Kim

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Kim never wears orange now.
The last time she did, she looked like a pumpkin.
“PumpKim,” they called her.
That got her mad.
Everyone who called her PumpKim, she punched in the face.
Sure, she was fat, but in all the years she exercised to try to work off the weight, she got strong, too.
Lots of broken noses later, she ended up in jail for a year. It was supposed to be 30 days, but someone called her PumpKim in jail and got shivved.
I hope she’s not listening to this podcast. I don’t want my nose broken again.

The Candidate

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Crowds surrounded the candidate, or the spot they thought he was standing.
Throughout the campaign, everywhere they thought he was politically, he wasn’t.
So much so, with so many lies and double-deals, he’d ripped a hole in the fabric of space-time.
One step ahead, his campaign called it.
Displacement, the scientists called it.
The distance grew. Pretty soon, the candidate appeared miles from where they thought he was.
Despite this phenomenon, he was elected. When he took office, as he put his hand on the Bible, he vanished completely.
The hole closed over.
The judge said “Amen and good riddance.”

Seven Locks

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A locked chest?
The lock requires seven keys.
Legend says that each was handed to the King of each Continent, but we all know that’s crap. There was never a King of Antarctica.
So, I pick the locks.
Surprisingly easy to do. The locks were just ornamental.
I open the chest, and sure enough, it’s empty.
Once again, the locks were ornamental. This chest has been opened many times before.
So, I toss in a few leftover items from the shelves. It’s a museum, we have plenty of stuff in storage.
I lock it back up.
Back on the shelf.

Black Cat

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Superstition states that black cats are supposed to be unlucky.
Friday the thirteenth is supposed to be unlucky, too.
So finding a black kitten on Friday The Thirteenth is supposed to be double-unlucky.
I’m watching the little guy run around and scamper everywhere.
Then, he curls up in a ball in my lap and falls asleep.
“How old is he?” a friend asks me, looking around for the kitten.
“Barely fits in a blender,” I reply.
His eyes get wide, and he vomits the energy drink I made for us.
“He’s at the vet getting snipped,” I say, and laugh.

Weekly Challenge #151 – What would Gandhi do?

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Welcome to the Weekly Challenge Number One Hundred And Fifty One, 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 What would Gandhi do?.
The excellent theme music is by Guy David
VOTING

Which were the best stories of Weekly Challenge #151?
Lance from http://writingdad.livejournal.com
Ishtar
Ashley
Guy David from http://guydavid.com/
Caleb from http://blacktiemartiniclub.com
Lynda from http://sisterpepperspray.blogspot.com
Anima from http://zabbadabba.com/
Elisson from http://elisson1.blogspot.com
Norval Joe from http://norvalsoutlook.blogspot.com
Tom from http://midi.libsyn.com
Justin from http://www.thespaceturtle.com
Daniel from http://dannymachal.com
Planet Z
  
Free polls from Pollhost.com

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


Ishtar

The release of dreams is a powerful thing.
In her sleep she can see the truth before her eyes. Light
is sweeter, the air is cleaner. She is free. Able to live the life
she should have been. The body she should have felt.
It always starts like this. Though the night joy has become real.
But it has to end. The Darkness Begins.
She is standing on an edge. Real life takes her back.
Never can she be real. Her body screams. Eyes awaken to her
true form. Male or Female or Both.
Is she Transgender or something more.

Lance

I’ve tried to live my life according to the dictates of the prophet, but it’s a different world than the one he grew up in and I sometimes wonder what he’d make of it. Between the rogue AIs, the gengineered plagues, and the hairdressers’ militia, pacifism has had a rough go in the last few years.
But I have tried. I’ve tried very hard.
Still, when the horde of mutant zombies came shambling through my normally quiet neighbourhood this morning, I opened fire along with everyone else. Non-violent? Well, not exactly, but what do you think Ghandi would have done?

