Weekly Challenge – Page 95 – The 100 Word Stories Podcast

Weekly Challenge #40 – Starting a new job

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Welcome to the fortieth Weekly Challenge, where I post a topic and then challenge you to come up with a 100 word story based on that topic.
The topic this week was supposed to be selected by Rahel from Elms In The Yard, and it’s starting a new job.
Ten stories were submitted this week. Double digits!
Two few rookies joined in… yay!
And, once again, some disturbing madness from Planet Z.
Go ahead and listen to them by clicking on the grammophone thingy there in the left column and then vote for your favorites (multiple selections are allowed):

WE GOTS PRIZES:
I will be sending the winner a prize… it’s going to be the fridge magnets, which I still need to order. Stay tuned.
It is your voting that determines who wins. So listen, vote, and tune in next week to find out who won!

The full text of each story:
KELLY

Lilly winced. “This is absolutely the worst,” she thought. The body in front of her was cold–just a number now.
She just had to have a change. Insurance Adjustor wasn’t good enough. “Ha! Who says?” ran through her mind.
She didn’t know anyone who had every done this before, but Lilly was adventurous.
“Was this decision wise? Well thought out?” she began questioning herself. Bad sign. This was just her first job in the field. “Yikes! I can’t start this shit. I have already committed the murder. Now time to clean up. Next time will be better for sure.”

ANDREW

Looking at used condoms, odd stains and used toilet paper strewn around all next to an overflowing turd-filled toilet, Matt flinched.
“You don’t expect me to fuckin’ clean that?”
“Yeah I do that is what I am paying you for…” replied his manager with him on the first day.
“I never signed up to clean no bloody loos!”
“What the hell did you think it was for £25 an hour wih no need for qualifications?”
“It said Environmental Standards Officer!” screeched Matt slightly worry the men around him..
“Well he can clean me for £25!” lisped a man behind him.

ARTIE

“Hello, Bernie here. I am a polar bear at the North Pole, and this is, Sally. Say hi, Sally.”
“Hi!”
“Sally’s shy, so I’ll be doing most of the talking. I’m sure being addressed by a polar bear and penguin is surprising, but things have changed a lot up here. Recent expeditions confirm that Ice is melting here at an unusual and unprecedented rate. Something has to be done to reduce the greenhouse-gas emissions induced by humans. A ladder would be helpful, but if things don’t improve we’ll need a stairway to heaven. Please help us. Say goodbye, Sally.”
“Goodbye.”

GEORGE

Well, I suppose it’s normal to be nervous on the first day.
I still can’t believe I got the job.
But it was made for me.
If my ex could only see me now, the big bad ex marine.
What is that they say about always faithful?
Well, if that was so, we would still be together.
And always making fun of me, do you know which end to point at the target?
Look, its Jackie in pink saffron. It is her color, much better than red, which can just murder you. Now deep breathe and slowly squeeze the trigger.

TOM

“Barnett you’re with Ralph”
Staring a new job was never a problem for Josh or maybe it was just the selection of jobs that never took much trailing.
“You gots to do three things right every time,” said Ralph.
“Take the spring clamps and pin the vinyl round the rails.”
“Lock all four wheels.”
Ralph paused and shot Josh a no-nonsense glare.
“Never stop rolling.”
They pulled the gurney next to Mrs. Wade’s couch.
Wheels, clamps, roll, roll.
“DON’T STOP.” Yelled Ralph
Too late.
Mrs. Wade tore in two falling into Josh’s lap.
He screamed. He screamed a lot.

ELISSON

In my new job, I’m what you might call a specialist.
My profession is not noted for being selective about its clients. “If you got the dime, I’ve got the time” is the order of the day for most of my colleagues. Me, I’ve got standards.
My customers are all in the pipe and fixtures business.
Hey, it makes sense. The guys have plenty of cash – hell, they make more than surgeons. And they have needs.
I have needs too. My new job helps pay for my “medication.”
I’m not just a crack whore. I’m a plumber’s crack whore.

HOUSTON KEYS

I got a new job. It’s not like I changed employment. I’m a hit man. Same career, just different jobs.
Neb “The Neck” met me in the alley.
“I’ve got a mole in my outfit. I need you to eliminate him.”
“Who is he? I asked.
Neb handed a photo of an orange cat in a ridiculous clown collar to me.
“Sam price as always?”Neb asked.
“No, double it,” I replied. “For a job this ridiculous I need something extra.”
“What’s so ridiculous about the job?” asked Neb.
“Get real,” I said. “You want me to whack a mole.”

RAHEL

George is a good sort. He used to be in charge before I came, but he’s semi-retired now. Just likes to sit in the sun and dream. Well, he deserves a break–he put in his time, about fifteen years, I think.
Lately he’s been giving me pointers. “Don’t catch them all at once, kid,” he told me. “You have to give them time to reproduce. There’s a balance in nature, see. And you don’t want to make yourself obsolete, either.”
I’m going to listen to George. And I’m going to be the best mouser this farm has ever had.

LISA

Sean was thrilled to get a shipping and receiving job at the new plant opening in his town.
He’d made some new friends, learned all the ins and outs of the job, was working overtime and making good money. It was a huge relief his new boss hadn’t checked out his references.
When the boss came back late one night because he’d forgotten something, he learned (graphically) the reason why Sean was “let go” from his last place:
Sean and the cleaning lady, Margaret, were living out his favorite fantasy: wild sex in a large box filled with packing peanuts.

LAIEANNA

“I’m so excited to be working with this firm. There were so many different career path opportunities, but this is the one that interested me the most. I took all the courses necessary to do this job like a seasoned pro. Soon, I’ll be recognized and climb the ladder of success. By the way, thank you for taking me through my first day’s route. What location do we go to after this facility?”
“We don’t.”
“My, that’s a lot to collect in one location!”
“Wait till you see your clientèle.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Duho toof fairy!”
“Welcome to the lowest rank.”

The moment the crown touched my head, my new job started.
Not that it’s much of a job, really.
Oh, sure, there’s the ceremonies and interviews, but aside from my time in the Navy, I haven’t done an day’s work in my life.
My primary job duty is to have kids.
Already did that, and they don’t look like they’re going to turn out gay, so I’m sure they’ll have kids, too.
Oh, and I never wait in line, either. But sometimes people yell at me for it: “WHO THE HELL DIED AND MADE YOU KING?”
“My mother,” I say, and I walk in the door.

Thanks to everyone for sending in their stories, and I look forward to what you’ve got to write (and say) next week.
The theme for next week’s Weekly Challenge will be posted shortly.
(In case you’re interested, I’ve settled on “Clair de Lune” as the opening music and “Moonshine” by Michael Oldfield from the Tubular Bells II album.)

Weekly Challenge #39 – Illegal Parking

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Welcome to the thirty-ninth Weekly Challenge, where I post a topic and then challenge you to come up with a 100 word story based on that topic.
The topic this week was supposed to be selected by Laieanna from Hodgepodge Point, and it’s illegal parking.
Eleven stories were submitted this week. Double digits!
Quite a few rookies joined in… yay!
And, once again, some disturbing madness from Planet Z.
Go ahead and listen to them by clicking on the grammophone thingy there in the left column and then vote for your favorites (multiple selections are allowed):

WE GOTS PRIZES:
I will be sending the winner a prize… I still haven’t decided what it will be, but I will be sending them one.
It is your voting that determines who wins. So listen, vote, and tune in next week to find out who won!

The full text of each story:
Kelly Burt

Pete had the night planned.
Dinner: check
Dessert: check
Moonlight drive: check
He chose the spot carefully, no homes, no traffic.
Pete had his girl–and a large backseat. He stopped the car.
“So, Pete, what are we doing?” Joan cooed.
“Well, I can’t stand the thought of this evening ending.” Pete replied.
“I understand,” said Joan.
Pete thought, “This is it. I’ve got her.”
But as quickly as he had it, it was gone.
As he slid his hand towards her seatbelt, Joan pulled her badge and stated, “Pete, I’m going to have to cite you for illegal parking.”

Randy Burt

“Park here. I’ll fake a limp.” Jessica barked.
Graham pulled into the blue-lined space in front of the couture boutique and scurried to open the passenger door.
Jessica popped off the seat of the Hummer and onto the ground. The jolt provided just enough space for her darling “Poopsy” to wiggle away.
She gasped, made a concerted effort to shove Graham out of the way, and chased the Chihuahua to the back of the truck..
Poopsy narrowly avoided the Prius that plowed into Jessica sending her Starbucks cup sailing and assuring that she’d never get an ‘illegal parking’ ticket again.

Mark M

The driver spun the wheel, the car slipping on the curving road. He stole a glance into the backseat. He had to hurry.
“There it is!” he yelped.
With one last turn of the wheel, he spun the car into a sideways slide. It jumped onto the cabin porch, smashing carved wooden benches, then skidded to a stop.
The cabin door swung open, banging against the wall. The Ranger rushed out.
“Are you crazy? Driving like that?! And you can’t park here!” the ranger exclaimed.
The driver leaped from the car. “I found this eagle – he’s hurt… maybe ill.”

