Bobby’s mother didn’t like how he just sat outside, watching grass grow.
“I’m in training,” mumbled Bobby. “I want to make Varsity this year.”
She got him books, but they sat in a pile while Bobby stared at the grass.
“Oh well,” she said. “At least he’s getting some sun. It sure is saving on the Vitamin D bills.”
Bobby kept watching the grass grow all Summer.
But when it came time for tryouts, Bobby didn’t make the cut.
“Joey got picked!” he cried. “And he’s already getting a letter for watching paint dry!”
“Good. Now mow the lawn, dammit.”
Who gives a damn?
Excuse me, but may I interrupt you for a moment?
Thank you.
I’m sorry, but why are you telling me all this?
Obviously, you have me confused with someone who gives a damn.
Me, I only have damns for sale. Three bucks a damn, thirty bucks for a dozen.
Quality damns, too. Mint condition, right from the factory.
No refurbished or recycled damns here.
Unless you’re paying for a damn, I’m not going to just give you one.
I mean, what would happen to my business?
I think you want the church next door.
Unlike me, they give a damn.
Disneyland
I remember when I was 9 and we forgot my mother’s birthday.
She didn’t get angry or beat us for it.
Instead, she just smiled and said “I guess I can’t keep it a secret any longer, but we’re going to Disneyland this Summer.”
No beatings? Disneyland?
Awesome!
When the day arrived to go to Disneyland, she told us to get our suitcases up from the basement.
“Quickly!” she said. “We’re going to the airport in an hour!”
We ran down the stairs.
Then, she slammed the basement door, locked it, and turned off the lights.
We screamed a lot.
A Common Error
The Sultan heard that one of his nieces had taken to walking around with a silver platter on her head.
He summoned her to the palace and watched as she walked with grace and speed.
“Her balance is most excellent,” said an adviser.
A general agreed, “This would help the troops in combat.”
So, the Sultan sent out the order that all soldiers put silver platters on their heads.
However, his people were barely literate, so they mistook his command for putting their heads on silver platters.
His army decapitated, the enemy easily conquered his country.
And took his head.
Weekly Challenge #274 – Dreams
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 Seventy-Four, 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 Dreams
How about voting for your favorites?
Too bad. “The Poll Cannot Be Created” is back!
Gideon
Laina Ash
Zackmann
Tom
TJ Aman
Philip “Norval Joe” Carroll
Daniel W.
Planet Z
And if you want to spam your social networks with this episode, use the Share buttons at the end of the post.
We’re gonna try something new this week… yes, the Weekly Challengers are going to send in topic suggestions, but how about all you folks out there in the global Interwebs join in the topic-suggesting process by posting your topic suggestions in the comments!
(One of these days, SOMEONE will pot a comment… well, besides TJ checking in from the Big ND.)
Gideon
I have a unique ability – I can predict when changes will occur in my life.
Normally I do not remember my dreams but there are times when I will have a series of vivid, unrelated dreams that stay with me. After six months or so, when the dreams have been long forgotten, events will happen in my life that bring the dreams back to life. The dreams become real. Like déjà vu.
That déjà vu is always followed by a momentous change in my life.
Like the time three months ago when I dreamt I was a writer.
Oh. Shit.
……….
we fly
in the heavens
swooping
wingtip to wingtip
seeking fantasies
together
exploring
the visceral
the erotic
the mundane
clouds of joy
joined by our dreams
we glide
relishing
our shared collection
building the
clouds higher
stronger
glorious
pampering our love
we soar
the moist coolness
of the clouds
envelops us
making it real
then
the caged guinea pigs
of our minds
spin their wheels
furiously
spreading away
the wisps of cloud
we fall
reaching out
grasping in vain
passing our creations
quickly disappearing
clouds of love
we land
safely
two feet on solid ground
our dreams
a faint memory
Elaine
She woke with a cold sweat hoping it was not a dream.
It was all so real, the sight of him smiling, so endearing, so loving.
She could have sworn she felt the warmth of his skin.
The touch of his lips against hers.
Him wrapping his arms around her, him breathing softly her favorite words “Hey Baby..” as she nuzzled into him, the safeness she can never forget.
Yet looking upon his made up side of her bed and the coldness of his ring on the necklace on her chest, she knew this dream was still her nightmare instead…
Zackmann
Peoples of Earth and Crustitia, I know it was a long war and we are rebuilding after hard times
but I have a dream a dream that some day Humans and the lobster people of Crustitia will stand
hands and claws together thinking of each other as friend instead of delicious.
As we were fighting each other and consuming each other…I mean consuming each other’s
resources other powers have become way too strong.
I have a dream that we fight side by side and not only defeat the Space Turtles’ planet but
eventually our biggest menace Planet Z
Tom
Unlike Norval Joe I write my stories in the bath tub, but like Norval Joe (and who wouldn’t) I always go with the first thing that pops into my head, which can be quite painful if it is through the frontal lopes or inner ear. The second thing I do first is choose the music for the sound bed I like to do that in, well, bed. This week I could use Sweet Dreams or Dreamer, Dream a Little Dream of Me, or Dream Dream Dream Dream Dream Dream or I Dream of Jenny, How many words was that?
