I’ve seen whole milk, skim milk, buttermilk, condensed milk, 2% milk, and 1% milk.
But what about other percentages?
Is 0% milk air?
And what about 100% milk? Condensed as condensed can be? Is it the most milk possible?
What about 101% milk? Is it more milk than milk? Is it supermilk? Or hypermilk? A collapsed milk, just like a collapsed star turning into a black hole, from which nothing escapes.
I poured cereal into a bowl, and then poured the hypermilk in.
Snap…
Crackle…
Kaboom!
The cereal exploded into waves of sound and light.
I think it needs strawberries.
Bliss
I lay on the sofa, and Tinny the cat lays on my shoulder.
She does this a lot. She likes to sleep there. Or she will get up and turn, stretching out, or preening, and go back to sleep.
Sometimes, I pet her. But usually, I let her sleep.
She makes little squeaks, tiny little peeps. I can barely hear her, but they are the most important thing I’ve heard all day.
I haven’t eaten. I’m thirsty.
But I won’t get up.
Because this is important. To lie here, perfectly still.
And listen for the sound of total, unmitigated bliss.
Weekly Challenge #622 – PICK TWO
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
Sunny Shift
The angel sat on the bench. The sunny day was coming to an end as was his shift. However, he had failed, so he couldn’t understand why he felt so happy. The elderly woman he was supposed to watch over had been hit by a car. The obnoxious teen had jumped in the pool and broken a leg. Even that damn dog someone had placed in his list as a prank had bitten the nosy neighbor. And yet, he felt happy. That’s when he noticed some of the feathers of his wings were taking on an unusual tint of red.
CHARLIE
The hearty, Scotch, Major radioed the order that my platoon must advance straightaway making a wee shift out of the sunny grass into the protective canopy of the dark forest.
We were ordered to take a position so we could attack the five-inch guns that were strategically housed within the giant, concrete, globe emplacements on the hilltop.
I signaled back the requisite “wilco”, and said all was well, and my troops would not fail!
The filthy Huns wouldn’t have butter on their Milchbrötchen this morning, only the blood of their comrades.
We took them by surprise, eating them afterward.
#2
You can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make it drink.
-Well known idiom.
The condominium board voted to plant butter grass. Not knowing anything about horticulture, Miss Snodblade was put in charge.
Snodblade wasn’t the brightest bulb. She used to be a call girl in Washington D.C. Her claim to fame was her coupling with two of the last presidents and three of the past first ladies.
The butter grass grew an inch a day, and soon the grass was up to the eyeballs of the poor lads that were in charge of lawn care.
The moral here is that you can lead a whore to culture, but you can’t make her think.
RICHARD
Sunny Delight
“‘Ello sunshine! Did you grass me up to the rozzers?”
The expression on ‘Sunny’ Sullivan’s face told me that, whatever my response, he’d already made his mind up.
So, with nothing to lose, I decided to brazen it out…
“Yeah, sure I did. Why, what are you gonna do about it?”
The expression turned from dark to black as pitch, and then, slowly, like the sun rising at dawn, a huge smile replaced the frown.
“Hahaha… You crack me up! Fancy a pint? Wish I knew who it was though.”
I supped on my pint, and calmly changed the subject.
TOM
Grass
My father’s failed attempt at a manicured lawn was legion in our suburban neighborhood. Each spring he’d purchase a small mountain of grass seed and equal mound of fertilizer. Ran that grass spreader machine back and forth for hours. Come the summer the grab grass and dandelions dominated the front-yard.
Now the back-yard was my domain and I peppered it with clove, which meant I did have to mow the sucker. Further due to the exceedingly high water table on our street the back yard was little more than low end swamp. Grass hated the damp, the clove was quite happy
JEFFREY
On a Date
by Jeffrey Fischer
One sunny day I took Sarah to a grassy meadow I had seen driving through the country. Beautiful and deserted, this seemed like the perfect location for a date: a little Wilco on the speakers, a blanket on the grass, my picnic hamper with a little bread and butter, and a decent bottle of wine… how could this fail to take our relationship to the next level?
However, the meadow wasn’t exactly deserted. A wee lamb wandered in our direction, curious about our lunch. “Isn’t she just the cutest?” Sarah exclaimed.
“Yes, but I’m not so sure about daddy’s intentions.” A large ram was moving at speed in our direction. This wasn’t the kind of butter I had in mind. Grabbing the wine by the neck, I raced after Sarah to the safety of the car.
NORVAL JOE
If it hadn’t been such a beautiful, sunny day, the class would have remained inside the gym. Running through the locker room to the blacktop or grass outside, most of the boys didn’t fail to notice Billbert in his plastic loincloth, and many stopped to laugh.
He could leap into the air using his superpower and fly around the room. Then their scorn would turn to envy.
Taking a single preparatory step to launch himself over their heads, he slipped in the water and ended up flat on his back.
