To ask a politician not to politicize a tragedy is madness.
That’s what politicians do. They politicize. It’s the name of their job.
It’s like telling a butcher to respect the sacrifice made by an animal and not to butcher it.
It’s what they do.
Of course, this is what you would expect of an honorable profession, one who actually contributes worth.
A builder who builds.
A teacher that teaches.
A healer who heals.
Which a politician, who feeds on fear and hate, doesn’t.
A whore that whores.
A rapist that rapes.
A killer who kills.
Smile for the camera.
Hope for breakfast
Francis Bacon said that hope is a good breakfast, but it is a bad supper.
When asked how good hope was as a lunch, he said he preferred the soup and salad.
“Ever tried hope at the brunch buffet?” I asked.
“I prefer the fresh melon slices and the maple oatmeal,” he responded.
Which is a lie. I see him loading up on biscuits and gravy, sausage, and stuffing cereal boxes into his coat pockets.
Oh, and those minosa drinks. The ones with orange juice and champagne?
He downs a pitcher of that stuff, and gets drunk off his ass.
Rolled-up Newspaper
I used to smack stupid people with a rolled-up newspaper.
But newspapers are smaller and lighter these days.
The Sunday edition is full of coupons and features sections.
Not that there’s many people to smack around on Sunday.
I watch football on Sunday. Why smack my own television set?
Monday morning rolls around, and my Sunday paper is already in the recycling bin.
What will I smack them with?
I load up the local paper on my tablet and…
I don’t want to break my tablet.
So, I print out all of the articles, roll them up, and…
Why bother?
IRS
In order to get a mortgage on a house, you need to give the lending institution access to your recent financial status.
Bank statements, credit reports, credit card balances, and paychecks are a part of it.
So are tax returns.
To my horror, my past two tax returns never got filed, so I filed them late and sent in the base payments.
I got one letter back. It contained a bill for one year’s penalty.
I promptly paid it.
I’m still waiting for the bill for the other year.
That’s right. I can’t wait to give the IRS my money!
Overtime
Oklahoma State and Auburn’s football game ended in a tie.
So, they went into overtime.
College football overtime rules give each team one possession at the 25 yard line.
The team that scores most, wins.
If they both score the same amount, they play another overtime.
Oklahoma State scored a touchdown. And an extra point. Then Auburn.
Back and forth, each scored the same.
Six… seven… eight overtimes.
The exhausted and broken players crawled on and off the field.
For weeks, they played.
Eventually, the game was called when the students flunked out.
Who knew they had to take classes?
Dig deep
If you dig deep enough into a person, maybe you’ll find a heart of gold. Maybe you won’t.
But you’ll always find something that you find utterly repugnant, horrifying, and stupefying.
It doesn’t matter where you dig; you’ll find it eventually.
Life is about learning when to stop digging and when to accept someone for who they are.
No matter what that one thing is that you find utterly repugnant, horrifying, and stupefying.
Still, you’d best keep that shovel around.
In case you need to slam them in the back of the head.
And bury them in the back yard.
Weekly Challenge #620 – Braided
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:
RICHARD
I’ve always said that if you work in any sort of capacity that involves dealing with customers, good communication skills are paramount.
I don’t just mean a decent command of the English language, either – if you’re going to be interacting with paying customers, you need to ensure that you have a clear grasp of what the customer is asking for.
Take my fishmonger – he’s deaf as a post. Only this week I popped in for some breaded plaice.
Back home, my wife complained: “I wish you’d buy the fish elsewhere… He’s only gone and braided the fillets again!”
CHARLIE
The horse I ride at Monte’s ranch is three, with a braided mane, and is very elastic along her top line. She is doing very nicely at all three paces (walk, trot, lope) and also has a really good whoa and back up on her.
She was ridden mainly in a bosal as a two year old and we have recently moved her into a snaffle. She turns around well, is light to leg and takes hand cues.
She would be suited for many events from team penning to ranch versatility or just a trail companion, just like my wife.
PLANET Z
I spent a lot of time crimping jacks to the ends of cables.
Even though I memorized the color scheme, which pair went into which slot, I kept a color chart on my desk for the cable standards.
It was all too easy to space out and start making 586-A cables, only to finish a 568-B cable and wonder how many I’d have to go back and recrimp.
It was also all too easy to space out and wonder how I’d made a Flying Spaghetti Monster statue.
I shrugged, put a colander on my head, and prayed for noodly guidance.
SERENDIPITY
I’ve just started up a new jewellery business, and I’m pleased to say, it’s doing a roaring trade.
