Weekly Challenge – Page 91 – The 100 Word Stories Podcast

Weekly Challenge #53 – Smoke

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Welcome to the Fifty-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 Planet Z, a strange orb hovering 640 meters above SoHo Island’s Matzohenge, and it’s Smoke (or) Smoking.
Eleven stories were submitted this week. Double digits!
There was a rookie, but they didn’t record their story! Oh noes!
The excellent theme music is by Guy David
And, once again, some disturbing madness from the one we all knew and loved as 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):

The full text of each story:
LAIEANNA

I’m not the only one who sees him. Like all those goth style stories,
Death walks among us dressed in black. Yeah, he wears the trench
coat, but smoke rolls off it like steam from a train’s chimney. His
eyes are solid black, least the one time I dared to look at them. No
skull face, but pale skin. Anyone near can’t help but to shudder.
See those of us walking on the edge of life keep our distance. I
ain’t playing with that. As long as that guy sends smoke signals, I
know how to run the opposite way.

TOM

The day I set my stomach on fire
and blowup my head
Tommy’s parents didn’t smoke. He had tried a puff off a Winston and found the experience lacking. “I don’t get it.” he mused “Maybe I need something bigger.” Tommy laid down six dollars in pennies and pointed at the Dutch Masters Presidents. The clerk eyed him. “For Dad,” said Tommy. “Right,” said the clerk pushing the cigars over the counter.
Tommy informed his father he was old enough to smoke. Surprisingly his Dad agreed. He lit up the first cigar. Then a long hard draw and a deep inhale. After two hours wrapped around the toilet his father asked “Quit smoking?”

N.F.

April 20th: I commented to John that the air didn’t feel right. John
agreed so broke camp and he packed a bowl. Just as we dusted our
third bowl, a dragon crashed through the tree line, heading strait for
us. We would have been sitting ducks there. [Correction: we were
stoned ducks… err… stoned advanced infantry!] I grabbed my gun and
leveled the sight. Before I had a chance to pull the trigger, a mech
fired one of it’s missiles and blew the head clean off the dragon. Ok
this story sucks. What do you expect? I am currently stoned.

CALEB

I like smoking and I’m not joking
I think that it makes me look tough
I feel kinda hip with a butt on my lip
Although sometimes it might make me cough
It makes my voice deep and puts me to sleep
Though mornings might be kind of rough
I can’t smoke at work or the bar like a jerk
Sometimes I think I’ve had enough
Though it’s nearly a crime, it passes the time
As I wait for the bus by the blough
It’s bad for the lungs but it’s awfully fun
Yes smoking’s a thing that I lough

ELISSON

Superman finished setting the table in his Penthouse of Semi-Solitude, his pied-� -terre in Metropolis. Furnished with the exotic furniture of Krypton’s Techno-Deco period, it was perfect for those times when the Caped Crusader wanted privacy.
He lit the candles; a blast of Super-Breath chilled the Champagne. Lana Lang was coming by for a home-cooked dinner (yay, Heat Vision!). Afterward? The disaster with Lois was still fresh on his mind…
Three hours later, a semi-drunk and exhausted Lana Lang lay against Superman’s naked chest. Smoke curled upwards from under the sheets.
“Ow! Next time, Supes, would ya knock off the Super-Speed?”

CHRIS

Like in most prisons, cigarettes weren’t just for smoking in Shawshank; they were currency. A carton of Luckys could get a man all sorts of things behind bars: girly magazines, a change of socks, even a poster of Rita Hayworth. Of course, that?s assuming you knew the right person to get them.
But as my good friend Andy Dufresne found out, a carton of smokes was useless when cornered by a pack of horny bull queers behind the dryer in the laundry room. They never opened that carton; seems they had a different type of smoking in mind.
Poor Andy.

TERRENCE

Raoul slowly opened his eyes. He was exhausted and his staff of light
ached. He had stopped counting at four. Turning over Raoul looked at
Eve. She slept, which Raoul was thankful for. She could not get
enough him, and he could not go another round.
Her eyes opened and looked back a Raoul. A smile crossed her face as
she sat up and kissed him on the cheek. ‘Oh no,’ he thought. She
gave a shy smile. ‘As if,’ he though and then cringed in expectation
of what she was about to say.
He was relief to hear, “Smoke?”

TED

You know, I used to smoke. I know, it’s a terrible habit. Oh, I’m not talking about namebrand tobacco. I’m talking about the Weed. Mary Jane, Reefer, Ganja..
One afternoon, as my party was winding down, it became apparent that there was nothing left to smoke. It got ugly real fast.
My guests started ripping down the wallpaper, tearing up the floorboards, They even raided my stock of toilet paper, just to have something to smoke.
The next morning, with a clear head, I realized what had happened. Insurance covered most of the damage, but you know, I still can’t find my cat..

PATTI

Finishing her fourth vodka tonic, Nelly dabbed her mouth, leaving a sloppy lipstick kiss on the cocktail napkin.
“‘Night, Eddie.”
Eddie shot her a smile but Nelly didn’t see it. Nearing the door, her hand was already fumbling in her purse for cigarettes and lighter.
Outside she lit the smoke and took a deep drag. Remembering the old days when you could smoke in a bar, she exhaled, blue smoke shooting from both nostrils. Back then she would have had a couple more drinks and gone home with Eddie for sloppy drunk sex.
She chose to sleep alone, and smoke.

TO4M

I was ten sitting around the table at Grandma’s after we’d finished
Sunday dinner. Grandma, Grandpa, Mom, Dad, older brother and I. Six
people. Five cigarettes. None of them mine. It was horrible I was
starting to feel sick but Grandpa’s stories of WW II were too
fascinating to leave. I had to though so I took my seven up and went
to the family room to watch TV. “Man I’ll never smoke – That’s gross”
. 30 years later I’m wrestling the Marlboro parasite thats dug itself
into me. This shit is evil it stinks I hate it.

SISTER MARY EDITH

Lucky Strike and The Catholic Church announced a new promotional campaign in a joint press-conference today. In successful trials, tobacco has replaced incense in church thuribles.
“I’ve started coming to church a lot!” one parishioner reported, “Especially after meals. God even helped me quit smoking!”
“What is lung cancer compared to the damnation of your eternal soul?” the spokes-priest asked, in the deep, rich voice tobacco smoke cultivates.
The campaign has been incorporated into the liturgy, as well. “This sermon brought to you by Lucky Strike; Celebrate the bounty of God’s goodness with the smooth, full-flavored taste of American tobacco.”

PLANET Z

Let me tell you about economics, kid.
You see, unlike the stores in the city, there aren’t any Federal taxes out on the reservation.
So, once a month, we drive to the Pokalottas for cheap smokes and booze.
Whatever we save, we blow twenty times that at the casino.
Then, while we’re worrying about out how we’ll pay for that bike you keep bitching about or cover the mortgage, we smoke up all those cigarettes and drink all the cheap liquor we bought.
And that’s why Economics is a bitch.
So, lay off Santa, and put that fucking sweater on.

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.

Weekly Challenge #52 – Cats (First Anniversary)

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Welcome to the Fifty-second 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 Tom of the Footnote Podcast, and it’s Cats.
Eight stories were submitted this week. Only single digits. Sad face!
No rookies are in the mix… boo!
The excellent theme music is by Guy David
And, once again, some disturbing madness from the one we all knew and loved as 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):

WE GOTS PRIZES:
I will be sending the winner a prize… it’s a packet containing at least 1 refrigerator magnet and a CD with the archive of the entire 100 word stories podcast. (Well, minus promos and junk)
A Geeklabel.com gift certificate will be tossed in to the mix. Being first sometimes helps, so this week’s vote counts a lot.
It is your voting that determines who wins. So listen, vote, and tune in next week to find out who won!

The full text of each story:
PLANET Z

While I’m at work, I can watch our cats on a set of webcams I’ve set up.
Is there a cat in my chair?
Is there a cat by the back window?
Is there a cat playing with the pile of toys?
When I get too busy to watch it real-time, I go back through the archives.
Some people call this obsessive behavior, but it’s nothing compared to all the other people watching our cats.
Sometimes, I get an instant message from them, telling me what my own cats are doing.
Our cats are Internet famous, and they have groupies.

TOM

Her head dangled over the edge of the bed. That can’t be comfortable. He puts her legs and hips upwards and back. Her eyes telegraphed question. He stared back firmly allowing no room for doubt an assurance he only acting on her behest. For one whole minute she accepted this new position. Then is a nearly perceivable motion she readjusted every muscle in her body. This action wasn’t a matter of fine tuning comfort. It was a means of reclaiming absolute supremacy and clearly informing him it wasn’t what she wanted. Sleeping with a cat is a battle of wills.

LAIEANNA

A variety of creatures have hung around our house: mice, chipmunks, birds, squirrels, raccoons, rabbits, ducks, and cats. One night during dinner on the couch, we spotted a fluffy gray visitor walking nearby. My hubby decided to feed the cat while the dogs and I watched from the window. He took his leftover piece of pork outside and called to the cat. When it refused, he chucked the meat, not trying to hit the cat, of course, but ended up scaring it off rather than helping. We occasionally reminisce about the newly named Porkchop and a good deed gone wrong.

