The 100 Word Stories Podcast

Welcome to the Weekly Challenge Number One Hundred And Sixty-Two, 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 Mosquitoes and prosthesis.
The excellent theme music is by Guy David
VOTING

Which were the best stories this week?
	Justin Y from http://www.jrtblog.com/
	Guy David from http://guydavid.com
	Platinum Lightning
	Justin L from http://www.thespaceturtle.com
	Danny from http://dannymachal.com
	Tom from http://footnote.libsyn.com
	Anima from http://zabbadabba.com/
	Daphne from http://daphneabernathy.com
	Lynda from http://sisterpepperspray.blogspot.com/
	Norval Joe from http://norvalsoutlook.blogspot.com
	Planet Z
Free polls from Pollhost.com

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

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Justin Y.

Sally the mosquito’s tale is a sad one.
She was special, and not in a good way.
She once tried to suck blood out of a prosthetic arm, breaking her stinger in the process.
She had to have her stinger amputated and replaced with a prosthetic one.
Sally eventually broke it too trying to go after another prosthetic arm.
Sally’s family realized that she was hopeless, and put her in a mosquito nursing home instead of getting her another prosthetic.
Now she just lies there, hooked up to a blood IV, crying, and dreaming of sucking blood from prosthetic arms.

Guy David

The wooden legged pirate pushed the bar doors open and entered. His parrot chuckled. Looking around, they both captured Elvis in the corner of their eyes and took a sit next to him. “Is that your bus out there?” asked the pirate. “Yes” answered the strangely named man, “That’s my bus. I call it The Umbrella.” The wooden legged pirate obliterated an insect in one swift, almost invisible move of his hand and said “mind if I joined you for a ride in your patchwork bus?” “Sure” answered Elvis “it’s a free ride.” That’s how Elvis got his first passenger.

Platinum Lightning

Hello, my mosquito friends.
Try to bite me again. You will find that you can’t! You and your diseases have given me prosthetic arms, prosthetic legs. Even my skin is artificial. I’m a f*cking ken doll now, thanks to you little bastards! But I’m alive, and now I have the upper hand. I’m in a wheelchair and I can’t breathe by myself, but I can still press buttons, and when I press this one, you little sh*ts will be blown to pieces with your friends and families. So tell me, my little insect friends, who is the superior species now?

Justin L.

I’m lazy. I have always been lazy. Been lazy since before I lost my arm and got the chance to keep on living. I would have died, being that I was too fat and slow to get out of the way of the truck. A vampire found me. I smelled cheap wine on his breath. Who knew vampires could get drunk. Gave me life again, sort of. I did good, got a prosthetic arm and filled it with mosquitoes to go get me blood, I trained em, see? Worked out real good until that pesticide plant got built next door.

Danny

“Buzzalina, come dear, tell me what happened,” the surgeon said.
“Oh doctor, I’ll never be a mother now. I should just kill myself; I’m useless.”
“There there, sweet, sweet girl. Things will be okay.”
He held her while she wept. No, she would never bare any children and she would probably ensure her own end. A broken proboscis almost always means instant death, she was lucky. One could call it a miracle from up above – a testament to the power of faith and the prayer of her family.
A.P. – Cybernetics Inc. releases organic flesh like covering for metal replacement limbs.

Tom

Doctor Dan had an unusual practice some might have called it bizarre. The doctor produced prosthetics for mosquitoes. Legs, wings and stringers. Advances in nanotechnology made it possible for Dr Dan to work wonders. The grateful mosquitoes families pay for services in singular drops of blood. Of course millions of drops of blood can amount to a sizable quantity and here lay the monies that allowed the doctor to continue his calling. Dan expanded his mission to include Ant Farms and Flea Circuses. When doctor dan die the mosquitoes erected a statue. On they wrote sins of Walter Reed washed.

Anima

“Freaking skeeters. Gordamn mini vampires. Gonna be nothing but dried husks iffen that plane don’t come to pick us up quick like.”
“Hold your water, Jack. The pilot said today or tomorrow. So we wait. ‘Cides, you guys wanted to moose hunt in Alaska”
“Ok, Round 22. On three! One, two, “
Slap, slap, thonk.
“How many didja get this time, Joe?”
“14. You?”
“I’ve got a bloodbath– 27!”
“Pathetic, boys. I killed 45.”
“Yeah, but you cheat Phil. You’re using that fake leg of yours .”
“Disability has its advantages, doesn’t it?”
“Alright ? Here we go – Round 23…”

Daphne

We all have our jobs here in purgatory. Some people have to try to make iced tea, other have to shovel the coal, they are the lucky ones. My job is to attach prosethetic wings and legs to injured mosquitos. Bugs that swatted at or worse bug zapper survivors. Try gluing a wing to partically fried stub. Summer is coming, my busy season. Only another 99 years of this.

Lynda

In high school all the cool kids wanted to be vampires, but I had smaller plans. I was fascinated by the real bloodsuckers that could fly wherever they pleased–even sacred ground in broad daylight. Mosquitoes.
I studied night and day, starving myself until I weighed only a few pounds, and when I was sure it could be done, just before chopping my arms and legs off, I went online.
I paid every penny I’d saved by not eating on a brand new prosthetic proboscis, and I swear that thing is just a bendy straw that reeks of tomato juice.

