Weekly Challenge – Page 92 – The 100 Word Stories Podcast

Weekly Challenge #69 – Yeshiva

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Welcome to the sixty-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 Tom of the Footnote Podcast, and it was: Yeshiva.
The excellent theme music is by Guy David
SOMETHING NEW
Due to popular demand, I am going to include stories that were sent to me, but without a recording. However, since the midget has left for sunny Coral Gables, Florida, those stories will just be posted in the show notes. You’re more than welcome to vote for them, but they will be ineligible for prizes or topic selection.
I feel that this is a fair balance between the podcast and blog natures of this content.
Feel free to share your thoughts on this decision in the comments, and we might possibly come up with an even better and more fair policy for handling these kinds of situations.
VOTING
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):

WE GOTS PRIZES:
I will be sending the winner a prize… it’s refrigerator magnets for the podcast. Massive amounts of fridge magnets were mailed out in the past week… watch your mail, and let me know if I’ve missed you.
It is your voting that determines who wins. So listen, vote, and tune in next week to find out who won!

CALEB

The Hindu God, Shiva
Went to the Yeshiva
To see what these Jewish dudes do
But he found that the torah
Is kind of a bore
And the baghavad gita is really much sweeter
Then came young Siddartha
Who spoke from the heart and
Said you are all just an illusion
From Hindus to Jews
You play and you loose
And create such a raucous confusion
Jesus and Allah
They fought in some wars
While the Taoists just planted a garden
But the Truth lies you see
Down in the valley
Twixt the rounded hills of Dolly Parton
Shes Big!

ELISSON

Yossel Yourish was one of the brightest minds in the yeshiva.
He was pondering an extremely scholarly matter, one that had been propounded to him by Professor Propis.
He spent days consulting various Learned Texts. The Shulchan Orekh, the Babylonian Talmud, the Torah commentaries of Rashi and the great Rambam: Maimonides himself. Despite all this, he struggled to find an answer.
The question: Was it permissible for a female student to use a bladed instrument to remove superfluous hair from her intimate personal region?
Of course not, decided Yossel at last. You could never shave a beaver at the yeshiva!

TOM

Little Timmy Martin’s parents were at wits end. The contrary child had chewed through every educational environment within a 200 mile radius. Montessori Military school, Court school, Catholic, Lutheran, Muslim.
The Martin’s had one option left Yeshiva. Surprisingly Timmy took to Talmud and Torah like a terrier with a towel in its teeth. His treatise on Cooking Milk in a Meat Pot was the Kobayashi Maru of Halakhah. Professor Zvi Sobolofsky asked Timmy if he might consider a Rabbinical career. And this is how it came to past that Temple Beth Bart Simpson is lead in pray by Rabbi Timmy.

GUY

Yantzel, Yantzel, Yantzel, what are we going to do with you?
You know, there’s a reason this is called a Yeshiva, you see… the word Yeshiva means sitting down… on your ass. You sit and study on the Torah. Quietly. You don’t go around flying paper airplanes on your Yeshiva mates, you don’t go around putting fake plastic members of the reptilian family on the floor and shout “the dinosaurs, they are coming alive”, You don’t put ice in my pants, you don’t go around handing notes to your fellow Yeshiva friends and you certainly don’t play with your yak.

JD WHITE

The muzzle of the steel blue .45 left a small round indention above my temple.
The blackness in my brain was clearing and my eyes again could focus on the stained, gray tile of the bathroom floor.
Blood trickled to the tile as the lump on the back of my head throbbed with each beat of my heart.
At least my heart was still beating, for now.
To my ears came the heavy click of the gun’s hammer, and that gave the answer to my unasked question.
I had come to the yeshiva to learn, and they were teaching me.

LAIEANNA

“See anything yet?”
“No.”
“I’m starving. We have to find something soon.”
“Well if you weren’t so scared to stop and ask, someone might be able to help.”
“I’m not scared! In fact, I’ll ask that guy right there. Excuse me sir, where’s a good place to eat around here?”
“There’s a lovely restaurant three blocks down. See Yeshiva? Just around the corner.”
“Thanks.”
“Did he just call me She-Ra? What was that about?”
“Probably a compliment. Relax.”
“I’m not even blonde!”
“Did you see his cool hat? Wonder if I can get one of those before we leave town.”

CHRIS

Hello Clarice, me again.
I heard you just got digital cable. Tell me, did you consider switching to satellite? Satellite providers offer many programming packages at prices much cheaper than cable. Or did you stay with cable because that was what you’ve always had, what you’re comfortable with, to afraid to consider change? We both know the answer to that one.
I hope you at least sprung for the DVR upgrade. The History Channel is running a documentary on Yeshiva at the same time as America’s Got Talent. You won’t be able to watch both.
Well, gotta run. Ta ta.

ZIGMUD Z. ZOROWSKI

It is my first day in yeshiva.
I come from a long line of Torah scholars of decreasing expertise, and the teachers wonder if I will continue that downward spiral into duncehood.
Sure enough, upon first interpretation, I’m chanting random nonsense that has the whole class laughing and accusing me of blasphemy.
The rabbi stomps to my desk, peers at my family’s cherished and valuable scroll, and gasps with horror.
Through the generations, tiny pinpricks of mold have grown in the writing, adding vowel-dots in random places.
The Pentateuch’s graceful and sagely wisdom, rendered into meaningless, illiterate Hebrew babble.

OTHER CRAP:
Lincoln Freak thinks Caleb’s Lincoln stories are better than mine. Heh. Indeed.
SL Woodstock begins in 6 days. Wow.
Carnal Knowledge is a book by one of my favorite daily podcasters, Charles Hodgson. I owe this podcast’s continues survival to his inspiration, since I often come up with my stories around the words he reviews and tales he spins about their odd origins.
There’s some kind of write-a-review podcast contest out there at Podcast Pickle going on.
Write reviews, win prizes. That sort of thing.
There’s also a way to write reviews for this podcast in iTunes and other directories.
Your Mostly Fearless Leader doesn’t command you to do so, but he is somewhat whinily cajoling and imploring you to do so.
Let a tiny slice of the world know how much you like or don’t like or could care less about this not-quite-so-bold endeavor.
Thank you.

