Category: Weekly Challenge

Welcome to the 100 Word Stories podcast at podcasting.isfullofcrap.com. I’m your host, Laurence Simon.

This is Weekly Challenge Number Three Hundred and Twenty-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 a beautiful thing

And we’ve got stories by a lot of people:

Tom
Thomas
William R. Davis-Kenmore Swipe
Chris Munroe
Logan Berry
Serendipity Haven
Colonel Terrance
Lizzie Gudkov
Severina Halostar and Bonchance Longfall
Guy David
Zackmann
Pam
Steven the Nuclear Man
Dionysus Clowes
RedGoddess
Danny Dwyer
Cliff
Norval Joe
Tura
Planet Z

And if you want to spam your social networks with this episode, use the Share buttons at the end of the post…

Obligatory cat photo:

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.

---

TOM

I’ve a hyper-romantic view of Chicago. Though I only live there from 57 to
59 it’s the place of my earliest memories. We lived in a neighborhood
called Logan Square. From my room I could see the words DAD’S written
along the side of a smokestack. I couldn’t read them but knew will the
letters meant root beer. I must have been very young the day my mom had me
and my brother in a Tram. Through a slit in the cover in gap in the Lane
Tech doors I saw the rides at Riverview. Memory is a beautiful thing

THOMAS

He had a big, day-glo sticker on the bumper of his pickup. “A Man and His Truck is A Beautiful Thing.” Gilmore was a fat, hairy thing. Not very beautiful at all. Most of his breakfast of chicken-fried steak and biscuits and gravy still clung to his red beard. The ladies at The Sunshine Café knew that Gilmore had a good job on the oil rigs, and they flirted with him at the café. Last week, Nancy Creemcheze sat down and chatted with him, saying he reminded her of John Goodman. “Is he in septic work?” “No. He’s an actor.”

##

It was such a beautiful thing. It could win prizes. Showing it meant it had to be washed and rubbed shiny. He spent hours tending and admiring it. His girlfriend, Josie-Jean thought it was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. It was purple, with some red undertones, and the first time he showed it to her, she flushed with excitement and her eyes widened. She knew that she would find pleasure in every encounter with it – able to brag to her girlfriends about what she had seen, touched and fondled. Larry’s custom, Chevy BelAire was a hit.

WRDKS

A Hebrew phrase reads: A beautiful thing is not always perfect. That goes for the girlfriend I had when I worked in New Jersey. She was dark haired and had a voluptuous figure. Her flaw was her family. Her father showed me his anti-gravity truck when I visited their home. He opened the rear door and pointed to the heavy, iron apparatus in the mid-section of the truck. He matter-of-factly described the problems he was having getting it off the ground, but I dismissed it all at the time in hopes of getting an early start with his lovely daughter.

MUNSI

I know you think your baby’s beautiful.

It’s your child. You brought it into this world and have a profound connection to it. it’s natural that you should find it beautiful.

To you, it’s the most beautiful thing that’s ever been. It’s your progeny, your precious darling, and moreover your shot at immortality.

You find it beautiful because you need it to be beautiful, it’s what will represent you to future generations.

I understand all of this.

All I’m saying is, it’s not MY baby, I have no responsibility toward it, and it’s a freaky, Winston Churchill looking motherfucker.

Sorry.

LOGAN

Why did I agree to this? I hate kids, and I hate poo. I want to take the kids to the bridge and toss them over, or jump into certain death myself. It’s not my fault. Who would hire me? I have a tattoo of a rat on my neck, where everyone can see it, and a rusted heavy gothic rod pierced through the left side of my nose. I think it’s a beautiful thing, but my mother now pretends she is childless. I overheard her tell my father she would like to have children someday. I will never have kids. I hate them. Especially when they poo into paper. This is NOT worth twenty dollars. Who would hire me?

SARAH

It was nail-biting standoff – the professor, arms outstretched between the armed police and the monstrous creature that he had brought into the world.

“It’s not a monster”, he protested, “It’s a living, conscious being… a thing of beauty, that deserves to live”

“Step aside, sir, or we will shoot!”, came the stern response.

The professor turned towards the beast, tenderly cupping it’s loathsome face between his hands; “I’m so sorry”, he whispered.

In a moment of poignance, the creatures actions mimicked the professor; the huge talons gently cradling the man’s face, before violently twisting the professor’s head clean off!

COLONEL

His encounter with the big red dog was a beautiful thing. No one would believe his story, of course, but he had to tell someone when he met the usual gang at coffee. He met the dog in the park as it walked quietly along the grass, bordering the bike path. He greeted her, saying “hello, pup”, and the dog answered “Hello, sir. Are you having a good day?” He was not surprised, as he suspected that all dogs could speak, but they kept it to themselves, only speaking to those that believed that dogs could talk. They chatted a while about nature, god, and each others fears and loves. Turns out, the red dog lived nearby, and she invited him to come by, any time, for a chat.

LIZZIE

The letter had two words “Beautiful thing.” She didn’t believe it. After the war, the devastation was everywhere making it hard to imagine something truly beautiful. Tired of annihilation, she packed water and food, and took the road. Three days and three nights lasted the journey until she found the bend on the road. A gate opened up to a pathway of wonders. She sat inside to enjoy the quietude and rest. The next day, the garden of wonders had grown a few meters. The day after that, the same happened. She thought that there was still hope after all.

SEVI AND BONCHANCE

Pablo was sniffing around the big top. As he snooped, Clumsy quickly snatched him up.

Clumsy the Clown started training Pablo. The new gag involved Clumsy pretending to bend over to pick up his cigar. Pablo was cued to jump on his back. As his paws made contact, Clumsy vigorously floundered around dramatically. The stunt ended with the clown landing on someone’s lap in the audience. The crowd erupts with laughter and roaring applause!

Pablo recalled Clumsy’s discourse, as they celebrated with a bottle of scotch. “It’s a beautiful thing when searching for a new star, the star finds you!

GUY

They say beauty is in the eye of the beholder, so scientists started dissecting eyes, searching for the exact spot where beauty resides. First they dissected eyes of mice, but it got them nowhere, so they dissected the eyes of convicted criminals, dead ones at first, but then someone reasoned that having real time input from subjects would result in important data. Didn’t work. Another suggested that criminals didn’t really have a sense of beauty, so they moved on to the eyes of artists, poets and musicians. When they finished, they looked around them to find a world without beauty.

ZACK

The mortgage broker told me how an ARM was a beautiful thing and how it could really free up my assets when I purchased a property.
I asked “ Wouldn’t there be trouble at the end of the adjustable rate?”
He told me “No, just refinance when the rate ends because California house prices always go up.”
It turns out the Adjustable Rate Mortgage was a beautiful thing, beautiful as in a devious supervillain they will never see this coming way. I loved the low monthly payments until I found out the payments don’t stay low and Neither do the rates.

PAM

All week the young engineering student scurried to keep up with the rushing tide of homework.

On Saturdays she hunted for illusory property lines only seen by engineers and surveyors. Her guide in these weekend explorations was a seasoned engineer. Old man, young girl both searching for ancient clues.

At lunch they break to eat. The old man looks up from his sandwich with a strange gaze,“ The water tower on campus – it’s a beautiful thing; very sexual.” He lowered his eyes back to his hamburger.

The young girl never looked at a water tower the same way again.

STEVEN

Conversation dropped to pure meaning when shit hit the fan.

Marc’s voice, terse, fast. “Four, suppression right, third advance
overwatch.” Squad leaders were moving as he spoke, diagrams and
instructions morphed into movement.

Susan loved it; loved ripping the bullshit social niceties away to raw
information and meaning. She hefted her rifle and sprinted. A
sprinkle of bullets at first, then a shower, then a zinging ricochet
storm. Marc hit the dirt next to her, panting. Cooper fell past him,
unbreathing.

Lead mosquitoes zipped between them.

Susan looked at Marc. “Love you,” she said.

It meant more than any poem.

DIONYSUS

#1: Da-sein

My father has just given me another lecture on Dasein’s inescapable anxiety. Other babies trade stocks or interact with small mammals, but these are not universal conditions of existence.

My mother seems to recognize a more basic set of necessities. She occasionally offers me a full breast, for example, and I am encouraged to suck. It is a beautiful thing.

My father insists we are born and die alone. As I recall, my mother was there, with a doctor and one or two nurses. I didn’t think to count.

He watches me sucking. I anticipate this will be a problem for us.

#2: Miracles

“Aesthetically,” said Wittgenstein, “the miracle is that the world exists.”

Paul Wittgenstein, the philosopher’s brother, was a concert pianist who lost his right arm in World War I. He commissioned a number of well-known piano works for the left hand. Their father made his fortune in steel.

My brother was killed in a hunting accident when I was 13. He was 16. There are times when I think nothing I’ve accomplished matters.

My daughter is practicing the piano, and my son, who’s more serious and alert than most, just walked by.

Existentially, the miracle is that the world’s a beautiful thing.

REDGODDESS

The rain finally stops. Lola is restless anticipating her date with her secret admirer, who drops a trail of cryptic notes at the hotel’s front desk. She works feverishly to finish all her duties to leave on time. The last handwritten note requested her presence at the coffee bar on the roof of the restaurant next door. She wonders how she will recognize this familiar stranger who has resuscitated her curiosity. She walks confidently through the restaurant doors and heads toward the bar. There he is. Whatever happens, it’s a beautiful thing to be the one catered to, for once.

DANNY

I wake up, finding myself hooked up to life support: an intibator tube down my throat, five heart monitors taped to my chest, a tube drilled into my skull draining excess fluid from my brain, and over 5 IV’s hooked up to my arms. Then in an instant, I’m up and walking down a long, endless hallway. I feel a breeze over my immaciated ass, which hangs naked out of the back of a polyester hospital gown. I didn’t think that was physically possible, to feel my ass hanging out of a hospital gown when I’m dead. What a beatiful thing.

CLIFF

“By the power of my magic, I bind you to my bidding,” the witch intoned. Humans. So dramatic.
“What is thy bidding?” I asked reluctantly.
“My husband does not love me.”
Oh goodie. Love. Why is it always about love?
“He says he only wants to be surrounded by beautiful things and that I’m not beautiful.”
She was hideous, but then, she was human.
“You will make me the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.”
“Really?”
“That is my command.”
The warlock would be pleased when he found the ever full beer mug the following morning.
I love my job.

NORVAL JOE

Shareeka chanted again, her voice growing weaker with each iteration. She waived her hands and dropped to her knees.
“Why is it getting so hard to breath?” Owen asked. The the earth itself seemed to press in on him.
“I move the air with us with each jump. It doesn’t refresh much,” she gasped. “Our next jump will be up.”
Shareeka spoke the words and the night sky burst into specked splendor above.
Owen fell onto his back in the wet grass, took a deep breath of the fresh and and said, “the sky is a beautiful thing, isn’t it?”

TURA

People say we lived like kings. Ha! These days, king just means a bigger mud hut and a gang of men with clubs.

We could fly round the world faster than it turned, talk to anyone, anywhere, instantly. We had men on the Moon, nearly got to Mars. We knew the age of the universe, the speed of light. You’ve never even seen electricity.

You don’t believe any of this. You’re stupid. Everyone’s getting stupider, generation by generation.

Sure, we had wars, all that shit. But Goddammit, we had civilisation, and it was a beautiful thing, a beautiful thing indeed.

PLANET Z

At first, I thought I heard Bobby say he was a “sado masochist” but he turned out to be a “soda masochist.”

So, instead of beating the crap out of him, I got a Coke out of the machine, and handed it to him.

He frowned. “Shake it first.”

I took back the can, shook it, and put it in front of him.

He picked it up, held it under his face, and opened it.

The spray got in his eyes and dripped on his shirt.

“That’s a beautiful thing, man,” he said. “Thanks.”

Dammit. Now I have to mop.

Welcome to the 100 Word Stories podcast at podcasting.isfullofcrap.com. I’m your host, Laurence Simon.

This is Weekly Challenge Number Three Hundred and Twenty, 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 avoid bursting into flames, pet rock, circus, who let the dogs out, and butter.

