter while in Greece for her first sabbatical.
Dinner with his family. “Mom does most of the cooking but Papa is very proud of his regional specialties.”
The plate comes out: steaming leaves overflowing with meat and rice.
“Corinthian stuffed cabbage!”
They smell fantastic, and she begins to cry.

Norval Joe

I grew up down south around Bakersfield. My family was so poor we all lived in the same cardboard box. It was good we lived in Bakersfield, cause it don’t get really cold there or rain very much.
My cousin lived with us, too. He had a big old head that looked like a cabbage, so we just called him cabbage, his hair was green. Maybe he didn’t being called that cause he up and disappeared one day.
Times got really hard and we didn’t have much food. Funny, for a long time all we ever ate was cabbage soup.

Planet Z

Sure they were cute when they were young, but Cabbage Patch Kids don’t stay kids forever.
They grew up and became the Cabbage Patch Teens, and soon after, the lost and confused Generation Cabbage.
Imagine, trying to get a driver’s license, and all you have as documentation is a fake birth certificate from some toy company.
You can’t get Social Security cards with that, either, so you can’t get a real job.
Day laborers, prostitutes, drug addicts.
Now when you see them, by the side of the road, begging for food.
Once, you loved them.
But, you grew up too.

Welcome to the Weekly Challenge Number Two Hundred and Thirty-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 Cotton Mouth!
VOTING

Which were the best stories this week?
	A.M. Earley
	Tom
	Dave
	Stephen
	Katwood
	Ted
	Kathleen
	Norval Joe
	TJ
	Planet Z
Free polls from Pollhost.com

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

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A.M Earley

“My mouth fells like cotton.”
“Well alcohol, mosh-pits and screaming at the top. . .”
Sheila didn’t get to finish her rant. Her brother Steven passed out on her. The concert-goers around them ignored his plight.
“He is thirty pounds heavier than me, but no one else gives a . . .” Sheila thought of mothers picking up cars, bent her knees and put Steven in a fireman carry. It was forty feet to the door and security.
Steven better be fine by the time the main act took the stage. She loved Steven, but damnit, this is rock-and roll.

Tom

As he took the podium all moisture vanished from his mouth.
A silver thread of doubt ribbonen through his puritan logic.
At first he thought it might be the absence of god.
Am I not called to duty directly by divine will.
After inspection his resolve returned.
A righteous gaze bore into the slumped head of Mistress Brown.
Ada was bound but not broken, met his gaze with defiance.
“Show her the instruments of the question.” Squeaked the preacher.
His mind may have been drenched in grace, but his palate was still parched.
Imagine that Cotton Mather a Cotton Mouther

Dave

It was the darkest, creepiest, building in the neighborhood.
Davey promises he will return tonight with his trick-or-treat bag. This will be the year he owns up for what he’s done to them in the past.
He fills his bag so much he can’t close it. Davey decides it is time to face his fears and make his last stop.
He rings the door bell, his nerves give out, he can’t talk, he has cotton mouth.
He dodges behind the bushes
as the door to Faith’s Embrace Foster Home opens.
A group of small children drag inside their annual gift.

Zackmann

Hello Hugh, I am calling about Charles, your dimension’s company representative. In our world
there are intelligent peoples who look like muppets so we are totally okay with people you
call plushophiles. Getting to the point he is in quarantine. Due to a case of what doctors here
call Cotton Mouth therefore he will stay an additional week and hopefully next time he will meet
someone from a good family and not go home with the first blue plush person he meets in a bar.
At least he knows what foreplay is. Cotton Balls takes much longer to cure.

Steven

Angie arranged the dolls around the table. “Teatime!” she yelled.
Ellie held his denim trunk still as Angie poured imaginary tea.
Bunny’s plush ears did not twitch. R.A. (Esquire) flopped his stuffed
head to the side, red yarn hair draping his shoulder.
“Raggedy.” Angie stared at R.A. “Have some tea.”
R.A. picked up the faded teacup. He glanced at Ann’s severed head in
the corner. She’d guessed wrong. He took a drink of pretend tea.
“Oolong,” he guessed, mouth dry.
Angie smiled. “Yes!”
R.A. sighed in relief.
“From what country?” Angie asked.
R.A. swore Ann’s button eyes winked in anticipation.

Katwood

Dear Sophia,
I am sorry I was unable make it to your wedding, but I was sick. I had to go to the hospital and everything. That alone should tell you how sick I was. It would have been fine, but I had a bad reaction to one of the medications they gave me. Sometime people just don’t listen, especially people who think they know everything. I’ll probably be out and back to work within in the next couple of days. I really did intend to go this time, too. But that damn cottonmouth bit me again.
From,
Your Friend

Ted

I love Thanksgiving: the parade, the sales, but most of all, the stuffing.
My first taste was Mom’s stuffed bird. True, it was pretty dry, but I was hooked.
I’d eat anything with stuffing: chicken, duck, even frog or cat, I reckon.
Midnight last Thanksgiving-Eve, the craving struck. I ate all the stuffing in the house. Every piece.
That morning was horrible. My wife was screaming, the children were crying. I left the house in shame.
I wanted to make it up to them, but how? I had been banned from every store that sold stuffed animals or upholstered furniture.

Kathleen

Thirst
What can I get you to drink?
Can’t decide
Try the water moccasin–house specialty.
Never heard of it.
It’s a girly drink, someone piped in.
What’s that you’re drinking Earl?
You know what I’m drinking.
Isn’t that a water moccasin
The one and only
So it’s a girly drink? I questioned
I’m Earl
So you own this place?
It’s a long story
This was Eve’s and Earl’s; now it’s only Earl’s
But the water moccasin?
It was Eve’s concoction.
Earl showed me his tattoo
Here’s my real baby– a cotton mouth. Isn’t she beautiful.
I’ll try that house specialty.

