Edison’s Orphans

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The most dangerous place on the planet is not Iraq or Gaza or some war-torn hellhole, but the sidewalk around the Patent Office.
It used to be easy to get from the street to the front door, but these days every scatterbrained crackpot in the country has been drawn like a magnet to this place.
Edison once said that genius is one percent inspiration and ninety-nine percent perspiration, but these folks ain’t geniuses, so that other one percent is probably booze.
Try to resist the temptation to use up your Bumblaster (patent pending) batteries, hold your nose, and follow me.

Running On Empty

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I wake up, smelling… burnt meat?
Everything’s swimmy and wild.
Am I drugged?
There’s a swirling, kaleidoscope medic standing over me. He moves his lips, but I can’t understand what he’s saying.
He writes on a card, holds it up: “Do you hear that beeping sound?”
I try to shake my head, but it’s strapped down.
“No,” I say.
I can feel myself saying No, but I can’t hear it.
The medic writes more: “What do you remember?”
“I was checking the gas can. Then, I saw a bright flash, and then… this.”
The medic writes again: “With a lighter?”

Under The Big Guy’s Big Top

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The sharpshooter’s act ended without bloodshed, so the ringmaster waved out the gymnasts.
Seventeen agile Frenchmen pranced their way to the center ring, somersaulting and leaping with great skill.
Just as they finished their Parisian Pyramid, the trapeze artists screamed… the rigging was giving way.
The tent’s canvas ripped open quickly, revealing a horrific sight: the stars were careening wildly around the sky like drunken moths.
The astonished tumblers fell to the ground in a groaning pile, but the bearded old man in the audience began to laugh and applaud.
“Splendid!” God said. “Best night I’ve had in eons! Bravo.”

Double A Meets Four F

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Planetary Defense Command doesn’t want you to save the last bullet for yourself.
We’re supposed to fire it at the enemy and charge with fixed bayonets, but nobody’s had bayonets for centuries.
As for bullets, I look at my rifle. One last bar on the battery indicator.
Then it flashes… flashes… flashes…
I should have brought a spare.
Not enough for a last shot, but enough for a spark.
The rifle battery hooks on the oxygen tank perfectly.
They designed it to do this. When we’re out of batteries, we’re nothing but bombs to PDC.
I hunker down and wait.

Tiny Dancer

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As I’m sorting through my Inbox, tossing out spam and endless discussion threads, my littlest cat jumps up on top of my desk, sticks her tail in her mouth, and does a little mewing pirouette.
“Mew!” she squeaks. “Mew! Mew! Mew!”
It’s cute and silly, but after a minute of this I get a little concerned.
Is something wrong?
“What is it, Piper?” I ask.
She stops and looks me straight in the eye, tail still in her mouth.
“Mew!” she insists.
And she goes back to turning circles on the desk with her tail.
What a weird little cat.

The Wacky Adventures of Abraham Lincoln 64

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For some reason, Abraham Lincoln was standing next to a flagpole wearing a gorilla costume.
When asked about it, the concealed president replied – “I stand by the flag of the Union, and all I ask of you is to stand by me as long as I stand by it.”
When asked about the gorilla suit, Abe just scratched his armpits and ate bananas.
The next day, Abe was back at the flagpole, but wearing his usual linen suit instead of the costume.
Nobody asked him why, but if pressed, he’d have said “I only rented the costume for one day.”

