Make the monkey whine

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Once upon a time, I had a habit of molesting chimpanzee babies.
There’s just something wrong about me. Broken.
And the poor, innocent chimpanzees suffered my sickness.
I’d have gotten away with it, but one of those chimpanzees wound up in a language experiment and they taught it sign language.
The moment that chimpanzee saw me, it signed BAD MAN! and RAPIST! and EVIL BANANA HURT!
My lawyer said that the monkeys were trained to sign these things. The monkeys meant to sign NICE MAN! and FRIEND!
We sued the researchers for defamation. And won.
But in my dreams… CHIMPANZEES!

This is the way we have always done this

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The office goes silent as two acolytes open The Ark and the technician withdraws a cardboard box.
“This is the way we have always done this,” says the department secretary.
As the technician approaches the copier, the acolytes open the access panels.
While everyone chants, the old toner cartridge is removed and the new one slides from the box and put in its place.
“This is so stupid,” I mutter.
Oops.
“BLASPHEMER!” shouts the secretary.
“BLASPHEMER!” shouts the technician.
“BLASPHEMER!” rings though the halls.
Run!
(I’d transfer to Accounting, but the trial by walking across hot coffee burners scares me.)

Money

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I know one guy who’s just rolling in money
No, I’m not rolling in money. And even if I were, I don’t think rolling in money is a very productive thing to do.
Invest it. Spend it. Save it.
But roll in it?
That’s just weird.
Then there’s the guy with money to burn.
That’s just fucking crazy. Burning money.
Sometimes, he dangles the money over the flame to tease me.
Once these two guys got together, and they ended up rolling in burning money.
I grabbed what I could, buried the charred corpses, and bought a ticket to Reno.

Not taking names

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I’m here to kick ass, but I’m not going to take names.
I forgot to bring a pen and paper. And it’s hard to take names on an iPhone when you’re kicking ass.
Sure, the phone has a decent keyboard, but it’s only good when you’re standing still.
Kicking ass jiggles your phone around a lot, and you’ll make a lot of spelling errors.
So instead of kicking ass and taking names, I’m just going to kick ass and then let the police check your wallet for your ID.
You left it at home?
Fine. He’ll use your dental records.

Weekly Challenge #207 – Alliteration

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Welcome to the Weekly Challenge Number Two Hundred and Six, 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… was…. um…
It’s Alliteration!
According to Wikipedia:

Alliteration is a literary or rhetorical stylistic device that consists in repeating the same consonant sound at the beginning of two or more words in close succession. An example is the Mother Goose tongue-twister, “Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers …

VOTING

Which were the best stories this year?
Anima and Arri
Ross
Zachmann
TJ
Norval Joe
JRadimus
Justin
Planet Z
  
Free polls from Pollhost.com

Go ahead and listen to them and then vote for your favorites (multiple selections are allowed):


Anima

I´m plauged by a dastardly demon, a robotic ruler
who harangues and harasses hundred of words out of me.
Each week I resist, I rant and I rave
determined that this week I shall be free.
On Monday eve, I start to take my leave,
determined not to learn of the next theme.
But by Friday morn I´ve perused the poll,
and am mocked by the monkey meme.
So each week I bring tribute, mosaics of memories;
Feverishly, from my fingers flow these fictions.
From home and afar, I submit. I submit.
And lament the laxity of my linguistic locutions.

Ross

Richard rushed across the room to his typewriter. Rolling in a sheet of clean white paper, he mumbled to himself as his fingers flew over the keys. His muse was in full force today, and he could feel this, his first novel, would be his masterpie-
*clunk*
With a cry, he pulled apart jammed keys, sobbing as one letter’s head cracked cleanly off its rod. He tried to continue anyway:
“.ucius .amed .achrymose .abradors .ackadaisica..y”
It was no use. He ripped the paper free and buried his head in his arms.
For want of an “l”, the debut was lost.

Zachmann

Peter Parker listens to Peter Piper’s podcast persistently unpleased Peter Piper prepaired pickled peppers but never posted how Peter Pickled peppers on the vine. Peter has a place where he prepares peppered peaches. Although Peter listens to Piper’s podcast his problem with his pink petunias persisted. Peter Piper’s pussycat purrs persistently although it’s predominantly pissed off even when pouncing on its pony plush toy . As Peter’s program plays, postman Percy peruses a Pratchett book in which the Patrician’s Palace has a predominate place. Peter Parker pontificates Peter Piper’s pussy’s problem as posting him a parcel packed with pink petunias.

TJ

The MATS matinee of “Let’s Murder Marsha” marked a magnificent magnum opus by a mellifluous dramatis personae. Christine Morse played Marsha with moxie and Graham “The Man” Toler was downright muppety. Amanda made a remarkable maid and Kirk made a maestro Mr. Gilmore. Angie played a Persis to perfection and Jerry jumped out as a gendarme.Last but not least Ceecy’s Lynette was a lark as a lush and it all came together tremendously. Now, if all of you will get out of my head for a moment I’m gonna take the next week off to unwind and welax and wecover.

