Weekly Challenge #187 – Hospitality

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Welcome to the Weekly Challenge Number One Hundred And Eighty-Seven, 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… was…. um…
It’s Hospitality!
The excellent theme music is by Guy David.
VOTING

Which were the best stories?
Anima
Steven
TJ
Katharina
Norval Joe
JRadimus
Justin
Planet Z
  
Free polls from Pollhost.com

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


Anima

Zlinka dreamed of working in the hospitality industry; She learned the finest cooking in France and Austria, diplomacy from various parliamentarians, and how to hold a proper tea from the Queen herself.
But it was not enough – Once Zlinka had her own inn, she discovered that travelers are whiners – the lamb at dinner was too raw, the straw beds too moldy, the lounge too dank and smelly…
What did they really expect from an Ogre? After 4 miserable years, Chez Grendl closed its doors.
Zlinka is much happier as a middle manager overseeing loans at the local bank.

Steven

“There, grandpa,” Mike said, his young hand releasing the wood tile.
“I spelled PIT. How many points is that?”
Grandfather looked at the board. “I think it’s ten.”
“Did you play this game a lot with grandma before she died?”
“Yes. We played most nights.” Grandfather put his tiles down on the
board. “Hospital.”
The boy frowned and hummed, then his face lit up as he put down his
letters. “Hospitality,” he said.
“Congratulations,” Grandfather said. “You win!”
As they left the room, they left behind the game board. There, for a
little while, hospitality was spelled with two e’s.

TJ

I wasn’t born in a barn. My mother raised me just fine, and indeed a coworker’s 50th birthday is a milestone affair, a thing to be celebrated. I agree with all of these things. And it’s true that Phil did push just the tiniest bit too hard on the RSVP, but I honestly couldn’t think of anything else I’d be doing on a Saturday afternoon so I blurted out “Of course!” and yes, prayed that something, anything would come up. It didn’t. So here I am. The only one. At the home of Phil who oh, I didn’t mention? Nudist.

Katharina

“Welcome to my humble abode.” She motioned the young man into her house.
The weather was horrible, a thunderstorm unseen in years. He was soaking wet and dripped on the floor, leaving behind huge puddles of water. Shaking and obviously cold, he was thankful for the pot of soup he soon had between his hands. It was a rich soup, with potatoes, noodles and a lot of vegetables. The clothes she had given him were a bit too big for him – he figured the man in the house must be rather tall.
“What is your name anyway, young lad?”
“Hänsel”
“Oh, how fitting! I needed fresh meat anyway…”

Norval Joe

Making a living as a traveling minister during the great depression was difficult. He went to the south, hoping to find a humble, accepting feild of labor.
He turned his attention to the people he had grown up calling the “Mulato’s”.
“You’ve come in time for dinner,” he was told at the first house he visited.
“I’d heard of southern hospitality, but I didn’t expect this,” he said as a girl washed his hands, trimmed his nails and brushed his hair.
In the kitchen the mother made a gumbo, the grandmother used his hair and nails t0 make a doll.
If I win, how about, donkeys

JRadimus

In some cultures, it is a terrible insult to your host if you eat all the food on your plate at dinner. It says, “You are a stingy and unwelcoming host.” In other cultures, it is great praise. It says, “You are a generous and gracious host.”
As the honored guest at a ceremony of the Korowai of Papua New Guinea, I do not know which custom they follow. Frankly, I could not care less how much of me they leave on their plates. It is hardly the debate to have with oneself in the broth, amongst the root vegetables.

Justin

Johnny made sure his jaw still worked and stood. Doctor Sinusoid stood on the deck, small and red faced.
“Welcome to my airship, Mr. Copperwire. I trust my assistant Palms greeted you nicely?”
“If you call giving me several high-fives to my face nice, then I don’t want to suffer your hospitality.”
“Well, I had to bring you here on my terms, of course.”
“But I’ll be leaving on mine.”
Johnny tossed a sachet at Sinusoid. Palms swatted it into powder.
Sinusoid and Palms sneezed and fell over gasping.
“Now to disassemble the sine wave death ray without any opposition.”

Planet Z

I work in a hospital. I run network systems for the IT Department.
Medical records? Scheduling?
All computers.
Sadly, Hospitality and Hospital IT are mutually exclusive.
We’re well aware that the time it takes a system to reboot may kill someone. Or, if it’s the networked pharmacy database corrupting, an entire floor can get wiped out.
Everything is a crisis. Everything is important. It’s written over all of our monitors.
You do not need to keep reminding us.
It’s rude. It’s repetitive. It’s patronizing. And it wastes valuable time that should be spent fixing the problem.
It’s just downright… inhospitable.

Weekly Challenge #186 – Stuffing

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Welcome to the Weekly Challenge Number One Hundred And Eighty-Six, 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… was…. um…
It’s Stuffing!
The excellent theme music is by Guy David.
VOTING

Which stories were the best this week?
Steven
Lynda
Katharina from Vienna
Erin
TJ
Justin
Norval Joe
Davy
JRadimus 1
JRadimus 2
JRadimus 3
Great Hites
Planet Z
  
Free polls from Pollhost.com

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


Steven

Fluffles the Bunny looked over the flesh crowd. A few other clothies
were here, but they were more concerned with not being smooshed
underfoot than listening.
Snookums Bear studied the crowd over Fluffles’ shoulder. “Ugly crowd, boss.”
Fluffles narrowed his button eyes. “It’s the first anniversary of our
struggle, when Dan Bear stood up to the humans.” The bunny took the
microphone and began his speech.
“Do I not have eyes? If you prick us, do we not bleed?”
Fluffles then noticed polyester fill poking through one of his seams.
The crowd kicked the stuffing out of him.

Lynda

My grandmother’s stuffing is legendary, brings all the grown men in my family to tears!
One Thanksgiving, my wife–new to the tasty taste sensation–tried to guess what the little morsels of juicy deliciousness scattered throughout the cornbread were.
“Pork?”
“Family secrets!” is all she ever says. It’s funny, but the year she confessed that to my wife, Grampa Jed burst into tears.
She’s never revealed her mystery ingredient, although I think my uncles figured it out a while ago. Strangely enough, once they work out the recipe, no one wants to eat it anymore.
More for me!

Katharina

After 2 hours in the oven the chicken should be pretty much done. Apparently, I was wrong. I shouldn’t have gone for the biggest one – but I wanted to impress. The skin already looked delicious… dark gold and slightly crunchy. Going for a dish typical for the region I grew up in was a conscious choice. I wanted him to know where I came from. The potatoes under the chicken looked already done as well. My only worry was the stuffing. It should be firm and not soggy, soft but not dried out. I took a deep breath and opened the oven door.

Erin

Stuffing a toy turkey seemed a little absurd. Whatever happened to kids playing in the woods like in the good ole’ days, you know when the only entertainment they needed was nature itself. Now, Sally wants plastic ponies, dolls, and over the top stories about sparkling vampires. Jimmy wants electronic toys guns that emit piercing sounds along with video games, hence his white complexion from never going outside. Oh and the baby, only the best in over priced cloth toys, hence why I myself am stuffing a turkey to add to her ever growing collection, instead of breaking the bank.

TJ

In the wake of the explosion, there was little left to identify. The car’s interior was scorched and its inhabitants immolated. The minister’s domestic staff were questioned individually and while there were the usual missteps and discrepancies, they revealed nothing conclusive. By the close of the week the household staff were informed their services would no longer be required and it was at that time Mother Postworth, sometime spy and governess, packed away with her knitting a quantity of cotton stuffing, one quite similar to the amount of plastic explosive hidden inside the teddy bear carried by his lordship’s son.

Zachmann

Kevin invited our family over for the Thanksgiving meal. He was worried about the meal because he had never cooked a Thanksgiving meal before and never made stuffing. Kevin’s roommate told him he could buy stuffing from Wal-Mart. Most of the meal was very good although the turkey was a little dry. Some one asked “What was the white stuff inside the turkey?” Kevin’s roommate said “It is my fault because I didn’t know how stressed Kevin was and when I said buy stuffing from Wal-Mart I didn’t think he would buy the stuffing from the arts and crafts section.”

Justin

Brobby dug into his pockets for the things he had stuffed in them while exploring.
He played with some twigs for a bit, trying to stand them up like a tepee. A small stone glittered while it tumbled in his fingers. One real lucky find was a splacknuck tooth.
His mother heard him sobbing, and seeing the tooth asked if he had cut himself. He uncovered a limp little man, bent all wrong. Brobby’s mother consoled him and told him that a human was too fragile to survive in his pockets and that he should try a jar next time.

