Welcome to the Weekly Challenge Number Two Hundred and Twenty-Eight, 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 Muffin Basket!
VOTING
Go ahead and listen to them and then vote for your favorites (multiple selections are allowed):
Freereed
“Yer ass looks like a heart-shaped meatloaf in those pants.”
He always had a parting shot … umm… compliment.. before they went out.
“Louie, yer a goddam jewel,” she murmured while patting down the last strays of her up-do.
Arrive early, leave late. It’s all so predictable.
A game to see who could not hold their liquor and made a complete jerk of themselves.
Who would be first to break out crying.
“C’mon Muffin Basket, drive me home,” he breathed beerily into her ear.
“Sure, baby, sure.” She reminded herself to remove Cliff’s phone number from her bra first thing.
Tom
In order to increase attendance Sally Rand Junior College
decided to add a burlesque class to its fall schedule.
On a dare from her friend Ida Hampton Muffy Wainwight
signed up for Neo Stripteases 101.
“You Gotta Have A Gimmick” reminded the instructor
referring back to the music Gypsy.
Muffy turned to Ida,
“What’s your Gimmick?”
“I’m thinking Ida and her Ipad.”
“You know techy titillation.”
“What about you?”
“I’m going Martha Steward
a sort of pop n fresh theme.
Muffy and her muffin basket.
As the footlights rise
Hi Boys
I’m Muffy want to be my muffin man
TJ
I don’t know exactly what I expected. I figured, per your
president’s announcement, active combat would end and probably forces
would rotate out as needed. Probably there’d be some violence but
mostly because of the instability. We don’t have water in some places,
still. We jokingly call those places “New Orleans.” We have TV here.
I’m sure we will get the electricity and water going soon. But I was
surprised, finding on my doorstep this morning as I rose for morning
prayers, that the U.S. sent everyone a muffin basket with a card signed
“Sorry about the war. Love, Obama.”
Murray
I’ve been working for years on my compound. Odourless. Tasteless. Highly explosive.
It hasn’t been easy to find a compound that is so volatile, yet resistant to heat and impact. There was only one way to test the prototypes. Thankfully, I’ve got all my fingers. Mostly.
When the first demonstration is complete, I’ll be rich. It won’t matter that the Defense Department fired me.
“What’s this?” the baggage inspector asked.
“Just muffins. Blueberry.”
He eyed me suspiciously, taking one and breaking it apart.
“Huh.” He waved me through.
I left the basket in the bathroom. Armed, of course.
Demonstration time.
Abigail
Ooo baby you know I love how you move that muffin basket. Oh come on honey shake that sweetness. That’s it , spill that hot and good my way. Yah gimmee some of that. I gotta have some of what you got. Bring it on over here. Bring it. Bring it on.
When the paramedics came Verdene jus said, he’d” teetered on off his stool “,and “Hey,can you folks hurry on I got kids to get to and I still got the grill to scrape down” , her thighs fighting the length of the counter . She swabbed unmercifully .
Zackmann
Dearest Guido:
Thank you for the Muffin Basket complete with the Little Wicker Basket brand container. I think
that since I am currently involved in no court activities that you may have sent them to the wrong
address. I sincerely hope not to be mistaken for your target. Thank you again, blueberry muffins
are my favorite and I was overjoyed until I read the card.
“Hope youse enjoy these blueberry muffins just like youse will enjoy a long life iffin youse don’t
testify and youse should knows that No one alive has ever testified against me or my friends”
Steven
Hansel shoved the girl up against the rough tree. “This ain’t what I wanted.”
“I don’t have anything else,” she whimpered, the red fabric of her
cloak draping over her eyes. “Grandma just made the muffins. No
cookies. No cake.”
Hansel looked back toward his sister. “Whaddya think?”
Gretel walked out of the shadows. “I think we have a little girl who
brought the wrong gift and now can’t find her way home.”
“Oh,” Red Hood said, “all I have to do is take a left here and-”
Gretel drew her knife. “Not can’t. She won’t find her way home.”
Norval Joe
I struggle back up the dingy aisle, across greasy, grimy linolium tiles, toward the door, and the light.
Memories of past events, stories, vague and rotting, like the decaying cardboard containers abandoned amid the debris of collapsed soup can piramids, and piles of worm eaten wicker muffin baskets.
I look back. How far have I come?
100 aisles, 10,000 steps.
Each week another aisle along, yet I am farther behind the old man, the guide, the master.
He waits at the exit, his midget and his monkey at his side.
He teases me and calls, “Don’t forget the bacon salt.”
Planet Z
The moment we put the wicker basket in the window, Muffin decided that it was hers.
She climbed up on the table, crawled into her basket, and curled up for a long nap.
She wouldn’t let anyone or anything near that basket.
When she saw Mister Tigger sniffing the basket, she screeched and angrily chased him off.
And she shredded any magazines and shoved away any balls of yarn we put in there.
One morning, she crawled into the basket, went to sleep, and never woke up.
It’s hers forever now. We buried her in the back yard in it.