The Wacky Adventures of Abraham Lincoln 68

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The war had not gone well, and Lincoln was glad to see 1861 come to a close.
“I do not feel like celebrating, but we might as well ring in the new year,” he said.
“Drunks!” growled Mary Todd. “Nothing but drunks out there!”
“If we take habitual drunkards as a class,” said Lincoln, “their heads and their hearts will bear an advantageous comparison with those of any other class.”
A drunk stumbled up the steps of the White House, groaned a “Happy New Year” and promptly keeled over, dead.
“Their horribly abused livers are another matter entirely,” said Lincoln.

Weekly Challenge #37 – Football/Referee

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Welcome to the thirty-seventh 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 supposed to be selected by K-Nine from Dead Dog Walkin’, and it’s football/referee.
Seven stories were submitted this week. Only single digits.
One rookie this week? Yay!
Planet Z is currently in retrograde and reliable communications have not been reestablished.
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 the 37th Weekly Challenge?
Tom from Footnote
Brother Osric from Brother Osric’s Scriptorium
Lisa from Lemons and Lollipops
Caleb Bullen from Black Tie Martini Club
K-Nine of Dead Dog Walkin’
Andrew Ian Dodge from Dodgeblogium
Laieanna at Hodgepodge Point
  
Free polls from Pollhost.com


WE GOTS PRIZES:
I will be sending the winner the cost of a cup of coffee through PayPal. And who’s on the five dollar bill? Heh heh heh…
So listen, vote, and tune in next week to find out who won!


The full text of each story:
TOM

The line surged.
WAPP!
“There’s a flag on that play,” intoned Dan.
On the field the ref squared his legs, rocked back and forth while pumping balled fists Parallel to the turf.
“What the hell does that mean?” crackled Dick franticly flipping through the referee’s hand signal field manual.
“Illegal uses of the groin, number 69”
echoes Billy “The Blind” Baxter head referee.
“That’s got to hurt America’s Team.”
“Yup, Carl “Steel Cojones” Clayton really stuck it to Oscar “Wienerman” Wilde.”
“That’s a 7.5 yard penalty.”
“I thought it was longer Dick?”
“No Dan shortest personal penalty in the game.

BROTHER OSRIC

“…that Rod Usher, Ulthar State cornerback, is today’s game MVP!” Cheers thundered throughout the stadium.
Phyllis hugged her sweetheart. “Go on, baby. You deserve it.”
“No,” Rod protested. “You come too. You’re my inspiration; I couldn’t have done it without you.”
She smiled. Together they mounted the platform, where Rod shook hands with the opposing team’s captain. “Good game,” mumbled the latter.
“Thank you,” said Rod, plunging the ceremonial dagger into the other’s abdomen and slashing upward. He reached in and extracted the heart, but instead of taking the first bite he offered it to Phyllis. “My inspiration,” he repeated.

LISA

Judy had it. When Fred forgot their anniversary and spent it watching football with the guys, she decided it was time to extract some “Football Widow” revenge.
A bad call in last week’s game had Fred bitching all week about that “idiot referee”. Judy decided to use this, after learning that very referee would be officiating the game they’d be attending together on Saturday.
During half-time, she made her way to the referee’s change-room, and as she was scoring her own “touchdown” with the offending ref, the reporters came in with a live-feed to the JumboTron for an interview.
Perfect.

CALEB

I went to the world cup in germany
While I was there I happened to see
A man taking pictures named Drew Carrey
My eyes they boggled till I had to pee
Didn’t he used to be funny
Three shows on TV and lots of money
Now he’s at a football match
With his camera going snap snap snap
I found him at a bar after the game
I learned he sells his pictures under an assumed name
He doesn’t want them to be bought because of his great fame
Drew Carrey has gone insane
The Ballad Of Drew Carrey

K-NINE

Bowl game day at the bar, and all the Miller Lite girls were dressed as referees. Mark walked up to the redhead.
“If I gave you my number, would you call me for holding?”
She barely glanced in his direction, “You’re out of bounds, pal”
Mark suddenly made illegal contact.
In the blink of an eye she whirled. The blinding flash of pain told him that the kick was good.
As Mark lay gasping, he saw her whisper “personal foul” to the bouncers. They dragged him towards the door where Mark was sure there would be roughing of the passer.

ANDREW

I dubbed us the Strangers XI.
The natives on the island the cruiseship birthed at for repairs from a “freak” storm, were keen to play us at the English game. The poor sods didn’t know that most of our side were either ex-division footballers or keen-amateurs. The lads didn’t even mind that the priest was ref.
Not a good ref, ignoring fouls but our lads didn’t care one jot. He couldn’t hide his contempt when we won.
He was incandescent with rage.
As we departed I could hear men’s screams of pain as we headed out to sea…and absolute terror.