Caleb

Hey do you sell any maps? I’ve been driving around these backwoods here for hours and I’m completely lost!
Is that your car there?
Who else’s car would it be of course it’s mine!
You ought not park it there.
Why?!? Is there a meter there I didn’t see?
No but…
Am I too close to some intersection?
No but there’s…
Am I on private property?
No but…
Well then if I’m not parked illegally in any way, why can’t I park there?
Well…
What the hell was that?!?
Satellite crash, I told you you ought not park it there.

Tom

Zackz Efrom Paroeshad was
the greatest engineer in the 20 planet consortium.
When outer ring representatives lobby for solar equity
Paroeshad answered with the binary purchase.
Using tackyon streams of
real time and historic nano matter
he had move the second infant sun
3/4 the distance to their system.
Paroeshad knew letting the baby sun sit
in Varsic space would have ramifications.
He was not surprised by the arrival
of the vermilion dispatch.
Without breaking the seal
he opened his ledger.
The fine was always the same,
700 pentillion lidens.
Zackz drew a line through item 23.
Illegal parking.

Laieanna

The car was rented under a pseudo name and off he drove. Five streets over and three lights down, he pulled into an illegal parking spot and parked. Putting on CHIPs sunglasses, a shaggy blonde wig and matching mustache, he waited out his nemesis, watching the clock and smiling to himself. The driver pulled in behind the rental car and glared hatefully through the window. With no other options, they parked and opened the door. There were cheers all around. Before he would pull his vehicle out of the way, Laurence was sure to give bus number 9 the finger.

Andrew

I was being accused of illegal parking by a rather aggressive Nigerian meter-fascist. He was one of those that didn’t understand the concept of personal space. Good oral hygiene seemed to be culturally foreign to the man as well.
I didn’t rise to his aggression.
“You must respect my authority,” he exclaimed, backing away from my glare. He began to backpeddle in an almost panic.
I was about to say, “mind the road” just before he was mowed down by a council lorry.
His body was catapulted over the bonnet and landed in the back with all the rubbish.

Ted

The verdict was in.. He was banned from the park field for life, and boy was he pissed! He deserved better than this! He was, after all, an Eagle! Better than those low life seagulls who had ousted him in a unanimous vote. They were jealous!
He used to rule the park! And they lied about him! They said he would spread disease, just to make the others hate him! He wasn’t sick. His puny subjects had retaliated in the worst way!
Now, never to enter his domain again, he would always be know as.. The ILL Eagle, Park King.

Elisson

By the year 2032, advances in medical technology had made organ transplantation practically foolproof.
No longer did patients take anti-rejection drugs for a lifetime, waiting for their new organs to fail. One shot was all it took. Everything but the brain could be transplanted; lifespans of 135 years became common.
Only problem was, not enough raw material. Cloning might’ve helped, but the religious right killed that possibility. Then came the Anticrime Omnibus Bill of 2037.
All of which explains why Stewart, who had just received his third parking ticket, was headed for the organ banks.
Fucking parking meters, he thought.

Russell Burt

When the aliens landed, we followed their command to “take us to your leader.” We decided that they probably meant the mayor of our little town. The meeting went extremely well, and the aliens walked out of the mayor’s office promising that on their next visit they would bring back a fuel source that would ensure there was never an energy crisis on Earth again. Then they returned to their ship to find that they had been ticketed for parking in front of a hydrant. They hopped aboard, charged up their laser cannons, and burned the town to the ground.

Fran couldn’t believe she’d gotten a ticket for smoking a cigarette, inside her own car, while parked within 10,000 feet of a school.
Heck, just last week they passed a law saying that if you walk around your house naked in front of your own children that’s pornography and worth 30 days in jail.
Damn those ‘protect the children’ groups!
You can’t do anything anymore!
“Illegal parking, huh? How much is that?”
” I’m sorry ma’am. I’m gonna have to give you another ticket.”
“For what?”
“You should have said ‘undocumented’. It’s against the law to use the word ‘illegal’.”

The Autobots took a while to adjust to earth culture.
Bumblebee pulled by the side of the road, took a nap, and woke up with an odd metal disc attached to his tire.
“What’s this?” he asked the police officer who was sticking a slip of paper under his wiper.
“It’s a boot,” said the officer. “You parked in front of a fire hydrant.”
Bumblebee transformed, crumbled up the ticket, and pulled out his laser rifle.
Ratchet’s still trying to reattach his foot.
The Decepticons adjusted easily to earth culture: they just blew shit up and killed people.

Weekly Challenge #38 – A Kiss

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Welcome to the thirty-eighth Weekly Challenge, where I post a topic and then challenge you to come up with a 100 word story based on that topic.
The topic this week was supposed to be selected by Tom from Footnote, and it’s a kiss.
Eleven stories were submitted this week. Double digits!
A rookie this week… Simon H joins the fun!
And, once again, some disturbing madness from Planet Z.
Go ahead and listen to them by clicking on the grammophone thingy there in the left column and then vote for your favorites (multiple selections are allowed):

The full text of each story:
LAIEANNA

The princess passionately kissed the seaweed, only to come away with a rash. She bent for a pucker upon the rock, tripping and bashing three teeth. The thistle left it’s love with scratches on her face and a snail’s secretions caused bumps to surface around her lips. The dog was less receptive, taking a chunk from her chin. Then the skunk freaked at her affection, spraying her with a rather potent stench.
“I told you not everything turns into a charming prince,” the king scolded before handing her over to her new husband Prince Barftog of the Northern troll clan.

SIMON H

“‘A kiss?’ the Roman said. ‘Can’t you just tap him on the shoulder?’
‘No’ he replied, ‘No I can’t.’
‘But we know him. We can get him ourselves, keep you out of it! ‘
‘No, I want to do it.’ How could they understand the years of frustration? The look of those parable telling lips?
‘But this is history! You want to be famous for kissing a man?’
‘A kiss will just look better alright?’ He straightened his robe and breathed deeply. ‘How do I look?’ he said.
And with the mob close behind him, he walked into the Garden.”

CALEB

Moonlight and Love songs never out of date? Ha. Don’t make me laugh.
Ever since the Lycanthrope Plague of 2037 when we had to blow up the moon, those old love songs just serve as a painful reminder of science gone wrong.
Hearts full of passion, jealousy and hate? More like nano-bots full of cholesterol dissolving enzymes and oxygen re-circulators to keep us from strangling on this thick grey polluted air.
And yet, in all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, when I’m loaded I find myself telling my subcutaneous audio matrix, “Play it, S.A.M.”

TOM

He gave him a peck on the check then whispered the following into the rabbi’s ear. “There’s a bounty on your head for your rather indecorous act in the temple”
“How much?” inquired Jesus
“30 pieces.” Said Judas
“30 pieces!” yelled Peter
“We got 60 for half the damage in Damascus.”
Soon all the apostles were bitching and moaning about the take.
Jesus raised his hand they all fell silent.
“Everyone knows their positions in Gethsemane?”
The shills nodded.
“And Judas try to make the kiss more convincing this time.
Caiaphas may be a mark, but he’s a shroud mark.”

CAROLINE

During the summer of 1964 while camping at a place called ‘Eels Foot Inn’ his family arrived, our eyes locked. Jack was my age.
Strangely, both families pushed us together throwing out the water, telling us to get more. Minding not in the least and giggling childishly off we went. At 15 and very slow courting, the days were flying by. Myself both shy and waiting anxiously. One day with tension rising while sitting on a bench overlooking the river he turned to me “may I kiss you?” The sweetest most innocent kiss of my life never to be forgotten.

ANDREW

Sealed with a kiss a phrase that’ll haunt me until my demise.
“It’s just a kiss,” I thought to myself. “What harm could that do.”
Little did I know I had a sealed a pact with She Who Must not be Named an entity as ancient as she is evil from a distance and dimension unfathomable to most men.
I kissed her for that age ole’ reason. She must’ve taught the sirens their tricks for she is the first of all evil seducers.
“‘Paradise’ indeed… Meatloaf mate`” I mused.
A kiss for the abyss was what it was. It came.

RUSSELL

I don’t date goth girls anymore, and here’s why.
We sat on the couch. She was dressed entirely in black, of course, with her face whited-out, wearing enough eyeliner to sink a battleship.
It didn’t matter, I wanted her–bad, and had been getting nowhere for weeks, now.
I decided to go old-school this time. “Give me, a kiss to build a dream on,” I sang.
It worked.
She leaned in close, put her mouth to mine, and ripped half of my lower lip off with her teeth.
I can’t fault her logic. A nightmare is a dream, after all.

RAHEL

Romeo likes my elbow for some reason. Well, not exactly the elbow–the area just above it. He likes to kiss it for minutes at a time.
I really don’t understand why, but I love Romeo, so I let him do it as much as he wants. Only at appropriate times, of course.
Sometimes the skin above my elbow is red and raw, as though it had been wiped repeatedly with damp sandpaper.
Well, in a way it has.
Yes, I keep on putting up with it. What else can I do? Oh, the things we do for our cats.