Norval Joe

“We’re going to make all those new toys pay,” the filthy, faded beagle barked and nervously tucked the seam together where his tail used to be.
“That’s right, No Tail,” the legless, one-eyed giraffe whined. “This will be a night the toy box will never forget. What do you think, Cotton Mouth?”
The teddy bear shoved a ball of loose padding back through his torn mouth and down his throat.
“Yes, they will all suffer, the same as us,” he said and pulled a butcher knife from beneath the bed. “Now if we could just get the stupid box open.”

TJ

Cotton-Mouth Jim didn’t get a song written about him. His brother,
Cotton-Eyed Joe, was kind of a slut. After that girl broke up with her
whiny songwriter boyfriend to be with him, he was regaled the world
over. Of course, everyone always asks about Joe, where did he come from,
where did he go, these eternal questions, but no one’s heard of the
songwriter. Cotton-Mouth Jim, he hasn’t been famous for anything since
he was 9 and he shoved two giant cotton candies in his mouth at the
county fair. That’s the kind of front-page photo that haunts a man.

Planet Z

I smoke way too much pot.
Way… way too much.
My mouth is so dry. When I drag my tongue around, little crusty bits come loose.
I spit them out. What awful colors they are.
It starts to hurt, so…
I smoke some more.
And it gets worse.
Everything stinks. I never clean in here.
Nobody wants to visit because it’s so awful here.
So, I smoke some more.
I can’t tell if it’s day or night.
The cable’s out. Phone’s out. I assume I got fired from my job.
What was my job?
Who cares?
I smoke some more.

Welcome to the Weekly Challenge Number Two Hundred and Thirty-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 Ten!
VOTING

Which were the best stories this week?
	Chibi
	Steven
	Lynda
	Zackmann
	Katwood
	Norval Joe
	TJ
	A.M. Earley
	Ted
	Planet Z
Free polls from Pollhost.com

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

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Chibi

Ten fingers and ten toes. That’s all she cared about when each one was born. But as time wore on, and each grew older, she began to wonder if the sense of independence she instilled in them would be a cause for future pain. One by one, they took off. Each child beaming at the possibilities, free from the confines of parental control. Each with their own dream of a life other than what she thought was to be. She anticipated the day would come when they all flew the coop. That time just came too soon.

Steven

The aliens told us to comply within ten hours, or face destruction.
We had to give them all our men. Forever. As bull studs.
Some men showed up. The female aliens weren’t ugly, after all. But a
surprising percentage of men preferred life with their families, their
lovers, their jobs.
We thought we had time to prepare.
The countdown clock had two hours left when we noticed the translation
was not ten hours, but “two hands of hours”.
The aliens looked a lot like us.
They had four digits on each hand.
We heard lasers, held our spouses, and prayed.

Lynda

When time travel became commercially available, it was used purely for entertainment. Hunting dinosaurs is cheaper than averting wars, evidently.
Then came the hyped and protested day when ten of history’s greatest warriors were gathered to fight a supreme death match.
The small man with the big voice stood in the center of the arena, introducing each fighter to a cheering crowd. His tuxedo and blinding white teeth were as out of place as his warning, “Keep it clean, kids are watching!”
The kids loved having their pictures taken with the referree’s charred, impaled head before all hell broke loose.

Zackmann

Ten little zombies all in a row. Out comes the twelve gauge where did they go.
Nine zombies. Cast iron pan hits one on the hat.
Eight little zombies really being where it’s at,at least until the baseball bat.
Seven little zombies. One shot by M-16 until again dead.
Six little zombies. More gunfire and where is the head.
Five little zombies one meets a chainsaw in a bathroom stall.
Four little zombies one has a nasty fall.
Three little zombies standing in a row seeing a hand grenade.
Should have used that sooner. Don’t yah know.

Since ten, ten, ten is binary for forty-two, like many others I am thinking of Douglas Adams. I
would like to tell you how by carrying ones in binary this is possible but there are Adam’s fans
smarter than I who have blog posts explaining that.
Every since a friend in high school introduced me to The Hitchhikers Guide, I started wondering
about Adams and his fiction universes.
My biggest question is about Gusty Winds from Salmon of the Soul. Why would a woman
whose pet poops in a different dimension want the rear end of her pet back.

I am Sirius Cybernetics Corporation’s GPP (Genuine People Personalities)
ebook reader. It makes me happy to serve you. Please read a book from me or
let me read a book to you. Ford told me Dale M. Courtney’s Moon People is you
favorite. Well after Twilight. I could gladly download you a brand new ebook for
an even higher costs than buying the hardcover or if you insist I could get you a
book in Public Domain free. When you are done reading or hearing me read, you
may put me back in that cold dark desk drawer.

Does my insurance cover acts of gods? What you mean if there was an act of thee God like
a tornado I would be covered but when Thor transports a military aircraft into my living room
there is nothing you can do? Just how do you think I am playing some kind of joke? I sent you
photographs. You sent an adjuster because you thought my pictures were photo shopped. This
is the tenth time I called you this week and I want my living room back. No, I don’t think the
military will let me keep the plane.

