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 Eighty-Eght, 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 Halloween
And we’ve got stories by:
Taralyn Gravois
Chris Munroe
Tom
Abernathy
Sachy
Danny
Zackmann
Norval Joe
TJ
Planet Z
And if you want to spam your social networks with this episode, use the Share buttons at the end of the post.
Taralyn
Bubbles remind me of different times in my life. As a small child my mom gave me a bath with Mr. Bubble.
As a toddler my dad showed me how to blow bubbles.
Then at 10 I got this kit that made cool plastic bubbles that were a swirl of amazing colors.
In highschool, car washes throwing sponges covered in bubbles at my teenage girlfriends. What fun.
As an adult washing dishes and taking a moment to enjoy the slippery bubbles on my hands.
Then having a kid and giving him a bath in Mr. Bubble the cycle starts again.
Munsi
Bubbles rise to the surface, burst, and are gone. And as suddenly as that it’s all over.
He’d thought he could steal from me, thought I wouldn’t notice a few bucks “disappearing” here and there.
I make it my business to notice everything.
I could have alerted the authorities, but it’d been a while since I went hands on, so I solved the problem myself.
An invite to an afternoon on my boat, a bottle of wine and a willingness to wait for my opportunity.
And now, as I sail home, I can’t help but smile.
I’ve still got it.
Tom
In an effort to generate reasonable returns on investment speculators have damn near plumbed every conceivable commodity, but in 2065 the 120 year old guru of hedging Glen Beck initiated the Opera Star Trading Card Stampede. A Plácido Domingo in “Semper Augustus” was valued at 25 trillion Lindens. Just last week I traded a Caruso and an Andrea Bocelli for a Beverly Sills in the Tahitian version of La boheme. You haven’t lived until you’ve heard Oh My My AukAuk. It came with the complementary stick of gum. The gum has no effect of value. Couldn’t blow a damn bubble.
Abernathy
Bubbles the Clown was a burlesque style clown stripper. Not as rare as you might think. Mainly booked for bachelor parties. Always entering a room in a dress made of clear plastic bubbles. Quirky music playing faintly as she teasingly took off her dress. Left with only her cute pink polka-dotted pumps, cotton candy colored pig-tales, and clown make-up. She sat on pies and balloons. Cool-whip squirted out the sides of her tush and balloons popped loudly as her bottom slammed against a chair. Men would cheer and she would smile and giggle. Upside-down split was Bubbles finale.
Sachy
“Thank you for calling 1(800)LONELYU . Please hold while we connect you with the girl of your dreams.”
“Hey there big boy, my name is Bubbles…whats yours?”
“Uh…Dexter”
“Alright Dexter, what can I do for you?”
“MOM! I’M ON THE PHONE WITH MY GIRLFRIEND, GO AWAY! Um…well…I’mma level 45 Mage Paladin from Ure and I want you to be a helpless maiden captured by a Chaos Beast.”
“Dexter? How old are you?”
“16…Hello?”
“I’m sorry Dexter, I have to go”
“No, no. Don’t hang up! Ugh. THANKS MOM! YOU JUST SCARED AWAY MY GIRLFRIEND!”
Danny
Bubbles was a high class prostitute who lived on the upper east side of Manhattan. Relaxing in a hot tub at her condo with John, her statuesque boyfriend, they were both mesmerized by the bubbles rising in their Champagne. ”We need to go to Amsterdam,” John stated. “Where’s that?” Bubbles asked. “In Holland,” responded John. ”Oh, is that where the Hollish live?” Bubbles blurted. “I thought they were Dutch,” John responded. ” Uh, like, no, if the place is named Holland, the Hollish must live there.” So, John and Bubbles run off the the airport, Champagne in hand, off to Holland, in search of the Hollish.
Zackmann
I wish I had not used this house. My wife said she had a friend who would loan us a cabin in rural Maine. The view of the leaves and the color of the trees is wonderful this time of year. We thought we could spend some time away not thinking about the house of which we are eternally bound since we refinanced it near the top of the real estate bubble. My wife and boys went shopping in the next town I hope to see them again, some day. I am alone stuck in the bubble at Chester’s Mill
Norval Joe
Vaudeville was big and she was a star. People came from miles away to see her act. They called her bubbles because of the strategically placed bubbles she used when she danced.
But as movies became more and more popular and theaters popped up in even the smallest of towns, live acts like hers drew smaller crowds until one day she was out, living on the streets like a dog.
The final insult came when she wrapped herself in a tattered vaudeville poster to try and keep warm in the freezing snow. A poster of her, Bubbles, the dancing dachshund.
TJ
Darn these “dress casual” things. I’d dress too casual and she’d be pissed, or I’d be too dressed up and that would be wrong too. I texted her. “What are you wearing?” I asked. Her words appeared in a tiny bubble. “I dunno … what are you wearing?” Oh, a tease! “Nothin’ but a smile,” I grinned. No response. I wondered if I’d frightened her away. Then the flurry of texts. “Hi! I’m back” “Sorry I missed your call.” And “My daughter has ben warned against pretending to be me and will be dealt with.” Well, that was pretty embarrassing.
Planet Z
There was this one kid in school who said the problem with Baptists is that they don’t hold them under water long enough.
They dragged the kid into the bathroom and held his face in the toilet.
What began as a swirly became a full-fledged drowning, bubbles all around, less and less, then…
Nothing.
HAVE YOU BEEN HELD UNDER LONG ENOUGH?
He was limp, no fight left at all.
HAVE YOU BEEN HELD UNDER LONG ENOUGH?
Then, they let go of him, still face-down in the toilet, backing away slowly… no movement…
“He died saved,” I said to the cops.