Some Assembly Required

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It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas.
No, it’s not because of the stockings hung with care or the tree trimmed to perfection.
It’s because the floor is covered with bicycle parts of various sizes, shapes, and sharpnesses.
Which end is up? Which end is down?
Then there’s the Salvador Dali-esque ambiguity of the parts. Take, for instance, this thing: it’s either a fuser or a gearshift.
I still think they got packed with a photocopier’s manual.
Oh well. I’ll just put it together, sit on it, and we’ll see if I roll or make copies of my butt.

Knit Wit

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Halfway to Mars, communications stopped working.
Commander Gregg had plenty of supplies, a library of movies and books, and all of the yarn he needed to keep his hands occupied.
At first, he thought he’d make a cap. Then, he knitted up a scarf.
The sweater was finished as the retrorockets fired, slowing down the lander’s descent to the Martian surface.
Gregg tried one last time to call Houston, but he’d forgotten about the communications delay.
Sixteen minutes later, Mission Control screamed in futility for Gregg to take off the cap and put on his helmet before cycling the airlock.

Schwein in einem Beutel

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Gerhard looked around the auction house to see if anyone would outbid him.
Once… twice… sold!
He remembered scaling The Wall and running through No Man’s Land to freedom forty years ago to seek his fortune.
He wondered if this section was the exact one he leapt over all those years ago.
Did it matter?
It was when the truck unloaded his prize and he saw the aluminum coathooks and permanent marker scribblings that he realized his mistake: he’d been bidding on the Wall from Berlin’s, a recently-demolished nightclub in SoHo, as opposed to a piece of the Berlin Wall.

This is the dawning of the Age Of Doug

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Zeus chewed on his mashed potatoes in the Old Gods Home and groaned.
“Mashed potatoes?” said Zeus. “In the old days, I drank Ambrosia and hurled thunderbolts!”
Zeus reached into his Depends, pulled out some lightning, and weakly hefted it over his shoulder.
He wobbled and stabbed an orderly in the chest, mortally wounding him.
“Doug,” said Zeus, sputtering mashed potatoes. “I’m so sorry. I just wanted…”
Doug wheezed and gasped, slowly dying.
“I’ll place you in the heavens,” wept Zeus. “Forever with the stars.”
The Old Gods Home posted an ad for Doug’s replacement: “Good pay, great retirement benefits.”

Weekly Challenge #25 – Lounge

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Welcome to the twenty-fifth 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 last week’s winner Caleb Bullen: Lounge.
Seven stories were submitted this week.
No rookies this wee. Boo!
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 for the 25th Weekly Challenge?
Laieanna from Hodgepodge Point
Caroline from Quadra Island
T.A. Marquette from Footnote Podcast
Caleb from the Black Tie Martini Club
Rahel from Elms in the Yard
Andrew from Dodgeblogium
PJ from No Deep Thoughts
The Mad Bard From Planet Z
  
Free polls from Pollhost.com


The full text to each story…
CAROLINE

“Get into town and get some résumé’s in. It doesn’t matter where just go. If you lounge around in that bed any longer I’ll pour cold water on you head.” Yelled Nathan’s frustrated mother.
“I don’t have the money for the bus.”
“No excuses you’ve got a pair of legs. Look here’s $2 you’ll get the bus if you go now.”
Nathan arrived home in a taxi carrying an expensive looking guitar. Mum told him to leave right now. He did. He happily forgot to mention that he’d spent the $2 on lottery tickets and won the jackpot.

T.A. MARQUETTE

Morty and Ben run a small club outside of D. C.
One afternoon in walks Justice Sandra Day O’Connor carrying a guitar case.
Mort looks at Ben.
Ben looks at Mort.
They both look at Sandra.
“I’m looking for a new job as a lounge singer,” She says.
Mz O’Connor proceeds to deliver a gut wrenching rendition of the Beatles’ Yesterday.
She finishes Mort thanks her and tells her they will get in touch will her.
“Are you nuts that’s frign Sandra Day O’Connor” screams Ben.
Calmly Morty replies “Never book a judge by it cover.”

CALEB

A I like to lounge C#
D Lounge in a lounge A
A The price of drinks C#
B I usually can scrounge E
D Or maybe cash in E
A A favor or two D
A Lounge in a lounge E
E Just me and you A
A I like to play pool C#
D Or if there’s a band A
A I usually dance C#
B Given half a a chance E
D I look like a fool E
A But hey man that’s cool E
E I like to lounge in a lounge A
A A tavern’s okay C#
D So is a pub A
A Most bars are too loud C#
B Same thing with the clubs E
D A cabaret’s fine E
A If you’ve got the time E
E But I like to lounge
A In a lounge

LAIEANNA

For a lazy bastard, he was up early, lounging on the couch watching ESPN. God, another day of sports.
She grabbed the cleaning supplies, and sighed loudly for attention. Of course, there was no response. Another one woman day of chores.
Deliberately, she started with his surroundings…sweeping the rug, wiping equipment, and even sprinkling down dust from the fan.
He didn’t move. Fed up with his persistence to not help, she blocked his view. Still his eyes remained oddly fixed ahead, not blinking. Her hand came down hard on his cheek. Then she ran away hysterical. He was cold…and stiff.

