Turtles

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It’s okay to hate on turtles.
Turtles are smug, patient little reptiles that plod along stream beds and aquarium tanks, completely without worry or concern for the stresses of modern, civilized life.
Plus, there was the time that I went to court to protest a parking ticket.
The jury consisted of twelve turtles.
I protested, demanding a jury of my peers, but the judge waved me off.
“We’ve been having problems with people showing up for jury duty,” said the judge. “So now, we go to the pet store and grab turtles.”
I guess kittens are too expensive.
Damn turtles.

Piano on the bus

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When I was little, I played the cello.
It was too big for me to carry, so I switched to the violin.
When I got older, I tried to play the piano.
The piano is not very easy to carry, but that was not one of my selection criteria.
Besides, the piano has wheels. You can roll it places.
Just don’t try to take it on a city bus.
Sure, an upright piano can fit in the doors, but they won’t let you roll it on.
Even with the wheelchair ramp.
So that’s why I have this iPod.
Wanna listen?

Decade

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Unlike ordinary hourglasses, God’s is filled with cocaine.
It’s much brighter than sand, and significantly more expensive.
Especially when you consider the size of His hourglass, thirty feet tall.
Money means nothing to God. He has more money than Himself, you know.
He likes to sit in the bottom, letting the white pile rise around Him.
He snorts a bit, feels the buzz, and comes up with ideas.
“Let there be light!” He says, and passes out.
“Not again!” whines Gabriel.
The other angels sigh and struggle to turn the hourglass over.
(It’s so much easier than digging Him out.)

Serial Killer

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The IRS sent Billy Wallace a letter, warning him that he was due for an audit.
Billy shrugged, tore up the letter, and flushed it down the toilet.
The next day, the auditor was standing in front of his cell, looking in his briefcase.
“You say your profession is: Serial Killer, correct?” said the auditor.
“That’s correct,” said Billy.
“And how many people have you killed?”
“One.”
“Just one?” asked the auditor. “Don’t you need more than one to be classified as a serial killer?”
“I was just getting started.”
The auditor fined him for lying on his tax return.

Please, Sir, Buy My Trombone!

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To get you to buy a trombone, the Trombone Salesman will get you to try a trombone.
“I assure you: the reeds are clean,” he says, placing the trombone to your lips. “Now blow.”
Sure, you do not know how to play it, but one is at your lips. Your hands clutch the instrument, your fingers work the valves and slide.
“Now blow,” he repeats.
And so, you do.
The most horrible sound rushes out of the device.
Children scream.
Dogs howl.
Glass shatters.
The Trombone Salesman tries to take it back.
You refuse. “I’ll take it,” you say, grinning.

The Three Wise Men

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After the Three Wise Men dropped off their gifts for the Baby Jesus, they headed to a brothel for some whoring.
“Did you have to give them all the gold,” said the one who had brought myrrh.
“Do I look stupid?” said the gold-bearer. “I’m a wise man, just like you, but I don’t reek of herbs and funerary resins.”
“Maybe a little,” said the third one.
All three enjoyed a bath together with some of the finest ass Jerusalem had to offer, fucking anything with a price tag on it.
Then they got on their camels and went home.

Weekly Challenge #192 – A story from the viewpoint of an inanimate object with a Paper Sack, Full Moon, Beginnings

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Welcome to the Weekly Challenge Number One Hundred And Ninety-Two, where I post a topic and then challenge you to come up with a 100 word story based on that topic.
The topic this week was… was…. um…
It’s A story from the viewpoint of an inanimate object with a Paper Sack, Full Moon, Beginnings!
The excellent theme music is by Guy David.
VOTING

Which were the best stories this week?
Steven
Norval Joe
Zachmann
JRadimus
Justin
TJ
Z
  
Free polls from Pollhost.com

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

Norval Joe

There were vague memories almost as if they were the residual dreams of others. Separate thoughts of being jelly, or peanut butter, and bread, many slices.
True awareness began when it was slipped into the clear plastic bag, and settled into the dark with an apple and a bag of chips.
They left at noon, the apple and chips. Only the sandwich remained to watch the blue rectangle of sky above fade to grey, then black, alone in the school yard.
Warily, in the dim yellow light cast by the full moon, a stray dog followed the scent of food.