SISTER MARY EDITH

Cats come to harm on Curiosity Farm.
Whiskers succumbed on route 151,
Kit felt the wrath of the birder’s gun,
Midnight froze up from a brown recluse bite,
Tiger took on a raccoon in a fight.
One year in spring with the thawing of snow,
We found Mrs. Mittens where the nightshades grow,
Max chased mice into the bailer,
Otherwise known as the kitty de-tailer,
Mean Mr. Blacky just never came back,
Though that spring, back in town, all the kittens were black.
Today we found Mitsie, curled up in a log,
Perhaps we should think about getting a dog.

RAHEL

She walked to the park bench. Opening her bag, she took out two bowls, filling one with cat food and the other with water from the fountain. Then she sat down to wait.
Ah, there he was! Sleek, soft and black, his silver collar glittering in the sunlight. Surely his people wouldn’t mind the extra breakfast she gave him.
Sure enough, he smelled the food and came over to her. She smiled as he rubbed her ankles and then fell to.
Friday the Thirteenth, and a black cat had crossed her path. This was going to be her lucky day.

TERRENCE

It had not taken Raoul’s father long to settle in. He had managed to
get the brimstone wholesale and that had saved them a ton. Soon they
had their first visitor and it didn’t take long for the place to start
to fill up.
Trouble started when the first fur ball showed up. On it’s own it was
only enough to upset Cerberus, but when the second one showed up all
hell broke loose. That was when Raoul’s father decided to send the
creature back. At the time, he thought nine lives would be enough to
keep the cats away.

TO4M

At the breakfast table Mildred set out the plates for the morning
meal. As she sat down with everybody Mildred felt a pang of emptiness.
Although the family was eating away hungrily no one spoke. Trying to
ease her inner tension she asked Alfred how his week had gone. He
didn’t say a word. “Did anyone do anything exciting this week?” No
one spoke. “You Bastards you only come to me when you want food. I
give you food and what do I get back? NOTHING! GODDAM YOU ALL” With
all the yelling the cats scattered from the kitchen.

TED

It didn’t begin till later in life. Oh, I’d say I was 27 or 28 before I really saw the beauty of the Holidays.
Easter for instance. You take plain ordinary eggs, dip them into food color based dye, and at once, you have a beautiful creation.
A few years back, when my kids were doing the preparation for Easter Morning, Our cat, Dingleberry jumped up on the table, knocked over all of the coloring crap, and walked away 9 different shades of Easter..
Ever since, It has been a tradition in our family. And I know the cat loves it too. Here kitty-kitty-kitty-kitty…

PATTI

Grandpa John lived alone in Brooklyn with his beloved cat, Lewis. When Lewis died, Grandpa John wept and told us how he buried Lewis in the park near his apartment.
Eight months later, Grandpa John died. We flew to New York and hired a cleaning team to help clear out the apartment. They started in the kitchen. It wasn’t long before we heard the frantic screams followed by running feet and the slam of the front door.
The refrigerator door was wide open. Inside, Lewis was lying on the shelf. Apparently, Grandpa John couldn’t say goodbye to Lewis after all.

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.

Weekly Challenge #51 – Location, Location, Location

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Welcome to the fiftieth 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 Manata of the Squirrel Bait, and it’s Location, Location, Location.
Ten stories were submitted this week. DOUBLE THEM DIGITS!
No rookies are in the mix… boo!
The excellent theme music is by Guy David
And, once again, some disturbing madness from the one we all knew and loved as 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):

WE GOTS PRIZES:
I will be sending the winner a prize… it’s a packet containing at least 1 refrigerator magnet and a CD with the archive of the entire 100 word stories podcast. (Well, minus promos and junk)
Since next week is going to be the first anniversary, a Geeklabel.com gift certificate will be tossed in to the mix. Being first sometimes helps, so this week’s vote counts a lot.
It is your voting that determines who wins. So listen, vote, and tune in next week to find out who won!

The full text of each story:
TOM

“Location location location” screamed the realtor
the wind ripped her words and
pulled them up the teetering bouldered cliff.
“What?” cried Brian his voice
drowned out by the pounding surf.
Weakly she extends arms pointing at
the mountain above and the ocean below.
“The subdivision is called Tsunami Estates
this doesn’t instill confidence,” yelled Brian.
“What’s in a name?” smiled the realtor.
“And the San Andreas fault line over there?”
“Dormant.”
“Brushfires?”
“Smell that ocean air.”
“See that eroding seawall.”
“Did you know this lot is directly over Sharon Stone’s hot tub?”
“SOLD”
yelled Brian dodging the cascading boulders.

CALEB

When I wake up on Saturday, the first thing I do is root around for some mail or anything with an address that can show me my location. Then I sneak out.
After a cab home and quick Keith Richards Transfusion to sober up, I sit and wait for the weekly challenge. I won’t leave that location until the weekly challenge is on my iPod.
Once it’s been downloaded, I take the bus to my special listening location, the grocery store. I just can’t shop without hearing all these wonderful stories.
When there is no weekly challenge, I go hungry.

GUY DAVID

“Rodney hated his boss, Mr. Miller. He hated his over-ironed shirt and he hated the way he would say “Real-estate, location, location, location”, meaning “buy some undisturbed part of the city and build the biggest, ugliest shopping mall on it”. Then, Rodney got fired.
Rodney got his revenge though. He forged some papers, and based on those, the company purchased some land on the name of Mr. Miller. When the big boss found out, Mr. Miller was fired immediately. After all, no-one wanted to invest in a place like Lithium, Missouri, where the sign reads population, zero.”

LAIEANNA

“Ma, I ain’t feelin’ quite right bout taken dis here land from dat city man.”
“Don’t matter no more, Pa. Man’s got his own fancy house. Ain’t no
need for this place.”
“Still not right. Down right cheap for such nice land. Gots our own
pond and everythin'”
“Dat man took our livestock fair and square and now we’re out from
under dat sinkin’ farm.”
“Funny him turning all white when our goat took a likin’ to him in the
friendly kinda manner.”
“Take that dirty talk outside! And while you’re out, fetch one of
them swamp critters for supper”

TERRENCE

Raoul followed his father and the agent into the hall. The roof
looked to be made of bone and dripped something that burned his skin.
His farther walked over the window looked out and shook his head.
The agent led them to a vast field of reeds that blew in a gentle
breeze. Again his father shook his head.
They walked on until they came to a vast cave filled with flames.
Raoul’s father reached through an opening on the far side. After a
moment, he returned with a contact signed in blood. He smiled and
said “Location, location, location.”

MANATA

You know that old cliché: “Another day, another dollar”?
Well, it certainly applies to me.
I took the first job I could get right out of college, and for the first few months I hated it with a passion. “Traveling Insurance Salesman” doesn’t sound very glamorous, I know. Especially when they transferred me to a different region.
Northern Spain? Seriously? I didn’t even know any Spanish. But, hey , it worked out great. Now I’m raking in the money and I only work one day every year: July 7th…in Pamplona.
You know that other old cliché: Location, location, location.
Andale!

CHRIS

Eight innings in, the annual Springfield Methodist Father Son Baseball game is still tied zero to zero. It’s getting very interesting though. Terry Jarvis, the Dad’s reliable lefty, just loaded the bases on three straight walks.
Who’s up next for the Son’s? None other than Terry’s boy Stephen.
Terry looks in to the catcher for the sign. Shakes off the curveball; going with the fastball. It’s slowed a bit in the later innings but his pitch location has been remarkable.
The wind up and the pitch, nailed him in the temple!
Little shit should know not to crowd the plate.

TED

I still remember being that awkward teenager, and the day my father proudly called me into his office, to discuss the birds and the bees.
“Son, Take this, put it in your wallet and keep it there. You never know when the opportunity might arise, and you’re always better safe than sorry”.
“But why?” I asked.
“Just keep it there!” he said.
I took his advice.
Don’t ever take a fathers advice. I should have known better than to listen to that fool.
17 children later, and I still have that Trojan in my wallet. A lot of good it did.

TO4M

The north American Grizzly. Not a creature to be taken lightly. Bob, Fred and Julio’s vacation expedition in the Northwest held a mix of excitement and nervousness in their pursuit of the giant beast. The plan was to approach them slowly and be as non-threatening as possible. Carelessness can get you eaten. The expedition began early in the morning and was uneventful for most of the trip. As the day progressed Bob began to doubt if this whole trip made any sense. The reality was that in terms of location the choice of downtown Seattle was indeed a poor one.

PATTI

When she entered through the double doors, the bartender knew it was 11:35. He filled a glass with ice and started pouring before she was seated at the bar.
“Vodka-tonic,” she said.
“Howzit, Nellie?” he asked.
Checking her reflection in the mirror behind the bar, she absentmindedly smoothed her eyebrows with her left ring finger.
“It goes,” she sighed.
He handed her the drink and began to make her another.
“One more, Eddie” she said after the first sip.
The bar wasn’t in the nicest part of town but the drinks were cheap and Eddie never gave her any shit.