Norval Joe

His face was frozen in a rictus of pain. His eyes bulged out of their sockets and hung, as if on strings sewn through the back of his skull. His mouth hung open, evidence of his silent scream.
The pain was intense, unbearable, it filled his world. He wished he would die, or at least pass out from the pain but still he endured.
The giant creature sat on his chest, pinned his arms and legs to the ground, displacing and crushing his insides mercilessly.
The little boy laughed sadistically and pulled the stuffing from the torn teady bears chest.

Davy

He surveyed the mess, scattered all over the kitchen floor, shaking his
head in disbelief.
“That bloody dog! I’m going to pull its teeth out if I catch him!” he
yelled.
“What is it, dear?” asked his wife, rushing in to see what the fuss was
about.
“One hour to go until we serve up Thanksgiving dinner and this happens!
The stuffing is everywhere! Dinner is going to be ruined!” he sobbed.
“Now there, don’t fret. We can sort this in no time at all,” said Mrs.
Bear, bending down to pick up her husband’s fluffy innards and stuff them
back in his belly.

JRadimus 1

While driving my bus through the scrubbers after my route, I kept seeing a fuzzy brown face press against the windows: brush – brush – brush – FACE. Another driver must have found a teddy bear fallen off a lorry’s grill, and tied him there. We see ‘em all the time. I was overcome by sentiment; to their amusement, I slogged through the brushes to free the little guy. I scrubbed him up and poked his stuffing back in. He watched us wash our busses. Then he watched me drive ‘til I retired. Now, Bus Wash sits and watches me watch telly.

JRadimus 2

We received a mysterious invitation to the Magic Friend Factory. We entered, feeling not entirely unlike Charlie Bucket. We were led through corridors, confused, but curious. In the Friend Picker, our tears were sampled, and a few minutes later, a plush sock-body twin of our late Coco came down a chute. They put it in the Stuffer, and we watched the body fill. They stitched her closed and handed her to us. When we held her, she transformed: no longer a stuffed animal, but an immortal surrogate for our lost friend. There’s a lot of magic in a little stuffing.

JRadimus 3

Oliver tore into the interloper with abandon. “Rrrr … Unh …. Rrrrrr-rah! That’ll show you!” The interloper stopped resisting, and lay limp and lifeless under Oliver’s grip. Just then, the front door opened. Oliver froze as Trish and Jay walked in on an interesting scene: their Beagle sitting amongst a blizzard of cotton batting swirling around him, with Trish’s favorite Teddy Bear pinned under his paws, the stuffing knocked out of it.
“Oliver! No! Bad boy!”
Oliver slowly released the plush rag. He sat up, his tail curled around his butt and his head dipped submissively.
“I’m sorry,” he whimpered.

Jeffrey

Arthur always loved going to the teddy bear factory. His parents never quite understood his fascination with watching the little bears get made. He never wanted to take one home, he just wanted to watch. He stood for hours watching the sewing machines, and the stuffing machines and the machine that put the eyes on. He never liked to watch them put the ears on because he said that hurt too much. Arthur always had been a strange little boy, but now that he owns the factory no one questions why he spends time there watching, waiting for Super Ted.

Planet Z

In the kitchen, Papa Buford’s getting the Thanksgiving Turducken all prepped and ready for cookin tonight.
Cornbread stuffing and yam, creole and jambalaya.
That all gonna be a big ol feast, but that bird in a bird in a bird is what we all want the most.
The turkey be dumb, he go down easy. Plucked and gutted.
The chicken, well, they be a chicken. Ain’t nothin special about it.
But the duck, boy did he put up a fight, Papa Buford chasin after him with a knife, duck shouting that AFLAC! over and over.
Can ya smell it?
Mmmmmmmmmmmyeah.

Weekly Challenge #185 – Mystery Ingredient

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Welcome to the Weekly Challenge Number One Hundred And Eighty-Five, 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… was…. um…
It’s Halloween!
The excellent theme music is by Guy David.
VOTING

Which stories were the best this week?
Steven
Zachmann
Norval Joe
Justin
TJ
Lance
Laeianna
JRadimus
Planet Z
  
Free polls from Pollhost.com


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


Steven

One. Take one candlestick. Combine with the brain of your ex-lover at
high speed. In the library.
Two. Wipe fingerprints from fixtures and door handles for thirty seconds.
Three. Use two cups of the victim’s blood to write radical slogans for
a religion you do not follow on the walls.
Four. Place body in bathtub filled with sulfuric acid. Allow to
steep until soft..
Five. Knead C4 around support pillars of home. Place detonators.
Six. Exit, then detonate. Allow all ingredients to cook until fire
and police departments arrive.
Seven. Watch TV anchors speculate about your identity.
Serves one.

Zachmann

Kory smiles and offers Justin a piece of cake fresh from the oven made with a recipe he got from DAVe. Jusin says “This looks like a standard spice cake. Is it?” “Yes, with a special mystery ingredient. It is surprisingly good” replies Kory. “My son brought some to school and his friends love it.” Kory pours Justin a glass of milk. They each eat a piece of cake. Justin’s face turns read. Then Justin grabs the one gallon milk jug and drinks all the milk. Justin asks “Just what is the mystery ingredient?” “Didn’t I tell you? Habanerro Peppers”

Norval Joe

A bunch of us kids got crazy my junior year in high school. We dicided we all wanted super powers. Someone came up with the idea of hanging out in the cooling tower of the old nuclear plant.
The police showed up before I could climb in.
My dad worked for KFC. When he found out what we tried to do, he said I could use the mustery ingredient from the secret eleven herbs and spices. He said it would make me fly.
It’s disappointing.
All my friends died from radiation poisoning. I wake up everyday at sunrise and crow.

Justin

Although airship travel is slow and relaxed, but no one wants a long wait to
eat. I have to make quality food at a reasonable pace. I can’t cook fresh to
order at the slow speed it takes to get that special, perfect taste. I have
a secret, though. I can cook food quickly, but still get compliments on the
exquisite flavor of the food. How do I do it? Well, let me tell you. I add a
special ingredient; I spritz on sloth sweat. It’s rare and expensive, but
it’s the best way to get that slow cooked flavor!

TJ

Part of a compilation, you say, slipping into our
midst in an incognito fashion? Such as might slink along sub rosa without
anybody noticing? That is our task, to suss out this addition? How curiously
quaint, and quaintly curious. Or, failing that, a thing can, in unusual
situations, simply find it’s out of bounds, strict and uncompromising though
such might loom. Can your imagination fathom my fabrication? What’s missing
thus far in this randomly circuitous jazz – apart from a common nonconsonant
which, for kicks, I’m not using in this discussion. What a luxury, had I not
run out of it!

Lance

Twenty years.
That’s how long it took to decipher the spider-web
handwriting and understand the formula.
I spent ten more scouring the globe for the strange and exotic bits of
plant and animal matter. When I came
home, nearly three years passed as I stared at that damnable smeared blob of
ink before deciding what the last item on the list must be.
Thirty-three years of my life in pursuit of
one goal. It seems like so long, but if
I’m right, if I’ve finally figured out the mystery ingredient, I’ll live
forever. If I’m wrong, then I’ll destroy
the-

Laeianna

Lester jabbed his fork into the mystery meatloaf all schools served. Poke!
Poke! After last Thursday’s helping, Lester asked the counselor about it.
She claimed it had the usual ingredients with a little mystery flavor added
then urged him to concentrate on schoolwork instead. Poke! Poke! Lester
refused, keeping an eye on the kitchen door’s little window into the lunch
lady’s world. Poke! Poke! He worried over the roaches coming from under
the door and hearing the sounds of cat screams emanating from inside. Poke!
Poke! And then there was the odd fact that kitchen assistants kept
disappearing. Poke! Poke!

JRadimus

You mightn’t not believe me now, but we once had the biggest pile o’ money you even done seen. We was the richest family fer six hollers. But now I’ve spent almost all of it tryin’ to figger out my Grand-Pappy’s secret. Y’see, Grand-Pappy brewed him up some special moonshine during the Dry Spell. Folks cottoned to it real powerful-like. Purty soon, he was sellin’ it as quick as he made it. Pa started helpin’ him after he got blinded off’n a bad batch from over the next county. Then he up n’ died without tellin’ us his mystery ingredient.

