Weekly Challenge #576 – CIRCUS

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:

Tinny and Myst

TOM

1957
When I was young there was a program called Circus Boy. It stared Micky Dolenz who later shared led vocals with the Davy Jones (which is how we got David Bowe ) in that TV Chimera band the Monkies. Circus Boy was an orphan who took care of an elephant and had cool adventures. It pretty much inspired every boomer kid to long to run away and join the circus. Those were simpler times, a reboot of Circus Boy would take place in post-trumpian dystopian sort of Mad Max meets the Ringling Brothers. Maybe they could get Dolenz to play Joey.

JON

The Circus Has Come and Gone
By Jon DeCles

The Great Circus has come and now is gone.

We were not as smart then. We didn’t know that many animals were people. We didn’t know that many humans were people. We treated elephants and slaves with equal parts cruelty and stupidity. We escaped the disease and war that wrecked out own lives by laughing and cheering at the risks and ruins of the colorfully clad lives before us. For a couple of hours a year our lives could be rose-tinted, and it made us safe from our trouble and pain.

For that, we truly loved our distracting great circus.

CHARLIE

No ordinary circus, but the yearly backyard circus for the kid’s birthday. We invited Sparky The Clown and his wife, Nada. They specialized in site gags, clever patter, live mice, snakes, and fire gags.

The first casualty was the back fence, taken down to the corner posts with the first fire gag. The second casualty was grandma, who fainted when she saw the boa take two live mice into its jaws in the first few minutes of the show.

Sparky got a little drunk, sneaking drinks from his flask, and diddled the wife while she barbecued the fat, Polish sausages.

JEFFREY

No One Goes to the Circus Any More
by Jeffrey Fischer

The circus came to town. It was sold out. The children loved all the acts, from the trapeeze artists to jugglers to clowns, but especially tigers and elephants performing tricks. PETA organized a boycott, saying it was cruel to cage tigers.

The next year, the circus again came to town. It was well-attended, even though the circus had sold the tigers. PETA boycotted again, complaining it was demeaning to make elephants perform tricks.

The next year, the circus made its annual appearance. With no animal acts, kids didn’t want to go. Attendance was poor. The circus came no longer. Children coud only dream about the joy of seeing tigers and elephants. But to PETA, a child’s joy meant nothing.

RICHARD

#1 – Circus

This place is becoming a circus!

The boss is useless – barking commands and cracking the whip, whilst the managers are a bunch of clowns, running around in circles, falling over their feet and making a complete mess. As for me, I’m juggling priorities and jobs, trying not to drop the ball.
I feel like I’m walking a tightrope, and no safety net: Screw up just once and you’ll find yourself in the lion’s den.

So, I’m looking for a new job. Either that, or I’ll run away to join the circus… Well, I reckon I’m qualified for it already!

#2 – Autocorrected

You’ve got to watch autocorrect – a simple slip can cause all sorts of unexpected results. I put an advertisement in the local paper to try and recruit new students: It was remarkably successful, although the recruits weren’t quite what I’d expected.

I knew something was up when the first clowns started to arrive. Within a week, I had a motley collection of sword swallowers, trapeze artists and lion tamers, and frankly, they weren’t at all impressed with the programme I’d arranged for them to follow.

Next time I’ll proofread the ad… It was circuit training, you idiots, not circus!

LIZZIE

What a Circus

Four men entered the Carnival grounds and shot a few rounds left and right before robbing the cash register in the souvenirs stand. Luckily, they didn’t hurt anyone. Sophie, however, wasn’t happy. She pulled on her father’s hand, wide-eyed. The 5-year old pointed at the carousel, a big hole on the thigh of one of the horses. The father nodded. When the robbers were arrested, they were sick to their stomachs. Sophie’s father, with the help of other by-standers, had tied them up to the colorful horses, heads down, and made them go a few rounds, left and right.

SERENDIPITY

Roll up and welcome, to my Circus of Horrors!

Dare to step inside and see sights to confound you; observe mysteries beyond belief.

Behold, the bearded baby, the rat tailed woman and the three headed maiden. Marvel at Cockroach Boy, gasp in horror at the skinless girl, and puzzle over Mr Back to Front.

And then, I invite you to step through the far curtain, beyond which lies a sterile room, and a nurse with a hypodermic syringe.

And it is there I shall work my very special brand of surgery, upon you… My newest, and most peculiar exhibit yet!

