The 100 Word Stories Podcast

Richard Lizzie Tom Lisa Serendipidy Norval Joe Planet Z The next topic is Cruising LISA True Love is Hard to Kill Keepwell was nestled in the shadows of Dugyle Castle. Their visitors passed through our town so we thrived. Life was good. Until the falling sickness. The drawbridge went up and nothing more was heard from the castle. We did the same: shut the gates and sat it out imposing no contact with the rest of the country. Jack the butcher’s son however, continued to see his beau from a nearby village. They met secretly until she succumbed to the sickness. The rest is really too painful to recount but our numbers dwindled rapidly and the castle soon fell into ruin. RICHARD --- Explosive Power --- "Keep well clear" said the guide, "they appear pretty lethargic but they can strike with explosive power." I figured he was being dramatic, hoping for a bigger tip. Still, I wasn't going to take unnecessary risks; I eyed the croc suspiciously. It appeared to be asleep, barely any sign of life. I reckoned I could outrun it, should it come to that. I moved closer, crouching low to get the perfect shot. "National Geographic, here I come, I said quietly, raising my camera." The attack was over in a flash, as was my life. Still, it was an amazing photo. SERENDIPIDY I'm sorry to say, they don't keep well. It's not long before they start to smell and go bad. And they do tend to attract flies, which isn't particularly pleasant. It's a shame really. I'd love to be able to put them on display to show to my visitors. After all, there's really nothing like a set of decapitated human heads as a conversation starter at parties. Sadly, until I can come up with a way to keep them fresh, that's just not going to be possible. So, until then… I'll just keep on eating them. They're really rather tasty! TOM Transurethral Resection of the Prostate Last week I got interpolated. In the biz it’s call a Terp or Turp. Sounds like a small Africa bird in the shadow of Kilimanjaro. Nup. Think dermel tunneling into a gland. I will fore-go the image of tubing and ballons for the fain of heart. What I can address is a new understanding of the pain chart. Like Spinal Tap is goes from 1 to 11. Well I thought it when from 1 to 11. I discovered a land that leave that silly 11 in the dust. Lot of screaming. Damn near a religious experience. If I don’t move …… LIZZIE I knew someone innocent would die. He wanted to clear his name and trampled all over anyone who stood in his way. I wanted to ask him "why". But I never did. He would've denied it. The images have been doctored. It wasn't him on the video. "Can't you see?" And no, I couldn't. It was him, stealing from his best friend. When he was arrested, I said "keep well". He just looked at me. And I knew I'd have to run for my life. Perhaps I should go to that place in the painting and hide in plain sight. NORVAL JOE Mandi shrugged away from the redhead. “You keep well, okay?” She headed to class. The girl grabbed her by her shoulder. “If you want Billbert to keep well, you’ll tell me where he is.” Intimidated by the girl’s size and overt beauty, Mandi gritted her teeth and hissed. “I don’t know where he is. When I got up this morning, he was gone.” The girl frowned. “Listen. My name is Bobbi Yaan. My brother, Patrick, is a Black Knight, and he’s missing too. The Knights know Billbert has magic.” Mandi interrupted Bobbi. “He doesn’t have magic. He has a superpower.” PLANET Z The first module we played was the keep on the borderlands, a castle at the edge of some caves, full of warring tribes of monsters and some kind of evil temple. At some point, our characters tried to rob the jewelry store and ended up getting killed by the castle guards. The new characters we rolled up for the next adventure were looked on with a bit more suspicion. So this time we ended up poisoning the well. After a few years,

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. Other pirates looted and plundered, while George spent a lot of time writing to his grandmother. She'd send care packages, which contained cookies and brownies and socks and underwear. His crewmates stole George's socks, ran the underwear up the mast to fly with the Jolly Roger, and ate all of the cookies and brownies. Clutching their stomachs, they vomited blood and died horrible, painful deaths. George wrote his grandmother again to tell her that she really needs new glasses. "Or put bigger labels on the vanilla and arsenic bottles."