“Do you think if Douglas Adams would have lived longer there would have been ten books in a
trilogy instead of only five?” asked Zack.
“Maybe” replied the high priest “I believe there are currently thirty-five books in the Xanth
trilogy.”
“Should Doug Adams be considered the grandfather of podiobooks since his radio show proved
people will buy books even if they had heard the audio free?” said Zack
“No sir, Scott Sigler invented podcasting and the very Internet”
Zack wished he had not gone to an alternate universe in which Siglerism was taken seriously
and became the predominant religion.
by zackmann

Katwood

Ten minutes. Then everything will be in place and I can slip in. I’ve been observing for weeks, since the day when I first laid eyes on that golden cobra, with its graceful wings and minute details. It will, it must, be mine. Security will not be as much of a problem as in a major museum. I’ve studied this place, looking for a weakness, and I found one. I’ve been waiting in this unnoticeable spot for hours, waiting for the moment that it’s unguarded. The electricity and little explosive go off. I move and it is mine. Now, escape.

Norval Joe

One wiener dog sought revenge against evolution’s ridiculous design flaw.
Two bricks fell in love, eternally separated across the chimney.
Three flounders swim in circles and make silly, bug-eyed faces
Four Studebaker Larks discussed the weather and slowly rust away.
Five small mountains entered official negotiations to form a range.
Six sub-atomic particles are still way too small to see
Seven eleven has Slurpees for sale in four different flavors.
Eight planets mourn the loss of one of their members.
Nine monsters under the bed wrestle for the best spot.
Ten bowling pins futilely brace themselves for the inevitable assault.

TJ

Ten tents attested to the intensity of the intent of ten Terwilligers to test their testosterone up the Grand Tetons. Tempestuous winds tore across the timberline as timberwolves took shelter in the trees. The Terwilligers trekked tenaciously toward the top but stopped for the night without attaining it. They?d trapped rabbit and stewed it with tomatoes, tarragon and thyme which made for a tasty repast. The trip would?ve been ten times better had they attained the summit. Tragically, Tommy Terwilliger took sick and his temperature topped 100, so they packed up the transport and returned to town tout-suite. Too bad.

AM Earley

“Ninety-four years is a long time to be alive. But I feel ten years old.” I looked at Granddad and instantly got the reference. He was diagnosed with breast cancer ten years ago, remission for seven. I figure I will wait a few days until I tell him the results of my test. I’m not going to do the chemo like he did. I do have a few days before I decide what to do. Today I watch Granddad blow out his pink ribbon birthday candle. In ten years I will celebrate with a candle but definitely not pink.

Ted

Everything should come in tens: commandments, fingers. hotdogs, armadillos. You name it, it should come in tens.
Sometimes I’m the only one who cares. Once I lost my job at the theater for drawing in the missing dwarves.
But the fans loved me: “Ten Inning Charlie,” they called me.
Until the accident, of course. When our jet went down in the Rockies, only the pilot and shortstop died on impact. The rest of us were unharmed.
“Pitcher Sole Survivor,” the papers said.
Sometimes at night I can still hear their screams, the copilot’s especially.
But everything should come in tens.

I won the lottery today. After ten years playing the scratch-off I finally beat that sucker! Who’s laughing now, Gamblers Anonymous?
Now I’m gettin’ me the royal treatment on a first-class trip to Vegas. Yes sir, I feel like Elvis: presidential suite; five course lobster breakfast; Olympic-sized Jacuzzi with a wetbar and a waterproof (I hope) flatscreen HDTV; four escort girls; and a mountain of cocaine.
All comped of course. Casinos don’t ask questions when they know you have a gambling problem and a winning lotto ticket.
But they should. A $10 scratch-off payout don’t buy too many of chips.

Planet Z

The gymnast chalks her hands, takes a deep breath, looks to her coach for the signal, and begins her run.
She remembers her training, years of pain and repetition.
The Party bosses watching her in approval, implied threats to her and her family.
“Only gold,” they said. “Only tens.”
Once she entered competition, that’s all she earned.
Now, at the Olympics, this was her big chance.
Still running, she turned at the pommel horse, made a beeline for the American judge, and shouted “I DEMAND AMNESTY!”
The crowd erupted in cheers, and she earned something more precious than gold.
Freedom.

Laurence Simon

Many years ago, my family took a trip to Washington, and we toured the Air and Space Museum.
Off in a corner, the Charles and Ray Eames film “Powers Of Ten” played in a loop.
I watched it zoom out from the man on the blanket out into the universe, and then shrink down to quantum mysteries 3 times before my family wondered where I was.
Would I be a scientist?
Would I be an astronomer?
No, I am neither of those. I never did follow those dreams.
Instead, I came away with something more valuable: a sense of perspective.

Welcome to the Weekly Challenge Number Two Hundred and Thirty-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 Banned!
VOTING

Which were the best stories this week?
	Katwood92
	Ross
	Dave A.
	Tom
	Zackmann
	Justin
	Terence
	TJ
	Norval Joe
	Planet Z
Free polls from Pollhost.com

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

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Katwood

It was a happy day when the politicians were banned from Earth. Not just some of them, all of them. Now they live on some moon somewhere. Around Jupiter, I think. No one’s quite sure who started this process, or how. Regardless, they deserve a Nobel Prize. Governments around the world are much more effective now that the people in charge are there because they truly want to help, not for their own gain. In five years, we’ve managed to get things done that politicians only talked about. Now we just have to get something done about those pesky lobbyists.

Ross

First books were banned, then schools, then education in general.
Soon followed prohibitions concerning consumption of green vegetables, bathing, newspapers (and news reporting in general), public displays of affection, and regimented exercise. People were at a loss with what to do with all their free time when employment was banned.
But the final straw, which incited rebellion and the eventual downfall of the empire, was the proclamation banning “girls and their cooties”.
Years later, looking back, the historians all agreed that it had been a monumentally bad idea to allow the child-emperor to dictate law according to his 8-year-old whims.

