Category: Weekly Challenge

Welcome to the Ninety-Ninth Weekly Challenge, 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 selected by Elisson of Blog d’Elisson.
It’s Hemorrhage.
The excellent theme music is by Guy David
VOTING

Which stories were the best from Weekly Challenge #99?
	Bryan from Ka-Klick
	Sougent Harrop from SL Adventures of a Southern Genlteman
	Anima Zabaleta
	Craig from The Open Site
	Daphne from Going Broke
	JD from Writing.com
	Terry from Quiet Time Podcast
	Laieanna at Hodgepodge Point
	Guy David from Guy David
	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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BYRAN

It was a hemorrhage. Red ink filled up the balance sheet, there was no
end in sight. He stared and stared at it, somehow hoping that by sheer force of will he could make the numbers rise, but there was no hope.
There was nothing left to be done. He was ruined, his family would be picking up the pieces for years to come, and he was to blame.
There was his insurance, but it wouldn’t pay for suicide. He had to figure out how he could salvage something of his existence, but it HAD to look like an accident.

SOUGENT

So the other day, I’m crossing the street minding my own damned business
when this motorcycle appears out of nowhere and knocks me flat on my ass.
I’m lookin’ around, wonderin’ what the hell just happened, when I notice
that I’m hemorrhaging large quantities of blood from the mangled stump
that used to be my elbow.
As I start to pass out due to the loss of blood, my life starts to flash
before my eyes and boy, is it strange.
What’s a midget butler and a giant robot doing in my flashback?
Jeez, I shoulda just took the bus.

ANIMA

Billy
(look at that scabby blonde girl,
thinks she knows everything,
’cause she spelled “omniscient”
hope i get an easy one like that.)
Contestant #5: ENCEPHALITIS
E-N-C-E”.
(almost my turn” i can’t take this any more”
i call this fun? my brain’s about to explode”
hurry up already”)
Contestant #33: PHLEGMATIC
F-L-E-M”
(ha ha he’s out” oh crap, i’m next”
no freaking way will i do this again”)
” #9?
I’m sorry; may I hear the word again with a definition?
HEMORRHAGE… A PROFUSE”
(thinkthinkthink” why’d I get this bloody word?)
H-E-M”

TOM

Arnesto through the accelerator on the Cronomotive. Ellie blew him a kiss and she was gone. About the steam time machine balls of light rolled over its surface. When he arrived at 2099 a crystal structure encased the Cronomotive. Cervantes felt faint and fell forward. Hurriedly a crew extracted the St Elmo”s time hemoglobins.
When he awoke Maria was holding his hand. “You experienced a bit of time hemorrhage.” “Time Bleed?” Arnesto croaked. “When you arrived last month you set up the hemarrhage collector. Here”s a message from Grandma.” Cercantes read shook his head. “It seem you”re traveling with me.”

CRAIG

Ellen walked straight to the back room of the old bakery joining the
five of us already present. We sat hushed as the baker brought us the
mythical liquid chocolate cake.
As Ellen sliced into the cake chocolate lava hemorrhaged from the center
engulfing all six layers. Off in a corner the baker smiled and a dog
barked.
Each of us was served a piece dripping with liquid chocolate. Savoring
each bite we thought how poets lived for just such a moment and
experiencing feelings boarding on rapture we all in unison smiled at
Ellen, wishing her a happy birthday.

DAPHNE

As I sat to write this story the ideas started to flow. I had a noir story about a body and a knife, but nothing congealed. I had a financial story about shopping sprees and lots of boots, but it wouldn’t fit. I had an amusing tale about wind-up toys leaking oil, but it dried up. I finally figured out I could write about my ideas hemorrhaging out of my brain to fast to write them down but then I ran out of words to tell it. Darn that limit who can write something good with only 100 words?

JD

They taught me the word hemorrhage in medical school.
Such a descriptive word. I like to hear the word.
They taught me to use a scalpel to relieve human suffering.
That’s what I do. Relieve suffering.
I have helped many who suffered great pain. I have helped her.
She lays in a heap on the bricks of the alley. I watch as the blood pools about her, black by the light of the gas lamp.
She had called to me from the alley and I could hear the pain in her voice.
Stepping close I said ?Just call me Jack?

TERRY

Fuel, glorious Fuel!
I started early in the morning searching the cargo wreckage.
I had just about given up finding anything worthwhile.
Then I found it,
Fuel, glorious Fuel.
With it, came Hemorrhage.
Now I can Hemorrhage in the morning,
Hemorrhage at noon,
and Hemorrhage at night
I had forgotten how I enjoyed Fuel and their Hemorrhage
No, not fuel as in gas,
Fuel, the band, and the Best of Fuel CD I brought.
There’s nothing like a little Hemorrhage in the morning to get you going.
This is Josh Jones, survivor,
Signing off

LAIEANNA

The day Heaven rained down on us was a Tuesday. It wasn’t harps and
halos, but there was no doubt in the location. A sunny day turned
suddenly dark with black clouds slithering, lightening temporarily
blinding us, and thunder keeping everyone staring with hands clasped
over ears. Maybe hours passed, but it seemed seconds. The sky opened
up and from nowhere, Heaven began hemorrhaging beautiful angels with
burnt wings. They plopped to the ground like wet towels. Turning to
the man I just knew was the devil, he smiled back, saying, “Not my
doing. I think someone is cleaning house.”

GUY DAVID

They called him The Hemorrhage Man. He would bleed for them at the snap of a finger, the blink of an eye, and he loved it. They would circle him like vultures, thirsty for him, and he would feed them, every last one of them, and still, blood would pour, never ending streams of it, red, fresh, satisfying.
They called her pale fountain. She was a stream of water, the sun dancing between her clear shores, forever smiling, she was beauty in her eternal youthful essence.
They made a strange couple, but when they made love, blood and water united.

PLANET Z

Once upon a time, before all this crap they air now, MTV used to play these things called music videos.
Duran Duran and Weird Al and Pat Benatar and all these performers lipsyncing to crazy-ass minimovies, animations… whatever they thought would convince people to buy more of their music.
Then there was Nena and 99 Luftballons ” a foreign antiwar message set to a pop beat.
Red balloons mistaken for a strange aircraft… war breaks out and cities are destroyed.
No, it never happened that way. Thanks to MTV, our culture hemorrhaged into garbage and incivility.
Shut it off. Now.

