Many folk with hidden agendas have asked how do you Tom write a 100 word story
Since I have been writing stories in 100 word chucks I find I have been able to reduce all my analytic reporting to that size. Be it troop assessments in Afghanistan or Chilean Copper labor trends everything is 100 words long. Some of these pieces have escaped into the wild and ended up on the desk of the director of the Heritage Foundation. So here I am working for a think tank no make that two think tanks I’m on loan to the Hoover now. If this works out with these guys I might head over to the White House.
I’m trying to write a story, but I’m drawing a blank.
I imagine the blank in my mind, standing there, chewing the creativity out of the imaginative part of my brain to pieces.
I send my guards after the blank, and it is captured.
After torturing a confession out of the blank, I have it dragged out into a field.
Its legs and arms are tied to horses, and I ask the blank if it has any last words.
“Nope,” it says. “I’m drawing a blank.”
“Not me,” I say. “I’m drawing and quartering one.”
The horses pull it apart.
I grew up playing Scrabble.
We used to play on a board with little wooden tiles. The board went on a turntable so it could be turned to face each player.
Now, we’re playing Scrabble over our phones.
She plays GAIN, I build on it by adding an A to make it AGAIN.
We go back and forth like this, game to game.
It’s kinda like chess in a way.
Unlike chess, where all the pieces are out in the open, you need to track the tiles secretly for Scrabble to work.
I peek at her phone when she’s asleep.
Many folk songs sing out how do you Tom write a 100 word story
I find deadlines as a useful tool to keep me pumping out this dribble. I just take the form to a higher level of absurdity. I tie a fishing line to a Smith and Weston one chambered loaded, spin and start writing. A sword is suspect from the ceiling over my head if the 45 miss fires. A last line prevents the Africa Kill bee from getting out of a box under the desk. Sadly multiple deadlines have limited effect on zombies. Can you please pass that plate of brains, watch out for the trip line under the … sorry.
Many folk with Elvis hairdos have asked do you want to be my good luck charm o o o o
But then asked how do you Tom write a 100 word story thank you very much.
We here at the weekly challenge embrace the democratic process. You will note you the voting public chose whomever they feel has risen to the heights of brevity in quality and vote for them on the pole at the site. Sometime they place into the hands of reality challenge authors the opportunity to choose a topic so obscure and archaic it leave we contenders blankly staring at the screen. The writer warrior’s friend in time as those is the flaming silver spear of reference the internet. Take Vestiphoia, actually take it far away and bury it in an unmarked grave.
Welcome to the 100 Word Stories podcast at podcasting.isfullofcrap.com. I’m your host, Laurence Simon.
Weekly Challenge Number Two Hundred and Sixty-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 Stupid Computer!
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.
TJ
Between Big Blue and Watson and Google’s auto-complete algorithms
people were getting a bit nervous about smart computers, so we’ve
developed a stupid computer with the attention span of a teenager. It
records personal information and then prompts your memory by asking you
things like “Didn’t you have something at like 2:30 today? The
dentist, maybe?” reminding you you’re out of eggs when you’re
already through the checkout counter, and calling your cellphone to
check someone’s phone number. It’s not the most helpful machine, but
using it will certainly improve your memory, out of necessity, and if
only by comparison.
DC
“My stupid computer. It’s slow, it’s useless. It tells me it’s doing one thing when it’s really doing another.” Distracted, I nodded in a way I hoped conveyed sympathy. She continued, “It looks like shit. It’s constantly getting viruses. It craps out at the most inopportune times. It is almost like it’s purposely being difficult.”
“So get rid of it.”
“I’ve grown attached…”
“That’s dumb.”
She looked at me, her face reflecting thoughts I couldn’t be bothered to read. “Is that how you deal with things that are no longer working?”
“Absolutely.”
“I see.”
And then so did I.
Tom
Stupid Computer. Piece of garbage. Rudy opens the leather violin case. The shinning metal flashed in his steel gray eyes. He grabs the Maxwell’s Silver Hammer silver hammer and brings it down on the center of the keyboard. He smashes the monitor, pulverizes the mouse, crashes the case and flattens the CPU like a raw veal cutlet. Dropping the hammer with both hands he throws the broken remains through the window. Glass flies everywhere. When the fury passes Rudy calmly return the fine tuning instrument back into the violin case. He heads down the street to his next unexpecting customer.
Danny
Congratulations! You are now the proud owner of the Tekken 3000 home robotic unit. This little mechanical humanoid can do it all, cook, clean, walk the dog, prepare the taxes, run your business. Tekken 3000 can work indoors, outdoors, Even in outer space! I brought my Tekken 3000 home, and it was wonderful! The first night, my robot, I named him Robbie, did everything listed in the advertisement, and more. Robbie, my new best friend. The next morning, Robbie hooked up to the internet via a USB port to update his Windows Vista software, was promptly infected with a virus, and exploded. Stupid computer.
Zackmann
Doc you got to help me. I thought it would be so cool to have a computer in my head so no one
would know that when I was looking at them I was really watching youtube or listen to podcasts
inside my head. Now it is taking over my entire life and making me miserable. Whenever I
eat sweets or forget to pay a bill before the first due date, it plays reality TV shows. If I lie to
a woman it plays lifetime movies all night when I try do sleep. Doc please remove this stupid
computer now.
Steven the Nuclear Man
I love her.
