The 100 Word Stories Podcast

Old Gertie liked to sit by the old wishing well in the town square.
She liked to imagine her great-grandfather digging the well and building the frame and cover.
But the truth is, her great-grandfather never left Sweden. It was her grandfather who came to this country.
And her didn’t dig the well or do anything to help build it.
He was in jail for drunken and lewd behavior while Chinese laborers finished it.
He knocked up a hooker, who had fraternal twins: a boy and a girl.
Her parents.
I guess its better she didn’t know the awful truth.

It’s hard not to be bitter about the horrible failures and stress during my time at the TV station.
Eighteen years later, I still feel so much anger and resentment, it clouds any good memories.
Even the rare, few good people trigger the bitterness and rage.
So, I’ve tried to keep my distance, and I keep the TV off, or close the browser windows.
I keep to myself, or escape into places where nothing matters.
But like any poison, it never truly goes away.
Imagining myself surrounded by vipers, they offer to suck it out, digging their fangs in deeper.

Ted doesn’t like it when you tickle his toes.
So, he wears thick socks. And boots.
Even when he’s in the shower.
Not that he’s ever in the shower with other people, but he’s not taking any chances.
He locks his bathroom door. And his front door.
All of his windows are barred.
He put up a fence, topped with barbed wire.
The paper boy died trying to deliver Ted’s paper.
Ted was found guilty of manslaughter and went to jail for it.
And he got raped in the shower. Repeatedly.
But, thank goodness, nobody tried to tickle his toes.

Word got around that Yahweh spoke to Moses through a burning bush.
Shops dumped their golden calf inventory and stocked up on bushes.
Pretty soon, everyone was carrying around a bush, waiting for God to call them.
Some people carried around two, three, even four bushes.
The High Priests looked like walking shrubbery.
Practical jokers would wait until the High Priests were asleep, then they’d light their bushes on fire.
The screaming priests looked and sounded like some kind of strange divine intervention, but the holy mood was broken when they stopped, dropped, and rolled to put the flames out.

Joe likes to listen to the religious cultists at the airport.
He’d get to the airport hours before his flight.
He’d watch all kinds of brainwashing movies, get hooked to a variety of weird pseudoscientific devices, and read all sorts of pamphlets and books.
Then he’d promise his eternal life and soul to them.
Just as they brought papers for him to sign, he’d get up and run for the exit.
Then he’d go to the employee locker room and put on his pilot’s uniform.
Maybe there will be some new cults to fuck with when he lands in Chicago.

I liked The Lord of The Rings movies. And I liked The Hobbit trilogy, but not as much.
I saw all six movies in the neighborhood theater, but they were so long, I had to rush to the bathroom at some point during each one.
There’s websites out there that say when the best time to go is, but I never have to go right at that point.
So, as much as a large soda causes the problem, it’s also a part of the solution.
As long as I remember to wash it out before I get the free refill.

When I was little, my mother would lay on her back and lift me in the air.
I’d spread my arms, and pretend I was a a jet airplane.
“ZOOOOOOOOOOM!” said my mother.
“ZOOOOOOOOOOM!” I repeated. “I’m an airplane!”
“Now flap your arms,” my mother said. “You’re a bird. A big bird.”
I’d flap my arms and pretend I was a bird, flying high in the air.
And then…
“Put me down!” I’d shout. “Put me down.”
So, my mother lowered me to the ground.
Then I ran into the garage, dropped my pants, and shit on the car’s windshield.

“Where is the ring?” demanded Great Sauron.
After days of torture, the creature Gollum screamed “SHIRE! BAGGINS!”
Sauron sent out orcs to investigate.
Several weeks later, the orcs returned.
“Sorry, boss,” they said. “But we couldn’t find any place called Baggins.”
If Sauron could slap his face with his palm, he would.
“The place is called Shire, dumbasses,” said Sauron.
“Oh,” said the orcs. “Right.”
Sauron watched them leave and sighed.
“I should have made two rings to rule them all,” he muttered. “Next time, I’m making a backup.”
The Ringwraiths howled and swooped.
Sauron sent them out for pizza.