Many folk with attached earlobes have asked how do you Tom write a 100 word story
The Following is a whole hearted endorsement for drugs. Any minors currently reading must immediately stop and precede to the closest wholesome activity perhaps a church fellowship meeting. Remember Just Say No. Ok it’s just us adult then. I was an alter boy straight arrow boy scout. Ten hours after the big silver bird touched down in California I lit up my first joint. Didn’t do a thing, so I dropped a four way of window pain LSD on my eyeball. Truly haven’t been the same since, thank god. Works marginally well on the writing, works wonders on the seeing.
I really don’t feel like eating anything.
Everyone’s telling me I’ve got to eat something.
“Here,” says a friend. “Have some pie.”
She puts a pie in front of me.
I don’t want to eat it.
So, I put my hands behind my back, imagine I’m thirteen again and I’m back at the county fair.
I’m in the pie eating contest.
My face goes down into the pie, and I slurp and chomp it up as fast as possible.
Licking the pie plate clean, I look up at my friend.
“ANOTHER!” I shout, laughing.
The funeral caterers only brought one.
Many folk with three nostrils have asked how do you Tom write a 100 word story
My motto is theft is the farest form of Flattery. If it ain’t nailed down it goes on the page. I like to peruse the 2 dollar book rank at Borders. It seems in spite of a lack of popular acceptance these books got a lot of mineable stuff. The poor schmoe wrapped his brilliant four sentences in 45000 words of dribble. He gets a letter from his publisher inviting him to the outer reaches of oblivion. I just do a little Midnight Requisition. Got that from All the Starts Came Out That Night. Thanks Kevin checks in the mail.
Here at the Grandma Happy Pie Factory, we track our bottom line closely.
We don’t track our bottoms as closely, though, and a rash of broken chairs suggested that we were “testing” the product a little too much.
That, and the fact that the trucks left the factory a few dozen pies light every day.
Grandma called for a staff meeting.
The meeting room floor collapsed under our combined weight, and it took forklifts and cranes to pull our broken bodies out of the basement.
We take up an entire wing in the hospital… and they won’t feed us pie.
Many folk with varying hair length asked how do you Tom Write a 100 word story
Over the years I’ve found the discipline of a college course has led to many of my actually finished works of fiction. Being in an environment where weekly critique and weekly submissions helped create a sense of camaraderie helped keep the focus on the task at hand. I have been fortunate to have had instructors whose day jobs were as working editors. In minutes prose I thought were totally hammered out were redacted to cleaner more polished prose. Being at a Community College you get more literal bang for your literal buck. I attended the same JC as Amy Tam.
Welcome to the Weekly Challenge Number Two Hundred and Fifty-Five, where I post a topic and then challenge you to come up with a 100 word story based on that topic.
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.
I’ll be doing Storyfest in Second Life on Saturday, so if you want to hear my same old crap in a whole new venue, come on by!
Zackmann
“You should hire my client. He has starred in the live action versions of several popular
cartoons. He needs a stunt double but not for stunts. He does is own stunts. You can get
government grants too because he has a serious medical condition.”
“I like your client and I want him to audition him. Although I am relatively sure a human with
vestiphobia may indeed qualify for employment grants, it is very normal for a feline Tom cat
to not want to wear Clothes. I must admit when my credit card bills come I wish my wife had
vestiphobia. ”
Todd S.
“No Mommy, it burns!” screamed little Suzie, streaking naked from the office, overweight nurse in chase.
“The psychiatrist said it was Vestiphobia.” offered Suzie’s mother.
“Nonsense, there is no such thing.” said the doctor dismissively, the nurse returning with the tranquilized Suzie.
Suzie’s mother frowned as the doctor removed the tranquilizer dart and dressed Suzie in the pink dress and patent leather Mary Janes she had supplied.
“Now, we just bring her back slowly…” said the doctor as he administered an injection.
Little Suzie blinked her eyes open, looked at her mother sadly, and disintegrated into a pile of ash.
Tom
Lucas Pendergast had vestiphobia. It was triggered by a tragic collision between a leisure suit and a purple tunic. Scared young Lucas for life. If the DMV inspector hadn’t been a Brahma its doubtful Lucas would’ve passed the test in a bed sheet. Five years later Mr. Pendergast was once again favored by the gods with the same DMV inspector. He and his bed sheet were now the proud possessors of a class C license. Lucas became an ultra-long distance trucker, sleep, ate, lived in his cab. When he died his only request was to be buried in the buff
Robert
Nothing Butt the Truth by Boomer Bob
He held the truth once and he knew it!
At one time he had held it close, caressed it, and put it deep into his pockets for safe keeping.
No matter how hard he tried to conceal it he held truth.
Last night he checked his pockets to make sure it was there.
It wasn’t!
His worst fears had come true.
The truth wasn’t safe anymore with him since his fear of the naked truth had left him fearing ever being clothed in it and now he wonders how can he bare it?
Justin
I sit in the tattered remains of my happy place, the tiny corner of the shack. I look with dismay at the corpse of my pitiful mother. When she wasn’t beating me with twisted wood, she practiced witchcraft. She said it was to feed us, but I know she only craved power. I watch the tiny imps possessing the marshmallows scoot around her body, making trails in the floor wax mother forced me to keep pristine. The protective wax will make it easier to clean mother’s fluids from the wood. I banish the imps with bittersweet tears and start scrubbing.
