Dalton Trumbo

The irony
Of Dalton Trumbo’s
Johnny Got His Gun
Is that Dalton
Had been
Grievously injured
When a car
Hit him
And he lost his
And face
Leaving him
Completely helpless
And the only way
He could
Was to fart
In Morse Code
It took a while
For the nurses
And doctors
To realize that
He was trying
To communicate
They fed him beans
And onions
And broccoli
All day long
While a troop
Of Boy Scouts
Handled the transcriptions
That’s how
He wrote the book
The critics
Said that it stunk
Tell that
To the Boy Scouts

Weekly Challenge #664 – Corner

Welcome to the 100 Word Stories podcast at oneadayuntilthedayidie.com.

This is the Weekly Challenge, where I post a topic and then challenge you to come up with a 100 word story based on that topic.

We’ve got stories by:

Needs a cat



Go to your corner, they said. And I did. I went to my corner. I was only a child and I had to obey.
Today, I am not a child anymore.
When they say, go to your corner, I laugh and walk away.
Today, I am an adult and my corner is not their corner. My corner is my place and it’s my world and it’s my people. My corner is not obeying anymore, no.
When they say, why have you changed so much, I laugh and walk away.
Today, I choose my corners and smile and live and shine.


Life Lessons

On reflection most of my time at school was spent outside the classroom.

If I wasn’t doing penance by standing in the corridor, I was waiting in the secretary’s office, sent to see the head teacher.

That was when I actually got to school in the first place: Often I’d bunk off for the day, or hang around the bike sheds well after break times and lunch had ended.

Even when I was in class, I’d usually find myself stood in the corner for misbehaving.

Miraculously, somehow I became a teacher.

And none of my classes will ever make those same mistakes!


They gave me the corner plot, as far from ‘decent folk’ as they could put me.

If they’d had their way, they’d have burned me at the stake and scattered my ashes far and wide; but civic duty prevailed, and I received a proper burial, although those attending only did so to ensure I was buried deep.

Not that it matters.

Every night, I dig myself out and head off into the night to continue my unspeakable work.

And every morning, before sunrise, I return to the darkness of the earth.

They really should have burned me at the stake!


The howls of the wolfs sounded around the snow covered mountains and through the valley. 
Leaving the sheltering cave with its warm fire had been a bad mistake but I had to have food.
It had been three days since I ate the last of the dried berries.
I needed to find meat before weakness overcame me.
The howls of the wolfs were growing nearer when I came on the dead squeaker.
I was freezing.
I needed a corner to hide in, eat the squeaker, and get warm.
If I remembered my school lessons a corner was always 90 degrees.


God Rest Yee

In the corner laden with a layer of dust rested Timmy’s crutch. When Timmy’s grandchildren came to visit he would tell the tale of a Christmas long ago when the spirits of the holiday had soften the heart of his mentor Ebenezer. The youngest, Cindy Loo, ask if her grandpa was really that tiny a child. He smile and told her if it had been for his father’s employer he would have likely never grew any big. Cindy look confused. Timmy picked her up and place her on this shoulder. “Let go find some mistletoe.” Merry Christmas Mr.  Lawrence   


The Corner of the Year


 Jon DeCles

I am so tired of people telling me Christmas is over, or trying to promote the buildup as the Twelve Days of Cashmas.The fact is, the Season of Christmas is defined as the time between the first Sunday of Advent (four weeks before Christmas Day) and the Epiphany, January Sixth.  The Twelve Days of Christmas are the days between Christmas and Epiphany.  We get this celebration, and the Christmas Carol, from England, so we can follow English practice. Twelfth Night is January Fifth.  The night when we turn the corner of the cycle and don’t party for a while.