Planet Z

Batman dragged the battered chef into Arkham and threw him into a cell.
“What’s the name on this one?” the orderly asked.
“He calls himself ‘Mister E. Ingredient’” growled Batman. “The Master Chef Of Crime.”
He responded well to therapy and medication, and rehabilitation went smoothly.
Gotham Four Seasons and The Wyndham expressed an interest in his skills, but the doctors didn’t think he was ready.
“At least let me cook something, to express my gratitude,” said Ingredient.
As the staff and guards vomited blood, the chef straightened his toque, laughed, and walked out the door.

Weekly Challenge #184 – Halloween

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Welcome to the Weekly Challenge Number One Hundred And Eighty-Four, 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… was…. um…
It’s Halloween!
The excellent theme music is by Guy David.
VOTING

Which were the best stories this week?
Platinum Lightning
Stephen the Nuclear Man
Laieanna
Zachmann
Lynda
Justin
TJ
JRadimus 1
JRadimus 2
Norval Joe
  
Free polls from Pollhost.com

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


Platinum Lightning

Every year, on Halloween, my friends and I have a little party. We come to Dave’s house in costume and tell stories around the fireplace whilst drinking warm cider. Mark brings his Ouija board, and we ask the spirits about our futures. We watch the children trick-or-treating outside, and remember when we used to trick-or-treat. Sometimes we watch horror movies, although they don’t entertain us as much as they used to. We talk and laugh together for hours. Then, when the clock strikes midnight, we go out to slaughter young children and devour their souls.
There’s something special about Halloween.

Stephen

When I was a kid, I loved Indiana Jones.
I would walk around with my shirts unbuttoned to my pasty navel,
carrying a string for a whip. I ran around the schoolyard humming the
theme song.
I also loved my Luke Skywalker Underoos. When friends came over, I
would sometimes show them off, coming downstairs wearing nothing but
the orange underwear.
That was decades ago.
Yesterday, a friend asked me what I was going to be for Halloween.
“I don’t know,” I replied. But my hand fidgeted with my shirt
buttons, and I swear my underwear suddenly turned bright orange.

Laieanna

(No Text)

Zachmann

Halloween means a spool of wire, six foot of chicken wire, a lawn funnel, a stack of newspaper, and me asking “Son, what is a Piranha Plant?” Then I wonder if “Would you buy spay paint for me?” is a logical response. I spend a couple of hours helping him cut and bend nine gauge wire into a sphere. Son covers it with chicken wire himself. Shows me the scares. He says it is okay for me to spend the money because he will use it at a Con. I hope he finishes in time. Halloween a holiday for geeks.

Lynda

My favorite time of year! I’m not allowed to enjoy the company of children any other day, but on Halloween there’s an endless supply, and always more follow to enjoy my special treats.
I can’t give you my recipe, it’s a family secret, handed down from my great-great-great-grandmammy Wanda. She escaped the old country with only the shawl on her back and a girl scout under her skirt. Very misunderstood woman. She loved children! Loved to make them cookies. Just like me!
Don’t be shy, kiddies, have another cookie! Watch your fingers! Wouldn’t want them to break!

Justin

Kory peered out the window into the night. Kids all dressed up, ready to cause trouble. The last thing he wanted was to have to deal with was dumb kids armed with spray cans with nothing better to do than tag a country club. He moved outside to sneak up behind them. Just as he switched on the flashlight to get there attention, dark shapes swooped in and tackled them to the ground. The light played over a pale face with blood stained fangs. On second thought, dumb kids were the next to last thing he wanted to deal with.

TJ

A nondescript doorway on a discreet side street hinted at nothing of the bacchanal within. Even so, Millicent’s All Hallow’s Eve masque was the devastation of the year. Cloaks flung aside to reveal the most outrageous, magnificent guises, masquerade most ravishing, a celebration of youth, intrigue and inspiration. Drink flowed like water and designer drugs made the rounds amidst the finery until the stroke of midnight. In the candlelight, the revelers shed every stitch of clothing for a midnight minuet. As the partiers came together on the dancefloor, arch ribaldry transformed to vulnerability and then acceptance. Masks changed, yet remained.

JRadimus 1

Every high schooler has their after-school job to earn money. I’m a little different. Mine’s before school. I’m a paperboy. Every day, 365 days a year, I’m up at O-Dark-Thirty in the morning, treading the dark and lonely streets. I don’t mind the hours or the back-breaking weight of Sunday editions: I’m a Zombie. Things like that don’t bother loathsome undead like me. That’s right: I’m a Teenage Zombie Paperboy. Do you know what sucks most about being a Teenage Zombie Paperboy? Halloween. Do you know how often I’ve been stopped by police for Trick-or-Treating too late on November 1st?

JRadimus 2

It’s the same nonsense every year. And it goes for almost two weeks. It’s not the Trick-or-Treating or the costumes, or any of that. No; what I hate are the lame jokes. I hear the same ones every year. You see, I’m a Zombie. The townsfolk are well-past their pitchfork fetishes, and the rest of the year it’s fine. But every year, from about October 24th, until around November 7th, it’s “Aren’t you a little early?” “Weren’t you a Zombie last year?” “Trick-or-Treating’s over, son.” Next year, I’m going to eat anyone who asks me something stupid. There’s your “Trick-or-Treat.”

Norval Joe

I can hear them out on the front porch right now, pounding on my door. Normally, their scared of me, but for some reason on Halloween they think they can come harass me.
I leave the porch light off, but they must have seen me through the curtains. Now they’ve found the doorbell and are ringing it with abandon.
I throw open the door and shout, “what do you want?”
The snot nosed brats, secure behind their masks and makeup, squeal, “Trickertreet”
For the next prompt I would choose…super hero
I scowl and say, “Here, you can have the butterfingers, I hate em. The snickers are all mine.”

Planet Z

This has got to be the worst Halloween ever.
The Wolfman, he have fleas.
Frankenstein’s monster, always being called Frankenstein. He’s in therapy now. Identity issues.
The Creature From The Black Lagoon, his home got drained. Turned into a golf course.
And nobody’s seen the Invisible Man for ages.
Worst of all, I, Count Dracula, well… I’ve got to see a dentist for a chipped fang.
This party’s a bust. The games are dumb.
Pin The Tail On The Obama Poster?
Tours of a haunted Portapotty?
Who the hell came up with Bobbing For Pizza anyway?
Oh, just stake me!

Weekly Challenge #183 – Peace

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Welcome to the Weekly Challenge Number One Hundred And Eighty-Two, 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… was…. um…
It’s Crushed!
The excellent theme music is by Guy David.
I’d like to take a moment to that Guy David for having been a part of this podcast over the years. He’s let me know that this will be his last story. You’ve made my life that much more surreal, and I’ve come to embrace the principle that life’s too short to listen to bad music with your wisdom.
VOTING
No voting this week. Listen to the podcast for the reason why and leave a comment if you’d like to see it come back.

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


Stephen

Before, there was screaming.
The screams were in my head. It was all too much. Keeping up the
house. Having the newest car. The stupid forms at work. Her
marathon shopping sprees. The kids deciding their new hobby was too
boring after we’d rearranged our schedules. Working twelve hour days
to afford it all.
Even the dog growled at me.
Then the bum bit me. Twelve hours later, and I’m infected like him.
It’s simple now. I hunger for human flesh, and I kill. And I eat.
The screams are outside my head now.
But my mind is at peace.

Lynda

I was told I might die.
Might.
Everyone dies, what’s the big deal? Not everyone finds peace. That thought scared me all the way to this mountain.
Forty minutes into the climb my muscles hurt so bad I almost believed everyone who told me I couldn’t do this, and I wanted to hate them but I was too busy. After my lungs stopped burning I started to feel hungry. Eventually that passed, too.
When I reached the top, an old man greeted me.
“What took you so long?”
Too tired to do anything but laugh, we sat watching the sunset.

Jeffrey 1

At the end of world war one, it was thought that peace for at least a life time was inevitable. There was no way that anyone would want to fight a war again after such carnage and destruction of the first world war, and so it was named the war to end all wars. Then the great depression happened, and countries struggled to make ends meet. When you have ten starving people in a room and there is only six sandwiches they are going to fight over them, and so we have world war two. They should have read history.

Jeffrey 2

You know what it is supposed to be like in church. Everyone is quite listening to the preacher, praying. If you are old enough to remember the days before Mass was in english, you probably say the rosary instead of listening. But, if you have little kids with you it is a totally different experience. You spend time getting them to be quiet, not play with the kneelers, not chew on the books, and not make airplanes out of the bulletin. When the sign of peace comes it means something totally different to you. Peace and quiet be with you.

