How do you write 100 word stories? #94

Many folk with relatives in the old country have asked how do you Tom write a 100 word story

You may find this hard to believe but a poll of 1000 unpublished authors’ food of choice #1 was ketchup soup. In a close second was bananas. Seems bananas meet the needed of a writer on the go. No time or energy wasted on cooking. Bananas are a wash in potassium, the critical mineral the body needs to produce irony. Bananas also are rich in Vitamin Q. 22 bananas a day meets the daily min requirement of Vitamin Q. When I’m on my daily constitutional with my typewriter in hand, I like to carry 8 to 10 in my pocket.

Everything is a circle

Everything is a circle.
The table is a circle.
The table’s chairs are in a circle.
The cake is a circle.
The glass of milk is a circle.
Your eyes open wide. Like circles.
Your mouth is a circle, silent.
As you choke on the cake, your hands rise to your throat, and your face goes blue.
The lenses on my glasses are circles.
I watch you die.
I dig a hole in the back yard… another circle.
I push you in, fill up the hole.
I eat the rest of the cake, drink the milk, and go to sleep.

Peach

What did you just say?
My hearing’s not so good, and I need new batteries in my hearing aids.
“Peach on earth, and good will to all men?”
Oh, you said peace, not peach.
Although, now that I think of it, peach makes a lot more sense.
I mean, have you ever been angry when eating a peach?
I haven’t. And you haven’t either.
Nobody ever has.
So maybe if we give peaches to everybody, there will be goodwill to all men?
What? You’re allergic to peaches?
Well, I guess there goes my whole “Good will” idea.
(You oversensitive jerk!)

How do you write 100 word stories? #93

Many folk with an army of zombies have demanded how do you Tom write a 100 word story

In the last instatement I touched on how Google works great as a contextual word finder. Today I wish to wander over to Wikipedia work on some wily word wonks. Wikipedia is the superhighway of trivia. It has an amazing array of Pop references. Here’s an example. I’m writing a story about James Bond. I choose Stardust as my music bed. I randomly wiki Hoagy Carmichael. At the bottom of the page is a reference to Ian Fleming stating he saw Bond as Carmichael with a scar. This isn’t Hoagy Have and Have Not, this is Hoagy license to kill

How do you write 100 word stories? #92

Many folk with a hole in their bucket their bucket their bucket have asked how do you Tom write a 100 word story.

I’d like to believe a forceps deliver by a marine doctor is the reason my brain works the way it does. The most troublesome of my many mental shortcomings is a severely limited spelling capacity. If anyone chimes in with a comment about phonetics I’m going to personally send them to met god. The first computer program I ever purchased was a spellchecker. It ran in consort with Apple Writer, at a time when no wordprocessor had an internal checker. Over the years Ms Word has been my constant companion, but of late Google has become my checker of choice.

Clown Juice

Here. Have a drink.
What is it?
Clown juice.
Yeah, it tastes a little funny.
Freshly squeezed, too. None of that frozen concentrate junk or powdered “Clown Drink” crap.
Pure clown juice, straight from the clown.
Squeezed their squirting flowers myself this morning.
What kind of clown?
Circus clown. Only the best Barnum and Bailey label.
Rodeo clowns are just too gritty and bitter. Nobody wants to drink that rot.
And don’t get me started on mimes. Weak as water and sappy sweet.
Hospital clowns, well, they’re too salty.
From the tears they cry after visiting the kids.
Sad stuff.

How do you write 100 word stories? #91

Many folk with serious grills have asked how do you Tom write a 100 word story

How can a mild manner man from Houston afford to cloth, fed, and shelter a banjo playing midget in a word prolithic. That like guy has written harlequin romances, sermon for Pat Robertson, and manuals for maintaining network edge routers. He can and does it all. He asks so little in return and this is how LS is able to keep him around despite the complaint of neighboring sheep ranchers. I have from time to time hired the midget to write a story. I begged him to let me give him credit, but he just shakes his zipped mask, no.

They Walk No More

Things have been crazy here in Middle Earth.
There was a war. Lots of people and orcs and things got killed.
Some midgets and their friends chickened out and fled. They claimed they had to go off and destroy a ring.
Yeah. Right.
The noise died down, the fires got put out, we buried the bodies and repaired the damage to our homes and businesses.
Those ring-destroying heroes? Too hoity-toity for honest hard work.
They said “We’re sailing off to the West.”
Yeah, we got stuck building the boats. Them walking trees really yell when you mill them for planks.

How do you write 100 word stories? #90

Many folk tales with sad endings beg the question how do you Tom write a 100 word story

Timmy had writer’s block. He thought he had said it all, possible twice. In a lazy random glance out the window he saw five saffron robed men walk down Mulberry St. “What the frack?” said Timmy and ran out the door to catch up with them. “Where are you going? (To you Latin scholars Quo Vadis) “Jimmy’s house he’s dead.” “Bummer.” “Not really we are going to read the Book of Dead at his house for 4 days to help him on his way.” Timmy sat and listened for 4 day. When he got home his writer’s block for gone.