The following Monday morning, Billbert waited for the school bus. Things appeared almost back to normal. His dad had finally stopped freaking out and his mother seemed to just shrug off the fact that someone had seen his superpower.
Until Linoliumanda rounded the corner. The second she saw Billbert, she ran for him and grabbed his hand. “Come on. Let’s fly to school.”
“Slow down,” Billbert said, nervously looking around and relieved to find no one else had come to the bus stop yet. “No one’s supposed to know about my superpower. Besides, I don’t have my plastic grocery bag.”



It was hard to breathe. I stood with my back to the corner and tried to be invisible.  The urge for flight or fight was kicking in along with a big dose of adrenaline.  All I had was my guitar.  I could use it as a weapon if I needed to.  I hoped it wouldn’t come to that.  I started moving along the wall towards the hall. As I made the turn and started down the hall there was shouting.  Someone yelled my name. I heard a crowd roar. I turned back and started forward, doing what I’ve always done.


I used to work in an office with no windows.
But I’m moving to a corner office.
It has a beautiful view of the city and the sunsets are gorgeous.
Lots of natural light, which my doctor says I need much more of.
There’s a lot more room in there, too.
Even though two of the office’s walls are used up by windows, there’s the same amount of wall space available.
It’s perfect… for someone who isn’t terrified of heights.
I’m worried that if I lean back to far… just like this…
Wait. Did you hear a cracking sound, too?

The topic of the next weekly challenge is ADULT

Hi there. This is Laurence Simon of the 100 Word Stories Podcast at oneadayuntilthedayidie.com.

Every week, I post a topic for the Weekly Challenge, where you come up with the stories and I collect them up and share them.

Want to give it a try? The topic of the next 100 Word Stories Weekly Challenge is ADULT.

Write a 100 word story on that topic. Then, send it in an email to isfullofcrap (at) gmail.com with the subject line of WEEKLY CHALLENGE.

Do you have a website where people can learn more about you and your writing? Include the URL to that website.

Also, suggest a topic or topics for future Weekly Challenges.

Most importantly, include a recording of your story. Be sure to introduce yourself to the audience.

I put the episode together on Sunday morning. However, if you need more time, I can put your story up on the feed in a separate post.

Good luck, and as always… keep it brief.

JAN 6 corner
JAN 13 adult
JAN 20 The Devil
judge, delivery, your, lion, unicorn, cherry, Incense, if

FEB 3 transmission
FEB 10 mug
FEB 17 sharp
bob, stitch, eaten, pittance, delete, trumpet, ribcage, ticke, Ziegler

MAR 3 wordy
MAR 10 kill
MAR 17 why can’t you be more like your sister?
MAR 24 confluence
standard, grafitti, blinding, blithering, pony, sparkle, amuse, Fire

APR 7 emotive
APR 14 charge
APR 21 potato chips
hire, heart attack, strip, weaponize, fink, nancy, Bumbling, volt

MAY 5 jack
MAY 12 slurp
MAY 19 zone
stunted growth, bath, passive, pelt, atmosphere,nameless,Tendency

JUN 2 surrounded
JUN 9 losing
JUN 16 logic
JUN 23 plot
reason, discretion, zone, stunt, simple, deadwood, Tuba

JUL 7 current
JUN 14 devotion
JUL 21 peer
alligator, bath, vindictive, caterwaul, mildred, bruises, That’s Life, mush

AUG 4 speed
AUG 11 lady
AUG 18 partners
German, in the darkness…, vehicle, halfway, cute, color-coded, Pan

SEP 1 furrow
SEP 8 dresser
SEP 15 void
SEP 22 net
void, intertwine, den, get, fudged, meltdown, Tan

OCT 6 smutty
OCT 13 sturdy
OCT 20 tool
saucy, holidays, turtle, boom, cluster, chainsaw, Breast

NOV 3 boom
NOV 10 who cares?
NOV 17 option
panel, acid, blaine, current, coma, stink, Taste

DEC 1 sassy
DEC 8 the F word
DEC 15 broken
DEC 22 throne
probiotic, seventh, fletch, brown manilla envelope, mention, that’s what she said…, Support

Clothing Drive

I’d like to think that if Mickey Mouse ever wrote up a will, he’d leave his pants to Donald Duck.
Because it’s really rude, walking around without pants. Especially at a funeral.
There’s not much point in leaving his shoes to the duck. They probably won’t fit those big webbed feet.
And if Donald ever wrote up a will, he’d leave his sailor shirt to Mickey Mouse.
If Goofy died, he could leave his pants to Donald, and his vest to Mickey.
And his hat to Pete, because it looks so much friendlier than the bowler hat that Pete wears.

