The 100 Word Stories Podcast

Welcome to the 100 Word Stories podcast at podcasting.isfullofcrap.com. I’m your host, Laurence Simon.

This is Weekly Challenge, where I post a topic and then challenge you to come up with a 100 word story based on that topic.

The topic this week was Pudding.

And we’ve got stories by a lot of people:

• Secret Rage
• Vincent
• Jeffrey
• Rosi Vinson
• Serendipidy Haven
• Lizzie
• Tom
• Cliff – Uncle Monster
• Munsi
• Zackmann
• Singh
• Bonchance and Sevi
• RedGoddess
• Steven the Nuclear Man
• Norval Joe
• Tura
• Planet Z

The next weekly challenge is on the topic of Funk.

And if you want to spam your social networks with this episode, use the Share buttons at the end of the post… this obligatory cat photo should help make the Internet go faster:

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SECRET RAGE

She walked to the pantry…lifted the small box from the shelf and prepared it just as directed. As it cooled, she noted both its consistency (thickening nicely) and color (is vanilla a color?) and thought that without tasting or smelling it…how would a person know what it was? it could be anything! and if its origin was unknown…and IF she named it something else~either mundane or exotic…would it matter? would that make it more or less likely to be consumed? then names it paste~just to see…

VINCENT

The proof is in the pudding

Bradley Davidson stood with his back against the wall wielding a black pudding in the shape of a truncheon in his raised hand. “You bastards,” he shouted. “You’ll not fucking put me back.”

Prosecutor Richardson kept silent. He could see the guy had backed himself into a corner with nowhere to go.

“Mr Bradley,” the judge said, “put down the weapon.”

Richardson, beginning to look over at the judge turned to face Davidson. The dumb fuck. He could see Davidson was going to throw the black pudding across the courtroom. Then what…? Richardson guessed he hadn’t figured that part out.

JEFFREY

Dinner Time
by Jeffrey Fischer

For people of a certain age, Jell-O pudding means Bill Cosby, eating the smooth concoction and pretending it’s the best thing in the world, delivering the ad copy in his Cliff Huxtable schtick.

Others might be reminded of childhood, when Mom didn’t feel like making a real dessert, and instead reached for Mother’s Little Helper – not the pills the Rolling Stones sang about, but the cheap and convenient little box on the shelf that could make whiny children quiet for a short time.

For me, though, Jell-O pudding is hospitals – the smell of sickness and bleach, elderly relatives sitting up in bed, fear written on their faces that this time, this hospital stay, may be the last.

I hate Jell-O pudding.

ROSI VINSON

I hated London. I mean, it’s never actually done anything to me. It just seemed so big, so impersonal, so noisy. Isolating. Hostile, almost. Anyway, I had to travel there for work, convinced I would be mugged, or worse.

I survived, almost unscathed. The worst thing that happened to me was having a fancy restaurant’s waiter spill the teensiest dribble of coffee on my sleeve. He brought me – gratis – the most amazing crème brulee, by way of apology. When I looked up, surprised, he only smiled at me and said: “Pudding on The Ritz.”

London’s not so bad after all.

SARAH W

Daisy wasn’t a great cook, but she always tried hard at Christmas – last year, she excelled herself.

Last minute grocery shopping was a mistake – unable to find ingredients, she improvised…

Substituting baby food and food colouring for cranberry sauce wasn’t her best idea; neither was the improvised turkey stuffing of crushed biscuits and banana, but where she really triumphed was the pudding.

The size of a basketball, it defied all attempts to light it, and with hindsight, resorting to lighter fluid was rather foolish, as was the brandy-soaked paper money she’d hidden inside…

Our eyebrows grew back by Easter!

LIZZIE

“No.”

“Why not?”

“It tastes bad.”

“You haven’t tried it.”

“I have.”

“Not this one.”

“Is it any different?”

“No.”

“Well…”

“I’ll eat it.”

“Be my guest.”

Fast-forward to an hour later.

“How is he doing, doctor?”

