The 100 Word Stories Podcast

These days, parents change the WiFi password to keep children from playing games until they do their chores.
Back in my day, my parents would slip a suitcase padlock through the holes in my Atari’s power plug.
That way, I couldn’t plug it in until I did my chores.
So, I cut off the plug and stripped the wires and stuck on a new plug.
My dad said “Look at the kid, he was born to be an electrical engineer!”
So proud. Until I plugged the thing in and electrocuted myself.
At least I got out of doing my chores.

We used to go up in the treehouse to listen to Beatles records.
An extension cord running from my bedroom window to the tree.
A power strip, with a lamp plugged into it so we could see at night.
An Easy-Bake oven to make little cookies and cakes.
A dishwasher to clean the pans and plates.
Thank goodness we had the second phone line put in.
Always getting calls while we’re on the treadmill or working a dowel on the lathe.
And then, lightning struck the tree, burned it all to the ground.
Thank goodness I saved the Beatles records.

The government offered grants to teachers who would commit to teaching at low-income and struggling schools.
Then, the grant officials would try to find the most petty excuses to cancel those grants.
Late paperwork, minor violations of the rules. That kind of thing.
They’d wait until the commitment was over before informing the teachers of their violations.
The teachers received letters demanding repayment of the grants.
Most teachers gave in, but Dan didn’t.
Dan spent three years in the worst gang-infested hellhole in Detroit.
So, he hunted down the grant officials, and taught them what he’d learned from his students.

Some people deserve one cheer.
“Let’s all cheer Martin!”
Other people deserve three cheers.
“Three cheers for Martin!”
But have you ever heard of someone getting two cheers?
I mean, maybe they did something that was twice as good as something that deserves one cheer?
Or two-thirds as good as something that deserves three cheers?
Are three cheers for two people one-and-a-half cheers for each person?
How do you determine how many cheers someone or something gets?
Does volume count? What about the number of people cheering?
And how many cheers is a fruit basket or a gift card worth?

After Willy Wonka retired, Charlie took over the factory.
Things went well, until the unions got involved.
They tried to organize the Oompah Loompahs.
And they paid off human rights organizations to stick their noses into business.
Slowdowns and sickouts were rampant.
Charlie sought out his old mentor.
“When I rescued the Oompah Loompahs from Loompahland,” said Willy, “I also brought a few of their old neighbors.”
During that famous tour, Willy hadn’t included the cellar… where he kept the Hornswagglers, Wangdoodles, and Vermicious Knids.
“Meet your plant managers,” said Charlie, introducing the Loompahland monsters.
Productivity returned to normal quickly.

Paul ran a petting zoo.
It was a really, really bad petting zoo.
Instead of fluffy and nice animals like goats and sheep, his petting zoo had cobras and porcupines.
And there was a big aquarium in the middle with sharks and electric eels.
And sea urchins, which are pretty much the porcupines of the sea.
Oh, and sting rays, too.
He’d invite schools to bring students to the petting zoo, and as the yellow buses filled the parking lot, he’d laugh.
“Come in, come in!” he’d say, grinning a wide smile.
Paul was a sick son of a bitch.

Lydia had an office far from the break room.
So, she kept a pitcher of water in her office.
That way, she didn’t have to walk to the break room every time she wanted water.
It got warm, through. So, he kept an ice bucket in her office.
That way, she didn’t have to walk to the break room every time she wanted ice.
That worked out well for her. She had all the water and ice she needed during the day.
Until she knocked over the pitcher and ice bucket.
She ran to the break room for paper towels.

After fourteen years, you’d think this would get easier.
In some ways, it has. It’s almost reflex now.
I mean, how hard is it to string a hundred words together to make some semblance of a world?
Pick out some character, build them up, and then crush them with some sick and twisted tragedy.
Some days, it comes easy.
And others, there’s nothing but the hum of reality getting in between me and my imagination.
That’s when I write about the real… until it becomes so unreal, I’ve worked my way through it to be with my imagination once again.