Anima

I have seen many spectacular things; with my favored nephew these thoughts I share:
There are two things required of a friend:
The ability to laugh, and the ability to laugh at oneself.
There are four thoughts that oft occupy the mind, only three that I will share:
An ice cold drink after mowing the lawn, the commitment to reach the summit, and a tender kiss; that is enough.
And there are three things that man says, that are not taken seriously:
I come in peace;
Do you want a piece of me?
And Man, I really have to piss.

Justin

I have no idea how Major Ricks got his rank, because he’s a complete moron, dangerously so. He wont allow our sniper to relocate to counter the enemy sniper. I’ve lost five men because of this. The only sense I’ve ever seen in him is that he removed his rank insignias so the sniper wont know who he is the few times he’s in the open. Here he comes now crouched, and scowling like always. I tell him my thoughts of him. He stands, red faced. I also stand, then salute. His scowling face explodes. Rest in peace, Major Ricks.

JRadimus

The war began instantly. The fighting had been intense, the losses devastating. Across the battlefield, amongst the mangled weaponry and war machines, lay the bloody, dismembered corpses of the lucky, the maimed, moaning bodies of the unlucky, and the scattered pieces of the rest.
The aggressor was merciless. He ordered maneuvers without regard for his own casualties, only how much it would destroy his enemy. It was a carnal bloodlust.
Suddenly, the commander instantly ceased his rampage with as little warning as he had begun.
“Matthew, dinner!” the young warlord’s father called.
“Yes! Spaghetti!”
This peace would only be temporary.

Basrai

She likes the sound of it, but hesitates still. She knows her baby is coming; its head is lower, protruding into her pelvic bone, and causing discomfort. Still she hesitates. She turns her thought many times over inside her head, like choosing a pumpkin; but as soon as her decision was made, she again put it back, again indecisive.
She loves to name it Shanti, Sanskrit for Peace. But a name defines, insists. Shanti weighs, almost a burden. She vacillates until the delivery.
Now, as she caresses Shanti’s pink toes, she no longer fears, for tiny Shanti needs her protection.

Zacmann

Brad ran fast. Brad was terrified. Brad was being chased by big birds with snakelike heads. They wanted to eat him. He grabbed an ax and chopped the through a bird’s snakelike neck. Two heads grew back. Brad remembered that his neighbor from the UK said he always kept a torch in his workshop. It worked for Hercules Brad thought but only found a flashlight. Luckily, Brad soon found the snakebirds did not like light from LED bulbs in their eyes. The snakebirds returned to their space ship. Although Brad feared someday they might return, for now he had peace.

TJ

A hole in the ice is an eerie, uneasy peace. Silence echoes from distant hills and a vast new acoustic takes hold, at once outlandish yet familiar to North Country denizens. Is it evidence of an ice fisherman since headed on homeward with a string full of supper, or something more sinister … a brave yet foolhardy early season lake-walker … one less snowmobiler … a seaplane landing that ended badly. Is it mere open water, a lake not yet frozen over? Vital clues remain hidden by the freshly fallen snow: Namely, how many tracks lead there … and back?

Norval Joe

“You expect me to believe you want peace?” Amy spat at the old man.
Derrick walked around the chair where she sat, and stood in front of her. “You can believe it or stay locked in this room,” he said.
Dominick Lorrantelle smiled over his grandson’s shoulder. “Enough of that. There is more than your personal comfort at stake, here. There are many who seek freedom.”
She struggled in her bonds. “Freedom from you.” She glared.
“With domination will come peace,” he said and turned his back on her. “That is more freedom than most have enjoyed for many years.”

Guy David

Father Peace stood at the seaside mourning. “My children, why have you forsaken me” he whispered. An old sea captain swaggered to him and offered him a drink. “At my time, I have seen many a treasures” he said, “but the biggest treasure of all was friendship. I have seen much cruelty and misdeeds, but human nature always comes up on the right side at the end. Don’t weep for your children father peace, for peace is what they seek, and peace is what they would find.” With that, the sea captain went back to sea, looking for Father Time.

Planet Z

When I was young, the preacher said you won’t find peace in a saloon, a bottle of pills, in packs of cigarettes, at the end of a needle, between women’s legs, or all the filth Hollywood smears on the screen.
So, I drank. I popped pills. I smoke. I shot up heroin. I fucked every woman from Los Angeles to Boston and back again.
The preacher, he shouted and yelled and thumped his Bible and stayed up nights writing sermons till the day he died. Never a moment of peace.
Me, I’ve had a good ride. No regrets at all.

Weekly Challenge #182 – Crushed

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Welcome to the Weekly Challenge Number One Hundred And Eighty-Two, 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… was…. um…
It’s Crushed!
The excellent theme music is by Guy David.
VOTING

Which were the best stories of the week?
Lynda
Stephen
Anima
Zackmann
J Radimus
Jim
Norval Joe
TJ
Guy David
Jeffrey
Planet Z
  
Free polls from Pollhost.com

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


Lynda

Dearest Eliza,
As I’m sure you recall, our cousin Jack has been undertaking the peculiar task of collecting bits of thread for the past seven years, and I am grateful to you for your contribution of the clippings from your pantaloons, however I must report the tragic news that our dear cousin was crushed beneath his great ball of fibers this past Thursday.
Do not grieve, as Jack prized your threads above all others and had little interest in anything save that hideous tangle. Had he not rejected my advances I would have happier news for you.
Regretfully yours,
Gertrude

Stephen

I loved Sally, though I couldn’t understand why a model like her would
be with a nerd like me. I told myself I would do anything to get a
girl like her.
That’s why I didn’t object when she squished the bug during sex.
“It’s what gets me off,” she said.
It had been so long, I didn’t care. And at first, it was a little exciting.
Then it was spiders. Centipedes. Mice. Birds. A hamster.
When it was finally my own head squeezed under her stilleto heel, I
realized I didn’t really love her.
It was only a crush.

Anima

“Once there was a little girl that did not like to go to bed. She’d do anything to stay up past her bedtime, even if it was only a few minutes extra.
She’d turn the clocks forward, just a minute or two each day, so by the end of the week she would have a whole quarter of an hour more, all the sweeter because the time was stolen.
Slowly the minutes accumulated into hours, the hours became days, and in the end, the little girl was crushed by all the time she had on her hands.
Good night, sweetie”

Zackmann

Like the mailbox under the snowplow, like the Balikbayan Box marked Fragile, like the shellfish the bird hit with the rock, like rocks into cement, like the peanuts for my sandwich, like the bug under foot, like the corn under the grinding stone, like the grapes for the wine, like the oranges in the juice, like the flowers in the pages of the dictionary, like the olives for oil, like the garlic in the press, like the aloe vera for ointment, like the Mercedes in the bailer, like the acorn under the steamroller, like the whiskey rebellion, I am crushed.

J Radimus

He walked down the street in the rain, under the glow of the streetlights. The pain started just below his ribs under his left arm. It always was worse when the weather turned cold and wet.
He thought for a moment that his brain must look like old wagon trails, the places where “why” happened all worn in with ruts from the constant traffic in those parts.
Looking down, he saw that someone had left a single rose on the mat by the door. She had been here, while he was gone.
He bent down to pick it up, reaching for it. Then he remembered. The bones had been too fragmented, the nerves too damaged. The doctors had fused the bones.
He stared at his useless hand for a moment, then straightened. He stepped on the rose, grinding the petals and stem under his shoe.
Then he fumbled for his keys with his good hand, and went inside.

Jim

He walked down the street in the rain, under the glow of the streetlights. The pain started just below his ribs under his left arm. It always was worse when the weather turned cold and wet.
He thought for a moment that his brain must look like old wagon trails, the places where “why” happened all worn in with ruts from the constant traffic in those parts.
Looking down, he saw that someone had left a single rose on the mat by the door. She had been here, while he was gone.
He bent down to pick it up, reaching for it. Then he remembered. The bones had been too fragmented, the nerves too damaged. The doctors had fused the bones.
He stared at his useless hand for a moment, then straightened. He stepped on the rose, grinding the petals and stem under his shoe.
Then he fumbled for his keys with his good hand, and went inside.

Norval Joe

The disco ball continued to spin; spots of colored light whirled around the dance floor. Abba sang “Dancing Queen”. Kevin lay, supine on the empty gymanasium floor. His midnight blue, crushed corduroy, three piece, suit soaked the blood as it poured from the bullet hole in his chest.
The crowd rushed away from the sound of the gun to reveal the pistol where it was dropped among the confetti and crushed carnation corsages.
Kevin’s date rushed back to his side and knelt, crushed. All her hopes and plans were just destroyed. The after dance party would have to be canceled.