“Stable. But we are very concerned. Tell me, what did he eat?”

“Pudding.”

“It must have been bad already…”

“No.”

“No…?”

“No. I added some arsenic to it.”

“Why would you do that,” asked the doctor alarmed running back into the ER.

I told him to buy sweet rice so many times, he thought.

It was 8pm. Great, the supermarket is still open.

TOM

Take the Chair.

I am candidate for the Lucasian Chair but my work of late has taken on a tacit fuzziness that may well be my undoing. As I drop through this last ring of mathematic molasses I remembered what my dear old mum uses to say, “The proof is in the pudding.” And as fate would have it, it was indeed while watching a Bill Cosby JELLO commercial that the final tumbler in the galactic clockwork clicked and the central proof tumbled out. The solution to fourth degree equations is in fact approximately the surface of a Jello pudding pop. Thanks mum

CLIFF

I signed up for a class called “Cooking to the Oldies”. We learned to make several desserts inspired by song titles. There was Warrant’s Cherry Pie, The Beatle’s Savoy Truffle, and some non-alcoholic Watermelon wine inspired by Tom T. Hall. Our final test was to devise our own musically inspired dessert. I’ve always loved how salty and sweet flavors complement each other and taste so good, so I whipped up a batch of butterscotch pudding and dropped a dollop of it on a couple dozen crackers. The instructor just rolled her eyes when I presented my Pudding on The Ritz.

MUNSI

Pudding Cups

By Chris Munroe

Look, none of this is complicated.

I recently received a frequent-shopper gift coupon in the mail, offering double air miles, and regular double air miles day was only a few days off.

So that’s quadruple, right?

Right. So I went to Safeway and found something that both a) was on sale, and b) offered 100 bonus air miles per unit.

In this case, pudding cups. Three for two dollars.

And now I’m going to Vegas. Hundred ten bucks for a week there, hotel included.

It’s going to be a blast!

Anyway: Do you want seventy pounds of pudding, or not?

ZACKMANN

“Are you done pudding Mister Wilson in the van?“
“Say Guido, didn’t the boss say boil him in pudding?”
“How much eggnog did you drink tonight? That was from the Christmas movie we watched, our boss isn’t such a Scrooge.”
“Don’t worry, since you are my favorite cousin I did as you directed”
Guido steps into the van. A man is sitting in a big plastic tub neck deep in pudding
“You have some information you will give us or Nunzio fills this above your head. Tell us, forget us, and live or become the corpses know as Pudd’nhead Wilson”

SINGH

Dinner Party Wars

Chris Mooney-Singh/Singh Albatros

Take five strangers, ask each to throw a dinner party, mix things up with some secret scoring for a E1,000 prize and you have a recipe for disaster. Yes, it’s been a week of cat poo in Debra’s kitty litter stinking out the dining room, Grandma Sheila’s weird robotic after-dinner dancing, a scary encounter with Timothy’s pet python, crawling across the table only to defecate chicken curry on the crisp linen, and sleazy comments by Javier, the alpha male of the bunch saying things like: ”you’ve such beautiful come-to-bed eyes” which Ruby has finally succumbed to. Welcome to Dinner Party Wars.

*

This week’s four strangers had battled hard, but there wasn’t protection for tomorrow’s hostess – Ruby, from frontrunner Javier, as both coupled on his drunken couch. The cameras and everyone had departed.

Arriving early next evening, Javier soon spread-eagled the lady on her kitchen table. Ruby grunted. “You delicious man!” And then left to shower.

Seeing his chance, Javier stirred something into her pudding-mix.

“Ruby, I am starting your steamer.”

“Thankyou. You’re such a darling,” she yelled underwater, thinking of money and her new boyfriend.

Her buttock-prints in the sprinkled flour made him smile before rubbing out their evidence with his hand.

*

The camera crew was surprised to see Javier on the living room couch. He greeted them and tried to make conversation. “I realize you have a lot on your plate, filming and producing these TV shows, night after night.”