TURA

Circus
———
On Pearl Street, I saw a juggler entertaining a crowd with 5-club back-crosses.

Cirque du Soleil were in town, so I asked, “Are you with Cirque?”

“That’s a story!” he answered, starting double Mills Mess. “This friend of mine, joins the Cirq. 12 hours training every day, 3 performances every night. Lasted 18 months, never juggled again.”

He began a seven ball cascade. There’s not many can do that.

“Don’t get me wrong, they’re top class. Go see them! But I got freedom!”

He nudged his upturned hat towards the crowd. “Save me from having to work for the Cirq!”
———

NORVAL JOE

My girlfriend surprised me when she suddenly stormed out of the bedroom and shouted at me, “I can’t take it here anymore. I’m leaving. Living with you is a circus.”
‘”I’m sorry, Babe,” I said to her, putting down my juggling balls. “I know I said the Borzshinski Brothers would only be here for a few days. I’ll get rid of them, and their dancing bear.”
“It’s too late,” she said, picking up our pet poodle. “And I’m taking the dog.”
Resigned, I gave her Fifi’s pink tutu and said, “You’d better take this, too. She won’t perform without it.”

LAIEANNA

Though she made the decision late in life, Sally’s choice for a circus
retirement seemed reasonable to her. It held the prospect of
adventure and excitement. All she was leaving behind was a cat who
barely tolerated her, a half empty apartment, and a monotonous job.

They let her in, but with no talent, Sally showed no promise and was
given something to suit her strengths. Still alone, still secluded,
she spent her days repeating her task – handing out tickets.

The moral? It doesn’t always pay to runaway to the circus. Sometimes
your escape is still just the mundane.

MUNSI

Clown Bus
By Christopher Munroe

You can fit a dozen clowns into a mid-sized car.

Car-clowning, fitting clowns into a clown-car, is a specific discipline in the clowning community, but one that’s still taught, and still a crowd-pleaser even after all these years.

I don’t remember why we decided to see how many clowns would fit on our party-bus. Drinks were involved, we were feeling boisterous after a lovely day at the circus, and it seemed like a good idea at the time…

319, in case you were wondering.

Four of whom travel with us still.

Though they wound up trashing the bus.

No regrets.

PLANET Z

I like circuses.
The ones with elephants and clowns and lions and tigers.
And motorcycles in a big round steel cage, where they go round and round.
Nowadays, a circus is a bunch of French-Canadians bouncing on trampolines with laser shows and weird costumes and sets.
Or some stoned hippie sitting by the side of the road, offering to take you on a trip through the circus of your mind.
I tried it once. And when the acid kicked in, the trip was really cool.
But I woke up robbed of everything but my underwear.
Worst Groupon I’ve ever bought.

Psychic

If you think you’re a psychic, here’s a simple test:
Get a hundred boxes, and have someone put a loaded gun in 99 of them.
In the hundredth box, have them put an unloaded gun.
Then, use your psychic powers to find the box with the unloaded gun.
After you select that box, take out the gun, put it to your head, and pull the trigger.
If the gun doesn’t go off, you’re psychic.
If the gun goes off, you might still be psychic.
You can still prove that you are telekinetic. Bend the bullet’s trajectory away from your brain.

Full speed

When I do my treadmill walks, I don’t start at full speed. I start slowly, but hit the Faster button over the course of the walk.
You know, like that frog in a pan of water on the stove. Drop the frog in boiling water, and it jumps out. But if you turn the heat on slowly, the frog gets boiled alive.
So, I hit the Faster button. Over and over.
I’m going faster than I would if I had started out going fast.
So fast, time and space begin to melt.
I hope this is covered by the warranty.

Shake a stick at

Why are you using a calculator for your Math homework?
Don’t you know that doesn’t exercise your brain at all?
Back in my day, we didn’t use calculators for Math problems.
We used sticks. To shake at things we counted.
Counting the first few things was easy.
But after a while your arm would get tired.
That’s when you knew when you had too many things to shake a stick at.
I knew a kid who could hold a stick in either hand for shaking at things.
He got sent to reform school for clubbing the Math teacher to death.

Movers and shakers

Some people like the jet-set crowd, and others want to be among the movers-and-shakers.
Not me.
Keep me away from the jet-set. I get airsick easily.
And those movers-and-shakers are real jerks.
Sure, they give you FRAGILE and GLASS stickers to put on the boxes, but do they read them?
No. They pick up the boxes, shake ’em really hard, and then put them on the truck.
Or, if they’re in a hurry, they’ll put them on the truck, and when they get to your new place, they’ll shake the boxes.
I’ll just rent a U-Haul and do it myself.

