Joe was sitting in the cafeteria, eating soup, and was about to complain that it was too cold when someone shouted “FIRE!” and everybody headed for the exits.
Joe looked around for an EXIT sign, but the only one he could see was over the bowl of soup.
When he looked up from it, everybody was gone.
The smoke was getting thick in the air.
He dove into the soup.
And was never seen again.
When the fire was out, a firefighter looked at the soup.
He sipped a bit of it.
“Too hot,” he growled, and blew on it.
I, Monster
When Sesame Street shut down, nobody knew what to do with the Muppets.
Some adapted quickly. Grover headed for The Castro with Bert and Ernie.
Guy Smiley’s on Oprah’s network. And Count Von Count is riding the vampire craze.
Others, well… they failed.
Sherlock Hemlock got killed working a case. Snuffleupagus ended up in a circus cage.
And Cookie Monster?
We shaved him and tried to teach him good grammar.
“Me want cookie,” the wild-eyed flabby midget growled.
“No,” I say. “I would like a cookie.”
“Me too!” he shouts, flailing his arms.
Hopeless. We’ll just sell him to Nabisco.
Drumming Out
The first man to be drummed out of the Army was forced to march from one end of the camp to the other to the sound of drums. (His jacket was turned inside-out, too, but that was already in practice among the dishonorable.)
In the Civil War, soldiers had their heads shaved and rank insignia torn from their jackets. Officers told the troops not to touch the drummed-out soldiers, but more than one was found dead after the ceremony.
These days, the Army’s much more civil.
But the Mafia sticks guys in oil drums and tosses them into the harbor.
Weekly Challenge #262 – “There he is!” and “Rebirth” and “When Hell Freezes Over”
Welcome to the 100 Word Stories podcast at podcasting.isfullofcrap.com. I’m your host, Laurence Simon.
Weekly Challenge Number Two Hundred and Sixty-Two, 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 “There he is!” and “Rebirth” and “When Hell Freezes Over”
Go ahead and listen to them and then vote for your favorites (multiple selections are allowed):
And if you want to spam your social networks with this episode, use the Share buttons at the end of the post.
DC
“He’s here, he’s here!” the crowd hurrahed. “The King is reborn,”
“I told you, Myra. I told you he’d one day rise from the ashes.”
“Bah. From cheese burger wrappers and empty chip bags, is more like it.”
“Sacrilege,” shrieked a leathery skinned woman sporting a bedazzled tracksuit and bleached bouffant. She pointed a nicotine stained finger at Myra.
“Aw, Don’t pay any attention to my wife. She’s just bitter. She always said he’d rise when hell freezes over.”
“She doubted The King?”
A hush fell over the crowd as He floated onto stage. “Thank yuh, Thank yuh very much.”
Norval Joe
“Well, there he is. Just as she said he would be. My replacement,” Oswald muttered into his cold cup of coffee.
He slouched down in the cafe’s booth, peered through the street front window, and watched him kiss her.
“She said I didn’t have the cajonies to do anything about it. That hell would freeze over before I took a stand. But she hadn’t counted on my rebirth, the ‘new me’,” he said as he stood and charged out the cafe door. Just in time to see them board a taxi and drive off.
Oswald wondered, “is redeath a word?”
Zackmann
Look there he is, the guy who played Jonathon Coultons “First of May” on the Radio. Although
indie has caused the rebirth of music, I doubt that guy will get the his job back until about half
past when hell freezes over. Wait newspaper says it was the producers error not reading
explicit tags before converting older podcasts into radio shows. I sure hope he listens to the
shows like the episode with songs from Mike Yusis and Mark Yoshimo Nemcoffs musical that
must not be named before he thinks about putting any more shows directly on the radio again.
Nick J
My first killing blow had missed.
I cursed my nocturnally dulled reflexes.
The element of surprise was lost; my victim, forewarned and alert, was now concealed in pools of shadow.
He could hide in inaccessible places, hoping to outlast me.
This was not my first kill, I knew how this deadly game was played.
I must act silently. Noise would rouse new enemies.
I froze, listening intently. Blood hissed in my ears. I moved, warily, in stop frame motion, to flush him out.
There!
I triumphantly raised my newspaper for the messy denouement.
Eventually the insomniac always beats the fly.
Tom
Is that him?
I do not think so.
Over there?
Nope!
A figure built like a barrel hauler charges forward across the forum towards the colonnades.
“There he is,” said Raphael
Michelangelo was the symbol of Medici. Artistic rebirth
He waved his massive hands at the papal emissary.
“A Fresco, do I look like a painter to you?”
“Tell Most Holiness he’ll
Get his fresco when hell
freezes over.
He gives Raphael the finger as he passes.
Raphael raises his hand into the air
“I feel a drop in the temperature.”
And look there is Lucifer
skating cross the Rubicon.”