ELISSON

Mortimer knew he was dying.
He had traveled to the deepest, darkest jungles of Africa to spread the Lord’s Good News. He had started a school and, later, opened a hospital that offered rudimentary health care to the impoverished natives of his village.
Rudimentary, indeed. They could do nothing there to save him.
He had hit the trifecta, coming down with amoebic dysentery, a monster tapeworm, and, finally, a raging case of cholera that had sapped his last reserves.
To die in your sleep is God’s kiss, Mortimer thought, ruefully.
But to shit yourself to death is God’s Hershey’s kiss.

K-NINE

007 struggled against his restraints until he saw the door handle turn. Into the room slipped Vod Kanockers, a Bulgarian double agent.
“I’m here to help end this” she whispered.
Bond could feel her hot breath as she loosened the ropes holding him to the chair.
She untied him and said, “I know where the remote device is, I’ll take you there, but first…”
Their lips met passionately.
Bond pulled away, “Let’s go.”
Suddenly the room blurred. “What… Why?” he implored.
“That’s for giving my sister the clap, you bastard”
10 seconds later part of London disappeared in a flash.

BROTHER OSRIC

We’re getting out of the car and heading toward her side porch. Side porch, that’s a good sign, right? Her parents won’t be looking out that way.
Good restaurant–sure cost enough–and great movie. It’s gotta be worth more than a handshake, right? Although the feel of her hands, cool, not sweaty… wish I could say the same…
Crossing the grass… Aw, man, I didn’t know they had a dog…
Up the steps…don’t scrape the shoe, that’s not cool, pretend nothing happened…
The porch light went on! Crap. That tears it…
“Motion sensor,” she says, an– mmmmmmmph!
Heaven.

PLANET Z

Prince Charming got word of fresh meat in the forest and hopped on his horse.
He arrived in the clearing, where Snow White’s crystal coffin rested.
What a nice piece of ass, he thought. He liked brunettes.
Too bad about the ugly dress, though.
Not that she’ll be wearing it long.
Charming mumbled the enchantments and felt his lips tingle.
One kiss, and she’d be back to life. Good as new.
And ready to fuck.
Sadly, the spell was temporary. And only worked once on any particular corpse.
Too bad. This one would be worth screwing five or six times.

Weekly Challenge #37 – Football/Referee

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Welcome to the thirty-seventh Weekly Challenge, where I post a topic and then challenge you to come up with a 100 word story based on that topic.
The topic this week was supposed to be selected by K-Nine from Dead Dog Walkin’, and it’s football/referee.
Seven stories were submitted this week. Only single digits.
One rookie this week? Yay!
Planet Z is currently in retrograde and reliable communications have not been reestablished.
Go ahead and listen to them by clicking on the grammophone thingy there in the left column and then vote for your favorites (multiple selections are allowed):

WE GOTS PRIZES:
I will be sending the winner the cost of a cup of coffee through PayPal. And who’s on the five dollar bill? Heh heh heh…
So listen, vote, and tune in next week to find out who won!

The full text of each story:
TOM

The line surged.
WAPP!
“There’s a flag on that play,” intoned Dan.
On the field the ref squared his legs, rocked back and forth while pumping balled fists Parallel to the turf.
“What the hell does that mean?” crackled Dick franticly flipping through the referee’s hand signal field manual.
“Illegal uses of the groin, number 69”
echoes Billy “The Blind” Baxter head referee.
“That’s got to hurt America’s Team.”
“Yup, Carl “Steel Cojones” Clayton really stuck it to Oscar “Wienerman” Wilde.”
“That’s a 7.5 yard penalty.”
“I thought it was longer Dick?”
“No Dan shortest personal penalty in the game.

BROTHER OSRIC

“…that Rod Usher, Ulthar State cornerback, is today’s game MVP!” Cheers thundered throughout the stadium.
Phyllis hugged her sweetheart. “Go on, baby. You deserve it.”
“No,” Rod protested. “You come too. You’re my inspiration; I couldn’t have done it without you.”
She smiled. Together they mounted the platform, where Rod shook hands with the opposing team’s captain. “Good game,” mumbled the latter.
“Thank you,” said Rod, plunging the ceremonial dagger into the other’s abdomen and slashing upward. He reached in and extracted the heart, but instead of taking the first bite he offered it to Phyllis. “My inspiration,” he repeated.

LISA

Judy had it. When Fred forgot their anniversary and spent it watching football with the guys, she decided it was time to extract some “Football Widow” revenge.
A bad call in last week’s game had Fred bitching all week about that “idiot referee”. Judy decided to use this, after learning that very referee would be officiating the game they’d be attending together on Saturday.
During half-time, she made her way to the referee’s change-room, and as she was scoring her own “touchdown” with the offending ref, the reporters came in with a live-feed to the JumboTron for an interview.
Perfect.

CALEB

I went to the world cup in germany
While I was there I happened to see
A man taking pictures named Drew Carrey
My eyes they boggled till I had to pee
Didn’t he used to be funny
Three shows on TV and lots of money
Now he’s at a football match
With his camera going snap snap snap
I found him at a bar after the game
I learned he sells his pictures under an assumed name
He doesn’t want them to be bought because of his great fame
Drew Carrey has gone insane
The Ballad Of Drew Carrey

K-NINE

Bowl game day at the bar, and all the Miller Lite girls were dressed as referees. Mark walked up to the redhead.
“If I gave you my number, would you call me for holding?”
She barely glanced in his direction, “You’re out of bounds, pal”
Mark suddenly made illegal contact.
In the blink of an eye she whirled. The blinding flash of pain told him that the kick was good.
As Mark lay gasping, he saw her whisper “personal foul” to the bouncers. They dragged him towards the door where Mark was sure there would be roughing of the passer.

ANDREW

I dubbed us the Strangers XI.
The natives on the island the cruiseship birthed at for repairs from a “freak” storm, were keen to play us at the English game. The poor sods didn’t know that most of our side were either ex-division footballers or keen-amateurs. The lads didn’t even mind that the priest was ref.
Not a good ref, ignoring fouls but our lads didn’t care one jot. He couldn’t hide his contempt when we won.
He was incandescent with rage.
As we departed I could hear men’s screams of pain as we headed out to sea…and absolute terror.

LAIEANNA

Old man Jones didn’t know how to handle security when a major football game finally took place in our small town. The professionals pushed him aside so he decided to guard by the sidelines.
When a referee ran out giving signals, the 98 year old man charged down the field. Everyone cheered at the superb tackle. Seems Jones confused the referee with an escaped convict.
The spectacle was such a crowd pleaser that he was allowed one football spike. Unfortunately, it bounced back into his chest and he fell dead from a stopped heart. Still it was a great game.

Weekly Challenge #36 – Christmas Stories

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Welcome to the thirty-sixth Weekly Challenge, where I post a topic and then challenge you to come up with a 100 word story based on that topic.
The topic this week was supposed to be selected by Andrew Ian Dodge from Every Damn Blog And Podcast On Earth, but I screwed him over by calling this one, and I chose Christmas Stories.
Fourteen stories were submitted this week. Double digits!
One rookie this week? Yay!
And, as always, the usual madness by Planet Z.
Go ahead and listen to them by clicking on the grammophone thingy there in the left column and then vote for your favorites (multiple selections are allowed):

The full text of each story:
K-NINE

I was a bartender once. I hated Christmas, so I always took the closing shift on December 24th.
It was usually a quiet night. One year, this old man wandered in just after midnight. Dirty white beard, paunchy and run down. He ordered peppermint schnapps.
“Laid me off, little bastards” he mumbled as I poured.
I tried to ignore him, but he kept on and on. “Whole thing’s automated, don’t need me anymore.”
Finally I said, “Happens to everyone eventually, old man”
His belly shook violently as he shouted, “Ho, ho, hold on there sonny! I was Santa Claus, damnit!”

BLISSFUL

She sat on the floor surrounded by presents wrapped in shiny, bright paper adorned with big bows. Her eyes were huge, her smile wide, and she bounced from sheer excitement. She paid little attention to the others in the room.
“Is it my turn yet?”
Every time she opened a gift, there was such hope and light in her eyes that the box in her little hands could have held any one of her dreams or desires. I looked down at the small box in my own and smiled to myself, “Is it my turn now?”

LISA

Christians had “Merry Christmas”,
Jewish people had “Happy Hanukah”,
PC people had “Happy Holidays”,
Africans had “Happy Kwanzaa”,
There was even: A Festivus for the rest of us
It was high time the Atheists got together to coin a phrase to celebrate another year on this planet. A planet they knew was not created by an intelligent designer.
The bigwigs got together and after a few heated debates and a couple bottles of brandy, they came to a consensus. From that day on, Atheists around the world would greet others during the holiday season with their own salutation:
REASON’S GREETINGS.

CALEB

Two men enter; one man leaves.
Santa Claus and Jesus Christ will once more enter the ring and battle for the meaning of Christmas.
Claus, the crowd favorite, comes in at 5’11” weighing 285 pounds and is surprisingly spry for a big man.
Christ, the challenger, weighs a scant 112 pounds and stands a diminutive 5’3″. He looks puny but has proven before to be able to take an enormous amount of punishment and keep going.
One offers eternal rewards in the afterlife while the other offers immediate commercial gratification.
They enter the ring…
Down Goes Jesus!
Down Goes Jesus!