Ashley

Randy asked, “Would Gandhi do this?”
“Who the hell’s that,” responded Jerry?
“He was this wise religious leader in India.”
“Well, he’s not here now. Even if he was, he could still bite my ass. I don’t care, I’m doin it.”
Jerry leapt atop the cab of the truck and began surfing as they barreled down the dirt road leaving behind a huge dust storm. Suddenly, the driver slammed on the brakes and over the hood went Jerry head first.
Everyone in the truck roared with laughter.
“Unless Gandhi drank alot, I know he wouldn’t have done that, “howled Randy.

Guy David

I named my monkey Gandhi because of his habit of turning the other cheek. Other monkeys would charge at him, attack him but he would just stand there smiling his little monkey smile, holding his hand out to them. Eventually, they just tore him to pieces. I still miss the little fellow. Sometimes, when things go crazy at work, I think to myself “What would my little Gandhi do?”, then I remember how he ended up and I just eliminate my fellow hairless white monkeys. I use presentations and flow charts, but it amounts to the same. No one survives.

Caleb

There were puppets of puppies on the parapet
Where the two toucan armies boldly met
And the general said aloud
Through a cotton candy cloud
Upon the fury of his forces, he was sure to bet.
Freely flying down there came a cockatoo
Whose flapping fluttered feathers all were painted blue
He asked those lousy leaders what would Ghandi do
The avians abated while the moon arose
And peacefully they pondered what Ghandi would’ve chose
And as the last blue light of day blissfully floated away
Those warring tribes, they did decide, to fight each other anyway.
Toucans are schmucks.9

Lynda

I love Ben Kingsley SO much. He made me appreciate that Gandhi guy and what he did for the world and all. I mean, I learned more about Gandhi from that movie than I ever learned in whatever that class was I took with Chelsea, back when we were first learning to text.
Ben Kingsley had me arrested after I jumped out of his shower to ask why he had all those men shooting at Robert Redford in Sneakers when Robert Redford just wants to save the arctic.
I’m not mad, though, I think Gandhi wouldn’t be mad, I guess.

Anima

What would Gandhi do, if he came face to face with a dragon, armed only with a boy scout manual and a piñata costume?
Please so kind as to light the fire for our tea.
There should be twigs, I know, but all I have is this book.
Do you like it? The colours are a bit gaudy, but my dhoti is at the cleaners. And I had nothing else to wear.
My opinion of the British? Their behaviour to both dragons and Indians is loutish.
Struck a nerve, have I? It appears you have set the woods on fire.

Elisson

He had lived for years as an ascetic, simultaneously carving out a place for himself in history as a politician-philosopher, proponent of Satyagraha.
Satyagraha. It was oxymoronic, this concept of nonviolent resistance. Oxymoronic but effective. The British Raj was finished.
He fingered his homespun loincloth, deep in contemplation. Is this how I want to be remembered? A wizened little man in a fucking diaper? What about my dream of being in a Bollywood musical? I can cut a rug with the best of ’em… even if it’s an Oriental rug!
Two weeks later, the Gandhi Dancers made their historic debut.

Norval Joe

The president of the United Federation of Callisto watched the invading fleet from Ganymede landing their ships on the fragile surface of his moon. They were here to enslave more of his people; unwary farmers in the upper tunnels were the likely victims. Their common ancestors came from Earth 500 million years ago; libraries deep within Callisto’s tunnel system held records of their histories. Ganymede must not know of Earth’s ancient social reforms; or not care. Soon, he must make a decision; continued non-violent civil disobedience or military retaliation. He re-read the launch protocol to initiate an inter-moon nuclear assault.
How about…It oozed down…

Tom

A Russian professor, a Hindi businessman, and an American politician walk into a bar. Each has paid a inordinate amount of cash for an artifact belonging to their hero to compete in a high stakes competition. The bartender turns to the Russian asks “What would Lenin do?” The professor takes out the pen writes out a manifesto.” The bartender turns to the Hindi asks “What would Gandhi do?” The businessman places spectacles on this noses and gets his Satyagraha on. Suddenly the American appears a bit worried. “What’s with Dick Cheney?” asks the Hindi. “Oh he’s got George Washington’s catheter.”

