Weekly Challenge #523 – Think of a number…

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 Derp

JEFFREY

Magic Trick
by Jeffrey Fischer

Think of a number between 1 and 100. Got it? No, don’t tell me, just keep it to yourself. Okay, now double it. Double it again. Subtract 10. Take the cube root. Yes, I’ll wait while you look up what a cube root is. Multiply by Pi. All right, multiply by three instead. Now round to the nearest integer. Integer – that’s a whole number, no decimal points. Sheesh, what do they teach you kids these days?

Your number is four. Are you calling me a liar, you little so-and-so? You should be ashamed of yourself.

The Elephant in the Room
by Jeffrey Fischer

Agent 006.5 was trapped. Wires extended from a device on his head to equipment on the wall. His nemesis, Doctor Chuckles, twiddled several knobs.

“Are you planning to kill me? If so, just get it over with.”

“Kill you? Nev… well, not just yet. No. This device will amplify your emotions and feed them back on you. Remain calm if you want to live.

The spy knew he was in a hopeless situation. He thought of a number, the number seven – specifically double-0 seven – and how that slick bastard slept with every woman 006.5 ever dated. He hated that smug, martini-sipping fop with a passion. The anger rippled out from the spy and destroyed the room, killing himself and a very surprised Doctor Chuckles.

RICHARD

#1 – Riddle

The voice again urged Boggins to reveal what was in his pockets – but there was no way he was going to mention the gold ring.

“I’ll tell you, if you can answer my riddle”, he replied.

“Oh… We likes riddles, so we do”, came the disturbing response.

“Ummm, something about three, and two legs… No, that’s wrong… What goes down when it’s up a chimney… No, forget that…”

Desperately, he blurted out the first promising thing he could think of:”Think of a number. Any number!”

“Seven!” Came the triumphant reply.

“Wrong!” Shouted Boggins. Immediately regretting his stupidity!

#2 – Sid

Sid is one of those annoying, know it all friends. As a kid, always the first with his hand up in class, the highest scores in tests and an annoying habit of explaining how magic tricks worked.

The sort who can’t spend an evening in the pub without demonstrating a beer mat or matchsticks trick.

Most irritating.

So when Sid, asked me to think of a number, I was determined to get the upper hand.

He did all the usual calculations, then proudly revealed my number.

It was wrong.

He looked annoyed, “So, what was it?”

“Pi”, I replied, smugly!

MUNSI

A Brain-Teaser
By Christopher Munroe

Think of a number. Any number you like.

Got it?

Good.

Now: Take your number, add three, multiply by five, then subtract four. Take the digits of the new number, add them together, then divide the total by two.

Don’t tell me what the answer is, that’s the trick after all.

Ready?

The answer is a different number!

Or possibly the same number!

Oh, yeah, I forgot to say, I am NOT good at math. Or brain-teasers. What I AM good at is wasting time that you’ll never get back, and there’s nothing you can do to stop me!

Mwaa-hahahaha!!!!

PLANET XRAY

Catching Up

Think of a number, any number between one and five,

Got it? I’m sorry, you picked the wrong number.

Try again, Think of a number between one and five.

Oops, you picked the wrong number again.

One more time, Think of a number between one and five.

I must say you are consistent; you picked the wrong number a total of three times in a row.

Good thing I didn’t say, pick two, you’d come with something like.

My dumb hammer hacked at the wolf while he was drunk from the fermented cherries, pacing a line in a round cage.

SERENDIPITY

I can think of a number of reasons that I never have any luck finding that ‘someone special’.

For a start, I’m rather socially awkward, so speed dating, or even regular dating aren’t options, so I’ve turned to the Internet to find love.

I read somewhere that an honest and interesting profile is key, and I’ve worked hard on mine…

Thirty something, Intelligent, fun loving, good sense of humour, seeking lonely, soulmate. Affinity for razor sharp objects, and a strong stomach are essential qualities. Prefer a loner with no immediate family. Must like kittens.’

Still not having any luck though

LIZZIE

“He slept for a thousand years,” read Mrs. Thomson. “And when he woke up,” she continued, hoping to keep the class quiet. “He…”
That’s when Peter stood up.
“Why did he sleep that long?”
The kids looked at him.
“I don’t understand.”
The quiet class quickly turned into a mob of loud kids.
“Children, the story isn’t over yet,” protested Mrs. Thomson. It was hopeless.
Twenty years went by and Mrs. Thomson received a letter.
“I think I understand why he slept for a thousand years. I wish I could do the same.
Signed,
Peter, in for a life sentence.”