And we’ve got stories by a lot of people:

William R. Davis-Kenmore Swipe
Thomas
Colonel Terrance
Pamala
Tura
Chris Munroe
Tom
Logan Berry
Serendipity Haven
Lizzie Gudkov
Bonchance and Sevi
Zackmann
Dionysus
Guy David
Danny Dwyer
Cliff
Norval Joe
RedGoddess
Planet Z

RedGoddess

And if you want to spam your social networks with this episode, use the Share buttons at the end of the post…

Obligatory cat photo:

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.

---

ELECTRIC BICYCLES

His usual mixture was 27% bright Virginia, 15% Cavendish, 10% Latakia, and the rest, pencil shavings, gun powder and selenium.
He smoked an antique Meerschaum once smoked by Gertrude Stein. Resplendent in his tailored, velour-cuffed, smoking jacket,
young Mr. Thomas was the epitome of culture, class, and achievement until he was caught by the pistol-wielding security officer
last week, stealing ladies’ underthings off the clotheslines and sniffing the seats of bicycles parked in the garage. Embarrassed
and bringing shame to the Thomas family, young Mr. Thomas took his own life by sucking on the exhaust pipe of his father’s Bentley.

THOMAS

His usual mixture was 27% Xylene, 10% isopropyl alcohol, 20% acetone, and the rest, liquefied petroleum gas. He spent his working day cleaning graffiti from public property. The taggers were brain damaged skateboarders and grammar school gang members. The Central Foxpups was the oldest gang, but the Middleschool Jezabels was coming up strong. They used 4 inch paintbrushes and epoxy paint for tagging, and they traveled in packs of nine. There were five painters and a lookout for each compass direction. They could paint a park bench or a city truck in five minutes, wielding a brush in each hand.

##

The new president, a total whack job, proposed a flat, 27% income tax for taxpayers making less than 15 thousand a year. The people were up in arms, so he raised it to 16 thousand a year. Those making over the amount were to pay in flesh. A pound of flesh would pay half your taxes. Three pounds paid the income tax and earned a year of satellite TV. The underground formed, and meat lockers at military installations were filled with tax payments. The mystery of the disappearing “underclass” was never solved and along with it, their flat, 27% tax.

COLONEL TERRANCE

Kenmore was an endorphin junkie, and the son of a very rich family in Piedmont Hills. He spent the winter sledding the alps,
popping frozen grapes and sipping martinis as he traversed the hills in a monogrammed bobsled. His sled runners were waxed
with a mixture of 27% beeswax, 15% unborn mink oil, and the balance, baby fat harvested by Falun Gong practitioners.
Kenmore Singewick Puttiterd had no use for ordinary people – especially the poor and disabled. He employed full time
servants to gather, plastic wrap, and dispose of his bodily waste, just as his friend O. did, in Montecito.

PAMALA

Stretching and groaning from the pain of decrepit bodily muscles, which occurs on this side of the age- hill of life the marathon from bed to kitchen looms constantly on the daily horizon.

Getting a cup of coffee and trying to awake, falling into the kitchen chair to again face the nemesis of that horrific ceiling spot. It was a past spaghetti dinner explosion that shot straight up. Four months that spot has continued to laugh at my inabilities.

Today was an epiphany and a solution with a light weight mop. Small successes equals age Olympics.

TURA

After global warming, the oxygen crisis. We learned in school that the atmosphere’s 21% oxygen, right? Twenty years ago it was. It’s 22 now. So old folks get to breathe a little easier, nothing wrong with that? At 24% you can’t fight city fires. At 26, you see long-term health damage: blindness, strokes.

No-one knows why it’s happening. Humanity’s grown so big, everything we do bumps up against something, like Alice in the White Rabbit’s house, but we still know almost nothing about how the world works.

At 27%, it’s the end. All the vegetation will burn until it’s gone.

MUNSI

Team meeting, everybody.

Here’s what’s happening. Sales are down, industries change, and we’ve got to change or we’ll be left behind.

So, I’m trimming the department budget by 27%.

To prevent layoffs, wages and benefits will be cut by 27%, and your retirement packages will change to reflect this.

Thanks in advance for your co-operation.

Huh?

No, my bonuses won’t be cut. They’ll grow, due to my skillful crisis management.

But that’s not important. What matters is, nobody’s fired, and we’re sharing the sacrifice.

This is good news, we’ve really accomplished something today!

We’re the few, the proud.

The 27%

TOM

Case of the Amber Rose of the Amazon

“Watson mind the body draped over the ottoman.”
“But Homes where am I to sit?”
“There is a sinister force afoot.
What does a tuck on an ottoman tell you?”
“I have no place to rest my feet”
“No, we must parse the subtle relationships of
the terms and arrive at their precise meaning.”
“Well, a tuck is a tuck is a tuck.”
“Just as a rose is a rose is a rose.”

“Clearly Miss Stein is at the center of this affair
but my mind fails me, a 27% solution is in order.”

LOGAN BERRY

When I was eight, me and my best friend Stephen broke into a neighbor’s house. We were looking for cash. Not a lot of cash, but enough to buy a bowl of French fries at Bud’s Grill. We looked in all the obvious places (on top of the dresser where my mother kept coins, and in the cupboard by the fridge where Stephen’s mother kept change), but our take was precisely nothing.

We liked the neighbor-victim, Mrs Davies, and were horribly remorseful when she found out about our crime, and told us with sad eyes that we couldn’t play with her daughter Anna anymore. My parents were furious, and I endured a month-long grounding and united demonstration of disappointment in me, their eldest daughter.

Stephen’s mother cried. And his father, before giving him a beating, said “childhood criminals are 27% more likely to serve prison time as adults.” He was always a total dick.

SERENDIPIDY

You may laugh, but consider what it’s like being me!

There I was: just a few hours old and, as my mother slept in her hospital bed, dad twiddled his fingers, growing increasingly bored.

Turning on the TV, he flicked to the news channel, smiling broadly at the news of Facebook’s stock flotation… hurriedly scribbling some figures on a spare scrap of paper, his smile grew broader still!

He nipped out for a coffee.

The Registrar arrived to collect my birth registration. Reading it, she frowned, shrugged and filed it away.

And that’s how I ended up named, ‘= 27% Profit!!!’

LIZZIE

“How much is 27%?” the kid asked.

“As much as it sounds,” his friend replied.

“How much is that?”

“It depends on the total.”

“The total what?”

“The total thing you want the 27% of.”

In the waiting room, the dialog went on and on, people getting impatient. Suddenly, a man stood up and showed his four-fingered hand, lifting one finger.

“See this? This is more or less 27%.”

“Oh,” the kid said, “27% is a finger! You should’ve said so in the first place!”

The friend rolled his eyes.

And… Just for the record, it was not THAT finger!

BONCHANCE AND SEVI

27 % by Severina Halotstar and Bonchance Longfall

Pablo received a letter from Espi asking if he would donate his sperm for her to have a puppy.
Espi gave details about the fertility clinic that Pablo was to visit and make a “test donation”. It would ascertain his virility. Pablo would do anything for his Espi. Perhaps if he fathered her puppy she would want a more permanent relationship. He put circus life on hold.
He was told the results of his sperm donation would be mailed to him in the express post.
Five days later the results arrived. Typed in bold: Sperm Count: 27%! (normal > 85%).

27 % by Severina Halotstar and Bonchance Longfall

Tom always gave 100%.
Meetings wasted about 40% of his time.
60% could still be quite effective except for the fact that company emails ate up about 20% percent of his time deleting corporate updates that
no one reads, along with letters from the HR and benefits departments.
Cost savings strategies of all employees disposing their own trash in the dumpster and a roster to clean the employee bathrooms consumed another 10%.
Further distracted by suspicions that his mangy old cat was pregnant and his wife of 25 years was going to leave him, rounded down his effectiveness to 27%.

ZACKMANN

“So have you checked out the new Podcast Database?”
“Yes, I have Zack and even signed up. Now stop messaging me about it”
“Sorry, I was afraid there was someone who I messaged more than once. The website is Scott Roche’s baby but I do find a database for podcasts creators and podcast fans a really cool idea.”
“So Zack, Have you entered any of your favorite podcasts or content creators yet?”
“A couple but I might have only caused Scott to do 27% more work because I am very, you know very helpful but maybe not so technically inclined.”

DIONYSUS CLOWES

Lifespan/Bo Diddley’s Money

According to Wikipedia the average human life expectancy worldwide is 67.2 years. And according to Aristotle, human happiness, the good life for humans, is a measure that only applies to a whole life. So what does it mean that her smile, the way she lowered her eyes, only her lashes visible, over the delighted smile, the light like early fall off her hair when I told her what I’d written stopped at 18? Isn’t that only 27% of a good life, of happiness? Who gets the left-over happiness that was ours? Where’s that fucking happiness now, 27 years later?

Ottawa

I thought of immortality figuratively when I first heard of Ottawa. Then I contacted him, because I thought it was desirable. He entered negotiations in a way that, over time, impressed upon me the literal and serious nature of the process: by photographing me with the camera he had developed I would become literally immortal. I would elude inevitable death.

Negotiations. He claimed it was better to think in terms of how much life I wanted to keep and insisted on expressing this quantity as a percentage.

Now (always now), 27% through life, I ask, why not 100%?

GUY DAVID

It jumped out of the water and started walking on the sand. I stealthily followed between the shadows, curious. It walked into the badly misspelled gift shop, named “Everyone’s Persent”. Others of it’s kind where already there. Others followed. All in all, there where 27 of them. They didn’t talk in any common language. Instead, they used a sound that was half way between a gurgle and the rumbling of a mad man. Seeing them up close, I recognized them immediately and I knew I had to warn the mayor. There was no doubt about it. The Murlocs have arrived.

PLANET Z

The city of Bellaire put radar speed traps on Newcastle Road.

The sign only said 15. It’s not my fault it only has two digits.

We fly down the road, ignoring stop signs and lights, zooming past the houses and the school and community center.

Sally and I scream with laughter.

As we came up on Bellaire Road, I opened up the throttle and pulled back on the stick.

The plane pulled up and we soared over the intersection.

Heading back to the airport, her phone went off.

It was her dad. The sheriff.

Of West University.

(He hates Bellaire.)

Welcome to the 100 Word Stories podcast at podcasting.isfullofcrap.com. I’m your host, Laurence Simon.

This is Weekly Challenge Number Three Hundred and Twenty, 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 avoid bursting into flames, pet rock, circus, who let the dogs out, and butter.

And we’ve got stories by a lot of people:

Tom
Serendipity Haven
Thomas
Tura
Tom
Chris Munroe
Lizzie Gudkov
Bonchance and Sevi
Guy David
Zackmann
Logan Berry
Cliff
Norval Joe
Danny Dwyer
RedGoddess
Planet Z

And if you want to spam your social networks with this episode, use the Share buttons at the end of the post…

Obligatory cat photo:

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.

---

TOM

Badger and Bolin decided to join the circus. What they lacked in skill
they made up in pyrotechnic-avoidance. Even though Bolin was heisted to
throw the last pet-rock into the flaming-butter he matched Badger’s led
right into the middle of the main-ring. “Well I guess this is it,” sighed
Badger. “No, who let the dogs out, the pit is chewing at my bottom,”
countered Bolin. “Save me,” cry Badger and scrabbled up Bolin’s shoulders.
Pulling the flame-thrower to the right the dog lay incinerated on the
ground. “Maybe 100 flaming-stones is a bad idea, lets do a water act
instead.”

SERENDIPITY

“STOP THEM!” – the fiery, furry cavalcade tore towards us, as people jumped out of the way to avoid bursting into flames themselves, the dogs slipped through the crowd in the Big Top like butter off a hot knife.

Reporters at the aftermath of what was billed as the biggest circus disaster in history asked the handler, “Who let the dogs out, anyway?”

He didn’t answer immediately.

Weeping over the charred remains of a small terrier, he whispered, “they weren’t just performing dogs to me”, looking at the dog’s nametag in his hand; “this one was ‘Rock’… my poor pet, Rock”.

i need a lie down!