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. He was a fierce competitive eater though. Won a few championships at county fairs and restaurant openings. Hot dogs, pizzas, chicken wings... if you could eat it, George ate it. A lot of it. And he ate it quickly. Afterwards, he'd go off to an alley and throw it all up, but he'd kept it down long enough to pick up the trophy and the prize money. But George didn't mind it all that much, considering how many times he'd been seasick during his days on the high seas.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. But even a not-very-good pirate can see the evil in marketing consultants. "You need to rebrand!" said the consultant. "You're not pirates, you're independent resellers." The consultant instituted standard uniforms, providing the hook-handed, peg-legged, and eye-patched crewmembers with realistic prostheses. "And we've got to work on language skills. Your grammar and jargon are simply awful!" Hostages became negotiating assets, booty became procured trading goods. The crew held a meeting, then keel-hauled the landlubber. "Oh, sorry," said George. "We're terminating your contract through a barnacle-scrubbing maintenance operation. Is that better?"

George was a pirate but he wasn’t a very good pirate. The problem was that the captain kept changing the ship’s operation manuals. He made procedures more and more complex, making it harder for any pirates to get any actual work done with consistency. And he changed the terminology and names of things. This confused the Pirates even more. Eventually, George held a meeting with all the other pirates on the ship. The captain woke up to George standing in front of him with a dagger to his throat. What’s the bullshit term you use for mutiny now? Asked George.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. He was always leaving the ship's portholes open, and one day a raven flew in and landed on George's head. "Nevermore," said the raven. "What the crap does that mean?" said George. "Nevermore," repeated the bird. George swatted the raven away, got up, and looked up nevermore in a dictionary. The definition further irritated him. "Why would a raven say nevermore?" said George. "Nevermore," said the raven. George drew his cutlass and killed the annoying bird. He roasted it in the galley and ate it. Quoth the pirate, "Delicious."

Richard Lizzie Tom Lisa Serendipidy Norval Joe Planet Z The next topic is Keep well RICHARD --- Festival--- It was one of the weirdest concepts I'd ever come across in my years in the music business. ‘Rockfall 25' - the world's first festival of background music. I can't say the lineup was impressive, I'd never heard of the headline acts, and the programme wasn't at all attractive. I couldn't see myself succumbing to the delights of the 'Elevator Music Tent'; and the idea of the 'On-hold Music Stage' was far from appealing. I went anyway. It was great. A relaxing few days just doing my own thing in a field, to the accompaniment of unobtrusive, quiet background music. LIZZIE Discard the old. Discard the old and frame it. Put it on display so you never forget. The background music, nagging your memory, doesn't help. But... Forget it. Forget it all. Move elsewhere. Do something else. Walk away. They'll try to chase you, those cold recollections, they will. But... Forget them. Forget it all. Sell your house. Buy a new one where no one knows you. Walk away. Leave your pain behind. Or whatever you call pain. It might be a wave, a word, a doubt and a certainty. The water is dark and deep. But... forget it. Save yourself. TOM One isn’t the loneliest number Today number of interest is 158 that can be displayed in number of ways: 3 × 53 it’s prime factorization. In hex-s 0x9F or even binary 10011111. My favorite is 158 displayed as a Lego number 555 222 (some ensemble required) Of course the weirdest quality of 158 is it is the prime celestial. Baron Otto Von Patton in 1827 discovered 158 was the number of angles that could fit on the head on a pin. One may ask how do you get angles to display in a non-celestial realm? Prune juice, well actually the effect of same juice. Snot bad. LISA Late For Work Peter’s turned himself around after the shock of routine blood test results. Diagnosed as pre-diabetic with high cholesterol he swapped crashing with a croissant first thing to an early morning run. Everyone’s noticed the impact of these choices. The background music from his earbuds this morning is Thunder by AC/DC; it’s hard not to think of those cheerleaders coming out onto the pitch. Ahead & unseen a car is reversing from their driveway. Peter looks like poetry in motion as his feet hit the pavement in time to the music’s thump. He picks up his speed. So does the car. SERENDIPIDY Blood-curdling screams; wailing and moaning; heart-rending sobs. Not exactly the average person's idea of background music or chilled ambience, but I love it. I don't have to worry about royalties or copyright claims. Every expression of pain is unique and fleeting, meant to be enjoyed just once, and never repeated. It can get a bit messy of course, but that's only to be expected - and, if I'm honest, that just adds to the enjoyment. It's an acquired taste, which to you may sound vile… But, I think the sounds of pain are just like a finely-crafted poem. NORVAL JOE Mandi didn’t know why this girl wanted to talk to her. She tried not to display any sign of understanding and asked, “What do you want?” The tall girl rolled her eyes. “I know you know Billbert, and Sabrina, too. I need to talk to them, both.” Background music for the morning announcements began to play over speakers in the hallway and Mandi said, “Um. It’s almost time for class.” She didn’t move. The girl put a hand gently on Mandi’s shoulder and stepped close. “I’m Bobbi. I’m a friend of Billbert’s and it’s important that I talk to him.” PLANET Z Pro wrestling isn't fake, but it's not a sport. Every corporation states that clearly in their charter to avoid regulation and tax issues. It's a scripted performance. It's art. It doesn't mean that it's completely fake, because the talent and crew still need to build up their skills and bodies. And they do get hurt.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. He was a loyal baseball fan, though. No, he didn't follow the Pittsburgh Pirates. No self-respecting pirate would be caught dead in Pittsburgh. He followed the Bradeton Marauders, a minor league club. George went to every game, dressed up in his best pirate regalia, and he'd lead the cheers. Waving his cutlass in the air, shouting for all nine innings. The fans thought he was awesome. "You're the best pirate ever," the kids would say. And, with a happy tear in his eye, he shouted "ONE TWO THREE... YARRRRRRRRRRR!"