Dave

“Can we play at Shagnasty’s?”
Taylor, the drummer, explained their situation, “No, Nigel, we’re banned
there too. That was the night your leather pants split and you were
arrested for indecent exposure.”
“Just because a man drops his pants is no reason to stop a concert. Can we
play at Tommy’s?”
“You drove the van through their front window. Banned”
“The Green Olive?”
“You set fire to the pool tables. Banned”
“Can we practice in your parents’ garage?”
“If you come near my mom, my Dad, will kill you, and the band voted, we
think it’s best if you leave.”

Tom

I was 11 years ago when the gulf of Tokin resolution occurred. Seven years later the damn war was still raging. I had gone from child to young adult and the war from remote to perilously close. The year before my lottery call a book began to appear around my high school. It had the dubious pedigree of actually being self-banned by its author and publisher in the interest of nation security. Its hero was a solider who had lost are his limbs eyes ears and mouth. I failed to heed its message, so I’m send this one in Morse code.

Zackmann

Are you coming to the book club meeting tonight? We are choosing a banned book to read.
Would you like to read Twilight?
Do they ban books for being dull.
No it was for religious views or necrophiliac pedophilia.
We were really thinking maybe Fahrenheit 451 or Brave New World.
Maybe a banned book with murder, war, incest, and genocide.
The Bible?
Exactly
Is Dave coming?
No, the meeting is at the Pork House and Dave doesn’t want to come since the owner’s wife
banned bacon stuffed bacon wrapped in bacon cooked in bacon grease from the menu.

Justin

I went Wal-Mart dressed up as a ninja, complete with all black attire and mask.
I walked in and I knew people were staring at me, but I didn’t look at anyone, just kept to my mission; buy a banana.
I went to the produce section, grabbed a banana, and headed, coins in hand, to the registers.
I skipped the nearest one because it was an older lady who looking like she’d faint, so I went to the next one, a guy who saw my banana, said ‘never mind’ into the phone and hung up.
I probably could’ve been banned.

Terrence

The TSA agent looked me in the eye, not even a hint of a smile on his face.
“This is getting a little ridiculous.” I said placing my socks into the bag. The agent nodded for me to continue. I reached for the electric shaver. “Really?”
“Could braid your hair to make strangling cords.”
“I am thinking about that myself right now.”
That apparently was the wrong thing to say. Now, I’m sitting in a small room with a metal table and two chairs bolted to the ground. Looks like I’m going to be the next thing banned from flying.

TJ

Banned?! You want these materials banned from the library?! They are a
classic! I cannot STAND when books are banned. Children have a right to
be exposed to a wide variety of differing views. How silent would be the
forest if only the best birds could sing? You don’t know! A book like
Shirley Jackson’s “The Lottery” could spark a movement against
injustice! It’s an outrage! I protest! Information wants to be free!
Sir, while I don’t disagree with you on any particular point, donating
your old Playboys to a middle-school library is simply asking for
trouble.
Heh heh heh.

Norval Joe

There is a small European nation wedged between Germany and Austria that has been so totally forgotten that no one outside its borders even remember its name, or where exactly it is on the map.
That’s fine for the residents of that country. Their goal as a nation is to remain unchanged from their traditional ways.
The last change there was after World War II when the United States forced them to abandon their royalty for democracy.
Offended by the interference they banned anything to do with the US, except for Walmart, since everything there is made in China.

Planet Z

There’s a party on the base, and my orders are to find it.
I check my weapon and step out of the jeep, walking into the restricted warehouse.
Everything that had ever been banned was in there: books, guns, drugs.
You name it: if it’s banned, it’s in there.
I walked up to the security desk and was waved through the gate.
“Follow the music, you’ll find the party,” said the guard.
“Do I need to I leave my sidearm?” I ask.
“Nah,” said the guard. “There could be dueling.”
Good, I say, and burn my invitation with a lighter.

Welcome to the Weekly Challenge Number Two Hundred and Thirty-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 Stand!
VOTING

Which were the best stories this week?
	Tom
	Katwood92
	Zackmann
	Stephen
	TJ
	Jeffrey
	Planet Z
Free polls from Pollhost.com

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

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Tom

The carriage pulled to an abrupt stop at the apex of ford’s passage.
In leather and lace stood Amanda Wainwright two pistols drawn
At the coachmen head.
“Stand and Deliver” she bellowed.
Out of the coach tumbled Percy Lambton followed cautiously by
Bishop Denton Fallow and gracefully Lady Gordon
“Pray what is the meaning of this assault on mother church” churled the bishop
“To lighten your purse and bring you close to our savior.”
Amanda led a shot lose and bishop toppled into Percy’s lap
Quickly Lady Gordon scoped up the bishop’s purse and swung
behind the highway woman. Off they road.

Katwood92

People are greedy, especially for food. If it’s unguarded for even a moment, someone takes it. This happened to me. So I took a stand. Now, I leave food out intentionally. But this food has poison in it. Not enough to make them immediately sick, but enough to kill. If they make it to the emergency room, the doctors can’t trace it. Who admits to stealing? I watch sometimes, follow them for a bit, mentally laughing as they sicken. If I keep up for long enough, there will be no more greedy people left, here anyway. Wouldn’t that be great?

Zackmann

Is this the end of the line? Do you have Internet? And you are still here? Do you like
standing in line? No, I have been banking on line for several years myself. I pay everything
online even charities and my children’s allowances. I even do most of my shopping online.
You may go ahead of me. I actually do not really have any banking to do. I am here because the
lines are really long on a Friday that falls near the first or fifteenth and now that the children are
back in school, I am really lonely.