PLANET Z

I wake up in the street, face down in a pool of blood.
Must call… must call… my cell phone, pushing buttons…. Nine… one… one…
A soothing voice over the line: “What is your location?”
The words stick in my throat. Try to choke them out, try to say “Smithlands” but all that comes out is a raspy croak.
“I’m sorry, but that is not a location I am familiar with. What is your location?”
I know I’m running out of time, but…
“What is your location?”
It’s just a recording. It can’t help me.
But it’s just… so… comforting.

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.

Weekly Challenge #50 – Lithium

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Welcome to the fiftieth 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 Caleb Bullen of the Black Tie Martini Club Oddcast, and it’s Lithium.
Nine stories were submitted this week.
No rookies are in the mix… boo!
The excellent theme music is by Guy David
And, once again, some disturbing madness from 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):

The full text of each story:
MANATA

Hi, I’m Benjamin and I’m an addict.
I guess I came to the meeting today because I’m ready to try to kick the habit.
For my entire life, other people have made jokes at my expense. I guess I really can’t blame them. I mean, I *do* make a pretty easy target for humiliation.
You see, my mother was an /Ursus maritimus/ (that means “polar bear”), and my father was an Eskimo, so of course I’m biPOLAR.
And I’m also a bit confused about my sexuality…so I’m BIpolar.
Anyway, that’s how I came to be addicted to lithium, because I’m…well…bipolar.

TOM

“Caleb hand me that bottle of Diaka vodka,” said Tom
He poured out exactly two jiggers.
“The Sol Azul …. Laurence … please.”
Three jiggers swirled into the mixture.
Elisson tossed the G’Vine before
Tom could mouthed the words.
“Now for the pièce de resistance,” chortled Mr. Marquette.
Laieanna rolled a gas cylinder next to the bar.
Caleb, Laurence, and Elisson stared incredulsly.
“Dentist Office.” They all smiled.
Tom filled the cocktails with tiny bubbles of nitrous oxide.
After the third shot Caleb called from under the couch.
“What Frac you call this stuff?”
Dimly aware of the voice Tom mumbled.
Lithium.

CALEB

We’ve already lost eight engineers and I’m going in next.
The recyclarobot was supposed to harvest junk like batteries and industrial lubricants for lithium to be oxidized and used in the pharmaceutical industry. It stopped working last Friday even though it’s still taking in junk.
We think it’s filling the air with so much lithium oxide that your brain gets starved for serotonin and oxygen simultaneously and you hallucinate wildly until death. It only takes a few minutes but all eight, died smiling and wide-eyed.
I’m going in with a SCUBA tank now.
ACHOO…
My God! It’s full of stars.

ELISSON

Beads of sweat began to trickle down Ibrahim’s brow. This bothered him. He did not want to appear nervous, but it was stifling in the small room.
His next card skidded across the table. Four of spades, not much help there. He was in too deep to back out now, having jumped into the betting with his pair of pocket aces. Maybe they would be enough…
No, they weren’t. Fuad raised, confident as always. Ibrahim folded: no choice.
He was down to a grimy pair of boxer shorts and an explosive belt. Gaza Strip Poker was not for the faint-hearted.

LAIEANNA

I’m a freak of nature…mankind might be a better term. Super Sensitive
is just a lame way to categorize me, but I’m beyond that. Our modern
world is sensory overload for me. Anytime I come close to common
materials, the smells and sensations are overwhelming. Yay for all
day nausea! Worst part of my…condition is that most items cause a
highly allergic reaction. Lithium is almost deadly and goddamn if it
isn’t in all kinds of stuff. So here I am stuck in the woods, left by
my parents years ago like an unwanted cat. God, I’m lonely.

SISTER MARY EDITH

As a middle school Psychiatrist, I’m as much for teachers as for students.
“Ah, Ms. Silbernagel. What’s up?”
Her hands shook as she lit her cigarette. Mascara streaked her face. A colossal spitball matted her hair into a nasty snarl. She blew out smoke in a shuddering breath. “I’ve taught her for twenty years. But 8th graders now?/ I cant take it anymore!”
“Now Ms. Silbernagel, you hang in there!” I pulled out my prescription pad.
A month later I visited her classroom.
“Say hello, students!”
Dreamily they murmured, “Hello Dr. Greer.”
“Thanks again; it was just what they needed!”

PATTI

At first, Humphry hid the pills under his tongue. Then, he tried stowing them between cheek and gums. But they always knew.
So after chasing the lithium with a sip of water, they began making him hook his fingers on either side of his mouth, pull wide, and move his tongue in a slow full circle. Humphry actually enjoyed doing this when the pretty young nurses were working the meds shift. The nurses did not enjoy this and began complaining.
So Rocky, the hairy male nurse, took over administering Humphry’s meds. Since then, Humphry’s moods had become surprisingly more stable.

to4m

Bill So have you heard the new Nirvana Song?
Ted Yeah. Lithium? Yeah Kurt Cobain can’t sing it sounds like he’s
on lithium.
Bill Yeah we had a lithium at my brother’s birthday party last
month. It was hilarious. You should have heard Big Ed with
that munchkin voice! And Dave passed out and hit his head on the tank
and
Ted You dork. That’s helium. Lithium slows you down
Bill No.
Ted cobain probably was on lithium it’s for treating people who’re bipolar
Bill so he has two poles? Why would you take medicine for that?
Ted um Yeah

TABITHA

The scientific community announced this week the successful use of sugar in batteries to replace lithium. No big surprise to us. Army’s been using them for years.
First time we went out on a secret mission we only had a small window of time to complete it. We were going to assassinate Saddam Hussein. We had all our equipment, stealth suits that operated on batteries, laptops, even our weapons needed those darn sugar batteries. So imagine my horror when I heard Private Johnston chewing.
“Ah hell,” I said. “Forget it. We’ll just start a war.”
Johnston stopped chewing.
Next Topic: Your mom!

PLANET Z

Bobby loved going to the science museum.
He’d walk through the exhibit halls, eyes wide as saucers.
The Hall Of Chemistry was his favorite. A gigantic Periodic Table was up on the wall, and there were samples of every element next to their symbol.
One day, he tried to climb that wall to steal a sample.
The museum was used that that kind of thing, kids wanting to steal Gold and Platinum, or Arabs grabbing for Uranium and Plutonium.
What shocked the guards was that Bobby was climbing up the left side for Lithium.
“Weird kid,” they said, and watched.

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.

Weekly Challenge #49 – Spring

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Welcome to the forty-ninth 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 Chris from Platypus Society, and it’s Spring.
Sixteen stories were submitted this week.
Two rookies are in the mix… yay!
The excellent theme music is by Guy David
And, once again, some disturbing madness from 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):

The full text of each story:
CALEB

In the middle of spring
In the middle of spring
You’re liable to see the most wonderous things
As we celebrate life
Much like husband and wife
With only one thought cutting through like a knife
For in spring you will see
And quite gloriously
How life replicates itself sexually
From the flowers on plants
To the spring high school dance
It’s like the whole world has to take off its pants
And say, “I can’t wait
Any longer to mate!”
And then once it’s done, “I’ve got to go, geez! It’s so late. I mean you were great but…”

CHRIS

On the first day of spring, Patrick loaded his video equipment into his station wagon and headed south towards the everglades. As he did every year, the trip was scheduled to begin at the peak of the mating season, but he hadn’t counted on a warm February.
For weeks, he watched the thermometer outside his office window and read reports from the university scientists about the possibility of an early season. Not exactly what he wanted to hear.
Nevertheless, he still had to try.
After all, the market for alligator porn may be small, but it pays very, very well.

GUY DAVID

Rodney got the package on Wednesday night. He popped it open immediately. The contents of his package looked brand new. It glowed slightly. He just had to use it. He couldn’t wait any longer. He opened the wrapping, slid the batteries into place and used it until smoke came out of his ass.
From that moment on he used it at least once a day, sometimes even twice. He used it again and again until one day, a spring inside it got loose. From that moment, it was as if the android was using him, instead of him, using the android.

JAMES Q

Spring was final through with Winter. His passion spent, he knew that he had a very unpleasant chore to complete.
Panting, he gazed at her still, lifeless form and pondered how to get rid of the half frozen body. Again.
“Every year I go though this!” he cried, “But no more.”
Spring pulled out his cell phone and called Summer.
“Dude…” Spring hated the way Summer always answered the phone. “I know why you’re calling.”
“Ya gotta help me!” Spring was begging and he hated that too.
Summer hung up the phone and looked over at Fall.
“Oh Baby.”

TOM

It was always the first flower.
The tiny yellow ones.
No larger than a fly’s wing.
Even those he welcomed.
The buzzing offset the
too quietness of winter.
The growth was slow, noticeable,
tiny patches of color.
This was unlike the cancer
which grew colorless before his eyes.
Unlike the spring that slowly built upon life,
IT slowly ate upon his life.
Rudy’s yearly struggle to make it to
the arrival of the first yellow flowers of spring
amazed his doctors.
He mused how infinite days
had become finite.
In Gray’s Anatomy coloring book
he filled the prostrate
with yellow.

MANATA

It’s Spring again…you know what that means.
That’s right; it’s time to move all of your clocks forward by one hour.
I think it actually happens at two in the morning, but most folks do it before they go to bed the night before.
You see, I live in Indiana and this is our first year on Daylight Savings Time.
I’m convinced it’s why everyone thinks we are all stupid farmers and bumbling idiots.
Most of us can’t even get the television to stop flashing twelve.
“Hey Ma! You seen that there instruction book for the talking picture box?”