Welcome to the Ninety-Eighth Weekly Challenge, 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 selected by Tom from Footnote.
It’s At My Funeral.
The excellent theme music is by Guy David
VOTING

What were the best stories of Weekly Challenge #98?
	Phish Frye
	Anima Zabaleta
	Craig from The Open Site
	Storm Thunders from From The Eye Of The Storm
	Terry from Quiet Time
	Tom from Footnote
	Guy from Guy David
	Daphne from Going Broke
	Josh from A Work In Progess
	JD from Writing.com
	Laieanna from Hodgepodge Point
	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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PHISH FRYE

Overslept. No idea how tired I was. As I try to put on my slippers, my feet just keep passing through. I really must have overdone it last night.
Downstairs to the kitchen. Not even a note taped to the fridge. She’s really not coming back this time.
Staring, blurry-eyed, at the cofee maker, trying to remember the night before.
“My sister?”, she asked.
“Yes”, I replied.
“But why?”
“Because she swallows.”
I probably shouldn’t have rolled over and gone to sleep at that point.
Or bought that over-sized pillow.
Gave up on the coffee. Late to my own funeral. Interred ten minutes ago.
I guess mother was right.

ANIMA

I am transitioning into the grey realm of “Adult”. Where do I fit? I am too young to be old, but too old to be young; I must embrace middle age.
The passing of youth shall not go unnoticed. At my own funeral, I will have black horses with feathered plumes draw the hearse; followed by a Dixieland jazz band. I shall bury the fears and vagaries of inexperience in a box six feet under, and joyfully don the wings of maturity.
I wear tattoos as memento mori, etched in earlier years, to remind me of
the temporality of youth.

CRAIG

Hunched in the locked confessional booth fearful of discovery, holding
my breath I squint through the cracked stained glass.
Sitting directly in front of me wearing a black floppy Hedi Lamar hat
was Delilah. Animated as always her head bobbing to and fro blocking my
view of the mourners.
Sure, I wasn”t dead but I felt like I was. That damn Delilah was causing
me as much grief at my funeral as when we lived together.
I whispered pleadingly “please Delilah take off your hat.”
Mourners came and left my funeral. Tell me, how can I ask who they were.

STORM

The ratings are astronomical. And the wave of condemnations only draws more watchers. It’s all that raw humanity, framed and outlined by the horrifically inhumane context. It’s a pricey show to make, right up there with “Bridezilla!” its only real competitor, but the advertisers flock to it. The fans love the show – laughter, tears, raw truths revealed, heartbreaking stories, secret lovers and previously unknown children, the episode where the guy ended up in the emergency room when his wife found out he was fine…
Truly, “At My Own Funeral” is the most devastating example of reality TV ever made.

TERRY

Day what, I don’t know, I’ve lost track of how long it has been since the crash.
I have just spent the last several days working with the communications equipment and have partially repaired the Vid-Comm. I now can at least receive transmissions from Earth but still unable to let Space Command know I am alive.
The first transmission I have received was ICN anchor Dan Quayle discussing the explosion of the landing module on descent and how the Phoenix, the main ship, is still in orbit around the planet. He said that Space Command will be remotely using the Phoenix to survey the planet for wreckage but there was no hope for survivors.
This evening, Dan narrated during the memorial service as President Clinton and the First Husband placed wreaths for each of the crew members next to a stone replica of the Phoenix. I never thought that there would be a day where I could watch and be at my own funeral.
This is Josh Jones, survivor, signing off.

TOM

Ellie Arroway bedded Cervantes on day one. “You said I would have to take the initiative.” As Arnesto caught his breath he noticed an ancient manila folder at the night stand. The label on the edge read “At My Own Funeral” a pencil scrawled signature read: A. Cervantes. “A man should not know his fate,” he protested. “Don”t get all Doc Brown on me. Look at the photo.” Arnesto saw himself at 80 laidout and himself at 40 standing next the Queen, a young girl on her lap. “That”s Herminie Arroway the great great great grandmother of your grandchild Marie.

GUY

A crow spread his wings and flew away. The men carrying the coffin looked up and smiled at their black feathered friend. A clown in a business suit juggled cats. Everyone cheered and threw colored confetti. The four men put the coffin on the ground. A man and a woman jumped right on it and made love. “A life ending, a life beginning” proclaimed someone from the crowd, I couldn’t see who it was, was too busy being dead, but I know my friends where going to remind me how wonderful life is, and that’s the way I wanted it.

DAPHNE

I stood in the back watching the mourners. The closed casket with a photo on it… a photo of me. They said the only way I would be able to escape her was to produce a body. So I went to the morgue, claimed a Jane Doe and paid for a proper funeral. They said after years of living two lives it would kill me, I guess they are right. She was trying to take over, saying I needed her to live. Well I’m alive and she’s heading off to cremation. Before I leave I’ll sign the guest book “My deepest sympathies on your loss, Daphne”.

JOSH

The enemy vessel returned fire; apparently their feelings were mutual. Dead and dying men littered the deck, but the Captain stood fast with determination. He watched as the ship surgeon and priest moved through plumes of smoke, like angels of mercy amidst thudding musket-balls and cannon-fire. Untouched by any, they reached a hopeless young man ravaged by shrapnel, and the priest knelt to read his last rights.
“…Amen,” the priest finished and stood up just as a musket-ball splattered the sailor’s face.
The Captain returned his attention to the battle. His funeral, a traitor’s funeral, would not be as distinguished.

JD

They came over the palisade by the hundreds. Our only weapons, sharpened sticks and rocks. Afterwards, nothing was left to bury.
They found us hiding in a cave. Our mutilated bodies were tossed into the canyon below.
In the deep woods the legionary put us to the sword. Our bodies left to feed the wild dogs.
They sank the ship and left. We floated for days without water, before the sharks came.
The jungle erupted with automatic weapons fire. We tried to run. They left us to rot where we died.
Death is always near. Not so a decent funeral.

LAIEANNA

Proportions are wrong. I see myself, bigger than life. Crying is
happening all around. I’m staring at family and friends through a
kaleidoscope view. It’s nauseating. I tolerate by concentrating on
the why they’re here. So many from my past. Some deeply ingrained in
my memory and yet others a fleeting face I can’t quite place. What am
I doing outside myself? Oh. I’m dead, but still seeing myself in
all the massiveness I had become.
Casket door closes and I’m alone with myself in the dark. The air
won’t last. I had such a short time in this reincarnation.

PLANET Z

Dr. Odd fired up the time machine and ordered it to send him ahead a thousand years into the future.
Instead, something jumped out of a rift in the fabric of spacetime and the machine crashed.
Bruised and battered, Dr. Odd climbed out of the wreckage to discover that he’d collided with a duplicate of his from another dimension.
The investors would be pissed about this project’s failure, so he killed his mirror-twin and ran.
There were a lot of questions raised at his funeral. Thankfully, he didn’t have to answer them from his new hollowed out volcano headquarters.

