I got this magic toaster. I use it with magic bread. Each morning I pop in two slices and out comes impressions of the saints. I got to spread some magic butter on both sides first and that has a tendency to short the magic toaster out. Last week I got a bunch of St Vince De Pauls. I’m working my way up to the holy family. Then the big bucks will start rolling in. Yes true believers will pay considerable cash for Jesus on a sourdough rye. Who knows maybe I can get a Virgin Mary on a pumpernickel?
She Sparkled
I saw the strangest thing in the paper today.
The theater critic reviewed a local production of Shakespeare and was unsparing in their attacks on one of the actors.
Despite the slowness and awkwardness of the venue, the set design did get praise.
But what was most curious was their gushing praise for a local performer of renown, going so far as to say that they sparkled, not just in the play, but everything they did.
They were in the audience, not in the play.
I’d tell you who said this, but they’re just a critic: nobody remembers their names.
Weekly Challenge #247 – Are we there yet?
Welcome to the Weekly Challenge Number Two Hundred and Forty-Seven, 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 Are we there yet?
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.
Steven
Fifty years since we left Earth in our hollowed-out asteroids, so I’m
sixty-seven. Thanks to hibernation, I only feel fifteen. They let me
man the controls – I’m mature for my age. It makes the month rotation
with my sister go by faster. I could do this for years and years and
not feel anxious about getting to another star.
Amy calls over the comm, quick and panicky. She doesn’t answer when I
call back.
I hear a noise – one I’ve not heard since we left Earth.
A zombie moan.
Now I can’t get off this ship fast enough.
Tom
Burroughs’ bark banged against the waters of hell. “Actually it is the waters between hell and the other side,” interjected the Podcaster. “Are we there yet,” inquired St Peter rubbing his hand over a small pile of burning copies of the Naked Lunch. “I think we’re close I see a less darker dark over there.” Said the Podcaster pointing to a thin line on the horizon. Suddenly wave upon wave of hands rose around the bark tossing rainbows into the boat. “What hell are those,” yelled Burroughs. “AOL CDs,” replied the Podcaster. Make for the shore before the subscriptions activate.
Michael
“Oasis Pub, how can I help you?”, Joe said.
“Hi, I’m Ilene Dover. Harvey there yet? My husband Harvey said he’d be there tonight.”
Ilene Dover, Joe thought. That’s one helluva handle.
“I’ll tell him you called Ilene,” Joe said, hanging up the phone.
He turned to Harvey at the far end of the bar.
“Call home Harvey, Ilene Dover is looking for you,” Joe said, unable to suppress his laughter.
“It could have been worse,” Harvey replied, “ I could have married her brother Ben.”
These people are sick, Joe thought, wiping away the spilled beer from the bar.
Zackmann
TJ was happy with his life’s work as spaceship navigator because space is even emptier than
North Dakota. TJ could tell it would be a long trip when he scolded his future replacement and
very young son, saying “Our new home, The Primogeniture, is a multi-generational spaceship.
We will travel for almost half a Millennium to our new planet. You, your children, your grand
children, and your great grand children are likely to have died of old age before even getting
close to our destination.
So for God’s sake, please stop asking me if we are there yet.”
TerrazaByte
The year was 1903 and time for the annual Father/Daughter hiking trip through the Rein Mountains.
Lieserl and her Father were preparing the backpacks while her mother, Mileva, packed a special lunch for them to enjoy.
“Thank you Mama” she said, as she hugged her good bye.
She then took the hand of her father and they began to walk side by side down the trail.
After what seemed to be hours that passed by, Lieserl asked her Father, “Are we there yet?”
Albert looked at her with a puzzled look and said, “My dear, we are ALWAYS there.”
AM Earley
“One more mile to the mall,” declared my daughter. She is so smart, and such a worry-wart. I can’t tell her anything that will upset her or she will run to her room crying. I hope she grows out of it before she finishes forth grade. Fortunately I found a nice children’s dentistry near the mall. All I have to do now is take the right fork in the road, not the . . . .
“Mommy, the mall’s in the left lane.”
“We’re going afterwards.”
“After. After? After wh . . . ?”
I told you she was smart.
“No, no, noooooooooo.”
And a worry-wart.
Danny
Are we there yet? Have we solved our nation’s problems, have we moved beyond the hate and polarization that rules our current political climate? Are we ever going to see the day when we stop shooting each other because our political ideals differ from one another? Are we ever going to start moving forward in a productive way, creating new things, exploring new frontiers? Are we there yet? Reality check, the voices of hate are too strong, Glen Beck, Sarah Palin, Bill O’Reily, Fox News! Truth be told, this from a man of bad taste, were never going to get there.
TJ
The light flashed. Again. “Check engine.” I did. I hit a rock on the
road and there’s an open coolant leak under my radiator. As long as
I’m moving forward the fan is sucking cold air into the engine, but
the holiday traffic slows as I approach the service center and the
lights are against me. Another red light. I shut the engine off and
wait. It turns, and my car struggles to start again. Oh G-d. Will I make
it? Will I get stuck in traffic? Steam curls ominously from under the
hood as the light goes red again.