The dinner party

If I could throw a dinner party for ten, anyone in history, alive or dead, who would they be?
My cat Nardo. I loved to lay on the kitchen floor and watch him eat. I think I have a Youtube movie or two of him eating.
Oh, and my cat Piper. Sometimes, they’d eat off of the same plate, and she’d swat him.
And Bruwyn, the baby panther. I miss him so much.
And then there’s my grandmother.
Oh, she’s still alive.
But considering how all she eats these days is cat food, I wouldn’t have to change the menu.

Atomic Number 80 – Laieanna

Under the bright moonlight, Alan found Randy thrashing around in mucky
water that came up to his chest.

“Randy! What are you doing?”

Randy paused, pointed to the water, then violently banged his head
forward and back.

Alan sighed. “I said we were going to a mosh pit, not marsh. We’ve
been waiting for you.”

“Oh.” Randy put a wet hand to lips in thought.

“Concert’s over, man.”

“Oh,” Randy said again. He sank down until the water came to his
chin. “Guess, I’ll just mellow out here.”

Alan rolled his eyes. “You have got to lay off the hash.”

Neck of the woods

According to the witness, we’re close to Ted’s neck of the woods.
If we walk that way, we’ll be at Ted’s foot of the woods.
On the way, we’ll pass his hip of the woods, his knee of the woods, and his ankle of the woods.
Did you bring the body bag?
Good. Snap plenty of photos before you mark the spot and bag up the remains.
Be quick about it, because there’s wolves in these woods, and they’ll drag off anything we don’t get before sundown.
Man, they sure did a number on this Ted guy.
That poor bastard.

Weekly Challenge #575 – 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:

Stripey

JEFFREY

The Marching Morons
by Jeffrey Fischer

The March for Science had the most ironic name for a protest. The distance between fantasy and reality for the marchers was a gorge. Persons of pallor pranced down the street holding signs about Commander Data and Kryptonite. One claimed that Hitler was a big supporter of science. If so, his interests were sharply limited to methods of destruction.

Although these people clearly had too much time on their hands, they had no time to spare for actual science. They tolerated no dissention, no questioning of their conclusions. Their closed minds exhibited the very opposite of the true scientific method.

CHARLIE

In Washington, The Gorge was the temporary home to the Tulalip Community College, field hockey games.

The emotions and pallor of the players suggested that the “quiz” they were mandated to take prior to the first field game was not the mellow and benign quiz they expected.

The team rogue, Duke, supplied the “clean” urine for the drug test. It came from the Girl Scout troop camped at the edge of the marsh. Caesar Disembogues brokered the deal.

They all passed the test and were allowed to continue the game, winning by 5 points in a very energetic, 2nd period.

TOM

Under the Sun
In the 1960s network executives were hard pressed to breathe a little more life into the hour drama. One of the formats they tried was the rotating hero. In the show the name of the game the three stars were rotated through the month Gene Barry, Robert Stack, and Anthony Franciosa. When Mr. Franciosa exited the show Robert Culp, Peter Falk and Robert Wagner filled in. Not to be out done NBC ran a show called The Rouges starting Gig Young, David Niven, and Charles Boyer. If you’ve never heard of any of these actors you’re probably a millennial

JON

El Presidente Says There Isn’t Any Problem
By
Jon DeCles

Caesar stared down the length of the gorge. He felt his own pallor. This was not some high school quiz, not some stupid hockey game. He was not going to feel mellow after this encounter: if he survived. This was a rogue monster from the haunted marsh, come to wreak havoc on his tiny town, where all the duly elected officials were pretending there was no problem and letting the bloodshed continue unabated.

He saw movement ahead. He struck a match, lit the cigar his invalid father had given him, and hefted his machete. He blew smoke, then headed in.

RICHARD

Chef’s Recommendation

There’s a rogue chef infiltrating local restaurants. Holding a grudge and out for revenge, but nobody knows who he is, or his motive.

He never uses the same tactic twice – today it might be listeria in the linguine; tomorrow, salmonella in the Caesar salad. You just can’t be sure where or how he’ll strike next.

Personally, I’m taking no risks – I only eat at McDonald’s… It’s crap, and I know it’s going to kill me, but at least I know what to expect.

Besides, it’s a cheaper death than eating a la carte at the local Michelin-starred joint!

