For the longest time, I used to say that the most powerful key on the keyboard was the F1 key.
F1 is the shortcut to Help for most applications.
Have you used the Help menu recently?
Just search for the topic or ask your question, and Help gives you steps to complete your task.
Or, you can look up tutorials to learn how to use various functions.
With Help, I’ve learned how to do everything I need to do on the computer.
Well, almost everything.
I hit the power key on my laptop, and it shuts down.
(Now that’s powerful.)
The Judge
The judge put on his best robe, checked it in the mirror, and walked into the courtroom.
Streamers and balloons shouting HAPPY BIRTHDAY! were arranged around his bench and the jury box.
The courthouse’s best punchbowl was filled with what was supposed to be a simple red punch, but his bailiff was notorious for spiking it every year.
The bailiff’s wink confirmed it.
And then there was the cake… biggest, fanciest one he’d ever seen.
That’s when he realized… where was everybody else?
The guests? The partiers?
He shrugged, issued a flurry of bench warrants, and tried the punch.
Delicious!
Feed The Ducks
When I was young, my dad would take us to the ponds out by the Volkswagen offices. We’d feed the swans there.
These days, I’ll pick up a sandwich from the local Subway, eat the meat and vegetables out of it, and then walk to a small landscaped lake. The ducks and swans get the leftover bread.
Once, all the ducks and swans were gone. In their place were a set of wooden decoys, floating out on the lake.
What do decoys eat?
I quickly scribbled pictures of loaves of bread on my notepad and tossed them into the lake.
Weekly Challenge #293 – Cookie
Welcome to the 100 Word Stories podcast at podcasting.isfullofcrap.com. I’m your host, Laurence Simon.
This is Weekly Challenge Number Two Hundred and Ninety-Three, 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 Cookie
And we’ve got stories by:
Tura Brezoianu
Thomas Pitre
Charlie White
Chris Munroe
Jeffrey Hite
Zackmann
Tom
Steven the Nuclear Man
Chris the Nuclear Kid
Danny
Norval Joe
Planet Z
And if you want to spam your social networks with this episode, use the Share buttons at the end of the post.
The more people see this on Google Plus, Facebook, and Twitter – the more explaining you’ll have to do with your loved ones, coworkers, and parole officers.
Tura
So I go online to order a Chinese, and there’s my own name already on
the web page, and, “How about your favorite Hot Singapore Noodles
tonight?” WTF? I fire an email saying “don’t you tell me what I want,
*I* tell *you*”. Dammit, the Singapore Noodles *are* my favorite but
I’m not giving them the satisfaction.
It’s the cookies. Can’t deal with anyone online without them sticking
cookies all over you, it’s the mark of Revelations without which no
man might buy nor sell, save that he accepted the cookie.
When does Revelations say the Cookie Monster shows up?
Thomas
She was a tough cookie. She had her hand on my thigh and an eye on my bank account. She did special favors for me, and would leave a plate of brownies or pie at my door, two times a week. She wanted to fatten me up, figuring my heart would explode and I would leave her a bundle in my will. She watched my weight and my health more than I did. She encouraged me to spend time reading and watching videos, figuring the sedentary lifestyle would aid my early demise. My will left everything to the Humane Society.
She only had one cookie, but it was enough for all of us. We all took turns taking a bite of her cookie. She only came through town on weekends, and we got in line, early on Saturday, knowing she’d be here a little after supper time. We had to eat supper at the café before we were allowed a bite of dessert. Her bodyguards were positioned close by to oversee the presentation. Each of us, in turn approached her, our hands behind our backs, as touching was not allowed, to take a polite and deliberate nibble of her cookie.
Charlie
That cookie looked good. I came in from a run hungry. It was just
sitting there. I knew it wasn’t mine, but I wanted it.
I pulled some stuff off of the table and let it fall to the floor.
Now, the dog should get blamed. I went over to her and scratched her
under her ears. I smiled at her.
I went back to the cookie. Still looked good, very tempting and the
stage was set. I reached for it when I heard the front door open.
“A dog almost got your cookie,” I yelled.
Munsi!
I brought cookies, though I know you’re about as likely to accept them as you are to accept my apology.