“You’re right there Guv,” said the guy with headphones, waving about his boom-pole. “We get in a lot of hot and bother by Friday. Five bloody tapings. Had to come in earlier we did, you know — to fix the hidden cameras.”

The pot-bellied saboteur got that sinking feeling in the pit of his middle-aged paunch. How exactly wouls this turn out?

*

Eyeing the prize, Ruby thought a movie character theme would give her the fun edge. Debra was a chubby fairy godmother. Timothy came as a skinny Tarzan in leopard briefs and python around his neck. Grandma Sheila dressed as a geriatric Michael Jackson right down to fedora, socks and sequinned glove. Javier was Zorro with mask and cape, while Ruby emerged from the cocoon of her bedroom as a bulging-plum version of Maryli n Monroe. She’d tarted up her place with lit candles and forced wine and canapés upon each guest as they came through the door, her secret of power hosting.

*

According to the show format, a good portion was spent in the kitchen, turning home cooks into celebrity chefs. The cameras zoomed in on each step of her entrée — Oysters Kilpatrick, each plated with its little bacon curl on top. Then they cut to the dinner guest’s reactions. “Wow! These are so yummy!” Then back to the kitchen for the main course, which was Roast Cape Goose with Apple Sauce and Thai Rice Stuffing. This last episode of Dinner Party Wars was proving to be everything the producer had hoped for, but none were quite ready for what was coming.

*

Feeling confident and smelling victory, Ruby played perfect hostess all night. Then portly Debra, the low scorer from Monday giggled: “Being overweight is something that sorta snacks up on you, doesn’t it,” tucking straight into more goose-meat.

Ruby took this as her cue to tell the joke she had earlier researched online: “What are the four food groups?”

After much guessing, she fed them the answer: “Pizza, Coffee, Chocolate and…Sex.”

They exploded into paroxysms of tipsy laughter, while she looked knowingly at Javier sharing their secret moment, unaware he was smiling for another reason. Yes, the time for dessert had come.

*

Once bowls, spoons and jugs of cream were set, and lights doused for dramatic effect, Ruby brought in the plum pudding on a platter, placed it centre, pouring on the brandy. It was her pièce de résistance. Then, she lit it. The thing flambéed perfectly, giving off luminous flames worthy of St Elmo’s fire. They applauded as she set her fork and spoon into the pudding’s heart; but as she lifted, up came the special surprise. Everyone shrieked, except Javier. Dangling offensively was his used condom knotted at one end.

Seeing a huge spike in ratings, the producer kept on filming.

BONCHANCE and SEVI

Hero!

Good gracious! Mistress has been captured by the evil savages! Who knows what wicked intentions they have in store for her!
Lambchop to the rescue! Lamby rides his gigantic daunting terrorsaurace, Puddin, into the savages village scaring them away. Lamby slides down his back and releases Mistress from her bonds.
He beckons his flying peterrorsaurus with his secret call. Sauri glides down to them, as puddin keeps the savages at bay with his scary screams. Quickly, Lamby and Mistress jump on to peterrorsaurus and fly away!
Sevi smiled as she watched her lamby sleep, his hooves waving as he dreamed.

Coffee and Tea

I have made a life altering change. For the past few months I made the switch from drinkin a mug of coffee to a cuppa tea.
It’s awesome to sit back with a chalice of the good ole black stuff and reflect. Yah the memories just unfold as you slurp and sip.
How do I take it? With just a drizzle of honey to mellow the bitter edge. I don’t like it too sickly sweet.
Come to think of it now, I guess my tea and also memories have a propensity toward the bittersweet. Maybe I’ll just switch to pudding.

Pudding

Pablo had grounded Pepe after the misunderstanding with the Chairman. He was only allowed to roam within 100 feet of the house. His leash was attached to the chain link fence.
It seemed impossible to break free. Pepe racked his brain trying to find a way out of his predicament. Andre the armorer who made chainmail fetish clothing, lived across the road.
He could use this strong chain and make a mint.
Andre had a weird obsession and Pepe knew how to get him over to negotiate. Pepe put a bowl of lemon pudding out on the lawn and waited.