Weekly Challenge #68 – Yak

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Welcome to the sixty-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 Rocky Torok from the Northwest Territories of Edloe Island, and it was: Yak.
The excellent theme music is by Guy David
SOMETHING NEW
Due to popular demand, I am going to include stories that were sent to me, but without a recording. However, since the midget has left for sunny Coral Gables, Florida, those stories will just be posted in the show notes. You’re more than welcome to vote for them, but they will be ineligible for prizes or topic selection.
I feel that this is a fair balance between the podcast and blog natures of this content.
Feel free to share your thoughts on this decision in the comments, and we might possibly come up with an even better and more fair policy for handling these kinds of situations.
VOTING
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):

TOM

Yellow Yoni Yurt Yearned Yuri.
“Yolanda Yellow Yak,” Yelled Yuri.
Yearling Yolanda Yak Yarelessly Yawned.
Yuri Yanked Yoked Yellow Yak.
Yolanda Yapped Yipped Yelped Yes.
Yeasty Yam Yen Yolanda Yielded.
“Yonder Yankee Yahoos” Yelled Yuri.
Yak Yolanda Yexed Yellow Yams.
Yuri Yammered, “You You You!”
Youthful Yahoos Yanked Yearling Yak.
Yuri Yelped Yipped Yapped Yes.
“Yellow Yurt Yet,” Yelled Yuri.
Yeshiva Yale Yachtsmen Yes
Yeshiva Yale Yachtsmen Yup
Yodeled Yearly Yule Yodels
“Yuck Yuck,” Yelled Youths
Yankee Yahoos Yielding Yearling
“Yeah,” Yelled Yuri “Yeah.”
Yarrished Rolanda Yawned Yernlessly.
Yielding Yellow Yoni Yurt
Yuri’s Yarn Yesterday’s Yarn
“Yakity yak” Yammer Yolanda

The 4th Mounted Yaks were the heart of the regiment. They had fought in every war for a 100 years. Each campaign had brought new glory. Each battle had added to the legend. Only foes knew the terror of the charge of 500 yaks. Sparks jumping from their flying hooves as they pound across a rock covered plain. Flame red eyes stabbing deep into the soul. Steel encrusted horns gleaming in the early morning sun, ready to gore. Line after line of hairy humped bovines closing in, blood lust filling their brains.
Did you ever smell 500 yaks?
Yaks.
Yuck.

CALEB

Poised the attack yak is ready to pounce
Natural born killer this fiend ounce for ounce
The fearsomest deadliest of all of the yaks
Very few ever see one even fewer come back
Hooves like thunder, lightning for veins
Joe went looking for one but all that remains
Are his screams of anguish from up on the hill
Sometimes in autumn I hear those screams still
Now we square off this attack yak and I
I go for my rifle I hear his wild cry
And how does it end with defeat or aplomb
To find out just visit yakpenis.com

GUY DAVID

The Red Yak of Destiny is an understanding god. When we need crops for the winter, he gives us crops. When we battle with the twotelgloo tribe, we win.
Last summer, I went and asked The Red Yak of Destiny for a son, but instead he gave me a daughter. I got angry at him. I went back to him and said “you gave me a daughter when I asked for a son.” He just smiled and asked me to bring my wife. Next summer I had two boys. Sure, they have long red fur and horns, but their mine.

LAIEANNA

The auditions weren’t going so well and Lydia was tired. She buzzed for the next potential failure to be ushered in. None of the actors had been right for the part. The company needed someone who was perfect to appeal to their target buyers. With a new product, the first ads were always crucial.
The door swung open. Lydia glanced up at the next actor shuffling in. Shocked, she stared in awe as he began his line.
“I can’t believe it’s not yak butter,” he said with confident surprise.
Lydia sprung up, applauding wildly. “That was fabulous, Fabio! Absolutely fabulous!”

ELISSON

Morris was a miserable Mongol.
He was the hindmost in his Horde. Weak of arm, near of sight, with compromised riding skills, there was no chance he would ever amount to anything in the empire of the great Khan.
Worst of all, he hated yaks. Loathed everything about them: their stinking wooly coats, their rancid milk, their stringy meat.
Unfortunately for Morris, the Mongol diet was 98% yak, 2% green leafy vegetables. Clothing? All made from yak wool, including the boxers. Itchy.
And, of course, everyone lived in yurts made of yak-skin.
“It’s enough to make me yak!” shouted Morris.

ROCKY

It began as a social experiment.
I wanted to bring in livestock to my community, for several reasons. Besides the fact that
I’m just crazy about Yak, I really wanted to bring a little something extra to my neighbors,
besides richer soil.
I noticed the other day, one of the females was looking a little bit sad. I’ve seen that
look before. It was heartbreak.
With a series of dashes and dots, I had Bessie stamp out in Morse Code what was bothering
her.
With a big yak tear in her eye, she stamped out in code her pain in one single word…
RADAR….

CHRIS

Hello Clarice. Don’t bother with the trace, I’ll be brief.
I understand you just had a birthday. Did you receive my gift basket? The hand crème contains a special moisturizer derived from yak’s milk, something you can’t get stateside. I do hope you’ll try it once forensics is done with it.
Tell me Clarice, was there a party at the office? Did the FBI spring for a cake, pass a card around for signatures, gather at your desk to sing happy birthday? Sounds charming; pity I couldn’t make it.
Well I believe our time is up. Happy Birthday, Agent Starling.

A mad, shaggy beast is running amok on Main Street, smashing cars and breaking store windows.
Sheriff calls for help, and a pickup truck pulls to a stop in the middle of the street.
His ancient boots are cracked with time, caked with mud from distant lands.
He raises his hand slowly and approaches the beast, humming a Himalayan sleeping chant.
The tornado of horns, fur, and hooves slows… and stops with a grunt.
The Yak Whisperer places his hand on the beast’s forehead and smiles.
His other hand holds a gun, and he shoots.
The town will dine well tonight.

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Sign in with your username and password
Click on Preferences
Scroll down to Promo Code and type in CRAP
Click on the OK button.

Isn’t that simple?

Weekly Challenge #67 – Fatal Wound

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Welcome to the sixty-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 Laieanna of Hodgepodge Point: Fatal Wound.
The excellent theme music is by Guy David
SOMETHING NEW
Due to popular demand, I am going to include stories that were sent to me, but without a recording. However, since the midget has left for sunny Coral Gables, Florida, those stories will just be posted in the show notes. You’re more than welcome to vote for them, but they will be ineligible for prizes or topic selection.
I feel that this is a fair balance between the podcast and blog natures of this content.
Feel free to share your thoughts on this decision in the comments, and we might possibly come up with an even better and more fair policy for handling these kinds of situations.
VOTING
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):

STUART

The couple argued intensely as former lovers with passion as fiery than any other relationship anyone ever saw quickly descended into a flaring argument that could be heard down the streets of Brooklyn.
He said, She said thats how it goes. He smashes the glass bottle, she screams in anguish and pain
His body fell still, He could hardly believe his eyes at what devious act he had just watched and committed. It all happened so fast and then crashed into slow motion like out of a Hollywood blockbuster.
The blood begins to drip like raindrops on his cold skin.

TOM

The titanium rail gun’s sight was centered on that Austrian Art School
want-a-be prick. Wolfgang Z14 contently smiled as he pulled the trigger a
fatal wound for a future Führer. Within Z’s brain the holocaust vanished
replaced by a 1000 years of Pax Zionose Europa.
The spinning mangled marionette of a man suddenly righted himself, woundless.
Wolfgang Z tried to blink but failed to close his lids before he vanished.
The dead returned to dead, the unborn remained unborn, a golden Europe became
gray. When the time rift settled the last of Hitler’s genetic pool reappeared
and took aim again.