Weekly Challenge #260 – “Be Italian!”

Welcome to the Weekly Challenge Number Two Hundred and Sixty, 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 Be Italian!

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.


Tom

Be Italian
Take a chance and try to steal a fiery kiss
That’s what mama said
Bambino that how you’ll get ahead
Drink the wine and drive the line
Be a lover undercover
Do not regress always that the leap
When you dead Bambino you can sleep
So I drive this spider as hard as I may
Never look back along the way
Seize the darkness Seize the day
Take my hand
Take my heart
Take a chance
Let it start
Put the petal
To the metal
We were born to go fast
Live today as if it may become your last

Zackmann

Why are you guys dressed up with the cowboy hats and chaps looking like the singers on the
Mexican cable television network?
But we were supposed to be Italian because we are making a movie.
Why you are throwing noodles at each other and why your brother isn’t with you?
He said it was a sacrilege. He has been so much less fun after he got religion. You would think
a Pastafarian would have a sense of humor
Although you guys seem to be having fun, I don’t think you get the whole concept of the
spaghetti western.

You look like heck. What happen to your face? Nice Shiner.
I happened to be a crowed commuter train and these two Italian guys were talking and I was the
only one who didn’t understand that there was good reason the seat between the talking Italians
was empty.
Will you get revenge on the guy who hit you in the eye?
No, I think he is a nice guy but just in case I have to sit next to him again I am buying him a copy
of Jim Lavriola’s How to Talk Italian Without Using Your Hands.

AM Earley

“Mr. Napoli, I know you want all your son-in-laws to be Italian,” John stated in fluent Italian to his future father-in-law. “I am African-American, but I was born and raised in Italy on a US Air Base.” The father conceded his first criteria. “I can provide for your daughter. I have a very good job in software development.” After more description the father conceded the second criteria. “As for having something in common with yourself, I know you embezzled money from the mob. I however will return your money after the wedding.”

Todd

I touched the “Be Italian!” button. There was a soft click and the smell of brimstone filled the tiny booth.

My freckled skin turned olive, then slightly orange. The paunch of my stomach transformed into a six pack. My curly red hair straightened, darkened, highlighted blond, and finally spiked.

Before I could hit the Cancel button, the lights dimmed and a mirror ball lowered from the ceiling. My head tilted sideways to cradle a set of headphones against my shoulder. My fist rose involuntarily and started pumping to the beat.

That’s the last time I use the discount Simulation Machine.

TJ

Now more than ever it is the best time to be Italian! We work three,
maybe four hours a week, we sleep til noon, we eat all the Italian food
we want and look fabulous, we all drive Ferraris and Vespas and are
surrounded with unimaginable beauty. And if you’re a very young woman,
you can get a private audience with our Prime Minister Silvio Berlusconi
and work out some deal whereby your family isn’t charged any taxes at
one of our bunga-bunga sex parties! Sure our government will collapse
any day now but honestly, what a way to go!

Danny

I’m Italian! Not Italian enough to be accepted in my Guido neighborhood in New Jersey, but Italian enough to be considered Italian everywhere else. My maternal grandfather was from Italy, a rural area in the mountains north of Naples. My grandfather was Anthony Festa. Grandpa changed his name from Festa to Foster, because of the discrimination all Italians endured during the 1920’s and 1930’s here in the United States. Despite the discrimination, my grandfather became a very successful businessman. He died 8 years before I was born, so I never got to meet him. I cannot thank him enough for my life.

Norval Joe

“Eh, Tony,” Larry said as he dropped down onto the padded vinyl bench. “Wadda ya thinkin? This place is a dump?”
“What’s the matter with you, Lare?” Burt asked. “And why are you calling me Tony? You know my name’s Burt.”
“Wadda ya talkin about?” Larry raised his hands in the air dramatically. “The name’s Louie. And how you evah gonna meet chicks in this place?”
“We eat lunch here everyday,” Burt said. “And what’s with the slicked back hair?”
“I thought maybe we’s could be italian,” Larry winked. “We might finally get some chicks. You know what I mean?”

Planet Z

It was closing night, and the cast was already drunk.

The director would have been pulling his hair out over all the jokes and mistakes if he hadn’t have passed out by act 2.

Hamlet walks out on the stage and utters the immortal Bard’s words: “To be or not to be Italian.”

I didn’t hear what came next because a fat guy in the front row stood up and shouted “I’m Italian! Wanna make something of it?”

Hamlet, being drunk, did.

Instead of slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, he got his nose broken by a hairy-knuckled fist.

Ouch.