REDGODDESS

It’s been a while since Lola has seen her special guy. She’s not ready to take their relationship to the next level. For now, he’s just “the guy” who makes her re-think her needs vs. wants. How do you avoid someone who sends you romantic notes with vintage white roses? The latest card reads “one rose for every day I’m deprived of your beauty.” Lola is touched but hides her emotions well. She has no time to deal with her angst when she’s swamped with planning a fancy birthday bash for the hotel owner. She has to import his wife’s favorite French pudding among other exotic delicacies. This is the kind of opportunity that can jeopardize her livelihood or gives her leverage for a promotion. When you live paycheck to paycheck, any sneaky life event can hang you at the edge of the economic cliff.

STEVEN THE NUCLEAR MAN

His heart slipped with every beat, sliding in his chest, tripping over ribs like they were coated in ice.

She slid one fingernail through the tape, glanced up at him.

Beat. Slip.

She folded the paper back. His heart slid with a disturbing liquidity, trading places with his stomach as she exposed the small velvet-covered box. She glanced up again.

It was the worst idea, worst present ever. He knew it, knew it, finally knew it but the box was open.

She looked at the ring, at him.

He tried to ask, heart flopping sliding inside, throat tightening.

She answered.

NORVAL JOE

Shareeka cast her dim light toward the water creature. Half way to the monster the ball hung in the air, flaring into brilliance. With a putrid hiss, it reared back and clawed at its eyes. Shaking its head back and forth it bellowed in pain.
Owen backed up to where Flindert worked at the lock and Spleen fell to hte cavern floor and quivered like a bowl of pudding.
The elf prince took something from a pouch at his belt and asked Flindert, “May I have a try?”
Inserting a green, glowing, pin into the lock, the latch fell away.

When Gilbert first met Millicent he thought her Brittish accent was sexy and her expressions were cute. They dated and quickly married.
Some characteristics were annoying. She called any kind of dessert, pudding.
“Pudding is warm and brown and squishy,” he ranted at her.
To top it off she had named her dim witted wiener dog ‘Pudding’, because that’s all he ever ate.
When Millicent finally left Gilbert, she left the wiener dog, with him.
He knew that Pudding hated him for it, because every night the wiener dog would leave Gilbert a little pile of pudding, on his bed.

TURA

You vampires try to keep a low profile these days. World’s too crowded to just kill someone every time you get hungry. Animal blood’s even harder to get. So what’s the answer? Black pudding, right? It’s pig scab, with fat mixed in to keep it soft.

I’m a butcher, see, and I noticed you buy a lot. Not feeling too well, are you? I made some special ones just for you, with silver salts cooked in. Found out where you lived, waited till you got poorly. This silver cleaver will have your head off and heart out in no time.

PLANET Z

There are four ways to buy pudding at the grocery store:

Individual servings in cups from the refrigerated section.

Boxes of instant powder mix that you can shake or stir up.

Boxes of powder to mix on the stove.

And cans of pre-made pudding.

I put them all in bowls, blindfolded my friend Steve, and asked him which kind tastes the best.

“Wait until you’ve had them all before responding,” I said.

After tasting all four, he said they all tasted awful.

“They’re all butterscotch,” he said. “I hate butterscotch.”

I grumbled and went back to the store for chocolate.

Welcome to the 100 Word Stories podcast at podcasting.isfullofcrap.com. I’m your host, Laurence Simon.

This is Weekly Challenge, where I post a topic and then challenge you to come up with a 100 word story based on that topic.

The topic this week was Monkey.

And we’ve got stories by a lot of people:

• Vincent
• Jeffrey
• Munsi
• Serendipidy Haven
• Singh
• Lizzie
• Zackmann
• Tom
• Bonchance and Sevi
• Cliff – Uncle Monster
• Norval Joe
• Tura
• RedGoddess
• Planet Z

The next weekly challenge is on the topic of Pudding.

