So, if you laid all the hot dogs sold in Yankee Stadium end-to-end, they’d reach from New York to Los Angeles and back again.
Why would you lay hot dogs end-to-end like that? Won’t all that food go to waste? Shouldn’t you be selling those hot dogs to hungry sports fans instead?
Plus, it’s Yankees fans. They get really mad when you take away their food.
Does Chicago fall between New York and Los Angeles? Because they like their hot dogs with mustard, onions, relish, and sweet peppers, not ketchup like New Yorkers do.
Just watch the goddamn game, kid.
I am not a poet
This is not a poem.
Because I am not a poet.
Who writes poetry.
Sonnets. Limericks. Or Haiku.
Rhyme. Or not.
I write none of that.
I do not write poetry.
Nor do I want to write poetry.
So, I don’t.
I write instructions, documentation.
Scripts for video tutorials.
I write them, I edit them, and I publish them.
And people all around the world
Read them. Learn from them.
It pays well.
But not poetry.
Poetry doesn’t pay.
So, I don’t write poetry.
Because I’m not a poet.
Not do I want to be a poet.
Who writes poetry.
The Haters
After the legalization of same-sex marriages
A caterer refused to cater a same-sex wedding.
Priests refused to host them in their churches.
Bakers turned down orders for same-sex wedding cakes.
They were all branded haters, bigots, and protesters demanded that they had no right to refuse anyone’s business.
They were flooded with hatemail, death threats, and picketers.
“America is the worst nation on the face of the earth!” they shouted at the cameras. “America is evil!”
Half a world away, the Iranian Secret Police poured gasoline over a pile of bodies, tossed in a lit match, and burned their handiwork.
Weekly Challenge #643 – Flay
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:
LIZZIE
Roam the land and watch them hanging from a branch, flayed alive by animals with a human face. Kneel. Show them you are inferior. Take a risk and play the game. They will smile and disrespect you. They shaved your head and made you walk naked. They will take your submission for granted. With time, they will believe you. They will get distracted. Then, you will strike back, smiling, holding a whip in each hand. They too will hang, and they’ll struggle to breathe as you did. And they will die, swinging from that branch to never hurt anyone again.
CHARLIE
Bobby Flay taught me how to make a proper, clear broth. You had to be able to read the mint date of a dime at the bottom of a six quart pan of broth in order to pass his initial unit on mother sauces and broths.
His full course was eleven thousand dollars. The courses supplemented his income as a chef, fitness “guru”, merchandiser, and blogger. He was friendly, but thinking of a grown man in a striped jersey as Bobby was silly and childish.
I worked for Flay at the Mesa Grill in Las Vegas plating baby Romaine salads.
#2
Social media advocates decided they would flay me for my Tweets that attempted humor. None of my Tweets were retweeted or liked. Some people messaged me, directly, and browbeat me for being silly and inconsequential. Others made remarks about my lowbrow tastes and occasional indecency.
Lately, I tried my best with proposed names for pop up eating spots. I thought that a name for a sandwich shop could be The Mayo Clinic, and a little soup spot might be called Pho Pa.
I can see you are not laughing, and you are smirking. Well, please kiss my big, Portuguese ass.
——-
*Pho is pronounced “fo” by gringos.
RICHARD
Uncle Bob
Uncle Bob was renowned for being tight. We joked, ‘he’d flay a fly for its hide’.
He never bought a round of drinks, gave to charity, or said, ‘keep the change’; and Christmas was like any other day: He neither gave, nor expected gifts, nevertheless I’d always visit him, with a bottle of whisky; although I never got to drink any. The bottle sat unopened, for the duration of my visit.
I was his only friend.
So, when he died, I had high hopes of being his sole beneficiary.
Guess what the old bastard left me?
The bottle of whisky!
JEFFREY
A Simple Misunderstanding
by Jeffrey Fischer
Vinny patted his back pocket to reassure himself he had his favorite set of brass knuckles. This wasn’t his usual kind of job, but the guy was practically begging for a beating. He left for the studio with a jaunty step. When the studio lights came up, the audience clapped enthusiastically. The emcee introduced Vinny and some bimbo in an apron. When the emcee reached the end of his spiel, Vinny made his move. He whipped out the brass knuckles and thrashed the smirk off his target’s face. The audience gasped and booed but Vinny remained defiant. “Da sign says to Beat Bobby Flay, so youse can stick it.”
In an ironic twist, Vinny’s prison block turned out to be huge fans of celebrity cooking shows, so he spent many quality hours hoping for others to beat Bobby again.
SERENDIPITY
Welcome to the Church of the Broken Soul.
Here, we make no empty promises of salvation and eternal life, we offer no messages of joy, and show no mercy or compassion.
We do, however, preach the truth, and whilst it may not set you free, we are at least honest about it.
And the One Truth we hold sacred, is that life is pain, and suffering; loss, and despair.
Our rituals and ceremonies celebrate and consecrate this simple truth, permitting our followers to glimpse the reality of true suffering, through personal experience.
Now, let us bow our heads, and flay.
TOM
Over Nights for Peoria
The Head of Programing had just fired the entire Creative Dept. The only man standing was Rudy, who somehow made it through the last three purges. He always had one project he kept to himself. Si Reynolds was counting on him. “Ok, kid,” said SR, “What ya got?”
“Marketing ran the numbers on a sub-sub group with 5 digit incomes previously untapped. We have designated them the “Flayers” “More,” enquired the VP. “What we had in mind is a cross between Texas Hold Em, Iron Chef, and An Evening With Marquis De Sade.” “And?” FLAY TO PLAY.