If I were in your position, I wouldn’t forgive me, so I suppose I can’t expect any different of you.
Why would you forgive me? You don’t owe me anything.
Plus, I’m a god-awful baker, I’m not sure the cookies are even edible.
But I had to do something. After what I did, I figure I owe you at least a gesture. Hence: The cookies.
I’ll leave them here, by the door. You can fetch them once I’m long gone…
Jeffrey
Dr. Wiley had spent this entire career getting to this point. He’d never felt so alive, well not since he had been a kid. When he was a kid, life had always been great. Every day filled with joy and happiness. That was until Clyde had moved to town, junior year. Clyde had taken everything, his girl his spot on the football team, his spot as valedictorian, everything. The last straw had been, well that didn’t matter. He set the time machine and got in.
He reached out to the startled boy in front of him.
“That is my cookie.”
Zackmann
Me, Cookie. Me, no original cookie that was on Television. Me big Cookie from toy store. One day Me see really big guy. He buy me and take me to his house. Guy called Big C. Big C does something called BearCrawling podcast http://bearcrawlingnation.com/ were he talks to people on Stickam. It have chat room. Big C read chat room and say “Really! Really? Dammit Zackmann, I am not a plushophile.“ then Big C pat me on head and say “Don’t worry Cookie, I don’t love you that way. I hate Yarn Burn.” Me sleep with eyes open.
Hugh was reading about solar power and saw an article about a way to warm hot dogs then thought if he make it bigger, he could make a house out of cookie dough and find a use for Costco sized quantities of baking goods. The neighborhood kids ate Hugh’s cookie house and autumn rains destroyed what they did not. Hugh remembered a news story a woman who made a house out of gingerbread and she got so mad that children kept eating her house that she started a rumor that she ate children to keep them away from her house.
Tom
Cookie Laroo was an exotic dance at
San José’s legendary Pink Poodle.
She did this thing with a stack of quarters
That would blow your mind
Ed Frovishor came in ever Sunday afternoon
After Sunday-school class to watch
Cookies do that cookie thing. He said he
Could feel the presence of god. His wife
Gladys was happy to get him out of the
House until the Pastor dropped by for
Sunday night dinner. Tuna casserole is
Some serious business in the Frovisher household
The pastor was never late cuss Ed and he
Would leave the Poodle together.
Praise the Lord.
Chris the Nuclear Kid
What did we do to deserve such cruelty? They burn us till we cannot
move. Being forced to wait for our doom. And they put us in round
upside-down domes where we sit there, unmoving, waiting for their
return, dreading what is to come. It happens all the time, and now, it
is my turn.
I sit in the dome thing and wait. There is a tall green triangle in
the corner with smaller square objects under it. Then, to my horror, I
see the gigantic red and white demon. A ravenous monster, a legend
among my kind.
“Santa Claus!”
Steven the Nuclear Man
”You’re ten,” Mom says. “Old enough to make the cookies for Santa.”
I look up and stop cleaning my hamster’s cage. “Am I old enough to get
an XStationCube4?”
Mom winces. “I’m sorry, honey. I think Santa ran out.”
My dad yells from the living room. “Dammit, Brenda, get me another beer.”
Mom winces again, and gets him another can. Our recycling bin is almost full.
She leaves me with the ingredients.
Later, I leave the cookies for Santa.
Mom smiles. “What kind did you make?”
“Chocolate chip,” I say, and head to bed with my hamster’s very clean cage.
Danny
Cookie was another high priced prostitute who lived in the shadow of the Nabisco factory, just off of route 208 in Fairlawn, New Jersey. Cookie was best friends with “Bubbles,” who was now somewhere in Holland with her boyfriend on some insane search for the Hollish. Cookie liked living up to her name, she ate cookies all the time, during work, during sex, plus during sex while at work. Cookies favorite morning was Tuesdays, when the Nabisco factory was making Nilla Wafers, so at least once a week, Cookie’s neighborhood no longer smelled like an oil refinery, it smelled like heaven.
Norval Joe
Kesso Fromage of the cheeze police was called to a crime scene in the wee hours one sunday morning. She tip-toed through the wrecked bakery and struggled to keep her previous evenings dinner down.
