It Takes A Thief

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It takes a thief to catch a thief.
That’s what the mayor said to the police chief when the crime rate threatened his re-election chances.
So, the police chief went to other towns, recruiting thieves.
He figured he should grab some rapists and murderers, too.
When the crime rate soared, the mayor lost the election and a new mayor took office.
The problem was, this guy was corrupt as hell.
The police chief wondered. It takes a mayor to catch a mayor?
He never got the chance, though. It took 10 hours for the coroner to find all the bullets.

Smash It With A Brick!

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Ever have a problem that was impossible to solve?
I can solve it.
You see, I have a Masters Degree in Smashitwithabrickology.
Simply put, you can solve anything by smashing it with a brick.
Ever try it?
Well, of course it didn’t work. It takes a seasoned expert to master the art of the brick.
The size of the brick.
The speed of the smashing.
Which end to use.
These are things that you might not consider, but I have considered for years.
What? You think this is stupid?
Sounds like a problem to me.
Stand still for me, please.

Lightning Spirit

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I’ve seen the Lightning Spirit dance from cloud to cloud, shouting thunder and waving her jagged fingers of lightning across the sky.
She dances to the music of the winds, rushing across the plains and laughing as the trees sway in the moonlight.
With a touch, a tree explodes in a shower of shattered bark and light.
And another.
She looks for her love, the Spirit of Iron.
Metal rods poked into the ground, offerings left at their base to beg her attention away from the homes.
Over and over, she and Iron become one.
She shouts satisfaction, and departs.

Weekly Challenge #115 – Exam

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Welcome to the Weekly Challenge Number One Hundred And Fifteen, 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 selected by Steven the Nuclear Man, and we went with Exam.
The excellent theme music is by Guy David
VOTING

Which were the best stories in Weekly Challenge #115?
Tom from Footnote
John B.
Jeffrey from Great Hites
Elly from Ellybean
Thomas
Guy David at Guy David dot com
Steven the Nuclear Man from Ideatrash
Eva Moon from The Lunatics
Almo Schumann
Caleb from Black Tie Martini Club
Justin the Space Turtle
Jerry D.
Anima Zabaleta
Planet Z from iPodjacker
  
Free polls from Pollhost.com


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


TOM

The last eight undergrads hovered near the TA. Only two of them would by merit of the final exam be fasttracked into Stanford”s master program. Professor Marquette wasn”t on campus but the old man”s presence dominated the Art complex. His finals were brutal 600 to 1000 question an all day affair frown on by administration but gladly endured by the student body. Ruby handed out the bound envelopes with the test. To the horror of the codray a single sheet of paper with a single line of type.
Takashi Murakami”s My Lonesome Cowboy art or not?

JOHN B

The dampening field was playing havoc with my cochlear implant. You would think the Bar would be more trusting of it”s future paying members. The #2 pencil/transmitter was barley getting my signal out. Three days of trying to gleam answers through the static was driving me crazy. Last night I thought I had figured out a work around, but now I realized I should have spent the time studying orbital property rights, or getting a stronger amp. However, after two prior legitimate attempts, I needed an edge. This time I was going to pass and become an honest lawyer.

JEFFREY

The exam meant the difference between freedom and life long imprisonment. The problem, no one knew what it was. So we stood there in line and waited our turn while our imaginations ran wild. I watched men as hard as rocks melt, blubbering before the questioner. In all my time in the line I had only seen one person volunteer for the test. The door opened and shut, and he was gone.
Then it was my turn, “Take the exam?”
“Yes.” he point to the door.
As it shut behind me a voice said. “You are free to go.”

ELLY

I”d been dreading and looking forward to this day since I had turned sixteen. Sleep the night before, I made sure wasn”t an option thanks to my insanely expensive 13 shot venti soy hazelnut vanilla cinnamon white mocha with extra white mocha and caramel drink. I obsessively studied over the driving manual like my Grandma and her monthly subscription of TV guide. Keeping, in mind not to miss anything really important, I hadn”t realized how deadly of a mix my drink was and on the morning of the exam, I ended up in the emergency room instead of the DMV.