(Ending music “At My Funeral” by Crash Test Dummies)

Welcome to the Ninety-Seventh Weekly Challenge, 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 selected by Elisson and Caleb.
It’s Mufaletta and Navel Lint.
The excellent theme music is by Guy David
VOTING

Which stories were the best from Weekly Challenge #97?
	Tom from Footnote
	Caleb Bullen from Black Tie Martini Club
	Terry from Quiet Time Podcast
	Guy David from Guy David dot com
	Josh from A Work In Progress
	Elisson from blog d’Elisson
	Laieanna at Hodgepodge Point
	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

Arnesto”s first jump was to Dec 1st 1999. He was greeted by a beaming female stranger who called him Pooky. This completely rattle Cervantes for it was the term of endearancient Ways
Ament of his mother. “You said you”d look surprised and should be reminded that time is like navel lint.” She handed him a Mufalleta and said it was his favorite food from the future. “Have we “” started Arnesto. “Yes and a lot more!” said the director. “You said you always leave just before you arrive.” She handed him a very old box. He handed her a very new book.

CALEB

She said, as she put down her Mufaletta, “I think this sandwich has navel lint in it”.
I asked, “Do you even know what navel lint tastes like”?
She said, “Oh I know what navel lint tastes like, I”ve had my tongue in more belly buttons than you”ve so much as seen”
I said, “I dunno” I”ve seen a lot of belly buttons”
And then she threw out a number. A number I won”t share with you because frankly, you won”t believe it. But I believed it; I was there. I said, “honey, you”re the weirdest woman I”ve ever known”

TERRY

Day 4 ” May 16, 2012
After putting it aside for a couple of days, I find myself trudging back to the wreckage of the living module of my once proud ship. I think the shock of losing my fellow crew members has abated enough so that I can give them a proper burial.
Reflecting back on to each of them, our time together in training and the 2 month trip here has given me a new prospective on life and friendships.
Sergeant David Mirowski, the security NCO of the crew was a huge man, but now so very small after the flames of the crash has claimed him. It may be crazy, but the one thing that I remember best about him was his 30 year collection of navel lint that he kept neatly rolled up in a ball. I’m going to bury it with him since it meant so.
Lieutenant Regina Rodriguez, my co-pilot, so beautiful in life along with being so talented in many areas. During our trip to Mars, she would prepare dishes from her home country at least once a week to give up a change from our bland rations that we were provided. I think my favorite was the Mufalleta she made last week.
I couldn’t find the body of our final crew member, Sprocket, the Labrador Retriever that Space Command sent along. I wonder if he made it out before the fire or was in some other part of the ship, I guess only time will tell.
This is Capt. Josh Jones, Earth Space Command signing off.

GUY

Aunt Mazal and uncle Hezki came to visit us from Israel last summer. They insisted on making their famous Mufalleta. They disappeared in the kitchen. We waited. Strange sounds followed. They emerged with what looked like discolored pan bread, a small dish with honey and another with chocolate spread. Mother shrugged and dipped a piece of Mufalleta in honey. It was then, we noticed the little gray blobs on the Mufalleta and the fact that uncle Hezki had one hand up his nose and another picking up lint of his naval. We never invited aunt Mazal and uncle Hezki again.

JOSH

“Fire!”
At the Captain’s command twenty broadside cannons spewed hell’s fire, smoke and brimstone orbs into the air. The spheres carried with them the thunderous echo of dissension and presented it one by one to their target with the fury of a scorned lover. Unrelenting, the battery reduced the marked ship to splinters of charred wood ? naval lint.
They would not misinterpret or ignore his subtle message. After all, most things are more gentle than the kiss from a cannonball, but few are as conclusive. On this day, the Captain had many final kisses to deliver, to many former lovers.

ELISSON

Katrina devastated New Orleans in 2005, but Hurricane Louis sounded its
death knell in 2023. The city drowned, never to recover.
Both the Navy and the Marines sent in frogmen to salvage what cultural
artifacts they could. There was a huge demand for experienced
Muffuletta Divers.
It was a heartbreaking job, one that was physically demanding. The
divers needed concentrated rations that packed a caloric punch.
Chocolate filled the bill.
While the Marines favored Godiva at first, it was a Swiss chocolatier
that won the hearts of the Annapolis boys. Oh, how the Big Easy salvors
loved their Naval Lindt.

LAIEANNA

“I’m sorry,” Amber said, staring at her mufalleta. Justin first
thought she was talking to the sandwich till she bit into it and
continued. “It’s just not going to work out between us.” Her mouth
moved with each word, exposing the beginning of her digestive process.
“I’m not attracted to you. You never fart or belch. You don’t
smell; hair is neat and your skin is smooth. For god sakes, you don’t
even have navel lint!” Justin sadly bit into his own food. “And you
eat salads! You’re not a normal guy.” She gawked in disgust,
finishing off her meal.

PLANET Z

According to The Bible, Adam gave names to everything.
But if he and Eve were crafted by God’s hands, then they were not born of a mother, so they had no navels.
After their expulsion from Eden, Cain’s birth presented the couple with a few new and somewhat messy items requiring labels.
“Baby,” muttered Adam, pointing at his squalling son. “Umbilical. Placenta.”
Eve picked up the baby and began to nurse.
“Mind getting me some clean fig leaves?” she asked. “My old ones are a mess.”
Adam went gathering, because it took a lot a leaves to cover her-
“Mufelatta,” he mumbled. “I should name something that.”

Welcome to the Ninety-Sixth Weekly Challenge, 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 selected by Elisson.
It’s Steampunk
The excellent theme music is by Guy David
VOTING

Which were the best stories in the Weekly Challenge #96?
	Caleb Bullen of Black Tie Martini Club
	Elisson of blog d’Elisson
	Terry from The Old Coot Cast
	Tom from Footnote
	Guy David from Night Guy
	Laieanna from Hodgepodge Point
	JD from Writing.com
	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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CALEB

Joey Ramone looked into Wendy O Williams” eyes and said, “Your eyes are like two limpid pools drawing me in to an oasis of love”
He felt her tremble as he pulled her heaving bosom close to him and as their lips met
they both heard a single distorted guitar chord
with an incessant 8th note rhythm, relentless like the engine powering their love.
Their hearts raced as groping hands
pulled each other nearer
and a second chord was added
as zippers gave way and
unwashed blue jeans
fell to the floor.
No need for a third chord,
it”s punk.

ELISSON

Doctor Rauchfisch stood over the basin, trimming his muttonchops
carefully with his straight razor. He rinsed. A splash of bay rum and he
strode out, clapping on his top hat and walking-goggles.
Dodging the press of Stanleys and Vapormatics that clogged the street,
he arrived at his office and rode the hydraulic lift to the seventh floor.
Taking a polished mahogany case out of his desk, he unfolded it,
snapping the steam hose into the wall outlet. Rapidly clicking clockwork
signaled the Difference-Engine”s readiness.
He smiled. Life was so much easier since the invention of the World-Wide
Steam-Powered Computational Network.