And if you want to spam your social networks with this episode, use the Share buttons at the end of the post… this obligatory cat photo should help make the Internet go faster:

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VINCENT

Elvis’ half orang-utan brother arrested

Sheriff Deputy Hayden leant against the car. Inside, fifty-one year old Mark Loescher was saying that he needed to call the Fusion Centre to ask about his monkey blood supply, on account that he was half orang-utan.

“Is that right?” the Sheriff Deputy said. “I still need you to exit the vehicle and place both hands on the hood.”

Loescher gave him that smile. “You know who I am,” he said, “Director of the FBI.”

“Uh huh, sure thing Mr. Hoover?””

“Man, you have no idea who you’re dealing with,” Loescher said. “Hell, I’m even Elvis’ half brother.”

JEFFREY

Supporting Cast
by Jeffrey Fischer

You people out there, you TV-watching couch potatoes, watching The Wizard of Oz for the tenth time because you’re too lazy to change the channel – yeah, I’m talking to you.

You watch us, the winged monkeys, and maybe you laugh – though I’ll bet you weren’t laughing when you saw us as a child, were you? Do you ever really think about us? To you, we’re just minions of the Wicked Witch, an interchangeable set of oddly-winged simians. You don’t care about us as individuals. For example, Sam, third from the left in the second row, has debts like you wouldn’t believe. And Frankie over there just learned his kid has cancer – ain’t that fuck-all?

Have some compassion next time. After all, you’re part monkey, too.

When Family Calls
by Jeffrey Fischer

I got a call late at night from my brother. “Help me, John. I need to get this monkey off my back.” He hung up. Truth be told, I had been worried about Patrick for some time now. He always partied hard. Once he could handle it. More recently, I had begun to wonder. I jumped into the car.

His girlfriend opened the door. “Thank God you came! Pat didn’t know who else to call.” I pushed past the girl, into the apartment.

“John? Is that you?” I was shocked at his appearance as he came into view. His face was gaunt, he looked impossibly thin – and a capucian monkey was affixed to his back, nails digging into his flesh.

“Get this damn thing off me!”

Monkey Business
by Jeffrey Fischer

Political aficionados remember that Gary Hart’s boat was called the Monkey Business, and that, during the 1988 Presidential primaries, when the press suggested the Senator might be fooling around on his wife, he told them, “Follow me around. I don’t care. I’m serious. If anybody wants to put a tail on me, go ahead. They’ll be very bored.” They took him up on that challenge, and, a few weeks later, the Miami Herald obtained the infamous photo of Hart and his mistress on board the Monkey Business. Hart dropped out of the race.

What the press failed to realize was that the Donna Rice scandal was just a red herring, a ruse. Below decks, the Monkey Business was a full-fledged crack cocaine production facility, and Gary was more concerned with the press discovering his side business than his side interest.

MUNSI

How to Increase Your Enjoyment of Popular Music

By Christopher Munroe

Every song improves when you replace the word “Money” with the word “Monkeys” in the lyric.

Monkeys don’t get everything, it’s true. But what they don’t get I can’t use, I want monkeys.

Or:

She works hard for the monkeys, so hard for them, honey, she works hard for the monkeys so you better treat her right.

I’ve just ruined countless songs for you, but you see my point.

Oh! Except for “Shock the Monkey” by Peter Gabriel. That one’s already about a monkey.

For that one, replace “Monkey” with “Munsi.” You’ll find the result shocking.

As, apparently, will I.

SERENDIPITY

The lab was still and quiet – experiments finished for the day: time for the unfortunate creatures to lick their wounds and try to sleep.

The monkey sat back on his haunches, surveying the scene with interest… rows of cages; occupants wide-eyed and fearful.

A scuffle from the nearest cage, caused the monkey to shriek a warning.

Then, silence.