THOMAS

Someone at the Mackey Brother’s Circus was always narrowly avoiding bursting into flames. It was the clowns and pet rock trainer most of the time. The fire chief’s first question, was “who let the dogs out?” as they were the first ones to get into the butter the carnies used for the popcorn machines on the midway. The butter kept being knocked over into the big propane burners and spilling on the clowns waiting to climb into the midget cars at #1 ring. Last year, we lost six clowns to the butter fires, and still haven’t found all the dogs.

##

Masie avoided bursting into flames as she heat sealed the shipment of pet rocks and teddy bears going to the circus. The Baha Men’s Tune, “Who Let The Dogs Out”, kept playing in her head. She moved from the sealing machine, and popped a few bags of corn, covering the fresh batch with cups of hot butter in order to feed her quintuplets the first meal of the day. Masie was a little damaged, having survived a serious head injury when she was learning to skateboard. Her company was successful, nevertheless, but the quintuplets all succumbed to a vitamin deficiency.

TURA

When learning fire-eating, the most important lesson is: don’t burst into flames. Every fire-eater has their own secret recipe. Mine is paraffin and butter. The flames are showy, but they’re no hotter than boiling water.

The next important thing is: do not work with animals. When the dog act got loose, and I had this can of burning goop, well, I’ll skip the details. The dogs got a bit scalded, but they were right as rain in no time. They still kicked me out of the circus.

So I took my act onto the street. Me and my pet rock.

MUNSI

I let the dogs out.

Didn’t mean to, I’d thought they were safely inside the house, but I guess you let them into the yard to… you know…

If I’d known, I’d have closed the gate behind me. I mean, it’s not like I wanted them to get out.

But by the time I realized, they’d run out into the street, barking and howling and enjoying their newfound freedom.

And now we’re going to have to track them down.

But yeah, I take full responsibility, and I apologize.

My bad.

Also: It was me who put baby in the corner.

LIZZIE

“First, some butter, then your rock. You need the hair of a dog too. Ok, who let the dogs out?! Now you’ll have to chase them, and this will never be done,” the magician said impatiently, stirring the pot.

“But… it’s my pet rock…”

“Stop whining! This will make you the strongest clown in the circus.”

“But I don’t want to be the…”

“Enough! Give it up!”

When he threw a stone in the pot, the magician exploded.

“And finally, you want to avoid bursting into flames,” the kid said holding his pet stone with the dogs by his side.

SEVI AND BONCHANCE

Pablo lay in the shade next to his new pet rock friend.
Hot summer day! Avoid bursting into flames was his goal.

He felt like a pool of melted butter.

He needed time to collect his thoughts after the accident in the kitchen. It rattled him when his master screamed
“who let the dogs out of the basement”?

Poor Pablo was having a really bad run of luck. Life was not fun here anymore.
He was thinking about running away and joining the circus.

He could be their star, after-all his Mistress
said he was the most beautiful of all.

GUY DAVID

The army of clowns slipped and fell. Child laughter could be heard from houses with barricaded windows. Apparently, someone buttered up the road. From near by houses, dogs started barking. Doors opened and the dogs started coming out, seeking out the clowns. Bites and screams followed. “You should have stayed in the circus” shouted someone, “You make a lousy army”. Some people started opening their windows and throwing flaming rocks at them. The clowns started running away in the opposite direction, trying to avoid bursting into flames and running out of town, and so the army of clowns was defeated.

ZACKMANN

“Where are we headed this time, Brock?”
“I have an interview with the Pet Rock Circus.”
“Pet Rock Circus, what is that?” asked Ash
“It had an odd start. An artist built a model of a circus and started to inhabit it with rocks with googly eyes pasted on them except two of these rocks were geodudes. After the Pokebattle that calmed the geodudes down about having googly eyes pasted to their backsides it was decided that Rock-type Pokemon would perform in this circus and the pet rocks would be sold as souvenirs. My interview is Tuesday in Goldenrod City.”

My friend convinced me that it was a good idea to buy a car with a rotary engine. He told me how cool the concept of a rotary engine is, I did see many Mazda over seven years old that were still on the road at the time so I purchase a nice rear wheel drive 626 for my wife. The rotary engines back then used quite a bit of oil. Months later a drive resulting in more flames than Katniss’ dress made me wish I had replaced the hood release cable sooner and add more oil before engine exploded

LOGAN BERRY

Four of them sat immobilized, facing the man with the bow tie. The fires raged. “When does it rain from impromptu?” he asked.

The four squirmed and struggled, sweat pouring like melted butter from foreheads bound tightly to headrests. Contestant number two squeezed the button, his gag was removed and he croaked, “Circus!”

“Wrong!” screamed the bow tie. Contestant two slumped in his chair.

Contestant three squeezed the button urgently. “Your grandmother’s pet rock!” she cried, hoarse from the smoke and heat.

“Correct!” Contestant three wept with joy as she was wheeled from the room.

“Last question,” bow tie said to the remaining three.

“Who,” he asked slowly, “let the dogs out?”

Silence.

Contestant two moaned, and tried, unsuccessfully, to avoid bursting into flames.

CLIFF

It seemed like a good idea at the time. After all, the pet rock had been a craze years before. Why wouldn’t a rock circus be even more popular? Well, the flying trapeze fell flat. The rainbow colored stone clown drew no laughs. The granite lion tamer impressed no one. The people were staying away in droves and I was quickly running out of money. I decided to risk everything on one last act. It had fire. It had pizzazz. Who knew that the pet rock human cannonball routine would turn into a real flying projectile whizzing into the audience?

NORVAL JOE

Flappy searched the neighborhood’s dark bushes with his flashlight. He was so angry that he felt like he needed to take deep breaths to avoid bursting into flames. He knew it was his older brother, Flippy, who let the dogs out then smeared butter on the kitchen floor to make it harder to get them back in. Life in his home was a total circus and he was always blamed for being the clown. Flippy’s only pet was a rock. Flippy was jealous because it couldn’t do any tricks. Flappy always stole the show with his fifteen dancing wiener dogs.

REDGODDESS

Lola plans to leave work on time. She has processed all administrative paperwork and requests from guests. As she’s packing her oversized bag, one guest stops by the desk to ask a burning question. Typical, she thought. Five minutes before her shift ends…grrr. She greets her with a smile and asks, how may I help you? The guest shyly replies, “I’m new here and not adventurous.” Any advice on what not to do? Lola quips, stay close and whatever you do “avoid bursting into flames, pet rock, circus and butter.” You do that, you’ll enjoy our world-class hotel.

PLANET Z

The gang initiation’s simple, really.

Empty a gasoline can over your head, stick a cigarette in your mouth, take out a lighter, and light up.

Either you do it, or they shoot you.

Usually, the can’s filled with water, so nobody gets hurt.

But sometimes, someone doesn’t want you in, and they put gasoline in it.

Water has no smell, but gasoline stinks like… well, gasoline.

So once the can’s dumped, everybody knows what’s coming.

I got the gasoline, and the only one who smiled was Johnny.

So, I lit up, ran to Johnny, and held him as we burned.

Usually, I miss or forget one story, but this time I totally brainfarted with two.

Here they are:

TOM

Badger and Bolin weren’t the smartest tools in the shed. What they lacked
in brainpower they made up in steadfast loyalty. Even though Bolin was
heisted to make the 100-mile trek through Grubber’s Swamp he matched
Badger’s led right into the pit of Unending Suck. “Well I guess this is
the end,” sighed Badger. “No my end is at the bottom of the pit,”
countered Bolin. “Then we’re saved,” cry Badger and scrabbled up Bolin’s
shoulders. Pulling his friend to safety, they lay exhausted on the ground.
“Maybe 100 miles is a bad idea, lets do rocky road instead.”

BONCHANCE

Pablo the black and white springer spaniel was devastated.

His best friend Espi, a cute furry mutt has moved 100 miles away.

They licked noses late last night, and said their goodbyes. Pablo was all alone.
He sprawled out on the grass looking up at the sky, pondering how he could endure the 100 mile trip alone to be with his best mate.
He worried about his pristine soft paws, gently cared for by his wonderful owners, they would not endure hard pavement for 220 kilometers.

Pablo rolled over nuzzling the patch of grass Espi last stood on and whimpered.

Welcome to the 100 Word Stories podcast at podcasting.isfullofcrap.com. I’m your host, Laurence Simon.

This is Weekly Challenge Number Three Hundred and Nineteen, 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 100 Miles.

And we’ve got stories by a lot of people:

Thomas
Serendipity Haven
Tura
Tom
Lizzie Gudkov
TJ
Chris Munroe
Tom
Zackmann
Steven the Nuclear Man
Cliff
Logan Berry
Guy David
Norval Joe
RedGoddess
Planet Z

And if you want to spam your social networks with this episode, use the Share buttons at the end of the post…

Obligatory cat photo:

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.

---

THOMAS

The 100 mile race began in downtown Sequim and trailed up through the foothills. It was the annual EZ electric, shopping cart race, sponsored by Safeway and Kroger’s. Local retirees entered every year, some succumbing to the excitement and temperature, pushing 65. Last year, Monica Smithereen won, but it was later discovered that she had juiced, so the 2nd place winner, Horace Morris took the prize money and trophy home. No one discovered the plasticizers in his urine, as a result of Mrs. Morris hooking up her IV to Horace before the race and pumping him with B12 and amphetamine.

##

The first 100 miles of the southern border with Canada had ultimately been sealed with high walls of wire and concrete. It was hastily built to keep out the hordes of Chinese Yuppies, sneaking into the states near Vancouver to buy foreclosed homes, vacated restaurants, Hummer dealerships and real estate offices in Washington. Xenophobes panicked and rushed to their druggists and psychic counselors. The border was policed with air and sea drones cobbled together by local computer and RC hackers…among them J. Gordon, who built his armed drone out of recycled foam board and parts from his uncle’s weed whacker.

SERENDIPIDY

With legs horribly bruised and bleeding, he dragged himself across the finish line. Quite an achievement:100 miles, crawling on hands and knees, but where were the cheering crowds, the welcoming committee and smiling sponsors?

Coming to think of it, where the hell had any of them been throughout the whole, laborious route?

Throwing his rucksack to the floor in disgust, he watched as his trusty compass bounced across the tarmac.

That was odd.

He picked it up; shook it – the needle never moved.

In horror, realisation dawned… he’d successfully crawled 100 miles, but only in the wrong blasted direction!

TURA

Kate and I start together, but we’re both going at our own pace, so we separate fairly soon. First refreshment point at 20 miles. I drink some water, stop a minute, then carry on.

East Anglia is supposed to be flat, but on a bike it seems to be made of hills. Halfway point at 50. Food, water, and press on.

Sheringham, Cromer, Happisburgh, Horsey Mill. 75 mile stop, ten minutes.

At 80, I’m counting down the miles left. 90. Kate catches me up and we ride the rest together. Counting half miles now.

100 miles! Free water! Free BEER!

TOM

Badger and Bolin weren’t the smartest tools in the shed. What they lacked
in brainpower they made up in steadfast loyalty. Even though Bolin was
heisted to make the 100-mile trek through Grubber’s Swamp he matched
Badger’s led right into the pit of Unending Suck. “Well I guess this is
the end,” sighed Badger. “No my end is at the bottom of the pit,”
countered Bolin. “Then we’re saved,” cry Badger and scrabbled up Bolin’s
shoulders. Pulling his friend to safety, they lay exhausted on the ground.
“Maybe 100 miles is a bad idea, lets do rocky road instead.”

LIZZIE

The bright orange sun hid in the horizon as a light breeze unsettled the weary soul foretelling the storm. Politicians, millionaires, artists, common people looking for oil or peace all tried to buy their land. “Why do you need it? It’s just sand.” They didn’t know about the trap door behind the house, the tunnel, and the living thing in there. One day, it would travel the 100 mile long tunnel back to the surface and rule the world. They just had to feed it till then. They always wondered why no one ever noticed all those missing nosey visitors.