My current best sellers are necklaces made from braided human hair. Of course, people think it’s supplied by the local hairdressers, but I prefer to know exactly where my materials have been sourced from.
I keep a supply of fresh corpses in the basement, which provides me with plenty of raw material to work with.
And, if you like my braided necklaces, I’m sure that you’ll love my latest line of ear rings…
Each one, lovingly crafted from a real human ear.
JEFFREY
Rapunzel’s Escape
by Jeffrey Fischer
Rapunzel sat in her castle tower, imprisoned as securely as the lowest thief. “You know how boys are,” said her mother, though of course Rapunzel had no knowledge of boys.
As her hair grew, she devised an escape plan. She braided her hair, making it as strong as any rope. Time passed. When her hair reached the height of the tower, she hacked it off, tied one end to a sturdy fixture, and threw the other out the window. She climbed to the ground.
All around her were ruins: the castle was crumbling, the land choked with weeds. She stumbled into the castle, calling out for her parents, receiving no answer. She stared into a mirror: a haggard, wrinkled, and bald reflection stared back.
LIZZIE
She sat out in the garden, holding her long braid defiantly. She had chopped it off.
The people in the tavern looked at the strange woman.
The fact that she was sitting there intrigued everyone. Everyone except the owner of the tavern. He knew. He had almost strangled her with that braid when…
He walked outside and everyone witnessed in horror how, in a split second, she wrapped the braid around his neck and knocked him to the floor, snapping his neck before anyone could do anything.
She braided the rope they placed around her neck a few days later.
NORVAL JOE
The bell rang and Billbert waited on the administration building roof.
The tardy bell rang and Billbert didn’t move.
Once he was sure no one was on the school grounds, he shot down to grab his clothes by the tree. Staying low to the ground, he shot across to the locker room.
Billbert crawled across the empty locker room floor past the coach’s office. Coach Slaughterball’s whistle hung from a hook on it’s braided lanyard.
“Why didn’t he have it with him in the gym?” Billbert wondered.
Then he heard from behind, “What are you doing on the floor, Maggot?”
LAIEANNA
“Wagging Away”
Little Bo Peep lost her sheep
While napping under the apple tree.
The field was empty and also the brook,
So after them she ran carrying her crook.
Eventually the search took her into the city
Where all she could find were dogs and a kitty.
Time was leaving with the loss of sun.
If she didn’t find the sheep, punishment would be no fun.
But a salon at the end of the street
Caught her attention because of the sheep.
They lined the sidewalk, and the salon was full,
Each one getting trims, blowouts, and braids in their wool
TOM
Was Wisdom Waiting
He ran the braid pairs down the stairs into the basement. Connected the ends to the plate on the door jam, gently close it, move down the steps. A van parked far distance down the street allowed him to verify that the mark had been successfully terminated. As he sat in the front seat a young girl about 12, hair in long braids moved up to the passenger side window. Before he could shoes her away the window exploded and three shots hit his forehead. She tapped the com on her wrist “Security breach dispatched with extreme prejudice. Residence neutralize.”
The end of Summer
We watched the demolition crews drive into the amusement park and unload their trucks.
Other crews had cleaned out anything useful.
They had emptied the stores, pulled out all of the chairs and tables and kitchen equipment from the restaurant stands, and hauled off the toilets and sinks from the restrooms.
All of the rides had been unbolted and disassembled, piece by piece.
All that was left were empty shells of buildings and shacks and bleachers too old and rusted to sell off.
Bulldozers and cranes tore them apart.
And all that remained were the memories of endless summer days.
Those who can’t do
Those who can’t do, teach.
And when their students graduate, they can’t do, either.
So they also teach.
Pretty soon, all of those who can do, retire. Or they die off.
Then, all you’re left with are teachers and students.
Nobody actually doing.
Just teaching, or learning so they can teach.
Every now and then, there’s someone who can do more than just teach.
But they end up becoming a critic.
But it’s okay. We don’t need anybody to do anymore.
We have robots to do it for us.
Until… robot manufacturers and repairmen becomes the “Those who can’t do.”
Mustard Please
I never refer to a sports team as “we.”
I’m not the one throwing the ball.
Or tackling anybody. Or scoring points. Or goals.
All I did was pay for the tickets.
And the beer. And hot dogs. And this jersey.
And parking, of course.
Cops earn overtime to deal with the traffic.
Paid for by my tax dollars.
My tax dollars paid for the additional road maintenance. And roads.
Oh, and for this stadium.
And Child Services, for all the kids these athletes father but don’t support financially.
Oh, what do I want on my hot dog?
Mustard, please.