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?

The Last Time

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The last time I saw her, she was dancing in the middle of the street.
It wasn’t safe there, with all the traffic, but she was enthralled with some tune or poem in her head, and she just raised her arms in the air and turned like she was fending off really slow bees.
A scream pierces the air. But it’s not her, she hasn’t been hit yet.
They’re screaming for her to get out of the street. People on the sidewalks are doing that, too.
Nobody runs out to grab her. The traffic’s too thick. They just keep yelling.

Weekly Challenge #73 – Lighter

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Welcome to the seventy-third 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 Caleb Bullen of the Black Tie Martini Club, and it was: Lighter.
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):

Which were the best stories in Weekly Challenge #73
Elisson of blog d’Elisson
Jerry
Guy David of The Sixteenth
Tom from Footnote
Laieanna from HodgePodge Point
Chris from Platypus Society
Caleb from Black Tie Martini Club
Yxes of 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!


ELISSON

It was a pleasure to set foot on dry land: my mood was more elevated than it had been in weeks. Recovering my land legs after stepping off the flat-bottomed barge that had taken me ashore was no easy task. I was giddy!
Having subsisted on ship’s rations, I had lost considerable weight. Happily, this made it easier for me to dodge the wharfside traffic, nimbly avoiding lorries and carts. I darted into the tobacconist and purchased a celebratory cigar, one with a milder flavor and paler wrapper than my usual.
Bedam! I had no device for igniting my cigar!

JERRY

The lightermen loaded the lighter with the light boxes from the dimly lighted hold of the lightly loaded ship and lightly pushed off toward the dock by the light of the moon.
The light lighter rocked as a light breeze pushed the lightly disturbed water into light waves against the lighters light hull.
The lightermen used the light ores to lightly steer the lighter across the harbor toward the lightly lit pier. Once in the warehouse the lightly armed police lightly steeped from the shadows.
What else could they expect.
They were smuggling contraband lighters into a smoke free city.

GUY

– I had my stomach pumped this monday.
They took out an electric guitar,
They took out a half used car,
They took out a lawnmower,
They took out a torch thrower,
They took out a wheel,
They took out some still,
They took out a baby,
They took out a lady,
They took out a song,
They took out something wrong,
They took out an old or login,
They took out a large evergreen.
I feel much lighter now, I can hop around like a happy kangaroo.
– Randy, when are you going to fix that hole? We just lost another goat.

TOM

It’s not easy being a celestial host. For one thing you don’t get a name or gender. He was just Incandescent Being 4830175/b. He became John after discovering John Wayne movies. The hyper analytic beings near him pointed out perhaps Marion would have been a better choice. Things got really dicey when John saw City of Angles. He sauntered over to God to get the skinny on this fall thing. “Well it’s not really a fall,” said God “It’s a float.” After millenniums of effort John final figured out the floating thing. It was just a matter of getting lighter.

LAIEANNA

By 18, Chad was a burly man, but also very simple. His size and strength kept down the teasing when he was a kid and even won him a group of rough and tumble friends. Growing up, they drank, fought, and dared each other to perform stupid dangerous stunts. This helped Chad become big, dumb, and tough.
At his first local concert, Chad wanted to celebrate with a waving lighter, like his friends, but had none. So he stuck his fat thumb into a nearby flame and shook the thumb torch in the air. Others screamed, he just yelled, “Freebird!”

CHRIS

I’ll never forget the day my good friend Andy Dufresne set the warden’s pants on fire.
While in his office cooking the books, Andy found the warden’s lighter sitting carelessly on the desk. Using his rock hammer and a pen, Andy punched a hole in the casing. When the warden tried to light a cigar, the lighter burst into flames in his hand. He screamed so loud every inmate in Shawshank prison heard him.
That evening, Andy was skull raped by a pack of horny bull queers, but he didn’t mind. All things considered, it was still a good day.

CALEB

Remember that old Alfred Hitchcock episode where Peter Lorre bets a Cadillac versus a finger that Steve McQueen’s zippo won’t light ten times in a row? I was thinking about that as I wrote my story. I rested my hand on an old paper cutter with the blade up, and flicked my zippo as I wrote. I finished the story on number 10. Would I win a Cadillac or lose a finger? When it lit, I flinched and down came the blade. That made me drop the zippo onto my notebook, destroying the story and my finger. Still… I won.

YXES

One dream haunted her day and night,
Relentless in it’s seducing call to her innocence.
She had already forsaken all of her friends and family,
Simply because she was driven by an unforeseen power she couldn’t deny.
She sits on the sun-warmed beach and loses herself in what she sees before her.
Big white fluffy clouds dot a bright blue sky
Marshmallow castles puffing up, floating in their majestic array.
Studying them, she is mesmerized by their pure definition and depth
She knows where she can find her perfect happiness.
Running towards them, arms held longingly upward,
She drifts to the clouds, lighter than a feather.

PLANET Z

Grace challenged herself to lose 50 pounds by summertime.
She hung a bikini on the refrigerator. Every time she went to get something to eat, she’d look at it, shrug, and eat too much anyway.
Her doctor prescribed some diet pills, but she only lost a few pounds with them.
So, she talked to a friend, who knew a friend who could get her something stronger. Much stronger.
When summertime arrived, Grace was sixty pounds lighter.
And totally bugfuck insane.
Sure, the bikini fit. Looked absolutely stunning in it.
Then they put her in a straitjacket and took her away.


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.

Strippers

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Old Joe was a funny man, great to be around.
Every night, he’d shuffle from strip club to strip club, peeling off five-dollar bills from a roll as thick as a cabbage.
I don’t know how long he’d been doing this, but that roll never ran out. Not to his dying day.
At his funeral, the place was packed wall-to-wall with strippers, and by the end of the service, the floor was a sea of veils and black dresses.
One final party.
There in the center, old Joe, smiling in his coffin, gripping that bundle of fives.

Hand Of Revenge

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A man’s reach should exceed his grasp, the old saying goes.
In the silvery moonlight, a severed hand crawls its way through the forest.
It’s been crawling for a while, because it’s all tangled up in vines and dead leaves. Completely covered in dirt.
Don’t ask how it performs this hideous task. To learn of the magic spells that impel this hand is to earn oneself eternal damnation.
Just stay back, let the hand pass, and know that whomever it is seeking will suffer great pain.
But not as much as the one-handed wretch who sent it out, seeking revenge.