LAIEANNA

Ours was an epic battle that raged through timeless years, never ending, never slowing, but we were losing to our enemy. They were constantly changing with the centuries, inventing destruction in bigger, more powerful ways. And yet it was the simplest of weapons that we truly feared. We, on the other hand, always remained the same.
My day to fall came when one of their foot soldiers took an axe to my side. I awakened to the pain of cold steel vibrations. The wound was my end. With a push, I went down to the sounds of his triumph.
“Timber!”

GUY

There was a strange buzz sound. Something was definitely wrong. The microphone was not supposed to make such a sound. Than it made a gurgling noise. I thought “that is strange”, then I looked closely and, suddenly I could see it, the microphone was wounded, and… it was a fatal wound.
I gave it a decent burial. It was still young, but I have already grown attached to it. I’m now using an old mike I found laying somewhere around the house, but, it’s not the same. I shell always remember it fondly. That mike was such a dear friend.

CALEB

I told her that my love for her was like a fatal wound and that only she could save a life. That she was the balm in Gilead; that the power of love over death was in her hand and her hand only. But she just laughed. She didn’t care if I lived or if I died. So I am very sorry for everything. I’m sorry that such extreme measures had to be taken but be assured that it could’ve been avoided. Take that, you heartless bitch! I never said it was MY life she could save. I’m not crazy.

SARAH

She sat in the room quietly crying.
Crying like she had cried all those times he never came home.
Crying, like those tears would bring him home to her again.
Out of the arms of those other women who ‘meant nothing to him’.
She sat in the room staring at the picture of happier times.
“Fuck him” she muttered through the snot dripping from her nose.
She picked herself up and walked to the doorframe.
She slowly placed the noose around her head.
“You were never worth it…..”
Who would have thought a broken heart could be a fatal wound??

Yesterday, while walking home from the bus stop, I bumped into God. I know, your going to say “God!”, but before you do let me tell you that he didn’t even say “excuse me.” Well, here is God walking down the street, not paying attention to anything, in his own little world and, bam, down I go in a heap on the sidewalk. I know, I know, your going to say “But that was God!” Well, I say, the heck with predestination, from now on I go with free will and it should be a week before his shiner goes away.

The difference between a knockout punch and a fatal wound is a proud opponent who doesn’t have the sense to get out of the ring when he’s beat.
It helps if you’ve got a referee who’s trying to keep the fight going for the television network coverage instead of stopping it when over is over.
Coaches factor in, too. Telling your fighter to dehydrate himself to fool the scale ends up leaving him too weak to fight, too weak to fight back.
A whole lot of brain damage.
Kim went fourteen rounds with Mancini and went home in a box.

Thanks to everyone for sending in their stories, and I look forward to what you’ve got to write (and say) next week.
The theme for next week’s Weekly Challenge will be posted shortly.

Go to PodcastReady
Sign in with your username and password
Click on Preferences
Scroll down to Promo Code and type in CRAP
Click on the OK button.

Isn’t that simple?

Weekly Challenge #66 – Driving 150MPH

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Welcome to the sixty-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 Tom from Footnote: Driving 150MPH.
The excellent theme music is by Guy David
SOMETHING NEW
Due to popular demand, I am going to include stories that were sent to me, but without a recording. However, since the midget has left for sunny Coral Gables, Florida, those stories will just be posted in the show notes. You’re more than welcome to vote for them, but they will be ineligible for prizes or topic selection.
I feel that this is a fair balance between the podcast and blog natures of this content.
Feel free to share your thoughts on this decision in the comments, and we might possibly come up with an even better and more fair policy for handling these kinds of situations.
VOTING
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):

LAIEANNA

Bowling night was canceled when Wilma insisted Fred drive her to Stone-Mart for some grocery shopping. That meant traveling across the Gravelway on a busy Saturday. Fred growled his protest, but they eventually piled into the car.
It was as bad as he thought with gridlock and dumb drivers. Fred’s rage peaked. He pumped his legs harder, watching the worm spin on the odometer as he zipped between cars. Wilma screamed. Pebbles cried. Fred was determined.
They got there in record time. Fred smiled at his accomplishment and fell out of the car, dragging his bloody stumps towards the store.

TOM

The last weld to the undercarriage was completed. The seat was encased in the center of the cage and it in turn bolted to a dozen points within the Impala. Four harnesses would be enough he thought
It was hard to maneuver with the reduction gears on the steering column. At 125 the vibration made it hard to see. Passing 150 mph he pressed the ignition to the JATO tube.
The Highway Patrol pulled a left molar from 125 feet up the cliff. We at the Darwin Awards Salute those who improve our gene pool by removing themselves from it

MIKE JAMES

Driving 150, its not really that quick
Honking and swerving are my favorite trick.
Faster is better, thats my way of thinking
Though you cant tell , I haven’t been drinking.
you cant hardly tell,what they yell as I pass
Can’t seem to hear them, through my tinted glass
Don’t these fools know Ive got places to be.
Starbucks, Cell depot and Panera bakery
So sure, my weaving and screeching and swerving,
can seem self righteous and somewhat unnerving.
I do strive for safty, to hit no one at all
But my tires just don’t grip, when inside the mall.

GUY DAVID

Space was heavy with debris. We had to steer carefully. Captain was forced almost to a crawl, 150, no kidding. Me was holding the banister. Good boy I am. Make no trouble. Do what I’m told. Then, red button called, said “push me, push me Moris”, so I pushed. There was a splash, and the spaceship stopped. Captain yelled. I had strange noise in my head, was seeing red, so I zapped him, I zapped them all, then blow a hole in outer shell. Now I alone, no one disturb my peace. How I love peace and quiet of space.

DAPHNE

I finally told him what he wanted to hear. He was so excited he couldn’t breathe at first then said he’d be here in half an hour, after all these years he wasn’t going to wait any longer and the first night of the rest of our lives will start when he knocks on the door. He lives 75 miles away even if he hit the lights and the traffic right, he can’t get here sooner then an hour and half. I have some time to get ready. For him get here in half and hour he would have to be…

BRETT

3 hours. 500 miles. she’s leaving soon. Driving 150MPH. Passing lane. ! No time to swerve. Sorry. Roadkill. Gas station. Fill up; wash tires. $32.02. 1.98 change. Vroom. Seen burning fires, desert, blue clouds, break ups, debris; in brief periods. Airport. Crowds. Parked On Foot. Key in Shoe. Bathroom stall. Palmed key retrieves locker contents. Torn page; Jennifer’s black book. Cell. Driving. Jen: …NO!!!”. Hang up. Map. Arrive. Parallel Park. Fresh Air. Birds. “Hello”. Ran down hall. Locked door. “Knock knock”. My pistol breaks lock. Alexander: “Who?”. I pull hammer back. He escapes. “My hero. I love you, Uncle Unschkidaunt.”