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. At least, that was what the captain said. Truth was, George was a pretty good pirate. The captain, on the other hand, was an awful pirate. But you know the Peter Principle. People rise in rank until they fully express their incompetence. And the captain was supremely incompetent. Terrified that someone would discover how incompetent he really was. So, he constantly put down the pirates on his ship. Pitting them against each other. All the while, hoarding gold, hoping to retire. before his crew called him on his bullshit.

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate. Still, he did his best for his ship, joining raiding parties and fending off rival pirates. Until the captain sold to a German pirate consortium. Which outsourced the work to cheaper Russian pirates. George sat in port, stuck in endless planning meetings. “When will we go out again?” asked George. The owners told him to shut up and train. A lot of his old crew mates got bored and quit for better challenges. George trained their replacements. Until one day, George left, too. And sailed off to new lands.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. He got lousy grades in pirate school, his teachers held him up for ridicule, and his classmates bullied him. So, George swore he'd get his revenge. Back then, there weren't high-capacity guns to mow down a schoolyard full of kids, nor were there cars you could drive into them. Sure, he could have started a fire. But he wasn't good at it. And he was mocked for it. So, he became a pirate, and he caused "accidents" that got his nasty former classmates captured or killed. Sweet, sweet revenge.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. This wasn't in just skill, but also in discipline. "I'm leaving the ship for a few days," said the captain. "No parties while I'm gone, okay?" "Aye aye, captain," said George. George broke out the rum and arranged music, games, dancing, and fencing matches. Come dawn, the ship was everything but a wreck at the bottom of the bay when the captain came back. "Are you mad I made a mess, sir?" said George. "No," said the captain. "I'm mad you threw a great party and I wasn't invited,"

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. He never checked the weather reports, so he frequently sailed into thunderstorms, hurricanes, and tsunamis. Or he'd be sleeping at an inn, and a big wave would wash the building a mile inland. "I paid for an oceanside view," complained a sopping-wet George to an equally sopping-wet innkeeper. "Now it's a mile walk to the docks?" George wrung out his clothes and hiked the mile back to his ship. Well, where he thought he'd left his ship. He hiked back. It was on the other side of the inn.

