Month: April 2007

Welcome to the Fifty-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 Laieanna from HodgePodge Point, and it’s Pea Shooter.
Nine stories were submitted this week. Double digits!
The excellent theme music is by Guy David
And, once again, some disturbing madness from the one we all knew and loved as 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):

Which were the best stories of Weekly Challenge #54?
	Chris from Platypus Society
	Caleb from Black Tie Martini Club Oddcast
	Tom of Footnote
	Laieanna from Hodgepodge Point
	Sister Mary Edith
	Mike from Mike Thinks
	Terrence from Never Was
	To4m from Stuffcast
	Ted from Ted’s Podcast
	Planet Z
Free polls from Pollhost.com

WE GOTS PRIZES:
I will be sending the winner a prize… it’s a packet containing at least 1 refrigerator magnet and a CD with the archive of the entire 100 word stories podcast. (Well, minus promos and junk)
It is your voting that determines who wins. So listen, vote, and tune in next week to find out who won!

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The full text of each story:
CHRIS

The only meal inmates ever looked forward to in Shawshank was shepherd’s pie. Ground beef covered with layers of mashed potatoes and peas, as prison food goes it was the closest any of us would come to fine dining.
My good friend Andy Dusfresne hated shepherd’s pie and for good reason. It always signaled a visit from “Pea-Shooter” Jenkins, a beefy bull queer from cellblock A. Pea-Shooter always asked for seconds, and then he’d go looking for Andy. In the days that followed, Andy would walk with a noticeable limp, leaving a trail of peas on the ground behind him.

CALEB

I reckon Whitey shoulda knowed not to flinch. I seen Pea Shooter Johnson shoot a pea out a man’s flat hand a dozen times from twenty yards away. The only time anything went wrong is when somebody flinched.
N’ I reckon Whitey shoulda knowed that he’d lose his other hand if he went seeking vengeance.
However, the trick of shooting the gun out a man’s hand is slightly less impressive when that gun has already fired.
I reckon Pea Shooter won’t be shooting anymore, rest his soul.
Then again, neither will Whitey… Less’n he learns to shoot with his feet.

TOM

One might mistake a drinking straw for a pea shooter, but it lacks the tinsel integrity rigidity and diameter to propel a pea with sufficient velocity to make one of your friends flinch. The fathers of my three best friends regulars beat them with fist shoe and belt. It was hard to make them flinch.
We would weave balloon tired schwinns between the cars parked at Garfalos grocery pneumatically pelting each other with peas. Getting catch in a cross fire I snapped my head back and plowed into the mirror of a 43 Packard.
Blood everywhere.
They flinched. I won.

LAIEANNA

“Got one in the nostril! Watch him flail,” Bernie celebrated over screams and cries. A celery stalk whizzed by, hitting a howling child. Tom gave Bernie the thumbs up then aimed his bow again for a redheaded girl.
“Hey!” Shawn shouted next to Bernie, tapping his helmet. “Look there!” He pointed past the barrier towards the west. Clambering over a broken wall, preteens were making off with a Wii and Xbox.
“Bazooka,” Bernie ordered, dropping his pea shooter to load a broccoli head. The weapon was fired. Four kids fell. “When will the brats learn? These are adult toys now!”

SISTER MARY EDITH

Dr Janet sighed as she clicked on her nostril flashlight. The concerned father flitted about her like a bird watching a cat approach its nest. Janet peered into the darkness. A great green orb nestled in the coral pink.
“That, Mr. Totenpepper, is a pea.”
“Oh is that all! Sweetie blow your nose…Blow like this…Blow or no desert!”
The child’s face crinkled and she opened her mouth to howl but Dr. Janet was ready. She whipped out a colorful cardboard target and a sucker.
The girl’s face cleared. She took a deep breath and…The pea clung to the cardboard. Bulls-eye.

MIKE

Ted was disgusted.
“This pea shooter is practically useless.” he thought
Previous mistakes weren’t important now,
someones coming.
Ted dashed into an office
looking for anything useful.
Suddenly, the door shattered, a menacing form appeared.
“This is it” Ted muttered
Letting loose with abandon,
running behind his adversary,
Ted’s pea shooter making pathetic yet satisfying “pops”.
His enemy stood motionless, as Ted destroyed him,
Screaming cheers of victory!
Thousands of miles away, Jeff cursed,
monitor cable wrapped around his ankle.
His brother behind him roaring in unrestrained laughter.
Jeff reconnected it just in time to see Teds text message
“n00b!”

