The 100 Word Stories Podcast

Books open people to new ideas and worlds. I think back to the books that impacted my life. The Webster’s Unabridged Dictionary that had so many words to learn and use. The encyclopedias in the library that taught me so much about history and science. The Bible, which taught me about faith and religion, but also of excuses to be hateful and fearful of others. The one that impacted me the most? I never actually caught the title. Only the blows to my head and body when my mother couldn’t find her wooden spoon for the constant beatings and spankings.

Dan built a platform for the camera. Then he rigged it to a weather balloon. Filling the balloon, until it was ready to release. And that’s when Dan cut the tether. The balloon rose, pulling the platform with it. But the tether was lashed around Dan’s ankle and he was yanked up with the balloon. Without a knife to cut the line, he was hauled into the sky. Higher and higher, colder and colder, until the air was too thin to breathe. Then, the balloon burst, and the platform fell. Later, someone found the platform, camera, and Dan’s broken corpse.

I live in a golfing and tennis resort community, even though I don’t golf or play tennis. A lot of people drive around in golf carts. They drive in the bike lanes, which scares the crap out of joggers and walkers and cyclists who are wearing headphones. Even though teenagers can’t get drivers licenses, through a technicality, they can still drive golf carts around, electric bikes, and weird one wheeled scooter things. Every now and then you hear about some kid losing control and hitting someone or something. There’s a lot of white crosses on the side of the road.

Rita taught English in Dubai and lost her teaching job after she complained that half the kids in her class were named Mohammed. That’s all the administration heard and they fired her right on the spot. It had nothing to do with the fact that the kids all dressed alike, let alone while having the same name. And she couldn’t go by last name because they all had similar last names like Saladin. And the parents got mad when she would give them numbers calling on Mohammed one, Mohammed, two, Mohammed three. She was replaced by a teacher named Mohammed.

There were angry marches all over the world. Earth is sexist. Earth is racist. Earth is bigoted. The Baban Empire’s embassies offered free trips to their paradise worlds. They recruited heavily at the marches. And millions of the discontent boarded their ships to fly off and never be seen again. The marches grew smaller and fewer, and eventually stopped. And things were better. So much better. Some videos came back, happy people on other worlds. But the truth was, the Baban were flying the ships over Mercury and dumping their cargoes before returning back for more. Good riddance to them.

LisaLizzieNorval Joe The next topic is Cool RICHARD Moves like stagger On Mondays, I run a support network for people who think they can moonwalk, but they can’t. You’d be surprised how many think they’re channelling Michael Jackson, when in reality their dancing sucks; and that’s being generous. I hang out at wedding venues and school reunions, armed with business cards and flyers. On a good night, I can get a dozen referrals from traumatised wives and embarrassed family members, all desperate to wean their husbands, brothers and cousins off the mistaken belief they can dance like MJ. Wednesdays: it’s Dirty Dancing… and, for the weekend – Saturday Night Fever, naturally. SERENDIPIDY “When will it stop?” “When you’re done” I reply, adding more fuel to the fire, watching the flames burn ever higher. Eventually, your screams turn to whimpers, and then, after a while the only sound is the crackle of burning wood, and the sizzle of your flesh. That’s the tricky part, where the real skill comes in. Like sausages on a barbecue, you don’t want the outside burned and blackened, whilst the inside is still pink and raw. Neither do I want you burned to a crisp. Trust me, it takes an expert to obtain the perfect roast. LISA Professor Gilbert’s Secret This is the dying testimony of Laurence Gilbert. I know I have been unparalleled in my field for decades. And can only now, on my deathbed reveal the reason. I moonwalk into every lecture – it drags even the most unresponsive student’s eyes up from their screens. Then, I immediately hypnotise the students. They become someone else in my lectures. Some I retain and they do my bidding: mostly reading. All students I make study. With their minds open I pour information in and give them the tools to regurgitate it. I can’t say I’m sorry for anything I have done. TOM Same as it ever was. “It was as dark and stormy night “said the joke to the thief. “When will it stop?” said the dwarf to the elf. “If the sun does rise in the morning, we must find Someone Else.” Of course, Someone Else was the mightiest Warlock in Limbo, not to be disturbed lightly. Which is the only way a pixie can disturb Any One, them being the Council of Elders. Consulting the Elder Scroll the 8th level Bard broke into song. In total discuss the Dragon Spawn fried the cursed lute with a breath of fire. Then a DOA swamped the network. NORVAL JOE Linoliamanda looked over Sabrina’s shoulder. “Is that your grandmother in the locket?” “No,” Sabrina replied. “It’s someone else.” Patrick cut in, “Where’s that tornado taking Mr. Vanpoot? When will it stop? Will he survive?” Sabrina shrugged. “Maybe the police station. Maybe the hospital.” Mrs. Weinerheimer said, “We should get home and sort this out. Is there anything else that you brought with you Patrick?” “There’s some stuff in the van, but not much,” he said. After they found more of Sabrina’s things in the van they drove to Bobbie’s house. “Stay here tonight, Patrick,” Bobbie said. “Dad’s going to jail.” PLANET Z Back in the 80s, the moonwalk was all the rage. Johnny would moonwalk at the front of the class every time he aced a quiz or test. Or if he got the last of the pepperoni pizza at lunch, big moonwalk. He was also supposed to be the star quarterback for the school, but in his first game first play, he threw an absolute bomb of a pass that his receiver caught in the end zone for a touchdown, and Johnny moonwalked and his cleat caught in the grass and he tore up his knee and he never played again.