Richard Tom Lisa Serendipidy Norval Joe Planet Z The next topic is PICK TWO Display, Poem, Background music, 158, Rockfall RICHARD --- Loser --- I sighed inwardly when the lad walked in, another no-hoper, without prospects. "Well boy, I understand Miss Jones has thrown you out of art class again. What do you say for yourself?" "Sorry sir" the boy sniffed, then used his sleeve to wipe the snot from his nose, "I just don't like art... or sport." I rubbed my eyes wearily. "So, what do you like?" "Computers, sir." Computer games, more like, I thought to myself. "Well, buck up your ideas, and forget the computers, lad. Detention! And, I don't want to see you in my office again, William Gates!" TOM Take this Marcel Prouse I had a childhood friend whom at a very early age had become a superior wordsmith. He often said the following: Snot bad. If you are 10 years old this is the height to refined wit. I have not thought about that pun in 40 years. Fun how stuff lies dormant in your memory. While reflecting on the lazy summer day we hung out a quip floated back. Don’t go straight, go forward. It was dawn of the age of hippies when straight meant married, kids, working in the steel mill. Get the split-level house in the burbs. Snot bad? LISA A Dentist with a Difference Sam’s newly qualified as a dentist and full of fresh ideas to allay fears of his profession. One of them: to call himself an oral technician. He’s just picking up his new van from the sign writer- he‘s asked for highly decorative initial letters in shades of fresh greens for his fresh new venture. A mobile dentist. It’s the future. He’s documented his journey on social media and goes live as he collects the van. He zooms in on SNOT Sam Neil Oral Technician and goes viral with the post before he’s tempted anyone into the back of his van. SERENDIPIDY "Drowned in snot!" Inspector Mulligan grimaced, "Rather an unpleasant way to meet your maker. What do we know about the victim?" Officer Jenkins consulted his notebook. "Works in McDonalds, Sir. It's the premises downstairs. We don't know who owns this floor though, or what he was doing here." "Or, why there's a huge vat full of snot up here", mused Mulligan. "Well, none of it makes sense. Best get the lads up to remove the body" "Oh, and while you're at it, did you say there's a Maccy D's downstairs? Grab me one of those extra thick shakes, would you?" NORVAL JOE Mandi flowed with the rest of the student traffic to her first period class. Behind her she heard, “Look. That stuck up snot is finally back in school.” Mandi kept walking, until the girl said, “Yeah you, Leemoldia. We’re talking about you.” Mandi turned around to find three girls, two her height, and one redhead, who was much taller. At first, she thought the redhead was a teacher—she was as tall as most, and well built. But then she roughly pushed the other two away. “Get lost, you two,” she snarled. “I need to have a word with Mandi.” PLANET Z I contracted for a company that ran raffles at holiday parties where there were more prizes than partygoers. Everybody came away with cool shit. Not coffee mugs or shirts, but televisions. And everybody got a lava lamp. As a contractor, I wasn't invited, and the fulltimers would taunt me over it. So I'd nope out and take time off and they'd be up shit creek in a day or two, and beg me to come back and I'd say sure, for all your lava lamps. And I blew the fuse to my closet of an office plugging them all in.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. But the captain... now they weren't good at all. Every year, the captain sent out an anonymous survey. The responses were dismal. "I feel like my contributions are valued." Negative. "I feel like I have opportunities for career growth." Negative. "I feel like my work has meaning." Extremely negative. The captain fumed, threatening to make everyone walk the plank. "Then who will hold the plank?" asked George. George was the first forced to walk the plank. "I'm going to remember this for next year's survey," grumbled George, treading water.

George was a pirate, but he was in a very good pirate. If you asked him about that, I’d say don’t give a shit. Even though people constantly gave him shit over it, he never gave them shit back. Some would say that he couldn’t give two shits what you thought. But it wasn’t that he would give two shits, because he never gave one. One shit, two shits, it didn’t matter. George didn’t give a shit about not being a very good pirate, and that’s all that mattered. To tell you the truth, I don’t give a shit either

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. Instead of taking hostages and ransoming them off, he usually ended up befriending his captives and traveling the world with them. One was a young man from the French Navy who didn't speak French very well. He was whittling small sculptures out of wood and soapstone. "These are pretty good," said George. "Mind making one of me?" So, he did, that's how George wound up with an early Paul Gaugin sculpture. It's in a museum now. Well, in their warehouse, not on display. George wasn't a particularly handsome man.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. He lost his crew, he lost his ship, and he even lost his hat. His reputation kept him from getting hired by other pirates for their ships. He was reduced to stealing packages off of people's porches. But George wasn't a very good porch pirate either. His first heist was a trap, and the glitterbomb exploded in his face. "Welcome, Glitterbeard!" shouted everyone at the pub, laughing. The next heist was a delivery from Ikea. Miraculously, it was a ship. George struggled with instructions and Allen wrenches for days.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. When pirates tell each other secrets, they get really fancy with their expressions. Like sinking something down in Davy Jones' Locker. Or the best way for three men to keep a secret is to kill two of them. George liked to say "Keep this under your hat." Which is where he kept his most important secret. Literally under his hat. So while he slept, his fellow pirates would take off his hat and read his secret. Which consisted of a little slip of paper marked "Buy a new hat."

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. His adventures took him far and wide, and once he went to China. "This cave bat is delicious," he told the street vendor. "Can I have another?" That's how George caught the Coronavirus. He was feverish and coughing for days. Spreading the disease like wildfire. Authorities called for people to shelter in place, putting the world in a lockdown. "Plenty of opportunities to loot and pillage," wheezed the captain over the conference call. "Sure," said George, wrapped in his bathrobe. He took a Mucinex and went back to bed.