Steven

His fist thwacks into me, a sharp crack echoing off the restroom’s
metal walls. A sharp sunburst of pain as bones snap, a wet thud from
tile meeting my flesh.
His boot slams into my ribs. I am airborne in a spinning sprawling
shallow arc back to the ground. My blood spatters an abstract
painting on the porcelain.
This would be cool in a movie.
I lay there for a moment. He turns to leave.
My hand grabs his ankle, draws him crashing to the ground. I rise
over his half-conscious body.
“Brains,” I say.
And then I feast.

TJ

The sentry post is staffed, not manned,
Grimly there three sentries stand
Exchaging glances, no one moves
Distantly a horse’s hooves
And night bird’s shrieking breaks the night
A steady dripping adding fright
A fourth sentry clutches his neck and yelps
Wild eyes entreat his friends for help
They dare not move, lest raptor’s claws
Close suddenly beneath their jaws
The darkened lab, the crummy pay,
Their wish their lives not end that way
It seemed to object to light and sound
It’s somewhere on the ceiling now
They dare not move, their post unmanned
Where three remaining sentries stand.

Norval Joe

The rest of the kids on the block had typical stands. Jamahl sold lemonade. Shaniqua sold koolade. Baldacero thought he was outside the box selling necklaces made from soda can pull tabs.
Marty was different, he sold monkeys.
All the other kids lost interest and closed up.
Marty saved and waited. When the economy went bad he bought out the kid around the corner that sold chimpanzees. Eventually, he took over the lemurs and the great apes on 42nd street.
“I deal in primates,” he’d say if asked what he did.
He thought being in the monkey business sounded silly.

Planet Z

Every Sunday, I stop by a fruit stand on the way to church and pick up some oranges.
Last week, there was no fruit stand along the road.
So, I went to the grocery store.
They weren’t as good, and they cost twice as much.
This week, still no sign of the fruit stand.
Maybe he got driven off by the food inspectors, or maybe immigration?
After church, when I got home, I threw the oranges in the pool and watched them float around.
“Much better,” I said. “But not as good as the ones from the fruit stand.”

Welcome to the Weekly Challenge Number Two Hundred and Twenty-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 Books!
VOTING

Which were the best stories this week?
	Freereed
	Zackmann
	Tom
	Steven
	TJ
	Almo
	Norval Joe
	Justin
	Planet Z
Free polls from Pollhost.com

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

---

Freereed

Double Books
1986) hide that the company was siphoning off funds to pay for the boss’ girlfriend and illegitimate son. hide the tens of thousands going to the fair haired brother’s cocaine habit.
1990) finance holidays for the homophobic marian brother and his ex-cop boyfriend. that came from the Mother Theresa fund.
Triple Books
2004) the sister’s foundation owing £27,000 end of year, I stood apopleptic in the office…
who’s gonna pay this bill? the blessed mother?? Sister Agnes smiled.
the money appeared in a check Christmas eve morning signed by the alcholic gambling addict passed out in the kitchen.

Zackmann

Are you tired of people telling you about well written books you must read. Since Steven
King’s “On Writing” recommends you should read well written books but also poorly written
books, I recommend “Moon People” by Dale M Courtney at least read the first page. Maybe
only the first page. This is a book better to own than read. I love loaning people my copy to see
the look on their face like that of a toddler eating a lemon wedge. I know only one other person
who finished reading Moon People. Best of all there are sequels.

I’m a NaNoWriMo failure and I really need some help.
I’m in love books and writing but i can’t write myself.
I’ve tried listening to I Should Be Writing, Irreverent Muse, Litopia, and DRS
But how to write past chapter two is something I can’t guess.
I’ve tried reading the classic right before bed
I can’t concentrate on them so I’m still not well read.
I’m a NaNoWriMo failure and I really need some help.
Almost November. Quiting might be a sin.
Soon will be November and time to try again.

Tom

“here is the books.”
“No” calmly said Arnesto
“Here are the books.”
“R?”
“No”
“A-R-E”
“ever!”
“That’s Whatever.”
“This sucks.
Why can’t I just Fram the skeen?”
Marie flicked a forefinger
Across the desk. A cloud of Oxygen
electrons pulled rigid into a glowing square
tiny animated glyphs danced in a row
“Better.” Said Marie
“If you’re going to be a scholar
you have to master non – ani – alphs”
Marie raised a finger, at least that usage
hadn’t changed in 600 years. The book
said Marie was the one who would keep
the language alive.
Cervantes had his doubts.

Steven

“So, you’ve had some stories published?” I hate the old, quavering
sound of my voice.
“Yes, grandpa.” I still think of him as the boy, though he’s older
than me when I’d married Martha. He’s holding his book behind his
back. “I’ve got a chapbook of short stories.”
“Oh,” I say, and nod. “Good job. Can I read them?”
“They’re… not really your speed.” I see the knife and blood on the
cover. “Thanks, though. Gotta go, grandpa.”
I shake my head as he leaves, and try to decide between the Poppy Z.
Brite novel or the Clive Barker one.

TJ

Book burnings were almost quaint by the 2030s. Most books were eBooks by
then, and no one wanted to burn their otherwise appropriately named
Kindles. People would gather in cirles and download a Bible or a Quran,
or Dianetics, or Ray Bradbury’s Fahrenheit 451, and then with a
flourish, the payment still processing in some cases, they would delete
the book. Followed by awkward reassurances that they’re sure they wish
to delete the file. This proved disappointing, somehow, so at the same
time, they also burned the books in question in effigy. Naturally,
whatever the book, Amazon made a killing.

