Weekly Challenge – Page 95 – The 100 Word Stories Podcast

Weekly Challenge #115 – Exam

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Welcome to the Weekly Challenge Number One Hundred And Fifteen, 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 Steven the Nuclear Man, and we went with Exam.
The excellent theme music is by Guy David
VOTING

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

TOM

The last eight undergrads hovered near the TA. Only two of them would by merit of the final exam be fasttracked into Stanford”s master program. Professor Marquette wasn”t on campus but the old man”s presence dominated the Art complex. His finals were brutal 600 to 1000 question an all day affair frown on by administration but gladly endured by the student body. Ruby handed out the bound envelopes with the test. To the horror of the codray a single sheet of paper with a single line of type.
Takashi Murakami”s My Lonesome Cowboy art or not?

JOHN B

The dampening field was playing havoc with my cochlear implant. You would think the Bar would be more trusting of it”s future paying members. The #2 pencil/transmitter was barley getting my signal out. Three days of trying to gleam answers through the static was driving me crazy. Last night I thought I had figured out a work around, but now I realized I should have spent the time studying orbital property rights, or getting a stronger amp. However, after two prior legitimate attempts, I needed an edge. This time I was going to pass and become an honest lawyer.

JEFFREY

The exam meant the difference between freedom and life long imprisonment. The problem, no one knew what it was. So we stood there in line and waited our turn while our imaginations ran wild. I watched men as hard as rocks melt, blubbering before the questioner. In all my time in the line I had only seen one person volunteer for the test. The door opened and shut, and he was gone.
Then it was my turn, “Take the exam?”
“Yes.” he point to the door.
As it shut behind me a voice said. “You are free to go.”

ELLY

I”d been dreading and looking forward to this day since I had turned sixteen. Sleep the night before, I made sure wasn”t an option thanks to my insanely expensive 13 shot venti soy hazelnut vanilla cinnamon white mocha with extra white mocha and caramel drink. I obsessively studied over the driving manual like my Grandma and her monthly subscription of TV guide. Keeping, in mind not to miss anything really important, I hadn”t realized how deadly of a mix my drink was and on the morning of the exam, I ended up in the emergency room instead of the DMV.

THOMAS

Marshall stood before the searing gaze of the Pyrogenic Magus Council. He had tested twice and failed, this time he had to pass. He needed to be a pyromancer. He spread his arms. His hands blackened and fused, (proof of his earlier failures), burst into flames. He worked the twelve forms of the Incendiary Codec, with ease. A smile passed over the half of his face that still had muscle control, after acing the oral examination. Grimacing, he started the Technique du Mastere. Marshall formed a majestic golden flaming serpent, which coiled around Marshall reducing him to ash. Three strikes…

GUY DAVID

It was time for our exam. Our teacher seated himself and watched silently, patiently as we snuggled and kissed, preparing ourselves. I slowly slipped my hand down, to fast? Our teacher was stoned faced. I couldn’t discern from his expression if I was going the right way, so I continued down my partner’s body looking for the right spots. She moaned. I found it. Clothes started shedding, as we got more and more excited. We forgot our teacher and dove into ecstasy.
Much later, when we where completely relaxed in the afterglow, our teacher said we did well. We passed.

POND NITELY

Max whistled tunelessly to himself, grinning as he leapt over the bike rack and raced up the stairs.
“I’m home!!” he shouted, throwing his knapsack on the couch and settling in front of the TV. “Those losers” he thought to himself. Scottie and Jimbo were still at school, for a study session for the exam. Pfft. Max had used his after school time more wisely weeks ago; the cupboard doorlock was easy to pick, a quick snick with his cell, and all the multiple choice answers were his!
It hadn’t even beeen that hard to memorize the answers; ABADCADAFABFADABADDADAACC; piece of cake. Maybe best to get one or two wrong, just to be safe.
The next morning Max winked at his buddies as the papers were being handed out, face down. He picked up his pencil smiling…A.B.A.D… ” Alright class, you may begin.” Max flipped his paper and stared, his face falling as he read: For this year’s exam, please compose a one hundred word narrative on the following topic: “What would you do if you found yourself face to face with a dragon and all you had was a boyscout handbook and a piniata costume?”

STEVEN THE NUCLEAR MAN

She collects the fee from the nightstand. He rubs his ring finger,
counting ribs as her shirt slides over them.
“I gotta run,” she says. “I have a exam in biology to study for.”
“I had an exam at the hospital yesterday,” he blurts.
She giggles. “What grade did you get?”
He remembers the scan full of unexpected metastatic dots.
“They don’t give grades.” He hopes his smile seems natural.
After she leaves, he rolls upright, lights a cigarette – why stop now?
– and stares at the door. He opens the nightstand drawer, removes the
book, and desperately begins to cram.

EVA MOON

She stood in his office, looking hopeful and impossibly young, exam clutched in her hands.
“Professor Newman, I just can’t fail this class.” When he didn’t respond, she leaned provocatively over the desk, “I’d to anything for a A,” she breathed.
He leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers, “Anything?”
A sly smile far beyond her years curled her lips. “Anything.”
“Try studying.”
In an instant the smile turned sour.
After she left he tapped her name into the university computer, out of curiosity.
Last quarter’s grades: C-, C, D, A
He laughed. The A was in Ethics.

ALMO

James stood bare-chested and barefoot in front of the monk.
The snow turned his feet nearly purple. A dark, angry wound glared red from his shoulder. He neither shivered nor flinched.
His eyes were red-rimmed and his skin was loose, showing the effects of the monthlong test of solitude on the harsh mountain.
“You have done well phyi rgyal,” the monk said flatly, using the Tibetan word for foreigner. “All that is left is the written exam. You will be one with our spirit.”
“Exam?” James said incredulously. “Screw this. I’m not taking any written test. Those things are hard.”

CALEB

Mr. Johnson it”s a good thing you finally came in for your exam. You know Prostate Cancer kills a handful of men each year. Now there”s nothing to be alarmed about. I”m going to demonstrate the whole procedure before we begin. First you”ll pull down your pants like this and then bend over. Now you reach back and take each cheek in one hand and pull. Now do you see how open that is? You can see Tierra Del Fuego from here. See? It”s ok to look.
Now you just take one of these and then”
Hey come back here!

JUSTIN

Ok, let’s see here, a podcast where anyone can submit a 100 word
story. Hmm, an entry exam? Let’s see… Can you count to one hundred?
Yes. Do you have a computer microphone? Yes. If no, go buy one you
cheap jerk! Rude… Check all that apply: Are you Sick, demented, a
zombie, have a hard to pronounce name, or tasteless. Uh… One more.
What would you do if you were face to face with a dragon and all you
had was… what the crap? Heck with this. Maybe I’ll try ipodjacker
podcast. Maybe it’s not done by a retard.

JERRY D

“Mr. White.”
“Yes.”
“Mr. White, are you ready?”
“Yes.”
“Mr. White, did you bring with you a number two pencil?”
“Yes, I brought two of them just in case, and please, call me Jerry.”
“I am so sorry, Mr. White, you score will be reduced by 15% for not following instructions”
“What do you mean 15%, that’s not fair!”
“Mr. White, you were given full and complete instructions.”
“You were to bring one number two pencil.”
“One more infringement of the instructions and you will be dismissed with a grade of zero.”
“Mr. White.”
“Yes.”
“Why are you naked?”
Scream……….

ANIMA

Carl worked the women alone, especially the pretty ones. They couldn’t talk back, or complain” Outside, the sun was setting”
“Jayne Doe, Caucasian female, aged 25 to 30”
“Skin, pallid and cool, “Cause of death” Possible exsanguination? ” No apparent gross body injury .”
“Lovely”, he murmured, stroking her marble white cheek.
“Heh” small puncture wound on the neck” make that 2″
With the jab of the measuring probe, Elenas’ eyes flash open. She grabs the examiner, dragging him near.
“So you like dead girls? Exit solus, dear doctor.” she thinks, sinking her razor sharp teeth into his neck.

PLANET Z

The call is full of static. I barely hear the account and password, but after a few tries I type them into the system and look up his trouble ticket.
“What does this ‘exam’ mean?” he says in a thick Arabic accent. “Why broken?”
I swear, I can hear… gunfire?
“It’s ‘exim’ not ‘exam,'” I say. “cPanel uses exim as a mail handler.”
“I know not comptuers!” he shouts “We pay you! Fix it! Fix it no-”
I hear an explosion, and the line goes dead.
Goddamned terrorist.
I guess that fucker didn’t know the safe handling of explosives either.

Weekly Challenge #114 – What would you do if you found yourself face to face with a dragon and all you had was a boyscout handbook and a pinata costume?

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Welcome to the Weekly Challenge Number One Hundred And Fourteen, 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 Justin, and we went with What would you do if you found yourself face to face with a dragon and all you had was a boyscout handbook and a pinata costume?.
The excellent theme music is by Guy David
VOTING

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

STEPHEN THE NUCLEAR MAN

The head writer’s litany began the same as it had all week.
“Sharks. Piranaha. Tigers. Bullets. Female ninjas. Male ninjas.
That guy who chomped things. Beheading hats. Booby traps. Even
frickin’ lasers. The franchise is done. What else could 007 face?”
“He could face,” Justin said, while I cringed and sank into my chair,
“a dragon while he had nothing but a Boy Scout Handbook and a Pi”ata
costume.”
The stuff we took at last night’s party had not been THAT potent.
“This isn’t MacGyver, dammit,” the lead writer yelled.
Then we locked eyes and shouted it together.
“A team-up!”

TOM

What would I do if I found myself
face to face with a dragon and
all I had was a boy scout handbook
and a pinata costume?
Well I”d square my feet
raise my head and proudly say:
So! Where the hell was Biggles
when you needed him last Saturday?
And where were all the sportsmen
who always pulled you though?
They’re all resting down in Cornwall
writing up their memoirs
for a paper-back edition
of the Boy Scout Manual.
I”d shoot candy from my butt,
embrace my moral straightness
and waddle as fast as could for the exit.

MIKE

I opened the Boyscout Handbook. Oath? Yeah, I know one – more”n one – and if the dragon catches me in the open, I”ll say “em all. Hmmm, Table of Contents.
Badges? I don”t need no stinking badges! First Aid? Can”t fix “dead”. Ahhh – Outdoor Adventures!
Quickly, I stuffed three lighter refills down the sheep pi”ata”s throat, tied twine to a foreleg, ran it around a nearby tree and… a rush of wind and the dragon was there. I yanked the twine and the “sheep” lurched. The dragon pounced, swallowed and, five seconds later, blew up.
This better be a great fraternity.