TERRY

I have just woken up from the strangest dream I have ever encountered.
In the dream, I was living the life of someone called Oswald Bastable in the early 19th century on earth. We were in the process of chasing some Chinese guy across the Pacific, when our difference engines quit and we had to switch over to the steam powered motors. This slowed our descent enough that we were able to land on an island without any damage or personal injuries of the crew.
My very able assistant, Penelope Tugbottom and I frolicked along the island beach while the crew made repairs to the engines so we could continue our chase.
This was so unlike my real life crash landing on Mars that I encountered several days ago.
The loneliness and stress of the past few days had taken a toll on me, I guess I better not be reading Moorcock’s The Warlord of the Air or any steampunk material for that matter, so late at night.
This is Captain Josh Jones, Earth Space Command signing off.

TOM

Arnesto Cervantes joined The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen in 1899. His contribution to the organization was the Kronomotive a steam driven time machine. The Kronomotive could jump 100 years between overhauls. Refueling and repairs on average took one month. Queen Victoria approved a two year voyage for Arnesto”s steam jumper. The mission was at once simple and tremendously complex in nature. Arnesto would take ten 1000 page books to be delivered to each jump point. At these centitaral coporarites he requested a list of 100 questions be written in each book to be answered by a millennium of future minds.

GUY

The train stopped and puffed blue smoke. The metal figure stepped up and boarded it, Kevin following. He knew metal men weren’t supposed to exist in the 19th century, but he didn’t care. Time paradox or not, he was keeping his bodyguard close at hand. He knew well enough there where dangerous things around. This was the wild west after all.
Suddenly, a flash appeared and his metal bodyguard was torn in half. “I should have guessed Steampunk Girl would follow me here” thought Kevin as two silver disks flew away from the robot wreckage and disappeared in the distance.

LAIEANNA

An enhanced prostitute, Rose captivated the passengers more with her
wafting scent than the dance she performed. Thomas Persuade took his
opportunity, convincing the adjoining train car guards to sleep while
Dr. Dushan used his clunky, brass backpack to melt the iron door under
blows of the train whistle. Big Micky stood guard. The Baroness,
close by, concentrated on her glowing ball. She was key to their
escape before the rear soldiers were even aware they were there.
Getting passed the locked door, Big Micky grabbed the treasure, and
Baroness transported them from the locomotive in a cloud of smoke.

JD

The book was a success. Awards were bestowed upon the author.
The movie was released and generated, in its first six weeks, ten times the production cost.
Of course there were detractors auguring that the premise was wrong and the research flawed.
But the media ran with the story, citizens groups organized, government agencies intervened, and now we are required to cut back.
Who could have envisioned in the latter part of the 20st century that the release of heat and water vapor from our steam engines could so change the world and bring on the the fifth Ice Age.

PLANET Z

Welcome to the Ninety-Fifth Weekly Challenge, 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 selected by Laieanna and Tom.
It’s Worst Job and Storage
The excellent theme music is by Guy David
VOTING

What were the best stories of Weekly Challenge #95?
	Elisson from blog d’Elisson
	John from A Work In Progress
	Guy David from Guy David.com
	Terry from Quiet Time
	Storm Thunders from Eye of the Storm
	Tom from Footnote
	Caleb from Black Tie Martini Club
	JD White
	Planet Z
Free polls from Pollhost.com

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

---

ELISSON

The worst job I ever had was manager of the U-Store-It unit out on the
Wharton Freeway.
It wasn”t the pay (which sucked), or Corporate (which really sucked).
It wasn”t even the clientele, although most of our customers weren”t
what you”d call Model Citizens.
No, it was the astonishing number of dead bodies that would appear in
the unrented units. Every couple days, we”d find another, chewed up
pretty bad. The cops were mystified, and it got to where I wasn”t
sleeping too well.
Then one night I saw them, and I understood. “Tekeli-li,” they moaned.
I never came back.

JOSH

Bologna again. Rick stared at the sandwich and its round edge of meat between the crusts before he took a grudging bite. A hero sub would be nice once in awhile. This tastes horrible and it’s so small, he thought as he stuffed the remainder of it into his mouth.
Rick grabbed the shovel leaning against the Cadillac’s bumper and dug a few more loads from the long shallow pit. His stomach growled. What he wouldn’t give for roast beef. He pulled the stained lumpy burlap sack from the trunk and dragged it into the hole.
Pastrami would be best.

TERRY

I have just returned from exploring parts of the wreckage after crash landing on Mars.
I have discovered that I am the lone survivor and have found several usable items in the closest part of the wreckage, along with solving a couple of problems.
My first problem being that the oxygen level in the atmosphere is about half the amount of Earth’s. The fix for this is an extraction pump that that was in the cargo bay, now all I need is a large tank for storage of the oxygen.
The second problem I found is that the living area of the craft is a total loss, burning up on impact; all that is left is a metal caucus along with the charred remains of my fellow crew members, may they rest in peace.
Without the living area section, the only toilet facilities are now in my command module. After the 2 month journey here, these have become completely filled and must be emptied, which maybe the worst job I have ever had to do.
This is Captain Josh Jones, Earth Space Command, signing off.

GUY DAVID

I must have the worst job in the world. I store broken dreams. I do this because that is my job. Not because I want to. I receive the dreams, confine then so they wouldn’t hurt anyone, so that people would be able to get on with their lives.
Last night, I run out of storage space, and all the broken dreams spilled out. Dreams of disappointments, of forgotten real life dreams, half forgotten memory dreams, all spilled over me. I had to inspect them one by one, put them back in place. Now I’m never going to dream again.

STORM THUNDERS

There’s always that awkward moment when you’re aware but before the shell’s done uploading. Then the shock as data starts pouring through the senses. The reassuring feel of filtering algorithms learning and adjusting – I’ve had those fail before, and lemmie tell you that’s a nightmare! Then the quick mental inventory of available tools and sensory inputs, and ransacking what’s stored in memory to determine the job that you’re here to do. It isn’t always obvious; part of why we’re sent is our ability to come up with creative solutions.
Even the worst job is better than being in storage

TOM

Worst Shmrst who”s to said one act is any less fitting in the services of the lord then another, but working shipping and receiving is that technically working in the field of the lord. I remember the August the antifreeze trucks arrived. The stuff was so dense it had to be perfectly loaded within the vehicle. We twowheelerd stacks of 6 cases down the aluminum ramp directly into back storage. Here by hand we stacked walls of antifreeze 8 cases high, deadlifting the last above our heads. Sweat dirt raw hands and backs all work is the work of the lord.