Steven

I found Maria by the airlock, avoiding hyperventilation by puffing into the sack. Her hair swirled in the spaceship’s low gravity.
She gasped “It’s starting!” before breathing into the paper again.
“What’s starting?” I asked.
She pointed at the porthole. I looked out, into the black. “I don’t see…” I said, then I did.
The moon, still dark and new from Earth’s viewpoint, showed a different face to our spaceship. We saw the far side of the moon. It shone bright and full.
Maria’s hand, now more of a paw, fell on my shoulder.
Behind me, I heard a growl.

Zachmann

I am sitting here in a closet waiting to play games and watch movies, I hope the first one is not Twilight New Moon. I love movies with good beginnings. I am will be disappointed with movies with happy endings unless all the children are asleep. Why did they wrap me in a paper sack? I mean it is pretty and has Christmas trees and missile toe but I cost several days pay I am worth Christmas Wrapping paper. They have cats and a dog. I should be glad that I am not under the tree. Alas, poor Teddy bear

JRadimus

Ow! Watch it, buddy! Oh, good gravy. It’s another dumpster diver. Scavenger! It must be a full moon. They like the natural light to rummage by. I wish he’d be more careful; we don’t enjoy the groping, shoving, tearing, and the stick with the nail in the end, you know. My purpose in this life was to help a wino hide his bottle from cops and have him slosh and slobber on me. Now, to have this guy toss me aside for a 2-cent piece of glass or metal is humiliating. I hope I come back as a notebook.

Justin

awake, glistening and new. What am I? I stand stately between three shiny walls and in a sea of brand new blue tile. Behind me is a wall of the same blue tile. My memory rushes back in. I’m made of vitreous china, a mix of clay, silica and a fluxing agent, shaped and fired in a kiln. The wall in front of me opens. A man in shabby clothes walks in with a paper bag. His belt and his pants drop. When he turns to reveal a full moon, I remember I’m a toilet in a public restroom.

TJ

As the statue of David, I am among the naughtier pieces of statuary in Rome. In the evenings, drunken old men slouch in hiding behind my pedestal to rest a moment or two, desecrating my ancient male beauty to make blurting and blorping sounds, taking occasional nips from bottles hidden poorly in tattered paper bags clutched in their fists. Recently I’d begun to take my vengeance, however, against these old Italian drunks. True, I am nothing more than a statue, stuck here in place, but even an inanimate object such as myself can present my defilers with a FULL MOON!

Planet Z

For ten years, a camera watched the back of the store on Baker and Seventh streets.
The place has been robbed a few times, but always from the front.
That camera sees all the action.
The back camera doesn’t see a thing. Just a bum, drinking Mad Dog out of a paper bag under the full moon.
A thug slaps the paper bag away, punches the bum, and stares at the camera before pulling on a ski mask.
He kicks in the door, robs the place. First one from the back door.
Too bad nobody put a tape in tonight.

Hostage

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I was moving music between computers when I came across a file I didn’t recognize.
Virus scan: Safe.
So, I opened it and heard the most hideous scream.
“HELP ME!” it said. “THEY’LL KILL ME!”
The file was called “Sound File” and there weren’t any tags on it.
And I didn’t know who it was.
So, I deleted it and didn’t think another minute about it.
Severed fingers and ears started showing up in the mail. Bloody ransom notes.
But who they belonged to, not a clue. Everyone I knew was okay.
I’d call the cops, but… I’m busy.
Sorry.

Christmas 2009

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Why does NORAD track Santa on Christmas Eve?
It’s part of his work-release agreement.
The rest of the year, his parole officer watches him.
He started with dealing, leaving a few extra packages here and there, picking up cash with the milk and cookies.
Then, distribution. That sack holds a lot of presents, you know. A few extra hundred kilos, properly wrapped. What’s the difference?
Keeping the toys going was bad enough. Keeping all his sources, pushers, and buyers straight required a lot of speed.
He’s clean now. No drugs. A natural jolly.
He’d better stay on our nice list.

The Truce

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There’s a demon standing at the gates of Heaven.
He bangs on the lock.
“Let him in,” The Lord says to Peter.
Every year, Satan offers up a Christmas Truce.
And every year, God declines it.
“Just as my son is the Prince of Peace, Lucifer is the Prince of Lies.”
The demon returned to hell, message torn in half.
Satan wept, black tears rolling down his greasy cheeks.
“We will honor it anyway,” he sighed.
With an oily rag, he wipes his face and turns to his minions.
“No missions today,” he says. “Instead, we will train for tomorrow.”