GUY DAVID

Chaketo Chirapa knew what he had to do. He put on his cloaking device and went to the store. The salesperson had his head buried in some comic book with dragons in pi”ata costumes. He might as well have been reading a boyscout handbook. It was so easy. Chaketo Chirapa took what he needed, put it under his cloaking device and went back underground, where his people where singing their Chirapa songs.
Back in his room, he hooked everything, turned it on and said: “I am Chaketo Chirapa, I am an alien from another planet, and this is my podcast.”

JUSTIN

The boyscout handbook sat open on the ornate vanity below the mirror. Scattered strands of crape paper are scattered about, one in the book marking the page on birthday parties. The ancient dragon stares at her red face in the mirror. Her golden eyes glinted with machinations of a brilliant plan. Her stomach rumbled with angry pangs of hunger. Piece by piece she donned and assembled the pinata costume that was big enough for her whole body. She would fly to the party, lay in waiting, then when the first boy struck her, when they all expected candy, dinner time!

THOMAS

His piercing golden eyes stared, impatient, hungry. “I’m a little bit hungry here, can we please speed things up a little?”
My tail encircled the struggling woman’s ankles, holding her aloft, her brightly colored dress falling around her looking like a large overstuffed pi?ata.
“Just give me a few more moments.” I told him.
I’d been gazing at a boy scout field guide looking for just the right cooking technique. He liked his humans always the same, but I was getting bored and wanted some new recipe.
“Come on, I’m starving.” He whined.
“Fine, tartare again.” Patience isn’t his virtue

ANIMA ZABALETA

I’m an Eagle Scout, but nothing in my scout handbook prepared me for this”
My trusty book covers such things as killing large animals with a Bowie knife”. Earned the badge in Webelos.
Lookey’re: Blueprints for a survival raft out of ocotillo staves and spider webs” I built variation C at Jamboree.
Page 35. Here’s instructions for cooking Chili Mac in a turtle shell.
But there’s nary a word about this”
Steeling my courage, I turn a deliberate 360, look the Dragon directly in the eye, and ask,
“Lai Choi San, does this pi”ata costume make my ass look fat?”

EVA MOON

She stared at the screen. Who were they kidding? A boyscout handbook? A pinata costume? How on earth would those things help you with a dragon?
“I swear, hon, they’ve really lost it this time.”
“Let it go, Alma.”
“I hate this! It’s impossible and it pisses me off that I won’t get a story in this week.”
She felt his hot breath on the back of her neck. “Want me to blast ’em for you?”
“No, no.” She reached up and stroked the familiar, scaly claw that curled gently around her shoulder.
“I give up. Take me flying, baby.”

MICHELLE

Early Monday afternoon newly formed Boyscout Troop 714, from Detroit Michigan, was planning a simple Fourth of July party, Mexican style. A quick meeting in the park suddenly turned to tragedy when the dragon struck yet again.
Volunteer parent, Janet Turner, was the only survivor of the attack. Troop leader, Melinda Cox, was heralded as a hero for using a pinata costume and distracting the dragon long enough for Janet to escape by building an airplane, according to directions found in the boyscout handbook, and flying away. The plane crashed, killing the other sixteen parents onboard.

MARY EDITH

Pi”ata? Check. Dragons circling in the distance? Check. I called the troop over.
“OK boys, we’ll have a roaring fire in no time! Everyone find a good weenie roasting stick?” But as I demonstrated proper whittling technique they fell back screaming! I felt a breath of steam on my back. I whirled.
When I regained consciousness, the fire hissed and popped with drippings from a brisket so big it took three boys to turn the spit.
Those Boy Scouts– always prepared!

PLANET X

When Daphne was fourteen she thought she loved Laurence so very much.
She would stop him everyday to ask him questions like, “What is a girl suppose to do when she knows her destiny is to marry someone and he won’t even acknowledge her existence?”
Always, Laurence would just stare with a blank face.
But it was when he finally answered her questions with “What would you do if you found yourself face to face with a dragon and all you had was a boyscout handbook and a pinata costume?”,
that she knew that Laurence was only full of crap.

TERRY TEE

Some great stories start out like Charles Dickens A Tale of Two Cities with “It was the best of time, It was the worst of times”
Or even classics like Poe’s The Raven, with “Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary, Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,”
But only Larry Snodcrapper would come up with a beginning like “What would you do if you found yourself face to face with a dragon and all you had was a boyscout handbook and a pinata costume?” in his story, I was a teenaged podcaster.

SOUGENT

Jimmy tugged at his outfit, “itchy” he mumbled. “Hold still”, his
mother admonished as she finished closing up the back.
“We spent a lot of time making this pinata costume, I don’t want you
tearing it up right away”.
“I won’t Mom”, Jimmy replied. “Where’s my boyscout handbook?”
“Right here”, his mother said, handing him the book.
Jimmy took the handbook and dashed out to his meeting.
When he arrived, all the other boys were milling around.
Suddenly, in strides a rather large dragon causing the boys to freeze in place.
“Hello Scoutmaster Digsby!!” all the young dragons shouted.

CALEB

The mood was set. She had candles burning, incense too. She had slipped into something more comfortable and looked radiant. We were sipping champagne and feeding each other ranier cherries. I was sure it was time. My heart skipped a beat when she wanted to play truth or dare. I said truth. And so she asked, “What would you do if you found yourself face to face with a dragon and all you had was a boyscout handbook and a pinata costume?”
I shook my head. Packed my things and left. Rather get my cherries popped by her sister anyway.

LAIEANNA

“Are you taking this seriously?” Lulu’s lawyer asked, pointing at Morris’s pi”ata costume.
“This keeps me in good spirits during these trying times,” Morris said.
“Mr. Gritter, we’re here to discuss the details of your divorce. I strongly recommend you retain an attorney.”
Morris touched his tattered, old boy scout handbook, “I’ve always lived by the honor and rules of this book. It’s my lawyer. Besides, I’m not looking for a divorce,” he met Lulu’s keen eyes, “just some changes in our relationship.”
The lawyer motioned to continue; Lulu’s ears flicked in anticipation.
“Just stop eating my family and friends.”

PLANET Z

A dragon tattoo on his chest, a bottle in his hand.
“Get back in the basement, you little fucker,” growled Frank.
Frank married Mom last year, then she overdosed.
Goodbye Mom, hello pain.
The basement was full of junk and cockroaches – somehow, Bobby survived.
He read his torn-up Boy Scout Handbook, wore rags and busted pinatas when his old clothes rotted away.
He found a knife. Scraped it sharp.
Above, laughter. Shouting. Something shatters. Screaming.
Then, silence. Frank was asleep.
No more of this. Tonight, escape or die trying.
Shadows, creeping slowly. Raising the knife.
Bobby slew the dragon.

Weekly Challenge #113 – Purity

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Welcome to the Weekly Challenge Number One Hundred And Thirteen, 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 ArminasX, and we went with Purity.
The excellent theme music is by Guy David
VOTING

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

JUSTIN

We exist in the most pure, simple state we can. We choose not to stand out with looks and keep it to the standard, basic color: gray. We avoid all the needless accessories that so many of our kind have, such as lasers, rockets, and blade arms. We run on the simplest form of energy, rechargeable batteries. We stick to wheels and don’t use hover plates. We even forgo transistors and use basic circuit boards and vacuum tubes. Others of our kind make fun, call us outmoded. We pay no processing power to this. We are proud to be robo-Amish.

GUY

Oh, the purity of salmon, done with just enough olive oil and a hint of coriander. Tom would give us another tasty culinary footnote, then Elisson would bring the whiskey, and the party would begin. Terrence would bring his friend Raoul to play around while Laieanna, the belly dancer would give us her best dance, Caleb would add the twist of the twisted and Daphne would take us right down to the sewage, then, the idiot in chief would appear with all his cogs spinning and the dish would be truly ready for upload. Another weekly challenge would be posted.

MIKE

Quality Control’s a real pain, the owner reflected, recalling the chain of events that had led to this. Due to record demand, the backup system had been brought into production. Feeling the pressure, the supervisor had only inspected each filtration seal, not replaced them as directed. The last one failed, sending contaminant downline, and an alert operator had hit the emergency shunt. The company guaranteed 99.5% purity – well above the industry norm; had the contaminant reached the main storage vats, the consequences would have been beyond imagining.
Another whipcrack and scream echoed through the room. Yep – QC’s a real pain.

STEVEN THE NUCLEAR MAN

Snowflakes float lazily as she begins shouting. I do not fight back,
and this infuriates her. Crystalline water sparkles in angled
sunlight, like the shining stone in her ring that bounce bounce
bounces on the floor.
She leaves tire tracks in the driveway, a bit of rubber on the street.
Her suitcase, her car are gone, and so is she.
Fat wet flakes fall, coating my hair in age, weariness, fear. They
come down down down and fill in the tracks with a coat of purest
white.
For a little while, I can forget. For a little while, I pretend.

TOM

Purity has taken a serious hit during the latter 20th century. Its became the plutonium of discourse. None the less it best describes that which is best. The distillation of the raw to the refined. The purity of pen is Mont Blanc. Its weight gives substance to the stroke. Perfectly balanced and contoured to the task at hand. I am partial to the gold nib over the silver but I”m a purest when it comes to glide. The latest of the line is the cobalt blue StarWalker. Image a $400 ballpoint pen the good Sisters of Mercy are wailing somewhere in penmanship purgatory.

SISTER MARY EDITH

My story centers on my own purity, or lack thereof.
Some of you may remember me as Sister Mary Edith. Alas, I’ve been defrocked, which isn’t as much fun as it sounds. It was a routine clergy-net sweep for kiddy porn that turned up my brief fling with 100 word stories. I was cast out, and my pc exorcised by the Cardinal himself, which is why, when Lawrence played my mp3, pure silence. On the upside, did you know exorcism completely uninstalls Windows Millennium Edition(R)?
A year later, I’ve found my new calling. You can call me Scout-Master Mary Edith.

THOMAS

The priest droned as the crowd murmured. With their sins absolved, the village would be pure once more.
Ena stood before the cold obelisk, trembling… resolved. Purer than the sacrifices before her. No evil thought or deed found purchase in her soul. This fact made her ideal to remove the sins of her peers.
The priest recited the ancient text, knife raised asking his god’s blessing on this sacrifice. Then motioned Ena to kneel.
As the knife came down, crimson lightning issued from the obelisk, killing the priest, and the ogling crowd. Ena walked quietly away; the village pure again.