TJ
Martin caught a flash of red hair as the girl ducked into the Topkapi.
She pulled her hoodie up, shifting her oversized yellow purse to the
outside and crossing to a Hot Topic to watch him pass. She pulled the
blue wig from her bag and shed the hoodie, luxuriating in the A/C across
her naked shoulders and haltertop as she slinked along behind him. He
stopped, and she caught up with him. “Sarah?” he asked, handing her
an I.D. “I thought that was you,” he said to the girl of his dreams.
“You dropped this about three looks back.”
Norval Joe
Fly Paper boy felt more like an animal in a trap than a passenger in a limousine. Esmerelda Flinch, Vice President of marketing at the Women’s Trade Federation, smiled with straight, pearly teeth from across the compartment. The was no humor in her eyes.
“I’ll have a team of the best lawyers in the state make light work of your case,” she told the boy. “In your wildest dreams, you or your parents couldn’t afford such talent.”
“I have a feeling the WTF will make me pay some other way,” Fly Paper boy said, cynically.
Suddenly Esmerelda’s eyes did smile.
Daniel W.
“Okay, back up a sec,” I said, feeling a headache coming on. “Explain that one again…”
“They’re metaphysical parasites that latch on to dreams and feed on imagination.”
“And that’s why people are becoming more apathetic?”
“Yes. As they become less imaginative, they also become more complacent. The government has truly created the perfect tool for controlling the masses.”
My headache just kept getting worse as I tried to understand the concept. Metaphysical parasites? What?
“Hell, if those infected try to think outside the parasites’ preprogrammed parameters, they’ll just get a massive headache that forces them to stop.”
Planet Z
One company developed a system that broadcasted signals into people’s dreams. They used it to put advertisements in there, much like product placement in the movies.
Another company developed a system that acted as a dream wiretap. They used it to sense what people wanted or worried about, then target them with ads based that information.
Both companies got bought out by an evil billionaire, and their systems were combined into a global mind-control ray.
A certain British spy tried to stop him, but instead of telling him about his plan, he shot the spy.
He was evil, not stupid.
Pens Envy
It all started when Smithers came in with a silver Cross pen.
“See how it shines!” chirped Smithers. “Magnificent, no?”
“It is the finest pen I have ever seen!” said Walter.
Until the next day, when Walter arrived with a golden Mont Blanc.
Smithers seethed with envy, but refused to be outdone.
His Cross pen was soon replaced with a dodo feather quill that he dipped into a diamond inkwell.
For the next week Smithers and Walter battled over fancier and rarer writing implements until they were both fired for charging all this extravagant nonsense to the office supplies budget.
Warren
A frail and elderly imam was slowly helped through the White House, a guide at each elbow.
But every so often, he’d stop at a painting or work of art, inspect it for a while, and then continue his journey.
Then, he stopped at a painting of a former president, pointed, and said what the guides thought was “War and Jihad?”
The art curator was confused. “That’s not Bush, that’s Warren G. Hardi,” he said, then realized the mistake. “OOOOOOOH, I see. Right. Warren G. Harding.”
The imam smiled, and the guides helped him down the hall to the bathroom.
The Feast Of Saint Walter
Unlike other feasts for saints, The Feast For Saint Walter is unique in the fact it does not involve any elaborate preparations, but involves eating from a dumpster.
That’s right. A dumpster.
Walter was flat-ass broke when he was alive, bumming money from everybody.
I always said “It’s a miracle that people still give that dude money.”
Bob once told me “It’s a miracle his wife hasn’t thrown his broke ass out.”
He was rummaging through a dumpster and hit his head on the lid when the truck came.
Martyrdom through compaction.
Hey, is that an orange rind?
Walter provides!
Turn
I’m out in my workshop, tinkering with junk I’ve scavenged.
It took a while, but I think I have this old radio fixed.
I plug it in to the solar battery array, flip the switch, and the tubes begin to glow.
So beautiful.
I slowly turn the knob, and the empty frequencies swirl and crackle with the random almost-nonsense of static.
Something pops.
Wait. Was that a voice?
I turn the dial back.
Nothing.
I keep my eyes closed, listening… searching…
No voices. No music. No recorded messages.
I turn it off.
Am I the last man alive?
God forbid.
Take Your Rocket To Work Day
Today is Take Your Daughter To Work Day.
Jameson came in with a rocket launcher over his shoulder.
It seems he didn’t read his email and heard things wrong. Thought it was “Take Your Rocket To Work Day.”
Which seems weird, sure, but if you know Jameson, it’s not all that weird.
Rocket sounds an awful lot like daughter. Especially when you launch a lot of rockets over the weekend and have considerable hearing damage.
The one thing that has me worried is that Jameson may have misheard “Take” and think we said “Launch.”
I wish he’d read his email.