CAROLINE

“Spring is sprung the grass is riss
I wonder where the birdies is
The bird is on the wing
But that’s absurd
The wing is on the bird”
Over and over Mary repeated as she walked home from school. At the recital the next day she couldn’t get this wrong, not with everything else, it would be just too awful.
With heart fluttering and nerves shattered she began. It did not go well. Of course the whole class laughed at her again. She was mortified.
“Recitations- and Confidence” was the name of her first book. Who had the last laugh!

K NINE

I love the spring.
The golden sun, the green buds, the new grass. It
always reminds me of my first time.
I remember it clearly… We slipped off into the woods
alone together, the smell of fresh flowers in her
hair.
I was entranced by the way her skirt rippled around
her knees like lapping waves. Her hazel eyes so big
and round. Her lovely pink lips quivering and parting
as she started to scream. The crimson flow of warm
blood from her newly slit throat. There have been
many since, but she was the best.
I love the spring.

SISTER MARY EDITH

Few people know the agony of sprouting from seed. The stirrings of spring muster great forces: tender green shoots cleave cakes of soil and battle through labyrinths of rock, trying to break the surface before it breaks them.
An elderly elm recounted its experience, still painfully vivid after over 120 years. As it strained through utter darkness, it met and slid past another sprout going exactly the opposite way. If that sprout hadn’t carved a path, the elm may have never made it to the surface. With horror and gratitude, it recalls the sprout burrowing desperately down into the dark.

LAIEANNA

A battle of wills continued between two opponents.
“I’m going to kill you,” Spat the boy.
The Jack in the box responded with a squeak of it’s spring.
“Stop mocking me!” The boy shook an angry fist.
Jack kept weaving like a drunk.
“The outrages I have suffered today will not be soon forgotten.” The
boy scuttled up to the box and pointed a finger. “Mark my words, when
you least expect it, your upends will come.” He suddenly stepped back
with a devilish smile. “Time to bad.” From midair came an axe and he
ferociously attacked. “Victory is mine!”

ELISSON

The crocuses and daffodils send up their tender shoots;
The heavy snows are melting. No more need for rubber boots;
Our diets undergo a shift toward greens, away from roots.
The Sun hangs in the western sky until it’s very late;
The birds and bees go seeking for their Reproductive Mate;
The Jews all eat their Matzoth, guaranteed to constipate.
Our allergies are active as the pollen coats the land;
Expectant tourists venture on the beach to test the sand;
While eating Meaty Off’rings from the local Hot Dog Stand.
All hail the Vernal Equinox! O, Spring has come again!

TABITHA

Spring is the season for vampires.
While most think of vampires in the gloomy days of fall the reality is they really like Spring. To a vampire, that sound of spring is the heart in love.
Angel, of course, couldn’t feed off of humans. Thanks to a gypsy curse his soul wouldn’t let him.
Didn’t mean the temptation was gone.
Today was no exception. Cordelia, his office worker, was crushing on the latest Brad Pitt wannabe. When Doyle returned he found Angel brooding more than usua and Cordelia gone. “What’s up?” Doyle asked.
Angel simply burped.

TERRENCE

Raoul looked around the room. Most of the guests had left long ago.
His options were slim so he decided to see what the old man in the
corner was doing. He would hop forward then set back and hop forward
again.
The old man jumped again as Raoul reached him, almost tripped over his
beard. “What are you trying to do?
“Everything is all mixed up. They moved the date, it’s not spring.”
The old man jumped again.
Raoul shook his head and push the man and he fell.
“Oh hell, this is just going to make things worse.”

TED

We’re live at the local diner, reporting on the first days of Spring. I see over there is a lovely yellow chick, wandering from table to table.
In the booth next to me sits a very cute couple. I believe it might just be Mr and MRS Easter Bunny! Let’s lean in closer and see if we can hear what they’re saying.
“Remember, same as before. You’re crowd control, I handle the employees.”
“I love you Pumpkin..”
“I love you Honey Bunny..”
“Everybody be cool! This is a robbery!”
“Any one of you fuckin’ pricks move and I’ll execute every one of you motherfuckers! Got that?….”

TOM

Robbie was a happy spring in his youth. The other little springs
thought he was a weenie. He never could boing like the others, As he
got older he found false fame in his faceless website. No one could
see what a chump he was across the internet. In his quest to
achieve notoriety he entered contests in what they called blogs. In
fact he was such a loser he had to get people who were his “fans” to
vote for him in order to win. The loser took the fun away from
everyone else and became a awannabe sproinger.

PATTI

On their third anniversary, Joseph gave Audra a grandfather clock that played Westminster chimes.
On their fifth anniversary, Audra gave Joseph a son.
On their ninth anniversary, Joseph gave Audra herpes.
Audra gave Joseph divorce papers.
On what would have been their fourteenth anniversary, Audra finally did what she had wanted to do for five years: she took a hammer to that clock and started swinging.
She noticed the spring half buried in the rubble. She picked it up, blew it off, and began to uncoil the delicate metal spiral until it was nothing more than a thin flat line.

PLANET Z

Yes, the legends are true. If you drink the cool, refreshing waters from the magical spring daily, you will live forever.
But what the legends don’t tell you is that you’ll have the most wretched flatulence.
We’re talking farts that can peel wallpaper.
It’s something in that spring’s life-preserving chemicals. I’ve tried learning Chemistry, but in all my years I haven’t figured it out.
Everybody always says they can handle it, but after a few years, they can’t take it any more and go back where they came from.
Fools.
I know the secret to eternal life: nose-plugs.

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.

Weekly Challenge #48 – Sandwiches

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Welcome to the forty-eighth 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 Chris from Platypus Society, and it’s Sandwiches.
Eleven stories were submitted this week.
A rookie team joined in… yes!
And, once again, some disturbing madness from 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):

The full text of each story:
O’CHRIS

Lucky sat down, a pint of Guinness in one hand, a corned beef sandwich in the other. He kicked his feet up and sighed.
“Another long day,” he said. “Those kids, always after me Lucky Charms.”
He had just put the pint to his lips when the front door kicked open.
A dirty, half-naked man entered, eyes crazy with rage!
He threw Lucky down and started kicking him.
“TWENTY SEVEN YEARS! I FINALLY GOT YOU!”
The man grabbed the coveted box of cereal.
“Cereal’s shit,” the man said, dumping the box on Lucky’s bloodied face. “But I’ll take the sandwich.”

O’MARK and O’TINA

Running late to the game, Dad moved franticly about the kitchen, preparing water-bottles, snacks and the like (all while eating lunch AND holding the baby). Suddenly a stray bit of food went down the wrong pipe. His eyes watered. Clutching the child, he dropped the snacks and clawed at the paper-towel roll, letting out a great sneeze. Convulsing, he raised a handful of towels to his nose and sneezed again.
And then total silence…
Relieved he cleared the tears from his eyes and looked down at the baby. She was covered in little moist wholewheat bits of sandwich.

CALEB O’BULLEN

As the 4th Earl of Sandwich pondered his creation, he smiled. For he knew that despite a lifetime of public service as Secretary of State and Postmaster General this one act, oft-repeated, would carry his name throughout the ages.
Of course he had had help. He couldn’t have done it at all without his lovely Irish cook, Molly or his good friend Robert.
As he helped Molly refasten her dress and Robert snored on the divan where he had finished, the Earl thought to himself, “I wonder if something like this could be done with bread and meat as well?”

MacTERRENCE LEAN

Raoul had not been to a wedding in long time, he just was not the type that you invited. He was shocked when the invitation arrived from his cousin. The ceremony was traditional, but he was fairly sure that in most weddings, when they talked about being in the presence of God, they didn’t mean literally; but there he was, sitting in the second row; on the opposite side from Raoul and his brothers. Thing were going well, until dinner was served. You would think that with the almighty on the invite list they would serve something other than sandwiches.

ERIN GO LAIEANNA

Ralph slathered mayo onto the hoagie, then sprinkled it with shredded lettuce. Tomato slices were placed end to end and from three large jars he gathered ham, turkey, and chicken slices, draping them onto his creation. Swiss and provolone were overlapped onto the meat. Last he topped the sandwich with a secret ingredient. He closed his masterpiece then sliced it into serving sizes for the waiter to pass around the bar.
The manager inspected one closely, “What’s this?”
“It’s called Luck of the Irish Club. The meats were marinated in Guinness and the sandwich is topped with Lucky Charms marshmallows.”

O’TABITHA

Myboyfriend races himself around the apartment. He finds this amusing, especially at 2 AM when I’m trying to sleep. I groan, but keep my eyes closed. “Stupid cat.”
Next he finds a paper bag to scratch on, the feline equivalent of nails on a chalkboard. Since I’m still in bed, he yells until I wake up. I glare at him. He doesn’t blink, staring down at me as if to say, “While you’re up, why don’t you make us some sandwiches?”
Once I’m awake and out of bed, he curls up and falls asleep.