SOUGENT

Back in January 1919, I was a traveling salesman and I had just made a big sale down in Beantown and was walking down the street to a bar I’d spotted earlier ta get a sip of whiskey when all of a sudden I hear a rumbling sound down the street in the direction of the Purity Distilling Company and the ground started shaking.
I looked and there was this big old wave of molasses coming straight for me, so I did the only thing a body could do…..
I hopped on and body surfed that sucker clear across town.

POND NITELY

“Hope”
“No”
“Faith”
“No”
She sighed.
“How about Grace?”
“Uh uh”
The newspaper in his hands, a wall between the two of them, rattled as he shook his head.
“Prudence? Patience?”
“No, no and no!
What is with the goofy names, I don”t want our daughter running around with a tag like Prudence.
And do we have to talk about this tonight, I”m just bagged””
She sighed.
“I read today that the Puritans named their children after virtues to give them strength. I really want to give our child the best start possible in this uncertain world.”
He sighed and turned the page. His wife used to read the Wall Street Journal, now the coming baby ruled her focus completely. He peered over the paper.
“Well if you want to give her a good start, how about a name that suits the new millennium, not some outdated ideal. Why don”t we call her Cynicism, or maybe Apathy.”
“I”m not even going to dignify that with a reply”
Several breaths worth of pause, and…
“Chastity? Charity?”
He folded the paper, rubbed his temples and mentally reached for the white flag, waiting.
“Purity?”
“Fine”
Poor kid.

ANIMA

Vitaly had some, and I needed it, bad.
It had been days ” the brainfog was settling in” News on the vidscreen was sounding
plausible.
Come on Vitaly, I whine. Scanning the room, I spy the scarred PIOSK bottles. I know
you fired up the Elektron yesterday. Liquid’s better, but chemical will do.
Vat have you trade?
A foil of pop tarts and six Twinkies”.
Prakhaldna ” 10 minutes.
How about liquid?
Chevo? ‘K ” 5 minutes.
Inhaling, the purity of the O2 hits my brain better than anything I remember.
I wheeze again, growing sharper and more cynical with each passing moment.

In the beginning we were driven out from the garden.
Latter we were driven across the face of the earth.
At last we were driven into the sky and across the universe.
In all times and places we searched for what had been lost.
The void between the stars, our last hope.
For eons we searched in the darkness of that void.
And then we found the Children of the Light.
We saw that they had what we had lost and then we understood.
So, in our terrible rage we killed them all.
Once lost, purity can not be regained.

PLANET X

The oldest house in our neighborhood was always the center of activity, in it lived the pastor of the local church.
Purity, the pastor’s daughter, was always prim and proper, an example for the neighborhood.
When they moved, the house sat empty for a very long time, until Purity bought it for her family.
Soon, Purity had her own daughters living with her, each were very pretty, and had names like, Charity, Destiny, Faith, and Grace.
And her mission was so much like her step-father’s, to provide a little heaven for each of their visitors, twenty bucks at a time.

PLANET Z

The quest for genetic purity has been the foundation for the greatest evils throughout history.
Disposing of those deemed imperfect, flawed, or inferior.
However, sometimes it can be a good thing.
Take Nardo the cat as an example. He’s the perfect specimen of Ginger Classic Tabby in all regards except for one minor detail ” he’s a polydactyl.
Those thumbs cost him a life of poking, prodding, and harassment at cat shows.
Instead, he got dumped at a shelter. My ex girlfriend picked him out, she moved to California, and left him with me.
He’s not perfect. Then again, who is?

Weekly Challenge #112 – Whiskey

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Welcome to the Weekly Challenge Number One Hundred And Twelve, 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 we went with Whiskey.
The excellent theme music is by Guy David
VOTING

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

ARMINASX

Whiskey was not a great online player, but good enough. I’d beaten him several times. Well, once. I guess he’s better than I want to admit.
I had to figure out this mysterious guy, since I can’t stand a silent player who wins. That’s right, Whiskey never uses voice when playing.
So I played him often. One day I caught him with his mic on. But all I heard was scratching, wimpers and an occasional “woof”.
And that’s when I realized who Whiskey really was. You know what they say: “on the Internet, no one knows you’re a dog!”

SPARROW

She watched the golden liquid splash over the ice and breathed in the heady
scent of whiskey. Her thirst ignited with a power that surprised her.
She meant to sip slowly and savor this drink, but when it touched her
tongue, she could not help but swallow greedily until the ice fell against
her lips with the last of the liquor. And though she swore she would not,
she reached for the bottle and poured again.
As she drank, tears slowly rolled down her cheeks. I never meant to, she
thought, but it feels so good.
She was only thirteen.

MICHELLE

“Rode hard and put up wet.”
She heard it very clearly, chose to ignore. What good would come of confrontation? “Hell,” she thinks to herself with a chuckle “that weekend in New Orleans, 85, rode hard and put up was exactly what we were, and damn proud of it.” Her smile fades with the expression of remembrance, that was a long time ago, so long ago.
Years of the chase made her somber, not sober, somber yes. Head in hands now, red dreadlocks brushing the table, sagging bosom heaving with sobs. Another smoke, another shot, another night. Whiskey & me.

POND

“Another”
The whiskey glass slammed on the bar in the best cheesy western fashion, predictably anguished eyes peering out from under the lank, dank, hank falling in front of them.
The bartender looked up and refilled the glass, smearing stray drops with this week’s rag. His lips parted, the tip of his tongue heavy with the obligatory question. Thirty years behind this bar made the reply to that word a reflex; an occupational hazard.
Thirty years of tales of woe, of the betrayals of brothers, of failures and mistakes, of stolen sweethearts. He soaked each one up like a sponge; his heart long ago filled, the misery of his customers seeping into his muscles and into his bones.
He was full, saturated.
A second glass joined the first and he filled them both. He sighed before washing the question from his tongue, and the silence was broken only but the sound of the glasses on the bar.
And another.

This wasn’t his first go round. He knew that sensation where you feel the whole world spinning while you and you alone hold fast. A roar in your ears that starts loud and gets louder. White noise. White knuckles. White Lightning memories. None of them good.
His stomach heaved up, but there was nothing in it. As empty as his head, they’d all said.
He wasn’t a man who learned from his mistakes. Like Father, like Son, they’d all said.
His fall was swift and painful.
He shouldn’t have tried to ride the Colt called Whiskey. Sired by White Lightning.

GUY DAVID

Old Mama Chirapa died of old age. The Chirapa live a very long life by human standards, though The Chirapa themselves, don’t view this as something out of the ordinary. Chaketo Chirapa, her son, inherited leadership, as is the way of The Chirapa. He had to abandon the computer networking project, but he never forgot it. He kept his own computer and scanned the internet for a way to earn the trust of The Humans. Leadership was taking most of his time, and they where running out of gold for their machines, though they discovered whiskey was just as good.

ELISSON

The old bottle had lain in the alley for” who knows how long? For years, it had managed to escape the attentions of neighborhood dogs, children on bicycles, skateboarders, and other passersby. But when Wino Willie saw the glint of glass peeping out from beneath a mound of trash, his first thought was, “Booze!”
Willie grabbed the heavy, filth-encrusted bottle. He rubbed it on a threadbare sleeve”
“and amidst a cloud of smoke, out popped the Ty-D-Bowl Man!
“It”s been thirty years,” Ty-D explained. “I was looking for a toilet and fell into a whiskey bottle. Been there ever since.”

TOM

I met Angus in the 80s. He told me about this movie where a ship full of whiskey runs aground on this island. Well the inhabitants grab the bottles and hide them everywhere. The movie was call “Tight Little Island.” When the film made it to France they changed the title to Whiskey A GO GO French ain”t got a clue what tight means. Some Parisian nightclub owner thinks the name is way cool starts to open these discoth”ques called Whisky a Go Go. Well Americans think discoth”que pretty cool open a Whiskey A GO GO in LA. They got these dancers in cages called GO GO dancers and of course they got go go boots which are in fact the boots Nancy Sinatra is sing about In the these boot are made for walking. Well it seem the night Frank Sinatra is dyeing Nancy sneaks off to watch the last episode of Seinfeld and the chairman croaks. By the way “Nancy with the Laughing Eyes” was written for her on her fourth birthday by Phil Silvers the guy who played Sergeant Bilko. Same night Frank dies Angus dies so I take pint of Bushnell pour it on his grave.

STEVEN THE NUCLEAR MAN

“Aw, hell. Zombies.”
Professor Heath laughed from across the bar.
“No, they’re whiskey sours.”
He drank his, then poured more gunpowder into his shotgun shells.
Nicole poured another round of whiskey, then passed out rounds for our
pistols.
“I thought,” she said, “Romero’s zombie movies were a commentary on
the mindless nature of modern American society.”
“What, nihilism?” I snorted. “It’s all mindless and will eat you in the end?”
The Professor stood and smiled.
“There is only one effective response to both nihilism and the undead.”
He took aim through the boards on the window and fired.
“Decisive action.”

JUSTIN

You don’t need whiskey to drink away sorrows if you can’t remember them. I have a hard time remembering. I wish I could drink to remember, because I have many more good memories than sorrows. My memories are fading. I’m doing my best to keep it from slowing me down as it slowly erodes my memory. I’ll keep going, but it terrifies me to forget. I would rather have a cancer eating away my body before having my mind stripped away. I’ll live like I’m about to die, even though Alzheimer’s might take all that I’ve done before the end.

EVAMOON

Thunder cracked and we retreated a little farther into the the meager
protection of a rocky overhang. Four days into the Yosemite back country at
a high lake and it was cold. A sudden storm crowded the sun out of an autumn
afternoon and now lightning stabbed granite peaks surrounding the lake
continuously.
At the height of the tempest, two more hikers crawled into our sliver of
shelter. We huddled; four little bugs tucked into a crevice, waiting to warm
our wings. Then one of our new friends pulled a fifth of whiskey out of his
pack.
Let it rain.

FEMME BLEU

One New Years Eve Whiskey and Bourbon fell into bed and mixed drinks. Thus was Little Whiskey born.. Little Whiskey ran with horses, broke pool cues, lost at poker, was addicted to jazz music, dark poetry, runnin with drunks, and the pursuit of more Whiskey. Till she got to Ireland, and found the ultimate Whisky — Green Spot. Uisce Beatha ” the water of life. Little Whiskey nearly drowned@! “Whisky is the pool into which Narcissus gazed” said Little Whisky. “Whisky will get me killed” said little Whisky who lost her Dad Big Whisky to whisky a long time ago.