CHARLIE

Tony La Mesmer was a professional hypnotist. Last night he had two men in their underpants, in a deep trance, acting like puppies; barking, jumping on his lap, and sniffing his behind.

Tony had a following of acolytes and hangers-on under his control. This cadre of talent-less worshipers were not wise to La Mesmer’s tricks. He would have them think of a number, then write a love poem based on the number. About three-quarters of them went insane in the first month, as the challenge was too much for them, taxing their intellect, creativity, skill and willingness to “follow orders”.

#2
I thought of a number of between one and ten. Seven is the number chosen by most people. Seven is the number of perfection and completeness. God rested on the seventh day.

If you were born on the seventh day of the month, you have a tendency to be self-centered and stubborn. On the other hand, if you investigate the various signs of the zodiac, you will come to learn that the seventh sign (Libra) indicates that birth under this sign suggests you are the artistic type and if you are male, you are probably a homo, a woman…a whore.

TOM

Q is the Loneliest Number

When I think of a number I think of Q. It’s sort of like ‘E’, but different. It’s an irrational number which is useful when you need to find the area of a circle in a square or its Perimeter or the volume of sphere in a cube. Let me give you the first 13 decimals places, so you can plug them into your spreadsheet. I’ll also include the formulas for using Q. You won’t find Q in any math text, nor the result of a quoted Google search. The number self generates out of PHI during an inverted transformation.

————-

Q is equivalent to .7853981633974
Area equals length of the side by the length of the side times Q
Volume is equivalent to twice the cube of the side times Q divide by 3

Perimeter is equivalent to four times the length of the side time Q

That’s accuracy to the width of an electron orbit

NORVAL JOE

Mickey slid Cherry Cola onto the floor and checked her pulse. It was strong and her breathing, regular. She probably wasn’t in any real danger.
Though it was early in the day, the library seemed all but empty. He crept silently past shelves of books.
A shuffling sound echoed from the Sociology section. Turning down an aisle, Polecat pushed a book back into place and ran for the exit.
A book on this shelf could explain Polecat’s presence in the library. But which one?
Pick a number between 327.035 – International Relations and 345.667 – Criminal Law, and start reading.

TURA

Think of a number
———
Throughout my mathematical career, my goal of proving Riemann’s hypothesis seemed always just beyond my grasp.

One night, an angel appeared to me in a dream, and said, “Think of a number bigger than God.”

A billion, a googleplex: kindergarten stuff. Even the enormity of Graham’s number is a simple thing to a mathematician. In a frenzy of thought I constructed new ways of defining ever more gigantic numbers. Finally, I answered the angel. “Four,” I said, “for God is but three in one.” “All is granted to you,” said the angel.

And when I awoke, I had my proof.

PLANET Z

Ever since I started using a cell phone instead of a landline, I’ve had the same number. I just transfer the number between new phones and new carriers.
At work, I don’t have a phone number. Tell me what you need through an email, a chat, or a text.
Not in person, though. Then I have to write that shit down.
Heck, it’s the same way with my personal number, really. Unless it’s to call the bank or credit card company, everybody else has an app for that now.
Well, except my mom. No wonder why she’s pissed at me.

Fries

What do you dip your fries in?
Ketchup?
Mustard?
Mayonnaise?
Cheese dip?
Barbecue sauce?

I like sour cream with my fries.
What’s so weird about sour cream?
They’re potatoes, right?
And what do people usually have with potatoes?
Sour cream.
And bacon bits.
And green onions.
And cheese.
Not the cheese dip crap, but real cheese.

Why not just make a baked potato?
Because I can pick up fries a lot quicker than it takes to make a baked potato.
And it’s harder to dip a baked potato.
Cut it up, and it crumples apart on your fork.
Fries. Fries.

The Mozart Effect

Some scientists say that if you expose a baby to Mozart, it will boost their IQ.
Other scientists say that this has no effect on a baby’s IQ.
No matter what the scientists say, everyone agrees that exposing Mozart to babies really pissed him off.
“Vat’s mit all zees kinders!” he’d shout, sticking his fingers in his ears and scowling at the room full of babies. “Vere ist mein harpsichord?”
Then the babies would scream louder, and Mozart became even more irritable and outraged.
Further research is necessary on The Mozart Effect. And self-changing diapers to stop babies from screaming.