CALEB

They said it would be the job of a lifetime; go to sleep on earth and wake up some time later as the first ambassador to an as yet undiscovered alien world. But no alien world ever found me and cryogenic suspension doesn”t really stop the brain so much as slow it. A normal dream reflects upon the previous day”s activity but my last day was billions of years ago, long since forgotten in time. So now I float through space unable to move unable to wake, dreaming of nothing for eternity. I should”ve stayed in school” This job sucks.

JD WHITE

George’s job filled him with angst and anxiety.
Not really the job, you know, but the consequences of the job.
Each day of his existence George was tasked to move souls from the cold storage vault into the bodies of people that had lost, or just misplaced their soul.
This, if you have the right temperament, could be most fulfilling.
George did not have that temperament.
George was always stressed.
George always developed ulcers.
George always committed suicide.
And then Krishna or Vishnu or whoever would reincarnate him.
It was the best of jobs, it was the worst of jobs.

PLANET Z

The boys down in the warehouse always did the worst job of keeping things organized and secured.
You didn’t know what you’d find when you’d pry open a battered crate hauled out of storage. The manifests were hastily scribbled notes that had nothing to do with what was tossed willy-nilly into the box.
“Something Expensive Damaged Beyond Repair” was a good guess, I’d say.
The CEO got fed up with the damage and stormed into the warehouse office.
The boys down there didn’t take too kindly to getting fired, and they chopped him up.
We’re still finding bits and pieces of him.
Something expensive, indeed.

Welcome to the Ninety-Fourth Weekly Challenge, 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 selected by Tom of Footnote.
It’s Pen and Ink
The excellent theme music is by Guy David
VOTING

Which stories were the best from Weekly Challenge #94
	Laieanna from Hodgepodge Point
	Tom from Footnote Podcast
	Storm Thunders from The Eye of the Storm
	Guy David from Guy David dot com
	Terry the Old Coot
	Houston Keys from Tater Tots For The Masses
	Elisson from blog d’Elisson
	Caleb from Black Tie Martini Club Oddcast
	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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LAIEANNA

The shopkeeper pulled a pen and inkwell from under the glass counter.
“Take this and use your favorite pad of paper to draw your dreams.”
The shopkeeper packed up the merchandise and handed it over to Fiona.
“Just remember the potency wears off within hours. Go home and
imagine.”
Fiona did just that, only to return to the shop minutes before
closing. The shopkeeper looked up at her strange new companion and
smiled. “How did it go?”
“Huge problem!” Fiona huffed, “He’s perfect except he’s purple! It
won’t wash off.”
“That’s what you get for drawing on frilly colored paper.”

TOM

The nuns said the uses of a ball point would ruin my penmanship that vessel sailed long before the world was burred in BICS. The ball of ADD Dyslexic contrails which is my brain never got the hang of laying pen to paper. I was never patient enough to master the Zen of pen and ink. It was always about whole body mechanics from the finger to shoulder. It was about a floating perpendicularity as precise as Marine Drill Sargent. But most important is was the feel for metal gently biting the surface of pulp a conscience contact with externality

STORM

I dream in colors
to the rhythm of the needle against their skin
Tapping
Trapping ink beneath the layers
Freeing secrets
The bells jingle. Usually they come asking for butterflies or skulls or lovers’ names. I look over to see another who’s heard the whispered rumors and come seeking. My inks mix with their blood, creating colors and lines showing the indelible marks within… Inner beauty, hidden scars, buried secrets… My pen flows, illuminating their truths.
This one I refuse. I speak her name aloud, shocking tears from him.
“I will not damn. Make amends before you face my needles.”

GUY DAVID

My pen is bleeding blue
Blue ink of pain pouring rain
Where does all this sadness come from
Time have sharpened the pencil
Wrote my life and laughed
And now my pen is bleeding red
A scream of anguish
The rage of time passing
And the stone wall
Unbreakable wall
My pen is bleeding blue
Blue ink of pain pouring rain
On wet paper
The wetness of tears
Maybe I could drown like Alice
Maybe disappear
But where would I go
Can’t run away from my past
So I stay in the present
Bleeding the blue blood of a pen

TERRY

Day 1 ” May 13, 2012
I have found myself alive and still breathing after crash landing on the planet Mars. I think the cause was a malfunction of the guidance system in the ship’s main computer.
The craft is a total wreck; it has spilt up into several sections with parts of it burning after spotting signs of smoke on the horizon.
My command module has sustained damage, but seems to be still pressurized and I have enough water and air for several days.
With the other wreckage burning, I have to assume that there is oxygen in the atmosphere, Now all I need to know is how much and how to extract it. I have tuned my radio, which looks as if it is still functioning; to S.O.S. But, only god knows if anyone will hear it.
My next chore is to suit up and explore the wreckage for usable equipment; I wish I only had pen and ink to set this record down on paper.
This is Captain Josh Jones, Earth Space Command, signing off.

HOUSTON

Hello my name is Stephen Hawking and Houston has asked me to resort to
pen and ink and recite some of my original poetry.
Her skin glistened in the moonlight,
My heartbeat quickened as I soaked in her beauty.
My wandering gaze moved from her lips,
To her plunging neckline,
To her”
Steve, Man, sorry, this just isn’t working.
What do you mean?
It just sounds, I don’t know” Creepy
FINE! JERK! The next time you need assistance with astrophysical
theory you may go elsewhere you small minded, cube dwelling, thick
browed technical support drone!
Uh. OK. Thanks anyway Steve.

ELISSON

A few cycles ago, I was glimming the morning Speedtext, where I saw the
most intriguing ad:
PORTABLE INFORMATION STORAGE SYSTEM
requires no batteries, stores images or alphanumeric characters with
equal ease. Data retrieval uses principle of SELECTIVE REFLECTION” in
conjunction with electromagnetic radiation source (not included). Access
any part of your database with simple manual operation! Available
preprogrammed with large variety of software.
Store below 451″F.
I had to have one! I scanned my credichip and waited for the transmuter
to zoop it.
It was a “book.” I was mesmerized. What primitive beauty!
The “pen” and “ink” come tomorrow.

CALEB

Hey Merle, come here! What”s all that ink doing in the pig pen?
That aint Ink, Jocephus, that”s oil!
Oil?
Black Gold, Texas Tea, Well the first thing you know ole Jed”s a Millionaire, OIL man!
Okay” So uh Merle, What”s all that oil doing in the pig pen?
Well either we struck oil and we”re going to be filthy rich and never have to work another day in our lives or one of the robotic pigs has blown a gasket. Now which do you think it is?
Aw Merle, those goddamn robotic pigs are more trouble than they”re worth.