The Holy Lie

If Noah only brought two of every animal on the ark, the inbreeding would result in genetic diversity catastrophe and mass extinction.
DNA didn’t just magically appear when Watson, Crick, and their lab technicians saw its shadow and declared 6 more weeks of scientific discovery.
If God doesn’t miracle up solutions for zoos searching for breeding partners for their animals now, why would he do it then?
Because, just like every other goofy story in that book which defies rational explanation and scientific basis, it’s a lie.
Suck your thumbs, humanity. Cling to your security blankets.
And never grow up.

Life is a series of televisions

We started with a simple black and white tube television, maybe a foot across.
Then, we got a color television.
After that, a bigger one. With stereo.
The first television I had on my own was really a VCR with a computer color monitor.
But after that, I got a nice one with a big picture tube.
And when it was stolen, a bigger one.
I moved around a bit, and settled in with my wife’s television.
Until we bought a new one. Then a flat panel.
Which is in front of the treadmill, replaced by yet another flat panel.

Rock Bottom

When you hit rock bottom
We were there for you
And when you clawed your way back up
Out of that hole
We didn’t mind
That your nails
Dug deep into our flesh
Drawing blood
It hurt
What’s pain, anyway?
Anything to help you
Get out of the darkness
And back on your feet
When you finally
Got back on your feet
The first thing you did
Was kick us all in the balls
And the teeth
And walk off
Tall and
Next time
We just send
Thoughts and prayers
They’re free
And easy
and meaningless
Like you

Beethoven the Monster

Beethoven was a brilliant composer.
He was also an master on the piano.
Other composers tried to steal his work and pass it off as their own.
But Beethoven’s works were so hard to play, they couldn’t manage to play them.
Composers would break their fingers and fracture their wrists in the attempt.
One had such a hard time following the notes on the page, his eyes became permanently damaged.
And then there was piece which resulted in violinists spearing the piano-playing thief of a composer through the heart with their bows.
Brilliant man, Beethoven, but a total fucking sociopath.

Turkey bacon

Writers write with pen, paper, typewriters, and computers.
Some use text to speech, where they talk, and they get text.
Voice recognition is much better these days.
Forget speech to text. I want speech to bacon.
I want to be able to say “Bacon” to a machine, and have the machine print bacon.
Fully-cooked, crispy bacon.
What would you load such a machine with?
Raw bacon? Pigs?
Certainly not turkey meat, because turkey bacon is not bacon.
When I say “Bacon” I want bacon, not turkey bacon.
And when I say “Turkey Bacon” I want bacon. Because I said “Bacon.”

Weekly Challenge #663 – Irritation

Welcome to the 100 Word Stories podcast at oneadayuntilthedayidie.com.

This is the Weekly Challenge, where I post a topic and then challenge you to come up with a 100 word story based on that topic.

We’ve got stories by:

I got your back...


Reflect and Engage

Life would never be the same. He was leaving everything behind. He wanted that, but he feared it as well.
As he approached the exit, he looked back and he saw the carnivore plants he had created and grown. They stood motionless and eerie behind the glass wall.
For a split second, he wished he could give up and go back to doing his magic and growing the most unusual plants. But he couldn’t. So, he left.
A week later, he received an urgent appeal. He had to go back. The plants, in a fit of anger, were eating everyone.


Obsolete ideas still engage the mind.