THOMAS

Marshall stood before the searing gaze of the Pyrogenic Magus Council. He had tested twice and failed, this time he had to pass. He needed to be a pyromancer. He spread his arms. His hands blackened and fused, (proof of his earlier failures), burst into flames. He worked the twelve forms of the Incendiary Codec, with ease. A smile passed over the half of his face that still had muscle control, after acing the oral examination. Grimacing, he started the Technique du Mastere. Marshall formed a majestic golden flaming serpent, which coiled around Marshall reducing him to ash. Three strikes…

GUY DAVID

It was time for our exam. Our teacher seated himself and watched silently, patiently as we snuggled and kissed, preparing ourselves. I slowly slipped my hand down, to fast? Our teacher was stoned faced. I couldn’t discern from his expression if I was going the right way, so I continued down my partner’s body looking for the right spots. She moaned. I found it. Clothes started shedding, as we got more and more excited. We forgot our teacher and dove into ecstasy.
Much later, when we where completely relaxed in the afterglow, our teacher said we did well. We passed.

POND NITELY

Max whistled tunelessly to himself, grinning as he leapt over the bike rack and raced up the stairs.
“I’m home!!” he shouted, throwing his knapsack on the couch and settling in front of the TV. “Those losers” he thought to himself. Scottie and Jimbo were still at school, for a study session for the exam. Pfft. Max had used his after school time more wisely weeks ago; the cupboard doorlock was easy to pick, a quick snick with his cell, and all the multiple choice answers were his!
It hadn’t even beeen that hard to memorize the answers; ABADCADAFABFADABADDADAACC; piece of cake. Maybe best to get one or two wrong, just to be safe.
The next morning Max winked at his buddies as the papers were being handed out, face down. He picked up his pencil smiling…A.B.A.D… ” Alright class, you may begin.” Max flipped his paper and stared, his face falling as he read: For this year’s exam, please compose a one hundred word narrative on the following topic: “What would you do if you found yourself face to face with a dragon and all you had was a boyscout handbook and a piniata costume?”

STEVEN THE NUCLEAR MAN

She collects the fee from the nightstand. He rubs his ring finger,
counting ribs as her shirt slides over them.
“I gotta run,” she says. “I have a exam in biology to study for.”
“I had an exam at the hospital yesterday,” he blurts.
She giggles. “What grade did you get?”
He remembers the scan full of unexpected metastatic dots.
“They don’t give grades.” He hopes his smile seems natural.
After she leaves, he rolls upright, lights a cigarette – why stop now?
– and stares at the door. He opens the nightstand drawer, removes the
book, and desperately begins to cram.

EVA MOON

She stood in his office, looking hopeful and impossibly young, exam clutched in her hands.
“Professor Newman, I just can’t fail this class.” When he didn’t respond, she leaned provocatively over the desk, “I’d to anything for a A,” she breathed.
He leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers, “Anything?”
A sly smile far beyond her years curled her lips. “Anything.”
“Try studying.”
In an instant the smile turned sour.
After she left he tapped her name into the university computer, out of curiosity.
Last quarter’s grades: C-, C, D, A
He laughed. The A was in Ethics.

ALMO

James stood bare-chested and barefoot in front of the monk.
The snow turned his feet nearly purple. A dark, angry wound glared red from his shoulder. He neither shivered nor flinched.
His eyes were red-rimmed and his skin was loose, showing the effects of the monthlong test of solitude on the harsh mountain.
“You have done well phyi rgyal,” the monk said flatly, using the Tibetan word for foreigner. “All that is left is the written exam. You will be one with our spirit.”
“Exam?” James said incredulously. “Screw this. I’m not taking any written test. Those things are hard.”

CALEB

Mr. Johnson it”s a good thing you finally came in for your exam. You know Prostate Cancer kills a handful of men each year. Now there”s nothing to be alarmed about. I”m going to demonstrate the whole procedure before we begin. First you”ll pull down your pants like this and then bend over. Now you reach back and take each cheek in one hand and pull. Now do you see how open that is? You can see Tierra Del Fuego from here. See? It”s ok to look.
Now you just take one of these and then”
Hey come back here!

JUSTIN

Ok, let’s see here, a podcast where anyone can submit a 100 word
story. Hmm, an entry exam? Let’s see… Can you count to one hundred?
Yes. Do you have a computer microphone? Yes. If no, go buy one you
cheap jerk! Rude… Check all that apply: Are you Sick, demented, a
zombie, have a hard to pronounce name, or tasteless. Uh… One more.
What would you do if you were face to face with a dragon and all you
had was… what the crap? Heck with this. Maybe I’ll try ipodjacker
podcast. Maybe it’s not done by a retard.

JERRY D

“Mr. White.”
“Yes.”
“Mr. White, are you ready?”
“Yes.”
“Mr. White, did you bring with you a number two pencil?”
“Yes, I brought two of them just in case, and please, call me Jerry.”
“I am so sorry, Mr. White, you score will be reduced by 15% for not following instructions”
“What do you mean 15%, that’s not fair!”
“Mr. White, you were given full and complete instructions.”
“You were to bring one number two pencil.”
“One more infringement of the instructions and you will be dismissed with a grade of zero.”
“Mr. White.”
“Yes.”
“Why are you naked?”
Scream……….

