I Quit

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Yeah, my job sucks. It’s sucked for a very long time.
So, I put my two weeks notice in with the boss.
“You can’t quit,” said God.
“Why not?” I said.
“You’re Satan,” said God. “You’re The Devil.”
“Well, I quit,” I said.
“You can’t quit,” God said again. “You became The Devil when you quit being one of my angels.”
“I don’t want to be one of your angels,” I said. “And I don’t want to be The Devil any more, either.”
God isn’t sure what to do with me now. But I’ve got one Hell of a resume.

Sidney Sunsweet

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Americans are familiar with the story of Johnny Appleseed, who walked the length and breadth of the land while sowing the seeds of the great MacIntosh, Winesap, and Cortland, laying the foundations for today’s mighty orchards.
Alas, the story of Sidney Sunsweet is not nearly as well known. But Sidney walked the length and breadth of America ten years before Johnny was out of knee-pants, scattering seeds wherever he went. Prune seeds.
For Sidney was an aficionado of the Noble Prune, the “fruit that eats like a meal.” His motto?
“Eat Fruit with the Wrinkling: You’ll crap in a twinkling.”

The New Black

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Terrence McLean wrote this one for “The New Black” Weekly Challenge, but never got around to recording it.
Until now.


Looking across the room Raoul laugh at how absurd his brother looked
in the new outfit. For centuries his brother had instilled fear in
anyone who saw him in his long black cloak and carrying his scythe.
‘Do not look at me like that.’ His voice echoed in Raoul’s skull.
“You expect anyone to be frightened of you wearing that?”
‘Fear is your realm, not mine.’
“You have never been a slave to fashion. After all who’s a worn cloak
in more than a century?”
‘I thought it was time for an update. They say pink, is the new black.’

Monkey Joke

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Three monkeys go into a bar.
Bartender asks the first monkey what he wants.
Monkey says he wants a banana daiquiri
So, Bartender makes one, and he goes to a corner booth
Bartender asks the second monkey what he wants.
He wants a banana daiquiri
So, Bartender makes one, and the monkey goes to the corner booth
The two monkeys in the booth are all over each other, pawing and groping.
Bartender says “So, you want a banana daiquiri like your friends?”
Third monkey shouts: “What, you think I’m some sort of faggot like those two? Gimme a beer, dammit.”

Weekly Challenge #74 – Prunes

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Welcome to the seventy-fourth Weekly Challenge, where I post a topic and then challenge you to come up with a 100 word story based on that topic.
The topic this week was selected by Elisson of blog d’Elisson and he chose: Prunes.
The excellent theme music is by Guy David
SOMETHING NEW
Due to popular demand, I am going to include stories that were sent to me, but without a recording. However, since the midget has left for sunny Coral Gables, Florida, those stories will just be posted in the show notes. You’re more than welcome to vote for them, but they will be ineligible for prizes or topic selection.
I feel that this is a fair balance between the podcast and blog natures of this content.
Feel free to share your thoughts on this decision in the comments, and we might possibly come up with an even better and more fair policy for handling these kinds of situations.
VOTING
Go ahead and listen to them by clicking on the grammophone thingy there in the left column and then vote for your favorites (multiple selections are allowed):

What were the best stories of Weekly Challenge #74?
Caleb from Black Tie Martini Club
Chris of Platypus Society
Guy David of The Sixteenth
Tom from Footnote
J.D. White
Terrence from Never Was
Laieanna at Hodgepodge Point
Daphne from Going Broke
Yxes from Podmafia
The Mad Bard of Planet Z
  
Free polls from Pollhost.com

WE GOTS PRIZES:
I will be sending the winner a prize… it’s refrigerator magnets for the podcast. Massive amounts of fridge magnets were mailed out in the past week… watch your mail, and let me know if I’ve missed you.
It is your voting that determines who wins. So listen, vote, and tune in next week to find out who won!