LAIEANNA

Old man Jones didn’t know how to handle security when a major football game finally took place in our small town. The professionals pushed him aside so he decided to guard by the sidelines.
When a referee ran out giving signals, the 98 year old man charged down the field. Everyone cheered at the superb tackle. Seems Jones confused the referee with an escaped convict.
The spectacle was such a crowd pleaser that he was allowed one football spike. Unfortunately, it bounced back into his chest and he fell dead from a stopped heart. Still it was a great game.


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.)

Airport 2006

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We’re still not sure why, but the investigation concluded that the airport manager secretly replaced the supply of de-icing agent at Jefferson County Airport with Folger’s Crystals.
It didn’t take long to find out what would happen. Two executive jets froze up and crashed, and a third barely managed to get back on the ground.
The airport manager stuck a microphone in the pilot’s face. “Did you know that I substituted your de-icing agent with Folger’s Instant Crystals? Could you tell the difference?”
He’s in an insane asylum now, receiving plenty of medication.
And no instant coffee whatsoever, thank goodness.

Profit And Prophet

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Jerry Bruckheimer finished his pitch.
Sumner Redstone raised an eyebrow and imagined the protests and burning.
“No,” he said “Hell no.”
“But he helps the police solve crimes no one else can,” said Bruckheimer. “And he’s a prophet.”
“We are not doing CSI: Mecca,” said Sumner. “Not after all that cartoon crap in Denmark.”
“Not the same,” said Bruckheimer. “We won’t film his face. We’ll film over his shoulder, or just his shadow over the desk and casefiles.”
“No,” said Sumner.
“And we’ve got Tony Shalhoub signed up for it,” said Bruckheimer.
Sumner leaned forward and smiled. “Tell me more…”

Refrigerator magnets

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Lois looked at all of the refrigerators and compared their features, but she couldn’t make up her mind which one of them to buy.
The salesclerk said, “I think I can help you.” He led her to a circular room with refrigerators of every brand and model along the perimeter.
Then, he handed her a refrigerator magnet.
“Close your eyes and spin!” he commanded.
She did so.
“Now… throw!” he shouted.
She threw the magnet.
“Stop and open your eyes,” he said.
She’d thrown the magnet at the door they came in through.
“Just buy the damn Whirlpool,” he sighed.

Christmas Trolls

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The day after Christmas, Santa’s elves partied and celebrated another year’s work finished.
On the other side of the North Pole, Santa’s trolls were dealing with returns, damaged toys, injury claims, technical support, and instruction booklets in the wrong language.
“Fucking elves!” growled the Head Troll. “Those twerps get the credit for shipping crap, but we’re the ones having to clean up after them.”
“Let’s strike,” said a few of the trolls, and they grumbled agreement.
At first sign of revolt, Santa stomped into the Troll Barn with a bullwhip and a bullhorn.
“Back to work, you sonsabitches!” he shouted.

Virgin Mary

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The Three Wise Men took Joseph aside.
“This was a virgin birth?” asked Caspar.
“It sure as hell is,” said Joseph. “That freaky bitch took it up the ass and in the mouth, but never where it counted.”
Balthasar winced. “I’m not sure she’s technically a virgin after that,” he said.
“No, it’s a virgin birth,” said Melchior. “But she’s a dirty slut.”
All three agreed.
They were also tired of screwing their camels, so they asked Joseph if they could gangbang Mary.
“Frankincense? Myrrh? I don’t need that stuff,” he said. “But throw in the Gold, and she’s yours.”

The Wacky Adventures Of Abraham Lincoln 67

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It was the night before Christmas, and Lincoln’s Cabinet was heading off to their various churches for services.
Lincoln sat alone, making paper dolls with scissors and war dispatches.
“Aren’t you going to church?” asked Salmon Chase.
“No,” said Lincoln. “I am not a member of any Christian Church.”
“Which church are you a member of then?” asked Chase.
Lincoln took a long needle from his stovepipe hat, licked it, and stabbed it through a paper doll.
Chase fell to the floor in agony.
“Any more stupid questions?” asked Lincoln.
Chase groaned “Merry Christmas” and crawled out of the room.

