Weekly Challenge #347 – Pudding

Welcome to the 100 Word Stories podcast at podcasting.isfullofcrap.com. I’m your host, Laurence Simon.

This is 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 Pudding.

And we’ve got stories by a lot of people:

• Secret Rage
• Vincent
• Jeffrey
• Rosi Vinson
• Serendipidy Haven
• Lizzie
• Tom
• Cliff – Uncle Monster
• Munsi
• Zackmann
• Singh
• Bonchance and Sevi
• RedGoddess
• Steven the Nuclear Man
• Norval Joe
• Tura
• Planet Z

The next weekly challenge is on the topic of Funk.

And if you want to spam your social networks with this episode, use the Share buttons at the end of the post… this obligatory cat photo should help make the Internet go faster:

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SECRET RAGE

She walked to the pantry…lifted the small box from the shelf and prepared it just as directed. As it cooled, she noted both its consistency (thickening nicely) and color (is vanilla a color?) and thought that without tasting or smelling it…how would a person know what it was? it could be anything! and if its origin was unknown…and IF she named it something else~either mundane or exotic…would it matter? would that make it more or less likely to be consumed? then names it paste~just to see…

VINCENT

The proof is in the pudding

Bradley Davidson stood with his back against the wall wielding a black pudding in the shape of a truncheon in his raised hand. “You bastards,” he shouted. “You’ll not fucking put me back.”

Prosecutor Richardson kept silent. He could see the guy had backed himself into a corner with nowhere to go.

“Mr Bradley,” the judge said, “put down the weapon.”

Richardson, beginning to look over at the judge turned to face Davidson. The dumb fuck. He could see Davidson was going to throw the black pudding across the courtroom. Then what…? Richardson guessed he hadn’t figured that part out.

JEFFREY

Dinner Time
by Jeffrey Fischer

For people of a certain age, Jell-O pudding means Bill Cosby, eating the smooth concoction and pretending it’s the best thing in the world, delivering the ad copy in his Cliff Huxtable schtick.

Others might be reminded of childhood, when Mom didn’t feel like making a real dessert, and instead reached for Mother’s Little Helper – not the pills the Rolling Stones sang about, but the cheap and convenient little box on the shelf that could make whiny children quiet for a short time.

For me, though, Jell-O pudding is hospitals – the smell of sickness and bleach, elderly relatives sitting up in bed, fear written on their faces that this time, this hospital stay, may be the last.

I hate Jell-O pudding.

ROSI VINSON

I hated London. I mean, it’s never actually done anything to me. It just seemed so big, so impersonal, so noisy. Isolating. Hostile, almost. Anyway, I had to travel there for work, convinced I would be mugged, or worse.

I survived, almost unscathed. The worst thing that happened to me was having a fancy restaurant’s waiter spill the teensiest dribble of coffee on my sleeve. He brought me – gratis – the most amazing crème brulee, by way of apology. When I looked up, surprised, he only smiled at me and said: “Pudding on The Ritz.”

London’s not so bad after all.

SARAH W

Daisy wasn’t a great cook, but she always tried hard at Christmas – last year, she excelled herself.

Last minute grocery shopping was a mistake – unable to find ingredients, she improvised…

Substituting baby food and food colouring for cranberry sauce wasn’t her best idea; neither was the improvised turkey stuffing of crushed biscuits and banana, but where she really triumphed was the pudding.

The size of a basketball, it defied all attempts to light it, and with hindsight, resorting to lighter fluid was rather foolish, as was the brandy-soaked paper money she’d hidden inside…

Our eyebrows grew back by Easter!

LIZZIE

“No.”

“Why not?”

“It tastes bad.”

“You haven’t tried it.”

“I have.”

“Not this one.”

“Is it any different?”

“No.”

“Well…”

“I’ll eat it.”

“Be my guest.”

Fast-forward to an hour later.

“How is he doing, doctor?”

“Stable. But we are very concerned. Tell me, what did he eat?”

“Pudding.”

“It must have been bad already…”

“No.”

“No…?”

“No. I added some arsenic to it.”

“Why would you do that,” asked the doctor alarmed running back into the ER.

I told him to buy sweet rice so many times, he thought.

It was 8pm. Great, the supermarket is still open.

TOM

Take the Chair.

I am candidate for the Lucasian Chair but my work of late has taken on a tacit fuzziness that may well be my undoing. As I drop through this last ring of mathematic molasses I remembered what my dear old mum uses to say, “The proof is in the pudding.” And as fate would have it, it was indeed while watching a Bill Cosby JELLO commercial that the final tumbler in the galactic clockwork clicked and the central proof tumbled out. The solution to fourth degree equations is in fact approximately the surface of a Jello pudding pop. Thanks mum

CLIFF

I signed up for a class called “Cooking to the Oldies”. We learned to make several desserts inspired by song titles. There was Warrant’s Cherry Pie, The Beatle’s Savoy Truffle, and some non-alcoholic Watermelon wine inspired by Tom T. Hall. Our final test was to devise our own musically inspired dessert. I’ve always loved how salty and sweet flavors complement each other and taste so good, so I whipped up a batch of butterscotch pudding and dropped a dollop of it on a couple dozen crackers. The instructor just rolled her eyes when I presented my Pudding on The Ritz.