ANIMA

Simple, still sitting here at the Wishing Well? Some things never change”
You’s Wrong!!
Lemme tell you about change” I done changed jobs, changed diapers and changed the locks on my door.
Joyce, she going thru the change, and that be changing our relationship.
I been short changed all my life, leaving me feeling mighty changeable.
I have changed my party affiliation for a man who is ready for Change.
Now, I’s changing the subject. You gotten me all riled up, buy me a whisky ” beer won’t do.
Simple, I said, after all these years, you haven’t changed a bit.

THOMAS

The sun shone through the dark amber liquid, casting lucid rays about the room. His entire life lay inside the glass, dazzling his swollen eyes.
A universe unto itself, moving slowly in time. A million emotions dancing and making love, within; happiness and misery, love and hate, peace and remorse. Conscience, regret, longing and memory lie beneath it’s golden surface… waiting.
He lifts it high, toasting past, future and this dying moment. Peering into its’ depths for one last look. Its’ twenty year journey from field to perfection was nearly over. The whiskey sending warm tendrils numbing his thoughts. Smooth…

ALMO

“Well, do we have a deal?” Nicky asked, pouring three fingers of whiskey into the tumblers between the men.
Roger hesitated. He knew this happened a hundred times a day in his business. The odds of being caught were nil. The loser would be the insurance company. That impact was less than a flea bite.
His mind flashed to seventh grade. The difficult spelling test he had received such lavish praise for. He had cheated. He had felt ill when the teacher singled him out for recognition.
Roger was older; corners weren’t so sharp. He raised the glass. “We do.”

PLANET X

Recently, at a movie premier, Jimmy Buffet was walking along the gold carpet and asked Steve Jobs what the one brand of whiskey he enjoyed.
Steve replied, that as The Chair of a distillery company that used cereal in the process of creating a lower priced whiskey, he had made it taboo to discuss it with outsiders.
He did say that the actual recipe and process was kept under lock and key in a steamer trunk and was guarded by zombies. The one person who had seen it, now sang like a nightingale and lived a life in the sewers.

Old George was a hell of a man.
He turned 101 Thursday.
That was the day before the night he died.
Most people want to die in their sleep.
No pain, no surprises.
Go to sleep and never wake up.
Not George.
He didn’t want to go at all.
Last Thursday night he got hammered and this cute 19 year-old doll took him home.
Later, when her husband got home, George went out the window still pulling on his pants.
Fell from the second floor and broke his neck.
Whiskey and tail, that was how George wanted to go.

PLANET Z

After reading about the Whiskey Rebellion, my friends and I invented this game called Whiskeypedia.
You log on to Wikipedia and look for the most popular articles. Then, you make funny changes to the articles.
The last change to get rolled back is the winner. Everybody else takes a shot of whiskey, toasting to the last man standing.
The more you drink, the weirder the updates get.
Sometimes, nobody ends up noticing the change and it’s there for a very long time.
The government is thinking of getting involved, calling our actions vandalism.
Perhaps, Tom the Tinkerer will rise again.

Weekly Challenge #111 – One

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Welcome to the Weekly Challenge Number One Hundred And Eleven, 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 me, and I went with One.
The excellent theme music is by Guy David
VOTING

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

ELISSON

It”s a simple concept, really.
Sh”ma Yisroel, Hashem Elokeinu, Hashem Echad. Hear, O Israel: The LORD our God is unique.
Other cultures had their pantheons, packed with gods of every description. All of them loosely modeled on humans and replete with the whole laundry list of human frailties. Envy, jealousy, hatred, lust, greed, you name it. So complicated. And so wrong.
“All things being equal, the simplest solution tends to be the best one.” William of Ockham said that. My idea, of course. Everything”s my idea, at the end of the day.
One God. That”s Me. What could be simpler?

ARNIMAS

It wasn’t my fault. It was his. He didn’t mention me, even though I deserved credit. Maybe all the credit!
Oh, those years together, working day and night. A team like no other, we made the impossible real and the possible incomparable. I could ask for no better.
Until last night. The speech began as I expected, telling the tale of the magic we created, but ended without mentioning me. Not even once!
I had no choice. He deserved it.
And now I am the only one left.
They are coming for me now. I’d better reload.

STEVEN

You scream over the echoes of the bomb: “Call 911!”
Two rescue breaths, just like in the book, move down. Find the
xyphoid, ignore the twisted shape of his ribs and push push. Ignore
that this kid had shoved in front of you, ignore his shrapnel and his
burned flesh on your hands. Push push. Move back up, head-tilt-
chin-thrust. He’s young, no lines on his face, then the sirens and
wounded wail in chorus, remember breathe, breathe. Fingers on his
neck, feel for a pulse, feel for breath on your cheek. C’mon, any
pulse.
Just a little heartbeat.
Just one.

GUY DAVID

They knew The One would come, eventually. The Book said so. It was the book of truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. Meanwhile, they built glorious temples to his name, contrived elaborate ceremonies and sacrificed the first born of anyone who dared to defy the ways of The One. Still, he didn’t come. They waited. He didn’t come. They waited. He didn’t come. They waited. He didn’t come. They waited. He didn’t come. They waited. He didn’t come. They waited. He didn’t come. They waited. He didn’t.
After 4000 years of waiting, they started a new religion.

HOTSPUR

I love dancing with you.
Your eyes light up as we glide gracefully around.
I love dancing with you.
Your loving smile is the envy of every guy in the room. Heh, those bums.
I love dancing with you.
For one brief moment the loneliness seems to go away.
I love dancing with you.
We make a wonderful couple. Don”t we?
I love dancing with you.
Sure, I”m a brokedown drunken ballplayer with one leg
And you”re a dime-a-dance girl I pay to dance with,
And maybe it”s your job to be so friendly,
But I love dancing with you.

FEMME BLEU

I was pure fascinated when they told me in high school that computers were binary. Remember the time that Boris Spassky took on Big Blue, man versus IBM supercomputer playing a game of chess? Man won! What is binary? Ye either have a zero or a one. It is either black or white, yes or no. What about maybe? What about shades of grey? Maybe is possiblility. When I get lonely I feel like zero, when happy I feel like 1, with my companions .5, .3 .8 the inbetweens. IBM lost the chess match because it couldn’t do maybe!

MIKE

Standing on the gallows, Zeke reviewed his decision to decline the hood; yeah – good call. He wanted to see it all: the warden’s last glance at the direct line to the Governor’s office at five seconds before midnight, then his nod to the executioner; that officer tightening his grip on the lever, his knuckles turning white as he pulls it; then the upward leap of the opposite wall. He’d heard you went from ‘drop’ to ‘stop’ in about a second – guess we’ll see.
The clock’s second hand swept past the 10 – game time. Glance – nod – grip – pull – and: one Missisippi…

EVA MOON

“That’s one.”
Peering over her boss’s shoulder, Alma saw the blue screen of his new
laptop. Crashed. Bummer. She returned to her desk. Like the laptop, it was
her first day on the job.
A moment later:
“That’s two.”
She could hear the jab of angry fingers. She winced in sympathy and
continued working.
“That’s three.”
She jumped at the sound of breaking glass. When she looked through the door
she was aghast. Her new boss stood by a shattered window.
“My God!” She exclaimed, “That’s insane! It’s 35 stories down! You might
have killed someone!”
He turned, glaring.
“That’s one.”

ANIMA

One, and one, and one more.
Not much more, or much less
Is it three?
The relationship: a man and a woman, and an ex?
Candles burning on a cake, or the number of legs on your old dog.
Or is it one hundred eleven?
Episodes in a podcast,
Iron bars penning up the guilty.
Or maybe hashes on the calendar, counting days to vacation”.
It certainly means something to your computer, but that’s only half the message.
As I see it,
There is only one, standing alone”
Reflected between funhouse mirrors, ad infinitum.
There is only the one.

TOM

He spun the chamber, but only once. The muzzle resting against his temple. Slowly slowly the pressure from his finger transferred to the trigger. One in six he thought, good odds, a reasonable level of risk. That silly song from Chorus Line was playing in the background.
“Ya she”s the one,” he said
“Say hello to my little friend.” she said.
“You”re the one that I want”
“There can only be one.”
“One is the loneliest number.”
“One enchanted eve BLAM,” he slid to the floor.
“One fine day I”m going to BLAM,” she slid to the floor.
Fuckn Zombies

ALMO

The red LED shows Five.
Johnson looks at the wires, one red, one white. Sweat forms on his forehead.
Four.
A drop of sweat falls from the end of his nose. He glances at the schematic.
Three.
No good. He can’t make sense of it. The writing might be Chinese.
Two.
He closes his eyes. He trusts his intuition. He selects Red.
One.
He pushes the power button on the new plasma TV.
Nothing.

THOMAS

We were embedded, all ten of us; moving cautiously three miles along the Song Ma to the
Ham Rong bridge, or roughly translated, the Dragon’s Jaw.
Go destroy it.
We knew it wouldn’t be easy.
Ted and Jimmy bought it stepping on mines. Boomer, Matt, and Pyle were picked off by a sniper before we got him. Suddenly, we came under heavy fire. Sarge cashed in first. Then Eddie and Bruce… Cut down by the VC. Joe and I were pinned down when a piece shrapnel took Joe.
Leaving only one left… me.
I’ll go out guns blazing. Semper Fi.

SOUGENT

“I want one.”, said Eno. “One what?”, asked his only brother Neo.
“I want one of them there Jimmy Buffet CD’s, that one right over yonder.”.
“That one is mighty expensive, Yer gonna need ta get yerself a job ta pay fer it”.
“I already got me one, why ya think I’ve been looking like a darned zombie fer?”
“Oh, yeah, y’all got a job at one of them cereal factories.”
“Yeah, it’s a killin’ me just sittin in one chair all day long, but it’s taboo ta get up til that there whistle blows at one o’clock”

JUSTIN

For the first time on Tuesday, my first and only wife gave birth to our one and only child. This will probably be the one and only time I write shameless father bragging on the 100 word stories podcast full of the cutest baby you have ever seen. How cute is she? Think of the cutest baby girl you have seen and imagine how cute she is, add about fifty-five times that amount of cuteness and you will know how cute she is. This isn’t even really a story but it has a cute baby in it, so who cares?