Idioms

I told a blind woman that she was easy on the eyes.
She tried to slap me. And missed. Because she’s blind.
I told a man with no legs to quit dragging his feet and get the job done.
Damn, his motorized wheelchair was fast.
I had to run up a flight of stairs to get away from him.
I told a mute person that they were like music to my ears.
But they couldn’t hear me.
Still, they could read my lips.
And they punched me in the face.
The guy without legs ran me over with his wheelchair.

N

I sipped my coffee and read the gossip pages:
Mindy broke up with Max.
Marty broke up with Mary.
Melissa broke up with Mark.
Madison broke up with Milton.
Sure enough, everyone’s name began with an M. And they all broke up.
I looked at yesterday’s gossip pages.
Sure enough, everybody’s name began with L.
I couldn’t look up the gossip pages from the day before. Those were already recycled.
Will everyone in the gossip pages tomorrow have a name that begins with N?
What happens when we get to Z?
“Nate,” said Nancy. “We need to talk.”
Tomorrow, dear.

Fried Baby

They said that if I tried to open a restaurant that served fried baby, the townspeople would chase me with torches and pitchforks.
But the truth is, they’ve been pretty good to me.
The zoning commission approved the lot. Right next to an adoption agency. The building inspector says that the restaurant is up to code, and the health inspector says that the kitchen is clean.
“Don’t forget hairnets,” he says.
“On the babies?” I ask.
“No, for your fry cooks,” he replies. “Babies are usually bald, right?”
“Oh, right,” I say.
The town arrives.
Brandishing pitchforks?
No, waving coupons.

Kitchen Zone

My kitchen is the fucking Twilight Zone right now.
I’ve got an entire cupboard full of Tupperware, but none of the lids fit any of the containers.
Same thing with the pots and pans. The lids are either too big, too small, or the wrong shape.
Seriously, who the fuck wants a square pan? I have a square lid here, and no pan that matches it.
Maybe some kitchens are like clothes dryers. Left socks vanish from the dryer, pots and containers wormhole out of kitchens.
This is why you should use child safety locks.
And eat out at restaurants.

Weekly Challenge #522 – I’m Sorry

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

MUNSI

On Apologies
By Christopher Munroe

It’s been said that it’s easier to say, “I’m Sorry,” than it is to ask permission. And this is true.

Ask permission anyway.

Don’t be a dick, make sure what you’re planning is okay with all involved parties before going through with it, it’s just basic consideration of other people and their needs. Be a human being, make sure you’re not hurting anyone BEFORE doing whatever the fuck you want.

And while you’re at it; Just in general stop basing life decisions on what’s easier. That’s no way to live, you lazy path of least resistance-taking piece of human garbage!

JEFFREY

The Non-Apology
By Jeffrey Fischer

One of the many unpleasant modern inventions is the non-apology. They’re all the rage. First, someone says something offensive, such as “Students at Emory University are delicate snowflakes, unable to cope with a presidential candidate’s name written in chalk.” Said students object to being called delicate snowflakes, and the Snowflake Preservation Society objects to the comparison with sensitive college students. After controversy erupts, the speaker says, “If I have offended anyone with my remarks, I’m sorry.” The first clause essentially negates the rest. The speaker never acknowledges he was wrong, and vaguely implies that the statement was nothing worth taking offense over. The media then rush to cover the next faux-outrage.

The Silent Treatment
By Jeffrey Fischer

Of the many forms of spousal argument, the silent treatment is perhaps the second-most unfair, falling just short of crying. The offending spouse often wonders just what he did wrong. He knows something is bothering her, but he can’t ask – or, rather, if he does, he gets no reply, beyond a hurt-sounding, “You know what you did.” He tries to make amends, first with a non-apology of “I’m sorry for whatever I did wrong,” and then, when that fails, a wild guess at the offense, followed by a heartfelt, “I’m sorry, I know I was wrong for -“, filling in the guess. If he’s a good guesser, this might end the silence.

On the other hand, if he doesn’t like to hear her talk, he just guesses incorrectly, over and over. Sometimes silence is golden.

TOM

Go’n Dark Tonight
“I’m sorry,” I said as I pulled the knot tighter. The look in his eyes was priceless. “You’re trying to place the face, Accounting, The Gym, The waiter at Mario’s, One of Martha’s sycophantic students. I’m sure you will recall the meeting you’re such a clever guy. But the Who isn’t as important as the why. Why is the man behind blue eyes doing this? Good, a flash of recognition to my feeble Townshend reference. Shows heighten male bonding. It’s so sad we never had an opportunity like this before today.” I retighten the counter-weight and turned out the light.