RAHEL

When I found it lounging in the bathtub I held back a scream. (Do lizards hear?)
I thought of paging my friend’s furry lizard hunter, but he’s on another continent. No luck there.
Then I watched it lounge some more and wondered how on earth I was going to shower that night.
Later, I got my courage up and took some pictures of it.
Finally I caught it and released it outside.
I found another lounging in the kitchen sink the next week. They never stop.
They’re called “house geckos.” Sorry, fellas–no lounging around here. Out you go! Out!

ANDREW

It was called “the sea lounge” because it looked over the water near Bournemouth. It jutted quite a few feet over the sea on high cliff. It was this protrusion into the “sea realm” that so enraged the Deep Ones Front for the Protection of the Sea. The direct action group shunned the more secretive nature of their ancestors believing in taking “the war” to unbelieving land-people. The spectacular destruction of the Sea Lounge was their first act of aggression. They claimed responsibility in a rant to local radio that began with the words ‘Ia Ia Ftaggn Cthulhu! Heed!”

PJ

There was no expression on Paula’s face as she watched the flames engulf the Bayside Lounge.
As if in a trance, she stood quietly, oblivious to the activities around her.
The wind blew hot air into her face and smoke into her eyes, but still she stood.
Only moments before she was laughing and enjoying Friday Happy Hour with her friends.
Everyone had gotten out safely but were now pointing and whispering as if she had done something wrong.
This wasn’t her fault.
How could she have known daring a co-worker to light a fart could cause this much trouble?

PLANET Z

I stop by Casper’s Lounge for a drink.
There’s a woman at the bar, sipping bottled water.
She tells her story. I tell mine.
It turns out that her father ran over my father when we were both eight.
My dad was crossing the street when her dad was racing home to bring a
cake to her birthday party.
I remember spending my birthday in the hospital. The police said it was
a hit and run.
“Funny,” she says. “All these years, we never met up before.”
I pick up a bar stool and beat her to death with it.

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 Wacky Adventures of Abraham Lincoln 61

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Hannibal Hamlin and Andrew Johnson faced each other across the mud puddle.
“Can’t you just flip a coin?” asked Hannibal of his soon-to-be former boss.
Abraham shook his weary head. “The Treasury has none to spare,” he said. “Every last penny has gone towards the war effort.”
The crowd surrounding the mud pit taunted Hamlin.
“Coward!”
“Tiebreaking fool!”
“Knave!”
“Weakling!”
Hannibal Hamlin rolled up his sleeves and picked up the rope. So did Johnson.
Half an hour later, the men remained on either side of the mud puddle.
“You’re tugging the rope, right?” asked Lincoln.
Hamlin and Johnson laughed together.

Pee Wee’s Hellhouse

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Pee Wee Herman always said “Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”
Decades past his prime, Paul Reubens looked in the mirror and agreed.
Behind him, talons clacked on the coffee table. “So, Reubens,” said the Devil. “Do you agree to my terms?”
The contract was signed, and his youth was restored.
“Now I can finally stage my comeback! HAH!” shouted Paul, prancing happily in a circle. “Wait – what do you get out of this, Satan?”
“I can think of no worse torment for humanity than you on the airwaves,” said Satan.
And then he headed for Pauly Shore’s home.

Laundry Thieves

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I had a box of detergent, a hike from my dorm room to the laundry center, and not enough sense to get a smaller, lighter container for carrying the stuff.
But whenever I left the box in there, half of it would mysteriously vanish.
Damn thieves.
So I added instant mashed potato flakes to the detergent and left it in the laundry room.
Hours later, everybody in there’s yelling obscenities.
The room smells like potatoes. Gloppy clothes everywhere.
“Be grateful,” I said, taking my clothes out of the dryer. “In Saudi Arabia, they cut thieves’ hands off.”
I never did have to resort to the gravy mix.

Coaster Fu

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Trevor McTavish can hit anybody in the pub with a coaster.
With one flick of his wrist, you’re tagged.
The drunker he is, the sharper the coaster’s edge.
Are you in hiding in the toilet? Think he can’t hook it through the door and around the wall?
Go ahead. Say something nasty about his mother. I dare you.
Some say he learned this skill from a monastery of coaster-tossing acolytes. Others say military scientists gave him telekenetic powers.
Only Trevor McTavish and I know the truth, and I’m not telling.
No. Really. I don’t want to lose my other eye.

The Iron Baby

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The Iron Baby was a real baby that legend says turned to iron when his witch-mother burned at the stake.
A curse is upon us: ignore or abandon this shrieking monster, and the town will be destroyed.
Each family takes care of the monster for one night, passing it along Harvest Road to the next family when dawn breaks.
Turkel the Blacksmith’s family was next. He’d had enough, so he hammered a horseshoe into a pacifier.
The shrieking… stopped.
As the people prepared a feast to celebrate, the woods caught fire.
Strange winds pushed the flames towards the town square.