To pounce on a new idea sometimes call for some mental gymnastics and some time to reflect.
When you engage in this sport it is required that you have a support group ready to catch you if you fail to consider all the possible consequences.
Especially those actions that could do permanent damage.
The girls had not considered what doing the hokey pokey could do to their body and mind.

Put your left foot in
Your left foot out
Your left foot in
And shake it all about

It is easier said than done. 


New Year Resolution

‘Engage With Girls Easier!’

The strapline emblazoned across the top of the flyer immediately caught my attention.

Normally, junk mail goes straight in the bin, but my luck with girls lately had been pretty appalling, mainly due to my social ineptitude.  Maybe, with the New Year, it was time to make a resolution to change.

‘Reflect on your chat up technique’, the flyer said, ‘Do you get tied up in mental gymnastics, then awkwardly pounce and scare girls off?’

Don’t cling to those obsolete practices, sign up now!

‘(Only £250 a session)’

I crumpled up the flyer… Maybe next year.


Girls who do gymnastics are so much more fun than regular folks.

Their general stamina and fitness keeps them going when others would give up and succumb to pain and exhaustion; and their flexibility and resilience lends itself to all sorts of interesting contortions.

Of course, when I snap your limbs at ninety degrees in the wrong direction, and twist your joints until they grind and pop, even the most accomplished gymnast is going to scream in pain.

But I like the pretty shapes they make so much…

And I think artistic impression scores far more highly, than technical ability.


My Own Private Health Plan

“Welcome to Reflect Engage your new totally immersive health plan. You can now tailor a health regiment to busy life style and questionable physical abilities. Your first step on the long road to optimum wellness starts with a mild pin-prick,” delivered the robotic voice. Bernie flexed against the five point restraints. “I just came in for an aspirin,” he addressed the glowing screen of the Med Tech 105. “Aspirin is a level one drug. A full admistrative implant will been needed.” A telescoping armature impacted his upper arm. “Thank you for choosing FC health solutions.” Bernie could feel the burn 


Higher, Faster, Stronger


Jon DeCles

It is an obsolete notion that females are not equal to males, but I must still reflect on the differences.

In gymnastics a female must pounce on her chance at competition because she reaches her peak of performance at an earlier age than a male. Girls must engage with the sport quickly and fiercely, and their careers may fly away when they are seventeen or eighteen.

It is easier for Boys, who can remain in top form at times until their mid-twenties.

I am hoping that will even out as athletes continue to push defiantly against the boundaries of age.


The Menunna-Qurud is the most ancient text known from the region that some thousands of years later would be called Sumer. Written in ophioglyphs believed to have been obsolete even at the time of writing, it describes either gymnastic exercises or religious devotions, or perhaps some hybrid (as evidenced in our own time by the practices the Hindoos call yoga). But they defy translation, unless one accepts Professor Challenger’s scarcely to be believed thesis, that they do not refer to the human figure, but to a loathsome and degenerate race of humanity, hybridised with monstrous creatures of the deep.


Billbert’s father paced the room and then turned on him like he was about to pounce. “Tell me the truth, son. Did Linoliumanda see you fly?”
He tried to come up with a lie, but decided it would be easier to come clean. “I’m pretty sure she saw me.”
His father begged, “Can you convince her it was something else she saw? Maybe, that you were just practicing gymnastics.”
Billbert smiled, sheepishly. “That would be hard to do, Dad. She actually flew with me. She thought I had magic.”
“Girls?” Mr. Spankinflysher said. “They get us into so much trouble.”


Romanov coached gymnastics somewhere on the other side of the Iron Curtain.Nobody’s sure of exactly where… he arrived without papers, and we’ve never figured out his accent.And he refuses to talk about his past..But what he’s able to get the girls to do, well, it’s amazing.The power, the balance, the speed, the grace, and the precision.Things beyond the capability of ordinary humans.”Just takes dedication and motivation,” says Romanov, and he claps his hands for the next routine.Did you see that? Did their eyes flash red?Nah, couldn’t be. I must be imagining things.