McK-NINE

I still see it happening when I close my eyes. It’s
like one of those old super 8 home movies… You know,
all grainy and the colors don’t seem quite right. I
even seem to hear that rattling, flipping noise of the
old projectors.
I didn’t mean for it to happen that way. I just
wanted to change shirts. I had dripped mustard on
mine, so I swung by my house on the way back to work.
When that closet door popped open instinct took over.
I’d change it if I could.
The bologna sandwiches in prison sure are lousy.

SEAN O’ELISSON

Dougie shambled into the cafeteria and took a seat at the end of the table, far away from his fourth-grade classmates.
Oh, how he envied them. He watched as they opened their sack lunches, digging into their peanut butter-and-jelly sandwiches, their salami-on-ryes.
For him, it was an endless parade of sardines on cream cheese, of tuna salad. Weird, fishy sandwiches, the aroma of which clung to him all afternoon. Other kids avoided him, calling him “Fish-Boy.”
It wasn’t easy being the son of the Gorton’s Fisherman.
And the fins growing out of his head and back were no damn help.

TED (NOT KENNEDY)

All my life, I have been on a quest. A search for perfection, that has taken me through numerous countries and continents.
After Years of searching, I have no need to go on. I have found life’s perfection…. Sandwiches..
They will never leave you for another man or woman. They wouldn’t dream of litigation regarding child support. You get what you put into the relationship. They just love you back.
Oh, and sandwiches have integrity. Think about it. Have you ever seen a used sandwich shop? Or a sandwich repair shop?
I rest my case..
Come here, you beautiful Dagwood…

PATTY O’PATTI

I’ve come to recognize many of the homeless people in the city where I live, even privately nicknamed some of them: Talking Tim, Meridian Mary. I begin to worry when I haven’t seen them for awhile.
Take Talking Tim, for instance. I usually see him in the afternoons on my way home from work, but he’d been absent from his usual turf for weeks. I finally spotted him today, walking alone and talking, as usual. But something was different: sandwiched between his right hand and ear was a cell phone.
I’m still wondering if anyone was on the other end.

T O’FOUREM

His body filled the room. All nine Hundred ten pounds. Bob hadn’t
seen the outside of his room for five years. It was sandwich time and
I told him he could get his own if he wanted it. Bob’s eyes got big.
His face was red. Then he arched back and his whole head seemed to
come off. Then a four foot snake like creature came out of his neck,
shot across the room within inches of my nose and bellowed IT’S
SANDWICH TIME NOW! And retreated back into Bob’s body. Always bring
the sandwiches always bring the sandwiches…

AN IRISH VERSION OF MANATA

In 2066, they celebrated their seventieth wedding anniversary. Their “Generation X” marriage had been like very marriage throughout history. Each of them knew how the other took their coffee. Each of them knew the other’s favorite movie, song, and television program. And, like members of countless generations before them, they continued to listen to the music, talk like the movie stars, and act like the celebrities of those from their youth. This is why, on their special day, Jordan said to Courtney, “‘Sup, bitch? I be hungry like mad crazy, yo! Gets ya ass up and makes me a sandwich!”

PLANET O’Z

The Billionaire would look at the social parasites that showed up to his parties and recognize very few of them.
The few he did, they disgusted him.
“You people sicken me,” he muttered.
So, for his next party, he told the caterer to make all the food using human waste.
From the dip to the finger sandwiches, it was all shit.
The champagne? It was yellowish, and marked “previously consumed.”
“How do you like it?” The Billionaire asked.
He enjoyed each moment of horror and how long it took each face to return to its mask of vapid, obsequious delight.

Weekly Challenge #47 – Glitch

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Welcome to the forty-seventh Weekly Challenge, where I post a topic and then challenge you to come up with a 100 word story based on that topic.
The topic this week was selected by Planet Z, and it’s Glitch.
Eleven stories were submitted this week.
No rookies joined in… boo!
And, once again, some disturbing madness from 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):

The full text of each story:
CHRIS

“Send Karen in.”
“Karen, you look smashing today. Have a seat we’ve got to talk.”
“Guess who just called me? Steven Jones! That’s right! He absolutely loved your reading and wants to cast you as the lead in his next film. Aren’t you excited?”
“Didn’t I tell you I’d make you a star? You’re on your way baby! Fame, fortune, limos, red carpets, you’re about to hit the big time!”
“And all you got to do to get there, is blow a goat!”
“So?”
“Steven! It’s Karl. Seems we’ve run into another glitch. Yeah, the goat again. Actresses these days.”

TOM

The metro driver charged up the aisle while flinging open the deFib pack catching both paddles in mid stride. The podcaster lay motionless spread eagle halfway down the exitwell clutching at a triple deep fried burrito. She laid paddles to his chest as the unit beeped fully charged. The shock rolled through his body, but it never released the full charge.
“Damn Glitches” scream the driver.
“Look! He’s smiling,” noted a fellow passenger
“Never saw him smile on this bus before.”
Everyone on the bus shook their heads in agreement.
“This is where I get off ,” thought the podcaster.

CALEB

Looks like there’s a goat in the machine
You mean a ghost in the machine?
Naw, I don’t believe in ghosts, that there’s a goat in the machine
Well, I don’t believe in goats. Not in machines anyway. How did a goat get in the machine?
Hopped the fence
We don’t keep the machine behind a fence
No, but we do keep the goat behind a fence. Tried to anyway.
So, what do we do now?
Entice him out, you got a carrot?
No. I thought that’s what this red cape is for
That’s when the machine’s full of bull.

TABITHA

“Your hair is stupid,” the Buffybot smiled.
“Thank you, you’ve said that.” The man sipped his coffee.
Willow and Spike both rushed into the coffee shop, breathless. “There you bloody are.’
“Spike!” Buffybot said smiling larger. She turned, “Willow. You’re my friend and you’re recently gay. This man is stupid.” The Buffybot said pointing. “He looks like Angel.”
“Bloody hell! Willow, didn’t you fix those damn glitches?”
“You said remove… uh… you know…. never said anything about Angel.”
“Spike’s better than Angel.” The Buffybot continued.
Spike paused. “Maybe you don’t have to remove everything.”

MANATA

Sirens blared through the space station. The astronauts could hardly hear their orders. The defense program on the mainframe was failing. This was a complex glitch and now the whole system was in flux.
There were protocols for this, of course. But who could recall them in a state of panic?
General Hutchins did his best, gesturing and shouting commands.
“You” he shouted, pointing at Sigler, “handle the flux.”
Sigler shrugged, not understanding.
“The flux. You.” Hutchins repeated.
“Flux you too!” replied Sigler.
“No, handle the glitch.”
Sigler blinked.
“You. Glitch.” said Hutchins.
“Me?” Sigler replied. “Well you’re a dick!”

ELISSON

Murphy’s Law states that “if anything can go wrong, it will.”
Murphy was right.
Our project, the Highly Localized Hypergraviton Generator, was way too risky to test on Earth. And so we built Moonbase Alpha.
Came time to start it up, everything worked like a charm. We succeeded in creating a submicroscopic black hole. Weighed as much as a mountain, but smaller than an atom.
Then we dropped it.
Fuckin’ thing zoomed straight to the core of the Moon. It’s there now, eating away. In twenty years, it’ll be “Goodnight, Moon.” Forever.
Son of a bitch: There’s always a glitch.

KELLY

Afterwards, Sandra breathed to calm down. No matter how much planning you do, something will always go wrong. The speech was rehearsed. Bad news is hard to give, but she knew it was harder to hear. She was a grown woman and expected a certain level of maturity from her coworkers. That was Sandra’s mistake, because someone actually threw a coffee mug at her as she delivered the news. This act took her by surprise, but only for a moment. She composed herself, drew a smile to her lips and stated, “Glitches and bitches, working here, you run into both.”

LISA

Every time Thad had a date with a new woman, everything seemed to go wrong.
Tonight he forgot his car keys, locked himself out, and even forgot the girl’s address on a slip of paper at work.
But he finally remembered it, hailed a cab, picked her up, and they managed to have a decent meal together. Could the curse be over?
As they began to get amorous a little later, though, his zipper managed to catch on a large chunk of skin.
Thad then made a painful decision: no more women. The bitches were NOT worth the glitches.

to4m

He down the street wondering if something in the he’d just
eaten. He funny.
Not but weeeeeiiirrd funny. Lights down street changing
colors. And occasionally he’d a buzzing in his ear. By the got to
the radio shack he felt better he thought but inside the store the
suddenly went out. When they came back on no one seemed to notice.
On the, ,, front of him he find any blank DVD’s which was his
reason for the trip to the store. They only floppy discs. Back
home he sat down in his chair normal. I should’ve the blue pill.

Ted

A few days ago, I decided to visit an odd friend. I didn’t want to go alone, so I took my sister.
People who know me know NEVER to leave me alone in their houses. Especially when there is food around.
I recently found I had the ability to change my shape, form and overall appearance. So when my host disappeared, I was playing with my newly found powers, “Oh, this looks good”, I would say, and change again.
Unknowingly, I erected a crappy Temple in his backyard. Boy was my friend pissed!
What can I say? Glitches, glitches, glitches…

PATTI

It’s the writer’s oldest trick in the book: when you can’t write, you write about writer’s block. The glitch this week is the topic. What seething spawn of Satan chose that?
I started with a story about a woman who goes to a PETA convention and is losing an awful battle with her impulses, trying not to yell out things like:
Mink keeps you warmer than wool.
A deer in the headlights is good target practice.
Raw goldfish are good in a salad.
But 100 words to explain what she was doing there in the first place?
I give up.

