Many folk with femurs have asked how do you Tom write a 100 word story
You know how those magnetic poem kits work? The old school version is done with rubber cement and scissors. My stories lend themselves to be chopped up and rearranged. In fact that is what gives them that other worldly quirkiness. When you employ the gluing method of story construction it is best to go with phrases over individual words. Easier to stick down. There are two ways to apply the cement. Smear glue on just the back of the words and squishy it in place. Or carefully coat page and parts, blow dry and position. More anally retentive, but permanent.
Welcome to the Weekly Challenge Number Two Hundred and Fifty-Six, 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 Warped
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Tom
Marcy could warp space. She did it by singing to Green Pony. A short song in made-up words and reality turned all Klein Bottley. Puppies and kittens did not do well around Marcy. When mum and dad exerted parental authority Marcy and Green Pony showed them the error of their one-dimensional point of view with a first hand perspective. Marcy found she didn’t have a fondness for any authority figure. So she started warping governments. She said, “Governments are generally not good for people.” Some might say this is a warped point of view. You want to tell Marcy that?
Terrazabyte
For most kids, summer time is the best time of the year. The Schools are closed, the days are filled with playing and some kids go off to summer camp. Best time of the year for some, but not Vinnie.
Vinnie’s parents were a bit warped and always sent him off to Mime Camp. They’d pack his luggage with black tights, face makeup and little white gloves.
Vinnie protested against going but his parents would only look back at him with frowning & crying gestures.
This year, Vinnie fought back and shot both of his parents… with a finger gun.
Todd
“I give up. What IS your superpower?”
The woman’s eyes smiled through the wafting steam of her coffee cup as she took a sip.
“I can teleport.” She said grabbing his hand, concentrating.
…and they warped…
Suddenly they were standing on a beach.
“Awesome! Can I try?” The man asked excitedly.
“Sure. Grab my hand. Sometimes it helps to say it at first.”
“New York City!” he yelled.
…and they warped…
Suddenly they were standing on busy street. A cab screamed by, horn blaring. The cabbie yelled, “Watch it buddy!”
“Go to hell!” The man yelled back.
…and they warped…
Zackmann
Hello, I just called to complain about the reference you gave for the contractor you found me.
The one you said was a straight as a board. His estimate was totally off. He ran up a big bill
at the hardware store. He never showed up at the time or on the day scheduled. I had to hire
someone else not only to complete what he started but also to fix everything he did. I suspect
he’s brain dead.
What? You always bought lumber from the discount bin? You really have what I call a warped
sense of humor.
Robert
On a dark and lonely corner
Where no one wants to be
I see a face and scorn her
For she has no purity
Her body has been mistreated
Her mind it has been used
Her problems are deep seated
But she stands there still amused
Shortly after I pay her for her time
And warn her I won’t be back
She says you are still a friend of mine
Even though I gave her the sack
Running, now to get away
Looking back in her direction
I realize I want to stay
Warped by some paid affection
AM Earley
Lenny and I came back from the war a little warped. I can’t sleep during the night anymore. So I got hired by the neighborhood to patrol at night.
Lenny can’t see anything destroyed. He makes a great handyman, except during the demolition stage. Fortunately his apprentice is more than willing to demolish.
Hell, Lenny made my new leg. It doesn’t make a single noise as I walk around at night.
We are coping the best we can, but every so often we have bad memories of the war. Hell, if you had seen the tree meter tall mountain troll that ate my leg in a single bite. I don’t care how strong a paladin I was, that would give anyone nightmares.
Danny
Captain Kirk stood on the bridge, and screamed, “Take us to Warp speed. Mr. Sulu!” Sulu replied, “We can’t, Captain, the helm is warped.” “What?,” Kirk replied. “Sulu, are you warped? The helm is fine.” Sulu replied, “The only warped person on this bridge is you, Captain, and no, the helm is warped, haven’t you even noticed we’ve been doing warp nine in a big circle for over an hour now?” “Uhura, is the Helm warped?” Kirk asked. “Well, duh, are you warped, Captain? Have you not noticed the helm is at a 90 degree angle?” Spock finally interjects, “Totally illogical.”
Norval Joe
A light tap brought Jerry to the door.
He peered through the peep hole at his ex-girlfriend, Beth and huffed, “What’s she doing here?”
Incensed, he yanked on the door knob to snarl in Beth’s face, but the door stuck at the bottom, opened a few inches at the top and slammed shut as Jerry lost his grip on the brass knob.
Jerry leaned into the door and pulled up on the knob to free the misshapen door.
“I thought you’d like to meet my new boyfriend,” Beth smiled.
Jerry’s former best friend, Heinrich, winked.
“Beth,” Jerry said, “You’re warped.”
TJ
Five frizzy Magenta wigs bobbed at varying heights among the
Frankenfurters and the stick-figure blondes in their grandmothers’
slips. The one Columbia who’d gone all out with the glittering tuxedo
and top hat was about 50, and the Riff Raffs looked like they’d be
more at home at the VFW next door. It was an odd collection of
characters, to be sure, but Larry, having tracked down a pair of
tightie-whities he felt comfortable wearing in public and some
birth-control glasses, forgot he was an accountant and joyously leapt
forward to join the “Time Warp.” Don’t dream it. Be it.