Weekly Challenge #33 – Cephalopod

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Welcome to the thirty-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 Lee from Readstrange and he chose Cephalopod.
stories were submitted this week. Double digits!
rookies this week? BOOOOOOOOOO!
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 wrote the best story for Weekly Challenge #33?
T.A. Marquette from Footnote Podcast
Steve from iLaugh
Laieanna of HodgePodge Point
Andrew of Dodgeblogium
K-9 from Dead Dog Blogging
Lee from Read Strange
Elisson from blog d’Elisson
Will Ross from Smart Bomb Radio
B
Houston Keys from Tater Tots for the Masses
The Twisted 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:
TA MARQUETTE

Two cephalopods float into a bar.
After upping a dozen Marianna Whitefish
one cephalopods notes the other
is missing his Hectocotylus.
“You’re dickless dude, what happened?”
“It got snapped off in Rita.”
“Ouch, that’s got to hurt.”
“Not half as much as what she said.
Just before Mr. Happy went west I hear
‘I didn’t know you had such a small organ.’
“Man that’s cold. What did you say?”
“Nothing”
“What?”
“Listen if she ever loads it up again here’s what you say.
I didn’t know I had to play in a cathedral.”
You have dialed dial a dirty joke.

STEVE

Suddenly, a hush fell over the room.
“You all heard him, right? How many times did he say ‘mushroom’?”
“Um…I dunno Jen…seven?” squeaked John.
“SEVEN? Try 40! Son of a bitch had it coming!”
The argument ended there, as everyone’s eyes were still trained on the bloodied candlestick that Jen still clutched in her hands, and the growing pool of red forming beneath Tom’s head.
“Well then, what was it?” asked Kath.
“Cephalopod!”
“Oh,” replied the crowd.
“I kinda thought it was a mushroom too…” whispered Gary.
And with that, no one ever played Pictionary at the Anderson’s house again.

LAIEANNA

“God, this is rubbery. Can’t you cook them differently?”
“Like I have a wide selection of ingredients! Maybe you should go out and catch something else.”
“You know I can’t do that.”
“Then shut up about my cooking.”
“Shit, it’s happening again. Get me the axe!”
“Try not to damage the hull.”
“I’m chopping at it all day and it still gets through. That’s not my fault!”
“Maybe we should just go out there and let it kill us.”
“Oh no! We’ll eat it tentacle by tentacle before I let it have me! I don’t care how rubbery they are!”

DODGE

Prof Ali looked over the side of the ship. He was looking for the giant cephalopod he heard about in these waters, 300 miles off the coast of Guam. He did not fear the rumours of al Dagon or any tales of an evil sea djinn. He was a man of science who wanted to get the glory for this discovery for his Cairo University.
He did not notice that no others were on deck with him..
He did see the huge shape below the boat coming toward him. He didn’t fear it but itched to see it.
He did…

K-NINE

It was Captain Wook’s first command. He had risen through the ranks from trooper to officer with strategy and forethought.
As young as he was, he was surprised to have been given a battle commission and command of the first wave. He wasn’t worried though, the enemy had proven to be splintered by political factions and a populace with an overactive social conscience.
They would be easy to defeat.
As he reached out with one of his tentacles and shoved another screaming human into his mastication orifice he thought to himself, “Not bad for a Cephalopod from a small moon.”

LEE

Sergeant Miller stood in front of the suspect and frowned. This one was dressed as a milkman.
“They’re getting better,” said Miller to Dr. Bateman.
“Hey, look,” complained the milkman. “I got a route to deliver.”
“Not till we know for certain,” Miller replied and wheeled over the testing apparatus. The milkman gasped.
“This won’t take long,” said the doctor. Miller backed away.
Bateman opened a vial, removed a pinch of pepper and blew.
“PA-too-too-WHOO-PEE!”
Miller put a bullet through the milkman’s head and re-holstered his gun.
“Once the cephalopods learn how to sneeze…”
“Then god help us,” Bateman sighed.

ELISSON

Sidney the Squid was a cephalopod.
He was mighty odd for a cephalopod.
On his Undersea Tee-Vee he’d watch the CephaloMod Squad –
And the Mickey Mollusk Club: he loved Jimmie Cephalo-Dodd.
A Religi-Squidgy, he was a disciple of the CephaloGod.
He caught dinner (Boston scrod) with hook, line, and CephaloRod.
He was a Music Maven with his Cephalo-iPod.
He hung out at Gold’s Gym to buff his CephaloBod.
He’d watch Superman II and root for General CephaloZod.
He’d indicate approval with a wink and cephalo-nod.
Despite Sidney’s being so cephalo-odd,
His friends worshiped the ground ‘pon which he cephalo-trod.