She caresses me with her fingers. Fast, then slow, then fast again. Slides them across the planes of my form.
I love her.
She tells me what to do, commands me. She is my mistress, my ruler, and I will always submit to her.
I love her.
I surprise her. She is puzzled at the strange shipments from Amazon. She wonders at the gorgeous photographs I show her. She laughs at the LOLcats.
I love her.
Even as she as she defrags me, as she reaches out to turn me off and unplug me.
I love her.
———————–
The poet stood before the computer. “You can fool their Turing tests, but that’s nothing.”
The computer whirred, beeped, and hummed.
The poet held out the small drive. “My poetry. Poetry is human. Poetry is being alive.” He inserted the drive into the computer’s port. “Analyze that, you stupid machine.”
The computer whirred, beeped, and hummed.
The poet reached the door before the speakers came to life. “You use metaphors of snow in your early work, rain later.”
“Frequency analysis. Trivial.”
“Snow covers, obscures, hides. Children laugh and play in it. Ugly things turn beautiful under the snow, but they are still there, just a crunching footstep away. People hide from rain, take shelter under umbrellas. They complain about the wet and the mud. Everyone wishes for a White Christmas; no-one cares for a rainy Easter.”
“Still just recall-”
“Snow obscures, but does not change anything. As snow melts, that left behind is ugly and tinged with cinders and salt. Nothing changes. When rain leaves, it is messy and muddy. But it is clean and fresh. New things can grow.”
“That’s not what they mean,” the poet said.
The computer whirred, beeped, and hummed.
“Then why are you crying?”
AM Earley
Glen wasn’t sure about the independent computer store. The young salesman was so friendly, helpful and plain spoken. Glen
could see this store earned its nice reputation. But Glen still had one question, “Why is this store named “Stupid
Computer”?”
“Computers are stupid because they only do what they are told. We fix them to do what their owner wants.”
As Glen left, he heard laughter coming from the stockroom. “Have a good day,” the salesman’s words stopped the laughter.
Glen didn’t know what the joke he missed was, and he didn’t want to know.
Norval Joe
“Spirit Leader. Og need advice,” the clan chief said and crouched before the old man.
“Speak Og,” the spirit leader grunted.
“Winter come. We stay, or find warmer place?”
“How much food you have?”
“One mammoth, three bison,” the clan chief said.
“How many people?”
“Clan have thirty-eight people.”
“I speak to ancestors,” the spirit leader said and removed several worn finger bones from a leather pouch. He rolled them between his hands and cast them into the dirt. He stared in silent dismay.
“What say ancestors?” Og asked.
“Ancestors say, “Error 326. Missing array parameter.”
“Og say, ‘Stupid computer’.”
Planet Z
I turned on the computer, checked email, and then went to the feeds.
“Like Kryptonite To Stupid” was one of the taglines I saw.
After reading this jackass’ drivel for a bit, I mumbled “More like ‘Like Magnet to Stupid’ there.” and I shut things down.
I started to wonder if there was only so much intelligence to go around, and with the explosion in data storage and clouds and server farms, if things weren’t being spread too thin these days.
I squeezed into my Hummer, drove to McDonalds, and let the car idle as I ate 5 Egg McMuffins.
Many folk with a pink carnation and a pickup truck have asked how do you Tom write a 100 word story
I pose the following question. Is it easer to write a serious 100 word story or a funny 100 word story? Times Up! The answer, its infinity easer to be funny. Be brashly irreverent. Invite in the gods of inappropriate behavior. Be childish, juvenile, and all out silly. Let no Sacred Cows escape barbeque. Truth be told take any serious work bend it just 2 degrees, you got giggles. If we are pushed to cry, laughter isn’t far behind. Life is one big joke; it’s just a matter of where you stand in front of punch line of behind it.
I asked my wife what she wanted for her birthday.
She said “Oh, just get me something crazy and expensive that I don’t need.”
Emo Philips once said the perfect gift for such an occasion is radiation treatment.
But that’s dangerous. Makes people sick.
So, instead of radiation treatment, I got her an exorcism.
Tying her to the bed was easy, but she started screaming and swearing the moment the priest came into the room.
“Happy Birthday,” I whispered into her ear.
She screamed and swore louder, so I told the priest “That’s the Devil talking.” before leaving the room.
Many folk with slide rulers have asked how do you Tom write a 100 word story
The curse of the writing personality is it collects stuff. What it collect the most are observed insights. We tend to be avid listeners attuned to perceiving good tales. It’s a skill that grows sharper with age. As life presents content, age presents context. My advice to any young writer is get old as quickly as you possible can. If you don’t have the luxury of actually being old yourself, sound old. Try on a William Burroughs gravely cadence. Hang out with people in Oncology wards. Not only will you witness age, you can witness the black specter of resignation.
Crawling out from the wreckage of Babel’s Tower, survivors call out for help.
Nobody understands anybody else. The Lord has shattered our language into many tongues incomprehensible to each other.
We grunt and point and shake each other in frustration.
One grabs a shovel and begins to dig.
“To bury the bodies?” I ask.
He doesn’t understand, just keeps digging.
We drag corpses into the hole, he shouts, and throws them back out.
Ah. Yes.
I see now.
I grab a shovel. Others grab theirs.
We join him and dig.
If we cannot reach Heaven, we shall certainly reach Hell!