Spaghetti Eastern

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Alfonso’s was the best Indian restaurant in the Sierra Madre. In fact, it was the only Indian restaurant in the Sierra Madre.
[By Indian, of course, we mean East Indian, not Indigenous American.]
Gnarled, bewhiskered prospectors seeking a fine Chicken Korma or a piquant Lamb Vindaloo flocked to Alfonso’s, where you could get anything from hot naan to creamy saag paneer. For dessert? Kheer, delicately scented with cardamom.
The only weak spot on the menu? Fritters. Alfonso couldn’t make a fritter to save his life.
But did he care? No, he did not.
“Bhajis? We ain’t got no stinking bhajis.”

A Swinging Bad Time

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You’ll have to forgive me for not replying to your email.
You see, I’ve got one of those laptops with a fingerprint reader.
The problem is, I cut my finger in the kitchen while chopping up lettuce for salad.
Now the laptop doesn’t know who I am.
There’s an option to use the password, but it’s been so long since I’ve used a password for my laptop, I can’t remember my password.
So I went to a hypnotist, and he swung a watch in front of my eyes for an hour.
But all I could recall was “A swinging watch.”

Valentines Day Special

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I shot my promo into the air.
Where it would play, I knew not where.
But fourteen arrows came flying back.
I swear, y’all gave me a heart attack

This is the Valentine’s Day Special at 100 Word Stories Podcast, brought to you by… you!
Thanks to everyone who sent in a story.

(and the Deranged Bard From Planet Z!)
If you’d like, we can do these special holiday editions every so often in addition to weekly challenges if y’all want.
Or not.
Anyway, here’s the stories, and I think you’re going to enjoy the hell out of them:


ELISSON

I was not quite ten when I fell in love for the first time.
We were visiting my grandparents in Miami, where they kept a mountain of old Reader’s Digests. It was in their yellowed pages that I met her.
She was a twelve-year-old Catholic girl from a small Quebec town. My heart melted when I saw her. She had sandy hair and wore glasses. She was adorable, and I fell hopelessly in love.
Hopelessly.
My love would never be, could never be, reciprocated. She had died of leukemia.
Forty-five years later, the thought of her still breaks my heart.

TABITHA

I am happy. After months of searching, fruitless dating and throwing money away at eharmony I have found the love of my life. My boyfriend. He is warm, snuggly, handsome, brave. He likes stirring up trouble and doesn’t mind when I don’t always look my best. He is the best boyfriend a girl could ask for. He can be a bit lazy, but it’s in these times he shows himself truly romantic.
So this valentine’s day I won’t be alone like countless ones before now. I have my cat. Wait, did I forget to mention my cat’s name is Myboyfriend?

TOM

Louie handed Sister Mary Henry a red construction paper heart.
“Will you be my Valentine?”
“I’m your teacher.” Said the Nun.
Louie looked confused.
“I’m a Nun.” She replied.
Louie’s expression remained.
“Louis I am so much old then you sweet boy.”
He was unshaken by all arguments
so the sister took a different tacked.
“I will be your Valentine if you make the same beautiful heart for
all the other children.”
30 years later Cardinal Louise LaCore receive his noble for his work in Africa Sister Henry stood by his side in hand
a frail construction paper heart.

KELLY BURT

Love can be questionable for some and absolute for others. It can be shortly defined or if you are lucky–often demonstrated.
For me, love is not an item to be wrapped with bow and displayed for all to judge its worth. It’s the unexpected kiss, a wink from across a crowded room. It’s really having the valentine feeling on any day of the year. It’s the way my “valentine” makes me feel. So, here we find ourselves at yet another commercial holiday. Thankfully, I find myself loved and not at the return counter of lost love. Thank you, Russell.

PATTI

Valentine’s Day was different on Earth; she was still trying to get used to it. Red hearts, candies, flowers. It made no sense. What did this all have to do with The Valentine Day?
She grew wistful remembering home. How the single men would prepare for weeks with a diet of raw vegetables and fresh corn. On the special day, a man would produce the most beautiful dung mound, wrap it in brown paper, and leave the package aflame on his intended’s doorstep. It was all in good fun, but plenty of matches made in heaven started that way.

TED

She told me she wanted it to be a “special” Valentines Day. She said she was ready to give me her heart. Honestly, nobody had ever really done that before.
How would I handle that? I mean, I believe that for someone to truly give their heart to another person, well.. It MUST be love. Real love.
How could I say no? Hadn’t I been waiting for this my whole life? I gladly accepted her gift to me. The time had come. She was ready, I was ready. With eager anticipation, I took her heart.. With a fucking chainsaw…

JUSTIN and AMANDA

So, what you want for valentines day, hon?
I dunno
How about chocolate?
No. I look like a cow as it is!
If so then you’re the sexiest cow I’ve ever seen.
Whatever.
Hey, I think that’s our song! Care to dance?
Why not.
Steve?
Yes, Tina.
You don’t have to get me anything. These last seven months have been amazing, Having you is all I could ever want.
You sure?
As sure as I can be. Just come over to my place and DON’T bring the video camera this time.
As long as you promise you won’t moo.
Deal.