CALEB

Floating along upon balloons
You’ll see them sometimes at the dunes
Nestled in among the loons
Vikings carving runes on prunes
To chase away those raisin goons
The ancient magic of dried fruits
Noblest of all pursuits
Were singing raisins really cute
Or maybe created by suits
No! They were terrifying brutes
Nearly destroying all mankind
Insinuating in the mind
Of those to sights like magic blind
Helpless as an old melon rind
On which those raisins cruelly dined
But Viking prunes all carved with runes
Protect us all from home to mall
Safe in the street
Thanks to Sunsweet

CHRIS

When it came to food council adverts, Brad Thompson was a genius. Beef, it’s what’s for dinner. The incredible, edible egg. Got milk? All his, all brilliant.
So when the National Prune Council decided they wanted to improve their advertising presence, who did they call on? That’s right, Brad Thompson.
Just one problem. Brad had a stroke last year. He’s pretty much fully recovered, except for the uncontrollable, involuntary swearing.
We told the Prune Council about Brad’s condition but they insisted on him anyways. Oh well, I hope they like Brad’s campaign idea:
Prunes: you’ll shit like a fucking horse.

GUY

The king loved his apricots. Everyone knew that, that is, everyone except the new servant who brought him prunes by mistake. The king was furious and the sentence was immediate, “of with his head”!
Jasmineyna, the servants’ wife, was furious. Now, you don’t want to anger a sorceress, especially not one of Jasmineynas’ skill level. In the morning, they found the king with an apricot tree growing out of his gut, and… very much alive. In the end they just left him there.
They say the king is still there, living off his apricot tree. He really loves his apricots.

TOM

When they remove your wisdom teeth
they give ya codeine for the pain.
It dulls the hurt quite nicely.
The trouble is it works a bit too well.
It stops everything.
The prevailing wisdom to keep things flowing is
to use the magic bullet of constipation: The Prune.
On day three after extraction I was on a express bus
half way between San Jose and Santa Cruz.
The lower intestines gurgled twisted and pulsed.
I held tight tears filling my eyes.
When the bus reached the station
I leaped off and dash for the john.
The experience was nearly religious.

JD

Prunes?
Laurence, what has gotten into you.
In trying to jump start my internal processes I have read a bunch of the 3,421,276 net entries concerning prunes.
So far, no luck.
I have been setting here, in my little thinking room off the hall, for the last 6 days attempting to flush out 100 words with Prunes.
This week prunes have done nothing for me.
You would think at my age prunes would do something.
Come on Laurence, do you really think that Prunes are something that can help keep podcasting.isfullofcrap.com on a regular schedule?
OOPS, Got to run now.

TERRENCE

Raoul looked up as his brother entered the room. He carried a glass
filled with a dark liquid. “What is that?” Since the whole pink is
the new black thing he had seen his brother trying on wigs, getting a
manicure and even going on a diet.
‘Prune juice’
“Why?”
‘I just realised that I’m not regular. I cannot even remember going
to the bathroom.’ He tipped the glass and drained it. The prune
juice splashed against the floor between his feet.
“You do realise that you do not have a stomach.”
‘What does that have to do with it?’

LAIEANNA

Growing up changed Charlie in a lot of ways. His health especially impacted how he saw his factory. This resulted in his products not holding the same quality as his mentors and it showed in sales.
Rather than revert back, he decided to, once again, open the factory to five lucky children. Tickets were randomly put into his merchandise and sent across the world. He then waited and watched.
Months later, the five were gathered, all senior citizens. Apparently his ChocoBrocco Bars, Caramel Covered Prunes, and Celery-Marshmallow Whips had a market.
The tour was just waiting for a few wheelchairs.

DAPHNE

When Little Tamara took her bath, Mrs. Kirshner would sing to her. She sang a song that made Tamara worry. She worried that just like a prune she would be covered in wrinkles all the time. When Little Tamara saw her fingers and toes start to wrinkle she begged her mommy to let her out of the tub. One night Little Tamara saw her mommy drawing the bath and there was steam coming off the water. Tamara began to cry. She was afraid that was turning into a prune.