WILL ROSS

Well, it’s that time of year again where you look into your Necronomicon and see which followers have been naughty and which followers have been nice. As I’ve been extra good this year, here is my list of presents I want from you. I would tell you in person but our mall is totally not politically correct and only has a santa claus.
A ten speed
Kill Tommy Stevens
GI-Joes
Invulnerability.
Legos
And a kid brother I can play with (My last one broke)
I long to feel the embrace of your dark tentacles,
Billy Sawyer (Age 10)

B

Sammy Cephalopod was a pretty even-tempered fellow. He never went looking for trouble. He stayed hidden, for the most part, in between rocks waiting for the next unsuspecting crab dinner to wander along.
Because he was small, cute, and had beautiful blue rings, there was always some creature passing by that just couldn’t resist the urge to say, “Oh look! How cute!”
That’s fine. But they’d better not try to pet him! He liked his personal space and the price for invading it would lethal. He might be small but in the world of Hapaloclaena maculosa, size really DOESN’T matter.

HOUSTON KEYS

“I should have flushed it” Cali mumbled.
The smoldering remains of her bathroom reflected the damage done to her psyche as she reviewed the cephalopod attack.
It had seemed cute at first. As it grew it became a problem.
When it ate the cat she knew something had to be done.
Taking the aquarium to the bathroom she decided on a burial at sea but the squid fought back. In the struggle a tentacle grabbed her cell phone pulling it into the toilet and ruining it.
“If I had flushed the cell phone, my insurance would have covered it. Crap!”

Z

Clem saw The Octopus on the auction block.
It was the fiercest amusement park ride of its day, but over the years, the thrill was gone.
After Clem bought it, he realized it would be hard to include in his traveling carnival because of its overall weight and complexity.
So, he had it assembled, and then stripped it down to reduce its travel burden and assembly time.
Stabilizers, safety bars, and other unessential components – all sold for scrap.
Yet, it looked the same, the menacing aluminum carapace, freshly-painted.
Didn’t fool the safety inspector, though.
Rejected.
Clem doubled his bribe.

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.)

Go West, Young Horny Man

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Look, most folks from the trail come to Miss Molly’s for a cot for the night.
Locals, they come for the poker. Or the booze.
Very few come for the girls.
The pretty ones, they get married off or head off to Frisco to make the big bucks.
But the rest, well, they stay.
And wait…
And wait…
A while back, a wagon carrying a shiny new bathtub and a water-boiler broke down at Molly’s, so she bought them.
You know, covered with suds, those girls don’t look so bad.
And it sure beats swimming and shaving in the creek.

Eleven… um, I mean Twelve Step Program

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I was sitting on the toilet when I suddenly realized that I forgot to lift up the lid before taking a dump.
My mind’s been fuzzy since the accident. I may look okay, but I forget steps.
Like yesterday: I put my shoes on before my socks. That kind of thing.
It used to be worse. One time, I handed my fiance the hairdryer while she was still in the shower.
That’s why I’m here. Well, that and a verdict of “Not Guilty By Reason Of Mental Defect.”
Although, from the awful things she’d yell at me, I’m not sorry.

The Church Bells Of Jenin

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The soft-haired folksinger sat on his stool, strummed his guitar, and sang his sad tale of the church bells in Jenin.
Seven thousand miles away, the last of the churchbells was hauled down from its burnt-out tower.
The Christians had left months ago, driven out by their unneighborly neighbors.
Three masked men picked up the bell and smiled, hauling it to the foundry.
It was melted down into shell casings and bullets.
Weeks later, a paramedic pulled a bullet from a dead child’s chest.
He pulled another three from the child’s dead mother.
Murdered, by the church bells of Jenin.