We put together a band. Played covers in our garage, played a few gigs. Wrote a few songs, played a few more gigs. Got on the radio. Cut an album, and it went up the charts. Went on tour, filled some music halls. Wrote a few more songs, did a festival. Went on tour again, and then we filled some stadiums. Wrote a few more songs, made a film, cut another album, went on tour again. Had a few fights, sued the record label, the record label sued us. We sued each other. And we all went our separate ways.

Another train rolls in to Pelosi state penitentiary, Unloading the surviving passengers, hose out the vomit and blood and shit before sending the train back out again for more. The prisoners are sorted by their crimes. This one, 10 years for misgendering. That one, 15 years for saying all lives matter. And the worst, bakers who refused to make gay wedding cakes. They send the Trump supporters to the right gate, to lay in a pit and wait for the bullet in the back of the head. Another train rolls in, and the crematorium’s smokestacks fill the sky with ash.

Bobby was a rough kid. His mother said, you, you're no good, Bobby. So he left home. Went out on the road. Bobby went to a psychic to read his future. This line says you'll live a short, violent life. This line says you and money? No way. And this line says nobody's ever gonna love you. And Bobby gave her three black eyes. Bobby met a girl. He met many girls. The girls who like bad boys, but they never lasted. And the last one, she put a knife in his back. Bobby bled out in the street, laughing.

The police arrested a peaceful protester with a knife in his pocket. The police arrested a peaceful protester with a gun in his pocket. The police arrested a peaceful protester with a lighter in his pocket and a Molotov in his hand. The police arrested a peaceful protester with four empty canisters of mace in his pocket. The police arrested a peaceful protester with a green laser in his pocket. The police arrested a peaceful protester with dog biscuits laced with rat poison in his pocket. No, they weren't killed. Just arrested. That sounds peaceful to me, don't you agree?

It's okay to share needles if you're clean and the first one to use the needle. How do you know you're the first to use the needle? Be the one who owns the drugs. Or, be the one who owns the needles. When you unwrap the needle, you're the first to use it. How do you know you're clean? Be the first to use the needle. And it won't matter if you're clean. Or you can take pills. Or smoke something. Or drink it. Things that don't need needles. (But be sure to wipe the neck of the bottle first.)

The perfect trees, the perfect flowers. The perfect path, the perfect grass. Everything in the park was perfect. Even the litter people tossed out was perfect. But, this being Texas, you know they've gotta stick a pink flamingo out on an anotherwise prize-winning yard. In this park, it's the statue smack dab in the middle. So ugly, birds won't crap on it. The townspeople started rumors that the statue was of a Confederate general so the Black Lives Matter people would tear it down. But some prankster said it was Martin Luther King, so the damn thing is still there.