HOUSTON KEYS

I’m the banjo playing midget Laurence keeps in his basement. I have a confession to make.
Everyone thinks I hang around here to read the literary masterpieces submitted every weekend. Does anyone think I want to read any more of that crap Houston writes?
What kind of name is that anyway? It sounds like a string of islands from downtown. The goofball lives in Dallas. How stinking confusing.
I’m here for my one true love, Laurence Simon.
“I love you midget.”

Hopping Mad

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After a year in the hospice, columnist Art Buchwald died and his spirit went to Heaven.
However, when he arrived, he still only had one leg.
“Where is my other leg?” asked Art.
“We’re not sure,” said Saint Peter. “We’ve checked the warehouses, but there’s a huge backlog in inventory. Plus, there’s a problem with routing issues these days.”
After a brief discussion, they gave Art a set of canes and told him to come back in six months.
Sure, Art had a set of wings like everyone else, but landings can be a real bitch with just one leg.

Brassy

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I sat down on my welcome mat and stared at the bizarre doorknob on my front door.
The old brass fixture had been replaced with the talking animated doorknob from Alice In Wonderland.
And it didn’t want to open.
I waved a key in front of its eyes.
“This is the key to my house,” I said. “Now open the door.”
“That key’s dirty!” said the doorknob. “Clean it first!”
“I’ve got nothing to clean it with,” I said. “Open wide.”
“I’ll bite your fingers off!” it threatened, snapping its teeth.
I really need to cut back on the acid.

The Wacky Adventures of Abraham Lincoln 74

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It was Bath Day, and the White House tub was full of warm sudsy water.
The problem was that Abraham Lincoln would be so busy doing his Presidential duties that he’d end up being the last to the tub.
The water was often quite foul by then, and sometimes a family member would accidentally break the tub.
So Abe finished his work, closed up his desk, and came upon a frightful scene.
“The bottom is out of the tub!” shouted Abe. “What shall I do?”
There was no answer.
So he stripped naked, went outside, and took a dust bath.

Weekly Challenge #43 – Staff Of Life

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Welcome to the forty-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 Elisson from blog d’Elisson, and it’s Staff Of Life.
Eight stories were submitted this week. We’re melting! Melting!
No rookies joined in, but a few recent rookies have been making up for absent veterans… yay!
And, once again, some disturbing madness from Planet Z.
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):

Who had the best story in Weekly Challenge #43?
Caleb from Black Tie Martini Club
Elisson of blog d’Elisson
Tom from Footnote
Terrence from Never Was
Laieanna from HodgePodge Point
Caroline from Quadra
Kelly Burt from Come Let Me Whisper
K Nine from Dead Dog Walkin
The Twisted Bard of Planet Z
  
Free polls from Pollhost.com


WE GOTS PRIZES:
I will be sending the winner a prize… it’s a packet containing at least 1 refrigerator magnet and a CD with the archive of the entire 100 word stories podcast. (Well, minus promos and junk)
It is your voting that determines who wins. So listen, vote, and tune in next week to find out who won!


The full text of each story:
ELISSON

For years, the magazine was Required Reading in almost every American home.
It became a national icon after adopting its new photojournalism format in 1936. Covering everything from the momentous to the mundane, its renowned photographers – Edward Steichen and Alfred Eisenstaedt among them – filled its pages with Pulitzer prize-winning pictures.
But now it was 1972, and the tastes of America had changed. Sales plummeted.
Henry Luce called his employees in to give them the bad news. He couldn’t afford to pay them.
How ironic, he thought. It simply took too much bread to maintain the staff of /Life/.

TOM

I pretty much lived at the Staff of Life for three years. The bakery was owned and run by surfers, thus an extremely loose work ethic. When Wayne and I took over the shipping operation our Chicago ways rattled the Santa Cruz sensibilities. We worked 14 hours shifts and once we craved out a work space we guarded it violently. It wasn’t uncommon to see signage saying “Touch this and die.” And “Put anything on this shelf we’ll break your fucking fingers.” We were bad asses in the land of pauchlee. Where we walked whispers, “There goes Mr. Bad Vibes.”

TERRENCE

I bet you don’t know this but I have been written out of the book.
That’s right me, Raoul have been written out. I bet you’re wondering
why?
Well, back in the day, I was the only one that had one and I knew how
to use it. I had that little lady hanging off my finger. One day,
after our encounter, I gave her a snack. Well that little tramp took
one bite and ran off to share it with him. This upset the guy
upstairs and after throwing them out, he gave every man the staff of
life.