TERRENCE

Shifting Raoul tried to ignore the increasing pressure in his bladder.
Eve was sleeping but not deeply. ‘I do not want to wake her’, he
thought to himself before giving himself a mental slap. ‘What I am
worried about?’ he scolded himself, ‘I am Raoul, she should be
cowering before me.’ Even though he thought it firmly he knew that
there was something about Eve; something that changed him when she was
around.
Carefully he slid out of bed and tip-toed to the bathroom. He then
slowly lifted the seat, took his pee shooter in hand and emptied his
bladder.

TO4M
No text given
TED

Tommy and Nick were bored. It was a rainy Sunday afternoon and there seemed to be nothing to do.
I explained to them, that when I was a boy, we used to make peashooters, and have compeitions. See who could be the best marksman. I also told them that the cat was not a target. “Use soup cans” I said. “or make paper targets”.
The boys disappeared into Tommys bedroom.
An hour later, the boys emerged from the room, soaking wet. Stinking of urine. Empty squirtguns in hand.
“Uncle Rocky?” Tommy squeaked. “We’re out of ammo. Can you pee in my waterpistol for me?”

PLANET Z (as IRA GLASS)

Paul and Zachary were ordinary kids from Harlem, sitting around, bored.
Zachary looks at the massacre in Bush’s illegal war in Iraq and comes up with the idea to go on a killing spree.
“But let’s make it interesting,” says Paul. “Let’s kill people we know in alphabetical order.”
So they go on a tear through the neighborhood: Andy, Betty, Cecil, Dwanitra… all the way up to P.
And that’s when Zachary pulls out his gun and shoots Paul.
“Why did you do that?” gasped Paul.
“Because you talk too damn much,” said Zachary. “And we don’t know any Q’s.”

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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.

Welcome to the Fifty-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 Planet Z, a strange orb hovering 640 meters above SoHo Island’s Matzohenge, and it’s Smoke (or) Smoking.
Eleven stories were submitted this week. Double digits!
There was a rookie, but they didn’t record their story! Oh noes!
The excellent theme music is by Guy David
And, once again, some disturbing madness from the one we all knew and loved as 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):

Who had the best story for Weekly Challenge #53?
	Laieanna from Hodgepodge Point
	Tom from Footnote Podcast
	N.F.
	Caleb Bullen from Black Tie Martini Club
	Elisson of Blog d’Elisson
	Chris from Platypus Society
	Terrence from Never Was
	Ted from Ted’s Podcast
	Patti from SmittyGal
	To4m from StuffCast
	Sister Mary Edith
	Planet Z
Free polls from Pollhost.com

WE GOTS PRIZES:
I will be sending the winner a prize… it’s a packet containing at least 1 refrigerator magnet and a CD with the archive of the entire 100 word stories podcast. (Well, minus promos and junk)
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:
LAIEANNA

I’m not the only one who sees him. Like all those goth style stories,
Death walks among us dressed in black. Yeah, he wears the trench
coat, but smoke rolls off it like steam from a train’s chimney. His
eyes are solid black, least the one time I dared to look at them. No
skull face, but pale skin. Anyone near can’t help but to shudder.
See those of us walking on the edge of life keep our distance. I
ain’t playing with that. As long as that guy sends smoke signals, I
know how to run the opposite way.

TOM

The day I set my stomach on fire
and blowup my head
Tommy’s parents didn’t smoke. He had tried a puff off a Winston and found the experience lacking. “I don’t get it.” he mused “Maybe I need something bigger.” Tommy laid down six dollars in pennies and pointed at the Dutch Masters Presidents. The clerk eyed him. “For Dad,” said Tommy. “Right,” said the clerk pushing the cigars over the counter.
Tommy informed his father he was old enough to smoke. Surprisingly his Dad agreed. He lit up the first cigar. Then a long hard draw and a deep inhale. After two hours wrapped around the toilet his father asked “Quit smoking?”

N.F.

April 20th: I commented to John that the air didn’t feel right. John
agreed so broke camp and he packed a bowl. Just as we dusted our
third bowl, a dragon crashed through the tree line, heading strait for
us. We would have been sitting ducks there. [Correction: we were
stoned ducks… err… stoned advanced infantry!] I grabbed my gun and
leveled the sight. Before I had a chance to pull the trigger, a mech
fired one of it’s missiles and blew the head clean off the dragon. Ok
this story sucks. What do you expect? I am currently stoned.