CAROLINE

Harold wouldn’t see anyone this Christmastime. It was his own fault, grumpy and miserable he’d turned them all away, now they didn’t bother. On his nightly walk he looked in the church’s bay window. The nativity scene was set out. He stared for a time, suddenly the whole scene became surreal, the baby Jesus seemed to beckon him. He couldn’t pull himself away. With tears running down his face, he went home feeling joyful? Then a vehicle drew up outside his house. “Grampa Grampa” came the shouts; his children and grandchildren surrounded him. Tears of joy ran down his cheeks. He embraced them warmly.

LAIEANNA

Hank spit gristle out on the dusty road. “Sonofabitch tried to kill
my wife…barreling down like a lunatic.”
“Whadya do, Hank?” Teddy asked.
“I shot at the bastard. Near took his head off. Bullet just grazed
that goofy hat, but boy was he scared. Came down from the sky like a
shooting star.”
“Where’s he at now?”
“Hog tied in the back of my truck. Buried his sled out in the woods.”
Teddy grabbed another skewer and chomped on his supper, “Damn, these
sure are tender. Better than the usual deer.”
“That’s cause it’s exotic meat from the north.”

ANDREW

“What the hell is coming out of your arse?” I asked amused.
“Its me’ Christmas tail… I thought it might amuse de’ fans who are
sick of all the crap music at this time of year.”
“How’ll they see it…it’s a pretty big arena,” I queried my backing-singer.
“Oh I’ve made sure the camera-man knows about it!” She flirtingly cooed.
“I thought you’d taken up with some sort of S&M club after I saw that
tail,” She… didn’t get it.
I made a note to ask the tour manager to make sure cameras were on her
arse…only very briefly.

MARK

Xmas address by the world prime minister, 2046
Citizens, rediscover the true meaning of xmas this holiday. The winter solstice was once usurped as the birthday of a messiah. While enlightenment has not abolished gods, it has properly relegated them to the mythological realm with pseudoscience and astrology. Modern peoples enjoy xmas as a celebration of freedom from the tyranny of religion.
So, while you are shopping the internet world marketplaces, and partying with your avatars and friends, stop a moment to remember that your freedom from false beliefs is the result of thousands of years of evolution of your society, your species, and yourselves. Happy xmas, everyone!

ELISSON

Ho! Ho! Ho!
The visitor took the brightly wrapped gifts from his smoking sack, arranging them at the base of the tree.
He looked around. The children, no doubt, were cowering beneath their bedsheets.
On the mantel, cookies sat next to a glass of milk. He ate them, dumping the milk in the sink. A quick search through the liquor cabinet revealed a bottle of single malt; he drained half at one gulp.
He vanished up the chimney, trailing a faint pong of brimstone.
It was a one-time gig thanks to an unfilled straight, but they’d remember Satan Claus’s visit.

TOM

The image of the man did not match either mother or father’s description. If this was the man mother called the devil then his smile should have made him shiver. If this was the man father called one in need of redeemtion his smile should have been sadder.
The grace of his face was like an angle glowing in the Christmas morning snow. He pulled a chair next to the lad and warmed his hands by the fire.
“Have you come to take me away?” ask Tim.
“No I’ve come to help.” Said Ebenezer.
Tim closed his eyes and died.

SHARON

It was a family tradition that went back hundreds of years. On Christmas Eve the family gathered in the living room waiting for Grandma and her special eggnog. It was a guarded recipe that took weeks to make.
Grandma came in with a tray full of filled shot glasses. It was potent and no one dared asked for more. Each person took a glass and waited. Grandpa gave his speech and all downed the thick liquid quickly.
They went to bed wondering if they would be the lucky one. Wondering who would be wearing The Christmas Tail in the morning.

KOLEK

Inside the warm house, a man sat opposite a glowering fire, contemplating. Saint Nicholas always got credited for delivering gifts to everybody, which was not true.
“Santa” only delivered
gifts to the northern hemisphere. Nick would be overwhelmed if he had to do the whole world!
Yet, no thanks, no letters, nothing! Why didn’t he get any credit!?!
The blue robed man shrugged it off and rose from his armchair, ready to repeat the familiar Christmas traditions that no one appreciated.
Two days later, the “Southern Santa” was in jail… again.
“Why don’t you just take your medication?” his doctor asked.

JIM S THE FOLDERMAN

For years, the feud continued. Both of them believed that there was no way in HELL that the other could have any semblance of truth on their side.
After a long discussion with a third party, he became aware that none of it was nearly as important as he previously believed. After much soul-searching and self-examination, he came to a conclusion.
On Christmas day, he trudged through the snowdrifts and knocked on her door. A VERY long journey would end today. Christ was present in his heart when she opened the door and pulled the trigger, ending their long-overdue reconciliation.

IMAO
(FrankJ and SarahK as Eric and Susan
Right Wing Duck as Jimmy
Harvey as the Narrator
and a special guest appearance by Spacemonkey as Santa Claus)

Jimmy put the cookies and milk out on the mantelpiece.
“Isn’t that cute?” said Susan. “Our boy is so wonderful.”
“It’s insane,” said Eric. “There’s no such thing as Santa Claus.”
Later that night, Jimmy heard a jingle and a thud.
He jumped out of bed and ran downstairs, giggling.
Santa was in front of the fireplace, his hands on his throat, dead.
Jimmy screamed in horror.
When Susan and Eric came downstairs, they saw the dead Santa and tried to comfort Jimmy.
“I’m so sorry,” they told him.
“I am too,” said Jimmy. ” I was trying to poison Daddy.”

Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that St Nicholas soon would be there.
The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads.
And mamma in her ‘kerchief, and I in my cap,
Had just settled our brains for a long winter’s nap.
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up

Weekly Challenge #35 – Monkey Business

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Welcome to the thirty-fifth Weekly Challenge, where I post a topic and then challenge you to come up with a 100 word story based on that topic.
The topic this week was selected by Lee from Read Strange and he chose Monkey Business.
Nine stories were submitted this week. Singe digits? Boo!
No rookies this week? Boo! Boo! Double Boo!
And, as always, the usual madness by Planet Z.
Go ahead and listen to them by clicking on the grammophone thingy there in the left column and then vote for your favorites (multiple selections are allowed):

The full text of each story:
T.A. MARQUETTE

Ben stood at the door and surveyed
the false paradises of his living room.
“No Monkey Business! Understand?”
he said to 3 sets of angelic kitty eyes.
Click when the door.
“What the hell is he talking about?”
“We don’t got no stink’n monkeys” moued Squeaks.
“Let’s get to work,” mewed Sukie
“Positions.” purred PityPat.
It was a Mexican standoff kitty style
ready to release feline fluids.
Gaaaact Piiissss Plooop
Squeaks throw up on Ben’s first edition of LOTR.
Sukie peed down Ben’s 27 in monitor.
PityPat pooped in Ben’s Air Jordans.
“Let’s go watch some Marx Brothers.”
“Why?”
“Research.”

LAIEANNA

“Welcome to Flying Monkey Express. What we don’t destroy, we ship.
What can I do for you?”
“I need to send this to my sister.”
“Region?”
“South.”
“Any perishables?”
“It’s a Fruitcake.”
“Oh, that should easily make the trip.”
“I’ll write down her address.”
“I need to send this a long distance.”
“Seems light enough to carry.”
“It’s a pair of shoes.”
“Destination?”
“Kansas.”
“Just fill out this form.”
“Welcome sir. Here for a package?”
“Yes, some straw. I’m running low in my legs.”
“Was that insured?”
“No.”
“I’m afraid we lost that in Poppy Field.”
“So now what?”
“Well…”

LISA

“You need to feed the ones down in cell seven,” Mr. B yelled to Phil, “and make sure you clean Mr. Tibbs up, someone’s rented him for a birthday party.”
Great, Phil thought. I get to clean up Mr. Tibbs, the one who always liked to throw his feces around the room. Phil never dreamed he’d end up working for an agency like this, but he really needed the paycheck.
Things were hard in Hollywood but Phil knew someday he would make it big himself – he wouldn’t always be looking after the occupants at Mr. Bubbles’ Human Rental Agency.

ANDREW

“Monkey business”? I paused before continuing, “you think the band
lark is monkey business!”
“You’re a bunch of 30-somethings in a mid-life crisis playing in a
band when you should be settling down and growing up,” she retorted
sneering.
“You mean giving up don’t you?” I blustered back. “Who says you can’t
be a grown up and have a band.”
Then I said something back at her as I walked on stage… “You know it
ain’t just about sex, drugs and rock & roll…there’s artistic merit in
doing your own music!”
“What the…” My brain screamed.
I’d become a musician.

ELISSON

Charley strode into the cavernous drafting room to announce the good news: Simionics had won the contract to design the DFW Airport!
Simionics, Incorporated was on a roll. The new job followed right on the heels of their last project – the Hartford, Connecticut interstate highway network.
Somebody once said that if you put an infinite number of monkeys at an infinite number of typewriters, eventually you’d end up with the complete works of Shakespeare. Simionics wasn’t quite that ambitious. They had 500 chimps, 500 drafting tables: just enough.
A hard-flung turd caught Charley on the chin. Fucking monkey business.