Steven
I take a handful of night and pull.
The darkness stretches, warps, deforms around me. The empty dark
shifts to the dark of sweaters, coats, and stinking gym shoes.
Outside the closet door, Marcus and Josephine are putting their son to
bed. They are older than I remember. Happier, after retiring years
ago. After they stopped hunting my kind. My offspring.
Their son cries – he knows I’m here in the closet again. They laugh,
tell him that I don’t exist, and go downstairs.
The demon hunters’ son cries alone in his bed.
I hush him with one long claw.
Planet Z
One week out of jail, I’m back to robbing homes.
The floorboards are warped from all the years of damp.
I walk across them as slowly as I can, but they still creak with every step.
Thank God my Aunt Gertie is deaf. She’ll have no idea I’m here.
I reach into the cookie jar and pull out a wad of bills, stuffing it into my pocket.
“Put it back, Carter,” says the old woman. I turn around, she’s got a shotgun pointed at my head. “I saw you in the mirror.”
Many folk with strawberry birthmarks have asked how do you Tom write a 100 word story
By their nature I would say writers are not superstitious; but, by design to amen they are. I think the process of marking stuff up leads one to a suspension of disbelief that can’t help jump the racks towards the para-real. My particular soft headedness is the embracing of Talismans. My talisman has major juju. It’s over 50 years old. I like to think of it as a Post Modern Kachina doll. If you’ve never typed before, it may look like a talisman. It is a round red rubber eraser with an attached green brush. The brush removes eraser crumbs.
Y’all there in New York City may be having troubles, but here in Shambles, Oklahoma, things ain’t too bad, really.
School’s doin’ good.
Church is full every Sunday.
Business is business, I reckon.
“Your Life Is In Shambles!” is the motto of the Shambles Picayune and that always gets a laugh out at the barbershop.
You might ask yourself how we be doin’ so good?
Well, that rope around your neck and this here pentagram on the floor is part of the answer.
The rest, well, you can ask Satan when we sacrifice your soul to him in a minute.
Many folk with permanent eyeliner have asked how do you Tom write a 100 word story
You may find this hard to believe but I’m actually going to tell you how I write stories for the challenge. On Sunday I read the topic at the site. The first idea that comes into my head is the one I work on. I take a piece of paper and fold it into quarter. I cover this area in a continuous stream of words. I do a word count in the right margin. I try to do 75 before setting the hook and a final twist. I remove adjectives and if needed remove subordinate clauses. 95% is left unedited.
I live in the south where it’s warm most of the time. When it gets cold, I can feel it. Deep.
Growing up, I lived north where it snowed. The cold didn’t bother me then. I loved it. It was fun.
We didn’t have sleds or saucers. Instead, we hosed down sheets of cardboard, let them freeze, and slid down hills, holding tight.
We crashed. We laughed.
One kid wanted to bobsled like they do in the Olympics.
A portable toilet on it’s side, door hanging open, full of kids.
And spilled shit.
Thank God I was the one pushing.
Many folk with wisdom teeth have asked how do you Tom write a 100 word story
My wife was born in San Francisco. She doesn’t write stories, but knows a good story when it crawls out of the depths of a Midwest winter. If you were raise in Chicago you have no idea that there are vegetables other that corn. You think nothing of have a cup of instant coffee and velveta sandwiches on Wonder bread. Wine comes in the gallon and is red. Immersed in this culinary nightmare my wife pointed out the possibility of the following: A California Yankee in King Applesauce’s Court the tale of a man who bring sprouts to the Midwest.
I’ve been doing some experiments with Leprechauns recently.
Just like werewolves, silver bullets kill them.
Just like vampires, a stake through the heart kills them.
Just like mummies, fire kills them.
Heck, pretty much everything kills a leprechaun.
Even Funyons. Those kill Leprechauns, too. Funyons!
These little green boogers are just a bunch of pussies, really.
I was just sitting there, minding my own business, when one of the leprechauns in my experiment keeled over and died.
Thank god they’re all dead. They started hoarding gold in my Caphalon pots and they scratched up the anti-stick coating.
Damn little bastards!
Many folk with two left feet have asked how do you Tom write a 100 word story
I write stories in a 55 gallon drum. It is quiet and quite cozy. Just enough room for a writing table if you bend just so. I got a friend name Rudy who forklifts me around town. We start at Noah’s bangles and end up at Sizzlers. I always sit with by barrel to the wall; never know when one of the boys might be sent around to take someone out. Just last week a couple rounds put a dent in the front side of my drum. Boy that real pissed me off. Rudy dumped that sucker in the bay.
Remember that crazy chick who got run over by a bulldozer in Gaza?
Truth is, she was one of those “late bloomer” girls.
Any bra she owned before she turned twenty was just wishful thinking.
She tried special diets, exercises, and even some weird gels and extracts she got from mail order catalogs.
None of them worked. Not even the hormones that transexuals use as part of their reassignment surgery.
Then one day, she woke up, and she had breasts.
Big ones.
“I’m not flat anymore!” she shouted.
Later that day, she went out to face the bulldozers.
Ironic, yes?