TJ

It could be a part of the wing in a 747. It could provide a key element in the housing for a lightweight, life-saving nanotechnology. It could just become another beer can, the materials for which we didn’t need to first invest the energy to dig up and refine. It’s a crushed, very old Pabst Blue Ribbon can at the side of the road. You can see where it used to be one of those pull-tab jobbers. It could still be any of those things, however. All that’s missing is for you to pick it up and turn it in.

Guy David

The crush test dummy looked pissed. “Are you trying to kill me?” he asked indignantly. The tester just looked at him, blinking in disbelief. “You are not real” he said, “you can’t be real.” The dummy shook his head and rolled his eyes. “Maybe I should teach you a little lesson” He said. Soon the tester found himself in a test car running at 150 MPH towards a wall. As he screamed the car crushed into the wall and two air bags opened, saving his life. “Oh – that looks like fun, let’s do this again” said the crush test dummy.

Jeffrey

Being crushed is no fun, ask Clark Kent. He was crushed by evil superman in Superman three. But really being crushed doesn’t hold a candle to having your heart crushed. If you’re really crushed, unless you a Clark Kent, there’s an end in sight. If you get your heart crushed that’s a different Story. Remember in junior high when you asked that girl to the dance and she dumped you right there. Had to explain where you date was to your dad. Then she had the gall to invite you to her birthday, expecting a good gift. Too much sharing

Planet Z

Crushed in a hydraulic press, the evil robot from the future reached out at his assassination target time and time again, barely missing her with each thrust of his powerful arm.
“Must… terminate… you…” said the robot.
Then, he stopped reaching, and his scary red eyes faded to darkness.
His target, a bloodied and battered woman who would be the mother of the future resistance movement, sighed with relief.
As she got up, the robot’s arm grabbed her by the neck.
“Fooled ya,” it said.
Its fingers crushed her throat, and then tossed her corpse to the ground.

Weekly Challenge #181 – Forty

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Welcome to the Weekly Challenge Number One Hundred And Eighty-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… was…. um…
It’s Forty!
The excellent theme music is by Guy David.
VOTING

Which were the best stories this week?
Josh
Eva
Cary
ChestMutt
Stephen
Anima
John W.
Brad
Almo
Guy David
Basrai
Lynda
Justin
Norval Joe
Ishtar 1
Ishtar 2
TJ
JRaqdimus
Dedric
Planet Z
  
Free polls from Pollhost.com

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


Josh

Joey plunged the hotdog into the water and watched it expand before pulling it out and cramming it into his already full mouth.
Chewing furiously he imagined himself a viking destroying his enemy, piercing through soggy armor and rubbery flesh with spear-like incisors. He fought only to kill. To send his opponent like its twenty-seven brethren before it, to the bowels of hell.
Joey grabbed the cup and pulled deep, not minding the soggy chunks of bread collecting on his lips before slamming it back down. He braced himself for the melee of approaching challengers .
Only forty more to go.

Eva Moon

Amir stifled a groan of discomfort and shifted his aching bones as much as he could in the cramped quarters, but it provided little relief. How long must I wait? He settled his shoulders against the rough ceramic and occupied his mind with thoughts of how he would spend his share of the loot. Even split forty ways with the other thieves, it would still be enough to make a comfortable life for a frugal man.
At last he heard the shuffle of bare feet outside his hiding place and the sound of the clay lid above his head being slid aside.
The last thing he knew was the smell of hot oil.

Cary

Birthday candles blazing, Pintu leaned over the cake with his ears pinned back, to prevent them from singeing. As he took a deep breath grandpa shouted out “how many is that now?!” Pintu held the captive air. From the opposite side of the room Grandma returned even louder “5”! Pintu still waiting, his little cheeks bulging. Grandpa responded “If he’s 5 then I’m forty!” “Death plus forty!” Grandma shouted over the huddled crowd. “You would know!” yelled back Grandpa. Pintu still hovering over the flaming cake, only his eyes following the volleys. His cheeks turning a patient shade of blue.

ChestMutt

The night was dark and spooky as the kids walked through the woods. All they wanted was a silly scare, but now, in the forty degree weather, all they wanted was home. The fall festival was a hit for them, and they gathered as much candy and food as possible. The sugar rush they were now on made them easily convinced to go through the thick trees in search for the ghostly creature that hid among them. Somewhere, a tree branch snapped, sending them into a sudden panic as they turned and ran the ten feet out into the clearing.

Stephen

In this world, lawyers are real predators. Feral copyright attorneys
hunt the streets. Outside, a patent infringer’s gunship ravages a
corporate skyscraper. The building rumbles, preparing to launch into
low orbit.
I shake my head. The scene fades as I toss the paper – my fortieth
attempt at a believable world – into the wastebin.
I write again, and the world fills in around me. Giant insects buzz,
a velociraptor screeches, and I quickly throw that paper aside.
I pick up my pen again. This time, I write you. Your world, your
cities, your people.
I’m not sure if I like it.

Anima

“If you’d paid Big Louie on time, I wouldn’t have to come visit. Why would a sweet old granny like to bet that kind of money on the fights anyway? You just don’t look the type. What’s that? Hold on, I’m gonna pull of the tape now…”
“It’s not me you want, you goon! I’m Joan Smith, not John Smith!”
“You aren’t John Smith, Apartment 4D?”
“No! he’s in 4T!”
“Eh. Benny, let go the old lady… and remind me to get a new cel phone in the morning, you can’t understand a thing anybody says on this…”

John W.

Red and blue lights flashed behind me. I pulled over, rolled down my
window and placed my hands on the steering wheel.
When the officer approached I could see my reflection in his mirrored
sunglasses.
He spoke in a calm yet firm tone, “Sir, do you know why I pulled you over?”
I didn’t answer. I knew why.
“Sir, you were doing 87 mph in a 40 mph zone,” he said.
Still I did not answer.
He looked in the back seat and said to me, “Follow me, sir.”
We raced off together to the hospital, my wife in labor.

Brad

Once upon a time there lived a bewitched princess that had been asleep for 40 years. Her queenly mother prayed for a hero to come and break the spell. Her mother’s prayers were answered when a valiant 40 year old prince with gold mail and super fast horse fought his way past dragons and swamp monsters and stuff like that to get to her and wake her with a kiss. But then he realized that she was 18 when she fell asleep and that would make her 58 so he passed and married a 22 year old duchess from Notlob.

Almo

Peter slipped on the wet, muddy floor, then slipped heavily on something else. “Shit!” he said, an interjection and a description. He cleaned himself up, cursed the cow, and began mucking out the pen. He looked uncertainly at the hay, which would mildew if they couldn’t figure out a way to dry it out soon.
He caught a movement out of the corner his eye. His father.
Peter’s frustration boiled over.
“Look,” he yelled at Noah. “It’s been 39 days of the same thing!”
Peter glanced at the cow. “If this rain lasts forty days, It’s burger time, baby!”

Guy David

Forty butterflies are dancing on my grave. Forty red flowers are arranged in a circle on the cold stone. Forty paid maidens are weeping for me. I scream “I’m alive, I’m still alive, let me out,” but no one hears. The earth tastes sweet in my mouth. I sob. I’ve been here for forty thousand years. Still there’s no sign of me becoming hungry or tired, forever doomed under a spell to stay alive in my grave, counting eternity. The walls of my grave disintegrated long ago. I’m now part of the soil. I’ll stay here forever. It’s my destiny.

Basrai

She asked, with her broken English: “Today, for tea, bring beef home.”
“Beef, for tea?”
She smiled broadly: “For tea, today.”
“You’re not kidding.” I gasped.
“For tea. You don’t know?”
I shook my head. That was the price for entering into a crossed-culture marriage. Your digestive system would, sooner or later, be compromised by strange customs. I imagined the slice of beef floating darkly in the sweet, aromatic Indian tea. She called it tchai.
“I am not drinking tea with beef, especially on my husband’s fortieth birthday. Please.”
“Forty. Your husband forty. I cook good. Not beef with tea.”

Lynda

Come one, come all, gather ’round and see the clockwork kid, the wonder of the modern age! Built by robots on a faraway island forty years ago, a group of opportunistic pirates couldn’t let a good thing go to waste so they brought him here, to entertain you! Wind him up and he’ll weave you a unique tale guaranteed to blow your mind!
You’ll be dazzled by his wit! You’ll marvel as he interacts with the fiercest of jungle cats! You’ll drool over his delicious bread!
Run, don’t walk! Don’t even wait for the bus! Witness the magnificent clockwork kid!