He stared through the bars, then jumped down to the floor to double-check the padlocked cage. Baring his teeth at the cowering human inside, he scuttled to the door, turned off the lights, and left the lab for the night.

SINGH
Monkey Matters

By Chris Mooney-Singh/Singh Albatros

Monkey Circus Comes to the Village

Collared on string leads, the charade began: husband sat on a can. Wife complained in monkey tongue. He cupped hands over ears. Her complaints got louder. Sick and tired, he cuffed her. She ran off screaming. He’d done it now. The turbaned trainer passed a banana. Husband offered, wife took, twisted off the squishy neck, ate; then eyeing spouse — gave half back. Peace was restored. Years away from arranged marriages, children whistled and clapped. The white-cheeked macaques walked forward on hind legs. Time to pay. The foreign teacher dropped three grubby rupees into the monkey cup, one for each ex-husband.

Interview With a Simian God

The Bollybuzz reporter came for an exclusive interview with baby Hanuman, a chubby six-year-old.

“What do you like about portraying a monkey god?
Doing the flying stunts and fighting evil.

What do school friends say?
They ask about the show. Some call me as Hanuman only.

Do you have a Hanuman doll?
No, but we keep an idol of Hanumanji in our house and pray.

Do you watch the show at home?
No, Sir. I play with my cars and on Play Station.”

The make-artist painted on the red circle, suggesting a monkey-mouth. Then, the little god left for the shoot.

A Monkey’s Tale

The medical delegation came to see the living monkey god. Born with a 33cm ‘tail’, the spina bifida man had become a rare object of devotion. He monkeyed about and gobbled bananas. Believers touched his exposed stump to get healed.
One foreign doctor offered to remove it.
“No! he said. “It is Lord Hanuman’s blessing.”
Meanwhile, twenty women had rejected him.“I will only marry she who loves my tail, otherwise I will stay bachelor like Hanumanji.”
Next, someone mentioned Spider Devi in Bangalore — the girl-child with 4 arms and 4 legs. The eminent delegation rushed to catch their flight.

Monkey Art

At the station, they saw the god on the pavement. He wore a gilt crown, loin cloth, his whole body painted orange-red. Garlanded with marigolds, he also had a yogi’s traditional rudraksha rosary about his neck and upheld a big gada, a shiny mace – his symbolic weapon. That would have been a marvellous feat of strength, had the club not been paper mache. Thus, the divine idol stood unblinkingly, waiting for passersby to drop money in his bowl. Then some cynic walked up and eyeballed him. The mischievous god gave a sudden primate-bark and the unbeliever ran for his life.

A Blind Eye

Mahatma Gandhi owned one possession – a statuette of the Three Wise Monkeys, who, together embody the proverbial maxim to “see no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil”. When India was partitioned in 1947, slicing Punjab like a melon down the middle, M.K Gandhi could not turn a blind eye. Neither could he stop the exodus and mutual slaughter of millions of Hindus, Sikhs and Muslims. After the killings, Nathuram Godse, an anti-Muslim Hindu Nationalist fired 3 bullets from his Beretta point blank into Gandhi’s chest. “Hey Ram!” uttered the god man dying. Hanuman’s brethren munched fresh contraband in the trees.

The US President and the City of Monkeys

When Barak Obama came to Delhi, everyone went on primate-alert. Already the deputy-mayor, attacked on his balcony had fallen to his death. Delhi police risked monkey uprisings, vowing to sacrifice their lives for the nation’s prestige. Monkey-catchers came out in force baiting cages with bananas. Public boulevards were patrolled by Gypsy jeeps; the Black Cat squads had anti-insurgent strategies in place; but the Government’s secret weapon and the macaque’s jungle rival, lanky langur monkeys, unleashed by handlers were set roaming around the President’s walled residence. Meanwhile, special prayers were offered in the temples appealing to Lord Hanuman to keep the peace.