TJ

SIGHTING

Flickering images of drunken celebrations, couples rehearsing their
passionate intentions and lonelier hotel guests texting to absent
friends whizzed through the lobby and hallways in the security feeds I’d
loaded to my thumb drives. There was otherwise nothing remarkable until
about halfway through the third one. Karen let out a gasp to see her
missing daughter, Laurie, swimming in the hotel pool. The time stamp
said she’d been there from about 10:57 to 11:23, at which point a young
man appeared, tall and blond, wearing shorts and a t-shirt. They chatted
for about 20 minutes, and disappeared from our view.

PURSUIT

Karen’s face was hard to read. Her 15-year-old daughter had disappeared.
She had, however, been spotted. She’d not been kidnapped, locked in a
stranger’s windowless van and already 100 miles away down the highway.
She’d just met a boy and gone off with him, willingly. Was probably
still in the hotel. Mom, however, wasn’t entirely relieved by this turn
of events either. We did, of course, have an image of the boy she’d met.
And it was now after 6 a.m. So we made our way to the front desk to see
if the desk clerk was back on duty.

MUNSI

Within 100 miles of here is a place I’d love.

Maybe a restaurant that serves cuisine from a country I’ve never visited, or a club playing music I’m unfamiliar with but would dig if I gave it a chance…

The specifics aren’t relevant, the point is it’s the perfect place for me, it’s within 100 miles of here, and I’d love it there if I ever went.

I might never find this place.

I get too trapped by routine to really look.

But it exists.

Can you say for certain there isn’t a similar place within 100 miles of you?

ZACKMANN

“It is a great day for a walk” exclaimed Joe
Mike replied “We still have over 26 miles to go. Like a marathon. Who do you think I am, Charlie White?”
“The car manual said charge will last 100 miles.”said Joe.
“I don’t suppose you read the fine print about using Air Conditioning or driving highway speeds.” taunted Mike
“Yes , but I still thought it would go farther than this. Maybe I should have bought a plugin hybrid but appeal of not having to do an emissions test was too hard to resist”
“Time to call the auto club”

STEVEN THE NUCLEAR MAN

Shane sighed in the backseat and tried to get his parent’s attention.

“How far is it to Grandma’s?”

“It’s a while yet, honey.”

“How far is that, Mom?”

Her sigh echoed his own. “A hundred more miles. Shush so Daddy can concentrate on driving.”

Shane looked out the window. Even an irritating sibling wouldn’t be boring.

“Mom, how far now?”

“Shane, just read one of your books.”

She’d used the “Mom” voice, so he stopped asking and looked out the window again.

When the first zombie shambled from the woods, he smiled.

It wouldn’t be a boring trip after all.

CLIFF

Marvin was a lazy monk. Marvin belonged to an unusual order. They believed that, since Jesus walked everywhere to deliver his message, then they had to walk to earn the right to tell their stories. Words were earned by walking. One mile equaled one word. A powerful sermon could involve a pilgrimage from Virginia to Oregon and back again. Marvin only made it from Philadelphia to Baltimore before sitting down to write. One hundred miles means one hundred words for Marvin. The Abbot was furious. After all, who would want to read a story that’s only one hundred words long?

LOGAN

The sky is the same color as the sand, a luminous Photoshop-layered, grainy, noisy, soft-focused, glowing, diffused, warm, creamy, grey-and-yellow. There is no safe horizon to guide me on my journey, no compass, only the feel of unreliable sand beneath my feet and the sure knowledge that I must move, or die. I am halfway there. I smell my own stale, dry, hot, recycled breath through the scarf wrapped like bandages around my nose and mouth. Move, or die. Finally, finally, I am there. I have travelled the 100 miles. I have travelled the 100 words.

GUY

It was a long but fruitful walk. Every word was a mile, and there where always 100 of them, but he pushed on, walking, stubbornly advancing word by word. He just had to. Everything depended on it. Laurence fought off the evils of procrastination, the monsters of the writer block, managing to release a new story every day for 7 years, accompanied by the ever loyal midget, the man from planet Z and an ever increasing army of cats, the Mariner robot pressed on to conquer the world, 100 words at a time, and thus the next 7 years began.

NORVAL JOE

The walls of the house appeared to bow inward as the intensity of the demon’s screams continued to climb.
“Farmer. Do you have a cellar?” Shareeka asked.
“Yes,” he said, “You stand on the trap door.”
The company and farmer crowded into the cellar and linked their arms, forming a circle. Shareeka chanted. Instantly, all was dark.
“What happened?” Owen asked.
“I moved us 20 feet north of the farmer’s cellar,” Shareeka said.
“Great,” Traveler said, “Do that for another 29 leagues and we’ll be at the mines.”
“I’m sorry,” She said, “Moving that much earth is beyond my ability.”

REDGODDESS

As guests whisk by Lola’s desk, they yell gleefully “TGIF.” Who can forget Friday is Margarita day at the hotel. Since Lola is on duty, she can’t drink alcohol but can still mingle. Two giggling women in their 20’s, wearing sundresses, designer dark glasses hurried to the gift shop. They seem immersed in chatter and trying on perfume samples. Lola suddenly misses her childhood best friend. She appreciates a good cocktail. They had a big fall out after collegel and have not spoken since. They now live 100 miles apart, yet the memories they shared are always a heart beat away.

PLANET Z

My science book says that if you laid all the blood vessels in the human body end to end, they’d stretch 100 miles long.

So, me and Bobby picked up a hitchhiker, killed him, dumped him in the back of the pickup, and got to cutting.

Parkersburg is fifty miles, so we figured we’d just head out there and back

A mile out of town, we look back, and birds are picking the goods out of the gravel.

Bobby said ignore ‘em. They’re just picking up the stuff we already measured.

I wiped my hands and went back to cutting.

Welcome to the 100 Word Stories podcast at podcasting.isfullofcrap.com. I’m your host, Laurence Simon.

This is Weekly Challenge Number Three Hundred and Eighteen, 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 Bar.

And we’ve got stories by a lot of people:

Lizzie Gudkov
Guard 13007
Thomas
Chris the Nuclear Kid
Bonchance and Sevi
Laetizia Coronet
Tom
Serendipity Haven
Cliff
Chris Munroe
Holocluck Henly
Norval Joe
Guy David
Logan Berry
Ginger J
Zackmann
Tura
Steven the Nuclear Man
RedGoddess
Planet Z

(An additional story from Circe Broom will be posted in the Weekly Challenge: After The Bell once it arrives. My apologies to Circe for not spotting the mistake earlier.)

And if you want to spam your social networks with this episode, use the Share buttons at the end of the post…

Obligatory cat photo:

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.

---

LIZZIE

He twiddled his thumbs impatiently. That rule of thumb everyone kept referring to in the local contest was bullocks. “Thumbs down to that,” he thought. As he thumbed through the plants catalog it was pretty obvious; it stuck out like a sore thumb. His green thumb was the envy of the whole village. Yes, he always thumbed his nose at the whole commotion and never accepted to be under anyone’s thumb. So, it was time. He decided to simply thumb a ride out of there and start somewhere else where thumbs would not even be mentioned! Thumbs up to that!

GUARD

There was once a little girl named Jane. They told her she lived a fairytale life and had a green thumb. She was a young servent girl, that did not hold back her dreams. Jane knew with all her heart that she would one day rise to rule them all.

Then came the day where she thought she’d get her magic wand or something else to change her life. Nothing special happened on that day, so she grew quite sad. She had nothing left but her green thumb.

Now she uses it to scare away others and get free food.

THOMAS

Fran had a green thumb. Each of her children were under her thumb, raising kohlrabi for the local markets. The children spent hours thumb wrestling in the greenhouse. Her eldest, Assende, was all thumbs, and had no interest in the family business, so she thumbed a ride to the city, where she earned cash drawing thumbnail sketches for a web designer. Her thumbs opposed her, so she had to overcome her disability. Each sketch grew more complex, getting a deserved thumbs-up from the director. Assende applied all the rules of thumb she knew to produce work, faster and more diligently.

##

Thumbelina had wild adventures with marriage-minded toads, moles, and cockchafers. She was very, very tiny, frail, and hunchbacked. She had to defend herself with her pal Tom Thumb and an assortment of supernatural beings her father put in her hands as her creator. Her Father, Hans Anderson, was a shoemaker and part-time author, writing hundreds of drabbles for the entertainment of the other Danes. He sang and recited until he turned fourteen, escaping to New Zealand, where he took up with a band of thieves and miscreants, spending his later teens under the influence of native potions and wild mushrooms.

CHRIS THE NUCLEAR KID

I pressed the doorbell and ran to hide behind the bushes. My neighbor opened his front door and looked around with a confused expression on his old, wrinkly face. I stifled a laugh and waited for my neighbor to go back inside. I ran back up and pressed the doorbell again. I yelped in pain as a thumbtack pricked my finger. Apparently my neighbor had placed a thumbtack on the door bell when I wasn’t looking.
“Ha gotcha, that will teach you to mess around with a poor old elderly man like me!”
“Ow that hurt a lot!” I whined.

BONCHANCE AND SEVI

Thumb by Severina Halostar and Bonchance Longfall

Andrew and Hope had waited desperately for the day they found out they were with child.
The injections and constant monitoring was worth it.
They saw the test strip turn blue in front of their eyes while they cuddled in bed.

Her debut came too early. Anxiety filled the delivery room until little one pound Esperenza made her entrance to the world.
The day arrived; Esperenza was swaddled in soft brush cotton and placed on Hope’s bosom, Andrew protectively watching over. The little babe settled and drew her thumb to her mouth, softly suckling, a sweet gift to her parents.

Thumb2 by Severina Halostar and Bonchance Longfall
Clarence loved to tease Jake!

Running through the yard, beating Jake to the door and slamming it shut.
Clarence would then wiggle his thumbs and point at the door knob.

“I will have a piece of that inbred human”

He panted, looking up at his worthless owner. Clarence teased him with his thumbs.
The mutt turned his head as his new play buddy came over to see what was happening. Caesar the spider monkey glared at Clarence.
The deft monkey smiling a monkey smile, curled his fingers, human like, around the handle.

Jake relished Clarence’s look of surprise just before he pounced.

L CORONET

The big man explained the workings of the machine to Hameed. The Somalian mathematician found his first job in Holland in a factory, stamping pans from aluminium sheets. He was determined to do well.

“As a rule of thumb we expect you to stamp out 250 pans per hour,” the man said and Hameed thought: 4.1666 per minute. He kept count of pans and time and found his rhythm.

But then his nose itched insufferably. He had to scratch. Three pans a minute, then two. He panicked and frantically started feeding the machine aluminium.

Until it caught his thumb.

TOM

Outside of Bishops Gate Timmy lurked. He simmered with a deep hatred for General Tom Thumb. Timmy’s career had been eclipse by Thumb. Tiny Tim was ill equipped to compete with the likes of the General. So In his darkest hour Tim contrived a plan to gain back his glory and forever besmirched that American upstart. He had learned of Tom’s deep seeded fear of rats. One gentle drop into Victoria’s coach and bedlam would ensue. Unforchantly for Tim the coachman swung hard right and knock him into a second story window of Bedlam; from whence he was never heard.

SERENDIPITY

The king was a wise and powerful man – just in his judgments and respected by all. Throughout the empire his edicts were respected and his word was law; in fact whenever any question was in doubt, the people would simply say, “how would the king answer?” In this way, all matters of doubt were resolved.

Unknown distances were estimated in ‘King’s Miles’, sacks of barley were assumed to be a ‘King’s Hundredweight’ and, when planning journeys of indeterminate length, the people would say, “It’ll take around a King’s hour”.

Sadly, King Thumb died… and so ended ‘The Rule of Thumb’.

CLIFF

Jake’s Green Thumb

When I was a child, we had a gardener named Jake. He was the quiet sort, always happiest when we left him alone to the lawn and flowers and shrubs. My father always joked that Jake had a green thumb. One day, I noticed that Jake really did have a green thumb. His left thumb was a deep forest green. I wanted to ask him about it but Father always said to leave Jake alone.

Then I saw Jake’s thumb fall off. It didn’t seem to bother him. I guess that’s one of the advantages of having a zombie gardener.