PLANET Z

Late last night, Monsignor Radcliffe sat in his study, reading Plato.
The clock began its chimes.
Midnight.
He checked his watch. Sure enough, the clock was running fast by a few seconds.
Radcliffe stood from his chair, walked to the mantelpiece, and picked up the clock.
The window shattered as he tossed the noisy clock out into the street.
The old priest was shocked to hear a scream.
He looked. It had hit a streetwalker and killed her.
Radcliffe sighed. The clock was worse that he’d thought.
In a matter of seconds, It went from striking twelve to striking one.

Weekly Challenge #110 – Jobs

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Welcome to the Weekly Challenge Number One Hundred And Ten, 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 Steven the Nuclear Man, who is going for broke with Jobs.
The excellent theme music is by Guy David
VOTING

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

CYBSTER DJ

One of my first DJ jobs was in a skating rink back in 1986. My standard look was a red shirt with the sleeves rolled up one turn, a narrow black leather tie, black stretch jeans and nike hi-tops. My hair was dark brown, long enough to reach the middle of my back and blow-dried in such a way that it boofed out like Gene Simmons from Kizz. Well it goes without saying that I was a hit with the ladies and I would often come down out of the booth during songs to fraternise. Yeees, those were the days.

TOM

The monkey avatar had had many jobs. Christ, he was 3000 thousand years old. He liked to think his best work was Deuteronomy, but some argue the Patriot Act was a work of pure genius. Sadly time was running out for the 100th monkey carpal tunnel syndrome and prespeopia were limited his job opportunities. He took another draw of single malt, the midgets quarters were cramped under the staircase in the Houston home. He was ghost hacking a 100 words a day. “A Jobs is a Job,” his mum would say between writing breaks of the Ramayana. Zombies Oh fuck

STEVEN

Now.
PFC Fenti flinches, but there is no explosion. The driver glances at
him, then watches the road again.
Now.
Nothing. Bullets fail to come streaking from the windows. Simmons
lights a Camel – irony is cheap here – and blows smoke in Fenti’s
face.
Spielberg would consider that a cue; the insurgents do not. Tense,
boring minutes pass. A drip of sweat falls from Fenti’s head onto his
weapon.
Now.
No bullets. No IED. Nothing.
He says it: “Remember, it’s not just a job…”
When the left side of the hummer goes in flame and shrapnel, it’s
almost a relief.
Now.

GUY DAVID All In One RSS FEED!

The Chirapa needed to study the humans. They worked on improving their personal cloaking devices and used them to make themselves appear human. They walked amongst the humans and discovered they used currencies called “money”. Some of them argued that they could get jobs as humans for some of that currencies, which would enable them to purchase human computers and study them through the internet, which was just starting out back then. The elder Chirapa thought it too risky and decided they should build their own computers. Chaketo Chirapa, all grown up now, was put in charge of the project.

JUSTIN

Everyone wants to sell things these days the easy way, without a permit. It is my job to make sure this does not happen. We really don’t need unlicensed goods roaming the streets, ending up in who knows what hands for who knows what purpose. The tax consequences alone are a good enough reason, as well. No making money under the table when I am around. If you so much as write down an idea to sell something I’ll be on you, watching. The time has come for righting these crimes, starting with that little girl at her lemonade stand.

ELISSON

Ron had trouble holding down a job.
He was fired from the zoo after they caught him spanking the monkey. Even worse, there was evidence that he had also been whipping the lizard.
He lasted less than a week at the Tyson processing plant. Someone discovered him in the process of choking the chicken, a job he was unauthorized to perform. The SPCA was outraged.
All of this changed when Ron interviewed with the Staunton Amalgamated Chess-Piece Manufactory. He was hired, quickly rising through the ranks, eventually becoming CEO.
For nobody could wax a bishop as well as Ron. /Nobody/.

ALMO

Roger grimaced as he dug his hands into the box and felt the slime of raw meat. He pulled out a fatty lump and tossed it over the chain-link fence. Feeding time.
Roger didn’t look anymore. He hated the sight of the flesh being torn and devoured.
“What’s with you?” his partner Leon asked, noticing Roger’s expression. Leon pulled hunk from the box and heaved it over.
“At least you’ve got a job,” Leon said, jerking his head toward the mass of starving people on the other side of the barrier waiting for the next piece.

HOTSPUR

Ten tough jobs.
Dat’s wat de judge gib me. Fo de ‘crime’ of lookin’ at de woman ‘wrong’. Dat’s justice in Yoknapatawpha County. Man need sumpin done, suddenly someone lookin’ at his wife wrong. Still, it’s no lynchin’.
“Hercules, my lad, you are to report to Mr. Ruffin, for duties”
Ruffin, he a hard man.
First, he say, ‘go fetch the skin off’n dat mountain lion dat’s killin’ my cattle.’
Then, ‘kill dat ol’ snake gettin’ in de henhouse.’
Dat’s hard enuf, but dis job?
How’s a body sposed to shovel all dis muck in a day, I asks you?

THOMAS

“Vegas, city of lights, buffets, and slots. Exciting yes , but being a good-luck troll has challenges. Getting dragged out of a purse smelling of Ben Gay and Musk. She then kisses me, sets me on her slot machine. Wanting a miracle, she tells me to work my magic.
“My brother lucked out, cruising and getting tan on a 76′ Gremlin’s dash, while I’m inches from a cigarette, covered in gin scented phlegm. She must have coughed up a lung.
“What? A jackpot! Oh no! Here come more toxic kisses.
“Why do I have to be so good at my job?”

CRAIG

Nice To See You Again
Shakti always woke early, then sat on the the bed doing Zazen.
My eyes would open to Shakti”s smile, she”d say, “nice to see you again.”
My hand would rise to meet hers, I”d pull her back to lay with me, are noses touching, giggling a little as we snuggled closer.
One morning she asked ” how do we take a journey?”
“There is no journey, no beginning, no end, remember it”s arising only” I answered.
Momentarily perplexed she started to ask then let go and kissed me.
Kiya Kiya she whispered through her wet lips, we fell back asleep.

ANIMA

Steven Paul?
Yes Lord?
You have done well for such a minor investment. I apologize for taking away the first company, all on account of a bad wager” Eminence gets so boring, we were just having a bit of fun. But you persisted, tormented a few employees, and look at you now! You’re back at the helm, and you got to fire a dozen CEOs. Creating demand for gadgets people can’t live without is such a nice touch. Indeed, a very lucrative return for the transaction of your soul. So… Jobs… how about a corporate discount on the new I-phone?

MIKE

She loved her job as ‘point man’. Sure, the penalties were harsh: for repeated failure – starvation; for discovery – execution. The reward, though – first to eat – was priceless, and other mouths were depending on her.
Choosing her mark carefully – fat and likely desperate for companionship – she’d provided some, and promised more. Her tale of abuse and loneliness had gained a measure of trust; only the final act remained.
“C’mon, it’s just us girls,” she coaxed.
“Where are they?”
“The park.” Wrong word.
“Too dangerous, girls or no,” he said, and stepped into a crowd.
The young werewolf sighed. No supper – again.

PLANET Z

People say he’s got the hardest job in the world.
I beg to differ.
Guarding him is the hardest job in the world.
I was the top of my class.
I broke cases people thought unsolvable.
That badge meant everything to me because it meant something.
Now, I’m just a babysitter for an old, crazy gimp who calls on his psychic when his mistress isn’t there to get him off.
Have you looked at the First Lady? There’s no veil thick enough for that one.
Once, he made me stand there and watch.
That shit-eating grin of his.
Roosevelt!

Weekly Challenge #109 – Jimmy Buffet

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Welcome to the Weekly Challenge Number One Hundred And Nine, where I post a topic and then challenge you to come up with a 100 word story based on that topic.
The topic this week was selected by Thomas, who is going for broke with Jimmy Buffet.
The excellent theme music is by Guy David
VOTING

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

STEVEN THE NUCLEAR MAN

The rain patters cold on my shoulders, the post hole digger, the body
of the bird wrapped gently in a Sponge Bob pillowcase. Sarah’s soft
sobs are muffled by Martha’s torso, my daughter’s arms tightly
wrapped around her mother.
I am finishing when Sarah touches me, the last clod softly packed down
with my booted foot.
“Daddy, is Heaven something like Margaritaville?”
I look at Martha; her look away and the mention of Bob’s favorite song
says more than a strange man’s jeans in the wash.
“No,” I say, crying with her as Martha goes inside, “It’s nothing like that.”

TOM

The skin burned like hell. It filled the arm from the elbow to the shoulder. The salt shaker, the blender, the parrot, the stupid grinning face of Jimmy Buffet. Of course it was a beauty, a Caribbean Cute, how it got there he hadn”t a clue. He had been upending 151s with a guy name Raoul in a drive by the docks in Trinidad. The last thing he remembered was the tail end of a Bembe this girl name horse with those vacant eyes. Some say that woman”s to blame, but he knew its his own dam fault. Fuckn “. Zombies.

SPACE TURTLE

The sun shone from the sky onto the hardened face of a pirate. The pirate stared across the horizon as he reminisced the pirates life that had been for him as he stood on the bow of his ship, The Jimmy. The ship was buffeted by the crashing of his ship’s wake into the wake of his sister ship, The Jolly Mon, who sailed along beside, sea spray sparkling into the air. Their goal was a salty piece of land they would call home. The pirate captain was looking to make this his last voyage, for he was fifty.

THOMAS

Leaving the banana republics, A son of a sailor, needed a drink. The Tiki Bar was open, so he ordered a volcano. At the bar was a smart woman, in a real short skirt.
He asked the barman, “Who’s the blond?”
“I don’t know and I don’t care.” he said.
“Fine.”
Smoothing his pencil thin mustache, he sidled over, boat drink in hand and said, “My lovely lady, why don’t we get drunk and screw?”
In a baritone voice she said, “Honey, I’ll take you on a trip around the sun.”
The barman snickered.
Breathe in, breathe out: move on.

CALEB

Hello?
Mr. James Buffet?
Yeah that”s me man come on in, want a beer?
Its time
Aw c”mon!
Its time!
I got all the money in the world, can”t we make another deal?
No! Even in hell we aren”t that cruel. Come with me.
Okay
Step into the limo sir.
Aw hey! It”s Michael Jackson! How you doin, boy?
Hello James, about as well as you I suppose, when Britney wakes up, say hello to her too.
Hey driver? Is this the reason musicians always seem to die in threes?
Kind of but it applies to you three as well.