MUNSI

Pudding Cups

By Chris Munroe

Look, none of this is complicated.

I recently received a frequent-shopper gift coupon in the mail, offering double air miles, and regular double air miles day was only a few days off.

So that’s quadruple, right?

Right. So I went to Safeway and found something that both a) was on sale, and b) offered 100 bonus air miles per unit.

In this case, pudding cups. Three for two dollars.

And now I’m going to Vegas. Hundred ten bucks for a week there, hotel included.

It’s going to be a blast!

Anyway: Do you want seventy pounds of pudding, or not?

ZACKMANN

“Are you done pudding Mister Wilson in the van?“
“Say Guido, didn’t the boss say boil him in pudding?”
“How much eggnog did you drink tonight? That was from the Christmas movie we watched, our boss isn’t such a Scrooge.”
“Don’t worry, since you are my favorite cousin I did as you directed”
Guido steps into the van. A man is sitting in a big plastic tub neck deep in pudding
“You have some information you will give us or Nunzio fills this above your head. Tell us, forget us, and live or become the corpses know as Pudd’nhead Wilson”

SINGH

Dinner Party Wars

Chris Mooney-Singh/Singh Albatros

Take five strangers, ask each to throw a dinner party, mix things up with some secret scoring for a E1,000 prize and you have a recipe for disaster. Yes, it’s been a week of cat poo in Debra’s kitty litter stinking out the dining room, Grandma Sheila’s weird robotic after-dinner dancing, a scary encounter with Timothy’s pet python, crawling across the table only to defecate chicken curry on the crisp linen, and sleazy comments by Javier, the alpha male of the bunch saying things like: ”you’ve such beautiful come-to-bed eyes” which Ruby has finally succumbed to. Welcome to Dinner Party Wars.

*

This week’s four strangers had battled hard, but there wasn’t protection for tomorrow’s hostess – Ruby, from frontrunner Javier, as both coupled on his drunken couch. The cameras and everyone had departed.

Arriving early next evening, Javier soon spread-eagled the lady on her kitchen table. Ruby grunted. “You delicious man!” And then left to shower.

Seeing his chance, Javier stirred something into her pudding-mix.

“Ruby, I am starting your steamer.”

“Thankyou. You’re such a darling,” she yelled underwater, thinking of money and her new boyfriend.

Her buttock-prints in the sprinkled flour made him smile before rubbing out their evidence with his hand.

*

The camera crew was surprised to see Javier on the living room couch. He greeted them and tried to make conversation. “I realize you have a lot on your plate, filming and producing these TV shows, night after night.”

“You’re right there Guv,” said the guy with headphones, waving about his boom-pole. “We get in a lot of hot and bother by Friday. Five bloody tapings. Had to come in earlier we did, you know — to fix the hidden cameras.”

The pot-bellied saboteur got that sinking feeling in the pit of his middle-aged paunch. How exactly wouls this turn out?

*

Eyeing the prize, Ruby thought a movie character theme would give her the fun edge. Debra was a chubby fairy godmother. Timothy came as a skinny Tarzan in leopard briefs and python around his neck. Grandma Sheila dressed as a geriatric Michael Jackson right down to fedora, socks and sequinned glove. Javier was Zorro with mask and cape, while Ruby emerged from the cocoon of her bedroom as a bulging-plum version of Maryli n Monroe. She’d tarted up her place with lit candles and forced wine and canapés upon each guest as they came through the door, her secret of power hosting.

*

According to the show format, a good portion was spent in the kitchen, turning home cooks into celebrity chefs. The cameras zoomed in on each step of her entrée — Oysters Kilpatrick, each plated with its little bacon curl on top. Then they cut to the dinner guest’s reactions. “Wow! These are so yummy!” Then back to the kitchen for the main course, which was Roast Cape Goose with Apple Sauce and Thai Rice Stuffing. This last episode of Dinner Party Wars was proving to be everything the producer had hoped for, but none were quite ready for what was coming.

*

Feeling confident and smelling victory, Ruby played perfect hostess all night. Then portly Debra, the low scorer from Monday giggled: “Being overweight is something that sorta snacks up on you, doesn’t it,” tucking straight into more goose-meat.

Ruby took this as her cue to tell the joke she had earlier researched online: “What are the four food groups?”

After much guessing, she fed them the answer: “Pizza, Coffee, Chocolate and…Sex.”

They exploded into paroxysms of tipsy laughter, while she looked knowingly at Javier sharing their secret moment, unaware he was smiling for another reason. Yes, the time for dessert had come.

*

Once bowls, spoons and jugs of cream were set, and lights doused for dramatic effect, Ruby brought in the plum pudding on a platter, placed it centre, pouring on the brandy. It was her pièce de résistance. Then, she lit it. The thing flambéed perfectly, giving off luminous flames worthy of St Elmo’s fire. They applauded as she set her fork and spoon into the pudding’s heart; but as she lifted, up came the special surprise. Everyone shrieked, except Javier. Dangling offensively was his used condom knotted at one end.