Almo

The last rays of sun bounced off the wrecked cars, the burned out buildings, the flecks of falling snow.
Gilbert bent into the bitter wind and walked. He spotted a building with a light in the window. Warmth.
He was pleased to discover a library.
He moved along the shelves and picked out several books. A thin Hemingway. A legal tome. Birds of North America.
He cuddled in one of the overstuffed chairs.
Then Gilbert carefully arranged the books near his feet on the marble floor. He lit them, and rubbed his hands in the glow of the building fire.

Norval Joe

Jake ran from sixth period english, his notebooks tucked under his arm; science was on the other side of the school. He rounded a corner to a narrow hallway, straight into Mark.
Mark laughed and pushed him back.
Silently, Doug had slipped behind Jake and slapped the books out of his grip. They splattered to the ground, loose pages scattering.
At the end of the hall, Janice appeared. “Do it, Jake,” she said.
Tears of embarasment burned Jake’s eyes as he gathered his notes.
“Do it, Jake,” Mark mimicked.
“Ok,” Jake whispered. “Pest, be gone.”
In a flash, Mark disappeared.

Justin

In my hands is the last paper book.
All paper and trees are gone. Giant air cyclers dot the landscape, converting CO2 into oxygen, along with the ocean plants.
The cyclers were built when the trees died.
The trees died when an overzealous ebook reader manufacturer released nanobots into the world to destroy the paper books. Ironically, he did it to save the trees, but of course, something went wrong.
The nanobots were eventually destroyed.
I tear a page from the book and wipe.
They’ve made a substitute for trees, but they’ve yet to make a good toilet paper replacement.

Planet Z

I have no idea how some of these celebrity chefs make ends meet.
I mean, there’s several that have endorsement deals in the millions, but the B-listers look like they’re bright in the spotlight, but their restaurants aren’t filling tables anymore.
After a wide undercover investigation, we found the reason why: they cheated.
Cheap ingredients.
Tax dodges.
Paying illegal aliens to work in the kitchens.
Now, there’s a new show on the Food Network about bad accounting practices in the restaurant business called “Cooking The Books.”
These B-lister criminal chefs all agreed to star in it.
Fame’s such a bitch.

Welcome to the Weekly Challenge Number Two Hundred and Twenty-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 Muffin Basket!
VOTING

Which were the best stories this week?
	Freereed
	Tom
	TJ
	Murray
	Abigail
	Zackmann
	Steven
	Norval Joe
	Planet Z
Free polls from Pollhost.com

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

---

Freereed

“Yer ass looks like a heart-shaped meatloaf in those pants.”
He always had a parting shot … umm… compliment.. before they went out.
“Louie, yer a goddam jewel,” she murmured while patting down the last strays of her up-do.
Arrive early, leave late. It’s all so predictable.
A game to see who could not hold their liquor and made a complete jerk of themselves.
Who would be first to break out crying.
“C’mon Muffin Basket, drive me home,” he breathed beerily into her ear.
“Sure, baby, sure.” She reminded herself to remove Cliff’s phone number from her bra first thing.

Tom

In order to increase attendance Sally Rand Junior College
decided to add a burlesque class to its fall schedule.
On a dare from her friend Ida Hampton Muffy Wainwight
signed up for Neo Stripteases 101.
“You Gotta Have A Gimmick” reminded the instructor
referring back to the music Gypsy.
Muffy turned to Ida,
“What’s your Gimmick?”
“I’m thinking Ida and her Ipad.”
“You know techy titillation.”
“What about you?”
“I’m going Martha Steward
a sort of pop n fresh theme.
Muffy and her muffin basket.
As the footlights rise
Hi Boys
I’m Muffy want to be my muffin man

TJ

I don’t know exactly what I expected. I figured, per your
president’s announcement, active combat would end and probably forces
would rotate out as needed. Probably there’d be some violence but
mostly because of the instability. We don’t have water in some places,
still. We jokingly call those places “New Orleans.” We have TV here.
I’m sure we will get the electricity and water going soon. But I was
surprised, finding on my doorstep this morning as I rose for morning
prayers, that the U.S. sent everyone a muffin basket with a card signed
“Sorry about the war. Love, Obama.”

Murray

I’ve been working for years on my compound. Odourless. Tasteless. Highly explosive.
It hasn’t been easy to find a compound that is so volatile, yet resistant to heat and impact. There was only one way to test the prototypes. Thankfully, I’ve got all my fingers. Mostly.
When the first demonstration is complete, I’ll be rich. It won’t matter that the Defense Department fired me.
“What’s this?” the baggage inspector asked.
“Just muffins. Blueberry.”
He eyed me suspiciously, taking one and breaking it apart.
“Huh.” He waved me through.
I left the basket in the bathroom. Armed, of course.
Demonstration time.

Abigail

Ooo baby you know I love how you move that muffin basket. Oh come on honey shake that sweetness. That’s it , spill that hot and good my way. Yah gimmee some of that. I gotta have some of what you got. Bring it on over here. Bring it. Bring it on.
When the paramedics came Verdene jus said, he’d” teetered on off his stool “,and “Hey,can you folks hurry on I got kids to get to and I still got the grill to scrape down” , her thighs fighting the length of the counter . She swabbed unmercifully .