PLANET Z

Back in the wild days of the Wordslingers, pens for hire would ride the range, silver pocket protectors in their button-down shirt pockets.
They’d square off on Main Street at high noon, standing there tall, staring each other down.
Their fingers twitching at their sides, ready to reach for their magnificent pens…
All around, the townspeople watched, the local newspaper’s literary critic measuring out column space for the loser.
They draw! Ink flies! Harsh words are exchanged!
One man goes down! Get this man an editor!
He arrives too late.
The victor bows his head, and writes the epitaph.

Welcome to the Ninety-Third Weekly Challenge, 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 selected by Duckyfresh Watanabe.
It’s Hygenic Products
The excellent theme music is by Guy David
VOTING

Which were the best stories in Weekly Challenge #93?
	Tom from Footnote
	Guy David from Sixteenth
	Daphne Abernathy of Going Broke
	Kelly Burt from Come Let Me Whisper
	Laieanna from Hodgepodge Point
	Caleb from Black Tie Martini Club
	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

Initially Jane loved Sammy for his impeccable cleanliness. He looked a lot like David Bowie in the Man who fell to earth. He had nearly every possible hygienic product imaginable. The Michael Jackson high speed nostril clippers, the Arnold Schwarzenegger govonator bikini waxer, Martha Stewart ankle hair remover. Sammy went as far as to have had his sweat glands surgically rerouted. It just might have worked between them if Sammy hadn”t take it just one step to far. Jane hurriedly throw all her clothes into overnight and raced out the door just after she saw Sammy bent over engaged in a tough on Monica Lewinsky extra contoured butt fosse.

DAPHNE

Have you ever watched an 18-Wheeler over turn? I don’t mean seeing the after effects of the helpless trailer on its side and the contents all over the road. I mean seeing it take an off-ramp too fast, tipping over on to two wheels and then come tumbling over with such a crash that the back doors burst open and the contents go everywhere. Well I have, and right now my car is covered in Hygienic Products… so I’m going to be a little late for work.

GUY DAVID

Lony was lazing on the sofa with me, when that salesman came knocking at our door. “Keep yourselves clean ladies, with the latest Crapking Super Hygienic cleansing products”. So much dirty sales talk.
We decided to have fun a little, but Lony got a little rusty since Droma barbecued her, so she turned him into an elf by mistake, while trying to turn him into a pile of dirty socks for our cat, Footnote. Now, imagine an elf, trying to go door to door, selling hygienic products. I just had to do something, so, I turned him into a frog.

KELLY BURT

I was a little concerned when I first left a toothbrush, but he took it well. Then I left some underwear. This was also tolerated. I assumed all was well– I assumed. That was my first mistake. The problem arose when I decided to leave my own personal “hygienic products”. I left my brand of toothpaste and hair products. This pissed him off. He decided that I didn’t like his products, therefore this was a personal attack on him. I’m glad I didn’t leave any tampons. I really would’ve been frighten if he had an opinion on my feminine products.

LAIEANNA

“I am the baddest dog around. No human tells me what to do.”
“Ha, you wish. All cats top you. We’re cunning and never ever do
what we’re told.”
“I’ll prove it! I’ll steal food off the table.”
“I’ll walk on the counters.”
“Oh. Oh! I’ll dig holes in the yard.”
“I’ll eat their goldfish.”
“I’ll chew up their house shoes.”
“I’ll shred the curtains.”
“I’ll bark all night.”
“I’ll pee throughout the house.”
“Well, I’ll drag whatever’s in the bathroom garbage all over the carpet.”
“It’s the wrong time of the month for that! You win, you disgusting animal.”

CALEB

The Following story is true nothing has been changed to protect the innocent.
In 2001 American Hygiene Products, a wholly owned subsidiary of Disposable Soft Goods International, purchased the assets of Drypers Corporation following their announced bankruptcy of October 2000, substantially increasing the sales of the company in North America.
The integration of the acquisition was successfully completed in the first quarter of 2002 and the combined Net Sales for Year End 2002 were in excess of 160 million dollars. Other major North Amrerican acquisitions included Dafoe & Dafoe international in 1987, DrySec in 1993, and Universal Converters in 1997.

PLANET Z

My name is Doctor Johnson N. Johnson, and I invented the cotton swab.
No need to thank me. Just knowing you’re using them in good health is reward enough.
Since then, I’ve invented many hygienic products.
But I have a secret. A dark secret.
Late at night, in my factory, I take off my lab coat and all my other garments and I roll around naked in the cotton bails.
So soft. So luxurious. Such a delight.
Don’t think the worse of me. Come down to my factory, feel for yourself.
It’s not a perversion! It’s Heaven, I tell you!

Welcome to the Ninety-Second Weekly Challenge, 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 selected by Kelly Burt.
It’s Candy
The excellent theme music is by Guy David
VOTING

Which stories were the best from Weekly Challenge #92?
	Caleb from Black Tie Martini Club
	Terry from Old Cootcast
	Tom from Footnote
	Guy David from Guy David dot com
	Daphne from Going Broke
	Kelly from Come Let Me Whisper
	Laieanna at Hodgepodge Point
	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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CALEB

It was three thirty in the morning and I couldn”t sleep. I was haunted by all the imponderables of life. Is it the philtrum that holds the tip onto a pool cue and the ferrule that sits between your nose and mouth or is it the other way around? And what about philately? The smell of my cigarette burning in the night must have woken candy up she said, “come back to bed. I”m about to dream of swans in leisure suits, you wouldn”t want to miss out on that” She was right as usual. I went back to bed.

TERRY

The Candy has always been my downfall.
From the first time I tasted it, it had me.
It can destroy judgment as fast and sure as a man.
The Boss with his promises of fun and money soon had me also.
But, it was the Candy that I wanted the most, which he was glad to provide.
Through the haze created the Candy, so simple were the foulest of ideals.
With the Candy, I could do his dirty deeds.
The Candy had captured me and destroyed my soul.
With the Candy I became reckless and carefree.
With the Candy I seemed invincible and unstoppable.
With the Candy as my guide, I had gone out into the city.
Carefree and reckless, I again went to do his deeds.
Now, with the candy in one hand and a smoking gun in the other,
I watch blood flow from me.
The Candy has made me the enemy of myself.

TOM

Lt. Brumsfield pulled back the sheet covering the coed. Her face had the same stupid grin as the other UC students. Rudy the CSI photographer noted his discuss for Candy. That is what they called Germanium Tetra Lithium on the street cus it sugarcoated the DNA in the brain. Truth told candy never made it to the street, it could only be cooked up in the best of researcher labs. Thus it only appeared in the university population dues its steep cost and proxicimity. The guys who produced G4T were called the Candymen. They wrapped their wares in Wonker wrappers.