Danny
There he is! I was shocked; I assumed nobody could find me. What an ass I truly am. The chase began the leader of the “Rebirth” movement, created to show that Obama was indeed never born in America, has since failed. Now reduced to fox being chased by beagles in a horrific old world hunt, and my response to the situation? You beagles will catch me “when Hell Freezes Over!” AND, Hell will freeze over, just as soon as the continental ice shelf builds back up over the bulk of the continental United States of America. Say Halleluiah, say Amen!
Terrazabyte
A blank canvas sits on my drawing table begging to be used.
Each colorful tube of paint sitting nearby pleads their case to be first in use.
Blue speaks up and says, “Use me first, for I’m the color of sky”.
Green speaks next, “Use me, for I’m the color of the trees”.
Brown interrupts, “I should be first since I’m the color of Earth”.
They all begin to argue & fight as paint spews out toward the canvas covering the pristine surface.
The canvas yells “STOP, look what you’ve done!
Your colors mixed and blended upon me.
TJ
My directive was clear – use discretion, no flash photography.
But I’d ridden these rails before and the spot the two men had chosen
to rendezvous – between their two passenger cars while in the
Lourgnette tunnel – there’d be a split second of daylight as the
train passed beneath the airvent.
Above them, in the luggage compartment, I waited. Just as I’d
predicted, a shaft of sunlight illuminated the little chamber.
There he was, Minister Bergdorf, and the suspected corporate spy and
influence peddler. A whish of my cameraphone, and they were on the
Times-Register’s news site before they’d even stopped kissing.
Planet Z
Years ago, Bob Carson said it would be a cold day in Hell when he’d go to my Rebirth Clinic.
“It’s better than the alternative,” I said. “I feel great. Customer for life.”
That’s the motto: Customer for life.
You have to take the pills every day to live.
Haven’t seen him since. Until today.
Bob Carson. Outside of my clinic.
I walk out to his car. “Ready for the treatment?” I ask.
“You ran over my dog,” he said. “Almost hit my son.”
I see his gun. “Get in.”
He’s locked me in the basement.
It’s cold in here.
Magic Hat
I have a magic hat. No it’s not pointy. Has nothing to do with wizards witches or warlocks. The magic comes from the part it played in meeting my wife. I signed up for this ESTy workshop needed some dress pants. While wandering around Montgomery Ward Men’s department I dropped a black fedora on my head. I found the pants and keep the hat. During that workshop a young woman came up to me and said, “ All you need is a 15 foot scarf.” I stared back puzzled. She pointed at the fedora. “Yes, a love the Doctor, to.”
Coming Down The Pike
The word “turnpike” got its name from guardsmen standing at either side of a road and lowering their poleaxes to block the road until a toll was paid or a pass was shown.
These days, the pike has been replaced by a mechanical barrier or by cameras which scan for an electronic toll-paying device and capture the license plate numbers of violators.
Still, somewhere in that tollbooth, there’s a fierce-looking halberd leaning against the wall.
When the machines fail. Society breaks down, and the zombies win.
The tolls must be paid, and they certainly don’t collect themselves.
One brain please.
Hello, Friend!
When I run into a friend I haven’t run into for a very long time, I find myself subconsciously rolling down my sleeves and raising my collar in a misguided attempt to conceal the scars and skin grafts.
Thank heavens I have the sense to always wear gloves, a low-brimmed hat, and sunglasses to block any view of what my thick beard and mustache doesn’t already obscure.
Underneath the layers of clothes, hair, and palm fronds strategically held by my manservant Richard, I ponder how to address this long-lost friend properly.
“Hello,” I shout, tip my hat, and I run.
The Creature
Don’t get me wrong.
I hate the creature as much as anybody else.
If there’s a crowd shouting KILL THE CREATURE! you’ll find me at the head of it.
Far ahead of it.
Running from it.
Yes, I am the creature.
And I hate it. I hate it with a passion.
We draw lots at the city council meeting once a year.
Mine said “YOU ARE THE CREATURE!”
Damn.
I went from chanting KILL THE CREATURE to running as fast as I could, my neighbors in pursuit with torches, pitchforks, and digital cameras for posting the carnage to YouTube later.
How do you write 100 word stories? #100
TRIPLE DIGITES
Many many thanks to all the folk who have listened to this collect. With your help we can end vestiphoia in our life time
This ends my 100 100s and I’ve save the best for last. Stories are dust unless they have a shelf to rest, a place to be. To be surround with a mountain of stories. With out Mr Laurence Simon these tiny bubbles would have long ago lost there rainbow and faded to gray and burst. Take your tales and find them a home. It is not good enough to put the words on the page they have to be seen or in the case of podcasting.isfulofcrap.com they were allowed to be heard. I thank you Laurence and I will be brief
Earbuds
I remember when the Walkman first came out.
They came with cheap foam pads on a flimsy plastic frame to wear.
These broke easily, and, over the years, just got flimsier and cheaper.
I don’t think I ever had a pair that lasted over a week.
Now, they’ve got these fancy silicone earbuds you stick in your ear.
They don’t fall out as easily as the headphones fell off.
I’m told the sound is great with them, but I can’t use them.
I’ve already got hearing aids stuck in there.
From listening to those old cheap flimsy headphones too loud.