MIKE

The cutter Jimmy Buffet cruised the warm Caribbean waters, her radar turning ceaselessly. Until a few years ago, the area had been filled with wealthy tourists lazily cruising among the small islands that dotted the area. Rumors of raiders, though, launching deadly attacks under the cover of island music – broadcast from the ship’s speakers, of all things – had caused that major revenue stream to all but dry up.
“Skipper!” came the cry from the bridge. “Radar return two miles to the northwest. Looks like a 35 footer.”
“Come about – close from astern,” the captain called, reaching for a calypso CD.

ANIMA

Imagine 4 college girls in a Ford Fiesta, escaping a midwestern March.
Destination: Key West. A Jimmy Buffet cassette loops over and over.
Packing list: flip flops, bathing suit, dress. Check. Battery operated blender and tequila. Check and double check.
No one has money. Meals are bar snacks and the charity of frat boys. Everything that can be charged to Daddy’s gas card, is. We sleep on the beach while we tan.
Tami goes missing She reappears at dawn, with a new tattoo, a boys address crumpled in her hand.
Parrots cackle as we head north, nursing well earned hangovers.

MISFITINA

Thin eggshell stripes framed the cool hell. Dry blonde hair was caught in
the hinge of a bright blue beach chair, and the glaze of mid-day reassured
him of absence, detachment. His phantom hands were sticky from sugar,
Cuervo, and blood. It didn’t breathe, and the silence compounded into a
chorus, damning, damning… yet *Margaritaville* was thunderous above them,
on the boardwalk. And fuck if he wouldn’t love a cheeseburger, grazing in
the sand with the Master of Parrots. As the body and the tide rudely
obscured the circus scents, this anthem of regret, apathy, oblivion, served
as *Amazing Grace*..

CRAIG

Come Monday I”ll be heading to paradise for a cheese burger.
You may think me crazy for traveling for a hunk of cow but I”m here to
tell you it”s all about location.
Now I wouldn”t ever go to North Dakota for a Margaretta even if Jimmy
Buffet stirred and shook it just for me.
I would on the other hand travel to Cuba to find the trail of the pencil
thin mustache.
So if this story has got you feeling blue then jump right up on the
coconut telegraph and send me a dot and a couple of dashes

ELISSON

Seven-year-old Evan”s face glowed with happiness. This was the best
birthday party ever!
All his friends were there, having the time of their lives. Mom and Dad
were enjoying the party as well, pounding down Margaritas with the other
grownups while the kids played party games and wolfed custom-made ice
cream sundaes.
Yes, ice cream sundaes. This place not only provided the ice cream, hot
fudge, caramel and butterscotch sauces, maraschino cherries, whipped
cream, and chopped nuts; there was row after row of multicolored
sprinkles to choose from.
Screw Chucky Cheese, thought Evan. Jimmy Buffett”s Jimmy Buffet was
waaaay better.

ALMO

The woman at the end of the bar had too much makeup and too little idea how
to use it. Her smile was lopsided, as if she couldn’t make the full effort.
Her top had been tight once. It was too tight now.
A lesser known Jimmy Buffett ballad floated through the tired little bar.
The stool beside her was open and I sat there. I bought two drinks. When she
started to talk I handed her one. When she tried to speak again, I lifted
my glass in silent toast and she drank.
We both looked down. Mom smiled.

TERRY TEE

It’s been two weeks since I retired from my job of thirty-five years and in thirty-five years some things change, but then again, some things don’t.
As an example, I’ve been going to Jimmy’s barber shop for the last twenty-five years and no other barber has touched my hair in all that time. One thing Jimmy does is ask me each time how I want it cut. Oh sure, each year there’s a little less to cut on top, but he still asks, “How do you want the top Terry?”
Now I say, “Well, Jimmy, buff-it to a high sheen.”

DAPHNE

He took me to Paris, not in France but One Particular Harbor this 40 year old pirate knew. When we docked, the Last Mango Bar was selling Boat Drinks but we wanted Cheeseburgers and headed to the Paradise Grill that our friend with the Pencil Thin Mustache owned. We ate, drank and joked about Growing Older but Not Up and laughed at how We Are the People Our Parents Warned Us About. When we left for the night I look down and picked up a salt shaker turn to the bar and yelled “Hey Jimmy, were you looking for this?”

LAIEANNA

For years, Jimmy Peterson spent every day eating at his favorite Chinese buffet. A conveyor belt of wait staff brought plate after plate to his table which was not typical service at a serve yourself restaurant, except 862 pounds Jimmy hadn’t left his bench in two years. Still, he served a purpose, greeting other customers with praise and jokes, using his size, about the great food. Nights he slept stationary like his days. Before closing, the owner would throw a hat on Jimmy’s head and a blanket over his massive body with the words “Security Guard” stitched across the fabric.

GUY DAVID

It was a buffet. Zelda neatly put the cutlery on the table, her finest china. Jimmy, her husband, watched in horror, mixed with strange fascination. He knew they would have to leave soon, but Zelda was treating her guests to the best of standards. She always liked things perfect that way.
The guests started trickling in. They sat at the table and gobbled all the food greedily. What started out as order ended up as chaos. Zelda didn’t mind though. As Jimmy reluctantly went to pack the suitcases, the guests dropped one by one as the poison gobbled their system.

PLANET Z

If there’s one thing I’ve learned in life, it’s that people take things too far.
I know these Jimmy Buffet fans who run this bar. Nothing but Margaritas and the noisiest blenders in the world.
Which, is a good thing. You see, these folks go overboard with the term “parrothead” by putting an actual parrot head in each pitcher of margaritas.
Rows and rows of cages filled with the damn birds are stacked in the basement of the bar.
They could use parakeets. They’re cheaper, tastes just like parrot.
Nope.
I stick to bottled beer. And fried parrot fingers.
Delicious!

Weekly Challenge #108 – Gold

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Welcome to the Weekly Challenge Number One Hundred And Eight, where I post a topic and then challenge you to come up with a 100 word story based on that topic.
The topic this week was selected by Planet Z, who is going for broke with…
It’s Gold.
The excellent theme music is by Guy David
VOTING

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

THOMAS

Melvin Goldberg was his name, but his fellow demons called him “Gold”. He was impatient. Plenty of work still laid ahead of him, but Gold loved his job. The campaigns were in full swing with everybody eager to sell their soul.
Just a flash of his smarmy smile and they were Gold’s. Whatever promises he had to make he would. Democrat; Republican; hell, even Jedi! They would cast principles aside and sign on the dotted line. Winners and losers didn’t matter. He was, after all, in sales, not fulfillment. That was somebody else’s department.
So many politicians, so little time.

MCJC

Hip wears silver, family wears gold. She chose copper bangles, colored glass beads. On holidays she would receive gold hoops or rings, tennis bracelets, charms. She dreamt of melting them down into a bar as a door stop. Meaningless. Save, Lame’ tops, frosted hair, big broaches at JC Penney. Save, time spent before growing apart. Each unworn piece, treasure of mall trips, and distant sisterhood. Friends, adorned in silver and hemp shirts, said titanium lasts forever. Yet gold survives, fluid like memory and love, familiar in the glow, the ancient desire to capture the sun, the warm, and the good.

JUSTIN

Ehh you, Golden Boy, dat’s right, you. I’ve had enough of your shenanigans… makin’ my boys disappear… I don’t know where they go, but I don’t believe you turn criminals into people that help the poor, and me and my bat here are going to settle this disagreement.
The thug swung the bat. The man with a yellow ingot symbol on his chest grabbed it. The bat turned gold, as did the man that held it. The Golden Boy then melted the body down, forming it into golden bricks, which he then sold, donating the money to the poor.

TOM

Bill Ray slid across the vinyl in the booth. Alma Sue fingered the crystal salt shaker. The smell of coffee embraced the acrid tinge of sweet crude. Billy flipped the edge of the tiny black velvet box. The glow in Alma”s eyes reflected the gold and diamonds his token of love. Irene glided between the couple and deposed a piece of absinthe pie. “Oh Billy such opulence,” purred Alma sliding the golden ring onto her finger. The last rays of a golden sun was setting on loves labor lost. The tiny gold cross upon her neck glowed. “Oh Fuck “””””..Zombies”

STEPHEN THE NUCLEAR MAN

The machine goes ping and she stifles a laugh. They loved that movie.
His hands are cold in hers, so she is not surprised when the rhythmic
ping changes to a whine, then to the chaos of nurses and doctors
performing a full code. She allows herself to be ushered out to the
sterile comfort of the waiting room.
Couples fight silently overhead, the trash tv thankfully muted. Her
fingers caress the worn gold of her ring. She wonders if she will
wear it once he has gone.
She sees the doctor in the doorway, and stands to meet him.

HOTSPUR

How do I explain? I had no clues to his identity. To me, he was a wandering drunk that passed out in my rose garden in his own vomit. A man in my position has to show munificence. It”s expected.
So the servants made inquiries and sent him back where he came from.
The magnificent gift I received in return.. well.. I”m set for life, I thought. It was delightful transforming mundane into fabulous. Then I got hungry. And, well, you know the rest.
What will I tell her mother? And yet, she makes a lovely statue, does she not?

EVA

At last a small cove yielded up a crescent moon of smooth sand.
The crossing had been harrowing and the coast, after months at sea, taunted
them for days with impenetrable cliff walls. But the promise of a new land
of gold and riches kept them at the ship”s rail.
Ernesto leapt from the boat into the foaming surf, ignoring the water
streaming into his leather boots. He scrambled up the rocks and gazed at the
expanse of small yellow flowers that carpeted the land to the line of
distant trees.
“Capitan!” he shouted, grinning, “We have found the gold!”

ALMO

The robber stood in darkness, flashlight in his teeth, and admired the exquisite inlay on the lid of the box. He ran his hand over the gleaming wood. He didn’t know wood, but it felt expensive, smooth and warm to the touch.
What jewelry would the rich have?
He opened the box and was awed by the way the contents sparkled under his light. The diamond earrings were first to be plucked. Then the necklace. Antique. Valuable.
Finally, he took the gold wedding band and let the lid of the casket drop as he slipped away into the night.

MIKE

Thousands have killed for it; millions, possibly, have died for it. In leaf form, it graces countless domes at all levels of government, as well as untold numbers of universities and church buildings. Few things are as beautiful as the gilt accents seen in pottery, porcelain, and glass, as well as on the edges of the pages of a fine book. I speak of the most desired of metals – gold.
But the gold that stirs my heart and fires my blood are the flecks that dance in the eyes of my one true love, every time she smiles at me.

