Why is it that airline commercials show all these wonderful amenities and experiences in their airplanes, but none of that is available to anyone who is watching the commercial?
Even if you pay a little more for an upgrade, they still treat you like shit compared to the good old days.
I think the commercials are just the airline, advertising, and media executives telling the common people of the world all the things they have and we don’t deserve.
Same with Jaguar commercials, high-end watches and perfumes and yachts.
This message brought to you by the people better than you.
For a good time
I’ve written my number on every bathroom stall that I’ve ever used, nobody has ever called me.
I guess nobody wants a good time anymore.
So, I started writing “For A Bad Time” next to my number.
Still no takers. I guess people already have a bad enough time as it is, so why bother calling me for one?
I stopped writing my number on bathroom stalls. Disconnected the phone line completely.
I don’t even have a cell phone. I guess I got sick of all those telemarketers calling all the time.
Peace and quiet. Now that’s a good time.
Training Wheels
I can’t keep all the style guide rules in my head.
I fuck something up in every doc.
More than once.
When I get it to the front of my mental stack.
Something else slides back out.
I feel stupid. And weak. And old. And tired.
It’s time to put the training wheels back on.
It’s time to write up a checklist with everything I fuck up.
And then work through the checklist with every sentence.
Like a goddamned child. Like a goddamned retard.
And when I can write without the checklist.
I can take the training wheels off again.
World Cup
The sooner that the United States is out of the World Cup, the better.
Because anybody who gives a rat’s ass about the World Cup after the United States is out isn’t an American.
They may have been born here or have citizenship papers, but the odds are that they’re some dirty foreigner because no true American gives a fuck about the World Cup.
Football is football, dammit, not soccer.
See that McDonalds over there? The one that has those World Cup tear-off game pieces?
They might as well be a dirty run-down bogeda.
I’ll be at the Taco Bell.
Grilling on a rainy day
Two gigantic ribeye steaks.
Half price.
I bought them and brought them home.
But every evening, it rained.
Couldn’t grill them.
Until tonight.
Perfect low sun evening.
Not a cloud in the sky.
Rubbed the steaks with seasoning.
Smeared on the olive oil.
Scraped off the grill.
Loaded up the coals.
Sprayed on the lighter fluid.
And tossed on a match.
The coals went white in ten minutes.
That’s when I felt the droplets.
Shit.
It was a sunshower.
I got the steaks on.
Put on the lid.
Hissing droplets hit the top of the grill.
I won’t be denied.
Weekly Challenge #544 – Underwear
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:
SERENDIPITY
The cops were getting annoyed. They knew I’d killed him, and they knew that I’d disposed of the body, but without it, they had nothing on me and I was going to walk free.
I was having fun, and the more questions they asked me, the more I led them on a wild goose chase.
I let slip a few details, confident that without the incriminating evidence the worst they could do me for was wasting police time.
They knew I’d left the body in a basement in the city somewhere.
But what I wouldn’t tell them was, under where!
MUNSI
This story was co-written by a five year old!
By Christopher Munroe
What do loggers have on under their pants?
Lumberwear.
What about Thor?
God-of-Thunderwear.
Pirates?
Plunderwear. Which is gross if you think about it, stolen underwear. I get that pirates aren’t the most hygienic people, but seriously. I mean, laundry facilities on old-timey pirate ships can’t be all that great, are they seriously going around in used undergarments stolen from ships they loot? It’s pretty disgusting. Indefensable.
For that reason, even if there were no others, I could never be a pirate.
Anywho…
What about 80s hitmakers Men at Work? What do they have on under their pants?
Land Down Underwear…
RICHARD
Underwear
As a young child, my parent’s nickname for me was ‘Clark Kent’ – I was far too young at the time to attach any significance to this, and it was a good few years later that I learned about Superman.
Needless to say, I was pleased that my parents had seen such potential in me.
The name stuck, and even today I’m known as Clark to my friends. And it always makes me smile.
Until this week’s family get together, when I mentioned it to my mother.
She laughed…
“We called you that because your underwear was always on display!”
JEFFREY
Summer Breeze
by Jeffrey Fischer
The summer was hot and humid. Larry was tired of having his underwear stick to him. His nether regions were constantly bathed in sweat, and the damp shorts chafed when he walked. He decided to go commando.
As he strode to his office, he felt good. No more sweat! No more chafing! Larry wished he had done this years ago. He received some strange looks – was it obvious he lacked underwear? He glanced down. Yes, apparently it was obvious, because his fly was down and his penis was flapping in the breeze.
Industrial Safety
by Jeffrey Fischer
Stockton was ready for the overseas visitors to the factory. His boss had said that a small group would be taking a tour and spending the day on the factory floor, and that Stockton was responsible for seeing to the safety and comfort of the visitors. To that end, he had sent ahead some safety instructions: hard hats needed to be worn at all times, along with steel-toed shoes, no jewelry, and, in case the group included women, no skirts or dresses – pants only, to prevent loose-fitting clothing from getting caught in the machinery.