MUNSI

I’ve made a movie!

Basically, it’s about a high school girl who’s really into archery who falls in love with a car that transforms into a giant robot. But at the same time a pirate, played by Johnny Depp, falls in love with her, and she must make a fateful decision about who to be with before an asteroid collides with the earth, destroying the world.

Nobody’s hands have enough thumbs down to review this movie, but that’s okay.

With the money I’ve made, I can pay somebody to look me in the eye if I can’t do it myself…

HOLOCLUCK HENLY

I thought I could fix my own deadbolt. The lock cost $35 but a
locksmith hundreds. It required firm application of the thumb and
bird fingers. Weeks later a bottle of juice dropped through my hands.
Specialist diagnosed it as Flexipolicus Longus Tendonitis or Trigger
Finger. “People with your chronic condition have this tendency.”
Surgery was weeks away. Clever ways to hold a sketch pad or wipe.

You learn to miss your thumb and everything it does for you. “It’s
that pincer effect,” someone said. It took ten minutes to fix and
worked immediately. Was this worth forfeiting a locksmith?

NORVAL JOE

The farmer sat dumbfounded at his table as if the company crowded into his small sitting room weren’t even there.
The house shook like a whirlwind danced circles around the clapboard building. Dust drifted from the wooden slats of the shingled roof.
Elbownor swirled his hands in front of him, chanting at the hearth. Shareeka formed a rectangle with the forefinger of each hand to the thumb of the other and whispered through it, facing the door.
The door buckled inward as if rammed by a mad bull, but it held.
Outside, demons screamed and tore ineffectually at the walls.

GUY DAVID

Ten Thumb Joe set in the bar, drinking his usual poison when Strike Team Alpha walked in. “You’ve been blowing smoke long enough” they said, “it’s time we blow your cover”. Back in the hotel, the moon shaped alert went off and his two lazy bodyguards sprang into action. Hugs and kisses followed. Sensing that he won’t get any help from them, Joe mattered “you are a bunch of sick bastards”. The team just smiled and said “you have been a fool if you thought you could get away with it”. What they did to him afterwards rhymes with itch.

LOGAN BERRY

3 Rules of Thumb for Happy Hitchhiking

1. If your hitchee is male and pulls over to the side of the road near a picturesque but abandoned farm in rural France, leaves the Citroen and stands at the rear of the vehicle for several inexplicable minutes, DO NOT turn around or look in the rear-view mirror.

2. If your hitchee offers to drive you and your co-hitcher a ride to the next town in the middle of the night because the hotel in Skopje was full and you were lost, then stops on the way out of town to pick up a burly friend who needs a shower, DO NOT pretend to be convent-educated virgins because that will only encourage them.

3. If your hitchees are nudist organic farmers in Devon who ask you to babysit their three children in a rainstorm while they attend a protest against fruit-machines-in-pubs, DO NOT agree to look at their wedding album in exchange for breakfast.

GINGER J

my how I would suck my thumb
when I was small and very young
I’d snuggle a little blanky

it’s not odd when you’re young
to think that a thumb
is something worth gnawing on

how grievous to me
they should take my blankee
and make me disengage from my thumb

for it had become
something to rely upon
and was never squirreled too far away

but, time came soon
when all I could do
was learn to sit on those thumbs

sit on my hands
and pretend I had plans
just as my mother intended

then boredom set in
and I was chagrined
to learn that puppets were also a tool

to keep fingers out
of my small mouth
because my sitters just couldn’t stand it

they’d rotate and shake
if my thumb I’d take
and offer them a view of my callous

for I had a thumb
that was a little numb
from all the sucking it got

so finally they put my hands into socks
and Ozonol on besides

because, when you’re not two
sucking thumbs is taboo
and I was the saintly age of five

ZACKMANN

I am beginning to suspect that the Crap Mariner is practicing some form of mind control. Lawrence Simian, who is pictured on this very website next to his typewriter, likely assisted the Crap Mariner in making you think about Thumbs this week. It is just as likely that they also have you thinking about cats. What surprised me is how they got Lawrence Santoro thinking about thumbs therefore choosing to have “4 AM, When the Walls are Thinnest” by Allison Littlewood narrated for Tales To Terrify number 20, a story in which Stumpy Ellis tells what happened to his thumb.

TURA

When I were a lad, we made proper black pudding. Dad would clout t’ pig in ‘ead wi’ ‘ammer, ‘ang it up by hind legs, slit throat and drain t’ blood int’ bucket. Us littluns would be set to stirring’ it wi’ ‘ands and suckin’ fingers, while they’d throw in lumps of fat and brains and everythin’.

When it ‘ad set, our ma would put it through big ‘and mincer into pig’s own ‘testines. Once she tore ‘er thumb off, but it didn’t bother ‘er, she just kept on crankin’ the ‘andle, and that were the best black pudding ever.

RED

“It’s official, spring is HERE!” declares the weather guy. Lola has caught the gardening bug after watching too many DYI landscaping shows. In one hour, she can build a lush city garden or bump into a handsome handyman at the home improvement store like on TV. He will then buy all the plants, come to her apartment with an army of skilled laborers, to transform her asphalt yard while being held in seclusion until the big reveal. Lola is a jack of all trade at her job, but she’s embarrassed that she doesn’t have a green thumb like Martha Stewart.

PLANET Z

When I was little, I remember biting my toenails and getting an infection in the corner of my right big toe.

The doctor cleaned it out, smeared some goo on it, bandaged it, and warned me about biting my nails.

I kept biting them anyway, and suffered infected toenails, fingernails, and thumbnails.

Then, six years ago, I stopped.

I trimmed them with clippers and a nail file.

Still, every now and then, I clip them too close, or I peel off a hangnail into the corner, and it’s back to the bathroom where I keep the antibiotic and small bandages.

Welcome to the 100 Word Stories podcast at podcasting.isfullofcrap.com. I’m your host, Laurence Simon.

This is Weekly Challenge Number Three Hundred and Seventeen, 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 Bar.

And we’ve got stories by a lot of people:

Thomas
TJ
Serendipity Haven
Bonchance and Sevi
Tom
Guy David
Tura
Chris Munroe
Lizzie Gudkov
Chris The Nuclear Kid
June
Cliff
Norval Joe
RedGoddess
Zackmann
Planet Z

And if you want to spam your social networks with this episode, use the Share buttons at the end of the post…

Obligatory cat photo:

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.

---

THOMAS

The bar was put up higher. Dubbie thought she could handle the change when it was put up, but she quickly learned that it was beyond her reach. She knew she had to, so she began working extra hard, after school and on Saturdays…practicing and going over everything again and again. When the contest came, Dubbie felt fully prepared. She got in line, and when the bell rang to begin the games, she climbed onto the high stool at the long bar and drank herself silly, beating all the locals in the chug-a-lug, Zambrano, Sink The Battleship, and Who Shit?

##

Ronnie asked the artist to put a bar in her nose — 18 carat gold and heavy, so it pulled her nose down until it touched her upper lip. Punks and hipsters that saw her remarking how beautiful her jewelry looked, but how bad her nose looked. Her friend, Salli, told her what others would not. Ronnie returned to the shop that installed the gold bar. The shop was closed. Ronnie asked Marvin, to cut the bar with bolt cutters, as the threads were jammed. Marvin was stoned. He clipped a half inch off her nose on the first try.

TJ

Security

Karen’s missing daughter could be anywhere. My first thought was to
rouse the night manager, but it was 4:50 a.m. and he was nowhere to be
found. There was a camera in the lobby and a door marked “Security,”
where I imagined the video would probably be. I unclipped a scanner from
my toolkit and fitted it to the slot in the door. Karen’s eyes
widened. “What are you,” she asked. “Strike Force Alpha?”
“I’m a locksmith,” I shrugged. “Who do you suppose installs
these electronic locks?”After some negotiation the scanner beeped, the
lock flashed green and we stepped inside.

Video

Along one wall a bank of monitors showed images from the lobby, as well
as from the kitchen, the laundry room, the bar and the pool. The
kitchen, bar and laundry room feeds covered the rear alleyway entrances
and there was a gated garden enclosure beyond the pool, so along with
the lobby itself, if Laurie – Karen’s 15-year-old daughter’s name
was Laurie – had passed through any of these spaces in the last eight
hours we should be able to track her. I loaded five jump drives from the
recorders and padded back to my room with worried mother in tow.

SERENDIPITY

Every team talk is the same old nonsense – “Gotta do better, try harder, reach further, we’re talking about raising the bar…”

It’s all talk, of course. We nod, make noises in agreement and secretly look forward to a beer and a joke about it after work.

Same again this week: “…we’re gonna raise that bar!”

Yeah right. We smiled inwardly at the mantra and yawned.

We stopped smiling when clocking-off time came round – the damn fools had only gone and done it!

How can you buy a beer, when you can’t even reach to the top of the bar?

BOMCHANCE AND SEVI

Bar by Severina Halostar and BC

Dave leaned back waiting, anxiously awaiting an answer from Megan, a reply to his comments.
As usual he agreed with his girlfriend 100%. There was way too much government supervision into peoples’ private lives. Big brother has bigger ears and eyes now that social media has become popular.
Megan had strong opinions on privacy laws, she frequently ranted about this subject.
He looked at the clock, downed his coffee and closed his laptop.
2am.

People poured out of the narrow bar entrance.

Sgt Dave Anderson smiled, watching a couple stagger to their car.
Eureka!
He would make quota this month!

Bar by Severina Halostar and BC

Tom laughed to himself, hands down, he knew he could do it. The day goes by slowly. As afternoon approaches, the earlier conversation is forgotten.
Tom stops in at the local watering hole with his buds after work, as usual. His enjoyable evening ritual.
Past 1 am, Tom attempted to sneak into the apartment without waking his wife, but she was wide awake and waiting for him.

“You were right honey, looks like I can’t pass one without stopping in.

Already upset, now furious, “You never listen to me fool!
I said I can’t pass the Bar without nonstop studying!”

TOM

Mark slid the Bombay and Schweppe across the bar to the nun. Mother Theresa nursed the drink while maintaining a 10,000-yard stare. In a delightful Belgium slur she mused “What the F! Does Mother Senton got, I ain’t got?” Mark stops polishing a tumbler and posed the possibility of still being alive as a deterrent to actual sainthood. “Ya, but was she a Martyr, No, and a bloody American too boot. Did she personally meet three, three popes? I’m a goddamn living legion.” “I think you meant legend.” “Whatever. Saint Theresa it rolls off the tongue, T-res-a. Damn Nazi”

GUY

I watched the progress bar as I uploaded myself into the new body. It was a fashionable one, female with huge wings, white as snow. As the upload completed, my old body slumped down lifeless and I was ready to test the new model, invigorated and youthful. I stood there for hours, naked in front of the bathroom mirror, examining every pore on my naked skin, feeling myself. My breasts where heavier then I thought they would be, my wings lighter. I would make a new life for myself, start anew with this new body. I was at last reborn.

TURA

On the glass shelves behind every bar there is always a display of strangely shaped bottles full of strangely coloured liquids, and you know, I’ve never seen them used.

At one bar I discreetly photographed them every few days. The fluid levels never changed, but the bottles themselves moved from one picture to another, so I made a time-lapse movie. They’re alive!

And they know I know. I haven’t been in a bar since, but this morning at home I found a miniature of some garish yellow liquid with a long Italian name. I took it outside and smashed it.

MUNSI

So last week’s mission didn’t exactly go smoothly…

You were caught slipping the note into the book, the librarian alerted an international network of booksellers and librarians, and now you’re on the run, legions of angry, literate assassins hounding your every move.

I can’t help, in some small way, feeling responsible.

Tell you what, run to Canada, hide here until it blows over. I’ll meet you at Tipparary’s, even buy the first round.

It’ll be okay.

Because here, at the bar.

You’ll feel safest of all.

We can lock all the doors.

It’s the only way to live.

In bars…

LIZZIE

It was right there, they thought. At least, that’s how they remembered it. But it wasn’t right there. Hours of roaming the city, blinded by neon lights, and the two could simply not find it.