YXES

Every year it was the same scary mansion, the same tattered ghosts, and the same creepy and disgusting gags to make the little kids squeal. This year, however, there was one small addition, a “tar pit”.
While the parents waited anxiously for their little sweethearts to emerge from the fog unscathed, one dad yelled, “There’s the tar pit. I hope they get across it okay.” Everyone giggled knowingly.
They slipped, they slided and soon were covered in the sweet, sticky ‘tar’, laughing and giggling the whole time. Suddenly a mom shouted, “Oh, good grief, these children are covered in prunes!”

Z

The lesson for the day in the Robotics Lab was transformations.
I started simple: “Grapes become raisins.”
“How is this?” said the robot. “Do they not also become wine?”
“Yes, but this is through a process of drying. Like plums becoming prunes.”
The robot pondered: “I do not know what a prune is.”
“They’re dried plums.”
“What are they used for?”
“Making you shit easier,” I mumbled.
The next day, I walked into the lab and discovered that the robot had filled his carapace with prunes.
“I still cannot shit,” it said weakly, circuits ruined by the acidic plum juice.


OTHER CRAP:
If Garf isn’t too annoyed with my constantly screwing up the call to the show last week, well, I’ll be trying to drop by his High Tech Texan Show on Saturday to give a report on stuff, things, and this-and-that.
There a way to write reviews for this podcast in iTunes and other directories. I’d appreciate any and all reviews of this podcast.
Your Mostly Fearless Leader doesn’t command you to do so, but he is somewhat whinily cajoling and imploring you to do so.
Let a tiny slice of the world know how much you like or don’t like or could care less about this not-quite-so-bold endeavor.
Thank you.

The Throne

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God’s away on a holiday again.
So, we angels take turns sitting in God’s Throne.
The problem is, the throne’s not designed for angels. The Heavenly Infirmary’s full of broken and bent wings.
Still, we sit in the throne. Michelangelo offers to paint us, but the line’s too long for paintings.
We’re also getting sloppy. The Guardian Division’s been dropping the ball, drinking on the job.
I heard one Guardian shoved a little old lady into the street that he was supposed to save from a bus.
He’s blaming it a bent wing.
Yeah, you’re right. Heaven’s going to Hell.

For My Girls

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Remember when bums used to hold up those WILL WORK FOR FOOD signs?
Bums never did want to work. Now, they just bless you and shit like that.
At least they’re honest now.
Back when they’d work for food, I took my daughter Jenny to get an abortion from one of them. Mman, did that bum work cheap.
Sure, Jenny lost her uterus, but at least she got scraped clean.
Her little sister Suzie, got knocked up but no roadside bum abortionists for her.
We’ll just head to a back alley in Mexico.
Nothing but the best for my girls.

Play Presidents

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Let’s go play with our Presidents in the sand box!
Bring all your Presidents! We’ll drive them all over and build castles and stuff!
The girls, they play tea party with their Presidents and dress them up in dresses and girly stuff.
Ewwwwwwww.
We’re boys. We’ll play football and baseball and have jousting tournaments and hunt dragons and…
Oh no. The sun’s going down. Our mothers will call us in for dinner soon. We don’t want to be late for dinner.
You take your Presidents and I’ll take mine and we’ll meet back up here tomorrow to play, okay?
Bye.

Ashes

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We place the new chief in a massive stone urn and pour the ashes in on top of him.
These are special, sacred ashes – the ashes of all chiefs, generations upon generations of tribal leaders that have come before.
This ceremony is supposed to pass along the wisdom of the ages, infusing our new leader with the strength and experience to guide us, but most times it just suffocates the dumb son of a bitch.
“Breathe in the knowledge!” commands the High Priest.
And the ceremony for New High Priests? They just paint their faces green and chant.
Go figure.

Drool

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Thor’s Drool, you say?
That’s not easy to come by. It’ll cost you.
Sure, Thor the Thunder God’s gone senile, not enough worshipers to get a bed in the Old Gods’ Home, but he’s still plenty dangerous when he’s lucid.
Eyes like burning ice, full beard with fresh war ribbons is how I like to remember him.
Now, he’s just a grimy angry old wretch living in a cave.
Hrm… let’s see…
I’ll send Rodney out to collect the drool for you. “Lucky Rod” I call him, but more like “Lightning Rod” when Thor’s aim is good.
Cash or charge?