Johnathan stands next to the creek and watches the water wash through his homemade sluice.
His left hand, holding the long wooden handle, pushes and pulls causing the wooden box to rock gently left and right.
Johnathan’s eyes, ever watchful of the gravel in the bottom of the box, glints at his first sign of color.
His right hand, quickly diving into the water, grasp the nugget and lifts it to the sky.
The nugget sparkles in the sun.
Behind Johnathan’s back Ellen climbs onto the big stallion with the dark stranger and rides away.
Truly, this is fool’s Gold.

ANIMA

“Here you go,” says Jason, holding out the glass amphora to his cousin, King AEetes. A metallic pinging emanates from the jar.
The arrogant youth prates on, “I’m ready to take over the throne, like you agreed to””
“What are you babbling on about?” Asks the king.
“You said, if I brought back the golden fleas, I’d get my throne back. You never thought I would go all the way to the gates of Hades and pluck them from Cerberus. Man, does he have stinky dog breath”.”
“You Greek goof, clean your ears. You’re to bring me the GOLDEN FLEECE!”

GUY DAVID

Chaketo have really grown. Mama Chirapa always worried about him, so thin and pale. “Why can’t I go and play on the surface?” he would always ask. “The humans are suspicious of strangers” Mama Chirapa would say, “we can’t risk them knowing about us.” Chaketo could never understand this, why would anyone be suspicious of anyone else? “When I grow up, I would find a way to earn their trust” he thought. Meanwhile, The Chirapa mind the gold from the dipper underground tunnels in order to keep their cloaking devices operational. They really didn’t want those Humans to discover them.

CRAIG

Walking into the local vegetarian restaurant I felt tension, was my leather jacket setting them on edge.
Placing my order I smiled, looking deeply into eyes that didn”t look back.
My order of a simple brown rice bowl came with a bonus, a side of silence, no charge.
In the restroom HOWL played in endless loop. I washed my hands mouthing
“I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness,”
“who lit cigarettes in boxcars boxcars boxcars”
“who cut their wrists three times”
I stood looking at my gold watch wondering about different roles, then left.

ELISSON

Theodoric was in trouble. Deep trouble.
As an up-and-coming young alchemist at the Magisterium, he had boasted openly of his ability to turn base metal into gold. Too openly…
…for when the Regent”s men overheard him, they were swift to pass word to their master.
Now he shared a fetid cell with a heap of leaden ingots. Transmute or die, they had told him.
Sweating, trembling, he closed his eyes, tonelessly reciting the incantation.
An ill-timed stutter on the last word added fifteen protons and twenty-seven neutrons too many, whereupon the Magisterium, along with the surrounding countryside, ceased to exist.

TERRENCE

Over the years many had feared Raoul. Many trembled at his mere presence. People fled from him. He was after all the most feared of all his brothers, even if he had been written out of the ‘Good’ book.
There was, however, the one time all that changed. People were not running or quivering at his presence. They were cheering him. This had not been his intent. He had hoped that his actions would lead to the damnation of millions. He would have never guessed people would be happy that he turned all those hopeful singers in to Golden Idols.

PLANET Z

For months, we sack and pillaged the New World, plundering the riches of Empire and carting away tons of finest Gold.
Cortez check his math.
“Did we plunder six or seven cities of gold?” he ask.
Some of the men say six.
Some say seven.
One say eight, but Pedro, one who say eight, he not so good at math.
“Do we go back?” I ask.
“No,” say Cortez. “We have enough. It give something to go back to, no?”
We load the ships, raise the sails, and head back to Cleveland.
So simple to rob Canada these days, yes?

Weekly Challenge #107 – The Chair

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Welcome to the Weekly Challenge Number One Hundred And Seven, where I post a topic and then challenge you to come up with a 100 word story based on that topic.
The topic this week was selected by Craig from Wash The Bowl, who is going for broke with…
It’s The Chair.
The excellent theme music is by Guy David
VOTING

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

PLANET Z

Baby Bear looked at the shattered splinters of wood that were once his favorite chair and he wept bitter tears.
“Someone ate my porridge and broke my chair!” he growled. “I will have my revenge!”
“Son, don’t get carried away,” said Papa Bear.
Baby Bear would have none of it. “When I am through with them, death will be considered a mercy!”
The outburst woke Goldilocks up. Heart pounding with fear, she leapt out of Baby Bear’s bed and ran for the window.
It was painted shut.
Heavy paw footfalls on the stairs. Angry, muttered threats under his breath.
“REVENGE!”

FREEREED

cummings says… the artist is like the circus performer who sits on top of three balanced chairs. the three chairs are three facts of his life… “I am an artist, I am a man, I am a failure.” my chair is an old wood swivel from the brother in laws garage. in that garage is art made by mikey who was murdered at age eleven. They never caught the killer. i think this chair knows who killed mikey This chair knows me. “I am an artist, I am a woman. I am a failure.” Well, Off to the therapist now

RICH PALMER

A white room. A simple white room with no embellishments. One should look for windows, but there is no point. It is simply a white room. No curtains, no shelving, no tables. Just a white room. And the chair.
The chair that sits in the very center of the plain, white room.
The chair is nondescript. The chair has no ornaments. There are no intricately carved legs. There is no fine upholstery. The legs are wood. The back is wood. The seat is wood. It is simply a chair.
I sit in the chair. The white room has gone dark.

GUY DAVID

“Address the chair” said the head table. “I beg to differ” uttered the chest of drawers but the cupboard shushed her. The respectable window curtain walked in. An appreciative silence filled the room. The sofa moaned. “I think she ate too much last night” whispered a bed to a cabinet. The cabinet just shrugged and said “that sofa would be very hungry when there is no food left. There is a limited amount of unsuspecting people around you know.” The chair cleared his throat and said “We hold these truths to be self-evident: That all furniture are created equal…”

STEVEN THE NUCLEAR MAN

It first creaked as she rocked in summer’s heat, waiting for the baby.
Dad fixed it, but she wouldn’t sit in it until he made it squeak
again.
She rocked through my breastfeeding and tantrums. I showed up once
with teenage bravado and a cigarette. She stopped. I put the
cigarette out and heard the rhythmic creak again.
I missed it when I left for college. Squeaks lulled me to sleep when
I returned for Dad’s funeral.
It’s silent now. My wife asks if I’m okay.
The wind moves the rocker, and for a second I pretend that I am.

THOMAS

The chair, impressive once, sits in the corner. The center of the home for decades; but for several years, silent. After thirty years of marriage, the chair to the right of the once formidable recliner, is now the center of life.
The diminutive woman sits stoic: hands clasped. Behind her expression, sits tears, waiting to fall again. ‘Til death do us part was their promise to each other. However, she knew he wasn’t gone. Alone in the silence, looking at his chair, she could still see him. Faintly… briefly… but still he was there; a memory, a love, a promise.

EVA

Alma walked by that door a hundred times a day and even if she didn”t break
her stride, some part of her always lingered there for a thudding heartbeat
or more. Sometimes she”d pause for a moment to reach toward the knob and
feel its warm burnished surface, or run a finger down the dark, grooved wood
of the doorframe. She didn”t have the key. But it wasn”t like she didn”t
know what was in there: The room was completely empty save a single heavy
wooden chair. She shuddered slightly and glanced at the clock on the wall.

Near the access hatch in the deck, under a dim red overhead light, the chair sits.
A slender figure occupies the chair and has done so, unmoving for long ages.
The skin of the face, the texture of leather, is pulled tightly about the skull, the eyes nonexistent.
Holding a short wooden staff, sharpened to a point at one end, he appears ready to offer a challenge to anyone climbing from below.
John 316 grasp the last rung and emerges, only to slip and almost fall back at the sight of this ancient guardian.
The corpse grins with sightless eyes.

TOM

It took Allan and his guys two months to overhaul the Cronomotive. It was deemed too dangerous for Maria to return to the timepad. On departure day only Allan was present bidding Arnesto farewell. As Cervante moved through time a jolt rocked him backwards. When the time machine came to a rest there was Allan next to him PM Arnesto Arroway the third.
“Tell me of Maria, Allan.”
Quartemain turned away.
“Come with me grandfather.”
A chair was set out next to a statue
of Maria tearing open the easy bake.
“She did this to save her students.”
Arnesto wept.

PLANET X

“The Chair has been watching you and wants your resignation on his desk now” Stella calmly stated to Frank the file clerk.
“Why me?” Frank retorted.
“Well, let’s see”. ” Stella replied.
“You come in late and leave early”
“You spend half your day around the coffee pot”
“You take three hour lunches”
“You’re lazy”
“You’re incompetent”
“You lie and cheat your fellow employees on the football pool”
“You’ve sexually harassed almost every female here, along with a couple of the men.”
“Oh, and by the way, Frank” Stella continued
“Starting on Monday, you’re hired back as a mid-level manager”

ANIMA

Management has always made an effort in improving workforce motivation.
The last Friday of the month, we gather in the board room for supermarket cake and a corporate cheer”
Recently, We’ve been playing ” Musical Chairs”.
The boss plays music, and we circle like a pony ride at a county fair. When it stops, we scramble for a seat. The job on the nameplate before you is your new post, until the next time we need “better morale”.
Each month, there are more jobs and fewer chairs.
Their plan is working! With the mortgage due, I find myself very motivated”

ALMO

As he stood at the kitchen counter and slathered extra mayo on the bread, John heard the television announcement rather than saw it.
The name was familiar — a young, fit athlete. He had died of a heart attack while running.
John took his plate into the living room and sat heavily in his La-Z-Boy. He leaned back, picked up the remote and changed to the football game.
“You never hear on the news of anyone having a heart attack while sitting in his recliner, eating a sandwich and watching the game,” he thought.
John smiled, relaxed and ate.

CRAIG

“It”s something and yet nothing” Angie said, “what do you mean something yet nothing” I asked? She smiled saying” the peace you”re feeling right now.”
A terror overcame me, she knew what I was feeling.
I started jogging in place trying to slow my mind as my thoughts assaulted me from every direction.?
A hard stick struck my head with a loud whack. Angie grabbed my arm yelling ” open your eyes, you”re indulging your own fears, open your eyes.”
My eyes opened to see Angie completely alone in a field of opposites, offering me a chair in which to sit.