Norval Joe

The veterans administration hospital didn’t know what to do with the patient, so they sent him to us, at Acme Orthotics and Prosthetics.
He had served his country in the Department of Defense, Biological weapons development program. He had a traumatic amputation during a training exercise.
We built him a prosthesis from carbon fiber and epoxy resin for lightness and strength. We used a custom silicone liner for suspension. Finally, we added multiple poly-centric joints to allow the artificial proboscis to coil and extends naturally.
The challenge was fitting a prosthesis that small.
That, and keeping enough Benadryl on hand.

Planet Z

Sylvia legs were beautiful. So long, so soft, so perfect.
When she lost one to bone cancer, the artificial leg was so… crude.
No worry. I create props for the movies. Sometimes, I use my expertise to develop lifelike, functional replacement limbs.
A lot of soldiers send me thank you notes.
With her new leg, we danced, we did everything.
It felt so real. I saw a mosquito land on it once, trying to draw blood.
The cancer came back. This time, she died.
The leg is in our bed, waiting for me to finish building the rest of her.

Welcome to the Weekly Challenge Number One Hundred And Sixty-One, 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 Telescope.
The excellent theme music is by Guy David
VOTING

Which were the best stories this week?
	Lynda from http://sisterpepperspray.blogspot.com/
	Daphne from http://www.daphneabernathy.com/
	Tom from http://footnote.libsyn.com/
	Norval Joe from http://www.norvalsoutlook.blogspot.com/
	Guy David from http://www.guydavid.com/
	Platinum Lightning
	Mick from http://someotherscotland.blogspot.com/
	Ishtar from http://ishtarskiss.blogspot.com/
	Laurie from http://www.myspace.com/sufferingraven
	Justin from http://www.thespaceturtle.com/
	Lance from http://writingdad.livejournal.com/
	Anima from http://zabbadabba.com/
	Danny from http://dannymachal.com/
	Planet Z
Free polls from Pollhost.com

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

---

Lynda

Rain. This city is full of it.
I sell things. Last year? Pillows. Now? I was schlepping Singer iSew green technology sewing machines. Big difference.
The 33 pulled into the stop right on time. A bad sign overlooked. I lugged my sample up the steps and swiped my MetroCard.
“Uh, thankyouverymuch,” the driver drawled. He wore a rhinestone jumpsuit and twitched like his pelvis was dislocated.
Didn’t take him long to swerve the bus into some stranger in the crowd. Took longer to dislodge the iSew from my chest and the umbrella from my skull.
Wish I had a pillow.

Daphne

Funny how fate works. My sewing machine died and I had an appointment with the Sewing Machine Doctor. Despite the rain I headed to the bus stop. I boarded and the driver looked familiar but I couldn’t place him. When I got to my stop I had to ask where he got those blue suede shoes turns out that store is next to the repair shop. Arriving there I put my machine on the operating table then headed for shoes. Only to realized I left my umbrella on the table. As I turn around to go back, I bump into you.

Tom

The King hit the execrator crashing through the gates at Area 51. He was hell bent to get Jack and Adolph off the desiccation table before the Doc could do any more damage The code name for Kennedy was Umbrella and Hitler’s was Sewing Machine. The improbability drive had produced the perfect surreal moment. The chance meeting of a sewing machine and an umbrella on an operating table. The King was having none of that peppering the screen with bullets The President, the Chancellor, and King had left the building. Elvis was driving the bus Thank you very much.

Norval Joe

The vascular surgeon leaned over the patient; special glasses magnifying the surgery site. The complicated reconstruction was stretching into its eight hour.
“Elvis drives the bus”, a deep voice boomed from the other side of a screen where the anesthesiologist monitored the patients vitals.
“The patient is waking up, Dr. Dwerma, check the level of anesthesia,” the surgeon barked.
To maintain a sterile environment in the surgical suite, unnecessary non-surgical possessions are discouraged.
No one expected the chance meeting of a nurses umbrella in the leg of her scrubs with the anesthesiologists sewing machine footstool would cause him to evaporate.

Guy David

Elvis was driving his bus, lovingly nicknamed “the umbrella.” He wasn’t really Elvis. It was just a nickname someone gave him. He didn’t even look the part, looking more like a chance encounter between a frog and a rabbit on the operating table. He didn’t remember how he got his nickname, but it stuck. As he was thinking about all of this, he failed to see the sawing machine. His wheel smashed it with such force that it got embedded into the bus, becoming part of it, much like many other mechanical parts left on the road throughout the years.

Platinum Lightning

They call me Stitchface.
That’s because I’m a sewing machine by trade. But in my eyes, that’s just a cover.
I was fixing up the pads on an operating table, when I saw Larry through the open doorway. “Hey, Larry!” I shouted.
Larry got all nervous. “Whaddaya need now?” said Larry. “More shade?”
“Very funny”, I said. “Remember that you’re made of cloth and I can easily sew your tongue to your penis. I’m looking for Elvis Winston, and you know where he is.”
“He’s a bus driver now,” said Larry. “Number 1485.”