PLANET Z

Our motto is “Accidents Can Be Caused.”
Sure, anybody can bomb a Uranium processing plant, but where’s the fun in that?
We specialize in lethal subtlety.
To you, it looks like someone slipped and broke their neck in the bathroom, but to us, it’s a year’s planning.
My favorite technique is mistranslation. Just a few words changed every-so-slightly, and Tab A goes into Slot C instead of B.
For you, it would mean Junior’s bicycle falls apart in the driveway Christmas Day.
For Tehran, it means a 1 million degree forecast.
How do you say “Oops!” in Farsi?

Weekly Challenge #46 – The Pit

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Welcome to the forty-sixth Weekly Challenge, where I post a topic and then challenge you to come up with a 100 word story based on that topic.
The topic this week was selected by Tom from Footnote, and it’s The Pit.
Twelve stories were submitted this week.
One rookie joined in… yay!
And, once again, some disturbing madness from 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):

The full text of each story:
Z

My name’s Drake.
Welcome to the Iron Fortress.
Behave yourself.
Because, if you’re bad, they throw you in Solitary.
If you’ve been really bad, they throw you into The Pit.
This prison was built over… something.
A gateway to Hell? We’re not sure.
All I know is that guys come back from Solitary, but they don’t come back from The Pit.
Well, not in one piece.
Sometimes, you find a bone or a few fillings around the hole.
The warden doesn’t like it when that happens, because that means despite all the spells and seals, things can still get out.

CHRIS

Gerald ran frantically into Starbucks, right back to the corner booth he had just vacated. There, tucked in between the creases of the vinyl seat, was his journal.
“Whew!” he said.
Gerald often worried someone would read what he wrote in his journal and think he was some sort of psycho. People tend to think that only teenage girls and serial killers write in journals. Luckily, Gerald was neither.
He did keep a woman in a pit in his basement, but he had no plans to kill her. Just as long as she kept telling him that he was pretty.

K-NINE

Darkness was always descending. His soul screamed out
in abysmal loneliness. Hate, fear, loathing and
despair plucked at his very being.
The war had been terrible, brutal and metamorphic.
The destruction had been beyond belief on both sides.
The rebellion had failed and failed miserably.
He gripped his chest and hyperventilated, trying to
regain control of his sanity. Heaven was but a memory
lost. Hell was an eternal constant.
He had been beautiful once. He had been the fairest
among all the multitudes. Beauty, however, is only
skin deep. Evil is unfathomable and eternal. Lucifer
was alone in the pit.

PATTI

“Mama, you know how in the Bible, God tells Abraham to sacrifice his son?”
“Yes, Rachel.”
“What if God told you to kill me. Would you?”
“Rachel, you know we must all do as God commands.”
The little girl’s eyes filled with tears. “But -”
“We are Christians, Rachel, and there are no ‘buts’ when it comes to God. If we don’t obey Him, we will end up in eternal Hell, a pit of fire with the devil and the rest of the sinners.”
Mother tucked Rachel’s covers in, kissed her daughter and turned off the light. “Sleep tight, dear.”

TOM

Danny was lost.
The only landmark was the sideways head and those broken legs.
When Dan got close to the stone king’s head he started laughing.
“That’s not despair,” boomed a disembodied voice.
“Why should I despair?” replied Danny to the talking head.
“Well, you got a choice.
“It could be ironic or literal, depends on your point of view.”
“From my point of view you just look like a joke.”
“A joke, how’s bout the one about the guy standing over a pit?”
“How does it go?”
“In about 3 seconds.”
“wwwwwwwwwwhhhaaaaaaaaat?”
[snnniif]
“Smells like teen spirit to me”

to4m

It was the Pits. This grease pit was a pit of hell. I was up to my
pits in work. My boss with his forehead pitted with chicken pox scars
was always trying to pit us against each other to get as much out of
us as he could; like a pit viper without the venom. The place felt
like a mosh pit. I’d rather be picking peach pits or even cherry pits
for a pie. Or work in the orchestra pit. Or sweaty pitted, a hot day
in the Indy 500 pits chasing pit bulls. … hate these pits.

ANDREW

I felt something in the pit of my stomach as I stood. This site would
be Dante-esque to those who pondered that sort of thing. The humming
of all the computers filled the air in a sort of high-tech cacophony.
A short man accompanied me, “welcome to the guts. We have over 500
firms already: from data farmers to game designers to
cyber-entrepeneurs. Some stay for a few days at a time, others have
never left.”
The entire island, baring the heliport and boat ramp, was covered by
this great building.
I’d reached heaven. “I’ll take one.” I said.

LAIEANNA

“There! This one’s perfect. No one knows his business like I do. I
should venture out to new locations for selling my service. In this
day and age, I am invaluable. Bloody hell! Do you mind? I’m not
done working down here. Can’t that all wait? Maybe I’ll head east
after this job. Surely there are kingdoms there that could benefit
from my abilities. Just need proof of my expertise. Oh! Excuse me
sir, could you sign this testimonial about the quality and pain
inflicted from my skillfully crafted stakes? It’ll really help put
Pits and Sticks on the map.”

TED

In all my years on the job, I never thought I’d come up against something so awful. So disgusting. This thing.. “The Pit” as it would become known in the journals, held many horrible secrets. I had already retrieved two hubcaps, and a boat anchor. God knows what I would find next.
Elbow deep, I felt something familiar. Yes. A human hand. The cold dead flesh was unmistakable. What happened? How could such an awful thing come to pass? As I gently pulled it toward daylight, I kept asking myself one question. “Why did I have to become a proctologist?”

LISA

War-painted faces and blood-curling howls were seen and heard by the prisoners in “the pit”. Bodies were flying everywhere. Filthy and covered in sweat, she tried to ignore the screeching and the stench.
Some of the “pit-prisoners” were there because of devotion, others out of some misguided sense of duty. She was one who had regretted enlisting herself for this “tour”.
She didn’t belong here, she longed to be safe back at home.
Why had she let herself be talked into this?
A date with Kevin O’Connor was NOT worth the experience of the mosh pit at a Korn concert.

ELISSON

Harry knew Monday was going to be rough; he felt it in the pit of his stomach when he woke up.
At the bus stop, a pit bull grabbed his ankle: man pitted against beast. Fortunately, Harry won, albeit with a torn trouser leg.
On the bus, he remembered that he had neglected his deodorant. A quick armpit-whiff confirmed it. He scowled.
Working an open-pit coal mine was no picnic. After a brutal morning, Harry broke for lunch. Hummus on pita bread. A pit in his cherry pie cracked a molar.
Crap, he thought. Some days are just the pits.

TABITHA

The pit was massive. Zoe and Jayne watched as Mal descended into it using a system of ropes Kaylee, engineer extraordinary, put together.
“Cap’n?”
“Shiny Zoe, nothing to fret.” Mal, sounded more hopeful then he felt.
At the bottom of it was his trusty pistol. He couldn’t expect to leave this moon without it.
“The gun can be replaced.” Zoe called down. Jayne snarled. “No it can’t!”
Zoe’s withering stare didn’t stop Jayne from asserting, “Guns over people.”
“Some got a shovel?” Mal called up. “Think that steaming heap from last week is down here.”

TERRENCE

The flames burned and the screams echoed. After talking with his
brother he thought that he might have been a bit harsh on the
podcaster. He walked up to a man with black burnt skin flaking off of
him. Raoul didn’t know if it was good or bad that the man couldn’t
die again.
“Damn people can’t record their own stories,” the man muttered, “and
where is that damn midget.”
“He’ll be joining you soon enough,” Raoul said to him, “and apology
accepted.” Raoul paused. “You did know that you would end up in the
pits of hell eventually, right?”

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… but new theme music is coming from Guy David)

Weekly Challenge #45 – The Steaming Heap

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Welcome to the forty-fifth Weekly Challenge, where I post a topic and then challenge you to come up with a 100 word story based on that topic.
The topic this week was selected by Elisson from Blog d’Elisson, and it’s The Steaming Heap.
Twelve stories were submitted this week.
Two rookies joined in… yay!
And, once again, some disturbing madness from 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):

WE GOTS PRIZES:
I will be sending the winner a prize… it’s a packet containing a pair of refrigerators magnet and a CD with the archive of the entire 100 word stories podcast. (Well, minus promos and junk)
It is your voting that determines who wins. So listen, vote, and tune in next week to find out who won!

The full text of each story:
TOM

There are jobs destine to go to the young.
They are physical and as a class tend
to be offensive to the orafactorial sensibilities.
Mr. Russell directed John to the shingled shed,
handed him a shovel.
“To the floor,” he said
It was dead winter but the vapors
of the steaming heap danced in the air.
Fifty years of newspapers.
Rain on peed on and pooped on.
Chemical reactions from fermentation to
fractional distillations possibly even
nuclear fission gave the heap a core temperature.
John laid shovel to its skin.
Beneath was a blacker steamer goop.
John lost his lunch

MIKE JAMES

Tom stood still, just staring. Maybe it wasn’t as bad as it seemed,
but no, he knew it would be. The chilly air made it seem even less
agreeable than usual. It was early, it was quiet, perhaps no one had
even noticed. Salvation seemed so close. Just then, Agnes’s door
opened. As she walked past Tom to her mailbox the look in her
eyes was more than enough to signal that it was too late.
Tom bent over, baggie in hand, and picked up the warm steaming heap.
He waived to Agnes, as he and His dog walked on.