ROCKY

To whom it may concern.
I recently had my wheelchair upgraded by your company.
I did not ask for the turbocharged package, and I refuse to pay for it.
I am by no means a rocket scientist, but I do know that this baby should not be cruising at 150 miles per hour!
Along with downgrading my ride, I will also insist that you replace my soiled underwear!
I would also suggest replacing poor Mrs. Johnson’s cat.
Oh my God! I don’t know if this was some kind of sick joke, but I don’t think it’s funny. I’d kick someone’s ass if I could.
Thank you.
Sincerely,
Stephen Hawking

My name is Hoke. I’ve been hired to drive Miss Daisy around.
She didn’t like me at first, but we’ve grown close over the years.
Every week, she has me drive her to some Jewish church for services. Doing those Jew things.
Well, one time, it took her a little while longer to fix herself up, and we were late.
So, I put the pedal to the metal, and we screamed down the highway, needle throbbing at the 150 mark.
Daisy got to her services, but the cops busted me.
Now I’m spending time with my Cousin Red at Shawshank.

Thanks to everyone for sending in their stories, and I look forward to what you’ve got to write (and say) next week.
The theme for next week’s Weekly Challenge will be posted shortly.

Go to PodcastReady
Sign in with your username and password
Click on Preferences
Scroll down to Promo Code and type in CRAP
Click on the OK button.

Isn’t that simple?

Weekly Challenge #65 – Tofu Pants

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Welcome to the sixty-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 Caleb Bullen from the Black Tie Martini Club: Tofu Pants.
The excellent theme music is by Guy David
SOMETHING NEW
Due to popular demand, I am going to include stories that were sent to me, but without a recording. However, since the midget has left for sunny Coral Gables, Florida, those stories will just be posted in the show notes. You’re more than welcome to vote for them, but they will be ineligible for prizes or topic selection.
I feel that this is a fair balance between the podcast and blog natures of this content.
Feel free to share your thoughts on this decision in the comments, and we might possibly come up with an even better and more fair policy for handling these kinds of situations.
VOTING
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):

TOM

It was the Patchouli. It does things to the mind. Her name was River nose ring henna copy of Gibran on the redwood burl India bedspreads hanging from the ceiling clouds of sandalwood and a Krishna poster in the john. Ever try to take a leak with a blue god smile at you? Chanted a lot Om mahneypod me om. Was writing this book called the Sensual Vegan. Which is how I ended up in downtown Santa Cruz in a pair of tofus pants. As god is my witness your Honor I can explain the Calamari underwear and sushi garterbelt

SYRIL

We went to the discount erotic clothing shop in search of edible panties. A dollar was too expensive, so we bought 2 pairs of tofu pants for a quarter. They were half off. Damn rats!
We pulled them on and salivated. Wanting to touch and press up against each other. With her hairy, dirty crotch visible before my eyes, I hungered for that strange taste. Wanting to stick my tongue inside, like raw fish. Delicious, tempting, and satisfying.
Were it not for the shivering cold in the bleakest of winters, I would have eaten my first meal in four months.

CALEB

Tofu Pants always has to have a cause. He’s one of these, “impeach the whales, no nukes for Tibet, Save George Bush” bleeding heart liberals. For the last five or six years, he’s been annoying us all about global warming, peak oil, corruption in the white house and yeah, he turned out to be right about most of it but he’s SO annoying I hate him.
What’s worse? Now that basically the whole country agrees with his wacky Tofu Pants bullshit, he’s switched sides to be a Pro-War, Pro-Business Neo-Con. Rumor is… He’s getting the Democratic Nomination. Stupid Tofu Pants!

TERRENCE

Raoul hated fashion, but he had little choice but to keep up with at
least the basics. Given his life span, forever, he would have been
looking out of date a long time ago and that would just draw attention
he did not want.
So every couple of years he would go out to the local trendy shops.
He would talk to the sales people and he would select some new cloths.
He had survived through togas, powdered wigs and bell bottoms, but
this was the worst yet; who in their right mind would wear a pair of
tofu pants?

LAIEANNA

“Hiruko, you no good samurai. Have no honor. You bring sorrow to our women! Children fear honor of their name never be restored. You disgrace our clan! For this you shall wear the tofu pants of shame, walk village street, and bare the bites of dishonor.”
“The tofu pants of shame.”
“Yeah, make him wear the pants.”
“You bring shame on our house.”
“My cow die cause of you.”
“I take bite to get back honor.”
“You shame our village. No more show face in city.”
“Your disgrace make wife barren.”
“I get butt hair with bite.”
“That’s good tofu!”

GUY

We make edible clothings. We have strawberry t-shirts, pineapple shoes and chocolate hats. We have many lines of edible clothing, fit for any occasion.
Mind you, we don’t make those depraved sexually related under clothings. We are a good establishment and we renounce any such thing.
We do tend to our costumers health. That’s why we came up with our new health line of tofu clothings. Our new model of tofu pants is very popular amongst the young, and once you gnaw it down, you never want to have anything related to that deplorable sexual activity thing ever again.

DAPHNE

I had enough I was going to take my revenge. I read about Voodoo Dolls and started to melt wax to mold one. I ran out before it looked like him. It had to resemble the intended target so I rummaged around the kitchen to find something to finish the legs. Once it looked like him I started placing pins. The next day I saw him at the coffee shop, he looked fine but what I noticed was his pants. They looked like they were made from wasabi paste. That had to have itched. I just smiled that was a better choice than the tofu.

CHRIS

As the top fashion designer and cook in all of France, it was only natural that I would eventually combine these two talents. After many long hours in the kitchen and studio, my latest work is both a culinary and fashion masterpiece.
Ladies and gentlemen, I give you my latest creation: Tofu Pants! You can eat them, or you can wear them! I am le genius, no?
Although I don’t recommend you eat them after you wear them.
But ladies rest assured that whether you eat them or wear them, these tofu pants will not make your ass look fat.

ALPHA K NINE

I hated the deceased. I didn’t hate him when I killed
him. I didn’t hate him when he invaded my home. I
didn’t hate him for the color of his skin or the fact
that he threatened my life. I learned to hate him
later.
I learned to hate him after I was accused of murder.
I learned to hate him after he was dead.
He made me a killer. I am not now, nor have I ever
been, a murderer. I am a killer, though, now and
forever. He made me take a life, and doing so,
destroyed mine.

When I was little my mother made me wear snow pants in the winter.
They were just leggings I wore over my jeans when the snowdrifts were high. But they were great for sliding down huge piles of snow that snowplows would push into sidewalks and driveways.
These days, whenever I go into the tofu processing tanks, I pull on my tofu pants and wade into the vast white piles.
There’s always a headcount of technicians going in and out of the tanks. Don’t want to lose anybody.
I mean, think of the scandal – meat in a batch of tofu!

Thanks to everyone for sending in their stories, and I look forward to what you’ve got to write (and say) next week.
The theme for next week’s Weekly Challenge will be posted shortly.

Go to PodcastReady
Sign in with your username and password
Click on Preferences
Scroll down to Promo Code and type in CRAP
Click on the OK button.

Isn’t that simple?