Monkey Rule

Despite the lying of the microphone
there will be the noble bellowing of a buffalo,

despite hydro-electric schemes and promises
there will be a cuckoo drinking only raindrops,

despite the hunting season on dissidents
there will be another mongoose on the road,

despite machine guns in the bazaar
there will be a militia of mynah birds,

despite the cost of dignity
there will be a sacred cow to stop the traffic,

despite the lure of the city
the night deer will dance in the wheat field,

despite the rise of fanatics to government
there will always be monkeys to rule the ruins.

LIZZIE

The rain threw a monkey wrench in the works; it rained for five weeks. The river struggled in a turbulent flow of waves. But the kid was having fun; he could row his boat anywhere in town. He took his dog along; they were quite a pair. He sang, the dog howled. That day, the two went exploring down the river, but the ruthless waves swallowed them, the kid, his dog and the boat. Still today, people say they hear a dog howling merrily to the voice of a kid singing “row, row, row your boat, gently down the stream…”

ZACKMANN

“So is this similar to the Shellback Ceremony when sailors cross the equator and the first timers have to crawl through trash and other odd stuff?”
“Oh yes, only you have to run between lines of monkey throwing Filipino style banana ketchup at you then you run up a hill and yell “I drabble everyday”, three times, stomping around in circles. “
“Why banana ketchup?”
“Well it could be tomato ketchup but banana is just what the monkeys have around the house.”
“It just seems too complicated for me to take the oath to write a hundred word story every day.”

Mulligan told the zookeeper “I wasn’t going to take your case because I bought tickets to the Con until seeing who won most realistic costume as Ceasar from Rise Of in a cosplay competition. Mike please bring our friend from the car”
“Come on monkey” said Mike
Mulligan said “Please, Don’t call him that. He is an ape and that offends him”
“He did complain when I did it before” replied Walmart Mike as he led the ape to the zookeeper.
“He may be an ape but he is still Canadian and you know we only fight on Hockey Night.”

“I believe this situation calls for Sergeant Lawrence Simian and his troupe troop to troop over to Washington to fix things.”
“Sergeant Simian’s what, General?”
“Simian leads a primate paramilitary group troupe of acrobats called The Barrel of Monkeys.”
“Would sound fun sir, if only I didn’t have wounds from falling into a barrel of monkey during maneuvers in brazil. Are you saying use guerrilla fighters?”
“No Captain, they are monkeys who are performers and soldiers, Not guerrillas. They have great PR.”
“A childhood dream come true sir but maybe using accountants would be better to fix a fiscal cliff.”

TOM

“Hey, hey, I’m a monkey and people say we monkey around, but we’re too busy singing to put anybody down.” Chuck kept playing the tune over and over on his guitar. “I’m damn better that Steven Stills and a hell of a lot funnier,” thought Chuck. He had been grouped with that kid who had played the led in Circus Boy. After the audition some idiot Limey bumped into him. It took every ounce of restraint to keep him from turning the kid into a 3D St Sebastian. The door opened. “We’re ready for your parole hearing Mr. Manson.”

SEVI AND BONCHANCE

The Amazing Sea Monkeys!

In 1990, a wacky professor accidently created three human sized sea monkeys. Each of them eventually disappeared from this earth. One was lost during the wiki-leaks debacle; one was kidnapped and was never heard from again. The last monkey standing, in 1998, was killed in a failed assassination on the polka king in Chicago.
After many attempts there was another birthing! Unfortunately, the new human sized sea monkeys escaped at night and roamed into a neighbor’s backyard. The boxers enjoyed their surprise treat and left the professor with an answer to his dilemma…how do you make sea monkeys commercially viable?

In Our Defence

The department chief was beckoned to the white house more often than any other time in history. Ongoing unfortunate decisions had been handed down from the high security national strategic planning department. Each time the same non-explanatory excuses were utilized.
“Sir we need to pay our staff better if we are to retain them!”
“The dancing monkeys no longer work for just peanuts!”
“The monkey grinders are paying cash.”
“If our goal is to increase retention rates, we need to stop paying peanuts.”
The state department continues to suffer, but the script writing for sitcoms is improving leaps and bounds.