TABITHA

“What is it?” Willow said, looking up at Giles.
“Dunno,” Giles adjusted his glasses, leaning in closer he made a horrible face.
“It ain’t no blooming rose garden.” Spike grumbled.
Buffy watched it cautiously. “How can I slay something like that?”
All of them stood dumbfounded while Clem chortled with glee. Finally Anya stepped in from her weekly counting of money. “Why aren’t you all buying something?”
Xander pointed at the spectacle lying on the floor of the Magic Box store.
Anya looked at it, then shrugged. “You humans always impressed by a steaming pile of demon excrement.”

LISA

Marcel had aspirations to play on the varsity hockey team, but the only position he made the cut for was waterboy. Disappointed, but wanting desperately to be part of the team, he took his duties seriously. He always arrived early for each game and was last to leave, cleaning up after everyone.
When Marcel didn’t come home by 10:30, his family became concerned. By midnight, they called the police. A school-wide search began and the dogs were brought in. They were able to sniff out poor Marcel, who was found knocked unconscious under the still-steaming heap of putrid hockey gear.

ELISSON

“It’s been years now, but I’ll never forget when we tried to rescue Ann from that giant ape.
“A bunch of us came along with Driscoll. He had seen Kong grab Ann and knew we had no time to lose.
“Skull Island? Horrible. Dinosaurs, swamps, and a ravine fulla giant bugs! I still get the sweats thinking about it.
“Anyhow, it was pretty easy to track that monkey. Every couple hundred yards, there’d be a steaming heap of Ape-Shit.
“But when we saw the blond hair in that last heap – why, that’s when we turned around and went home.”

TERRENCE

“What is that?” The cloaked figure said.
“What?” Raoul looked up at his brother on the ashen horse.
“The steaming heap,” The figure raised a thin arm and pointed behind Raoul.
Innocently Raoul looked over his shoulder at the unidentifiable mass a
short distance behind him. He turned back to his brother and
shrugged.
“I do not have the time for this.” He checked the list in his hand.
“So what did this Simon do?”
“Not returning emails, misspelling names.”
“And what is that thing?” Raoul turned again.
“That?” Raoul smiled. “Is a former sex slave midget, dancing with joy.”

PATTI

Joel knew his arm was broken, badly; shock was setting in.
“Broken … arm,” he mumbled to the Emergency Room clerk.
“Have a seat; we’ll call you,” she said.
Pulling up his sleeve, he shoved his mangled arm inches from the clerk’s face. The fractured bones overlapped each other beneath the skin, shortening his arm by at least four inches and giving it a “Z” shape.
“Look at this shit,” he yelled, “I’ll be seen RIGHT FUCKING NOW!” And he collapsed.
They found him covered in a steaming heap of the clerk’s vomit; it was her first and last day in the ER.

LAIEANNA

It worked! When a steaming heap of…well, no need to be graphic,
poured out of his mouth, I wanted to puke. He was so freaked out. He
wouldn’t stop babbling and more stuff plopped onto his clothes. I
laughed, but a small part of me felt guilty. I left for awhile and
when I returned he was still talking to himself. The smell was
overwhelming. I handed him a sign language book. Now that the curse
had taken place, I figured he needed to find a new way to spew his
shit when he’s hitting on women in the bar.

TED

The medical examiner was silent. I still say he was a loss for words. There is absolutely NO excuse for any human being to morph into what he saw here before him.
She lay before him, bloated and stinky. What was once the American dream, the desire of most red blooded American males, now was nothing more than worm food. Let the worms have their way with her.
Drugs, alcohol, old men, internet porn.. It was obvious that she had indulged in them all,. Here she was, cold and dead, a steaming heap of goo..
We’ll miss you, Anna Nicole.

DODGE

The steaming pile filled the air that not only smelled of excrement,
rubbish and braken but left a taste in one’s mouth that was foul just
by standing near it.
The policeman who stood next to me could barely keep is dour face
straight. To open his mouth to speak to me was to gag.
I was here to see the bloated shape that lay below us the body look
humanoid, the large head and obviously webbed hands & feet saw to
that.
A creature of fiction lay there…in reality. The proximity to my flat
worried me intensely…they knew me…

K-NINE

Colonel Stratton was a cavalry officer first and
foremost. He rode a gallant steed all across France
in the First World War. The Army was his life, but
here in Europe during the latest global conflict, he
was starting to hate the changes of the last twenty
five years.
Once, he had ridden his horse through thick woods,
through muddy fields of bogged down artillery.
He stared at the broken broom handle that pierced the
radiator of his Jeep, the engine sputtered, and he did
the only thing an old horse soldier knew to do. He
shot the steaming heap.

to4m

Superbowl Sunday. The Guys would be there soon . I had to get the
yard work finished although it was freezing cold outside. I quietly
resented my teenage boy staying late getting high. He should’ve been
the one out there in the cold.. When brought it up to the wife she’d
say I was being too harsh on the boy. I found myself working my anger
out in the yard work. Especially with the wood chipper that is until
I slipped and as I had my first and last out of body experience I
saw a steaming heap of me.

Linda looked at the menu and pointed at “The Steaming Heap.”
“It sounds like it’s describing… well, a pile of fresh horse crap,” she said to the waiter.
“It’s dumplings,” said the waiter.
“Oh, okay,” she said. “I guess I’ll have those.”
Fifteen minutes later, the waiter brought out a platter with a steaming heap of fresh dumplings.
“Enjoy,” he told her.
Linda speared one with a fork, tipped it into the bowl of ginger-and-soy dip, and took a bite.
She swallowed it before she realized the flavor in her mouth was, indeed, steamed horse crap. (With ginger and soy.)

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.)

Weekly Challenge #44 – Whiffle Balls

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Welcome to the forty-fourth 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 Ted from Ted’s Podcast, and it’s Whiffle Balls.
Eleven stories were submitted this week.
More of the Smith Family joined in as rookies!… yay!
An interview with Tom of Footnote about his story!
And, once again, some disturbing madness from 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):

The winner will determine the next topic in the series.
WE GOTS PRIZES:
I will be sending the winner a prize… it’s a packet containing a round refrigerator magnet, a rectangular refrigerator magnet and a CD with the archive of the entire 100 word stories podcast. (Well, minus promos and junk)
Normally, it is your voting that determines who wins. But this week, I’m going ahead and giving them out to all participants, past and present. Send me your address via email and I’ll mail it out the packet to you.
But the offer is open to people who respond this week and this week only.

The full text of each story:
ELISSON

Dr. Cox never missed an opportunity to harass the new first-year residents.
As he led the group of newbies on rounds, he made a point of seeking out patients with the most revolting, horrific conditions. Mrs. Finster, a 300-pound woman with a prolapsed rectum. Mr. Jones, who suffered from the increasingly rare Hansen’s disease. Leprosy had eaten away half his face. Nonetheless, the residents were unfazed.
But when they saw the guy in 303B, half of them retched on the spot. His scrotum was perforated, a mass of weeping sores.
Cox laughed inwardly. Wiffle balls – gets ’em every time.
[Please note that the WIFFLE® Ball is a registered trademark of The Wiffle Ball Inc., Shelton, Connecticut.]

to4m

Having left home in her parallel universe, every day was a challenge.
After her physics class project went awry she found herself trying to make sense of her exceedingly similar new world. She was able to speak and understand the language but it was the subtle differences that were so difficult. She was used to celebrating the mid winter not with
trees and material gifts but with loving gestures. There were the elbow rubs, which the people of the new world didn’t mind but it was the ball whiffing that confused the men and got her arrested

CLAYTON

The warm Sun shone down on Cedar Park, Texas, the small field, the thousands of spectators, and little Timmy. Timmy stood in the batter’s box, plastic yellow bat in hand. This was the national whiffle ball championship, and he was going to win the distance competition. The warnings from family and friends that he was too small and too weak, that he would embarrass himself, did not discourage him. He had mowed endless lawns for 2 summers, saving every penny for the entry fee.
This was his one chance, his dream, and he believed in himself. A full two weeks after his body was found hanging from the ceiling fan, Timmy’s mother was still locked in her room mumbling to herself “Four feet, four inches, the shortest hit in history. Why didn’t he listen? Why?”