GUY

“I want candy” the overgrown 3 years old screamed at the top of her voice, while tearing off another building. Much to her disappointment, she found no candy inside, so she strolled of, leaving a trail of wrecked cars and screaming pedestrians behind. The scientists where waving their strange ray gun at her. “Do it” screamed the senator, “blow this intruder into kingdom come”. “But she’s a human being” protested one of the scientists. “shit, do it”, the senator shouted, so she was blown right into virtuality. “Oh, candy” said the girl and started climbing candy mountain on Edloe Island.

KELLY

Johnny spoke of candy hourly. They had ran through every candy they could think of from Almond Joy to Zero Bar. Still, nothing seemed to satisfy his sweet tooth. Johnny was 82 and an alzheimer’s patient, so the girls took as much time as possible with him. They hoped if one of them could find the key, then maybe they could assist him with living in the present more. Then it clicked, one of the girls realized that candy was not referring to a sugary treat, but to a lost love. Now they knew the correct question: Who is Candy?

DAPHNE

OK, remember when you were a kid and you were told not to do something but you did it anyway then something went wrong and you learned your lesson, that’s what this is. I took candy from a stranger, the next thing I know my hair is messed up, my clothes are ripped, I have this knife in my hand and I’m cover in… well.. it’s not blood, it looks like transmission fluid or oil and there’s a body, but it’s not really a body, it’s a wind-up toy… a Stepford Butler really… but I learned my lesson and no one really died… So can I go officer? I promise never to take candy from a tall, gray haired woman with wind-up keys in their back again.

LAIEANNA

It’s the race of the century, folks, our Gingerbread men lined up,
ready to take this treacheries course. They’re off! Green rounds
the corner, taking the lead. Blue and Red are right behind with
yellow on their heels. Green is down, stuck in Gooey Gumdrops. The
rest easily pass. Oh no, Blue ran off the track! He’s lost in
Lollipop Woods. Red takes the lead. Yellow changes course down
Rainbow Trail. Can he beat Red to Candy Castle? Red puts on an extra
burst of speed. He better watch”oh to late, he’s neck deep in
Molasses Swamp. Yellow wins CandyLand!

PLANET Z

Willy Wonka didn’t give a shit anymore.
After decades of exhausting prestidigitation in this fucked-up nightmare factory, he just wanted to escape.
No more worrying about quality standards, market share, and these damn, crazy-assed singing midgets.
He put his hand on the Everlasting Gobstopper, quoted Shakespeare, and knew he was condemning Charlie to misery.
But, just maybe, maybe it would be different for Charlie.
Happiness? Joy?
No, he’ll also end up a haggard, burnt-out hollow shell, a lonely, envied chocolatier.
The other kids, they were the lucky ones. They came away wiser.
Charlie, he’d never get away.

Welcome to the Ninety-first Weekly Challenge, 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 selected by Planet Z.
It’s Looking Back On 2008
The excellent theme music is by Guy David
VOTING

Who had the best stories in Weekly Challenge #90?
	Kelly from Come Let Me Whisper
	Duckyfresh from SLCN
	Caleb from Black Tie Martini Club Oddcast
	Tom from Footnote
	JD from Writing.com
	Guy David at Guy David dot com
	Laieanna from HodgePodge Point
	Terry the Old Coot
	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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KELLY BURT

Ok what f-ed-up person was the first to think, “Yes, clowns”you know, for the kids.”
Clowns are terrifying–you know, for the adults. I have never been a fan of clowns…I know, what a surprise. Clowns are evil. They are the ones that walk the night in search of victims. People are afraid of things that go bump in the night, but they should be afraid of CLOWNS! They wear make-up and lurk. I hate things that lurk. I know that I must find a way to rid us of these foul creatures. I hope that there is a cure.

DUCKYFRESH

The wise Bart Simpson once said, “Can’t sleep, clowns will eat me.” We laughed at the time; we all thought it was a funny gag because really, clowns won’t eat you in your sleep. That’s not very clown-like behavior at all. I certainly don’t find it amusing one bit to think clowns might creep into your bedroom with fork and knife at the ready, to gobble you up while you slumber peacefully. I am quite certain there is a rule in the Clown Book of Ethics that strictly forbids such nocturnal atrocities. The clowns prefer you awake and screaming anyway.

CALEB

Ever since his last trip to Arkham Asylum the Joker, that one time clown prince of crime decided to go straight. His penchant for wild inventions and gadgetry quickly made him the richest man in all of Gotham. Corporate takeovers proved even more exciting than heists and were so much more profitable. Still, he did wish he could exact vengeance on that meddlesome Batman.
When an accountant notified him of some irregularities in the recent Wayne Corps acquisition, he couldn”t help but smile even wider. Atomic cars? Helicopters? At shareholder expense? Batman was done for.

TOM

I have notice same memories are no longer connect to corporal space. I no longer remember having been at a kiddy clown show. Being the luck child called up to help with a balloon trick. The only latent image in my brain is a 8mm movie shot by my dad. Just as the balloon was growing to amazing lengths the film ran out. The last few seconds of the film turns to a orange red streak and poof I”m and he are gone. I remember being told the clown was Emmett Kelly but it probably was some other 2d clown

JD

Most of the time I love clowns.
The orange hair, large red noses, pants 10 sizes to large, their over size shoes.
They make me laugh until my eyes squirt water like the flowers on their lapels and my voice becomes a croak.
They exhaust me.
This last few weeks I find little to laugh about.
I turn on the TV and there they are.
A full menagerie of clowns, without costumes.
They all say that we, the people, are in trouble and they are the only clowns in town that can fix US.
That’s with a capitol U S

GUY

The clowns came over today. They where just on their way to Kentucky. The big boss knows who to send on an off mission, I mean, no one would suspect a clown. They always get their target and those poor bastards just don’t know what hit them. Was it the little plastic hummer? Maybe it was the pennywhistle? Those are deadly. One note played the right way and all the gray staff comes running out of your ears screaming. Not this time though. This time it was that little electric hand buzzer. Gets them every time. Those clowns are good.

LAIEANNA

Ladies and Gentlemen, it’s all just an act.
Don’t be alarmed to see this clown on his back.
He’ll be up again, clowning about,
And when he does, let’s cheer and shout.
Announced as Potato, the fainting clown,
Known one minute to be up and the next minute down.
Life, he spent quiet and shy wherever he’d dwell.
Career, he was magic except those pesky fainting spells.
You’d think and assume it tough on his heart,
But the clown kept strong from the very start.
What did him in one day in fall,
Was bad trajectory of a human cannonball.