Seeing a huge spike in ratings, the producer kept on filming.

BONCHANCE and SEVI

Hero!

Good gracious! Mistress has been captured by the evil savages! Who knows what wicked intentions they have in store for her!
Lambchop to the rescue! Lamby rides his gigantic daunting terrorsaurace, Puddin, into the savages village scaring them away. Lamby slides down his back and releases Mistress from her bonds.
He beckons his flying peterrorsaurus with his secret call. Sauri glides down to them, as puddin keeps the savages at bay with his scary screams. Quickly, Lamby and Mistress jump on to peterrorsaurus and fly away!
Sevi smiled as she watched her lamby sleep, his hooves waving as he dreamed.

Coffee and Tea

I have made a life altering change. For the past few months I made the switch from drinkin a mug of coffee to a cuppa tea.
It’s awesome to sit back with a chalice of the good ole black stuff and reflect. Yah the memories just unfold as you slurp and sip.
How do I take it? With just a drizzle of honey to mellow the bitter edge. I don’t like it too sickly sweet.
Come to think of it now, I guess my tea and also memories have a propensity toward the bittersweet. Maybe I’ll just switch to pudding.

Pudding

Pablo had grounded Pepe after the misunderstanding with the Chairman. He was only allowed to roam within 100 feet of the house. His leash was attached to the chain link fence.
It seemed impossible to break free. Pepe racked his brain trying to find a way out of his predicament. Andre the armorer who made chainmail fetish clothing, lived across the road.
He could use this strong chain and make a mint.
Andre had a weird obsession and Pepe knew how to get him over to negotiate. Pepe put a bowl of lemon pudding out on the lawn and waited.

REDGODDESS

It’s been a while since Lola has seen her special guy. She’s not ready to take their relationship to the next level. For now, he’s just “the guy” who makes her re-think her needs vs. wants. How do you avoid someone who sends you romantic notes with vintage white roses? The latest card reads “one rose for every day I’m deprived of your beauty.” Lola is touched but hides her emotions well. She has no time to deal with her angst when she’s swamped with planning a fancy birthday bash for the hotel owner. She has to import his wife’s favorite French pudding among other exotic delicacies. This is the kind of opportunity that can jeopardize her livelihood or gives her leverage for a promotion. When you live paycheck to paycheck, any sneaky life event can hang you at the edge of the economic cliff.

STEVEN THE NUCLEAR MAN

His heart slipped with every beat, sliding in his chest, tripping over ribs like they were coated in ice.

She slid one fingernail through the tape, glanced up at him.

Beat. Slip.

She folded the paper back. His heart slid with a disturbing liquidity, trading places with his stomach as she exposed the small velvet-covered box. She glanced up again.

It was the worst idea, worst present ever. He knew it, knew it, finally knew it but the box was open.

She looked at the ring, at him.

He tried to ask, heart flopping sliding inside, throat tightening.

She answered.

NORVAL JOE

Shareeka cast her dim light toward the water creature. Half way to the monster the ball hung in the air, flaring into brilliance. With a putrid hiss, it reared back and clawed at its eyes. Shaking its head back and forth it bellowed in pain.
Owen backed up to where Flindert worked at the lock and Spleen fell to hte cavern floor and quivered like a bowl of pudding.
The elf prince took something from a pouch at his belt and asked Flindert, “May I have a try?”
Inserting a green, glowing, pin into the lock, the latch fell away.

When Gilbert first met Millicent he thought her Brittish accent was sexy and her expressions were cute. They dated and quickly married.
Some characteristics were annoying. She called any kind of dessert, pudding.
“Pudding is warm and brown and squishy,” he ranted at her.
To top it off she had named her dim witted wiener dog ‘Pudding’, because that’s all he ever ate.
When Millicent finally left Gilbert, she left the wiener dog, with him.
He knew that Pudding hated him for it, because every night the wiener dog would leave Gilbert a little pile of pudding, on his bed.

TURA

You vampires try to keep a low profile these days. World’s too crowded to just kill someone every time you get hungry. Animal blood’s even harder to get. So what’s the answer? Black pudding, right? It’s pig scab, with fat mixed in to keep it soft.

I’m a butcher, see, and I noticed you buy a lot. Not feeling too well, are you? I made some special ones just for you, with silver salts cooked in. Found out where you lived, waited till you got poorly. This silver cleaver will have your head off and heart out in no time.

PLANET Z

There are four ways to buy pudding at the grocery store:

Individual servings in cups from the refrigerated section.

Boxes of instant powder mix that you can shake or stir up.

Boxes of powder to mix on the stove.

And cans of pre-made pudding.

I put them all in bowls, blindfolded my friend Steve, and asked him which kind tastes the best.

“Wait until you’ve had them all before responding,” I said.

After tasting all four, he said they all tasted awful.

“They’re all butterscotch,” he said. “I hate butterscotch.”

I grumbled and went back to the store for chocolate.