Norval Joe

Crouching crow-like creatures crept and crawled from the crumbling, creeper covered crypt. Whimpering and whining they wheeled away, wickedly taloned wing tips, whisper in the wind.
A single soul sits so silently she seems asleep.
Suddenly she stands straight. Frantic, she flees the frenetic flying fiends.
Running, she races the rabid rooks. Refuge is revealed through red brick arches.
Safe, she sighs and shivers, secure inside the sealed sanctuary.
Tenacious and terrible the tiny terrorists torment and tap wickedly without the windows.
Rescuers arrive to destroy the angry assailants and release the horrified heroine.
Happy, she hugs her handsome hero.

JRadimus

Arrgh! All my days, I am again and again admonishing
Litterbugs to leave and let me have a lone lazy
Leisure-filled lark on my lush lawn.
In intelligent interview, I insist they are impeding inherent
Tranquility. Yet, they tarry and try my temper. To tame my
Ever-ready energy is an even edgier evocation I’d
Really rather regret releasing. Ridiculous revelry wreaks
Aggression and animosity as I avoid
Turning to tussles over trespasses. Time tames my
Irritation. I insist I invite no intrusion into my
Orbit. Ordinary objects do not obstruct my
Need for niceties. I know I’m not neurotic, no?

Justin

increasing Ivan’s income because he was industrious, Isaiah indentured Ivan and inundated him with idiotic inquisitions. Instead of indulging Isaiah, Ivan became insubordinate. Inciting an insurrection, Ivan included others in the incapacitation of the inglorious incubators of evil. Ingesting them impulsively, Ivan increased in immensity. In the end, Ivan learned that imbibing them increased his intellect. Instead of inclining towards illustriousness, Ivan instead inclined entirely to abstaining from alliteration. Then he read about how cannibalism was frowned upon and regurgitated all the evil, unlearning all.

Planet Z

Martin took the package into the basement, beyond the range of the scanners, and opened it.
A book. An actual book. Before e-books. Before censorship.
Before the scanners.
It was dictionary, and he started with A.
He saw words he’d never seen or heard before.
And some he’d heard as a child, his grandfather teaching them to him.
Before they took him away.
He was reading about “alliteration” when the door was kicked in.
The Librarian Squad dragged him off.
An agent looked at the book, ran a finger down the page.
“Allowable,” he said.
And got out his lighter.

Behind Enemy Lines

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The architect designed a beautiful cathedral for the city, but the builder was slightly deaf, so when he heard “Confessional Booth” he thought he heard “Concession Booth.”
Things looked normal until the builder handed the job off to the decorators and the spot where parishioners were supposed to confess their sins, ended up a gaudy-colored alcove with glass counters under which candy bars were displayed.
The archbishop was outraged.
Until he saw how much revenue the large popcorn and Coke combo pack was bringing in.
“Besides,” he said to the cardinal, “We’re sick of hearing the same old crap confessed.”

The Cockroach

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The only words I know from the song La Cucaracha are the opening words.
I don’t know Spanish, so the supposedly rich satirical madness of the song has eluded me for all my life.
I’ve looked online for the lyrics, but you can’t trust Wikipedia these days. And those automatic translators end up garbling the words.
So, I went to the library and asked the librarian for help.
She sat me down at a table, clapped her hands, and a Mariachi band came by my table to play.
Pen in hand, I copied down what I could.
And tipped them.

Gravy Boat

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“Why do they call it a gravy boat?” I asked.
“Because there’s tiny German submarines in it,” said Grampa. “I bagged my share of Nazis, but there’s always one around the corner.”
Grampa was never in the army or navy. He drove his Buick into one of their Supreme Court-upheld Free Speech marches, and it was a miracle nobody got killed.
Well, okay. Maybe not the right use of the word miracle.
Anyway, they took away his license, and we’re stuck with him now.
I watched a tiny periscope rise… and then sink.
Just butter for my mashed potatoes, please?

The Viking Attack

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It was around two in the morning that Mike the security guard got it in his head to protect the office building from Viking attack.
Maybe it was his medication, or it could have been the booze.
Probably both.
He didn’t have a backhoe to dig a moat or pile up earthworks, but he did manage to park the golf cart in the lobby to block the doors.
Soda machines were far too heavy for him to move, but couches from the lobby were perfect.
When he was fired, he disputed the termination with: “Well, no Vikings got through, right?”

Miracle Season

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Another Opening Day at Wrigley Field, which means another disastrous season for the Cubs.
Ball after ball sails over the brick wall, and fans are booing and leaving before the inning is through.
It was halfway through another losing season that The Miracle happened.
The outfielder with the bloated multiyear contract and batting two hundred chased a fly ball into the ivy… and never emerged.
He was gone.
The umpire stopped the game, and the crew searched.
No sign of the player.
The game was called, and the FBI searched.
They never found him, and his replacement played much better.