Weekly Challenge #64 – Existential Ennui

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Welcome to the sixty-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 Caleb Bullen from the Black Tie Martini Club: Existential Ennui.
The excellent theme music is by Guy David
SOMETHING NEW
Due to popular demand, I am going to include stories that were sent to me, but without a recording. However, since the midget has left for sunny Coral Gables, Florida, those stories will just be posted in the show notes. You’re more than welcome to vote for them, but they will be ineligible for prizes or topic selection.
I feel that this is a fair balance between the podcast and blog natures of this content.
Feel free to share your thoughts on this decision in the comments, and we might possibly come up with an even better and more fair policy for handling these kinds of situations.
SPECIAL ADDITION
Rich DeSoto/Palmer of Audio Gumshoe, That Tickles, and Open Microphone on Los Arboles in Second Life (Mondays at 6PM) took a parody set of lyrics of mine and turned them into a pretty cool song this week. I’ve tacked it on to the podcast right after Z’s story, and I think you’ll get a kick out of it.
VOTING
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):

CALEB

Nelson Algren sat in his mother’s bar on Division Street in Chicago drinking and pondering Existential Ennui when suddenly Jean Paul Sartre came bursting in through the door six guns a blazing.
“Algren! I’m taking Simone with me and if you try to stop us, you’re a dead man!”
“You’re too late. She’s gone back to the continent with some guitar player or something. Here, let me buy you a drink”
And so Algren and Sartre sat in Phyllis’ Musical Inn on Division drinking and pondering existential ennui while Simone DeBauvior sat somewhere in their existential ennui regretting her divisions.

TOM

The view from the tiny pumphouse on the hill is like one perched on a random cornflake drifting in the center of the milk of a bowl of cereal. The rim of the valley surrounds with its California potato colored hills dotted with frog skin valley oaks. It is a quiet purposeful place with underlining communalism yet tempered with strong personal Existential possibilities. Tonight within these walls there is no solace. The end result of a year of dying has take its toll on the vibrant existential soul. You want Existential Ennui in a word I will call it cancer.

LAIEANNA

God blew more smoke out the crack of his window. Harry hated people
smoking in his car, but this was God. He wasn’t a person exactly and
could you tell him to stop?
“Why not?” God asked. Harry flinched at the mind reading. “You
believe you’re in control of your own life.”
“Well, maybe I’m tired of being in control. Look at this god
damn…sorry…traffic!”
“We’ve been carpooling together for five years and that’s the first
time you apologized.”
Harry just sighed. God smiled, lifted the car, and flew it to work.
“Welcome to the fold, my son.”

JENNY

I remember the first person I killed. Her name was Tifanee…with two
e’s. She made me so miserable in school. Made everyone miserable really.
Bitchy. Bitchy with two e’s. I felt a little bad about it later. Well
not really bad but bad for not feeling bad, you know? And then after that
was Stephen. “It’s not you, baby. It’s me.” Yeah, you and half the
cheerleading squad. Sometimes I wonder why I do this? Why I have to take
out the human trash. Maybe it’s better to forgive. Maybe I’m not the one
who’s supposed to be doling out justice.
But if I don’t…then who will?

GUY

I was just sitting, drinking tea with my good friend Lony, when she turns to me and says:
“Grandma Shunra, I can’t stand this existential ennui. We just spend our life turning people into things, selling them various potions and casting spells on them. There must be more to life than this”.
“Yes”, I said, “That is our life, take it or leave it, it’s not that as bad as you think. You should learn to except it. We do have more then most, you know”.
“But what good is it?” Lony asked, so, I turned her into a frog.

FALDWIN

When I first read the prompt for this weeks challenge my response was, in a word: “Huh?” A quick Google search revealed an article explaining the phenomenon. I would explain it, but I only have 100 words here. If a person finds themselves bored with life because everything is the same, they might, in an effort to cure that boredom, do something exciting and different. But if that person continues to do exciting things he might get bored with excitement. Then he will go back to doing the same thing over and over again and the cycle will begin anew.

Jo says she’ll do you for the cost of weed, but there’s more to it than that.
She’ll want to talk. Sometimes an hour, sometimes more.
Camus, Sartre, Beauvoir – over and over.
Next thing you know, you’re both grinding away under the sheets.
Your mind’s been elsewhere, worthless in all this screwing.
You try to catch up, but she rolls you over. She’s finished.
And you look down – so are you.
Let me tell you: Existential ennui makes lousy foreplay, but I think she gets off on this whole thing.
She puts out, and yet, she keeps it to herself.

Thanks to everyone for sending in their stories, and I look forward to what you’ve got to write (and say) next week.
The theme for next week’s Weekly Challenge will be posted shortly.

Go to PodcastReady
Sign in with your username and password
Click on Preferences
Scroll down to Promo Code and type in CRAP
Click on the OK button.

Isn’t that simple?

Weekly Challenge #63 – Sleepwalking

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Welcome to the sixty-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 Rocky from the Northwest Territories of Edloe Island: Sleepwalking.
The excellent theme music is by Guy David
SOMETHING NEW
Due to popular demand, I am going to include stories that were sent to me, but without a recording. However, since the midget has left for sunny Coral Gables, Florida, those stories will just be posted in the show notes. You’re more than welcome to vote for them, but they will be ineligible for prizes or topic selection.
I feel that this is a fair balance between the podcast and blog natures of this content.
Feel free to share your thoughts on this decision in the comments, and we might possibly come up with an even better and more fair policy for handling these kinds of situations.
VOTING
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):

JENNY

She didn’t used to be like this.
Before it happened, she was different.
The assault.
She doesn’t like the word, she doesn’t use it.
She’s very [deeply], and mostly, it doesn’t even exist.
She only remembers when she sees glimpses of the girl she once was. Old journals, vibrant photos from before.
A friend that she hasn’t seen since before it happened.
A friend who recognizes her face, but nothing behind it.
I watch her everyday in the mirror and subway reflections.
Her heels tap hypnotically in a rhythm that says “Not now. Not now.”
I wonder where she’s going.
I wonder who she is.

CALEB

I’m not God. Used to be but I gave it up. Those poor sleepwalking fools. Once a year I would appear to one and give them the chance to ask any one question. They mostly fell into one of three categories: The avaricious like, “what stocks should I buy?” The stupid, “When and how will I die?” and the ponderous, “what’s the meaning of life?”.
Finally this one cat asks me, “do you like your work?” I hadn’t thought about it much but it turned out, I didn’t, so I gave it up. Get more respect as a bartender anyway.

TOM

It was always on the coldest nights of the year. Lenore would wander across the stone floor in bear feet making her way to the ruin of the west tower. Dead to the world in a sleep as deep as the one who lay in the vault below. The help had strict orders to let the lady of the manner go where she wilt. When she reached the tower the song began and none who heard it could long endure its deepless well of sorrow At dawn she was carried off to the bed in the vault of her twin.

ELISSON

Nick was one of those old guys who walked the mall every morning. A regular amongst the Davenport Mallwalkers, he’d been at it for over fifteen years now.
“I gotta get my exercise!” he’d say, heading past Macy’s at a brisk near-trot.
Last week, all that exercise was no help. Some guy stuck a gun in his face and demanded his wallet, and Nick must not have been quick enough coming up with it.
Nick’s sleeping the Forever Sleep now, but it doesn’t seem to slow him down any. I still see him walking the mall…
…but only at night.