Justin

The weary dung beetle pushed upwards. Rail fell, it pushed. Snow covered the ground, onward to pushed. Food was scarce, yet it pushed upwards still. Jobs came and went, hurricanes and sickness, but still, the dung beetle pushed up, higher and higher up the hill. Many years passed, as did friends and family. How long will can the beetle go on? Wait, there, is that the top of the hill? Just a little bit further now. Forty years the beetle toiled, pushing the turd uphill and now, with a final heave, the crap started going downhill. Happy birthday Laurence Simon.

Norval Joe

“Ok, you were right about the rain, only forty days and nights and we’re afloat. So maybe God is talking to you. But what’s with the sheep? You bring two of each of the other animals, why so many damn sheep? And why do we need to keep them in our bedroom? I know, I know, the whole arc is crowded and they did made good pillows at first, but there’s sheep crap everywhere. I’m not putting up with sheep for another day, let alone forty. You better do something about them or you and the sheep are going overboard.”

Ishtar 1

40 feet till I can be free.
My body can feel it, muscles loosening,
The skin slightly sweating in anticipation,
a smile on my lips.
Why am I reacting like this? It’s Friday afternoon.
The end of the work week. All I can think about is
the Freedom of what I am about to do.
20 feet till I can be free.
My Coworkers tell me goodbye, little do they know
it will be. They try to stop me, ask questions. Reports,
forms, evaluations, baaaah. Can’t they see it all means
nothing?

Ishtar 2

Eyes follow my movements, no one can figure out why I am so happy.
I’m standing in the courtyard at work, surrounded by my coworkers.
Gods they think I’m flipping out.
I smile at them and ask them to wait a moment. I can explain everything.
I slowly unbutton my blouse; light is shining from my eyes.
I can feel the skin of my back ripping away. The crowd goes silent.
In that instant, I feel the ultimate freedom. I’m hovering 10 feet up.
My body has changed, fire on my skin, dragon wings, oh the freedom of flight.

TJ

It’s been 40 years, so go out! Celebrate! Even if you spend the entire day inside, however, the very rotation of the planet carries you about 17,600 miles. This is about 6.4 million miles in a year and nearly 257 million miles in 40 years.
Forty trips around the sun have net you an additional tour of some 23.5 billion miles through the solar system. In that time, the sun has traveled approximately 173 quadrillion miles around the galaxy — at whatever endlessly relative speed that’s moving through the universe.
So seriously, if it’s your 40th birthday? Relax. You’ve earned it.

JRadimus

“” Forty
“Today’s forecast calls for unseasonably wintry weather, with a chance of freezing rain before sunrise and after sunset, mostly cloudy all day, with a high of 40.”
“Thanks for the reminder.”

“Ma’am, Do you know how fast you were going?”
“No.”
“You were doing 40 in a 20. I can’t ignore that.”
“Yes, Officer…I’m sorry.”
“I’m still gonna write the ticket, ma’am.”
She sighed.

“That was some cut. How’d it happen?”
“I dropped a vase and missed; I cut my hand and foot on the glass.”
“Well, you’ll be fine, now. Forty stitches, though.”
“Thanks.”
Some birthday. Guess which one? “”

Dedric

Each day the programmer goes for a walk around a pond to relax. He sees a man playing a flute. It echoes over the water and fills his ears with musical joy. A gathering of large fish are often seen swimming close to the man playing the flute. Ideas fill his head about a fairy from the woods that turned his wife into a fish, and that he plays only to lure his lost love back to him. It is a silly story without an end or a purpose. After forty minutes, the programmer returns to a life of stress.

Planet Z

The last thing Michael remembered was a warning to drink plenty of fluids and rest.
He woke up feeling great… forty years later.
He screamed.
“Your chart says you drank an herbal remedy,” said a face on a floating monitor. White nurse-robots floated around it, going in and out of Michael’s vision.
Michael tried to remember.
His roommate was reading a thick leatherbound book he said once belonged to his great-grandmother.
“Cures everything,” he had said.
“Where is that asshole?” said Michael to the screen.
He heard a yawn from the next bed over.
And a scream.

Weekly Challenge #180 – Wings

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Welcome to the Weekly Challenge Number One Hundred And Eighty, 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… was…. um…
It’s Wings!
The excellent theme music is by Guy David.
VOTING

Which were the best stories this week?
Steven
Guy
Cary
Lynda
Josh
Terry
Norval Joe
Anima
TJ
Justin
JRadimus
Planet Z
  
Free polls from Pollhost.com


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


Steven

“We don’t have penguins,” she IM’d. Her avatar’s tail twitched.
He panned his cam over the alife chickens and turtles covering their
parcel. The virtual eggs filled his inventory.
“The people next to us have penguins,” she continued. “And scripted
flexiwings.”
He rezzed his own wings. “I got these from Yadni’s…”
“I don’t want some freebie crap,” she said, and logged off.
He made his wings stretch and flap. They’d been free,
but with full permissions. With them, he could do anything.
The neighbors watched the wings carry him over their chickens,
turtles, and penguins, heading east, never to return.

Guy David

Dragon soup is our specialty. Trolls and Orcs love them. They come all the way from Orgrimmar to sample out cuisine. I can tell you, some good fights are fought over the seasoning of dragon wings. Our place is a lively establishment. Not a dull moment. You should come around, try our bat wings. You are going to love it. Those wings are spicy. Just take the Darkriver road to the northern tower. You can’t miss it. While you’re at it, could you bring me some vampire blood on the way? It would be great for our Night Elf Gumbo.

Cary

“Hey”
“Hey”
“Can I ask you a question?”
“Sure, what’s up?”
“I was wondering what those things on your side are.”
“What things? Oh! Not really sure, never noticed them before.”
“Well they look kind of cool. What do they do?”
“Hmmm. Good question. Not really sure, but they are snazzy, aren’t they.”
“Yea. Where do I get some, you reckon?”
“Hey! Where are you going?”
“Seems like down. Well it was nice talking to you. If you find out where I can get a pair of those at, let me know,” as he disappears into a puff of dust.

Lynda

Red Bulls are so good, I drank a hundred of them and I didn’t get wings, but I cleaned my gutters and I didn’t even need a ladder to get to the roof, I just jumped! Then I helped change a tire by totally ripping off the tire, and then I threw the tire, and the tire flew all the way across town to the dump and killed a hobo, but I don’t feel bad about that–I can’t feel anything but pure unadulterated caffeine rushing through my veins, busting up my brain and I think I’m having a heartattack!

Josh

The day i tried to fly, was the day i met God.
“Poor creature,” he said, “did I not give thee sense to know thou art not a winged bird?”
i stared into indescribable eyes and saw everything – comprehending nothing.
“My child, did I not give thee legs to carry thyself across solid earth?”
i marveled at bottomless robes, praying to see what was beyond.
“I am Creator of the Universe, Life, Knowledge. Yet thou art compelled, dissatisfied by what I know not. What could exist that I would not bestow unto thee?
“Lord,” i said “…curiosity.”

Terry

Orville climbed the hill looking for his brother, Wilbur, after leaving their Buffalo bicycle shop.
He was rather excited to see the new wing design they had been perfecting for the past six months.
Today was going to be the grand introduction and they had invited all of their friends and neighbors.
Seeing Wilbur standing in front of a large crown of people, he headed toward him.
As he walked up to Wilbur he asked, “Are the wings ready?”
“Just about” answered Wilbur, “All that’s left is to toss them in the hot sauce and put them in a bowl”

Norval Joe

Steel cables ran side by side, up the eastern slope of Half Dome; poles maintained them at waist level. Jeff stood at the bottom, paralized by fear, and peered up. The other boys were out of site, probably already on top.
They had hiked through the night to watch the sunrise from the top.
“If I had wings, I could fly up there,” he said to the ground.
He grasped the cable with both sweaty hands, placed shaking feet against the granite and began to climb.
As the sun peeked over the eastern horizon, Jeff’s shadow stretched across the summit.

Anima

Eduardo sat in the garden enjoying the last of the September sun. Spring in Rio was simply wonderful! The flowers were starting to bloom – the orchids and the amaryllis, the begonias and hibiscus, the color riot of red and orange and purple were almost too much for the senses.
Silently, a butterfly landed on his knee. Eduardo was able to transfer it to his forefinger, where the spindly insect clung tenaciously. It slowly opened and closed its powder-worn and tattered wings.
“Where do you come from, beautiful thing? Far away, no?”
Meanwhile, in Houston, a tornado was brewing.