The group arrived. Stockton watched in amazement as they walked into his office, three men and two women, clad in hard hats, chambray shirts, work boots… and bikini underwear. “Bloody hell, mate,” one of the guests said, “you Yanks really take safety seriously. Never been told to show up in me pants before.”
TOM
French Underwear
It was Montmartre day five. The last piece of underwear had been worn. It was at that very moment that the seminal wisdom of traveling was reduced to its subatomic singularity. When you are out of underwear it’s time to come home. My traveling compatriot had circumvented this reality by successfully working through the 3rd level mystery of the Paris auto-laundromat. I chose the way of the Gallery Lafayette no less mysterious and fraught with peril. No Small, Med, LG labeling just weird numbers and letters. What I ended up purchasing made the 7 hour flight home in a word: challenging.
LIZZIE
The light was on and no one answered. The police found her in her bedroom, sprawled on the bed. She had been stabbed 16 times. A lover, a stalker, her dealer? An intruder, perhaps? Then, they arrested him because he waltzed into the precinct and confessed. “I killed her with the kitchen knife. It’s still there.” Simple, right? Nope. The police searched the house. They couldn’t find the knife. Circumstantial evidence. Not enough. He was released. At her funeral, he wrapped the knife in her panties and stuffed it in the coffin, under the froufrou laces, and walked away.
TURA
Underwear
———
Once upon a time, there was a boy so clever that he could think things that no adult ever would, like “who makes the elves’ underwear?” There were still elves in the world then, beings so beautiful that one could hardly imagine their underwear, or their toilets, or their drains.
It became his life’s ambition to study them and spy out their everyday lives. But the more he discovered, the more tenuous their existence became, for they were always creatures as much of myth as of reality.
And that is why there are no longer any elves in the world.
NORVAL JOE
Dr. West pushed his assistant, Salt, aside and said, “Where he works is unimportant. We’re here to determine the source of his transformative ability.”
Harold Salt shrugged and backed away.
“Boy,” Dr. West said. “Transform for us.”
“I can’t,” Mickey said. “I need my monkey shorts.”
“You can’t transform without your underwear?” Salt laughed.
“I can, but then I’d be naked. I may look like a monkey, but I can still be embarassed,” Mickey said, folding his arms.
“If we find you some monkey underwear, will you change for us?” West asked.
Mickey hesitated, but finally nodded. “Okay,” he said.
PLANET Z
They say that the road to Hell is also the road to Heaven.
At one end of the road is Hell, while at the other end of the road is Heaven.
But the truth is, I’ve been walking on this road for what feels like an eternity, and I haven’t seen either Hell or Heaven.
I’ve gone in both directions. Made chalk marks in the road, and never come across them again, so it’s not a loop.
Maybe one side is Hell, and the other side is Heaven.
Which explains all of the chickens crossing the road.
While on fire.
Marvin’s Phone
One of the fondest memories I have of Marvin Zindler was when he was in the newsroom and his cell phone rang.
He couldn’t hear the ringer, but everybody else could.
“Answer your phone, Marvin,” said a coworker.
“What?” asked Marvin.
“ANSWER YOUR PHONE, MARVIN!” yelled the coworker.
Marvin checked every one of his white suit’s pockets, found the phone, and answered it. “HELLO?”
Here’s what I never understood: How the shit he could hear the person talking on the phone, and not the ringer?
I think he was fucking with us. Which was very Marvin. He was an asshole.
Ducks
Why is it so hard to get all of your ducks in a row?
Because ducks naturally prefer columns. When ducks line up to cross the road, it’s in a column, not a row.
Problem is, a column takes longer to cross the road. Ducks crossing as a row all reach the other side at the same time.
But then, a column of ducks offers a lesser profile, and are harder for you or your car’s radar system to see. So, if one gets hit, they all get hit.
When it comes to rows and columns, I don’t get ducks.
Cracked corn
Jimmy cracked corn, but I didn’t care.
Jimmy cracked corn, but I didn’t care.
Then Jimmy cracked a nasty joke at the mayor’s wife. I didn’t vote for the guy. So, I didn’t care.
Then Jimmy cracked the bank’s safe, but it wasn’t my bank, so I didn’t care.
Then Jimmy cracked a tooth while chewing ice. I’m not his dentist, so I didn’t care.
Then Jimmy cracked the nuclear launch codes. Almost started World War Three.
So, I cracked Jimmy over the head with a shovel.
His body’s in the crawlspace.
Now, I care. Because he’s beginning to stink.
Travel stuff
I don’t travel much, but I do have to travel occasionally for my job.
So, I use the opportunity to get rid of anything that’s worn out or needs replacing.
I buy new shoes, or a new toothbrush. That kind of thing.
And if something worn out and needs to be pitched at the end of the trip, I just leave it in the trash bin in the hotel room or in the trash at the airport.
Well, not everything. Guns and knives, for instance.
But when I get out of jail, I’ll get a new toothbrush and new shoes.