ALPHA K9

Brother Jerome smiled as he walked through the abbey.
It was the third Tuesday of the month. Vespers was
over, reverently he genuflected before the cross and
headed over to the dining hall. Once there he
dispensed with his robe and donned a Hawaiian shirt.
Grabbing a beer in a mug made from half a coconut, he
helped himself to a chunk of pineapple on a stick, and
made his way over to listen to Brother Silas play the
ukulele. Third Tuesday was luau night, the one day a
month when the brothers could dispense with all that
monky business.

CAROLINE

“Hello. Fran is that you?”
” Yea I dot a really bad told.”
” Sounds bad how did you get that?”
“Well young Brayden had one last week.”
“You won’t be party poopering by the sound of it.”
“Doh I won’t.”
” I was hoping you’d come to New Years but I guess you’re not fit.”
We love your hors-d-oeuvres.
” Sorry Sheila. Wouldn’t want to spread it.”
” Cold indeed!” Said Frank arriving home.
” I want to cosy up with just the two of us.” She lied. She was tired of Franks and Sheila’s monkey business.

CALEB

And now, the business report. An infinite number of monkeys successfully sued noted playwright William Shakespeare for one million pounds sterling claiming that he stole their script for Hamlet which been running successfully now for almost 500 years. Fortunately for Mr. Shakespeare because of the difficulty inherent in dividing one million pounds into an infinite number of equal payments, he will not have to make any payment until an infinite number of accountants and mathematicians work out this conundrum and take their 10 per cent. When asked for comment, Mr. Shakespeare said nothing as he has been dead for centuries.

HOUSTON KEYS

Old Hand- Hello there!
New Guy- Hi, I’m new here.
Old Hand- Obviously, since you aren’t covered in poo.
New Guy- What’s going on?
Old Hand- The boss figured out he could pay Pakistanis to do American’s jobs. Then he figured out he could pay Mexicans to do the Pakistani’s jobs. He kept going until it the work quality got so bad he found out he could get Monkeys to turn out the same crummy stuff, and, well, around here they aren’t kidding when they say the food by product hits the air circulation device.
New Guy- I don’t follow you.
Old Hand- You know, the hits the fan. I’ll show you around.

Twenty years ago, Senator Gary Hart saw his presidential hopes run aground by a trip on a boat called Monkey Business.
Tonight, out on Lake Michigan, Barack Obahma orders the first mate of the “Jolly Roger” to scan the water for photographers with his skyglass.
“None of them scurvy dogs to be seen, Senator!” cries the grizzled pirate.
“When I’m on the boat, you’re supposed to call me captain,” says Obahma. “Call me Senator again, and I’ll have you keel-hauled.”
“Aye aye, Captain,” said the pirate. “Salmon trawler to Starboard. Shall we board her?”
“Aye,” said Obahma. “And take no prisoners. We dine well tonight!”

Weekly Challenge #34 – Rehab

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Welcome to the thirty-fourth Weekly Challenge, where I post a topic and then challenge you to come up with a 100 word story based on that topic.
The topic this week was selected by Steve from iLaugh and he chose Rehab.
Ten stories were submitted this week. Double digits!
No rookies this week? BOOOOOOOOOO!
And, as always, the usual madness by Planet Z.
Go ahead and listen to them by clicking on the grammophone thingy there in the left column and then vote for your favorites (multiple selections are allowed):

The full text of each story:
ELISSON

Superman strained, sweat glistening on his brow. Nothing happened.
It had been two months since his last brush with Lex Luthor – ambushed in a cave lined with green kryptonite.
He was lucky to be alive – but he was still weak as a Super-kitten.
Sure, his X-ray vision was almost fully intact. He could even bend steel bars, leap buildings at a single bound. But not all of his muscles had recovered after eight weeks of rehab, and the wolf was at the door.
He tried again. Strain. Clink.
That takes care of the rent, he thought. I’m back!

CALEB

You told me to try art therapy; you said that playing a musical instrument would keep my mind off of my addiction and my hands busy. So I did.
I went for a walk along the sea side playing my axe when I heard someone playing along. I followed the sound and happened upon an octopus playing a xylophone.
So we jammed. Music knows no language; no inter-species bigotry.
And when I tell you about how I was horbgorbling along playing my sousaphone with a cephalopod, you want to keep me in rehab for an extra two months? I’m outraged!

LISA

“Hello, my name is Lisa.”
“Hello, Lisa.”
The crowd waited, anticipating more…
“Well, the holidays, and well, the little baby in the manger just looked so cute, all those lights, the music, my parents’ hopeful faces… I don’t know why I couldn’t control it, how it managed to seep into my brain. I can’t explain why or how I lost my reason. But it’s gone. All gone.”
After the meeting, she prepared herself for what was to come: three weeks of detox with a head full of electrodes, hooked up to the “de-jesus” machine at the Dawkins’ Atheist Rehab Centre.

ANDREW

Rehab, god I hate bloody rehab. I made the mistake of going last year.
Not because I was addicted to anything you see but for the schmoozing.
The damn place was full of music business types cleaning up because of
their employers latest campaign against drug use.
D.T.s didn’t stop the bragging about the girls and hitts, then there’s
Pete Doherty.
I never believed it but there is a lot of truth in believing that
people who behaved like arseholes on coke were no less arseholes
when they were sober.
Being in rehab damn near drove me to do drugs.

CAROLINE

Keeping up appearances was very important for the Brown’s. When John put himself in rehab, Mary kept up the sham that he was away on business. She even went for a week to her mothers on the pretext of visiting him. All was going well until he found out his dog had been hit by a car. He came out so that he could bury her. But half way through detox and unpredictable he ran through the neighbourhood in his PJ’s. Wearing only one sock and loudly proclaiming ‘diddle diddle dumpling my son John’ the game was up.

Granny’s addiction was getting way out of hand. At first, no one cared that she was hooked. The past 3 years had been her happiest since Grandpa passed away. Her depression had lifted as if by magic.
But the family had grown weary of having Granny hyped up all the time. Always anticipating her next fix. She no longer hosted holiday gatherings or made her signature cookies and pies, and, worst of all – she had ceased making quilts for the newborn grandchildren.
An intervention was in the works.
Fran called the Senior Travel Club….”Hello? I need to cancel a membership…..”

LAIEANNA

He stared outside the window, wishing his youth would return. The
substance did different things back then. It made him fly! What
changed? A girl. She wasn’t his first love, but she had shown him a
new use for the powder.
Friends hated his sour attitude. In no time, his boyish nature and
wild ways were reduced to a sad man huddled on the floor of a cold
manor.
Who knew pixie dust could become an addictive drug. The institute was
trying to help him quit, but he knew it was too late. He would never
go back to Neverland.

LEE

Five years after the operation, Lisa was still visiting her doctor.
“My eye doesn’t work.”
Dr. Borges sighed. “You’re eye works fine. Here, read these letters.”
“A-E-R-T-D-S-P-C”
“Told you. Eye works fine.”
“Eye does not work fine.”
“It does.”
“Doesn’t.”
“D…ok look. I’m gonna suggest you see a specialist friend of mine. There’s nothing else I can do for you.”
Lisa went home in a funk, made herself tea and picked up the phone.
“Rehab.”
“Hello, I’d like to make an appointment with Dr. Shank.”
“Specifically what for?”
Lisa took a deep breath. “Well, apparently, I have a blinking problem.”

Are you serious?
I don’t belong here!
But the woman who thought she was in charge of all things Paula had heard this all before… and only shook her head.
“It’s for your own good”, she said, in a condescending way.
Well..
The only thing Paula hated worse than being told what to do is being told what to do in a condescending way.
“Give me the credit cards dear, you’ll feel a lot better”, she sneered.
Paula quickly exited, leaving the now bloodied scissors on the floor behind her.
Shopping Addiction Rehab?
Shopping IS what makes her feel better.

Hard drives die.
Memory banks forget.
Systems get infected with viruses.
Connections are healthy.
And so on.
As machinery becomes more lifelike, so does the terminology.
Take for instance, this robot. Ninth generation, limited artificial intelligence, but an extremely life-like carapace.
I mean skin.
We call it a “him.” We thank “him” for performing a task.
And if he fails to perform, we take him to the rehab clinic for rehabilitation, not the repair shop for diagnosis and calibration.
Of course, those with cybernetic prostheses now say they’re going in to the shop for repairs.
Fair’s fair, I suppose.

Weekly Challenge #33 – Cephalopod

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Welcome to the thirty-third Weekly Challenge, where I post a topic and then challenge you to come up with a 100 word story based on that topic.
The topic this week was selected by Lee from Readstrange and he chose Cephalopod.
stories were submitted this week. Double digits!
rookies this week? BOOOOOOOOOO!
And, as always, the usual madness by Planet Z.
Go ahead and listen to them by clicking on the grammophone thingy there in the left column and then vote for your favorites (multiple selections are allowed):

The full text of each story:
TA MARQUETTE

Two cephalopods float into a bar.
After upping a dozen Marianna Whitefish
one cephalopods notes the other
is missing his Hectocotylus.
“You’re dickless dude, what happened?”
“It got snapped off in Rita.”
“Ouch, that’s got to hurt.”
“Not half as much as what she said.
Just before Mr. Happy went west I hear
‘I didn’t know you had such a small organ.’
“Man that’s cold. What did you say?”
“Nothing”
“What?”
“Listen if she ever loads it up again here’s what you say.
I didn’t know I had to play in a cathedral.”
You have dialed dial a dirty joke.