“I love it.”
JON
To Flay
By
Jon DeCles
Flensing knives are used to flay, which is to say to cut off the skin, as when you flay off the hide of a deer before you butcher it. You want to carefully remove the skin intact, so that it can be tanned and made into leather of various qualities, depending on the animal. Cattle and bison produce heavy, tough leathers. Smaller creatures produce more delicate kinds. Kid skin gloves are soft and considered very elegant by many. Delicate knives are needed for mouse skin gloves for ladies.
Flaying alive is a torture popular with a number of human cultures
TURA
Marsyas and Apollo
———
There was never a piper like Marsh. When he played, the birds would swoon off their perches.
One day, Polly shows up.
“Marsh, I hear you’re a mighty fine piper,” he drawls. “Think you’re as good as me?”
Marsh plays, and soon it’s like every crow for miles is coming to mob Polly. Polly whips out a pair of razor knives and he’s dancing, cutting crows out of the air. Marsh pipes harder and Polly dances faster, and we’re thinking what happens when Marsh runs out of crows?
Well, I saw, but I’d rather keep my skin on than say.
NORVAL JOE
A minute later, Linoliumanda was back, wearing her new tee shirt.
“Come on.” She dragged Billbert toward the backyard.
Billbert hefted his broom. “I don’t think this is a very good idea.”
“Don’t be silly. On the command ‘Go’, you shout ‘Fly’ and we’ll race down to the apple tree and back.”
Just the thought of that word made Billbert’s underwear rustle.
They straddled their brooms and Mrs. Withybotham called, “On your marks, get set, go.”
“Fly!” Linoliumanda shouted and ran for the apple tree.
He shouldn’t stand there like an idiot.
“Ffffffffffffflay,” Billbert shouted and chased after his friend.
PLANET Z
There are so many chefs on television these days.
Wandering the world, looking for new cuisines, and yelling at junior chefs in reality shows.
Meanwhile, in my own kitchen, all I need is a cutting board and a ceramic knife.
Raw vegetables are my thing these days.
Just slice up some celery, cucumber, green peppers… dump in baby carrots and sugar snap peas, and I’ve got a meal.
Okay, so I need hummus as a dip, but that comes in a tub at the store.
I take my veggie bowl and hummus to the sofa, and watch the television chefs.
Ravens
Ravens live a long time.
Forty or fifty years, I’ve been told.
They also make strong family bonds.
So when they are old and dying, all of their family gathers around.
A final tribute? To say goodbye.
The old raven falls from the branch to the ground, thrashes his wings, and lies still.
The others take flight, and circle above.
One after the other, they fly off.
Until there are no more.
You barely notice it lying there.
Until you hear the lawnmower choke.
A spray of black feathers with the grass clippings.
A brief, ghastly stink.
Just keep mowing.
Expense
Be careful when you get a laugh at Mindy Felton’s expense.
She’ll make you fill out an expense report.
Those are a pain to fill out, because you have to itemize and justify every laugh.
Don’t forget the receipts, either. No per diems allowed.
Copy and attach them to your form.
Then you have to get it approved.
“Why couldn’t you get a laugh at your own expense?” management will demand.
If you manage to get approval, then you have to deal with the taxes.
Most accountants won’t touch these kinds of cases.
Best not to laugh at Mindy at all.
The Priest’s Kit
If God has angels and saints, what does The Devil have?
“Fallen angels,” says the priest, as he goes through his checklist.
Bible. Crucifix. Holy water. The basics.
A wad of cash for bail, spare phone battery and charger cord.
A pack of gum comes in handy.
Garlic, a gun loaded with silver bullets… those are strictly off the books.
When you get to hyacinth petals for the Wookooloo, that’s where things get strange.
“There’s shit from China and India that’ll make your eyes bleed,” he says.
I nod, and do my best to hide my tail under my trenchcoat.
Four Years Old
I was only four years old when Nixon resigned.
And the Vietnam War raged on half a world away.
For me, it was the summer after kindergarten.
I never knew anything going on.
Life was Sesame Street and summer camp.
A tire swing in the willow tree.
Catching fireflies in the evening so they’d flash in a jar all night long.
An AMC Pacer in the driveway.
Big Wheels in a bin by the garage.
We couldn’t ride them in the street.
We turned them upside-down on the sidewalk, worked the pedals, and spun the big wheel.
All summer long.
Army Navy
I don’t understand the Army-Navy game.
They say it’s a rivalry, but shouldn’t they be learning to work together?
You know, because they should be working together to defend our country and kill our enemies.
And why are they playing football? Or basketball? Or any other sport?
Why aren’t they learning to shoot guns, fire mortars, sail ships, fire torpedoes, and fly planes?
When was the last time we had to defend our country with a football or a basketball?
Take off the football helmet, pick up a gun, and put on a combat helmet.
And fight the real enemy!
The Diet
I was morbidly obese, so I needed to lose weight.
All you need to do is reduce calorie intake and exercise more.
That worked for me.
All of the fad diets are a marketing scam.
Atkins diet, Paleo diet, South Beach diet.
Someone comes up with a magical formula, and they get rich off of your hunger and suffering.
The greatest scam was the Diet of Worms that King Charles recommended to Martin Luther.
Several of Martin’s loyal followers died as a result of it, and it nearly led to his death, too.
Did Martin Luther end up rich?
Nope.