Zackmann

Dearest Guido:
Thank you for the Muffin Basket complete with the Little Wicker Basket brand container. I think
that since I am currently involved in no court activities that you may have sent them to the wrong
address. I sincerely hope not to be mistaken for your target. Thank you again, blueberry muffins
are my favorite and I was overjoyed until I read the card.
“Hope youse enjoy these blueberry muffins just like youse will enjoy a long life iffin youse don’t
testify and youse should knows that No one alive has ever testified against me or my friends”

Steven

Hansel shoved the girl up against the rough tree. “This ain’t what I wanted.”
“I don’t have anything else,” she whimpered, the red fabric of her
cloak draping over her eyes. “Grandma just made the muffins. No
cookies. No cake.”
Hansel looked back toward his sister. “Whaddya think?”
Gretel walked out of the shadows. “I think we have a little girl who
brought the wrong gift and now can’t find her way home.”
“Oh,” Red Hood said, “all I have to do is take a left here and-”
Gretel drew her knife. “Not can’t. She won’t find her way home.”

Norval Joe

I struggle back up the dingy aisle, across greasy, grimy linolium tiles, toward the door, and the light.
Memories of past events, stories, vague and rotting, like the decaying cardboard containers abandoned amid the debris of collapsed soup can piramids, and piles of worm eaten wicker muffin baskets.
I look back. How far have I come?
100 aisles, 10,000 steps.
Each week another aisle along, yet I am farther behind the old man, the guide, the master.
He waits at the exit, his midget and his monkey at his side.
He teases me and calls, “Don’t forget the bacon salt.”

Planet Z

The moment we put the wicker basket in the window, Muffin decided that it was hers.
She climbed up on the table, crawled into her basket, and curled up for a long nap.
She wouldn’t let anyone or anything near that basket.
When she saw Mister Tigger sniffing the basket, she screeched and angrily chased him off.
And she shredded any magazines and shoved away any balls of yarn we put in there.
One morning, she crawled into the basket, went to sleep, and never woke up.
It’s hers forever now. We buried her in the back yard in it.

Welcome to the Weekly Challenge Number Two Hundred and Twenty-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 Masks!
VOTING

Which were the best stories this week?
	Abigail
	Lewis
	Freereed
	Zackmann
	Almo
	Graceful
	TJ
	Norval Joe
	Planet Z
Free polls from Pollhost.com

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

---

Abigail

Her sister was tapping on her cheek,” Hmm, not done yet.” her fingernail clicking dissatisfaction. Beneath hooded eyelids the slim view of sleeves flourishing, the sleight of hand, “Don’t move.” She had given her a light therapy kit too.”This flashing causes the molecules on your skin to scurry and bombard into each other and then they hold one another close. Wrinkle free! Smooth!” These words peeled off as thoughts of her sister telling her she was an Indian Princess, the igloos they made, and the double angels in the snow when she held on to her tight, scurried and bombarded.

Lewis

the hideous creation oozed itself
around the lab. The doctor’s
experiment was getting out of
hand. It was scary, except
it wore silly masks of
three cartoon characters. He told
one person of his experiment.
It was after he injected
her with nanites to cure
his fiance’s terminal disease. Before
their very eyes, her arm
turned a dark purple. It
later became shiny and then
started to droop as if
it were geletan. A few
days later, she was just
a mess of purple ooze
moving around, longing for revenge.
As she absorbed him through
osmosis, he turned purple too.

Freereed

“i want you to paint my wife. money’s no object.”
“Send her in next week; we’ll make a start.”
He’d never worked with anyone so sad or still.
The first five months he enjoyed the opportunity to really paint a face.
During the last month he started talking to her ~
“Signora. tell me please, why are you so sad?
“The week I came to you I lost a baby. It would’ve been my first.”
“Ohh, my sympathies…”
“My husband doesn’t know.”
“I will paint your secret into the mask of your portrait. I will never say a word.”
“Mille Grazie.”

Zackmann

Have you seen my house and if you have will you help me find it. I bought a new house cheap
but it was not in the best neighborhood and my insurance guy said I could get a fifty percent
discount if I bought a cloaking device as an anti-theft measure and it works really well as long
as the batteries don’t go dead in the remote before you memorize your address. Until I recharge
the batteries in the remote, I can not unmask my house. I may never find it since the neighbors
have cloaking devices on too.

I walked into Jen’s Wax Candle Emporium, a shop that sold candles by the scents they masked.
I saw “just ate beans”, “wet dog”, “old kitty litter”,”dirt diaper” and almost any smell you would
like to cover. She even had nosegays just in case you don”t care what other people smell.
Not finding the one I need I asked Jen if she had anything that masks the smell of tuyo. She
replied sorry so far I have found nothing to cover the smell of warmed dried fish but this sample
of “mouse stuck in furnace” might help.

Almo

John got out of the van and opened the back door. He smoothed his hands over his new blue coveralls. Stanley called from the driver’s seat, “Get the tools.”
John looked quickly through the neat stacks of equipment in the boxes.
“Make sure we have pliers,” Stanley yelled.
“What kind?” John called back, pawing through the various implements.
“Needle nose,” Stanley said. “And tape.”
“Tape?” John said.
“It masks the screams,” Stanley told his rookie assistant.
John got the tape and the pliers and closed the doors of the panel van with the “Torture Inc.” logo emblazoned on them.

Graceful

She logged into the online store and reviewed the products list.
Scanning the names running down her screen, she watched for the one
she had heard about.
Anger
Ball
Behind
Burn
Carnival
Catcher
Ceremonial
CPAP
Data
Death
Demon
Dennis, Rocky
Dionysus
Diving
Effect
Female
Face
Fencing
Fluid
Gas
Goalie
Groucho Marx
Halloween
Hidden
Iron
Janus
Japanese
Jung
Mardi gras
Mobile Armored Strike Kommand
Munch, Edward
Nixon
Odor
Oxygen
Polycarbonate
Tape
Welding
Zorro
Maybe she had missed it. Scrolling back she found it, and clicked.
“Pain, Masks”
Upgrading to priority mail, she would have it next time he said those words.