“You didn’t bring the card,” John said.

“Again?!” sighed Peter.

Suddenly, one wrong turn and there were four of them… The strike hit Peter on the temple.

“What are you looking for?” asked the stranger.

“Nothing,” replied John.

“Finish him off.”

A faint “No…” was muffled by the cold iron bar swooshing in the air.

A card slipped from John’s back pocket saying Pigeons’ Bar.

CHRIS THE NUCLEAR KID

When I awoke I looked at the map I had noticed the night before. Putting the paper on the map I found that it made an outlined tunnel system that supposedly ran under the town. The entrance was under my room’s bed.

I moved the bed from the wall and saw a trapdoor with a old lock. I kicked the lock breaking it lose then opened the door. A gust of dusty air rushed out and I climbed down the old ladder.

Following the tunnel I came to a large bronze door. But, sadly it was locked. So, I left.

JUNE

When I dropped out of college, home became a hotel room.

This is because my parents lost their house two weeks into my “journey”.

Homesick, my brother and I smoked pipes and watched reruns of Cheers.
When he passed out, I left the room.

Insomnia is a way of life when your bed is an armchair.

The hotel bar was closed to me, and no one knew my name. So I wandered
the dead streets outside, writing songs of loss.

Eighty songs later, I am glad I could not get a drink.

Though I found other ways to destroy myself.

CLIFF

I used to work at this watering hole that attracted a bunch of cartoonists. I don’t know why. Apparently we were just the closest joint to the animation studios. This was back before all the cartoons were done by Korean computers, of course. So this one day, an Artist comes in and I thought all hell was going to break loose. He was drinking his Cosmo and putting down our regulars as hacks and sellouts. I really thought it was going to come to blows. So, I took care of it with his second drink. I slipped him a Mickey.

This story is dedicated to my friend Tom who is the artist behind the webcomic ThoseFunkyIdiots.com. I’d record the story and shameless plug myself but a tiny ninja stole my recording equipment.

NORVAL JOE

The farmer sat at his dinner table, alone, too tired to eat. His wrinkled face sagged, his sun-spotted pate tipped forward as he dropped into sleep.
He might have thought it a dream if his heart wasn’t pounding through his rib cage, as the wizardess burst into his home.
Her grey eyes flashed and she asked, “Are there any windows in the house?”
An elf stepped to the hearth and began to chant.
“No, none,” the farmer grunted.
“Good,” the woman said. “Owen, bar the door.”
“We beg your hospitality, good man,” Shareeka said. “A storm is about to break.”

REDGODDESS

Lola woke up twenty minutes after her alarm went off. After a quick shower, she threw on her plain blue uniform, and busted out of her apartment for the bus. She was welcomed by the dragon lady fuming about incomplete service requests. By midday, there was a smoke smell complaint, an overflowed toilet in the penthouse and accident by a dog in the elevator. She was ready to walk out for good, when she stuck her hand in her pocket for master keys, instead found a business card with a handwritten message, “meet me at the bar for a surprise.”

ZACKMANN

“I found a recipe for super great cookie bars that are said to taste even better than those coconut collision cookies you love from the coffee shop next to Boarderlands Books sf.” boasted Dylan
“Wow, are those supposed to be so big?” said Zack
“I followed the recipe. I can’t imagine what went wrong.” replied Dylan.
“Which spoon did you use for measuring the baking soda?” asked Zack
The one that is marked with Capital T for tea spoon.” said Dylan.
“That is for Table Spoon. Lowercase ts is for Tea Spoon.
Sometime you can raise the bar too high.“

PLANET Z

The last time I saw Ricky, the rollercoaster attendant lowered the lap-bar into place.

The cars went up, teetered over the hill, and raced along the track.

Everyone screamed and raised their hands.

At the end of the ride, people laughed and got up.

Except Ricky.

He was gone.

“Where’s Ricky?” I asked the attendant.

“Who?” he said.

We looked everywhere.

They shut the ride down and searched.

Gone without a trace.

I smiled… the time portal worked!

“I’ll see you in a week, Ricky,” I whispered.

A week later, he reappeared.

And got creamed by a speeding rollercoaster car.

Welcome to the 100 Word Stories podcast at podcasting.isfullofcrap.com. I’m your host, Laurence Simon.

This is Weekly Challenge Number Three Hundred and Fourteen, 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 Strike Team Alpha.

And we’ve got stories by a lot of people:

Guy David
Zackmann
Thomas
Chris The Nuclear Kid
Serendipity Haven
Tura
Tom
Steven The Nuclear Man
Chris Munroe
Logan Berry
Lizzie Gudkov
Cliff
Sachy and Abernathy
RedGoddess
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…

Obligatory cat photo:

(That’s Gray Stripey. He visits us a lot. Bruwyn and Myst get along with him and let him enjoy the catnip piles.)

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.

---

GUY

The first Bread-and-Butterfly was documented by the good reverent Charles Lutwidge Dodgson in his celebrated book about the origin of the species, titled “Through the Looking Glass”. When his conclusions came out, whole teams of other researchers came out on strike claiming the human race didn’t evolve from some Bread-and-Butterfly alpha. I guess most of them didn’t even read his book. They just confused his with that other Charles, the one who wrote the book about the origin of chess. Or, was it the other way around? Guess I should ask the red queen about it.

ZACKMANN

The teen boy excitedly squeed “Are you Munsis Minions of Team Alpha? It is so exciting to meet you.”
The public relations officer replied “Sorry to get your hopes up kid but Team Alpha and Team Beta are stuck in Alberta. The zombie task force has had some setbacks but don’t worry team Sigma is here and we shall prevail. It’s your lucky day kid. We got a truckload of something from Louisville. The good news is today is Team Sigma Bat Day. The bad news is you’re likely to need it but when we succeed only to play baseball.”

THOMAS

Strike Team Alpha released the earworm virus in midtown Manhattan a few weeks before Christmas when the whole area was already inundated with Xmas music and sales jingles spilling into the street from storefronts. The team’s purpose was to drive the Xmas shoppers mad and to cause them to riot, destroy local landmarks, break windows, throw bricks at the police, and bang tourists on the heads with homemade picket signs. The Strike Team Commander, Wallace Gloatbridge, was a disgruntled ex, government worker, and fiction author from Massachusetts. The virus spread rapidly, and the team fled to their squat in Brooklyn.

##

Strike Team Alpha was a tight-knit group of fiction writers from South Texas. They wrote fiction on spec and contract, selling to magazines and small shopping guides. The team commander, Mary Alfalpha, and her lieutenant, Sarah Dipity made sure all grammar and spelling was correct, and any team member stooping to profanity would have to surrender their membership and privileges. The team met their demise during an particularly brutal attack by a gang of black booted grammar Nazis from the Carolinas that stormed their headquarters wielding dictionaries and thick thesauri. The team fell to overlooked braces, semi-colons, tildes, and em-spaces.

CHRIS THE NUCLEAR KID

It was not that long ago when I made a promise I was unable to keep. I promised to protect the one I loved. But when she needed help most I was not strong enough to save her. I then swore to train myself and become stronger. I joined the military training force for a few years.
A day ago I received an application to the Strike Team Alpha. Now it’s my first day I am slightly worried due to the stories I’ve heard of the place. But its probably worth it. Well I’d better get going before I’m late.

SERENDIPITY

Strike Team Alpha were supposed to be the cream of the crop, but their legendary failure is a textbook example of what happens when you have the wrong tools to get the job done.

Skills honed to perfection, they moved in under cover of darkness – their orders: ‘Light blue touchpaper and retire to a safe distance’.

It should have been simple.

Instead, it was a complete disaster – forty failed attempts later they withdrew; the mission, a disaster.

At the court martial the truth came out: “They sent us out with safety matches… How the hell were we to strike them?”

TURA

Spy-in-the-sky sees Team Alpha coming two miles out. Textbook-perfect manoeuvres but they’re running through it like a replay.

Bam. Landmine. They weren’t expecting that, no landmines there in the videogame. Come on, show some initiative, Alpha! No, they duck for the trees.

I settle behind my sniper scope. First one emerges, right on time. Second. Then mine. Bam. First two panic and run into the rest of Team Delta. I guess we can strike Team Alpha.

There’s one left, hiding in the trees, but we’ll capture him for interrogation, ho ho. The ones with just paintball splashes get it easy.

TOM

The 5th of June 1943 Strike Team Alpha crosses the Potomac under the cover of night. Lt. Bronski hands each member of the team the battered dispatch from HQ. In large black letters it reads as follows: The president of the United States is named Shiklegrubber. Execute Plan Omega. “Smoke Em if you got em,” whispered Sergeant Rock. Little Joe lights up a Luck Strike, which given the circumstances seemed a bit ironic. “We’re not come back are we Sarg?” “We got to get the Spaniard inside the White House and his infernal contraption. That’s the mission private.” Arnesto paces.

STEVEN THE NUCLEAR MAN

The team deployed from their chopper. Strike Team Alpha looked like any other crack military unit…. except for two things. Their unit patches simply had a Greek letter alpha, and they were completely unarmed.

They went from home to home, offering free hugs, and were met with bullets, knives, and shrapnel.

As the final member of Alpha breathed his last, the Old Man turned off the monitor and gestured to his XO. “Send in Strike Team Omega,” he said.

The XO nodded. He reached into the lead locker and started handing suitcase nukes to the members of the final team.

Munsi!

What’s your favorite book?

No, don’t tell me. I wouldn’t be able to hear you, podcasts are a one-way form of communication.

Instead, open word on your computer, write the title of the book, the name of it’s author, and how and why it changed your life.

Write a love letter to the book.

When you’re done, print the page, fold it and put it in an envelope.

Now: Head to your local library or bookstore, find a copy of the book, tuck the envelope inside and return it to the shelf.

Congratulations, you’ve just connected meaningfully with a stranger.

Logan Berry

Capitalism sucks.

Not on paper. It looks like a good system on paper. May the brightest minds prosper. In the real world, capitalism has become a conglomerate of faceless corporations who strive to deprive us of the basics of health and happiness so they can charge us money for manufactured, second hand, sub-standard and unnatural versions of the things we need to function with dignity.

So when my partner has a heart attack, as he did this week, I have as much faith in the system as I would a shark in a swimming pool. Hospitals underfunded and drug companies overfunded mean that someone profits obscenely, and someone suffers.

I need Strike Team Alpha to overthrow this most unethical and soul-destroying system; or, if possible, to sit by my partner’s bed, and hold his hand.

LIZZIE

After years of attacks, the authorities called in the big guns. They were tough, they were dangerous. They were the reason children played in the streets now and women walked home from work late at night. Thieves, drug dealers, murderers and serial killers didn’t stand a chance. Tenacious and all geared up, they would roam the streets hunting predators down. Their motto was KISS. KISS them and KISS them again. They were Kimberly, Ivy, Suzy and Samantha, the Strike Team Alpha of the neighborhood. “Can I have an ice-cream, Granny?” asked 5 year old Peter. “No,” replied KISS in unison.

######

“Not good,” Strike said peaking through the window.

Team nodded.

“What are you talking about?!” Alpha was angry.

“You go first, Strike.”

“First?!”

“Yes, explain what we mean,” replied Team.

“Ah!” said Strike with a sigh of relief.

“This is a covert operation. What’s the problem?” asked Alpha annoyed.

Strike and Team looked anxious.

“Let’s go,” commanded Alpha.

Suddenly there was a loud noise, a shot.

“Uh-oh…” said Strike.

Team nodded.

“See, I told him. His wife wouldn’t like the surprise. This Strike Team Alpha anniversary gift was a bad idea. Too kinky…”

Strike nodded.

“Coffee?”

“And cream,” replied Team.

Cliff

“You are part of this Strike Team Alpha.”
He wasn’t very imposing. His three goons were, however.
“Strike Team what?”
“Don’t play stupid.”
“Who’s playing?”
Actually, I was. As the new guy, I’d gotten to play bait. I’d sat in this café for three days waiting for the Literature Purity League to notice me. They were self appointed censors. They censored writers, not words. People had disappeared. In response, Strike Team Alpha was born.
From where I sat, I could see Munsi and Treed blocking the exit. These fools were about to see what writers could really do.

