The Wacky Adventures of Abraham Lincoln #90

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Cows, everywhere cows!
Lincoln couldn’t believe the sheer number of cows roaming through the streets of Washington.
Going forth like swarms of Egyptian locusts, devouring every blade of grass and other green thing.
“Where did all these cows come from?” he asked, but nobody had an answer.
As always, Abe came up with a solution. He commanded the city to hold a carnival and a massive barbecue.
Under his direction, the cows were caught, slaughtered, butchered into steaks, and cooked in the remnants of the public parks.
A good time was had by all.
Except for the cows, of course.

Weekly Challenge #132 – Clowns vs. Ninja

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Welcome to the Weekly Challenge Number One Hundred And Thirty-Twowhere 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 Clowns vs. Ninja.
The excellent theme music is by Guy David
VOTING

Which were the best stories of Weekly Challenge #132?
Almo Schumann
Laieanna from http://hodgepodgepoint.libsyn.com/
Jeff from http://GreatHites.blogspot.com
Ashley
Justin from http://www.thebeandom.com/spaceturtle
Tom from http://midi.libdyn.com
Steven from http://ideatrash.blogspot.com
Philip
Anima from http://zabbadabba,com
Planet Xray from http://planetxpodcast.com
Terry Tee from http://www.terrytee.com/
Guy David from http://guydavid.com
Planet Z
  
Free polls from Pollhost.com

Go ahead and listen to them and then vote for your favorites (multiple selections are allowed):


ALMO

The couple sat on opposite sides of mahogany table. She with her lawyer, he with his.
She glared at him. He studied his nails.
He thought, “I should have known this marriage would never work. We were always so different. But there was a burning passion there.”
He sighed.
She sat perfectly still. She looked good in black although you could only see her eyes. They made her leave her sword at the court entrance.
He felt suddenly sad and blew his bulbous red nose, dabbed at his painted-on tear.
“Divorce proceedings can begin,” said the judge. “Clown vs. Ninja.”

LAIEANNA

Korzo the psychotic clown barreled into the fight between clowns and ninjas.
His rage rang out in a deep yell and constant squeaking of his bicycle horn.
Hariku the feather ninja, so light on his feet no one believed he truly
touched the ground, somersaulted before the clown, his sword drawn, edge
out. Korzo stopped just five feet short of bursting through the ninjas gut.
The front of his near empty shoes still jiggled from the speed of his
run. Hariku
bowed, eyes remaining on the clown, and whispered, “Prepare to Fight.”
This is awful. I’m going back nanowrimo. Bye!

JEFF

“Are you the clown or the Ninja?” The director said looking at his clip board.
“You can’t tell man?” I answered.
“Well, you have the black on so I could assume you are the ninja, but what is with the big floppy shoes?” He stifled a yawn.
“Come on man, I am a ninja clown.” I couched in my most menacing ninja stance, then worked the squirt flower.
“A what?”
“A ninja-clown, maybe I should go with clown-ninja, I don’t know what do you think?” I asked.
“Personally I think you need to find a new line of work. Next!”

ASHLEY

To one side he stands slightly hunched and a spectacle for all to see. He wears his bulbous shoes, puffy stripped gloves and a perfectly round bright red nose with pride. In his hands, he wields a seltzer bottle cocked and ready.
Opposite from him she stands, resplendent in her matte black attire. Weapons bristling from every unseen pouch and strapped gaudily across her back. Proudly wearing the black mask of the assassin she stands erect, proud and full of potential lethality.
Soon the war will begin in earnest.
Afterwards, the only winner will be the divorce court lawyer avatars.

JUSTIN

“OK kids, who wants a balloon hat!”
“This clown is lame and scary!”
“How about you Timmy, it is your birthday after all!”
The clown twisted together some balloons. Little did the children know that the balloons would be twisted into an evil shape that would eat the mind of Timmy, feeding the clown.
The clown raised the diabolical balloon hat to Timmy’s head. Two bright glints of metal flew through the air, slicing through the balloons, popping them, then burying into the clowns chest.
The clown toppled over, dead.
The children cheered.
“This is the best party ever, Timmy!”