“Get your butts outside,” Coach Slaughterball yelled at the boys.
LAIEANNA
“Model Winner”
I was nervous enough about failure, knowing Wilco was judging the
annual art show, but an intense sunny day only raised my anxiety as
the heat did a number on my entry. The wee islands began to shift on
my butter molded globe with the continents not far behind as the
medium started to melt. The tufts of grass representing greener areas
of the world dropped onto the table. To win, I’d have to dig deep in
my well and bring out the groupie in me. Boobs up, skirt short, smile
in place, I waited for the band to arrive.
SERENDIPITY
To look at me, you’d think butter wouldn’t melt… That is, as long as you’re not a criminal psychologist, and you’re looking at the inner workings of my mind, rather than outward appearances.
That’s what most people completely fail to appreciate, despite knowing full well, you should never judge a book by its cover.
Or rather, judge me based on the sweet and innocent persona I outwardly project.
Those who do, and get a little too close will find that there’s a high price to be paid:
And I have no qualms about taking what I feel is rightfully mine.
PLANET Z
Our Aunt Maisy used to say “Love don’t pay the bills.”
She woke up early to milk the cows, then led them back out to pasture.
The cows grazed while she churned butter.
These days, robots and computers do all of the work.
They even harvest the crops in the fall.
For a while, the people who did the migrant field work would try to sabotage the robots.
But the robots would grind them up into fertilizer.
Maisy gave us tracker bracelets.
But when Bobby went to go swimming in the creek…
About six hours ago.
I hope they’re waterproof.
Full Deck
They say that Crazy Andy doesn’t play with a full deck, but I’ve counted his cards, and sure enough, there are fifty-two cards in his deck.
Lots of people have counted them.
He’ll hand you his greasy, torn and tattered deck of cards, and he’ll demand that you count them.
When you get to fifty-two, he’ll say that you must have miscounted, and demand that you count them again.
You can lay them out on the table in rows, or you can order the cards to show none are missing, but he’ll never believe you.
He cries.
He screams.
Pathetic.
Hot Dog Sandwich
At the debate, the moderator asked the candidates:
“Is a hot dog a sandwich?”
Well, what is a sandwich?
A hamburger is a sandwich.
And open-faced sandwiches are sandwiches.
Are calzones sandwiches? Or rolls?
A po boy is a roll with meat in it, and if you could call that a sandwich, then a hot dog in a bun is a sandwich.
Social media erupted with all kinds of rants and charts and Photoshops of sandwiches in the candidates’ hands.
As the pointless debate continued, the world kept turning, problems went unsolved, opportunities were missed, and nobody was the wiser.
Mistaken Identity
The truth is, God told Abraham to kill a baby goat, not his kid.
But Abraham, being almost a hundred, didn’t hear God too well, so he headed up the mountain for the sacrifice.
God left a few signs along the path that said I SAID KILL A BABY GOAT, NOT YOUR KID, but Abraham was illiterate.
God tried a few signs with simple pictograms, but Abraham’s eyesight wasn’t too good, either.
Which is a good thing, because he mistook a small goat for his son.
“That’ll do,” said God.
No wonder why Moroni gave magic spectacles to John Smith.
I Voted
On Election Day, they hand out “I VOTED!” stickers for people to wear after they voted.
I guess it’s our way of doing the whole “purple finger” thing that other countries do, but a lot more civilized.
Me, I want to wear a sticker that says “I Couldn’t Vote Because I’m A Convicted Felon.”
It would sure be a conversation starter at parties.
Or in prisons.
Do they have parties in prisons?
I don’t know. I never get invited to any.
Maybe the invitations get lost in the mail?
I sit by my mailbox and wait… and wait… and wait…
Releases
When new video games are released, all of the geeks take the day off and play it over and over, going for every level and achievement. The next day, they come in tired and worn out and brain fried.
I’m the same way, but not with video games.
I’m that way with new toasters.
I buy a dozen loaves of bread and bags of bagels, and I toast them all day, spreading jam, butter, and cream cheese and eating it all.
Light? Dark? Bagel settings?
I do it all.
The next day, I’m fine.
Because I throw it all up.
SNL
When I was young, I watched Saturday Night Live on Saturday night, live when it aired.
There wasn’t any videotape or syndication, let alone an Internet with on-demand video, so you watched it live or not at all.
Syndication deals aired reruns now and then. And a cable channel or two picked up episodes. You could watch on those nights when it aired.
Video stores began to rent and sell tapes of the series. Unless you figured out how to program your VCR yourself.
You could watch it anytime.
I guess that’s why nobody knows what SNL stands for now.
Weekly Challenge #621 – Water
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:
CHARLIE
W. C. Fields, a notorious enthusiast of alcohol, said he didn’t drink water because “Fish f*** in it.” True, but the rest of us don’t mind drinking it if it doesn’t have any additives…like too much chlorine, or fluorides.