The Backroom

George was a curious soul. He surfed the net at work. One day, his search engine found, much to his dismay, the infinite monkey theorem. Each posting he reviewed revealed that this theory was popular and well supported by academia. George rested his stogie down on the side of the table, pushed back his editors cap thinking for a long time. He jumped out of his chair, ran to the back office where the monkeys were hard at work producing new screenplays. Ok boys and girls let’s close it all down, we knew it would happen, the jig is up!

CLIFF

The twelve were gathered to pass judgment on Man. Tiger said that man was strong but unwise. Dragon said that Man was a danger to the harmony of the Earth. Rabbit said that Man was the only being in creation to slaughter his own kind. One by one, the creatures gave their reasons for dooming mankind. Monkey was last. “Have you guys ever heard Eric Clapton play the guitar?” he asked. “Any species that can produce an artist like that is worth keeping around.” Reluctantly, the others agreed and the December 2012 deadline was pushed back another two thousand years.

STEVEN

On top of the tower, the wind blows through her hair. She flares her wings, enjoying the air passing through them. The clouds scud in a grey ceiling above her as she waits.

There is still time, she thinks looking over the city. So much metal and plastic. So far from the jungle. They didn’t have to be perfect, just better than the apes they descended from.

The clouds part above her; sunlight flares down. The Voice booms its answer.

“No.”

She draws her sword and slams it through the tower, and begins the long job of destroying the world.

NORVAL JOE

The creature had seen the company cowering where the tunnel ended at a locked door. It hissed and Shareeka’s feeble light glimmered off rows of razor-sharp, reptilian teeth.
Owen was scared.
Who wouldn’t be, he thought to himself but still had to stare at Spleen who flapped his arms and danced around like a monkey the boy had seen in a travelling show.
“The thing has seen us,” Traveller said. “Maybe it’s time you got us through the door, Flindert.”
“Let me give you some more light,” Shareeka said. The sorceress chanted and cast the glowing ball at the creature.

Welcome to your therapy session, Mr. Ritchie. May I call you Lionell?
So. You say you have lost your funk. Not to worry. They don’t call me the Funk Miester for nothing.
We have ways of making you funk.
Igor, bring me the monkey.
We will start with the funky monkey, progress to the funkey chicken, und if we have the time, we will finnish with the disco duck.
Igor, you fool. This is not a monkey. This is a wiener dog. We can not get funky with a wiener dog. Now. Bring us the monkey. Schnell you dum kopf.

TURA

You ever hear about the monkey city? See, sometimes a monkey goes missing. Stuff does on a spaceship ten miles long. Nobody’s really comfortable with them, too close to human with their brain augmentations and vocalisers. Treat ’em like smart machines, the higher-ups say, they’ll do the spit-polishing better and cheaper than humans.

So, story is, they’ve their own little city somewhere on board, have babies, no chips in the new ones but they can teach them. One day they’ll swarm out of the ducts and take over.

Tall tale, right? I’m just saying, don’t turn your back on ’em.

REDGODDESS

The holiday season puts everyone at the hotel in a festive mood except for the Manager, “the dragon lady.” She was engaged for five years until her fiancee dumped her after a drunken girl’s night out. Since then, she’s been taking her rage on the staff. She fired the doorman for not smiling at the guests. She decided it would be funny to hire a monkey moscot as a greeter in the lobby. Lola has to put a stop to her madness. In desperation, she writes an anonymous note with her favorite chocolate. It reads,”Life will be sweet again.”

PLANET Z

I had a friend in high school who was blind, but he got more pussy than every other guy in the school combined.

Doug would fuck anyone and anything.

“I don’t care what they look like, as long as they feel good,” he said.

So, we played a prank on him.

We bought a monkey, dressed it up, and then handed her off to Doug.

The monkey ripped Doug’s face off, and he died in the hospital.

But before he died, he said “Best sex I ever had.”

We all stared at the monkey, wondering.

But nobody was brave enough.