TOM

The Clown acknowledged the ninja’s indiscretion and so Pie Kata was chosen as the means to maintain honor. Through analysis of thousands of recorded piefights, the Clowns have determined that the geometric distribution of antagonists in any pie battle is a statistically-predictable element. The pie Kata treats the pie as a total weapon, each fluid position representing a maximum kill zone, inflicting maximum damage on the maximum number of opponents, while keeping the defender clear of the statistically-traditional trajectories of return pies. In 20 seconds a 12in pie tin was complete drive down the ninja’s throat. Clown vs Ninja. Ha!

STEVEN

The antiseptic hospital stink makes it through the red rubber nose.
He shuffles faster, seeing her outside his son’s room. His ex-wife’s
distinctive braid swings over a black clad shoulder, a katana across
her back.
He yells over the flapping of his oversize shoes. “A ninja? In a hospital?”
“He likes ninjas!”
“That was a year ago! Clowns make everyone happy!”
He realized that wasn’t true as she hit him.
Later, the police handcuffed them outside the room. Bobby beamed out,
cancer forgotten at the spectacle of clowns fighting ninjas.
His real smile was far bigger than the painted one.

PHILIP

Black. The assassin struck in the darkest hour of the night.
Red. The mark lay in a pool of his own blood.
Black. His clothes, to match the night, shrouded the assassin’s entire body in black, except for his eyes.
Red. His hair, soaked in the blood where it pooled around his head, blood red.
Black. Yellow lights reflected in the assassins black eyes.
Red. Shiny, patent leather boots, not black, but red, below red and white striped stockings, on the lifeless feet.
Black. The black blade, invisible in the night, took down the mark. Ronald didn’t stand a chance.

ANIMA

The Clown: A fuschia ’72 Volkswagen, fueled on 95% personality, 5% luck. Push starts were the norm, and there was always room in the back for more kids and dogs. The Clown had the last laugh, leaving me stranded in Atlanta.
The Ninja: A 280Z in stealth black, with red interior. I was fast, but the Ninja was faster. We would race serpentine mountain roads. It took them 4 hours to free me, the night she tried out Kung Fu moves on the switchbacks.
And now I have Mom. My handicap converted Caravan chaperone… At least I still drive, right?

PLANET XRAY

The promoters were calling it Clown versus Ninja, the match that would set the standard of wrestling for years.
The Clown, Leonard Crapalotski, had just finished an unsuccessful low budget movie and was in the need of a job. Standing at 6′ 3″, and only weighing 125 pounds dripping wet, Leonard was the perfect Clown.
The Ninja, Lo Hung Wang, had just arrived in the country to continue his occupation of loan enforcement. Weighing 200 pounds with quick reflexes, Mr. Wang was the perfect Ninja.
Now, what the promoters really needed was writers and a great script for the match.

TERRY TEE

Only a few days left until the elections, and in the last couple of weeks my home phone has been ringing off the hook with messages from both parties.
They ask questions like; what is more important to you? Health Care? The Economy?
What they really should be asking is, do you think that people are dumb enough to believe the crap that each of the parties is saying about the other?
When it comes down to it, they are politicians after all, and for my money, it’s the Clown versus Ninja, what I ask is which one is which?

GUY DAVID

The plane was crowded with people in Halloween costumes. Chaketo Chirapa stayed hidden under his cloaking device and watched in horror as a man dressed in a clown costume assaulted a woman dressed up as a ninja. He couldn’t hear what they where arguing about from his hiding place, but when the man pulled out a gun he was sure he wouldn’t make it back. Thankfully, the clown was nailed down and arrested by a mean looking stewardess before the actual takeoff. As the plane took off, Chaketo Chirapa wondered what his Chirapa where doing back at their underground alcove.