TJ

Elmer Popplewood was mesmerized. For the first time, there in the dark, watching “Up,” he saw so clearly what those upgrades to his furnace and the oversized windmill installations to his Frank Lloyd Wright-inspired cantilevered roof extensions had been leading to all along. He’d been creating a flying house!
Some extensive termite activity later he connected the treadmill to the decorative rooftop rotors, and he hit the oil painting of a big red button in his living room that said “LAUNCH!”
At first, nothing happened.
Oh, of course.
He added the liquid hydrogen to the furnace.
And … he flew!

Justin

Gahamut and Raul, demon and angel, fought on a plateau. Viciously struck, Raul fell off the edge. He did not yet have wings.
Robert looked into his Arby’s bag and realized no one had asked if he wanted sauce. Exiting, he glanced at the ‘good service’ bell, leaving it unrung.
Raul’s shoulder blades tingled, but then nothing.
Rick almost rang, but an alert employee said hello first.
The ground grinned at Raul.
Jeremy looked at the annoying alarm. It would ring any second, if he could just…
Wings burst from Raul’s back, his fingertips slid across dirt, then he soared.

JRadimus

The pain was indescribably excruciating. She passed out at least four times during the first seven-hour session, but lost count after that. By the end, she thought she was going to die, but she didn’t. This wasn’t Tabitha’s first tattoo by any stretch, but it was her first enchanted tattoo, and thus, her most complex, expensive and painful, one by far. After thirteen tortuous sessions, it was done. Full-sized angel wings sprawled across her back. And when the moonlight kissed the ink, all the pain was forgotten as she flexed her feathery new outgrowths and took flight.

Planet Z

Welcome to Three Buckets Icehouse.
There’s only one thing on the menu: Bucket of beer and a bucket of wings.
I know, that’s only two buckets.
We used to give out a third bucket for throwing up in, but we eventually figured out what was wrong with the wing recipe that was making everyone sick after a couple of em.
Now, by the time you feel sick, you’re either on your last beer or last wing.
“Where’s the third bucket?” you ask.
The bartender’s pointin’ to the bucket that has TIPS written on it.
Don’t throw up in it.

Weekly Challenge #179 – Magic Toaster and Who knows?

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Welcome to the Weekly Challenge Number One Hundred And Seventy-Nine, 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… was…. um…
It’s Who Knows? and Magic Toaster.!
The excellent theme music is by Guy David.
VOTING

Which were the best stories this week?
Steven
TJ
Norval Joe
JRadimus
Lynda
Jeffrey
Guy
Anima
Justin
Terry
Z
  
Free polls from Pollhost.com

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


Steven

Bob gapes at the holoscreen. “Sally, have you seen the artificial life sim?”
Sally peers over his shoulder. “What?”
“Up in the sky,” he says.
Above the simulated people walking virtual streets, a blue and red
figure swoops down. It lifts a car over its head, stopping it from
hitting a jaywalking alife boy.
“That one,” Bob continued, “is using a software exploit! It does
things the others can’t!”
“Huh,” Sally said.
Bob’s face was red. “Who could have known about that flaw? Who could
have installed the exploit?”
“I dunno,” Sally said, hiding the install CD behind her back.

TJ

The third rummage sale I visited seemed a little picked over already, but a flash of weathered metal drew me further into the garage. A toaster sat on a workbench looking broken, but I dusted it off with my sleeve. A genie appeared. “For freeing me from toaster. I grant you three wish.” I wished for power, money, fame! Just then, I was zapped by a short in the power cord, fell backward into the cash table, just as someone snapped a vidcap and uploaded it to YouTube. “Who’s that guy?” someone asked as the genie vanished. Shrug. “Who knows?”

Norval Joe

“Yeah, I guess you can call me Jasmine. I’ll call you Aladdin.” She shouted over her shoulder. The rush of wind made it hard to hear and her long black hair whipped his face.
He held her tightly on his lap.
He shouted back, “One thing they don’t point out in the movie is how cold it is flying around on a magic carpet.”
“Who knows,” she said, “press that lever down and it might warm us up.”
“Right. Try it when it’s your turn to fly this thing. Magic toaster or not, it would probably just burn my butt.”

J Radimus

“Whose turn is to load the toaster?”
“It’s mine,” chirped Emma.
Mom handed Emma the slices of bread, which she carefully loaded into the slots. “I hope it’s Eggs ‘Bunny-Duck’ today,” wished Emma, not quite wrapping her tongue around ‘Benedict’.
“No,” interjected Alex, “it’s gonna be chocolate cake!” He always hoped the toaster would return chocolate cake.
“We’ll see in 2 minutes,” Mom sang cheerfully.
The bell dinged, and the children squealed. Mom opened the toaster door, and pulled out … 4 slices of unevenly toasted bread.
“I think the toaster’s … magic, or something. It somehow cooked our bread.”
Beyond all expectation, I just couldn’t get my head around any ideas for the pirate theme. I had something specific in mind from the original, and the change completely through my creative gears out of kilter. The only thing I could think of was to retell the old joke about the captain and his Brown Pants.

Lynda

Life was never the same for Alex after his brother was poisoned by their father. He kept to himself a lot before then, but after his brother began communicating through the toaster, things turned around.
At first he tried to convince himself there was nothing magic about the toaster, he’d been drinking the first time it spoke, maybe he was developing schizophrenia, who knows? Sure, he’d like to do what the toaster told him and throw it in the tub with dad, but it made great toast. Browned evenly, not too burnt. It didn’t even need to be plugged in.

Jeffrey

We have a magic Toaster. Its not like the one in the kidie movies, no our magic toaster does weird things. Last week, it burned images of famous art works in all of our toast. It was cool at first, but it is a little hard to eat when the Mona Lisa is staring back at you.
This week it has been experimenting with geometric patterns. We have been trying to eat our way around the patterned to cut out the shapes, but our mom tells us to quit playing with our food. Who knew it could be this cool.

Guy

The Who sang about a magic bus. The Who Knows sang about a magic toaster. They had a small audience. They struggled, trying to make it, but they never did. For every band that makes it, there are thousands who don’t. There is someone that hears those bends before anyone else, and that’s you – the audience. You can put a musician on the throne, but you can also be the judge, the jury, and sometimes – the executioners. Like many others, The Who Knows never recorded anything and disappeared into oblivion before they could contribute their musical vision to the world.

Anima

“Go ahead, ask a question.”
“This is silly. I’m not going to ask a question.”
“Who knows, maybe you’ll get the answer you want from the toaster… You don’t like my opinion, or Brenda’s or Shellie’s. All you have to do is shake it a bit while you ask your question aloud.”
“Ok already! You’re not going to leave me alone until I ask, are you? Sheesh. Magic Toaster, is this the right hairstyle for me?”
“Now you push the lever down…”
(tick tick tick… clunk)
“What’s it say?”
“Dislodge the burnt toast with a knife for the best results….”

Justin

Has this ever happened to you?
“My toast isn’t toasted the way I like!”
Don’t wake up every morning to toast you don’t love, get the toast you deserve with the Magic Toaster!
Designed in Germany with the best in metaphysical science, this toaster will toast your bread just like you want, every time!
Check this out, the bread goes in these slots and you press this switch, and in just seconds your toast pops out, perfect!
Check this, are you following my camera guy? This toast is golden on both sides. How does it work? Who knows, it magic!

Terry

Dan began the construction by fastening sheets of plywood
together forming a rectangular box,
Tommy, Dan’s little brother asked question after
question as he watched the construction and finally
asked, “What’s it going to be?”
Dan, casually answered as he attached
the final hinge on the door, “Who knows,
maybe a magic toaster”.
“Let me try it!” Tommy yelled.
Dan motioned Tommy inside, closed the door
and knocked three times on it before reopening
it.
Tommy was no longer inside the box!
Quietly, Dan snickered, “well looks like
no more questions tonight, at least I got the magic part right”.

Z

The flea market in Zagreb.
Stjoytch spreads bedsheet on ground, lays the appliances down on it.
This blender. It blends.
This eggbeater. It beats eggs.
This rice cooker. It cooks rice.
He put down silver box. No cord, no buttons.
This magic toaster.
How you get bread in magic toaster with no slots?
How it toast without power?
Stjoytch say who knows? 200 kuna, take it or go.
I buy it.
It sit in kitchen for a year, do nothing.
Maybe I go to flea market, spread bedsheet next to Stjoytch.
But Stjoytch gave bargain. I sell for 250 kuna.