I filter all my drinking water for the dogs and myself by using canisters of finely granulated, activated charcoal. Activated charcoal is charcoal that has been heated or otherwise treated to increase its adsorptive power.
I keep pitchers of filtered water on the counter for tea and soup, and a big one in the fridge for cold drinks.
Filter your water.
#2
As a youngster, I used to swim a lot. I swam in public pools, home pools, canals, rivers, creeks, lakes, oceans, and the bathtub. I spent more time under the water than on the surface.
When my cousins came over to swim in our pool when I was in grammar school, I spent the majority of the time under the water admiring the coordinated arms and legs of the girls swimming above.
I confess, I did a lot of watching, and the only touching I did was to myself after they left for the day.
At 88, I still swim.
#3
Water has always been something I have been captivated and enamored with. When a person in a film pours a tall glass of water, drinking it with detachment and showing pleasure, I am very attentive and compelled to do the same at my first opportunity.
Pouring a glass of clear, cool water from a large glass pitcher or a heavy, ceramic container after I’ve gone to the kitchen after a few hours in the summer sun in the garden, is a pleasure without measure.
We take clean drinking water for granted. One in six people do not have this luxury.
RICHARD
H2 No!
Dihydrogen Monoxide… Awful stuff.
So corrosive, it can eat through solid steel and carve its way through rock.
Just a teaspoonful inhaled can kill; you can’t breathe it; and long term exposure causes muscle cramps, exhaustion, delirium and ultimately, death!
It destroys property and wrecks the environment… And that’s just the liquid form. As a solid, it’s treacherous; and in gaseous form it causes pain, blistering and burns.
More addictive than crack cocaine, one hundred percent of people can’t live without it, letting it into their homes without a second thought.
This vile substance must be banned, with immediate effect!
PLANET Z
She put the baby’s corpse in the pillowcase, duct-taped it shut, and then tied the end to a cinderblock.
The fishing boat could get out to where the water was deep enough.
“It’s a science project,” she said. “Currents and stuff.”
“Whatever,” said the boat’s owner. “Seventy bucks cash.”
Two miles out, the boat had engine trouble.
“We’ve got to head back,” said the captain.
“I guess this will do,” she said, pushing the pillowcase over the side, and she was an only child again.
All she had to do was think up a good story.
She’d Google for one.
JEFFREY
Water, Water
by Jeffrey Fischer
People always complain about water. Too little and it’s a drought. Farmers moan about lost crops, homeowners complain about brown lawns and use restrictions. Too much and farmers complain about lost crops, homeowners complain about mildew in basements and flooded roads. We worry that foreign water will cause diarrhea. We complain about taste, color, minerals. That’s the nature of life, I guess.
I thought about those petty whines after my ill-fated skid off the road, as the last few feet of the passenger cabin of my car filled with lake water. Gross, tastes brackish.
SERENDIPITY
Water… It’s wonderful stuff. Readily available, cheap and plentiful, safe to use, but tremendously effective. It’s so much better than many, more obvious, methods.
Take waterboarding, for instance – such a simple technique, but incredibly effective. Quick, easy, and straightforward.
Or if you’re in no hurry and want to enjoy the process, why not go for the good, old fashioned, Chinese water torture? Who would have thought that the simple, steady, drip, drip, drip – inescapable and unforgiving – could break even the strongest will?
And the best thing of all?
Torture can be thirsty work… But not any more!
TOM
Best Laid Plans
The water was still, not a rip lapped the bank. The silver dollar moon mirrored the surface caught the monster’s eye. With an effortless flick of a gnarled claw a small form shattered the moons continence and dropped below the approaching waves. It smiled a smile less triumphant, primal, rimming the edge of some deep millennial evil. Heavy legs moved off towards the village. Innocence in slumber would wake to the corruptible agent of their departure from this world. It licked the nail of a claw with perverse joy. It was only then it saw the flaming sword of justice.
DUANE
Water
—————————————-
I’ve heard it said that in the desert you can’t remember your name. That seemed silly, but after a couple of weeks of wandering I had found it to be true. Your thoughts are filled with sun and sand. Your mind stops noticing the heat and pain at some point and you just keep moving.
I thought I’d started hallucinating, but as I got close there was a man crawling across the sand. He reached out a bony hand to me.
“Walter, Walter. Please Walter.”
How the hell did this guy know my name? I turned around and started running.
NORVAL JOE
Billbert explained Roderick’s prank to the coach.
In an unprecedented break from character, Coach Slaughterball wrote a note and said, “I’m sorry that happened to you. Boys your age can be cruel. Take this excuse to the attendance office so you don’t get in trouble for being late.”
Billbert stood, took the note, and stepped around a puddle of water on the floor.
“What would be more embarrassing than slipping in water while wearing a plastic grocery bag?” He thought.
He found out when the PE class ran through the locker room on their way to the outdoor basketball courts.
Suggested prompt….Intimate