SACHY AND ABERNATHY

and now a word from our sponsors…

This is Captain Arctic here to tell you about my new ice cream; Strike Team Alpha. If you have ever wanted to be a superhero like me, you need Strike Team Alpha. This is a supernatural cold blast chalk full of American Pride with red, white and blue candy tidbits that will make your taste buds soar to new heights.

Side effects may include; Jumping over buildings in a single bound, shooting webs out of your wrists, laser and/or x-ray vision, invisibility, turning green, super human strength and explosive diarrhea.

RED GODDESS

There is a undying war being waged on low wage workers and the working poor. During new employee’s orientation, there is high optimism and promise to solve problems together. Human resources department really exists to protect the rights of companies not to ensure the employees are treated fairly. Then, who can employees turn to for grievances and better treatment in the workplace? There is only one group that can come to the rescue, “Strike Team Alpha.” Since this team is action oriented and militaristic, they will go in there, unlike mediators, and solve all the problems with one permanent move.

DANNY

“Target has been spotted!” the Captain screamed into his headset, command control responded, “Mission is a go!” “OK, Go, Go, Go!,” the captain screamed, as Strike Team Alpha jumped from the B21 bomber, plummeting to their target below. Parachutes deployed at 500 feet, the strike team quietly descended on their target, the buildng below. The door was kicked in, weapons fully drawn, the team was confronted by, an unarmed 4 year old child surrounded by 10 other toddlers. The 4 year old quickly responded, “Thhhpppppp!!!!” “Uh, command control, you just had us raid the Tiny Tots Pre-School.” The laughter from command control was deafening.

NORVAL JOE

The targets stood like ancient warriors, tall and silent, awaiting the attack. Fearless and stoic they stared back at the champion chosen to lead the assault.
Unassuming, almost pitiful in his weakness, like David of old facing Goliath, the first in the band of competitors stared across the field of battle. He took the projectile in his hand, stepped forward and hurled it toward the phalanx. With a crash they flew about knocking one another down.
“Strike, Team Alpha,” the announced called.
The first player of Team Bravo dried his hand, retrieved his bowling ball and stepped onto the lane.

The dwarf sat on his stool and stared at the ground.
“How long must we wait for an answer?” Owen asked.
The ranger replied, “dwarves live much longer than humans and therefore take much longer to make decisions.”
“Yes, but,” Owen said, “he’s sat all morning without movement or word. We only have so much time to get the princess. Do we really need him?”
“Ours will be the first group to enter the caverns since the goblins overran them,” Shareeka said. “Though he was a child when he escaped, his memory of the caves will be invaluable to us.”

PLANET Z

My company designs shoulder sleeve insignia for military uniforms.

Those are the patches you see on a soldier’s arm that says what service unit they’re a part of.

The strangest request came from the Army for their elite Strike Team Alpha unit.

Not only did this clandestine group not wear uniforms, but they were not supposed to ever identify themselves.

Due to regulations and bureaucracy, though, they had to have a patch.

So, they had a solid black patch made.

Their first mission was to kill the idiot in the Pentagon who ordered them to wear the patches.

Mission accomplished.

Welcome to the 100 Word Stories podcast at podcasting.isfullofcrap.com. I’m your host, Laurence Simon.

This is Weekly Challenge Number Three Hundred and Fourteen, 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 hotel.

And we’ve got stories by a lot of people:

Tom
Dann Russo Archive of live performances
Thomas
Tura
Serendipity Haven
Chris Munroe
Guy David
Logan Berry
Zackmann
Lizzie Gudkov
Steven Saus
Buttermilk!
Cliff
Danny
Norval Joe
TJ
RedGoddess
Planet Z

And if you want to spam your social networks with this episode, use the Share buttons at the end of the post…

Obligatory cat photo:

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.

---

Tom

The flat black hat rimmed the edge of the horizon obscuring a piercing glaze. Slowly a rough-hewn match makes contact with a pencil thin cigar. The high plane drifter sends a vale of tobacco smoke upward, setting the rains to the left, the pallid horse beneath him descends into the valley below. He has come to smoke out a soul hiding under the mantel of propriety a pillar of the community. He knew better. Puffs on the cigar sets glow to the end sparking the wick of twin sticks of dynamite. Looping end over end dropping death through the window.

Dann

New Hampshire December froze our sweat to our skin. The windows HAD to be down. Had to be down. We took quick shallow breaths in a feeble attempt to stay warm. Only twenty more minutes. Fifteen. Ten.
Bolt out of the car.
Sprint up the stairs.
Who has the keys? Where did you put the keys?
Tear off every piece of clothing we had on.
There was nothing sensual, nothing fun.
Our heads were already starting to revert to long-lost craving mode.
Coat. Shirt. Pants. Turn the shower on. Throw them in the wash. Rid ourselves of the smoke.

Thomas

Jenny knew where there is smoke there is fire, so she spent the day looking for smoke, since she had five pounds of ribs and needed to barbeque them before they went bad. She walked around the neighborhood, peering over fences looking for smoke, until she found an elderly couple throwing some burgers on a kettle barbeque. She inquired, telling the couple her plight, and they agreed to let her cook her ribs when they were finished. She cooked and shared them with the couple. In this way, Jenny was able to dispose of the grisly remains of her crime.

##

Her singing voice was a smoky, throaty, and whiskey, mellow alto. She took the stage, sitting at the piano, ready to play one of her own tunes. The trio that backed her up were magnificent, and the audience moved to the edge of their seats with their cell phones and digital cameras high in the air. Ms. Darlene Apple was the hit of the Seattle jazz scene. Her beauty was shadowed by her lyrics, original compositions, and nudity. A chilling breeze came through a door off stage, and Ms. Apple picked up the tempo, to the delight of the audience.

Tura

“New car smell. New home smell. Gen-fem — generic feminine — used a lot in low-end clothing stores. Commercial stuff.” She shrugged.

“High-class ambients, they’re something else. But…times change. Here’s a classic. They don’t even make the ingredients any more.”

She showed me a small bottle, a quarter full of a deep amber liquid, labelled “OLD SMOKE”.

“You’ve never experienced anything like this before.” She took the stopper out for just a few seconds. Suddenly the room was redolent of old cigars, well-worn leather upholstery, brandy glasses, and — oh! — the subtlest grace notes of a beautiful woman glimpsed unattainably far off.

Serendipity

The fragrance drifting through the doorway as I passed by unlocked a forgotten wealth of fond memories.

Malacca, 1963… bartering for supper in the night market – the babble and hubbub, the sweaty, prickly heat of summer and the press of the excited crowd as they jostled at the market stalls, all came flooding back.

Then, an unexpected respite.

The temple, quiet and serene – a welcome escape from the tumult outside. The somnolent monotone of a Buddhist chant, drawing me in. And everywhere, the smouldering tapers of rising incense.

Wonderful memories, rekindled by the simple fragrance of that blesséd, holy smoke.

Munsi

Yes, I do still smoke.

I know I shouldn’t. I know that it’s expensive, and I know what it’ll do to my teeth and the lines around my eyes.

I also know that cigarettes are the only product that, used as directed, kills 100% of it’s customers. Cancer, heart disease, I know what smoking does.

But I also know that twice a day, at work, regardless of how long my scheduled shift is, I will hear a manager say, in essence: Smokers, take a five minute break. Non-smokers, shut up and get back to work.

So yeah, I still smoke.

Guy David

A man, or a mere impression of a men. He rises from the chimney of some factory or another, taking shape from the smoke. He hovers above the city, an illusion perhaps, more likely a secret project. Eyes are cameras, ears are microphones, recording silently. No door can hold him. He just blows underneath like the smoke he’s made of. His brain has the computing power built into the latest in nanotechnology. The results are being sent for processing at a secret facility. He is just the prototype. More are being created. Watch out for the fog, it’s coming alive.

Logan Berry

Until that moment, panic had turned me to ice. But the touch of his
hand on my skin was the lick of a blowtorch and I felt its heat,
suddenly, shockingly. Something stirred in a place I thought had died.
I felt, as if for the first time, my own breathing, sharp and hot.

Smoke curled out of his nose and drifted towards the ceiling fan like
the ghosts of small birds.

The fan spun slowly, each rotation clicking softly, the only sound in
a deathly silence.

He inhaled again in the darkness, silhouetted against a grey window.
He thought I was still dead as he leaned over me, pressing his lips
against mine and forcing the ghostly birds into my mouth. When I felt
his tongue scorch the back of my throat, I bit down, hard.

As his screams broke the silence, I floated to the window, spread my
wings, and flew away.

Zackmann

“I never saw your shop before. Do you sell anything in addition to tobacco like loose leaf tea or tee shirts?”
“I don’t think you understand that is a smoke shop, the only thing we sell is smoke. Except election years than we also sell mirrors.” answered shopkeeper
“Do you mean like liquid smoke for cooking?”
“Liquid smoke is one product we sell. We currently have a sale on smoke from 1980s rock concerts.”
“Too bad,I was looking for tobacco because I read a gardening article that touted its uses.”
“Come back when they write an article about smoke.”

Lizzie

“Smoke them out, smoke them out!” one soldier barked throwing a smoke grenade in the hole.

“They are coming!” another yelled.

They thought dozens of enemies had been hiding in a trench for more than a week. No food and no water left.

“Come out of there!” the first soldier barked again. “We’ll go in, if you don’t come out, right now!”

They were the winners. The losers would have to obey.

“Yeah!” they all yelled.

The thick heavy smoke was unbearable.

In the end, the hundreds were five teenage soldiers scared to death.

Soldiers and kids, no winners there…

Steven the Nuclear Man

Sullivan lights his and Murphy’s cigarettes, then shakes out the match. Night floods back as the flame dies.

Thompson’s eyebrows arch. “What about me?”

Murphy laughs as Sullivan strikes another match. “Thompson, you weren’t military?”

Thompson draws on the cigarette, lighting it from Sullivan’s match. Treetrunks loom until Sullivan shakes the flame out. “Nope.”

Murphy takes a drag. “You light two ’cause it’s too short for a sniper to aim.”

Thompson’s brow furrows. “We’re hunting demons, not snipers.”

Sullivan tosses his cigarette at the other men’s feet. “Demons that see heat,” he says as his horned master enters the clearing.

Buttermilk

From the very moment when we first met, there was just something about her,
something I couldn’t quite put my finger on. She is intoxicating.
Attractive doesn’t begin to explain it. I’d say it was chemical, maybe even
phermonal, if that was possible. I can’t explain the way she has
captured my attention. There is an ephemeral quality about her that absolutely
captivates me. From that first moment on, she has dominated my thoughts,
my dreams, and my fantasies alike. I have spent countless hours trying to define it, to describe it,
to understand it. It eludes me…. like smoke.

Cliff

The reporters and the faithful stood in the courtyard waiting. The College of Cardinals had been in the Sistine Chapel for several days trying to elect the new pope. The previous leader of the church had been one of the most popular popes in decades. He had helped the church grow and find new members the world over. When intelligent life had been discovered in the tunnels of Mars, missionaries had been dispatched and the Martians had converted in droves. There were even native Martian bishops now.

Still, everyone was surprised when the smoke rising from the Chapel was green.

Norval Joe

His lungs burned as he raced across the meadow to her grandfather’s cottage.
Smoke billowed from the windows and door. Fire danced up the thatched roof.
He grabbed a bucket at the well and dumped it on a sheet of canvas that covered firewood by the door.
Crouched under the canvas he crawled to her bedroom, wrapped her in the wet sheet and dragged her to safety.
Her eyes fluttered open, “You came back for me.”
“I’ll always come for you,” he promised.
Sitting with the company in the smoky common room, the memory came back to Owen with force.

TJ

“Can you help me?” she pleaded. “My daughter is missing.”

Although the suites were nonsmoking, a blue haze hung in the air behind
her. She waved off my glance. “She went missing… six hours ago. The
computer moved all our rooms around and… she’s probably lost.” Her
eyes worried about more sinister possibilities.