TERRY

In the good old days, people who wanted to become clowns ran away to the circus.
Or so Billy Bob thought the legend went. It was a far cry from reality, now that the city put a bounty on their heads.
The bands of clowns and their midget cars involved in drive-by pie in the face incidents were now a daily happening.
The final straw was the mayor’s wife being targeted as she walked down Main Street.
Billy Bob was more than glad to put his army training to work. The money from the bounty would come in handy,
now with jobs were far and few between. All he needed was one of those incidents to happen.
He knew as soon as he heard the car; he was in luck, who else but clowns would be driving like that.
With a quick click, the safety on his rifle was off. Billy Bob would be dining well tonight.
Clowns, damn those clowns!

PLANET Z

There’s an old joke where a guy who’s suicidally depressed goes into a doctor’s office, tells the doctor he’s always miserable while everybody else is so happy.
He’s tried everything ” pills, booze, sex, intense shock therapy… nothing’s worked.
Doctor thinks a bit, says a famous clown is in town, always brings laughter and joy wherever he performs.
Man says “I am Pagliaci.”
Doctor says “What? No, I’m thinking of Bertoli, not you. I mean, let’s face it ” people are laughing because you’re just so awful.”
Then he gives Pagliacci his theater pass, some Zoloft, and kicks him out the door.

Welcome to the ninetieth Weekly Challenge, 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 selected by Caleb Bullen.
It’s Looking Back On 2008
The excellent theme music is by Guy David
VOTING

What were the best stories of Weekly Challenge #90?
	Planet Z
	Guy David from Sixteenth
	Tom from Footnote
	Terry the Old Coot
	Robert
	Elisson from blog d’Elisson
	JD from Writing.com
	Kelly Burt from Come Let Me Whisper
	Caleb from Black Tie Martini Club
Free polls from Pollhost.com

Go ahead and listen to them by clicking on the grammophone thingy there in the left column and then vote for your favorites (multiple selections are allowed):

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PLANET Z

And now, a moment with Rabbi Crapman.
You wants to know about 2008? Oy gevalt, That’s a long ways back.
Let me check the Torah.
And… there. 2008.
Jebediah begat Schlomo.
Sylvia begat Nebuchadneezer.
Hymie begat David.
There was a lot of begatting back them. Horny little Jew bastards.
Ah Queen Sharon the Second begat Rufus Cleveland Washington.
Had a taste for dark meat. Couldn’t keep her hands off the schwartzer help.
Miracles. There was a bunch of miracles, too. All sorts of miracles, miracles here and miracles there. Oy gevalt, the miracles.
That’s 2008. That’ll be ten shekels, kid.

GUY DAVID

I remember back in the days, 2008, that’s when the podcaster riots started, angry podcasters going into the streets to protest their working conditions, being stuffed into dungy old basements, being constantly persecuted by the RIAA storm troops and suffering the ridicule of the bad old media, they just wouldn’t take this anymore, they just went into the streets burning ipods and brasiers and shouting obscenities, oh those where the day.
What do you mean that’s not how it happened? You mean there where no protesters on the streets? No obscene words and burning brasiers and stuff? Oh, those wimps.

TOM

Jim with only moments left till it becomes 2009 lets look back on the wacky world that was 2008 Right you are Dan, there was the merger of the Adam Curry”s Podshow and Alt Dot Chicken to create Curry Chicken. And that surprise move by President ObombA when he made Laurence Simon his press secretary. That was one fun week. What”s Laurence doing now Jim. I think it was 10 to 20 Dan. But you have to agree the top story of the years was Martini Club Industries CEO Caleb Bullen”s win of the noble prize in chemistry for flubber.

TERRY THE OLD COOT

Looking back on 2008, as Old Man Time had in so many previous years,
Saw it was like a tree, seedling at first, then throughout the year, growing tall and straight.
His gaze passing over each seasons,
First, spring, white and grey turning into green and fresh, a mighty start.
Next summer, strong, sunny, warmth, reaching for the sky, at its pinnacle.
Fall, the first sign of age, but with vibrant colors, still slowly growing .
Sadly, winter, the bleak snow and cold has stopped its growth.
With a single stroke, Old Man Time swings his sickle to clear away the tree for the next.

ROBERT

Oh how the time has flied
seems like it was just 2007 but we’re looking back on to 2008.
2008 was just a blink
it seems that i can’t remember a thing
i sit and sit trying to think, yet nothing
OH oh wait, perhaps i should look back on what just happened, 2007?
well, lets see, hum hmmmm looks like i can’t remember this either?
i guess i’m losing my “great” memory
january snow
february cold
march LION
april rain
may sleep
june summer
july independence
august Hot
september 5 Years
october BOO
november cold
december writing
THANK GOD!

ELISSON

Tell you about 2008? Sure I can, Jimmy. That was the year everything
changed.
Kinda hard to imagine that, way back then, everybody was worried about
somethin” called “Global Warming.” And some business called
“Islamofascism.” Be honest with ya, I was too little to remember what
that stuff was supposed to be.
Them was crazy times. We used to ride around in “cars,” and get food
from a big ol” building. Right off the shelf! Naw, I ain”t bullshittin” ya!
But all that stuff went away in 2008, when the Space Rock landed smack
dab on a place called “Mecca.”

JD

2008 was the year that we elected the best president that these United States has ever had in our history.
2008 was the year that the stock market shot through the roof and the Dow broke 15000.
2008 was the year that the alternative fuel automobiles replaced gasoline powered automobiles.
2008 was the year that we discovered that there was no global warming or global cooling.
2008 was the year that every movie and television program was worth watching.
2008 was the year that I discovered that I was Superman and could fly.
Now, how about that bridge in Brooklyn.

KELLY

“Why are you going down this road again?” groaned Jenny. Jenny was eleven and not even around in 2008. Why should she care about the past? “This is so boring,” she complained again.
Jenny’s grandmother smiled before replying. “Because it’s important to me, and that should be enough. Besides, I thought you would be pleased that I can remember anything–since I’m old.” Jenny knew she was wrong and was a little disappointed in herself. “Looking back on 2008 always brings me happiness. If you remember, that was the year I gave life to your mother,” reminded Jenny’s patient grandmother.
Thanks, Kelly

CALEB

We all thought the election was going to be such a big deal. We all thought the Olympics were going to be such a big deal. Who knew that one little invention could have taken all the oxygen from those big stories?
In 2008 The Bullshit Engine finally found a use for political speeches, media commentators, preachers and all the other bullshit that got slung at us all the time. Now you can run your car, your electricity, everything really on bullshit. And it”s totally environmentally friendly” well”. Limbaugh”s drug habit isn”t but his bullshit is like sweet light crude.