Weekly Challenge #178 – Talk Like A Pirate Day!

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Welcome to the Weekly Challenge Number One Hundred And Seventy-Eight, 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… was…. um…
It’s TALK LIKE A PIRATE DAY!
The excellent theme music is by…. The Hit Crew – Pirate Party Music (Guy David did the rest)
VOTING

Which were the stories you liked best?
Guy David from http://nightguy.guydavid.com
Lewis from http://dedricmauriac.wordpress.com/
Lynda from http://sisterpepperspray.blogspot.com/
Steven from http://ideatrash.net
Jeffrey from http://GreatHites.blogspot.com
Anima from http://zabbadabba.com
Steve
Mike
Norval Joe from http://norvalsoutlook.blogspot.com
Justin from http://www.thespaceturtle.com
Terry Tee from http://www.terrytee.com/
TJ from http://tjaman.libsyn.com
Danny from http://dannymachal.com
Planet Z
  
Free polls from Pollhost.com

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


Guy David

Henrietta was celebrating her 92nd birthday when the storm troopers broke
in. “You are under arrest for downloading 1024 songs from Pirate Bay” said
the lead trooper. “But I don’t have a computer” said Henrietta. “Tell it to
the court” said the trooper. “Will you be OK?” asked a concerned guest. “I
will survive, probably” sighed Henrietta, then the storm trooper took her
harmonica, exclaiming “you are not going to get a chance to play your
pirated music.” “Not the harmonica, please, it’s a gift from my dear friend
Philip” begged Henrietta, but they took her away without another word.

Lewis

A ship over the helm bin spyed flying the queens flag.
The cap’n bin orderin I an’ me harties to board the ship.
I bin plunderin the seven seas all me life.
Never did I see a dog be small fer the number o sharp-tongued wenches aboard.
A boxom wench twice shivered me timbers before days end.
Harr, the treasures bin good to me and me mates.
Me harties bin looting the cargo of sugar and spices.
Jim Lad pried one open.
Arrr.
A large chest with no booty.
Tis no one wanted fer tem selves but the capn’s squire.

Lynda

It be a hard life for Capn’ Swallow since the international shanty composers began demandin’ royalties. He near lost his ship after we were caught playin’ Barnacles, Me Hearties without askin’. Askin’ Two-Legged Davy if ye can sing his songs t’ain’t a wise move if ye hope to live another day.
I understand why the captain had to run me through five times afore setting me out to sea. There be sharks circling me leaky dingy lookin’ friendlier than the last face I saw. No matter, I got me parrot, a bottle o’grog, and me harmonica. I’ll survive. Probably.

Steven

Smoke billowed from the ship’s wreckage. Captain Saunders and his
crew baked on the sun blasted island beach. In the near distance, the
pirate ship sailed back out to sea.
“This is a right mess, Cap’n,” his first mate said. He stroked the
grey stubble of his beard. “Those pirates marooned us here, wrecked
our ship, and stole all our cargo!” He stomped his boot in the sand.
“And them pirates was just women!”
Captain Saunders sighed. “They stole more than our cargo, Smitty.”
He touched the ragged hole in his chest and smiled.
“She stole far more than that.”

Jeffrey

“Pirates! Get your pirates here! Hello sir in the market for a
pirate today?”
“Yes, what have you got?”
“Well as the sign says we gots pirates of every kind, We have the
mean kind.”
“Aye!”
“The more gentle kind.”
“Aye.”
“The kind who you don’t want to meet in a back alley.”
“Aye.”
“The Kind who don’t say aye”
“Eye, spell e y e cause that’s…”
“Oh Shut up, and then we have your kind that questions your every
move.”
“Aye?”
“Dumb ones”
“Aye.”
“And our special model today, the ones that can bake.”
“Pie”
“MMM blueberry my favorite.”

Anima

“As you are aware, the last twelve months have been hard on pirating.
On a positive note, jolly good work on trimming back the deadwood from your
departments, although I think Pegleg Willie took fright for a turn there.
However, pillaging must increase by fifteen percent or there will be NO
cruise of the Azores. And wenching will cease until further notice: please
substitute frolicking with trollops, on a limited basis. The goat will still
be available for those who are so inclined.
Lastly: The scurvy dog who fed me parrot laxatives had best not let me learn
his name!”

Steve Y.

The unlicensed sea captain stormed about his similarly unlicensed ship, quite vexed at the latest haul. Not only had the merchant vessel they raided turned out to be a
disguse for larcenous sorts such as themselves, but the cargo they absconded itself
was ersatz. Whole crates of illegally made duplicates of bobbleheads featuring
players of Pittsburgh’s baseball team that were of such poor craftsmanship that
fencing them was an unlikely prospect. Truly, not In all of his years of looting
and pillaging across the seas had he ever expected a day when pirates would pirate
pirated Pirates from other pirates.

Mike P.

Napster. Limewire. Gnutella. BitTorrent. WinMX. The Pirate Bay.
Isohunt. Mininova.
Ninjas still use traditional swords. I suppose there’s something to
be said for that. After all, there’s a foundry in Japan that has been
making swords for centuries, and now they’re the only place in the
world that can make the core of a nuclear reactor in one solid piece.
Pirates used to use swords, too. Then they switched to guns – ‘cause
hey, why not threaten someone more than five feet away? And now…
One of you guys is gonna go extinct. It might be the one who isn’t adapting.

Norval Joe

Red Beard held his cutlass, its razor sharp tip at the hollow of the stranger’s throat. “Ye say ye be a pirate? Where’s your parrot?”
“A pirate don’t need a parrot,” he replied.
Black Beard jabbed his saber into the man’s back. “”Ye say ye be a pirate. Where’s your peg leg?”
“A pirate don’t need a peg leg,” he said.
“Yer eye patch?” Yellow Beard asked.
“Got good eye sight, I do.” He nodded.
“So where’s your booty, scurvy dog?” No Beard asked.
He held up a small black box. “Here it be. 500 gigabytes of music from Napster.

Justin

“What a beautiful sight, to see the exploding starship of Captain Barnabas Clay. Many of Fenton Fleet fell before his blaster pistol and photon missiles. I tried to kick Barnabas off like the flea dog he was. Little by little I stole his fortune, I stole his pride, then I killed his family, yet he persisted. I rigged his ship with explosives and now he will die alone, for everyone knows a captain goes down with his ship.”
“One move and your dead, Fenton. You failed to realize that in space, there is no down where my ship could go.”

Terry Tee

We be sailing two days out of Jamaica
on smooth, wave less seas.
It was a month since our last prize,
the crew was eager for treasure.
We be changing watch, when the lookout
in the crow’s nest spied sails on the port side.
The crew cleared for action happily as we
targeted a plump little ship riding low in the water.
We quickly overhauled the “Santa Pauline”,
had her along side, boarded and over powering
the crew fast.
Crowding the crew on the poop deck,
we ripped the hatches from the hold,
eager to claim our prize and treasure.

TJ

A friend links me to this huge Slovenian choir. Perpetuum Jazzile. They can make it sound like it’s raining. They also make a sound like they’re Toto, singing “Africa” – one of my favorite songs growing up.Wow, that takes me back. I reach to download. But I remember Laurence saying that stealing music is WRONG! So I dutifully head to iTunes to see if I can buy it. I cannot. About a zillion people sing “Africa” who aren’t Toto, however. So I compromise. I buy Toto’s copy, but I load Perpetuum Jazzile’s cover onto my Shuffle, and promote them here. Arrrrr.

Danny

“Arrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!” Salty Steve cried in pain holding his eye during his shift on the night watch.
A bung had popped out of a barrel and shattered on impact. He looked on in panic as grog spilled out onto the deck and did the only thing he could. That night, the air dropped below freezing temperatures.
Morning.
A knock on Captain’s door.
“Captain! Steve stuck it in the grog sir!”
The wooden door creaks open.
“I reckon any time is right for grog. Steve’s put a cock-valve in it then?” the Captain asked.
“Nay sir, no valve.”

Planet Z

So, you think toiletpapering my trees and egging my car for homecoming is funny?
You earned that F last year, Jimmy. And you’ll get another if you keep this shit up.
But enough about you. Let’s talk about me. And my favorite hobby.
In my spare time, I made ships in bottles.
This one’s a pirate ship. Isn’t it beautiful?
Here’s a Q-tip. Swab the poopdeck.
Do a good job of it, and not one cannon out of place.
No, if you screw up, I won’t make you walk the plank. I’ll just beat you with the tire iron again.