GUY DAVID

I dare not go to sleep. If I go to sleep, I wake up somewhere else. It’s OK when I wake up in the canal between Nowhereville and Edloe Island, but that other time I woke up in this place, full of people with spikes who keep other people on a leash. I found out I lost my right arm that night and a knife was buried in my forehead. Cost me most of my lindens, that new arm, but that knife, I’m keeping that. Couldn’t afford to remove it, and anyway, the other avatars seems to think it cool.

TERRENCE

Raoul lived alone. He had for a lone time and he liked it that way.
Sure sometimes he got a little lonely but he could deal with it. He
had tried living with a roommate a long time ago but it did not work
out.
One night his roommate went to bed early. Raoul took the opportunity
and invited Eve over. They were half way through their visit when
Raoul spotted his roommate in the doorway. He could take the empty
milk cartons, he could even take the snoring, but the sleepwalking was
the last straw.

LAIEANNA

Bells chimed from the other room. Throwing back the covers and
falling into my shoes, I grabbed the lantern while dashing out the
bedroom door. The master was already halfway across the field before
I even left the cottage. He was wearing his wizard’s hat that gave
off the faintest of glows.
I followed as close as I could catch up, but for a moment I lost him
completely. When a dark cloud finally passed, I saw him still walking
through the air a few feet above me. I prayed he wouldn’t be over the
lake when he finally awoke.

CHRIS

When I awoke, I was standing on a stage surrounded by LOTS of people. Next to me on the stage an old man was holding out a book and reading from a prompter.
Where the hell am I?
I’ve been known to sleepwalk, but what’s odd about my condition is I’ve been known to do it for days. Most people don’t even realize I’m sleepwalking when I talk to them.
As my mind clears, I finally register the question the old man just asked.
“Do you solemnly swear to uphold the office of President of the United States?”

RADAR

Their hands reach out, selfishly clutching at things that will doom them. Their minds are darkened by “me, me, me”, their hearts full of malice at any who would get in their way. It’s a contest of epic proportions, who can claim the most victory by gulping down and swallowing the most defeat.
It matters not to them that they spread sorrow and misery to others around them, nor that they will become dust long before their plans of so-called happiness could possibly reap any reward other than shame. And so it goes, and so they continue on, ever sleepwalking.

MAMACITA

By the end of June I was already tired of the heat, and so bored I thought I was sleepwalking, when The Chief came strutting into the newsroom, looking to throw his weight around a little, just to show everybody why he was still The Chief and the one who made the decisions around here; I could tell he was gunning for me because he was waving my last assignment around in his greasy little fist telling me I’d gone over the word count again, and I said back to him, “One hundred words? That’s just one damn sentence.”

JUSTIN

My wife always said that I sleepwalk, but I didn’t believe her… until now.
While on vacation in Turkey recently, I pushed a woman over a bridge while sleepwalking.
My lawyer tried to get me out of it, unsuccessfully.
I was sentenced to thirty-five years in a prison on the outskirts of Istanbul for my crime.
I don’t sleepwalk anymore. Hell, I barely sleep. I live my days in constant fear that my cellmate, Big Willy, will make me bend over for another “special moment.” I wish I were dead.
Why couldn’t I have just sleepwalked off of that bridge?

The Internet is the most complex and advanced communication tool ever built by man.
Spammer N’Gawi Mobutu saw it as a way to scam people out of their money.
He made millions.
The Russians took some of those millions for a trip to the space station, the most complex and advanced vehicle ever built by man.
Mobutu saw it as just a fun way to spend the weekend.
Disgusted, the crew shoved Mobutu into the airlock and claimed he sleptwalked out into space.
Oxygen is the most basic and simple biological requirement needed by man.
Good luck finding it, Mobutu.

Thanks to everyone for sending in their stories, and I look forward to what you’ve got to write (and say) next week.
The theme for next week’s Weekly Challenge will be posted shortly.

Go to PodcastReady
Sign in with your username and password
Click on Preferences
Scroll down to Promo Code and type in CRAP
Click on the OK button.

Isn’t that simple?

Weekly Challenge #62 – How I spent my summer inside a Turkish prison

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Welcome to the sixty-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 Tom of Footnote: How I spent my summer inside a Turkish prison.
The excellent theme music is by Guy David
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):

ROCKY

The charge was cruelty to farm animals. I was sentenced to 6 months in this facility. So far it hasn’t been so bad.
I have met a lot of pretty nice people. Over there, that’s Snake. We have a lot in common. We both love cats. We traded recipes.
That guy over there is Big Willy. He doesn’t say much. He must be a clean freak because he spends most of his free time in the showers.
Hey look! There’s a shiny quarter. Someone must have dropped it. They say here, finders keepers, losers weepers..
Right Big Willy? Big Willy? BIG WILLY!!!!

JENNY

Dear mom and dad,
When you said I should summer at Gramma’s house in Turkey I figured it
would be good for us to spend some time apart after the tensions of last
semester.
I realize you’re disappointed that I failed Algebra II. Most parents
would ground their child or take away their phone but I’m pretty sure they
would not plant a kilo of heroine in their kid’s suitcase and then warn
the Turkish officials that a dangerous drug mule would be arriving that
day. Oh and wrapping the drugs in my report card? Nice touch.
You guys are assholes.
Love, Karen

CALEB

It’s no spring picnic spending your summer vacation inside a Turkish prison. The falafel is just awful. The kefir inspires fear. And the baloney sandwiches aren’t very good either. Knowing all this, I decided to win the hearts and minds of my fellow inmates and smuggled in a nice hard sausage for them. Of course we had to hide it from the guards but everyone enjoyed my sausage so much it wasn’t like being in prison at all. Honestly, I can’t wait to go back next summer. Just so long as I get to go to a women’s prison again.

GUY DAVID

I was hungry. Really hungry. I know you’re supposed to save the turkey till Christmas, but it was my summer vacation, and I was in Turkey after all, so it somehow fit. I was just about to put it in the oven when I figures I forgot to put the paprika, and, that I didn’t actually have paprika in the first place. Fortunately, I had a very nice neighbor next door, so I told her the whole story, only, somehow she heard the word “Turk” instead of “Turkey”. I spent the rest of my summer vacation inside a Turkish prison.

TOM

Last year Mom and Dad took us to Disneyland. It sucked. It was phony and silly and the food was really really bad. Dad said he was tired of our bitching and moaning so he said we would be going on a real vacation this year. We had to choose from three fun filled packages. The Shank Shaw Redemption Road Gang Experience, Escape from Alcatraz Marathon Swim and the Midnight Express Turkish Delight. I voted for Burning Man, but we went to Turkey instead. The best part of the trip was Kat Steven’s inmate concert. Folsom Blues in Arabic rocked.