STEVE

Suddenly, a hush fell over the room.
“You all heard him, right? How many times did he say ‘mushroom’?”
“Um…I dunno Jen…seven?” squeaked John.
“SEVEN? Try 40! Son of a bitch had it coming!”
The argument ended there, as everyone’s eyes were still trained on the bloodied candlestick that Jen still clutched in her hands, and the growing pool of red forming beneath Tom’s head.
“Well then, what was it?” asked Kath.
“Cephalopod!”
“Oh,” replied the crowd.
“I kinda thought it was a mushroom too…” whispered Gary.
And with that, no one ever played Pictionary at the Anderson’s house again.

LAIEANNA

“God, this is rubbery. Can’t you cook them differently?”
“Like I have a wide selection of ingredients! Maybe you should go out and catch something else.”
“You know I can’t do that.”
“Then shut up about my cooking.”
“Shit, it’s happening again. Get me the axe!”
“Try not to damage the hull.”
“I’m chopping at it all day and it still gets through. That’s not my fault!”
“Maybe we should just go out there and let it kill us.”
“Oh no! We’ll eat it tentacle by tentacle before I let it have me! I don’t care how rubbery they are!”

DODGE

Prof Ali looked over the side of the ship. He was looking for the giant cephalopod he heard about in these waters, 300 miles off the coast of Guam. He did not fear the rumours of al Dagon or any tales of an evil sea djinn. He was a man of science who wanted to get the glory for this discovery for his Cairo University.
He did not notice that no others were on deck with him..
He did see the huge shape below the boat coming toward him. He didn’t fear it but itched to see it.
He did…

K-NINE

It was Captain Wook’s first command. He had risen through the ranks from trooper to officer with strategy and forethought.
As young as he was, he was surprised to have been given a battle commission and command of the first wave. He wasn’t worried though, the enemy had proven to be splintered by political factions and a populace with an overactive social conscience.
They would be easy to defeat.
As he reached out with one of his tentacles and shoved another screaming human into his mastication orifice he thought to himself, “Not bad for a Cephalopod from a small moon.”

LEE

Sergeant Miller stood in front of the suspect and frowned. This one was dressed as a milkman.
“They’re getting better,” said Miller to Dr. Bateman.
“Hey, look,” complained the milkman. “I got a route to deliver.”
“Not till we know for certain,” Miller replied and wheeled over the testing apparatus. The milkman gasped.
“This won’t take long,” said the doctor. Miller backed away.
Bateman opened a vial, removed a pinch of pepper and blew.
“PA-too-too-WHOO-PEE!”
Miller put a bullet through the milkman’s head and re-holstered his gun.
“Once the cephalopods learn how to sneeze…”
“Then god help us,” Bateman sighed.

ELISSON

Sidney the Squid was a cephalopod.
He was mighty odd for a cephalopod.
On his Undersea Tee-Vee he’d watch the CephaloMod Squad –
And the Mickey Mollusk Club: he loved Jimmie Cephalo-Dodd.
A Religi-Squidgy, he was a disciple of the CephaloGod.
He caught dinner (Boston scrod) with hook, line, and CephaloRod.
He was a Music Maven with his Cephalo-iPod.
He hung out at Gold’s Gym to buff his CephaloBod.
He’d watch Superman II and root for General CephaloZod.
He’d indicate approval with a wink and cephalo-nod.
Despite Sidney’s being so cephalo-odd,
His friends worshiped the ground ‘pon which he cephalo-trod.

WILL ROSS

Well, it’s that time of year again where you look into your Necronomicon and see which followers have been naughty and which followers have been nice. As I’ve been extra good this year, here is my list of presents I want from you. I would tell you in person but our mall is totally not politically correct and only has a santa claus.
A ten speed
Kill Tommy Stevens
GI-Joes
Invulnerability.
Legos
And a kid brother I can play with (My last one broke)
I long to feel the embrace of your dark tentacles,
Billy Sawyer (Age 10)

Sammy Cephalopod was a pretty even-tempered fellow. He never went looking for trouble. He stayed hidden, for the most part, in between rocks waiting for the next unsuspecting crab dinner to wander along.
Because he was small, cute, and had beautiful blue rings, there was always some creature passing by that just couldn’t resist the urge to say, “Oh look! How cute!”
That’s fine. But they’d better not try to pet him! He liked his personal space and the price for invading it would lethal. He might be small but in the world of Hapaloclaena maculosa, size really DOESN’T matter.

HOUSTON KEYS

“I should have flushed it” Cali mumbled.
The smoldering remains of her bathroom reflected the damage done to her psyche as she reviewed the cephalopod attack.
It had seemed cute at first. As it grew it became a problem.
When it ate the cat she knew something had to be done.
Taking the aquarium to the bathroom she decided on a burial at sea but the squid fought back. In the struggle a tentacle grabbed her cell phone pulling it into the toilet and ruining it.
“If I had flushed the cell phone, my insurance would have covered it. Crap!”

Clem saw The Octopus on the auction block.
It was the fiercest amusement park ride of its day, but over the years, the thrill was gone.
After Clem bought it, he realized it would be hard to include in his traveling carnival because of its overall weight and complexity.
So, he had it assembled, and then stripped it down to reduce its travel burden and assembly time.
Stabilizers, safety bars, and other unessential components – all sold for scrap.
Yet, it looked the same, the menacing aluminum carapace, freshly-painted.
Didn’t fool the safety inspector, though.
Rejected.
Clem doubled his bribe.

Weekly Challenge #32 – Horbgorble

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Welcome to the thirty-second Weekly Challenge, where I post a topic and then challenge you to come up with a 100 word story based on that topic.
The topic this week was selected by Houston Keys from Houston Keys and he chose Horbgorble.
Ten stories were submitted this week. Double digits!
No rookies this week? BOOOOOOOOOO!
And, as always, the usual madness by Planet Z.
Go ahead and listen to them by clicking on the grammophone thingy there in the left column and then vote for your favorites (multiple selections are allowed):

The full text to each story…
ALPHA K NINE

“Speak to me damn it! I said speak up! I need a damage report!”
The lights on the con of the new experimental submarine were fading. Communication with the other decks was nonexistent. Commander Squallier paced bulkhead to bulkhead chewing his lower lip, glaring at the microphone he had just thrown down and kicking at the rising puddles of water.
A very clinical and far away voice, from one of the control ships on the surface came across.
Squallier answered, much calmer than before. “Mission failure… We won’t be coming back this time.”
“Repeat message Commander, You’re breaking up”
“Horbgorble…”

LISA

She was surprised to hear this week’s topic would be “horbgoble”. Surely Houston Keys didn’t know what that word really meant, could he? She wasn’t aware that other people actually used it; she thought it was something only she and her man used.
How did he know?
She “Googled” it – nothin’.
Dictionary.com? Nothin’.
How in the world could Houston Keys possibly know this? Had she mistakenly left the webcam on?
She went to the last source she knew of that “might” have it – urbandictionary.com. Not finding it there either, she decided to bravely submit the real meaning for it there.

ANDREW IAN DODGE

“Oh my good he exclaimed I just saw a Horbgorble!”
“A what?” Exclaimed an exasperated Rupert.
“A bloody horbgorble! You know…one of them big and scary things that
is ugly and brutish.”
“You mean John Prescott MP?”
“Wha…” He got more upset. “No…horbgorble big, hairy and ugly with a big nose.”
“Oh you mean Hazel Blears?”
“No like off that ale from up North that is strong an’ dark.”
“Oh hobgoblin!.”
“Yeah one of dem’…”
“You in Leiscester Square mate?”
“Yeah…”
“Tonight is the premiere of the new Spiderman movie you pillock. That
is a bloke in a costume.”
“Ooh”

STEVE A

“AHA!”
Jeremy was startled out of his mood by a single word.
That would be his nickname.
How tough sounding! If this caught on, he’d be the coolest guy in school.
Plus, bullies don’t pick on guys with nicknames, even if they do have braces and acne.
Suddenly, there was a gentle knock on the door.
“Honey, are you OK? You’ve been in the washroom quite a while now.”
“I’m fine Mom! And, from now on, the name is…Horbgorble!”
“OK dear…dinner’s in 10 minutes.”
“Fine!”
And with that, Horbgorble returned to the bra section of the catalogue to finish masturbating.

CAROLINE

Instead of the usual ga ga and boo boo’s Thomas said ‘horble gorbles. The psychologist said he was a genius and would be very gifted. The doctor said what a clever baby you have. His father said, My son’s a bloody genius. His sister said my baby brother’s going to be a scientist.
Thomas became a truck driver. His mother asked ‘Why didn’t you become the genius we expected. What was the ‘horble gorbles word?’ That, said Thomas was “horrible Gargoyles.’ Besides I didn’t’ like the look of that psychologist with the furry eyebrows and wart on his left cheek.