PLANET Z

They were identical only in appearance. The twins were like night and day for everything else.
Especially when it came to birthdays.
Billy wanted a clown, but Bobby wanted a ninja.
“What that?” their mother asked.
“He’s quiet and deadly and all dressed in black,” said Bobby.
“We’ll have to ask your father,” said mom.
Bobby’s heart sank as he watched the clown make balloon animals for Billy.
All the kids were laughing and cheering.
Until… a flash of steel from the shadows.
The clown’s head fell from his shoulders.
“Happy birthday,” whispered a fluttering blur, and it was gone.

Devil’s Night

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They call this night the Devil’s Night because kids set fires to usher in Halloween.
One year, they got what they wanted, and The Devil showed up to survey the damage.
“You call this devastation?” He howled. “I’ve seen entire empires laid waste, nothing but ashes from ocean to ocean!”
He spat at on the sidewalk and laughed.
The kids burned more houses, but it wasn’t enough for The Devil.
Cops arrived and arrested the kids.
Instead of becoming Satanists, jail house imams converted them to Islam.
For them, any size fire was fine.
Especially when it involved killing Jews.

Pumpkin Screams

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This genetic engineering shit gives me a case of the heebie jeebies.
These newfangled pumpkins scream and ooze blood when you carve them.
When it got to Thanksgiving turkeys that gobble to the tune of “over the river and through the woods” even after you cut their heads off, I got worried.
How did it start? Let me think… It started with a simple splice of DNA to produce Yule logs that burn with natural cinnamon spice scent.
All downhill from there, rabbits laying eggs and crazy shit like that.
Oh. Great. Here comes Santa Clone.
Earlier every damn year.

All Locked Up

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I forget when I lock things, so I made a key chain with little plastic reminders when a door is locked or appliance is on.
Instead of worrying, I now just look at my reminders on my key chain.
I was in a rush this morning and forgot to set the reminders… Or did I?
Or did I forget to reset the reminders from when I last unlocked those things, and then forgetting to lock them again, so…
I throw away the key chain, lock the locks, sit in my chair, and hum happily in the darkness.
All locked up.

The Battery

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The monks bring out the iron chest and assemble the relics upon the altar.
Tears from a thousand saints poured into the Holy Grail, iron from the gates of Heaven and Hell wired with a slender silver thread that was hammered from Judas’ coins.
They connect the wires around my horns.
“Do you see The Light?” asks the abbot.
I wait. There is a buzzing in my ears, but no light.
“I am deeply sorry, Lucifer. Redemption is beyond your grasp.”
I crawl back to The Pit to continue my plans.
“A Hallmark card, perhaps?” says a demon.
Infernal fools.

Bacon

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The Law of Bacon is an axiom of our existence.
Creation’s purpose is two-fold: to evolve a form of life to generate a source of bacon and a form of life to consume bacon.
This is the Meaning Of Life. One without the other shatters the fabric of reality.
The wine and wafers are gone, replaced with strips of bacon.
The pews are filled with the faithful, led by the aroma and sound of sizzling in the skillet.
Today, we burn a heretic at the stake, a nonbeliever in our midst, the grease of turkey bacon still on her lips.

The Wacky Adventures of Abraham Lincoln #89

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Abraham Lincoln didn’t like to lose.
“Rather than yield,” he said. “I would sooner go out into my backyard and hang myself.”
All it took was a bad hand of cards or an argument over dinner, and he’d be out in the backyard, tossing a rope over a branch in order to hang himself.
At first, Mary Todd hid all the ropes, so Abe tried using bed sheets and towels.
That’s when Mary Todd ordered all of the trees cut down.
Abe roamed the back yard, looking for something to hang himself from, but it was just a flat lawn.