Justin

Greg sat in the bunker. His real name was Ghandi. He hated having that name. Let’s see the real Ghandi passively resist the onslaught of robots and their flailing … an idea struck.
Resistors were installed on the power grid. Human devices didn’t draw anywhere as much energy as the robots did, and the robots range is limited by the energy grid. Surgical strikes made regions of blackouts surrounding the human bases. The robots were lured by the powered bases, but going through the blackouts drained them. The resistors prevented them recharging. That’s when the resistance became anything but passive.

Daniel

I hate it when they write checks for the littlest things. I would gladly pay with my own cash if it got this damn line moving. You know the type. Eighty year old woman who buys chewing gum on Super Bowl Sunday an hour before kick off, always has the audacity to write a fucking check. This broad is probably going to break her hip in the parking lot, what does she care about Doublemint Wrigleys? Even Gandhi would lay her out cold. One good bash to the head with her own cane should do it. The only difference between Gandhi, and me? I wouldn’t kick my own ass after.

Planet Z

Yus! The question was never “What would Gandhi Do?” but instead “What wouldn’t Gandhi do?”
I have movie reels in my closet the Crown took when they were assassinating that saw-ed off rabblerouser’s character.
He was a hero to millions and his name, golden, but boy did he like to use his bullwhip.
Elephants never forgot Gandhi. Watch them back away… priceless!
That woman right there? My grandmother. She was such a hottie!
The stories are true that he made his own clothes.
Ever seen a handspun cotton gimp costume?
We’ll watch Reel 17 tonight and you’ll see for yourself.

Shadows and Snacks

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Before I go out into the streets of Old Rustville, I fill the pocket of my robe with shadow, gathered from an alley.
Shadow is a most powerful reagent, useful for spells of concealment and death.
Another pocket, filled with pistachios. It is always good to have a snack handy.
Always the right hand with the pistachios and the left with the shadows.
One does not want to bite into raw shadow, nor does one want to cast the forbidden spells using nuts within the city limits.
Yes, this was once called Silver City. Before my careless, snack-powered Armageddon Spell.

Fireflies

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Me and Teddy, we go firefly catching in the summer.
We always go firefly catching, we do.
Teddy, he ain’t got no arms.
That don’t stop him.
He catches them lighting bugs in his mouth, and I hold up a jar for him to spit them in.
Bam. I put the lid on.
“Ain’t they pretty, Bobby?” He say. “They so pretty, they is.”
Teddy, he go off to college, leave me here with my jar. he smart and stuff.
I wonder if he go firefly catching.
Probably not. He ain’t got no arms. Or me to hold his jar.

Flat Feet

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Someone’s out there in the field.
I’d better check it out.
So, I follow the trail of footprints through the mud.
Big feet. Flat arches, too.
Who walks around in this field without shoes on? What kind of crazy person does that? They could step on a rock or a nail.
My feet ached at the thought of it.
I didn’t see anyone.
For an hour, I walked around the field, until I come back to where the trail started.
I looked down and realized that I am barefoot.
Oh. Right. I’m out here.
No wonder why my feet hurt.

Shampoo

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These days, people will put just about anything in shampoo.
They shove all kinda of flowers and stuff in there and call it “herbal.”
Once, I was given a sample to try.
“What’s in it?” I asked.
“It’s a surprise,” said the marketer. “Go ahead and try it.”
So, I took it home, got in the shower, soaked my hair, and poured it on.
It started to tingle the moment the water hit it.
Then it heated up. Exciting.
Oops! I’ve gotten some in my eyes.
As I washed it out, that’s when I felt it burn.
HOLY SHIT! JALAPENOS!

The Brick

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I know a man who can shit bricks.
He eats three pounds of clay daily.
Then, he squats down on the ground and shits a brick.
He’s been doing this shit for years. Behind his house is a brick wall.
He’s shit every one of those bricks himself.
I asked him why he does this when he can just go down to the Home Depot and get bricks.
“There’s something about making something with your own two hands,” he said. “Or, in this case, your ass-cheeks.”
The other night, his wall fell over.
The dumbass didn’t think to use mortar.