HOUSTON KEYS

No privacy, no peace.
It’s like work without the cubicles. I was pleasantly surprised that the man with the rubber glove was amazingly gentle.
So how did I get here? Who really knows? One minute I’m watching “What’s my Filafil?” and the next I see a woman without a burka. The entertainment police bust in and BLAMMO!
The good side is my mustache is growing in nicely and the torturous screams of my cell mates provide a nightly soundtrack for insanity.
So once I get out I’ll recommend a Turkish Prison to all my friends. Along with the carpets, those are really, really nice.

DAPHNE

Mom said I needed a summer job. It would build character and make some money for school. So I took a job working for my Great Aunt at her turkey farm. I fed the turkeys, cleaned up the barn when they were out in the yard and made sure they had water. One morning I got them all out to the yard and was sweeping up after them when the door to the barn closed. I was locked in.
And that is how I spent my Summer Vacation in a Turkey Prison.

CHRIS

Last year, Shawshank prison was selected to take part in a prisoner exchange program with other prisons around the country. Having earned the warden’s blessing after doing his taxes, my good friend Andy Dusfresne was one of the first prisoners selected for the new program.
But there was a mix-up; instead of going to Anchorage, Andy wound up in Ankara at a maximum security Turkish prison, where he was repeatedly sodomized by packs of horny Turkish bull queers. It was September before the mistake was realized and Andy was brought back home.
That was the longest summer of his life.

TO4M

Ok So I forgot smuggling hash was against the law. I saw Midnight
Express but that was years ago. During the summer in prison I learned
a lot of things. Grubs and water are a good meal once you’ve forgotten
about cheeseburgers. Daylight is overrated. So are showers Stench is
the new Axe . A great way to entertain yourself is to take maybe 10 or
12 dead cockroaches (or snacks as I called them) and toss them to the
cell’s silent darkness then spend hours finding them. It wasn’t so
much fun when they landed in the chamber pot.

WILLIAM Z BURROUGHS

April 14th, 1965
Lincoln died a hundred years ago today.
I have ingested half of a Turkish street market, snorting swirling iridescent powders, rubbing quivering jellies on my flesh, quaffing elixirs from ornate vessels and inhaling ancient magical incense. The cops descend upon the bazaar like a plague of locusts, wrestling me to the ground.
To struggle is futile. But I do so anyway, hurling bodies from me like a wet spinning pinwheel hurls away the damp.
A truncheon falls, and all… goes… black.
The devil inside me pulls at the bars of his prison cell, screaming and belching flame.

Thanks to everyone for sending in their stories, and I look forward to what you’ve got to write (and say) next week.
The theme for next week’s Weekly Challenge will be posted shortly.

Go to PodcastReady
Sign in with your username and password
Click on Preferences
Scroll down to Promo Code and type in CRAP
Click on the OK button.

Isn’t that simple?

Weekly Challenge #61: Bowling

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Welcome to the sixty-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 Chris of Platypus Society: Bowling.
The excellent theme music is by Guy David
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):

TOM

I heard they have dwarf bowling
down in Australia.
I wonder how that works?
Do you actually roll the dwarf?
If so does the dwarf have to maintain
a tucked profile or do you have restrains
to maintain an assemblance of roundness.
Do you use standard bowling lanes.
Damn that’s got to be hell on gutter balls
err I mean gutter dwarfs.
Do you have to rent two pairs of shoes?
If you get three strikes in a row
do you need a new dwarf?
How does a spilt work?
Is it the pins or
is it the dwarf?

HOUSTON KEYS

Good evening and welcome to the Loserville Bowling Alley “Singles Night.”
Because our lanes are very clean you must wash your balls if you want to use them… WHAT?
Pets are not allowed in the bowling alley so please do not roll gerbil balls down the lanes.
The McKinney wedding will be at two this afternoon, so please be sure to pick up your cups and plates in lane seven beforehand. Thank you.
As mentioned last week, parties of three or more cannot declare themselves a nudist colony, so lane eleven, PUT YOUR CLOTHES BACK ON!
Thank you for your cooperation.

GUY DAVID

We used to go bowling, me and my grandson. They use armadillos as balls and giraffes as pins, but the game is the same. You throw the armadillo and try to knock down as many giraffes as you can.
My grandson loved this game. He would turn to me and proudly say “Grandma Shunra, this is the best durn giraffe knocking we have done yet”.
There was this kid from around the block though, always got in the way. Used to go around the runaway, running over the armadillos and making funny noises, so, I turned him into a frog.

ELISSON

Few people know that the modern game of bowling traces its origins to the steppes of Central Asia. To the very court of Genghis Khan, in fact.
His Mongol hordes wreaked cruelty, death and destruction on all who resisted their sweep across Asia. It was after they leveled a particularly recalcitrant village that Genghis took the head of its chieftain – now detached from its body – and, holding it by the mouth and eye sockets, rolled it down a dusty alley, knocking over a pile of villagers’ bones.
But it was his grandson Kublai who invented the Bowling Shirt.

ROCKY

Bob Landy had always suffered from Dyslexia..
It’s his love of the English language that kept him going, pen in hand, and he
knew one day that he would make a difference in the world.
One evening, He decided to write a song.
He wrote about his love of his favorite sport. He fine tuned and perfect every
note and lyric. Unfortunately, spellchecking wasn’t an option in those days.
Does anyone know what song Bob penned that day? A simple song about a blue
collar sport that would change the face of popular music?
The answer, my friend, is “bowling in the wind” The answer is “bowling in the
wind”..

LAIEANNA

For being deaf and blind, Hoarse has a wonderful sense of his
surroundings. He displayed his masterful skills with the ninth strike
since we began. Despite my careful etchings on the scorecard, he
could tell I was cheating and gave me a silent warning. Then he
stretched his arms in a gesture for needed assistance.
“Oh very well, you win.” I grumbled taking my marker to a new surface.
“I’ll help you find a suitable head.” I picked up the ball with a
drawn menacing face and dropped it on the horseman’s shoulders. His
anger started our eternal chase again.

TERRENCE

The twins cried in the corner: the older of the two with festering
wounds and pale skin, threw up into a pail beside him; the younger
looked to be little more than skin and bones. Across the room the
oldest brother, who made the youngest twin look over weight, was the
source of the twins’ terror. He flicked the lights on, and then off
again. Raoul’s fourth brother, who was a mass of muscle, picked up
the nearest object he could find and threw it at the oldest brother.
Raoul couldn’t understand how people mistook this disaster as Angels
bowling.

CALEB

I used to go bowling every Friday night but then the pins banded together and formed a union. Seems they were tired of the constant abuse being hurled at them night after night and they refused to lie down any longer. Well, pretty soon the word got round and they started hurling the balls back at us. The whole thing got so ugly they had to shut down main street and call up the national guard. I’ve learned my lesson though about oppression; I aint abusing helpless pins anymore. On Fridays now, I go to a nice peaceable cockfight instead..

CHRIS

I always knew the church bowling league was competitive, but I never thought anyone would get killed over it. Turns out Brother Jarvis of the Southside Church of Christ bowling team had seen Pastor Willis of the First Lutheran Church of Springfield footfault one too many times during the league championship on Tuesday. He was gonna let it slide, but when Pastor Willis faulted on that spare in the tenth to win the match, well that just set Brother Jarvis off.
Instead of shaking his hand, Brother Jarvis tackled Pastor Willis and beat him to death with a rented shoe.