Weekly Challenge #36 – Christmas Stories

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Welcome to the thirty-sixth 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 supposed to be selected by Andrew Ian Dodge from Every Damn Blog And Podcast On Earth, but I screwed him over by calling this one, and I chose Christmas Stories.
Fourteen stories were submitted this week. Double digits!
One rookie this week? Yay!
And, as always, the usual madness by 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 the 36th Weekly Challenge?
K Nine from Dead Dog Walkin
Blissful from Blissfully Unfulfilled
Lisa from Lemons and Lollipops
Caleb from the Black Tie Martini Club
Caroline from Quadra Island
Laieanna from Hodgepodge Point
Andrew of Dodgeblogium
Mark H.
Elisson from blog d’Elisson
Tom from Footnote Podcast
Sharon F.
Kolek from The Kolektive
Jim S. the Folderman
The IMAO Podcasters
The Mad Bard From Planet Z
  
Free polls from Pollhost.com

WE GOTS PRIZES:
I will be sending the winner the cost of a cup of coffee through PayPal. And who’s on the five dollar bill? Heh heh heh…
So listen, vote, and tune in next week to find out who won!


The full text of each story:
K-NINE

I was a bartender once. I hated Christmas, so I always took the closing shift on December 24th.
It was usually a quiet night. One year, this old man wandered in just after midnight. Dirty white beard, paunchy and run down. He ordered peppermint schnapps.
“Laid me off, little bastards” he mumbled as I poured.
I tried to ignore him, but he kept on and on. “Whole thing’s automated, don’t need me anymore.”
Finally I said, “Happens to everyone eventually, old man”
His belly shook violently as he shouted, “Ho, ho, hold on there sonny! I was Santa Claus, damnit!”

BLISSFUL

She sat on the floor surrounded by presents wrapped in shiny, bright paper adorned with big bows. Her eyes were huge, her smile wide, and she bounced from sheer excitement. She paid little attention to the others in the room.
“Is it my turn yet?”
Every time she opened a gift, there was such hope and light in her eyes that the box in her little hands could have held any one of her dreams or desires. I looked down at the small box in my own and smiled to myself, “Is it my turn now?”

LISA

Christians had “Merry Christmas”,
Jewish people had “Happy Hanukah”,
PC people had “Happy Holidays”,
Africans had “Happy Kwanzaa”,
There was even: A Festivus for the rest of us
It was high time the Atheists got together to coin a phrase to celebrate another year on this planet. A planet they knew was not created by an intelligent designer.
The bigwigs got together and after a few heated debates and a couple bottles of brandy, they came to a consensus. From that day on, Atheists around the world would greet others during the holiday season with their own salutation:
REASON’S GREETINGS.

CALEB

Two men enter; one man leaves.
Santa Claus and Jesus Christ will once more enter the ring and battle for the meaning of Christmas.
Claus, the crowd favorite, comes in at 5’11” weighing 285 pounds and is surprisingly spry for a big man.
Christ, the challenger, weighs a scant 112 pounds and stands a diminutive 5’3″. He looks puny but has proven before to be able to take an enormous amount of punishment and keep going.
One offers eternal rewards in the afterlife while the other offers immediate commercial gratification.
They enter the ring…
Down Goes Jesus!
Down Goes Jesus!

CAROLINE

Harold wouldn’t see anyone this Christmastime. It was his own fault, grumpy and miserable he’d turned them all away, now they didn’t bother. On his nightly walk he looked in the church’s bay window. The nativity scene was set out. He stared for a time, suddenly the whole scene became surreal, the baby Jesus seemed to beckon him. He couldn’t pull himself away. With tears running down his face, he went home feeling joyful? Then a vehicle drew up outside his house. “Grampa Grampa” came the shouts; his children and grandchildren surrounded him. Tears of joy ran down his cheeks. He embraced them warmly.

LAIEANNA

Hank spit gristle out on the dusty road. “Sonofabitch tried to kill
my wife…barreling down like a lunatic.”
“Whadya do, Hank?” Teddy asked.
“I shot at the bastard. Near took his head off. Bullet just grazed
that goofy hat, but boy was he scared. Came down from the sky like a
shooting star.”
“Where’s he at now?”
“Hog tied in the back of my truck. Buried his sled out in the woods.”
Teddy grabbed another skewer and chomped on his supper, “Damn, these
sure are tender. Better than the usual deer.”
“That’s cause it’s exotic meat from the north.”

ANDREW

“What the hell is coming out of your arse?” I asked amused.
“Its me’ Christmas tail… I thought it might amuse de’ fans who are
sick of all the crap music at this time of year.”
“How’ll they see it…it’s a pretty big arena,” I queried my backing-singer.
“Oh I’ve made sure the camera-man knows about it!” She flirtingly cooed.
“I thought you’d taken up with some sort of S&M club after I saw that
tail,” She… didn’t get it.
I made a note to ask the tour manager to make sure cameras were on her
arse…only very briefly.