LEE OF READSTRANGE

“What is it?”
“Dunno really. The box says it’s a Horbgorble, some kind of robot invader thing.”
“And that’s what you got Billy for Christmas?”
“It’s what he wanted.”
“What does it do?”
“I put batteries in. Turn it on here…there it goes!”
“…it just walks around like that…?”
“Hi! I’m Horbgorble. All useless lifeforms must be exterminated.”
“…a bit violent…”
“Seems locked on the cat…”
“Identified: felix domesticus. Verdict: useless.”
“What’s it pointing at Fluffy?”
Zzzz-AP!
“Oh my god! Fluffy!”
“It vaporised the cat, Peter!”
Zzzz-AP!
“…the Christmas tree!”
“Peter! It’s pointing at…”
“Identified: homo sapiens. Verdict: useless.”
Zzzz-AP!

LAIEANNA

“Oh, you think this is over, don’t you, big hero? You’re so wrong! I
have family and they won’t let me go to prison.” The villain boasted.
Bad guys…they never quit…kept him in business.
“You’re crazy.” Spiderman took a drag off the cigarette he had
stashed. MaryJane was going to kill him for this.
“Here comes my cousin right now!” Hobgoblin laughed. A sickly green
man in costume, looking lost, walked towards the two, then away, never
looking directly at them. “Horbgorble, you idiot, come back here and
help me!”
“Nice family tree,” Spiderman smiled and strung up his nemesis.

MARK H

Wizard explained to Apprentice, “Brownian motion is a random process that bounces sunlit specks of dust on the backs of molecular broncos. There is no controlling consciousness. Collisions usually occur between pairs, and rarely, there is a three way collision. No steering. No purpose.
“The activities of humans are similarly random, for the most part. Coincidences occur. Perceived significance is imposed by the observers, not inherent in the events themselves.
“So, if an extremely rare four way dust mote collision occurs, don’t think ‘miracle.’ Improbable events are not impossible. Miracles don’t occur. Things don’t ‘happen for a reason.’ Horbgorbling happens.”

TA MARQUETTE

We say kaddish at the bridge
Marilyn stood on her great aunts porch.
In the twilight her eyes noted
each tiny shadow on each doorpost.
Though painted often her fingers and eyes
moved across the hollows were rested the mezuzahs
In 1938 they burn her synagogue.
In 1940 they rename her street Hitlerstrasse
In 1942 they sent her to Theresienstadt
In 1952 they sent her body home.
The town of Horb lies on the edge of the Black Forest
and the Jewish cemetery lie within that forest,
in there lies Hedwig Schwarz survivor of Terezín
by the river in the town where no longer lives a Jew.

HOUSTON KEYS

The annual Thanksgiving fight, it’s a tradition in our house, this year, it was over scrabble.
-Chris- Here you go, triple score! I win!
——-Said my wonderful son.
-Me- No way! HORBGORBLE is not a word.
-Chris- Yes it is, it means “Wander aimlessly.”
——-He was good and crafty. I would have to be extra smart to defeat him.
-Me- Now that’s just silly. There is no way it means that!
-Chris- Look it up, Dad.
——-He called my bluff.
-Me- Fine! I will!
-Chris- Good, now, get this fork out of your forehead old man!
-Me- ARRRRGH!
The emotional scars still remain.

Every Thanksgiving, right there in the middle of the table, it’s the same goofy Pilgrim centerpiece my mother crocheted from a magazine pattern years ago.
I don’t remember a Thanksgiving without it.
Over the years, it’s faded and gotten a bit dusty. There’s all sorts of stains on it.
But it keeps coming back.
I call it the “Horbgorble.” And I tell the grandkids, it goes around the world eating bad children during the rest of the year.
Those aren’t gravy stains. They’re blood.
So they break the wishbone, they wish the Horbgorble won’t get them.
And it hasn’t.
Yet.

Weekly Challenge #31 – Cheese

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Welcome to the thirty-first Weekly Challenge, where I post a topic and then challenge you to come up with a 100 word story based on that topic.
The topic this week was selected by Elisson from blog d’Elisson and he chose Cheese.
A whopping seventeen stories were submitted this week. Double digits!
An amazing six rookies this week! WOW! (Thank you, Pickle Tales!)
And, as always, the usual madness by Planet Z.
Go ahead and listen to them by clicking on the grammophone thingy there in the left column and then vote for your favorites (multiple selections are allowed):

WE GOTS PRIZES:
Houston Keys
I will be sending the winner the cost of a cup of coffee through PayPal. And who’s on the five dollar bill? Heh heh heh…
So listen, vote, and tune in next week to find out who won!

The full text to each story…
HOUSTON KEYS

Elf 1: Hey Dude! What’s going on?
Elf2: Hey Man… Oh my GOSH! What is that smell?
Elf 1: What Smell?
Elf 2: Gang help!
Everyone: UUUUGH!!!!!
Elf 1: What’s up with you losers?
Elf 2: You CUT THE CHEESE MAN!
Elf 3: Here man, try these, they’ll make you cool.
Elf 1: Do you mean… DRUGS????
Elf 2: Yeah man, be cool.
Elf 3: You can be cool like us.
Elf 1: Cool Man.
Elf 1: This is so cool.
Elf 2: Are you tripping man?
Elf 1: Yeah, I’m tripping hard. Wow man, the colors!
Elf 2: You are so lame.
Elf 3: Yeah. What a dweeb.
Elf 1:What are you talking about? Don’t ruin my buzz.
Elf 2: You Dork. That was Beano!
Elf 3: At least you won’t be cutting the Cheese anymore!

LEE

It was 3pm before a delegation of workmates arrived at Oliver’s desk.
“Oliver…”
“Yes? Hello everyone.”
“Um…it’s about your head.”
Oliver sat back, frowning. “I’m sorry?”
Samantha held up a mirror. Oliver blinked. During the conference they’d watched Oliver’s head transform into cheese. Until now, they’d said nothing.
“My god!” Oliver exclaimed. “Is that…brie?”
“Camembert,” Bradley whispered.
Oliver ran hands over his creamy cheeks, relaxing ears and a scalp of cool, rubbery rind. He panicked. What would Jessica say? And Timmy! Would he recognise his goopy father?
Oliver ran wailing from the office, trailing a clutch of eager, twitching rats.

ERIC

The Cheese sat quietly in a hidden corner of the fridge. Broodingly, it shuddered slightly, feeling the vibrations of legions of tiny bacteria working their silent magic.
A damp funk sheathed the blue veins as they pulsed. The magnified movement of a myriad of millions made The Cheese smile inwardly and puff its chest.
The label bulged where a sweaty, white liquid had pooled behind the slick plastic.
The Cheese flexed and relaxed, flexed and relaxed, testing the confines of the wrappings. “My time is close,” it growled in the chilled darkness, “soon they will pay for having forgotten me.”

ALPHA K NINE

Detective Murray stared in disbelief at the murder weapon in his hands. This was, no doubt, the most bizarre homicide he had ever investigated.
The table was laden with cold cuts and appetizers for the 40th wedding anniversary of the deceased and of the killer. Even with witnesses aplenty, motive and the implement of destruction in his hands he knew this would be a tough one to prosecute.
Domestic violence was always a bad scene.
As the detective once again looked down at the huge block of Swiss cheese covered with blood, he knew his case was full of holes.

TOBY

No kind of job for a grown man.
Watching the machines that stole our future. Tanks of steel and vats, self churning, control the temperature, the consistency and the flavor.
Computers dictate the brining, the cheddaring, add the annatto with unwavering precision, no human could match.
I control only myself, for my sins, no more a part of this process than the fly stuck in this place with me.
But a man has to live, and so must I. Denied my birthright, a custodian of the curds, and whey.
I think I can sneak in a nap. Who’ll ever know?

STEVE

Writer’s block.
It hit Stanley like a ton of bricks. It was so easy when he was in his car, coming up with brilliant topics and soliloquies that would make Shakespeare say “Forsooth, you rock!”
But now, in front of his computer, he had nothing.
Nothing, that is, except that his protagonist was a magnanimous chunk of Swiss cheese named Carl.
Would Carl have magical powers? If so, what would they be?
That’s it! He can fly!
A half page in, Stanley re-read his work. His smile quickly faded.
Select all. Delete.
Swiss cheese in a story?
Too many holes.

MARK

The mold that will eventually give this cheese its name starts out a little green when you first open the package. Then, in the air, under the influence of some sort of oxygenation reaction that occurs while it warms up on a cool marble slab, the cracks and pocks go blue. The room begins to reek of feet and sour milk, but nevertheless, something in the air stimulates the parotids and forces a rush of saliva. You reach for a glass of red wine, and begin to decide between jazz and classical. Maybe there is an apple in the fridge.

LAIEANNA

I was really starting to stress over this week’s challenge. So I took a break and went down to the local carnival.
Lo and Behold, they were displaying a new game. Sitting on the dead grass was a big vat of melted Velveeta cheese with a man perched on top.
I paid my dues and started to hurl chunks of Swiss cheese at the little target on the side. Finally my pitches paid off with a bullseye and the man went down.
What was my prize for dunking Elisson in his own topic? Yep, a necklace of Limburger cheese. Great!