LIZZIE

Rogue Quiz

Lilly studied a lot for the quiz about Nature. The prize was wonderful, a prize she had dreamed of for years. Well, she was only nine, but she had dreamed of it for quite a while.
There was only one problem. Tommy. Tommy was an expert cheater and he had won the last few prizes. She could barely look at his smirk.
While Mrs. Blake was not paying attention, Tommy sneaked a peek at his cheat notes and Lilly poked a finger in his ribs. He screeched in pain.
“Tommy!”
Yes, he was disqualified.
That was the best prize ever.

MUNSI

Autobiography
By Christopher Munroe

I’m writing this story on an unexpected day off.

I’ve just gotten a new tattoo, and while it does sting a little, it’s a good sting. I’m in a coffee shop looking out at the people passing by on 17th as I write.

In an hour I’ll be watching the Flames play the Kings. A friend unexpectedly turned up with tickets.

In the meantime, I’ll write stories about a party bus.

Overall, it’s been a good day. Relaxing. Mellow.

The sort I don’t get nearly often enough.

The sort I fancy I deserve.

Mental note to do this more often…

SERENDIPITY

Everybody wants me on their team on pub quiz night.

It’s not that I’m particularly good at general knowledge or that I know my stuff. If anything, I’m pretty useless at all things quiz-related, and a bit of a liability if you’re stupid enough to rely on my answers.

So, why would anyone want me in the first place?

Simple – I’m a sore loser, and I really don’t like being beaten. You’d never describe me as mellow, laid back or chilled… More like ‘homicidal maniac’…

So, when the punches start flying, you really want to be on my team!

TURA

Marsh; pallor
———
The boggaerts of the Great Marsh are nasty, brutish, and short. They live mainly on bog lampreys, which they catch in this way. A boggaert thrusts his bare arm into the mud. Lampreys bite on, and he hauls his arm out with the catch.

Their greatest delight is waylaid travellers, whom they bury naked, and neck-deep. Lampreys burrow into the victim, whose screams are sweetest music. When he is almost, but not quite dead, they haul him out, and eat lampreys and prisoner alike.

Men in the surrounding countryside know them by their ghostly pallor, and kill them on sight.

NORVAL JOE

I’m not going to quiz you on the episode which offended me. It should be pretty clear when I tell you I have a thirteen year old son who has autism and I don’t consider him retarded.
I realize the word ‘retard’ has different meanings to different people. Some people might even name their cat ‘Tard’ because of the physical abilities it was born with, but then tell everyone it’s actually short for Tarder Sauce, because the cat suddenly got famous.
I’m pretty mellow. So, I’ve been offended one time in nine years. That’s a good average for this podcast.

LAIEANNA

“Atomic Number 80”

Under the bright moonlight, Alan found Randy thrashing around in mucky
water that came up to his chest.

“Randy! What are you doing?”

Randy paused, pointed to the water, then violently banged his head
forward and back.

Alan sighed. “I said we were going to a mosh pit, not marsh. We’ve
been waiting for you.”

“Oh.” Randy put a wet hand to lips in thought.

“Concert’s over, man.”

“Oh,” Randy said again. He sank down until the water came to his
chin. “Guess, I’ll just mellow out here.”

Alan rolled his eyes. “You have got to lay off the hash.”

PLANET Z

Caesar lay outside the Theater of Pompey in a pool of blood, his face a sickly white pallor.
Sixty men with knives had attacked him.
Twenty-two wounds on his body, all superficial.
“You proved me right,” mumbled Caesar. “Out of sixty Senators, only twenty-two managed to nick me. It takes the firm hand of a dictator to land just one swift fatal blow.”
“That’s not a fair assumption,” said Brutus. “I’m pretty sure I hit you twice. Well, three times.”
And Brutus stabbed Caesar in the chest, severing his aorta.
“Much better,” said Caesar. “Wait, is that you, Brutus? Fucker.”

Creative Latitude

Some people need creative latitude, but I find that terribly confining.
Especially when that latitude is 90 degrees North or South.
There you are, standing at the North Pole, freezing your ass off with a bunch of goddamned polar bears and Russian submarines.
Or at the South Pole, freezing your ass off with a pack of penguins.
Give me zero creative latitude. Let me the entire equator of creative latitude, and I can dance around the circumference of my imagination.
Well, maybe not the parts over the water. I can’t swim.
And some parts of Africa are seriously fucked-up hellholes.