TOM

Brother Liberwitz moved away from the edge of the excavation. A 1000 years ago this had been Connecticut. At the bequest of the Duke of Montreal the good brother had begun the great work of locating the reliquary.
Liberwitz had never actually held any of the relics. From the manuscripts he had pieced together a ruff description and a crude test of authenticity. It glowed in his hand. The holy markings matched the Illuminations. To the horror of the monks he through the relic across the field. It curved and whistled. The monks chanted “Wiffle ball wiffle ball whiffle ballallallallall”

ANDREW

“Wiffle ball?” He paused, ” Does it have anything to do with a crushed
testicle? Or something gay men do…”
“What?” I replied, “What the hell are you on about mate? How did
testicles show up in this conversation?”
“What pray tell is a wiffle ball then?” He asked flustered.
“Well beside a rubbish topic to write about it’s a plastic ball that
children learn to baseball with so they don’t brain each other.” I
replied.
“Ah yes, your equivalent of health & safety have banned real baseballs
for under 10s I guess?”
“Probably, they tend to meddle in everything.”

PATTI

Mother thought it unladylike for me to play ball with the boys. Basketball, football, whiffle ball … it didn’t matter; it was too dirty, too rough, and having a tomboy for a daughter was not in Mother’s plan.
“You’ll get your good shoes dirty.”
“But I’m wearing my Keds.”
“You’ll p-p-perspire.” She looked faint.
“I’ll take a shower before bed,” I yelled, slamming the front door and running down the street to where the boys gathered.
A few minutes later Mother appeared, looking very disappointed.
“Mom,” I said, stomping my foot, “I’m 46 years old, let me play!”

CALEB

You see that faded antebellum mansion there? It’s long abandoned but that used to be the whiffle estate. One time, they was the most celebrated family around. You see, the lord blessed them with many children but nary an heir. So they used to have coming out parties year after year. Now they was charming girls, bright and well mannered but they never did marry somehow. They just kept throwing coming out parties.
The last one died a couple years ago left the whole estate for anyone who would bring back those magnificent whiffle balls she missed from her youth.

LAIEANNA

I’m going to vent. If you suffered with my shit on the Valentine’s Special, here’s why.
I was stupidly under the impression it was going to be full of 100 stories. So I asked how many to send, response was “I’ll take as much as you got.” I asked if I should take out the intros or send text copies (Still thinking 100 stories) Response? Nothing! Who’s to blame? None other than Laurence whatever middle initial Simon. Now, I’m not typically mean so if I ever meet Laurence in person, I will throw a whiffle ball right at his head.

HOUSTON KEYS

Marge – Mr. Burns, I need to talk to you.
Burns – Smithers! Who is this saucy blue haired lass?
Smithers – Simpson sir, wife of Homer Simpson in sector Seven G.
Burns – Simpson eh? Fetch the hounds Smithers!
Marge – I can hear you!
Burns – Oh, very well. What is it?
Marge – Well Mr. Burns, my Homie has been having a problem lately. He can’t… You know.
Burns – No, I don’t.
Marge – Well, uh.
Burns – Spit it out woman! These genetically engineered organs of mine aren’t getting any younger!
Marge – He can’t, you know, perform.
Burns – Ah, Excellent. He has “Whiffle Balls.” Fetch me my blue pills Waylon.
Smithers – With pleasure Sir!
Burns – Not for me Smithers! For Simpson!

TED

I got the call at 5am. It’s never a good sign when Don Giovanni sends for you. My heart pounding in my chest, I flagged down a cab and gave my destination.
As I arrived, I wasn’t greeted by the usual niceties I had been used to since I became a made guy.
My last job was easy. All I had to do was grab some whiffle balls and mail them to the Charmin Toilet paper Company.
“I trust you did that which I asked of you?” said Giovanni. “You mailed those guys both of Mr. Whipple’s balls?

TERRANCE

The dogged bounced around my legs with joy. His tail wagged so fast it was a blur. I looked around for the owner but the park was empty.
“Get out of here.” I yelled.
The dog stopped and looked up at me with large brown eyes. It dropped a ball at my feet and barked. I reached down and picked the ball out. I looked at ball and then threw it as hard as I could; the ball few about ten feet before hitting the ground.
“If I find the man that invented whiffle balls, He will eat that ball.”

Susan dropped the dodgeball in the back yard.
“You will be the sun,” she said to it, smiling proudly.
She was going to be an astronomer. Or an astronaut.
Many seven year-olds have those dreams.
Few went to such lengths, though.
Susan looked at her notebook, and placed other balls around the dodgeball to represent planets.
She had to sneak outside of the fence for the whiffle ball Juipter.
A tennis ball marked Saturn sat in the Nelson’s lawn.
The next day, the police found Uranus, Neptune, and Pluto in the street.
They never found Susan. Or her dreams.

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.)

Who had the best story for Weekly Challenge #53?
	Laieanna from Hodgepodge Point
	Tom from Footnote Podcast
	N.F.
	Caleb Bullen from Black Tie Martini Club
	Elisson of Blog d’Elisson
	Chris from Platypus Society
	Terrence from Never Was
	Ted from Ted’s Podcast
	Patti from SmittyGal
	To4m from StuffCast
	Sister Mary Edith
	Planet Z

Free polls from Pollhost.com

Which was the best of Weekly Challenge 52?
	Planet Z
	Tom from Footnote Podcast
	Laieanna of HodgePodge Point
	Sister Mary Edith
	Rahel from Elms In The Yard
	Terrence from Never Was
	To4m from Stuffcast
	Ted from Ted’s Podcast
	Patti the SmittyGal

Free polls from Pollhost.com

Who had the kickingest story for Weekly Challenge #52?
	Tom of Footnote
	Caleb from Black Tie Martini Club Oddcast
	Guy David of The Sixteenth
	Laieanna from Hodgepodge Point
	Terrence from Never Was
	Manata from Squirrel Bait
	Chris from Platypus Society
	Ted from Ted’s Podcast
	To4m from Tom’s Podcast
	Patti from SmittyGal
	The Artist Formerly Known As Planet Z

Free polls from Pollhost.com

Who had the best story for Weekly Challenge #50?
	Manata from Squirrel Bait
	Tom from Footnote Podcast
	Caleb from Black Tie Martini Club
	Elisson from blog d’Elisson
	Laieanna from HodgePodge Point
	Sister Mary Edith
	Patti from Smitty Gal
	To4m from Stuffcast
	Tabitha from Fantabzulous and Strangely Literal
	Planet Z

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Who had the best story for the 49th Weekly Challenge?
	Caleb from Black Tie Martini Club
	Chris of Platypus Society
	Guy David of The Sixteenth
	James Q.
	Tom from Footnote
	Manata from Squirrel Bait
	Caroline from Quadra Island
	K Nine from Dead Dog Walkin
	Sister Mary Edith
	Laieanna from Hodge Podge Point
	Elisson from blog d’Elisson
	Tabitha from Strangely Literal
	Terrence from Never Was
	Ted from Ted’s Podcast
	To4m from Stuffcast
	Patti from SmittyGal
	Planet Z

Free polls from Pollhost.com

Who was the shizzle in Weekly Challenge #48?
	Chris of Platypus Society
	Tina and Mark
	Tom of Footnote
	Caleb of Black Tie Martini Club
	Terrence of Never Was
	Laieanna of Hodge Podge Point
	Tabitha of Strangely Literal
	KNine of Dead Dog Walkin
	Elisson of blog d’Elisson
	Ted of Ted’s Podcast
	Patti of Smittygal
	To4m of To4m’s Podcast
	Manata of Squirrel Bait
	Planet Z

Free polls from Pollhost.com

Who had the best story of Weekly Challenge #47?
	Chris of Platypus Society
	Tom from Footnote
	Caleb from Black Tie Martini Club
	Tabitha from Strangely Literal
	Manata from Manata’s Podcast
	Elisson from blog d’Elisson
	Kelly from Come Let Me Whisper
	Lisa from Lemons and Lollipops
	To4m from Tom’s Podcast
	Ted from Ted’s Podcast
	Patti from Smittygal
	The Deranged Bard From Planet Z

Free polls from Pollhost.com

Who had the best story for the Weekly Challenge #46?
	The Deranged Bard From Planet Z
	Chris of Platypus Society
	K-Nine of Dead Dog Walking
	Patti from Smittygal
	Tom from Footnote
	to4m from Stuffcast
	Andrew from Dodgeblogium
	Laieanna from HodgePodge Point
	Ted from Ted’s Podcast
	Lisa from Lemons and Lollipops
	Elisson from blog d’Elisson
	Tabitha from Strangely Literal
	Terrence from Never Was

Free polls from Pollhost.com

Who had the best story in the Weekly Challenge #45?
	Tom from Footnote
	Mike from Mike Thinks
	Tabitha from Strangely Literal
	Lisa from Lemons and Lollipiops
	Elisson of Blog d’Elisson
	Terry from Never Was
	Patti from Smitty Gal
	Laieanna from HodgePodge Point
	Ted from Ted’s Podcast
	Andrew of Dodgeblogium
	K-Nine of Dead Dog Walkin’
	to4m
	The Deranged Bard Of Planet Z

Free polls from Pollhost.com

Who had the best story in the 44th Weekly Challenge?
	Elisson of blog d’Elisson
	to4m
	Clayton
	Tom from Footnote
	Patti the SmittyGal
	Caleb from The Black Tie Martini Club
	Andrew from Dodgeblogium
	Laieanna from HodgePodge Point
	Houston Keys from Tater Tots For The Masses
	Ted from Ted’s Podcast
	Terrence from Never Was
	The Mad Bard Known As Planet Z

Free polls from Pollhost.com

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