Weekly Challenge #131 – Asylum

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Welcome to the Weekly Challenge Number One Hundred And Thirty-One 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 Asylum.
The excellent theme music is by Guy David
VOTING

Which were the best stories of Weekly Challenge #131?
Justin from http://www.thebeandom.com/spaceturtle
Ashley
Kolek
Evamoon from http://evamoon.net
Almo
Mike
Philip
Jeffrey from http://greathites.blogspot.com/
Guy from http://guydavid.com/
Anima from http://zabbadabba.com/
Steven from http://ideatrash.blogspot.com/
Tom from http://midi.libsyn.com/
Planet Z
  
Free polls from Pollhost.com


Go ahead and listen to them and then vote for your favorites (multiple selections are allowed):


Justin

*
What are you in for?
I didn’t do it, I didn’t make the flames. They say I did! Criminally insane? I am harmless as a baby kitten, yes, a baby kitten! Mew mew!
*
Well, I know for a fact you’re not a baby kitten.
Mew?
*
No, you are not.
Why are you here?
*
Same reason as you, buddy.
You mean you didn’t do anything? Are you a kitty too?
*
Oh no, I’m innocent, but you aren’t, and it is your fault I’m here!
Mew? My fault?
*
Because I’m stuck in your silly head! I didn’t think you’d actually do it!

Ashley

So…I’m going to visit the asylum again.
At least they asked nicely this time, otherwise I may have decided to vacation somewhere else this year. Besides, I really like the asylum. After all, this is where the well-adjusted people are. Of course all those sheep and ants scurrying to and fro out in the so called real world think that they are balanced, but myself and a few select others know differently. Hopefully the service and hospitality will be as good as my earlier visits.
It will be nice to intermingle again with people who are fully sane…just like me.

Kolek

Mmmmmm. I’m back. I’m livin the good life. -8
Cruising with my boyz. Sportin a fresh brown Armani with matching Gucchi shades. Getting into fights. People turnin their heads. Later each night, getting head. -33
Pushin on 24 sumitomos, my SUV thumps the ground with 15 subs. Alternating ‘tween Yokes and Zanzibar, O-lounge and all those other clubs. -56
Well… not exactly. The rolex wasn’t real, the armani was “borrowed,” and my SUV is 12 years old. Still better than two years ago. Still Fly. My homeys got my back; my boss cashin the bank. -92
Yah I’m called “Kolek.” And I’m back bitches.

Eva Moon

“Joe, I swear it was the strangest thing. I was in the middle of a lecture and suddenly a wild-eyed woman in a straightjacket materialized out of thin air.”
“Quite a few ghosts haunt this university.”
“Ghosts?”
“It’s true . This place used to be a state mental hospital. Didn’t you know? The Eagles wrote ‘Hotel California’ about it.”
“Huh. I didn’t know that.”
“So many of the inmates who died here hang around that the university even has an admissions policy for them.”
“Admissions policies for ghosts?”
“Yeah: you can audit any class you like but you can never leave.”

Almo

They came on a moonless night, by luck not design. The waves lapped gently against the shore but the boaters could hear it from a distance.
It whispered asylum.
The roar of a Coast Guard engine startled them. They hunkered down as the searchlight swept over their craft. They were tempted to swim. Wet foot, you go home. Dry foot, you can stay.
They trusted luck.
In the morning, immigration agents found a boat on the beach. A dozen Styrofoam coolers lashed together with twine. An agent kicked at the boat and piece broke off. “They earned it,” he said.

Mike

The newscast had reported the utter devastation of the towns of Asylum in California and Pennsylvania as a macabre coincidence. He’d spotted the telltale signs, though, and had been horrified, knowing he was to blame.
He had left a message, denouncing the regime and declaring his intention to cross over and seek asylum. Apparently, his intention had been mistaken for a literal destination, and the Enforcement Fleet had been dispatched through the portal with orders to destroy him and his hiding place. Overcome with guilt, he knew he must act; unfortunately, his suicide wasn’t in time to save Sanctuary, Texas.