—
Charles stared at his white cotton shirt and pants, the only clothing whose touch didn’t terrify him. His crotch turned yellow and wet. The smell of urine wafted up to his nostrils. He started to itch all over and hyperventilate. His skin. It was going to tear off his skin. He pictured it getting pulled back, revealing muscle and bone. An unearthly scream crawled from his throat like a spider. Something grabbed him and pulled, and then, he opened his eyes to see someone had dragged out of the rack of pink sweaters he had fallen into at the store.
Danny (110 words)
The convertible quickly pulls up to the drive through window, Dr. Jarred is waiting. “Welcome to Jarred’s Psychology hut. Please state your name and problem.”
“My name is Elliot Hunt, and I’m scared of clothing! Now I’m charged with indecent exposure and called a sexual offender! What do I do?!”
Dr. Jarred replies, “Yes, couldn’t help but notice your erection, you need calm down and be less happy to see me. Fear of clothing is called Vestiphobia, here’s the cure. Imagine what your life will be like when you know that you are not “defective.” Now put some fucking clothes on, and be grateful your mother didn’t name you Mike. Next!”
TerrazaByte
It’s never a comforting time when we go visit the in-laws. They both suffer from vestiphobia, which is a fear of clothing. I understand when they tell us that clothing makes them feel nauseous and claustrophobic.
The problem I have is that this fear supposedly extends to the clothing that others have on when they come over to visit.
I have tried to be open minded to their phobia but it’s becoming difficult ever since we gave them that video camera last Christmas.
Now when we step through the door, I feel the lights go up and grandpa yells ACTION!
Norval Joe
Jeremy lay a still as he could in the sweat sodden sheets of his small bed. His slow, shallow breaths sounded to him like a hurricane. He knew they had to hear. Slowly he turned his head just enough to look from the corner of his eye at the chair by his desk, his turtle neck sweater hung there, a faint outline in the oblique glow of his night lite. It raised a limp fabric arm in greeting and smiled razor sharp teeth and licked its blood red lips. Jeremy lay as still as he could, his heart beating madly.
TJ
One of the greatest Bat villains to grow out of the world of groovy
counter-culture was Jaybird, a dastardly ne’er-do-well who would enter
a crowded bank lobby or shopping mall and with a RIP! FOOM! GAWK! get
naked. Jaybird would mug for the cameras, grab all the loot and streak
away, leaving dazed witnesses unable to describe what they’d seen. The
Caped Crusaders would then chase after Jaybird – “Get back here, my
vestiphobic chum!” – but without any luck. Network censors were
appalled by this character, however, and forced Julie Newmar to keep her
clothes on. Thus Catwoman joined the cast.
Steven the Nuclear Man
The Senator glared at me. “Why is the – enemy combatant – naked? Those hippies already hate this place.”
I stared back. “He refuses clothes, Senator.” My squad mixed with the Senator’s blue-suited toadies. “We don’t know why,” I lied. Simmons handed the jumpsuit to the Senator.
Too late, the prisoner yelled behind soundproof glass. Hidden threads, woven into holy symbols, touched the Senator’s hands. He screamed in pain.
Moments later, my squad stood over the demonic corpses of the Senator and his aides. The “enemy combatant” shifted between human and demonic form.
“This’ll be fun to explain,” Simmons said.
Planet Z
It seemed like a good idea at the time.
Spread a virus that made people deathly afraid of their clothing.
Then spray the cure for the virus on his own clothing line.
He’d corner the market in clothes.
Yeah, he tried to do things legit. But feather boas and bell-bottoms were out, damn the fickle the public.
Now, they’d be in, and everything else would be out.
The day he released the virus, it took a while, but pretty soon everybody was wandering around naked.
Many folk with eyelids have asked how do you Tom write a 100 word story
At the turn of the last century, not the one starting with two, want-to-be writers would hang adoringly at the feet of great authors hoping their greatness would literally rub-off. Well since the advent of the WHATEVER school of social conscience this tacked at greatness has fallen into disfavor. I think it’s high time for a renaissance. So I headed over to Steven King’s house. He opened the door and I said I wanted to hang adoringly at his feet. He hand me a bucket of water and a sponge. I do his feet weekly; it’s improved my writing 100%
Zombies are everywhere.
There’s nowhere left to hide.
I found a boat and made it to an island in the middle of a lake, but the zombies walked along the lake floor and started to come ashore.
So, I kept the boat at sea, which really sucks because I get seasick easily.
I have plenty of food, ammo, and fresh water. And books to read.
If I need more, I go back to shore and collect supplies.
I saw a clown zombie. A freaking clown zombie.
Sick, really, twisting his guts into the shapes of animals.
But, yeah, it’s funny.
Many folk with left ventricles have asked how do you Tom write a 100 word story
You will note that in our last installment I pointed out the use of convoluted word structure as a vehicle to fame and fortune. Sadly I am compelled to point out this only works 90% of the time. To grab that last 10% one must resort to the use of foreign words. Most Latin words have already been sublimated into American English, but it you look carefully there are some with damn weird conjugations that you can use. Greek is good but be sure to use them in italics. Arabic is bit snooty, but you can’t go wrong with French.
The Bolton kid vanished after school, so we got together a search party.
We had such a good time looking, when we found the kid in the woods, we shooed him away.
“We’re having too good of a time looking for you,” we said. “Quit ruining our fun! Get lost.”
The kid cried and ran off, and we started having fun looking for him again.
The Boltons were angry, however.
“How could you do that?” they shouted.
When they joined the search party, though, they realized how fun it was.
“I hope he never comes home!” shouts Mrs. Bolton gleefully.