TJ

AHA!
They don’t show this in the comics.
My heroic alter ego, AHA!, has a knack for anticipating where the bad
guy is going to be and then getting there ahead of him. I’m assisted
by logic, vector awareness and basic math.
So when I intuit the bad guy’s escape route from the bank heist will
take him through this nice lady’s living room and I get there ahead of
time I trip her Brinks home alarm. The police pull off my mask and I’m
just Harold Feinstein, math teacher.
They got the other guy too. We’re sharing a cell. AHA!

Norval Joe

The warbling call to prayer echoed from the minarets of the city’s mosque. Those close by made their way quickly inside. Faithful believers, too far away to reach the building by the appointed hour, rolled out prayer rugs in their homes, businesses and even in the dusty cobbled streets.
A man walked quickly from his truck, away from the mosque, his hood pulled down to mask his face.
Still others, far away, gathered around a table and two cell phones, in a small stuffy room.
They awaited the word.
One phone rang.
A voice said, “You may make the call.”

Planet Z

The face of the first CPR mannequin was modeled after a beautiful woman who had drowned in the River Seine.
Her death mask was a popular addition to many homes, and one of those led to its use on the dummy.
The most important lesson one learns with the dummy is only to administer CPR to someone who is not responding.
So when the dummy turned to me and moaned “Let me rest in peace!” I fainted.
And the entire class tried to administer CPR to me.
A broken nose and three cracked ribs later, I threw out the dummy.

Welcome to the Weekly Challenge Number Two Hundred and Twenty-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 Autumn!
VOTING

Which were the best stories this week?
	Freereed
	TJ
	Zackmann
	Graceful
	Abigail
	Norval Joe
	Planet Z
Free polls from Pollhost.com

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

---

Freereed

the most famous clown in the world
no-one remembers his name
born on the spring equinox
died on the autumn equinox
came in at the beginning
with white caked face
exited at the ending
with dusty feet
he hid little children in a theatre caravan
the holocaust fires did not burn them
the clever clown was a good liar
demeter’s arms flowed over
white birds fluttered
bones to ash to snow
snow to light to flowers
flowers in the hand of a dusty clown
he blew and blossoms filled the air
each petal lit on a bright face
tears
laughing

TJ

Jay’s cubicle was gray. His monitor was monochrome and his hourly
printouts to the gray-on-gray corporate letterhead had in sixteen years
become as routine as a Thursday afternoon. The ticking clock at length
read 5:30 and he sighed, pulled on his warm but shabby slate overcoat
and took the elevator to the subway level and bumped and jostled along
the three-mile commute home. Trudging up the steps to his tiny beige
apartment he glanced up at the normally sad little tree on the corner
and was startled by a fiery, festive orange spray of foliage. Autumn had
come at last.

Zackmann

I have been to the Land of Autumn where every day is autumn. Every day is warm but not hot.
Every night is cool but not cold. The weather can suddenly change due to see breezes or fog
banks. The land has two weeks of summer but one is in July and one is in October. Having
spent most of my life in the Upper Midwest, an area of the country that has entirely too much
weather, I would have liked to have stayed in the Land of Autumn but I was unwilling to pay
South San Francisco house prices .

Graceful Aeon

It was snowing the night he told her the woman’s name. His look told
her the rest. She felt the knife penetrate her heart.
Snow gave way to lilacs. Dresses were fitted and vows were written.
She noticed his look as he addressed the invitation. She felt the
blow to her solar plexus.
They were dancing in the garden on that June day. The song changed,
followed by his look. She felt submerged in a sea of pain.
They walked through autumn chill past his favorite restaurant. He
slowed and glanced downward. She faced the look and whispered
fiercely, “Enough!”

Abigail

Mornings start blue and broody. Boots cracked stiff with old shit and spent leather
shush cross the floor. Outside hiking up her flannel nightey burrowing her hands as
thin steam rises. The ax handle always slick, “Whore Frost” she thinks, splitting
kindling. The sorrel kicks and farts, for the same hay, same crack in the ice. The
same dogs work circles round her feet, snow trickles against her calves. Kicking the
boots soft and wet by the stove, she calls him, “Coffee’s on.” The fire picks up-
the coffee slow to boil. “Put another log on the fire…” Waylon Jennings

Norval Joe

Everyone assumned she had taken fertility drugs when she bore quadruplet girls.
Born in fall, the first girl had auburn hair. They knew she must be named Autumn. The second daughter with hair, white as snow was named Winter. The third had no hair and was named Spring. The fourth daughter had hair, yellow like the sun, and was named Summer.
The neighbors found more was involved than simple fertility drugs. When Autumn cried the winds blew, when Winter pouted, the snow fell, Spring smiled and the sun shone, but when Summer passed gas, you didn’t want to be around.

Planet Z

Some tropical islands try to create snowpiles for Christmas, but that’s expensive and doesn’t last.
We get fallen leaves shipped in and then airdropped over the island.
Sure, we’ve had a few accidents, like one guy falling out of the cargo plane when it hit an air pocket, and another dropping a full bag that ended up hitting a kid.
And then there’s the mess they make. Leaves don’t melt in the sun like fake snow.
We came up with a solution. Get the kids to rake ’em up. Whoever bags the most wins a prize.
Isn’t the Fall wonderful?