Welcome to the seventy-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 selected by Elisson.
It’s Underpants
The excellent theme music is by Guy David
VOTING
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 refrigerator magnets for the podcast. Massive amounts of fridge magnets were mailed out in the past week… watch your mail, and let me know if I’ve missed you.
It is your voting that determines who wins. So listen, vote, and tune in next week to find out who won!
TOM
The Podcaster returned to the Styx. Burroughs’ back was to the Podcaster he was humming Going to Dance My Way to Heaven with a New Step Everyday.
“Bill,” whispered the Podcaster. Burroughs spun around he was wearing underpants on his head. “Still got that Apple, Kid?” croaked Burroughs. “No, I got this Banana and I’m not afraid to use it!” sneered the Podcaster pointing his herbal weapon at the literary outlaw.
BLAM went the Banana Burroughs fell over deader. He vanished off to dem pearly gates. The Podcaster aptly peeled the Banana and had a bit of his naked lunch.
CHRIS DOELLE
Johnny walked uncomfortably to the front of the classroom, sort of twisting his midsection with each step. His teacher had called him to read his report to the class. Of all the kids in all the classroom, why did it have to be him? Why did it have to be now? Johnny’s heart pounded. The pain was unbearable. His palms broke into a sweat as heavy as the torrent running down his brow. The teacher shushed his classmates as they tittered at his discomfort. It turns out sneaking an iPod into school in his underpants was a pretty bad idea.
GUY
We used to make edible clothing. I don’t know what went wrong. We had strawberry t-shirts, pineapple shoes and chocolate hats. They went off in the millions, no in the billions. Everyone wanted some. A real shopping rush. Then we came out with something brilliant, a line of tofu pants. Everyone wanted them. At least, so they keep telling me at marketing.
I think it’s the tofu underpants. That’s what killed it, you see, in Israel, underpants are considered legitimate pants. Imagine that: a big, fat, hairy guy, going around with nothing but tofu underpants, in the boiling sun.
HOUSTON
Johnny was uncomfortable as his recent change to thongs had some less than desirable effects.
“This dang butt floss is gonna to be the death of me,” he intoned, but fortunately Johnny had a level head he wasn’t about to panic. He would drive the ladies wild with the smooth view of his gluteus through his Wranglers.
Spying his first conquest Johnny bellied up to the bar (literally).
“Hey there little lady, how about you and me make some beautiful music together.”
With a wry smile she looked him up then down, then up again. “Did you bring your banjo?”
ELISSON
There’s nothing makes me want to dance
Like a brand new pair of Underpants.
The blue-haired ladies look askance
When I show off my Underpants.
They’re free of bees and flies and ants.
They’re insect-free, my Underpants.
I’m hypnotized: I’m in a trance.
Those mesmerizing Underpants!
Averse to risk? Why take a chance?
I wear my Safety Underpants.
Their silken fabric draws one’s glance.
Gaze, gaze upon my Underpants.
Like armored Knight with Battle-Lance,
I’m protected in my Underpants.
I dine on animals and plants,
Take meals in my Underpants.
Residing in my lordly manse.
I wear my lordly Underpants.
PAUL
I hated school. The jocks and the pops all kicked me around.
Yeah, I made grades. I’d have a job while they’ed be mechanics and cashiers.
Worthless if my future couldn’t get me a date.
Then the bionic-nuclear-genetic-engineered-automated-techno spider bit me.
I could toss cars! Stop crooks with a finger. Leap over buildings!
But strike fear into crime? No good.
Hooked up with mega-bust gals and mondo-Chin guys.
Nope. No traction. Still no fame, no glory, no… respect.
They told me what to do and I kept refusing.
Then one day I put on my suit.
Then last.
The underpants.
LAIEANNA
I apologize for not contributing to last week’s challenge. Though an
idea came to me, I lost track of time or lost track of my mind and
didn’t finish before the deadline. This week’s challenge should be
easy, but my imagination has been stuck on dull. I was working on a
story at work, but forgot to take it home on Friday. For new
inspiration, I took a jog around the neighborhood in my underpants.
I’ve since been arrested and no one will take my call. Please send
money. Spring me out.
YXES
Ohmygod! You can’t be serious! You want me to say this word out loud, for everyone to hear? Don’t you realize how embarrassed I will be if you make me do this???? I mean, I can say lots of things, but to say this word is like recounting something out one of my worst nightmares! I would much rather say bloomers, knickers, pantaloons, or even panties. I could even manage to say boxers or briefs! I simply won’t say it! You will just have to get some other poor sap to say Underpants! Ohmygod! I said it! Now I’m mortified!
PLANET Z
Ann Coulter wants to make me perfect.
Right-wing temptress, you’re not going to win this one.
She tries and tries, but I resist.
So, last night, she shows up on my doorstep, wearing nothing but a crucifix and that big crocodile-wide smile of hers.
“The things I can do with this, you wouldn’t believe,” she says.
And she wheels through the photos on her iPod, each image sicker than the last.
She stops.
It’s Al Franken, with his underwear on his head, totally blissed out.
Then I realize: he’s still Jewish.
If he can resist, so can I.