PLANET Z

No, I’m not smuggling a midget in my pants. I have elephantiasis of the testicles: Gigantic Ball Syndrome.
Doctor says I can get them removed and go on hormones, but I can’t afford that. I’m just a working guy.
I used to be an orderly at an insane asylum, but pranksters would call in asking how we kept our nuts in.
Then I worked for Planters Nuts. People were always calling me asking how big my nuts were.
Now I work in a bowling alley.
What could possibly go wrong?
Hey, can you hold on a second? The phone’s ringing.

Thanks to everyone for sending in their stories, and I look forward to what you’ve got to write (and say) next week.
The theme for next week’s Weekly Challenge will be posted shortly.

Weekly Challenge #60 – Razor

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Welcome to the Sixtieth 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: Razor.
The excellent theme music is by Guy David
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):

CHRIS

After ten years together, Allen and Donna agreed that their love life was getting stale. So they exchanged notes one morning about what they could do for each other to spice things up again.
As instructed, Allen returned that evening with a bouquet of roses, a bottle of champagne and a new pair of silk boxers. He was very excited to see if Donna had done what he asked her to do.
When she met him at the door, her arms were scratched up and bleeding. She smacked him then handed him a razor.
“You shave the damn cat! Freak!”

TOM

My grandfather was a barber. In his basement on Sunnyside Ave. he had a professional barber chair I remember sitting in that chair feet failing to reach the footrest. On the wall was a glass shelf where the tools of his trade rested. Electric Clippers, Silver Plated Scissors, and the Straight Razor. After lathering my neck with the badger-bristle brush grandpa would take his two-foot leather strap and strop the steel blade until the edge glowed in the dark. With the deft skill of a surgeon he scraped stubble from the babyfat of his prodigy nary a drop spilled.

GUY DAVID

The night was sharp, as sharp as razors. The dark tall man stared
into her eyes, eyes that where on fire, alive and young, little red
fire dancing inside. Neither of them talked. Talking through the
razor sharp air was not necessary. They knew there was nothing to
say, but goodbye. He turned to leave, feeling her eyes burn him from
behind. There was no turning back now. The air stiffened, as if
expectant. The man opened the door and left. The razor sharp night
cut him from inside, each step bringing sharp pains into his chest.
“Exit”, he thought.

LAIEANNA

Three fainting women was a disappointment for Magnus’s show. He
dropped the trick hammer and hobbled towards the front of the stage on
a crushed foot. Taking out a bag of razors, he popped them into his
mouth one by one. When on the platform edge, he looked out at his
audience who tried to bury themselves in their chairs. Magnus let the
silence fill their space then raised his hands and bowed. He closed
the show with a bloody thank you and his tongue fell onto a tall man’s
lap. Magnus walked off stage smiling. The shrieks were stupendous.

DAPHNE

He first he noticed his fingers were numb and then he lost sight in one eye. His lost some of his long term memories too. But nothing that really bothered him so he continued blogging and podcasting with great success. Until the day he found himself going off on a rant that related otters and Middle East politics. The coroner said it was like someone took a knife to his brain, but there were no external injuries, must have been the razor sharp wit.

CALEB

LuAnn makes the best sandwiches in town. The trick is that the meat is cut so razor thin you can read through it. That’s not just some colorful expression, she really uses a razor. She spends most of her time between customers just working that leather strop keeping her razor sharp. That allows the meat to go on to your sandwich pink, tender and delicious..
So if LuAnn ever invites you up to lunch, you go, boy. You’ll never have a better meal in all your life. But I’d steer clear of her barbershop… if you know what I mean.blockquote>

Thanks to everyone for sending in their stories, and I look forward to what you’ve got to write (and say) next week.
The theme for next week’s Weekly Challenge will be posted shortly.

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Which were the best stories in Weekly Challenge #69?
	Caleb from Black Tie Martini Club
	Elisson of blog d’Elisson
	Tom from Footnote
	Guy David from Guy David dot com
	J.D. White
	Laieanna at Hodgepodge Point
	Chris from Not Platypus Society
	Zigmund Z. Zoworski

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Who had the best stories in Weekly Challenge #68?
	Tom from Footnote
	JD
	Caleb from Black Tie Martini Club Oddcast
	Guy David from Guy David dot com
	Laieanna from HodgePodge Point
	Elisson from blog d’Elisson
	Rocky Torok
	Chris from Chris Carlisle.net
	Z

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What were the best stories of Weekly Challenge #67?
	Stuart Warf of The Ten Cast
	Tom from Footnote Podcast
	Laieanna of HodgePodge Point
	Sarah
	Guy David from The Sixteenth
	Caleb from Black Tie Martini Club
	JD
	Z

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Who had the best stories in Weekly Challenge #66?
	Laieanna from Hodgepodge Point
	Tom from Footnote Podcast
	Mike of the Mike Thinks Podcast
	Guy David from Guy David dot com
	Daphne from Going Broke
	Brett from Syril Ram
	Rocky Torok
	Z

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Which were the best stories of Weekly Challenge #65?
	Tom from Footnote
	Syril Ram
	Caleb from Black Tie Martini Club Oddcast
	Terrence from Never Was
	Laieanna from HodgePodge Point
	Guy David at Guy David dot com
	Daphne from Going Broke
	Chris from Chris Carlisle.net
	Alpha K-Nine
	The Deranged Bard From Planet Z

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Who had the best stories of Weekly Challenge #65?
	Caleb from Black Tie Martini Club
	Tom from Footnote Podcast
	Laieanna of HodgePodge Point
	Jenny the Bloggess
	Guy David from The Sixteenth
	Faldwin of 100 Words
	Z

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Which were the best stories in Weekly Challenge #63?
	Jenny the Bloggess
	Caleb Bullen from Black Tie Martini Club
	Tom from Footnote
	Elisson from blog d’Elisson
	Guy David from The Sixteenth
	Terrence from Never Was
	Laieanna at Hodgepodge Point
	Chris from Platypus Society
	Radar from SL Under The Radar
	Justin from Random Thoughts
	Mamacita from What Would Jane Austen Do?
	The Deranged Bard From Planet Z

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Which were the best stories of Weekly Challenge #62?
	Rocky Torok of Edloe Island
	Jenny of The Bloggess
	Caleb from Black Tie Martini Club
	Guy David from Guy David dot com
	Tom from Footnote
	Houston Keys from Tater Tots For The Masses
	Daphne from Going Broke
	Chris from Platypus Society
	To4m from Tom’s Podcast
	The Ghost of William Z. Burroughs

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Which stories were the best from Weekly Challenge #60?
	Chris from Platypus Society
	Tom from Footnote Podcast
	Guy David of The Sixteenth
	Laieanna from Hodgepodge Point
	Daphne from Going Broke
	Caleb from Black Tie Martini Club

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