Norval Joe
Leanna wiped the sweat from her forehead, pushed a stray lock of hair back up into her bonnet and leaned on her older sister Elitha who tried to push her away.
“Dad,” she whined. “It’s hot. My feet hurt. I’m sweating and tired. Are we there yet?”
George Donner removed his hat and ran his fingers through his hair as he surveyed the low rolling hills of the countryside.
“Well,” he said, “we just left Independence, Missouri this morning, so we still have about 2000 miles to Sutter’s fort. Just keep walking and we’ll be in California in no time.”
Planet Z
One hour to opening.
Time to inspect “World Of The Future.”
I activate the systems, and step onto the moving sidewalk.
The Andersons’ car drives up.
“Are we there yet?” asks Jimmy Anderson. “Are we in The Future yet?
“No, Jimmy,” I say with Dad Anderson. “We aren’t.”
The corporate sponsor’s gadgets line both sides of the walkway.
The Andersons’ spaceship rockets up.
“Are we there yet?” asks Jimmy Anderson. “Are we in The Future yet?
“No, Jimmy,” I say, ignoring Dad Anderson. “But there’s plenty of crap to sell until then.”
“Future’s ready,” I say over the radio, yawning.
I baked you a cake
Today would have been your birthday.
I baked you a cake.
When I got to the cemetery, I wandered around until I remembered:
You were cremated and your ashes spread over your favorite park.
I get so forgetful these days.
So, I walked to the park with the cake.
Groundskeepers were there, clearing brush and raking leaves.
I tried to share the cake with them, but they didn’t speak English.
That’s when I saw the woodchipper.
I turned the exhaust spout into the air, threw the cake into the blades, and the sky filled with white.
Coconut. It’s your favorite.
Pay The Price
I was losing my hearing, but I couldn’t afford the surgery to repair it.
So, I got financial assistance from a corporation.
Now, I can hear again, but I also hear advertising.
When I walk by a restaurant, their ad plays in my ear.
“Michael, you deserve a break today,” says the voice, calling me out by name.
I want the ads to stop, but my doctor says the cost of ad-free implants is not covered by my plan.
And under his Doctors Union contract, he can’t remove them.
So that’s why I’m here with the mirrors and the drill.
Sitting very still.
Mission Control, we have a problem
I deployed the spacepod, set the distress beacon to max, broke the survival manual seal. I put the data crystal into my ipod and Lolita appeared.
“We at MaxCorp have compiled a list of the three most important procedures to ensure you maintain mental stability in the event of lengthy rescue extraction.”
One engages in fanciful verbal dialects while talking to yourself.
“OK ME MATES it be a pirate’s life for me.”
Two positive affirmations.
“I will survive. I will to survive. Survive I will.
Third make music.
I whip out the old mouth harp and do some Mahler
The Captain
My title is Captain Of The Guard.
However, as I look at this week’s schedule, it’s meaningless.
Jacques and Fergusen are in training. They need to work on marching.
Oswaldo’s attending the Guard Convention, checking out new halberds.
Benoit called in sick, but he’s faking it. Didn’t schedule time off again. King doesn’t like rollover days.
Everyone’s out… except for me.
Not to worry: The same end-of-the-year staffing issues are affecting our enemy, too.
A lone attacker appears, yelling CHARGE!
I laugh, inviting him to sit down.
We shake hands, he sits. Invasion averted.
(This is why I am Captain.)
The Clown Bitches Need Oral
My life is a three ring circus.
A swarm of clowns flows from ring to ring, leering at the audience and pumping their hips in crude, suggestive ways.
Thrust thrust in your face, don’t look away, that just makes them laugh more.
The clown bitches don’t want your applause, they just need oral.
Drop your popcorn.
Drop your soda.
Drop to your knees.
The band is getting louder and you can’t hear yourself think.
Reach for the clown cock… pull it out… unwinding longer… and longer…
Tied-together handkerchiefs… then their dirty underwear.
All over your face.
(You can cry now.)
The Conspiracy
We recruited quietly.
Terminal cancer patients.
The mentally retarded.
The homeless.
The hopeless.
Each received two packages: maps showing their target, and a bomb to deliver to that target.
We wanted to coordinate attacks, but some of these people couldn’t wait… time was running out, and we had to collect some maps and bombs.
It was only a matter of time before we’d get caught.
So, we set them loose, and the impact was devastating.
Every soft target was hit. Corrupt politicians, greedy bankers, crooked parasites all obliterated.
Society panicked.
Then, when the smoke cleared, we waited.
Hoping for change.
Pardon
The President watched the news in horror as the plane hit the Empire State Building over and over and over…
His National Security Advisor tried to brief him as he walked to the Press Room, but there wasn’t much known yet, other than the fact that a plane had hit the famous skyscraper.
As he stood there, fielding questions without answers, the identity of the hijacker was released:
It was a turkey.
A reporter stood up. “Didn’t you pardon that turkey this past Thanksgiving?”
The President then recognized the bird and winced.
“I guess he got cooked in the end.”