Cookies of all description and size were scattered indiscriminately across counters, work tables and the floor. Written on each, in cursive script, formed from softened American processed cheese, was the capitol letter ‘S’.
“Cheese belongs on crackers,” Kesso said and wiped the perspiration from her forehead. “This flagrant violation of the cheddar cheese protocol can only be the work of Sleezy Wheezer, the Easy Cheeze squeezer.”
Planet Z
I warned Billy not to eat cookies before dinner, but I caught him with his hand in the cookie jar again.
So, the cookies are in a lockbox on a high shelf in a locked pantry.
“Have a piece of fruit,” I tell him.
But he’s obsessed with getting a cookie.
“Make a healthy cookie from fruit,” whispered the muse, and I rushed to the kitchen to make a batch of fruit cookies.
I guarded them as they cooled, then put them in the old cookie jar.
Billy took one, bit into it, and vomited.
He’s back on heroin now.
Paris Rehab
Remember that cokehead heiress actress chick?
You know, the spoiled bitch who went around with a little dog in her purse?
They checked her into rehab again.
Same old shit:
Get wrecked.
Get headlines.
Get clean.
Get out.
Get wrecked again.
We did our best to get her into Betty Ford, but they put her here.
Shit.
But this time, we tried something new.
We ignored the chick and worked on the dog.
Poor beast was traumatized by all the fast cars, parties, and drugs.
Teacup Chihuahuas shake, but not like this.
We’ll get him adopted.
(But the chick’s hopeless.)
Don’t Mess with the Psyche
Psyche Miranda Lewis was not fond of her name. In high school everyone kept calling her Psycho Lewis. This taunting gave breath to a smoldering flame which would suddenly come to an unfortunate end at the senior prom. With a wave of her hand all the doors in the auditorium swung shut. A small ring of fire climbed up the walls. A mass of bodies broke against the doors. When the smoke cleared the senior class of 1978 was gone. Well almost gone. Miss Psyche Lewis was sitting on a bench read Steve King.
“Think I’ll try The Stand next.”
Dolly
When people asked Dolly Parton what she wanted people to say about her in 100 years, she’d say: “Darn, she looks good for her age!”
When the zombie outbreak swept across the country, Dolly was one of the many millions roaming the streets moaning “BRAAAAAAINS!”
Well, not exactly moaning. She still had a bit of that sweet friendly twang to her voice. Some say she’d toss in a “Howdy, y’all!” and “How ya doin?”
The plague was contained, she was caught, and after all these years, her still-groaning corpse is in Examination Pod Nine.
And, damn, she looks like shit.
Advent Towers
Don’t you just love those Christmas-time crime sprees?
Burglars were going through the old apartment building like an Advent calendar.
They robbed each apartment in numerical order, leaving a small chocolate candy and thoughtful Bible verse on the floor for the residents to discover when they returned.
After the third burglary, the cops actually followed up on their promise to send a patrol by to check on things, but they just missed the burglars.
So, the next night, they had a patrolman waiting in the fifth apartment.
They found him bound and gagged the next morning, chocolate in his mouth.
The Right Man
“One day, you’ll find the right one. You work too hard.”
Remembering her mother’s words; staring at her reflection in the shiny temporal engine, every wrinkle under her tired eyes.
Another night at the lab, alone, hunting for chronatons.
Tonight, she found them, and they exploded.
Nausea… Waking up slowly.
She breathed air so fresh… Outside… Trees… Beautiful clouds… Pristine…
And a man carrying a blood-soaked jawbone, standing next to a body.
She rubbed her forehead. Still a bit dizzy. The lab. The explosion. The-
It had… worked?
The man dropped the weapon, reached down.
“My name’s Lily,” she said.
Conference Call
Ten people in suits walked into a conference room, pulled laptop computers out of their leather satchels, booted them up, and started their virtual conference software.
On ten screens, digital dopplegangers of each attendee appeared, and they sat down on tree stumps around a virtual campfire.
The crackles and pops of the fire cycled for a minute before anyone spoke.
“Anything for the agenda?” one asked.
No response.
“Nothing at all?” they asked again.
Still no response.
“Good. Meeting adjourned.”
The figures vanished from the screens, the laptops were stowed back into their satchels, and the people left the room.