MARK

Xmas address by the world prime minister, 2046
Citizens, rediscover the true meaning of xmas this holiday. The winter solstice was once usurped as the birthday of a messiah. While enlightenment has not abolished gods, it has properly relegated them to the mythological realm with pseudoscience and astrology. Modern peoples enjoy xmas as a celebration of freedom from the tyranny of religion.
So, while you are shopping the internet world marketplaces, and partying with your avatars and friends, stop a moment to remember that your freedom from false beliefs is the result of thousands of years of evolution of your society, your species, and yourselves. Happy xmas, everyone!

ELISSON

Ho! Ho! Ho!
The visitor took the brightly wrapped gifts from his smoking sack, arranging them at the base of the tree.
He looked around. The children, no doubt, were cowering beneath their bedsheets.
On the mantel, cookies sat next to a glass of milk. He ate them, dumping the milk in the sink. A quick search through the liquor cabinet revealed a bottle of single malt; he drained half at one gulp.
He vanished up the chimney, trailing a faint pong of brimstone.
It was a one-time gig thanks to an unfilled straight, but they’d remember Satan Claus’s visit.

TOM

The image of the man did not match either mother or father’s description. If this was the man mother called the devil then his smile should have made him shiver. If this was the man father called one in need of redeemtion his smile should have been sadder.
The grace of his face was like an angle glowing in the Christmas morning snow. He pulled a chair next to the lad and warmed his hands by the fire.
“Have you come to take me away?” ask Tim.
“No I’ve come to help.” Said Ebenezer.
Tim closed his eyes and died.

SHARON

It was a family tradition that went back hundreds of years. On Christmas Eve the family gathered in the living room waiting for Grandma and her special eggnog. It was a guarded recipe that took weeks to make.
Grandma came in with a tray full of filled shot glasses. It was potent and no one dared asked for more. Each person took a glass and waited. Grandpa gave his speech and all downed the thick liquid quickly.
They went to bed wondering if they would be the lucky one. Wondering who would be wearing The Christmas Tail in the morning.

KOLEK

Inside the warm house, a man sat opposite a glowering fire, contemplating. Saint Nicholas always got credited for delivering gifts to everybody, which was not true.
“Santa” only delivered
gifts to the northern hemisphere. Nick would be overwhelmed if he had to do the whole world!
Yet, no thanks, no letters, nothing! Why didn’t he get any credit!?!
The blue robed man shrugged it off and rose from his armchair, ready to repeat the familiar Christmas traditions that no one appreciated.
Two days later, the “Southern Santa” was in jail… again.
“Why don’t you just take your medication?” his doctor asked.

JIM S THE FOLDERMAN

For years, the feud continued. Both of them believed that there was no way in HELL that the other could have any semblance of truth on their side.
After a long discussion with a third party, he became aware that none of it was nearly as important as he previously believed. After much soul-searching and self-examination, he came to a conclusion.
On Christmas day, he trudged through the snowdrifts and knocked on her door. A VERY long journey would end today. Christ was present in his heart when she opened the door and pulled the trigger, ending their long-overdue reconciliation.

IMAO
(FrankJ and SarahK as Eric and Susan
Right Wing Duck as Jimmy
Harvey as the Narrator
and a special guest appearance by Spacemonkey as Santa Claus)

Jimmy put the cookies and milk out on the mantelpiece.
“Isn’t that cute?” said Susan. “Our boy is so wonderful.”
“It’s insane,” said Eric. “There’s no such thing as Santa Claus.”
Later that night, Jimmy heard a jingle and a thud.
He jumped out of bed and ran downstairs, giggling.
Santa was in front of the fireplace, his hands on his throat, dead.
Jimmy screamed in horror.
When Susan and Eric came downstairs, they saw the dead Santa and tried to comfort Jimmy.
“I’m so sorry,” they told him.
“I am too,” said Jimmy. ” I was trying to poison Daddy.”

Z

Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that St Nicholas soon would be there.
The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads.
And mamma in her ‘kerchief, and I in my cap,
Had just settled our brains for a long winter’s nap.
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up


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.)

The Cartoonist

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Walter walked the studio grounds, lost in concentration.
He needed a new character. Mickey had been packing theatres for years – not bad for a lousy cartoon short! – but rentals had begun to sag.
Face it. The Mouse was a victim of his own success. Originally a mischievous trickster, he was now good-natured and bland. Booooring.
What he needed was a foil. A character with a rotten disposition, to create dramatic tension. But who?
He almost tripped on the duck’s carcass. It lay by the side of the pond, half-eaten.
Two months later, /Morty Maggot/ opened to rave reviews.