ANDREW IAN DODGE

“Cheese eating surrender Monkeys?” Gasped Clive. “What the hell does that mean?”
“Well it was coined several years ago for the French who seem to surrender to whomever they can…” I replied.
“So the local vicar is French?”
“Well no but I think he has a similar way of thinking…” I grunted. “I mean the idiot has publically said he wants a dialogue with the local Cthulhu cultists!”
“Oh,”
“Or it might be wanted, he announced to the local paper he was off to a meeting with them last night.”
“And…”
“He has not been heard from today…” I responded.

T A MARQUETTE

Who would have foreseen the bizarre chain of events upon the arrival of Patrick Michael Derry in our small-secluded wooded valley?
The depths of the farmer’s avarice was infectious. He stole a bride who in turn stole a child. The cry of the infant lured a nurse, who absconded with her mother’s cow.
The
braying lured a dog,
barking lured a cat,
mewing lured a rat.
Into the middle of the hamlet
strode the big cheese. He cried
“Good people of the dell
we must end this madness.
High Ho.” No one joined him.
Steely eyed the cheese stands alone.

KOLEK

Ah, this meal reminded him of home.
Garlic bread, lasagna with plenty of mozzarella cheese, and second helpings. Of course, he was not always leader of this company.
He frowned as he thought of the old days.
Menial labor, abusive, filthy conditions. Low pay. But now it was alright.
“What is wrong?”
“Nothing, Luigi. How is the shipment going?”
“All is well, brother.”
Of course, he never got to this position for free.
He had to eliminate some goofy enemies, clean a path to success, and finally, take care of his former masters.
It always made Mario laugh to think he now owned Nintendo.

Fran was tired of cheese. 50 to 100 times a day, every day, except Tuesdays and Thursdays for the past 6 years. Cheese didn’t really bother her when she first took the job but now her yearning for variety was all consuming.
The next time she heard the word ‘cheese’, she would be thinking, ‘Eat me!’ Heck, she might even suggest it!
She was well past her 40th cheese of the day when she snapped. An innocent 3-year-old boy. She stuffed the Elmo puppet into his mouth and beat the floor with the camera.
She’d become…lactose intolerant.

ELISSON

The rough hands of a dozen troops dragged the shackled Knight before his grotesque captor.
Jinn pondered his situation ruefully. He had escaped from a horde of Imperial Stormtroopers only to stumble into the clutches of the infamous Jabba, the crime syndicate’s Big Cheese.
He even looked like a cheese, an overripe Brie that had sat outdoors on a hot day. Feh.
But Jabba the Huttvarti was a businessman above all else. And now, Jinn was competition.
As they hauled him toward the Matter Convertor, Queso-Gon Jinn, Swiss Knight, felt an extra-sharp pang of regret at having left the Cheddi.

CALEB

Sivan grew up poor but eventually worked his way up through cunning and ruthless business practices. He emigrated from northern Iraq to America and began working in Rocket Science making sure that NASA always gave contracts to his company… Or else.
You know how there were all those failed Mars expeditions in the 90’s? That’s because they didn’t go with Sivan’s company and extreme measures had to be taken. They’ve since learned their lesson. Sivan made enough on that racket to retire comfortably to Florida.
Yes, he’s gone from being just a humble Kurd to a rich, mellow Mars Capone.

CAROLINE

“Get orf my face with your disgusting socks.
“Ah good old gorgonzola”
“I’m telling Mum on you when she gets back.”
“What for? I didn’t do nuthin. She’ll whack me with the copper stick again.”
“Serve you right. For putting your feet on me head.”
“I’ll make you a cheese sarny.”
“What with brown sauce on?”
“Sure I will.”
“Awright then. Call it quitsies.”
“Oh good Mum your back guess what Derek did?”
“No idea, you tell me.”
“I didn’t do nuthin on purpose.”
“He made me a nice cheese sarny?”

LISA

Margo works harder than everyone else and she’ll be the first one to tell you about it. In fact, she complains a LOT: crappy shifts, lumpy chairs, messy people, I’m feeling sick, nobody listens to me.
Needless to say, Margo didn’t have a lot of “friends”. When she found a gift waiting in her cubicle for her one day, she was elated, though somewhat perplexed to find a package of cheese-slices inside. This continued four days with Brie, Camembert, Gouda, and cheddar.
A note in the last package explained everything:
“We thought you might like some cheese with your whine.”

RAHEL

The nearby deli had a special that morning: extra-sharp cheddar at a fantastic price. My favorite! I grabbed half a pound of it, a whole-wheat roll, some lettuce and mustard and headed in to work.
Half past noon found me in the kitchen, making a sandwich. Just then, my boss raced over.
“We’ve got a situation,” she puffed. “Our deadline’s just been moved up.”
And then she saw what I was doing.
“This is no time to be fooling around with cheese,” she said. “Move it!”
I sighed. Suddenly, inspiration struck.
And that is how I became a best-selling author.

It was an honest mistake. Just one checkbox to the left.
Aaron thought he was signing up for Jews For Jesus on the online form, but the membership packet that showed up in the mail said Jews For Cheeses.
He tried to return the badge and get his money back, but a week later he got a brochure for the Museum of Lactose Tolerance, founded by Simon Wisemmenthaler.
One cheese-related charity after another signed Aaron up.
The strain eventually got to him. Massive coronary.
So, the Magen David Edam showed up, put him on a stretcher, and carried
him off.

Who wrote the best story for the fortieth Weekly Challenge?
	Kelly from Come Let Me Whisper
	Andrew from Dodgeblogium
	Artie
	George
	Tom from Footnote
	Elisson of blog d’Elisson
	Houston Keys from Tater Tots For The Masses
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	Laieanna from Hodge Podge Point
	The Mad Bard From Planet Z

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	Laieanna at Hodgepodge Point
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	Ted
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	b
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	Simon from Freelance Cynic
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	Tom from Footnote
	Caroline from Quadra Island
	Andrew from Dodgeblogium
	Russell from Come Let Me Whisper
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	Elisson from blog d’Elisson
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	The Mad Bard from Planet Z

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Who had the best story in the 37th Weekly Challenge?
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	Lisa from Lemons and Lollipops
	Caleb Bullen from Black Tie Martini Club
	K-Nine of Dead Dog Walkin’
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	K Nine from Dead Dog Walkin
	Blissful from Blissfully Unfulfilled
	Lisa from Lemons and Lollipops
	Caleb from the Black Tie Martini Club
	Caroline from Quadra Island
	Laieanna from Hodgepodge Point
	Andrew of Dodgeblogium
	Mark H.
	Elisson from blog d’Elisson
	Tom from Footnote Podcast
	Sharon F.
	Kolek from The Kolektive
	Jim S. the Folderman
	The IMAO Podcasters
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Who had the best story in the 35th Weekly Challenge?
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	Elisson of Blog d’Elisson
	Alpha K-Nine from Dead Dog Walkin
	Caroline from Quadra Island
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	The Deranged Bard From Planet Z

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Who had the best story in Weekly Challenge #34?
	Elisson of blog d’Elisson
	Caleb from Black Tie Martini Club Oddcast
	Lisa from Lemons and Lollipops
	Andrew of Dodgeblogium
	Caroline from Quadra
	T.A. Marquette of Footnote
	B
	Laieanna from HodgePodge Point
	Lee from Read Strange
	PJ from No Deep Thoughts
	Planet Z

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Who wrote the best story for Weekly Challenge #33?
	T.A. Marquette from Footnote Podcast
	Steve from iLaugh
	Laieanna of HodgePodge Point
	Andrew of Dodgeblogium
	K-9 from Dead Dog Blogging
	Lee from Read Strange
	Elisson from blog d’Elisson
	Will Ross from Smart Bomb Radio
	B
	Houston Keys from Tater Tots for the Masses
	The Twisted Bard From Planet Z

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Who had the best story in the 32nd Weekly Challenge?
	Alpha K Nine from Dead Dog Walkin
	Lisa from Lemons and Lollipiops
	Andrew Ian Dodge of Dogeblogium
	Steve from iLaugh.com
	Caroline from Quadra Island
	Lee from Read Strange
	Laieanna from HodgePodge Point
	Mark
	T.A. Marquette from Footnote
	Houston Keys from Tater Tots for the Masses
	The Disturbed Bard Of Planet Z

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Who had the best story for the 31st Weekly Challenge?
	Houston Keys from Tater Tots For The Masses
	Lee from Read Strange
	Eric from Straight White Guy
	Alpha K Nine from Dead Dog Walkin’
	Toby from The Smart Patrol
	Steve from iLaugh
	Mark H.
	Laieanna from HodgePodge Point
	Andrew Ian Dodge from Dodgeblogium
	Tom from Footnote Podcast
	Kolek From The Kolektive
	B
	Elisson from blog d’Elisson
	Caleb from Black Tie Martini Club
	Caroline from Quadra Island
	Lisa from Lemons and Lollipops
	Rahel from Elms in the Yard
	The Mad Bard From Planet Z

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