RICHARD

Artificial Intelligence

I’ve always been disappointed computers never turned out to be quite as exciting as they might have.

Imagine the fun of IT that functioned like that of sixties’ sci-fi magazines or the iconic computers in the movies?

My favourite was HAL9000, and I can’t help thinking computer manufacturers missed a trick… What if, rather than a bland ‘Resource not found’ message, we had a calm, unnerving voice instead:

“I’m sorry Dave, I can’t do that”

Of course, there’s always the worry we’d be dealing with a megalomaniac, psychotic intelligence with a hidden agenda.

But isn’t that what computers are anyway?

SERENDIPITY

I have a large and comprehensive vocabulary.

It comes with the territory – you can’t have the sort of interests like mine without picking up a surprising degree of specialist knowledge along the way.

The tools and techniques of forensic pathology and surgery; the terminology of butchery; a smattering of legal words and phrases – essential for navigating the dark and unsavoury places my hobbies necessarily lead me.

Even so, there are some words that have never featured in my vocabulary, and frankly, they never will.

You see, the one thing I can never see myself saying is…

‘I’m sorry’

TURA

Sorry
———
Please remain at your desks.
A fire has been detected on floor 17.
There is no cause for alarm.
The situation is under control.
We apologise for the inconvenience.

Halon flushing triggered on floors 14 to 20.
Doors and windows have been sealed to contain the situation.
There is no cause for alarm.
Remain where you are, until the all clear.

Fire services will arrive shortly.
The situation is under control.
Do not attempt to combat the fire yourself.
Remain at your desks.
We apologise for the inconvenience.

Remain where you are! Remain where you are! Remain where you are!

(Audio credits: bell by battlestar10, fire by JaBa, from soundbible.com.)

LIZZIE

A whisper, barely a murmur, caught his attention that night.
He squinted, adjusting to the darkness of the alley. A few steps and he heard it again.
“Who’s there?”
No one replied.
The murmur became a lament, loud and mournful.
He followed the sound as he stepped into the shadows.
Suddenly, he saw the shiny blade coming from the right and instinctively turned around.
That grin, he recognized her.
“I’m sorry,” he yelled in despair, trying to save himself. “I’m sorry.”
But it was too late.
“I’m not,” she replied, grinning as she did back then while he raped her.

NORVAL JOE

Cherry Cola stood and stumbled toward Monkey Boy. “What’s the matter? Aren’t you happy to see me?” She slurred her words and looked as if she fought to keep her eyes open.
“I’m sorry,” Mickey said. “I expected to find someone else in here.”
She collapsed into his arms.
Mickey dragged her to a chair and collapsed into it with her on his lap. She batted her eyes sleepily and mumbled, “I’m sorry I walked out on you. I didn’t want to, but…”
Cherry’s head tipped back revealing a red welt on her neck where someone had injected a sedative.

suggested prompt….good answer

PLANET Z

When I heard that Prince died, I knew that my social media timelines would be full of quotes from his songs, clips from his concerts, and headlines from parasitic gossip rags all over the world.

I shut down my computer, turned on Netflix, and watched Tim Burton’s Batman.

It was campy and cheesy. Jack Nicholson was a stiff smirking mannequin with the acting range of a failed North Koean ballistic missile blowing up on the pad.

But the music was great.

No, not Prince’s music. Danny Elfman’s backing tracks.

Prince? Couldn’t stand him.

Now play me some Morris Day, bitch.

Music by bensound.com

Dimensional

See this? Little doohickey?
It’s a transdimensional actuator. Latest in relativity dynamics.
Just set the coordinates and constants, twist the knobs, and you’re somewhere else.
Know what the worst thing about inter-dimensional travel is?
It’s the stuff that’s not in the next dimension you miss.
Not just oxygen and gravity and water. Or your family.
I’m talking about the little things, like a root beer float.
Few places have root beer.
Fewer have vanilla ice cream.
Those that have both? Don’t ask.
So, I don’t stay long, because nothing beats a good root beer float.
Well, oxygen kinda helps too.

Flight Insurance

I need to fly somewhere.
What? Do I want insurance?
Well, let me take a look.
One insurance plan offers insurance that pays benefits if you die on an airplane.
Another insurance plan offers insurance that pays benefits if you die in a terrorist attack on an airplane.
The second plan costs more, despite the fact that the first plan overlaps the terms of second plan.
Why do people buy the second?
Because they’re afraid? And stupid?
But I’m going to buy it anyway.
Because I could do this through GoToMeeting.
Instead of flying there.
But I’m afraid. And stupid.