Philip

Ulnar Styloid, clan chief of the Olecranon Process, glanced up from his desk. A harried guard informed him, “The distal Interphalangeal Epyphases have entered our system. Their vessels are forming up in the Glenoid Fossa.”
“Attack on the the Dorsal Interosii will be next.” Ulnar concluded, “Naturally, they will come to us for asylum.” He pondered the back of his hand, then cracked his knuckles. He spoke to the guard, “Tell the Interosii they may land their vessels on Tibial Plateau and inhabit the length of the Vastus Lateralis.”
Ulnar Styloid smiled grimly; his nemesis, Vas Deferens, would arrive soon.

Jeffrey

Some wild things happen at the asylum for the criminally insane. But what I like is the asylum for the criminally sane, those people are crazy. Not crazy insane, but crazy as in they are in complete control of all their faculties, but still totally out there. There is nothing like that place. I go and just listen to the people. In the insane asylum you get the screams and crying, at the sane asylum all you hear is whispering and the gentle scratch of chalk on a blackboard as they figure out the meaning of the universe.

Guy

Dave the hacker was sure now that Bob belonged in an asylum. When he came with this crazy idea that The Chirapa where real aliens, he just shrugged and started working on tracking them. Harriet was his best friend and the least he could do was to help that crazy husband of hers. He was an avid listener of The Chirapa podcast since Harriet turned him into that, but he knew it was fiction. He was surprised when he actually found something, so he pinpointed it for Bob on his Google Map. Bob smiled and puled out an army knife.

Anima

It was late, but Isabela had made it to the church.
In a panic, she pounded on the door.
Soccoro, padre, please help, the federales are after me…
How could he not let her in?
You will have to stay here in the church…
Please, sleep quickly; do not open your eyes until I come for you in the morning.
Brother Theodore was bound by church law to provide asylum, but he was not sure that a night here was better than facing the federales
Slowly he walked down the center aisle, preparing to snuff the candles for the night./blockquote>
Steven

I slam against the gate of the American embassy. The Marines watch,
ordered to keep the gate closed. I plead, beg, but they raise their
M16s at me… and at the policemen chasing me. One pursuer, groaning,
loses a rotting finger.
I recognize the female Marine. I had begged her for safety for my
merely political crimes, back when the police just wanted to torture
my flesh.
She slides a revolver with a single bullet through the bars. A tear
slips down her dusty, expressionless face. The hungry police shamble
down the street. I salute her and raise the pistol.

Tom

The gates at Bellevue lay their shadow across room 412. Within the man who would be president sat very still strapped to the wall. The winter of 2020 was the coldest on record when the patient in 412 stopped responding to his name. From then on he would only reacted when someone said “Hey Joe.” “That’s Joe the Plumber to you.” The asylum was the home to a number of other great American politicians like John Mc Cain, Dan Quail and someone named Rudy. Who would have thought a Libertarian named Wurzelbacher could have taken out B. O. in 2012.

Planet Z

Little Bobby is crazy.
He gathered up bricks from a construction site and made a prison for his sister’s dollies.
No. Not a prison. These dollies weren’t just criminals.
They were criminally insane.
An insane asylum.
Mr. Potatohead had identity issues. GI Joe’s post-traumatic stress disorder left him with incurable rage.
Stretch Armstrong? Far, far too accommodating to survive in society. A pushover.
That left Barbie to diagnose. What was it she did to get locked up in here.
Like clockwork, Ken visited every week. Through the glass, Barbie would scream I WILL CUT YOUR TONGUE OUT!
Poor girl.

Bring Him Back

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The poster was supposed to say Dead Or Alive, but it ended up saying Dead And Alive.
Before we could fix the mistake, the poster was up in every Post Office.
Replacements were sent out the next week, but by then, we’d gotten our man.
He’s in the holding cell, Dead And Alive.
No, I haven’t seen him. All I know is, the guy who brought him in said he was, and he wanted to collect on the full reward.
I don’t know what Dead And Alive means. Do you?
Maybe we should just leave him for the next shift?