CALEB

I like smoking and I’m not joking
I think that it makes me look tough
I feel kinda hip with a butt on my lip
Although sometimes it might make me cough
It makes my voice deep and puts me to sleep
Though mornings might be kind of rough
I can’t smoke at work or the bar like a jerk
Sometimes I think I’ve had enough
Though it’s nearly a crime, it passes the time
As I wait for the bus by the blough
It’s bad for the lungs but it’s awfully fun
Yes smoking’s a thing that I lough

ELISSON

Superman finished setting the table in his Penthouse of Semi-Solitude, his pied-� -terre in Metropolis. Furnished with the exotic furniture of Krypton’s Techno-Deco period, it was perfect for those times when the Caped Crusader wanted privacy.
He lit the candles; a blast of Super-Breath chilled the Champagne. Lana Lang was coming by for a home-cooked dinner (yay, Heat Vision!). Afterward? The disaster with Lois was still fresh on his mind…
Three hours later, a semi-drunk and exhausted Lana Lang lay against Superman’s naked chest. Smoke curled upwards from under the sheets.
“Ow! Next time, Supes, would ya knock off the Super-Speed?”

CHRIS

Like in most prisons, cigarettes weren’t just for smoking in Shawshank; they were currency. A carton of Luckys could get a man all sorts of things behind bars: girly magazines, a change of socks, even a poster of Rita Hayworth. Of course, that?s assuming you knew the right person to get them.
But as my good friend Andy Dufresne found out, a carton of smokes was useless when cornered by a pack of horny bull queers behind the dryer in the laundry room. They never opened that carton; seems they had a different type of smoking in mind.
Poor Andy.

TERRENCE

Raoul slowly opened his eyes. He was exhausted and his staff of light
ached. He had stopped counting at four. Turning over Raoul looked at
Eve. She slept, which Raoul was thankful for. She could not get
enough him, and he could not go another round.
Her eyes opened and looked back a Raoul. A smile crossed her face as
she sat up and kissed him on the cheek. ‘Oh no,’ he thought. She
gave a shy smile. ‘As if,’ he though and then cringed in expectation
of what she was about to say.
He was relief to hear, “Smoke?”

TED

You know, I used to smoke. I know, it’s a terrible habit. Oh, I’m not talking about namebrand tobacco. I’m talking about the Weed. Mary Jane, Reefer, Ganja..
One afternoon, as my party was winding down, it became apparent that there was nothing left to smoke. It got ugly real fast.
My guests started ripping down the wallpaper, tearing up the floorboards, They even raided my stock of toilet paper, just to have something to smoke.
The next morning, with a clear head, I realized what had happened. Insurance covered most of the damage, but you know, I still can’t find my cat..

PATTI

Finishing her fourth vodka tonic, Nelly dabbed her mouth, leaving a sloppy lipstick kiss on the cocktail napkin.
“‘Night, Eddie.”
Eddie shot her a smile but Nelly didn’t see it. Nearing the door, her hand was already fumbling in her purse for cigarettes and lighter.
Outside she lit the smoke and took a deep drag. Remembering the old days when you could smoke in a bar, she exhaled, blue smoke shooting from both nostrils. Back then she would have had a couple more drinks and gone home with Eddie for sloppy drunk sex.
She chose to sleep alone, and smoke.

TO4M

I was ten sitting around the table at Grandma’s after we’d finished
Sunday dinner. Grandma, Grandpa, Mom, Dad, older brother and I. Six
people. Five cigarettes. None of them mine. It was horrible I was
starting to feel sick but Grandpa’s stories of WW II were too
fascinating to leave. I had to though so I took my seven up and went
to the family room to watch TV. “Man I’ll never smoke – That’s gross”
. 30 years later I’m wrestling the Marlboro parasite thats dug itself
into me. This shit is evil it stinks I hate it.

SISTER MARY EDITH

Lucky Strike and The Catholic Church announced a new promotional campaign in a joint press-conference today. In successful trials, tobacco has replaced incense in church thuribles.
“I’ve started coming to church a lot!” one parishioner reported, “Especially after meals. God even helped me quit smoking!”
“What is lung cancer compared to the damnation of your eternal soul?” the spokes-priest asked, in the deep, rich voice tobacco smoke cultivates.
The campaign has been incorporated into the liturgy, as well. “This sermon brought to you by Lucky Strike; Celebrate the bounty of God’s goodness with the smooth, full-flavored taste of American tobacco.”

PLANET Z

Let me tell you about economics, kid.
You see, unlike the stores in the city, there aren’t any Federal taxes out on the reservation.
So, once a month, we drive to the Pokalottas for cheap smokes and booze.
Whatever we save, we blow twenty times that at the casino.
Then, while we’re worrying about out how we’ll pay for that bike you keep bitching about or cover the mortgage, we smoke up all those cigarettes and drink all the cheap liquor we bought.
And that’s why Economics is a bitch.
So, lay off Santa, and put that fucking sweater on.

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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.