Welcome to the 100 Word Stories podcast at podcasting.isfullofcrap.com. I’m your host, Laurence Simon.
This is Weekly Challenge Number Two Hundred and Seventy-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 Apple Pie
How about voting for your favorites?
And if you want to spam your social networks with this episode, use the Share buttons at the end of the post.
Zackmann
How can you be cooking apple pies at a time like this? Can’t you see the city is under siege and
being destroyed?
Relax dude, had to.
Why
Because we are out of pumpkin.
Theres a zombie in a spacesuit what should do.
Chillax, tell him were not very smart but we love Old Time Radio then point towards college
housing.
Zombie says Doctor Despicable is coming and you bake pies, are you sure your brainless?
Of course I am did you hear me use the words Dude and chillax?
When Doctor Despicable gets here I’ll lunching on college brains .
Pies, oh I love pies and destruction. What a wonderful day with more explosions than the Fourth
of July. Some wise citizen baked me a whole front deck full of apple pies. What is wrong, were
you out of pumpkin?
Sorry Doctor Despicable but all our pumpkins disappeared through a mysterious hole in the
space time continuum.
Lobo, load the pies into the Winnebago. To show my gratitude, I will not intentionally destroy
your house. Did you happen to see a zombie in a spacesuit or an odd man eating beef jerky or
mayonnaise sandwiches and babbling about Tony Danza?
Guard 13007
The editor rejected my manuscript. I called him up to ask about it, “Why did you reject my writing? It was good! I had extant word choice!” I picked a word at random from the wall, trying to remember what ‘extant’ meant.
“What? That doesn’t even make sense! And what’s with the word ‘enunciate’ all over? People don’t ‘enunciate’! They yell, scream, whisper, say!”
“Well my characters do enun… uh, enunciate!”
“And why the hell is it titled ‘Apple Pie’? That makes the least sense of all!”
“It makes perfect sense!” I yelled back, hanging up and grabbing another slice.
Tom
My oldest friend is a descendent of Johnny Appleseed. Seems more that just apple seeds got sow across the Ohio River valley. His mom had this recipe for Apple Pie that has been dated around 1760. Some speculated it could be from Elizabeth Chapman who handed it down to her son John. I’ve had some of that pie and can safely say if Mr. Chapman infected the settlers of the early Midwest with that heroin of desserts he would have had folk clambering for apple trees. I still have a hankering for a steaming piece of Mrs. Throne’s apple pie.
Danny
“What do I want for dessert? Hmm, I always imagined NJ Governor Chris Christie running on the platform of: ”Vote for me, I’m as American as Apple Pie.” It’s a sick, twisted vision planted in my head. Clearly I’ve gone to far this time. I love apple pie, now I can’t get the image of that bloated corpse every time I dig into my favorite dessert. Again, I have desecrated a dessert by my sad yet demented view of partisan politics in the United States. So I think I’ll have the cherry pie instead.” The waiter, sighing heavily, walks away.
Steven the Nuclear Man
She struggles in the trunk. The Chevy’s steel frame muffles her
thumps and cries; the cotton in our ears does the rest.
The CEO of EMI glances at me, but I stare determinedly ahead. This is
too important. Too much rides on today. This isn’t our normal gig,
but it’s one we have to play.
She is gorgeous, even tied, even gagged. I knew – KNEW – how she was
responsible from everything from Greensleeves to Blueberry Hill.
We shoot her, bullets thrashing her flesh, her body tumbling down the
dusty levee. Our careers in the music industry are safe once again.
Norval Joe
The family across the street had a fourth of july party and invited us out of a neighborly spirit.
We had all the traditional food and music. There were tamalies, carne asada, and pasoli. For desert we had churros.
The was a mariachi band that played all the popular favorites. Songs by Banda archangel er quince, Los Tigres del norte and Los Angeles Negros.
Before the fireworks we busted open a pinata of President Obama.
Two months ago, they threw a party almost identical to this one.
I thought, this time they’d at least have apple pie.
Welcome to California.
TJ
Martin ordered a slice of apple pie and took a seat against the window.
With the afternoon sun streaming behind him he had the best perspective
on the coffeeshop while he himself resisted the notice of others. This
bookstore café was also one of the three best spots in the mall for
scoping out the food court and more to the point, the wifi hot spots. He
wanted to do some actual epsionage and discovered his notebook wireless
computer had been encountering a homegrown virus here. He’d been
narrowing suspects for awhile now, and was closing in on… The Hacker.
Planet Z
Ronnie came up with a lot of crazy pie-in-the-sky ideas, but an actual pie factory in the sky was his craziest.
He was going to bake pies in the sky for passengers.
“Why not bake them on the ground and carry them onboard?” we said.
“It’s all about the smell,” he replied. “That fresh-baked pie in the oven smell. Oh, that aroma!”
Now, this was the thirties, and airplanes weren’t the huge jetplanes they are today. Not enough room.
So he talked to the Germans, and they agreed.
As the Hindenberg burned, Ronnie screamed: “My pies! Oh, the oven mitts!”