LAIEANNA

“Here’s the primary part of our facility.”
“Quite an establishment you guys developed.”
“We had to change with the times. There are a lot more people in this
world than when we first started and we’re not getting any younger.
It just became to much for the three of us to handle. Our staff is
fully trained in each of the duties, and we offer a great benefit for
our employees.”
“You mean benefits.”
“No, benefit…immortality. What more do you need?”
“Oh! Do I qualify to work at Fates Incorporated? I always wanted to
put people’s lives into my hands.”

CARRIE

My name it aint nothing, said Moses when God asked him to lead the children of Israel out. Zipporah quickly zipped off Gershom’s foreskin to appease Him, and saved the day. Moses threw his staff onto the floor, it turned into a snake. Pharaoh’s magicians did the same- He took the staff of life and hit the Nile. Blood everywhere. The magician’s copied. Moses stretched out his staff over the waters, frogs covered the land. The magician’s copied. Then flies, boils, hail, dead sheep. “Why can’t we do that,” cried the magicians.
“See what you can do when God’s on your side.” Replied Moses.

K NINE

“Guardian Angel Number Three reporting… That was a
close one”
K-nine had almost stepped out in front of a speeding
cab, but then had to stop to scratch his ankle at the
curb. As he blissfully wandered down Austin’s 6th
Street, Angel Five made him crave a hamburger just
before he bought a ptomaine tainted hotdog from a
street vendor. Angel Two arranged for a huge biker to
walk back into a bar before K-nine winked at said
biker’s girlfriend. Angels One and Four rested before
their shift. It was a tough job being on this
particular Staff of Life.

CALEB

Once a year they square off in secret, The Staff of Life Magazine and the Staff of Life Cereal. The game they play is ancient and deadly, similar to soccer or rugby but played with a human head.
The prize? The winners win the Staff Of Life Staff Of life trophy. They also get to sacrifice and eat the flesh of the losers.
They used to just play for beers after the game but ever since Mikey grew up and became team captain it’s gotten increasingly gruesome. You know Mikey, he’ll eat anything. He likes it. He really likes it!

KELLY BURT

It’s never good when a child realizes that they are cooler than an older sibling, but for Katie, it was mortifying.
She never knew of this less-than-attractive life her older brother lived. She didn’t know that there were secrets that should have been kept.
She won’t ever forget the scene set before her. The dice, books, and was that a G.M.? Alas, what will be etched in her memory forever is her brother pretending to resurrect a dead elvish maiden, “Live damn you. I call upon the Staff of Life.”
“What a geek,” said Katie, shaking her head.

Z

“Give us now our daily bread,” chanted the room full of monks, heads bowed over the tables in the dining hall.
One stood up. “Johnson got a high score in DDR last night!” he shouted.
All the other monks stood up and cheered, and Johnson was raised to their shoulders in a victory lap around the dining hall.
The abbot thumped his cane on the floor and scowled at the raucous mealtime disruption.
The cheering stopped.
“Return to your seats!” growled the venerable leader.
He’d have to bust some seriously wicked moves to get the honor of high score back.


Thanks to everyone for sending in their stories, and I look forward to what you’ve got to write (and say) next week.
The theme for next week’s Weekly Challenge will be posted shortly.
(In case you’re interested, I’ve settled on “Clair de Lune” as the opening music and “Moonshine” by Michael Oldfield from the Tubular Bells II album.)

Phantom Pain

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As a kid, I compulsively bit my fingernails.
I chewed them ragged and bloody.
Nothing could get me to stop.
After years of suffering, I finally went to a hypnotist.
He convinced me that they weren’t there to bite.
It worked.
On the way home, I was walking through Sears when I noticed the Craftsman display.
I mounted a blade into a circular saw and plugged it in.
The first finger was the hardest to cut off.
The rest were much, much easier.
They call it phantom pain. I still feel them there.
But I don’t want to bite them.

The King

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He had brought King Kong back alive from Skull Island at the cost of fifteen men and untold thousands of dollars. His attempt to exhibit the beast on Broadway was a complete flop, thanks to the kind ministrations of the SPCA, PETA, and the unions. And Ann Darrow was in therapy.
But big as he was, Kong was still a monkey.
Denham dodged as Kong lobbed a Volkswagen-sized turd. Moments later, ten gallons of hot Ape-Spooge spattered the bars of the gargantuan enclosure.
Eighth Wonder of the World, my ass, thought Denham. Still a fucking monkey.

The Big Hand Is On The Ten, The Little Hand Is On The Twelve, And The Slowhand Is On The Slab

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I clawed my way out of the yellow time-bubble and ran for the backstage.
“Stevie!” I yelled. “Don’t get on that goddamned chopper!”
His bodyguards put up a fight, but Stevie got curious and wanted to take a took at me.
Then he punched my lights out, because Clapton had gotten his seat.
I had meant to save them both, but I guess I blew it.
When the “local” Time Society bailed me out, I was given a warning.
And a commendation.
“At least there’s no more ‘No More Tears In Heaven,'” it said. “That song was damned annoying.”