CALEB

He had a plan” a Brilliant Plan! But if only he could be heard over the screaming horde and the stupid band that would not stop playing! He could save them all” or at least most of those who couldn”t fit in the lifeboats. He knew about buoyancy. He knew a thing or two about structural architecture and if the remaining passengers could get all the furniture fastened to the outside, he could keep this thing afloat. But no matter how he screamed and tried to explain, he couldn”t convince anyone that rearranging deck chairs would help on the Titanic.

SOUGENT

The Chair.
It sits there, in the center.
Sometimes, it’s the focus of a great deal of attention.
Some call it the hot seat.
To look at it one might consider it unremarkable.
But it’s not what it looks like that makes it special.
Some see it as a symbol of power, others a curse.
Many desire it, but few have what it takes to sit there.
For him, it’s where he belongs. If there is such a thing as destiny, then his is to sit right there.
For Captain James Kirk, The Chair is the center of the universe.

LAIEANNA

Thesus walked up fifteen marble steps, bowed, and placed his offerings before the ornate chair of the goddess Nahmudida. It represented her place of power. Thesus opened the blue silk pouch to present, for his deity, two apples, rosemary sprigs, a lock of his daughter’s hair, and five gold coins. The priest standing at his side held, in eyesight, a ceremonial knife. Slowly, Thesus took the weapon, but was quick to slice it against his skin. The blood poured down as he prayed. “Please welcome my dying daughter into your house. I shall take her place wandering in the wasteland.”

Weekly Challenge #106 – Cereal

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Welcome to the Weekly Challenge Number One Hundred And Six, where I post a topic and then challenge you to come up with a 100 word story based on that topic.
The topic this week was selected by Caleb, who is going for broke with…
It’s Cereal.
The excellent theme music is by Guy David
VOTING

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

STEVEN

For a while after the attempt, everything was spectacular. It was as
if a sensory grime was vomited with the sleeping pills and charcoal,
and left behind in the ER’s biohazard bag. He drank in the sky’s
shifting shades of blue, the smell of grass and gasoline on suburban
weekends. He even savored the oaty richness of generic cereal
scraping down his throat.
He was discharged, but doctors warned that relapse was often subtle.
“People feel fine but don’t notice the symptoms returning.”
He wouldn’t forget. He promised he would be back to see them — when
cereal was boring again.

DAVID

In last weeks episode, our heroes put an end to the murderous rein of Freetown’s sheriff. By fabricating evidence that convinced the town of his child molesting, drug dealing, terrorist ways, they were able to incite a riot in which he was trampled to death by deputies fleeing the scene. What more can two runaways living in sin do to free our town from the violent thugs we call government?
“Captain Crunch?”
“Ate it! Shredded Wheat, Pullman car,” Josh from above their abandoned caboose.
Join us next week to discover the biting answer to Missy’s immortal question????
“Got milk?”

GUY DAVID

Old Mama Chirapa was looking at little Chaketo. Since they landed, he got much thinner and the lights seems to have gone out of his young eyes. They where supposed to land, colonize this planet, only, it wasn’t as deserted as they thought it was. There where creatures living here, called themselves “Humans” and where suspicious of strangers. The Chirapa had to go into hiding. Now, Mama Chirapa sometimes wondered if they would ever see the light of day.
“Eat your cereal, little Chaketo. You have a whole world to conquer, and you have to be strong enough”, she said.

TOM

The impact from the blow sent Quatermain tumbling over the steamer truck. Eight handguns trained on Cervantes head. Maria grabbed the lid of the Easy Bake. Order returned to the Hub.
“Ok my choice of words was ill composed.” Said Quatermain spiting out blood. “Let me show you our prodigy.” Allan led them to a clean and well-lit place, 40 children sitting about eating Captain Crunch.
“We call them
the League of Extraordinary Children.
Mave they are your students.”
“No.” protested Cervantes
“Sorry R it”s already written in the Book.”
Maria smiled and stated
“Lesson One no sugar coat cereal.”

ANIMA

No word from the cattle station in days; Although it’s remote, there’s usually radio chatter…
So I’m going to have me a look.
Jeez ” will you look at this?
They’ve all gone and copped it. There’s no whole pieces left anywhere. Just a jumble of body parts, hooves and bones. I can’t tell cow from cowboy”
At the feed bunk, I sift my fingers through the remaining grains.
Bloody Cheap Owner, supplying tainted feed. Ergot’s an ugly character.
First ruining the farmers’ crop, then driving the cattle that eats it raving mad.
This cereal killer is truly a serial killer.

TERRY

Police Detective Johnson read this week’s crime report:
On Tuesday, as a Kellogg’s truck pulled up to the dock of a grocery store, it exploded into flames that shot one hundred feet into the air.
On Wednesday, it was a Fruity Pebbles truck that exploded across town at another grocery store.
On Thursday, a Cheerios truck was ambushed and totally destroyed.
On Friday, a not so lucky, Lucky Charms truck was the subject of a bombing.
At the scene of each crime a spoon emblem and “United” had been drawn.
Yup, they defiantly had another cereal killer on the loose.

PLANET X

Little Johnny always loved his Alpha-Bits, he sometimes would pick out letters from the cereal bowl and spell out words on the table, shocking his mother.
Today was different, the cereal started to form words by themselves, even before he picked them from the bowl.
At first they were simple words like “today”, “you” and “will”, but when “die” formed in the milk, Johnny started to get scared, scared enough not to notice the droplet of blood that came from the knife his mother had just shoved into his ear.
“Can you spell-out fuck you now Johnny” his mother said.

CRAIG

The incessant knocking at the bedroom door abruptly collapsed my dreaming.
Rubbing my eyes I looked up to see four girl scouts at the foot of my bed.
Before I could speak the tall one said ” it”s boxtop day, you promised to help.”
Pulling the covers over my head I mumbled “boxtop day indeed,” adding “give me 2 minutes.”
Downstairs there were at least twenty girl scouts all staring at me. An amused Ellen handed me coffee pointing to the door, I mouthed “what no cereal?”
I motioned the drivers to head out, the great boxtop collection was on.

SOUGENT

He gazed down at the spreading pool of blood.
“A good breakfast is what you need”, he said, “not that powerbar”
She was asking for it, really, just like all the rest were.
The voices kept whispering in his head, telling him what to do.
He knows he should be sorry for killing them all, but the voices just keep whispering….
“Just follow my nose, it always knows”
“I’m koo koo for cocoa puffs”
Slipping a small box of Frosted Flakes under her hand, he mutters “They’re Great!”
“In other news today, the famed “cereal killer” claims a new victim”

THOMAS

Damn food nazis, been out of work for three years with no end in sight. The libs say we can’t sell to kids, but what about us, I mean, who’s going to buy a vacuum from an elf or a tiger? Sure, the Cap’n got a book deal and a cameo in the next Pirates of the Caribbean flick, but for most we’re just trying to survive. Bitter? Damn straight I’m bitter. Snap and Pop opened a gym, then said “threes a crowd, goodbye”. Bitches! Me? Well… maybe I could ask that annoying leprechaun to tend bar at his pub.

JD WHITE

John 316, fist bruised and aching, stood before the locked hatch.
The hot cereal of breakfast an hour before sat, a hard cold lump in his gut.
Tears that had formed now begin to seep from his eyes.
It had been a trick.
More than a trick, a trap.
His frailty and his fear of rejection used against him.
His brothers would, if they had not already, report his transgression.
They would be rid of him one way or another.
John 316 saw clearly that he had failed the Word.
Turning, his hands trembling, he grasp the ladders first rung.

TERRENCE

As the zombies continued to shuffle by Raoul and the witherhunch, Raoul thought about the event of the past few months. In its first draft the “good” book had described all the warning signs. However, it continued to amaze him on how badly the book had been edited over the years. He had not been the only victim of some priest’s edits. Maybe, if they had been a little less selective they would have recognized the sign when the podcaster spread out into other things; but who would have thought that cereal.isfullofcrap.com would bring about the end of the world.

LAIEANNA

I’m a half ass low carberer. Eggs, meat, cheese, and vegetables are the staple of an Atkins diet and even that requires limits. Eggs now make me nauseous. Meat easily grosses me out. Cheese I like but there is only so much you can eat in a sitting. Oh, and vegetables get really boring to chew on. So, on this diet, I crave things that I didn’t care about when I was fatter. Fruit is a treat and chips are salty goodness. And for a poptart, strudels kid, cereal sounds like heaven. Pour me a bowl of Raisin Nut Brand…please.

HOTSPUR

I grin as another spoon of Museli enters Aunt Doris’ gaping maw.
There you are.
“I love you, Woodrow” she bleets, mouth brimming with EuroCereal.
I grin at her. Carefully, now. Chew with mouth closed, Auntie. We don”t want an accident.
She chews, blank eyes unfocused. Dribble of milk down one side of mouth. Hodgson enters with juice and a red rose on a tray. He is brisk, obsequious. He serves Auntie, slowly raises and glances at me with a look of mingled loathing and hatred. I grin back, pleasantly.
There you are, Auntie. Another Bite?
“I love you, Woodrow”.

MIKE

The man always marveled at the variety of cereals. Puffs, pops, flakes, little donuts and – his personal favorite – sugary ABCs. His mom always said, he had learned to spell just by pushing the little letters around in his bowl for hours on end.
The emergency horns’ blaring finally stopped, but the strobes still flashed. Taking another look at the legs sticking out of the hopper, he popped a glazed uppercase “Q” into his mouth. Sure, it could be dangerous working here, just like working in any other kind of factory, he supposed. He couldn”t imagine working anyplace as tasty, though.

CALEB

In the mid seventies General Mills tried replacing Lucky the Leprechaun with Waldo the Wizard. Lucky had been making unreasonable demands in his contract negotiations. How they expected a cereal company to enslave Donna Summer in the first place, was never explained. He got into Frankenberry and before long he and Toucan Sam got banned from all the Hollywood clubs. Tony the Tiger said, “You”re Wasted! You Better get to Rehab!” After rooming with Sonny who was coo coo for crystal meth too he eventually came out clean and sober only to be replaced again, this time by a cartoon.

PLANET Z

I’m sure there’s people out there who envy the fact that I get breakfast in bed every morning.
Best thing to wake up to, right?
Not around here.
You see, instead of bringing me coffee and bacon and waffles and pancakes and maple syrup, she throws a box of cereal in my face and yells at me to wake the fuck up.
God, I wish it was like the old days.
Sure, there wasn’t any coffee. Or bacon. Or waffles. Or pancakes.
But, man, was there maple syrup. And where it was, I’ll leave that to your imagination.
Bon appetit.

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