ANIMA

Carl worked the women alone, especially the pretty ones. They couldn’t talk back, or complain” Outside, the sun was setting”
“Jayne Doe, Caucasian female, aged 25 to 30”
“Skin, pallid and cool, “Cause of death” Possible exsanguination? ” No apparent gross body injury .”
“Lovely”, he murmured, stroking her marble white cheek.
“Heh” small puncture wound on the neck” make that 2″
With the jab of the measuring probe, Elenas’ eyes flash open. She grabs the examiner, dragging him near.
“So you like dead girls? Exit solus, dear doctor.” she thinks, sinking her razor sharp teeth into his neck.

PLANET Z

The call is full of static. I barely hear the account and password, but after a few tries I type them into the system and look up his trouble ticket.
“What does this ‘exam’ mean?” he says in a thick Arabic accent. “Why broken?”
I swear, I can hear… gunfire?
“It’s ‘exim’ not ‘exam,'” I say. “cPanel uses exim as a mail handler.”
“I know not comptuers!” he shouts “We pay you! Fix it! Fix it no-”
I hear an explosion, and the line goes dead.
Goddamned terrorist.
I guess that fucker didn’t know the safe handling of explosives either.

Marble Rain

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You can hear them clacking against the street, shattering windshields on parked cars.
It’s raining marbles. Glass beads falling from the sky, the distant sound of thunder and the flash of lightning.
Yesterday, it was raining bologna.
The cheap stuff, too. Not even store-brand. That institutional crap they sell to schools and prisons.
It’s rained pretty much everything this past year. Cats and dogs ain’t the least of it.
You name it, it’s fallen from the sky.
Popcorn wasn’t bad.
Razorblades, on the other hand, totally sucked.
The weatherman’s given up completely. He just stares at the camera, laughing hysterically.

Financial Advisor

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I got a financial advisor.
He tells me to buy, so I buy.
He tells me to sell, so I sell.
Works out pretty nice.
Then, he tells me to meet him at the diner at midnight.
So, I meet him.
He slides a gun across the table.
He tells me to kill the priest who molested him as a child.
I say no.
He slides a stack of bills across the table.
“I’m here to make you money,” he says. “Go on. Take it.”
I slide it back.
“Invest it for me,” I say, and I take the gun.

Cake Baking

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Mom was busy in the kitchen, baking a gigantic cake.
Little Susie asked why.
“It’s Baking A Cake Day,” said Mom. “And that’s why I am baking a cake.”
“Why is there a Baking A Cake Day, Mommy?” asked Little Susie.
“To celebrate Cake-Baking!”
“Why celebrate cakes? Why not pies?”
“You’re not an unpatriotic pie-lover are you?”
Little Susie asked why pie was bad, but her mother shoved her out the door.
“Go play outside!” she shouted.
Susie walked through the trees to the neighborhood creek and made mud pies with her friends.
But she came home caked with dirt.

Chorus

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Ever hear of the Falling Chorus of Ghastly Cliffs?
No? It’s a fascinating story.
Imagine a gigantic gleaning amphitheater set on the edge of a cliff.
As the city residents become old and weak, they join the line down Main Street to the chorus at the cliff.
When they reach the amphitheater, they sing for all they’re worth.
Some go for a few seconds. Others, for hours.
When they’re exhausted, helpers pick them off the ground and toss them over the edge.
Another takes their place. The choir goes on forever.
It’s beautiful, except for the screams and messy splatters.

Strewn at his feet

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It is a rule of the royal palace that everywhere our liege walks, rose petals must be strewn at his feet.
Sadly, the roses were killed by unexpected frost, and it will be months before new blooms can grow.
Our master lays in bed, tied up and angry.
“All I want to do is walk to the bathroom,” he growls.
“No,” I say. “We have no roses to strew at your feet. We must carry you.”
He sighs. He knows that he is no more important than the office, and with the office comes rules.
We tighten the ropes.

Twilight Years

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I’m not old, they tell me.
I’m in my Twilight Years.
They’re not lying, I tell them. They’re just full of shit.
I look like I’m in my eighties, but I’m really in my eight hundreds.
Been that way since I was… well, eighty.
I don’t know how and I don’t know why. I just know that I haven’t died yet and I don’t appear to be in any rush to.
Know that song Forever Young? Well, I’m Forever Old.
I get sick a lot. I feel tired, weak.
But it beats the hell out of the alternative, I guess.