“How old is she?” I asked. “Does she have her cell with her?”

“She’s 15. It goes directly to voicemail. I called the police but
I’m out of my mind here!”

Well, I’m just a locksmith, myself, but I figured I could at least try
to help.

RedGoddess

Lola wears many hats as part of her job on the hotel’s guest services team. She’s not a magician but expected to make problems vanish in thin air. She’s not a superhero but have been known to leap out of harm’s way. Most notably, she’s no firefighter but can smell smoke from miles away. Last week, one of her guests decided to bake a special batch of biscuits for her fiancee who’s visiting from London. She has never turned the oven on since moving into the penthouse suite. Within minutes, the fire alarm was set off and triggered the sprinklers.

Planet Z

I like the smell of incense.

I have incense burners in the living room, office, and the bathroom so I don’t have to move them around.

But then, I keep the incense on a single shelf in the hallway. Kinda defeats the purpose of a convenient burner in every room if I have to get up to get more.

There’s also a smoke alarm in each room, but the smoke from the incense doesn’t set it off.

The smoke from burning something on the stove does, though.

Why did I take a bath while soup was on?

I’m a moron.

Welcome to the 100 Word Stories podcast at podcasting.isfullofcrap.com. I’m your host, Laurence Simon.

This is Weekly Challenge Number Three Hundred and Fourteen, 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 hotel.

And we’ve got stories by a lot of people:

Thomas
Tom
Tura
Lizzie Gudkov
Serendipity Haven
Zackmann
Chris Munroe
Guy David
Bonchance and Sevi
Logan Berry
Steven Saus – and his book!
Chris the Nuclear Kid
Cliff
Julie
Danny
Norval Joe
TJ
Planet Z

And if you want to spam your social networks with this episode, use the Share buttons at the end of the post…

Obligatory cat photo:

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.

---

Tom

Cartesian grid

In a gentler age people lived in Hotels.

In a way it makes sense.

If you eliminate the need for all things kitchen

The room you need drops not only by square footage

But by raw functionality.

People bring you food; you eat, leaving the dishes for others

The restraint of Hotel life limits family building

So you don’t need more that one bed room.

Since there isn’t a financial drain toward child rearing

Moneys can go to the really important stuff

Books lots of books.

So you got a bed, books, and bathtub

What more could you possible want?

Thomas

The hotel was located a little off the freeway next to a meat market. It was a two story building, painted a bright red, and festooned with gaudy neon lights that blinked “Vacancy, Vacancy” Tom and Ellen pulled in late after their full day of driving South . Tom signed in as John and Nancy Smith, and they went to the room overlooking the large pool. The pool was empty, and there seemed to be no other people around. There was one other car in the lot. Tom appreciated the quiet and marveled at how reasonable the room rate was.

##############

The CostaBaja Hotel was full of kids on Spring break, so Tom and Ellen had to find an out-of-the-way room, far from the popular beach. The room was in a modest, old neighborhood, and the woman that greeted them at the door welcomed them and said they could stay in the room if they didn’t mind sharing the bathroom. During the night, nature called, and Tom went down the hall to the bathroom. There was lots of splashing and movement in the bathroom. The door was ajar and Tom looked in to see four, large, squidmen frolicking in the tub.

Tura

Welcome to the Aldebaran Imperial Hotel. These instructions are for your safety and convenience.

All rooms are colour-coded by environmental type. Yours is oxygen: blue. Public areas are vacuum: white.

Environment suits MUST be worn outside your designated zone. Remember that YOU may be toxic to THEM.

DO NOT ENTER PURPLE AREAS UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES.

Do not approach strangers other than hotel staff, unless you are sure that you are familiar with their species and their social customs.

The Hotel cannot be held responsible for injury or death, in whatever manner, resulting from disregard of these instructions.

Enjoy your stay.

Lizzie

“What’s he building in there,” the kids thought as they peeked through the dusty windows in the back. The old man stayed in the basement of the hotel for days on a row. Darkness engulfed his shadow even deeper as he paced back and forth. Strange noises, hammering sounds. The scar on his face, the tattoo on his arm, was he in jail? Every now and then he glanced at the windows and the kids cringed, wondering what he was building in there. They could swear they heard someone moaning the other day. Where is that poet who went missing…? (Inspired by Tom Waits song “What’s He Building in There”)

Serendipity

Hotel

A soft tap at the door; “Room service!”, then the clink and rattle of the breakfast trolley.

“I never ordered breakfast”, I protest, shuffling out of bed.

“Nonsense, Sir… The speciality; champagne breakfast with black truffle omelette. Enjoy!” – he smiles proffering my chair.

I shrug and sit.

It’s excellent and I tuck in with a hearty appetite.

“Just sign here, Mr Lambert”

Lambert?

The room number on the slip is 838… I’m in 833!

Half-eaten egg and popped champagne are cleared with a frown and now he’s stood at the door, hand outstretched expectantly.

“You want a damn tip!”

Zackmann

I was a little worried about working security for a hotel during a supervillain convention until I realised most are waiting for The Method to the Madness: A Guide to the Super Evil. I think it being especially calm for a convention likely because many of attendees are working on their submissions since they are due at the end of next month. I should have my kid help me write an essay for it about not using a security, housekeeping, or police job as a supervillain cover, Since we are the first people who investigators check. Everyone watches the watchers.

Munsi

Well since my baby left me, I found a new place to dwell.

I had to. She kept the house.

And the kids.

I see them every other weekend, but in between it’s just me, alone in the hotel I’m staying in until I find an apartment.

I should be looking for an apartment, but I feel like doing that makes it somehow more permanent.

This is permanent.

It’s my own fault, I know. One lapse in judgment and my life came tumbling down. I have nobody to blame but myself, but sometimes…

…I get so lonely I could die.

Guy

We are pretty sure there’s a dimensional rift on room 306. Every once in a while one of the guests goes in. Problem is it’s an exchange. What goes out looks like the guest, but we are pretty sure it’s a demon. We know it by the way he abuses the hotel employes, being rude to the maids and abusive to the bell boys, so we use our special anti-demon contraption aka demon cage. Once it’s inside demanding a lawyer, we dispose of it in the river. In fact, there might be dimensional rifts on other rooms as well.

Sevi and Bonchance

Hotel

One
Hotel bed
On borrowed time
Needed night of respite
To let your body rest.
Strange noises echo all around you
Forcing your dreams to be interrupted rudely
You pull the musty pillow over your ears
Trying to drown out the sudden banging and thundering
The constant comings and goings.
Counting sheep thinking it will help ease your soul
Your body weary, begging for slumber, you pray
For the sounds to go away momentarily
Staring at the ceiling, wide awake
Sleep stolen by thin walls
You count little white sheep
They float over fences
Wake up call
This hotel
Sucks!

Hotel

Tom stood at the floor to ceiling window of his hotel room. The latest winter storm raged outside. He took a bite of the complimentary cookie then sipped the hot free coffee, the perfect dinner.

He watched a motorist dig out an opening in the wall of snow to make another attempt to get his car out of the lot.

A twinge of guilt poured over him, he would miss his daughter’s first ballet recital.
He checked all of the road conditions. He knew he had made the right choice in not attempting the long drive home.
The guilt remained.

Logan Berry

The first Thursday of every month they meet at a hotel, a different hotel every time, according to the order they appear in the telephone directory. They alternate procuring reservations, under names selected in alphabetical order from the The Big Book of Surnames, in the chapter, ”Most Common”.

They don’t speak, except in private sign language. They turn on the TV, fairly loud, and then play a recording. The recording is mostly silent, with the occasional cough, or snore, or flush of a toilet.

They make love soundlessly.

Until one day when they both cry out at once, so intense is their passion. In horror they dress quickly, and leave separately, never to meet again.

Steven the Nuclear Man

The school’s playground equipment squeaks behind Gretchen and Harvey
as they crawl under the brambly bushes. Gretchen stands on the far
side, a smirk flitting between her pigtails as Harvey wheezes, out of
breath.

Harvey looks up, past his classmate, and sees it first. “Candy!” The
children run for the strange building, entranced by the candycane
pillars, the gingerbread walls, the icing trim.

Their teacher’s voice carries across the bushes. “Harvey! Gretchen!
Recess is over!” Reluctantly, the children leave.

Inside, two witches glare furiously after the children.

The older witch snaps off a bit of peppermint. “Don’t check out, huh?”

Chris the Nuclear Kid

I followed Firehawk to the hotel. It had a hard-to-miss, multicolored sign reading The Inn

“I have prepared a room for our guest Firehawk” said the innkeeper.

“Thank you.” “She will show you to your room, we can talk in the morning.” Said Firehawk.

“Thank you, you have been very kind.” I replied.

The room was small and there was a map and a piece of paper with holes in it in the corner of the room. Looking at the paper closer I could see writing on its edge. “I’ll look at it in the morning.” I muttered to myself.

Julie

Housekeeping

I asked the maid to clear it all away– the merlot-stained glass, the towels, your coffee cup—to remove any reminder that you had been here, even briefly.

It is now a lovely memory; however, I need to wipe away the tangible vestiges because it is all so sweet, so unreal, that dwelling upon it is causing me physical pain.

And so I stare out at this city, buried in the fog and rain. I check the windows. They do not, blessedly, open. I am given a reprieve.

I sob, I wait for sleep. I curl against a pillow, which still bears your scent. I wouldn’t let the maid change the sheets.

Cliff

Checking in at the Full Moon Inn

The sign said “No Vacancy”. I rang the desk bell anyway. The clerk looked like a beard with eyes.
“We’re full.”
“Really? This place has probably a hundred rooms and you got eight cars in the lot.”
“We’re full.”
I slapped a hundred on the counter. He smiled, showing more pointy teeth than anyone should have.
Anyone natural, that is.
Heading to my room, I passed several guests. They looked like rejects from the Westminster dog show.
In my room, I loaded the spare magazines with silver rounds. Tomorrow, I would be dead or finally have the title Wolf’s Bane.

Hotel

Jack, a volunteer test subject for an experimental drug that shrinks the human body to tiny proportions, was put up in a luxury beachside hotel on the Gulf of Mexico. ” I can leave a free Hotel,” Jack murmured, heavily sedated by the drug, “just like Homer Simpson’s cartoon show, what’s the name if it?” Tiny Jack was now living inside an actual Monopoly game hotel, on a cocktail table on the beach. Suddenly, Jack’s body expands, shards of Monopoly hotel slice through his body. Several 1000 stitches later, Jack is fine, but he still cannot remember the name of Homer Simpson’s show.

Norval Joe

Owen woke, cold and soggy.
His cloak had done little to seal out the continuous drizzle throughout the night. He warmed slightly as they found the road and picked up their pace. But he was still wet, increasingly muddy and the rain continued.
Only the thought that the ranger, Traveller, had promised he would sleep in a real bed that night kept him going.
At dusk the company stood before a hovel, not much more than a pile of boards leaned against one another.
“What’s that?” Owen asked in despair.
Traveller patted Owen’s back and laughed, “The inn, of course.”

TJ

The knock was insistent. Which was the second unusual thing about this
night. My reservations at the Westwood Inn had been lost and reassigned
in a computer glitch, but the night desk manager assured me that my new
room, a suite, would be far more comfortable. Fine by me since they
comped the increased cost, but now, at 4:37 a.m., who did the person
knocking so frantically from the adjoining room suppose that I was? I
pulled my robe around my shoulders and opened the door to discover a
frightened, agitated woman. “Please help me,” she implored.
“It’s my daughter.”

Planet Z

Back in grade school, there was this kid who did magic.

He worked with cards, coins, and interlocking rings.

But his best trick was sticking four Monopoly houses in his mouth and spitting out a hotel.

We made him open his mouth to see if he had the houses under his tongue.

Nope. Because he’d swallowed them.

Plastic Monopoly houses are supposed to be non-toxic and safe, but one somehow caused an ulcer. They rushed him into surgery, and he died from an allergic reaction to the anesthesia.

At the funeral, his mom really let loose with the water works.