Mick

Being trapped in this particular alternate reality is not all bad. The ‘Glorious Revolution’ of 1688 never happened; thus, no Jacobite uprising. Thousands of lives were spared.
Take young Andrew Presley; he was able to settle down in Aberdeenshire instead of fleeing to South Carolina. I met his descendant driving the 39A bus out of Glasgow just a week ago, a different genetic mix in his faded looks, but as I handed over the fare, there was the trademark “thankyouverymuch”.
I taught him “Are you lonesome tonight?” and cried as he sang it all the way to Easterhouse.

Ishtar

“Its over, Its finally over.” he mutters to him self with relief.
Sure things were great at the beginning, the money, women,
the power. As with all stories, all good has to end.
Drug use, long crazy nights, movies that never really taxed or
let him grow. He was self destructing.
Over 5 years he saved the money he needed. Paid off the
appropriate people. Soon everyone would think he passed away
tragically.
“Its time” he says. Elvis Drives a Bus. Who would think it.
Driving into the sun, his last thoughts:
“Your finally free of your past. What next”

Laurie

On my way to Rome, I was laughing with friends about how the bus driver looked like a cross between Elvis and Chris Farley. My giggles were interrupted as I answered my phone. The coroner said “brace yourself my sweet…she’s dead…Ms. Poppins is heaven bound and the family is requesting your best.” ..with an evil grin I managed to say “it will be delivered to you by tomorrow noon“…I have been obsessed with her since I was a mere toddler. I am a designer of the finest suit shop in London and I have received a request to create my only true love’s final suit…she lies there on that cold steel gurney…Autopsy yet to begin, her corset undone just perfectly …see her beautiful bounty peeking out the top…her tailored suit was just as i had left it… ripped and muddy and her umbrella still at her side …I visited my old attic and there in the corner, ready for our last dance, was the first machine I ever owned…I quickly carried it to my flat and swooshed my new machine aside…it refused as if to say ..”I didn’t think we would ever have a chance to meet” …then it gave way and I began to create A gown that all of England would envy …as I approached the funeral their were 1000’s lined up to see my precious nanny dressed like nothing short of a Proper Saint…I will always love you Mary.

Justin

The life of a rock and roll star had been eating away at Elvis. Prince Namor, a big fan of The King, arranged a fake death and offered the chance to undergo a genetic change and live in Atlantis.
Now Elvis drives a tour bongo, an exciting venture. One time a grumpy shark attacked. Elvis fought it off and incapacitated it. At the hospital, an operation found the shark had an upset stomach from eating an umbrella and a sewing machine.
Elvis enjoys his submarine life and sometimes performs at casinos, playing songs like “Sea Dog” and “Jail Reef Rock”.

Lance

Sure I’ve seen Elvis. Hasn’t everyone? Drives a bus for OC Transpo up in Ottawa. He was cool, too. Gave me that smile.
Pass me that umbrella, would you. It’s a little hot in here. No, the big one. Next to the sewing machine. Thanks.
Ottawa’s pretty popular in celebrity afterlife. Einstein runs one of the university bookstores. Churchill vacations there in the summer.
Hold still. Just a few more stitches. There you are, Mr. Price. Good as new, more or less. Yes, I highly recommend Ottawa. You can tell Jack and Marilyn that when you see them at lunch.

Anima

The motor swivels hips… the brolly ribs expand, filling either pegged jeans, military khakis or vintage jumpsuits.
The chance meeting of a sewing machine and an umbrella on my operating table provided the inspiration for my best automaton yet!
Safety conscious, I tried bump sensors from a roomba. They sucked. So I nicked the parking proximity sensors from my neighbor’s truck.
Install one GPS unit from the pawn shop, a pirated shared music library, TCB sunglasses and ELVISmaton is perfected!
Three clicks in the muni HR computer… There! The #7 crosstown is now driven by E.
Enjoy the ride!

Danny

It was a rainy afternoon in Seattle when they got off the bus for lunch. Eight homemade renderings of the King all sat around the teppanyaki table as the chef danced with razor sharp ginsu knives. Gold Elvis clasped his hands around his throat, a large piece of beef wasn’t going down, and the Heimlich proved ineffective.
Gold Elvis writhed in panic and toppled a bottle of oil onto the griddle. The flames ignited a White Elvis rhinestone cape triggering the sprinkler system. Gold Elvis fell to the floor, an umbrella popped open. The Benihana chef acted quickly with a Ginsu Tracheotomy
Beginner’s luck, he said, wiping the blood on his apron.

Planet Z

People say I taught my dog Elvis to drive.
I didn’t. He’s self-taught.
He’s a good driver, too.
Sure, he’s only five and can’t read, and he’s a dog, but the county gave him a special permit.
We’ve been on television and such.
The city asked him to star in a commercial for the bus system. Elvis would drive a bus.
It was raining that morning. And he’s not so good when cats cross the road. Steers to hit them.
Twenty stitches. And he lost his driver’s license.
I hope he doesn’t lose his pilot’s license, too. He’ll be devastated.