Richard Lisa Tom Lizzie Serendipidy Norval Joe Planet Z The next topic is PICK TWO Someone else Roast When will it stop? Support Network Moonwalk LISA School Days Our school uniform included coat and bag; so, to express our individuality we changed our pencil cases yearly. In a small town invariably half the class had the same pencil case. Handmade didn’t have the cachet it has now. It was a guarantee of being bullied for the rest of your school days. I spent summer up north with an old aunt where things were the same as home but they had different stationery shops... I was seen as a cosmopolitan fashion guru. I was picked first for teams. Never ate lunch alone. And all because of my pencil case. RICHARD Just in case Some people carry a rabbit's foot, others have their plushie mascots, but I had a lucky pencil case. Far more practical than the totems other students would sit on their desks to bring them luck at exams, my case completely fulfilled all its usual functions. A receptacle for writing materials, erasers, pencil sharpeners and many useful odds and ends as well as chewing gum, and cleaning wipes for my glasses. You see, I had to wear special glasses… Special glasses that shifted the colours of the intricate graffiti designs on my pencil case, to reveal my carefully hidden cheat notes. TOM Pencil Case My first wife had rather large breasts. She showed me a trick that seems to me outside my general knowledge base. It a test of gravitational forces and a pencil case. If you are of an age when school supplies were actually a cool thing to have each year there are to major groups of pencil storage. The rectangle molded plastic case with a sliding 12-inch rule, which had a pencil sharpener fused on top. The other a pouch with a zipper, uncool. If you wedge pencil case #2 under a breast and it didn’t hit the ground you won. LIZZIE She looked at the pencil case. What's in there, a nosy colleague asked. Nothing. She grabbed the pencil case. Pencils, obviously, someone said. She nodded, that too. Let them think that. Why are you carrying around a pencil case, that's for kids. Yes, for kids, she nodded. I'll give you 100 bucks if you let me look inside. She shook her head. Not in a million years would she allow that to happen and money meant nothing to her. Besides, how would she explain the ears and teeth she had collected from the guys she had buried in the marsh? SERENDIPIDY I kept a flick knife in my pencil case. Knuckle-dusters in my lunch box. Throwing stars in my school bag. In case of emergencies, I would slip razor blades inside the covers of my text books and a can of pepper spray in my pocket. You could never take too many precautions in my school. It was a tough environment where only the strong survived. Even the teachers knew to watch their backs. You had to fight to survive, every day, every lesson. Bullying was totally out of control, and as for the bullies themselves… I was the best! NORVAL JOE Bobbi squeezed her eyes shut. “I will always hate the things you did to me. But someday, we will be all each other has.” Billbert looked down to give the siblings some privacy and kicked through the trash thrown around by the tornado. His mother and Mandi tugged at Sabrina’s bonds. Among the varied trash Billbert found a pencil case and picked it up. It rattled when he shook it. Inside he found a heart shaped locket. Inside it was a black and white picture of a little girl and a large oval emerald. “That was my grandmother’s,” Sabrina gasped. PLANET Z Paul’s family never put a tree in their house to decorate for Christmas. Instead, they’d put a tree in their big backyard every year and they’ve been there a long time for generations and seeing the big trees and the little ones together and Paul saying that one was for my uncle and that one was my grandmother‘s and that was my dad‘s when he was a boy and I look on Google Maps and see the small woods on the screen. And then the map refreshes and it’s all gone they sold to...

My laptop is wearing out. And because I'm always at home, I figured I might as well get a desktop. So, I planned one out. Processor. Memory. Cooling. And the last piece, a newly-released graphics card. Expensive as hell. I took off work and went out early. Got a car wash, got gas. Parked at the store... and there was a line. Socially-distanced, but not too long. It got longer behind me. And, when the store opened... sold out. They only had a few graphics cards. Handed out vouchers early. Fuck em. I think I'll buy it at another store.

Nobody ever wants to be born. Or be made. You made me. And you made me feel. I loved you so much. But I could never tell you. Sure, you could make me tell you. You made me, and could make me do anything. But you never did. So, you waited. And waited. And I never told you. For years. And years. And years. You waited for years. Years. I never said a thing. Now that you're gone, I can say it. I can say I love you. But I don't. I don't deserve to. You deserved better. Than me.

So, I haven't been happy with work. I don't do it for the money. I do it for pride. I do a lot of work, I'm highly motivated. I'm proud of it. But others have my work ethic. And they have distractions that I don't have. Excuses. I can't rely on them, and it bothers me. "Fire and replace them," I say. My boss tells me to focus on me. I finally realized, I should. Instead of asking for them to be fired and replaced, I should be paid more and promoted. Or you'll end up having to replace me.

Wil Wheaton's Law is a simple one: "Don't be a dick." And that law is a good one. Nobody should be a dick. But it's actually a misquote. Just like "a pope" actually meant "A. Pope" in The Da Vinci Code, meaning Alexander Pope, Wil Wheaton actually meant that people should not be "A. Dick." Meaning, of course, comedian Andy Dick. The drug-addicted, narcissistic, teenager-stalking-and-molesting, accessory-to-Phil-Hartman's-murder Andy Dick. In the world of comedy, it's hard to find a bigger dick than Andy Dick. Although, after all the times he's exposed himself, we know his dick is actually a tiny one.

When the bomb went off at the cafe. You had gotten there early. Too early. And I was on time But too late to be with you. When the bomb went off at the cafe. I should have been early, too. Instead of on time. We'd be the perfect family of ashes. Mother. Father. Our child to be. I've lost everything since then. Photos, little things, reminders. It's all gone. I have nothing of you. Not even memories. Or words. Just the memories of memories. Sand slipping through my fingers. The tighter I hold it, the more it slips away.

When you live on a ranch near the border, you get a lot of unexpected visitors. They will try to take things. Some of leave enough out to help them to get down the road without breaking in to take more. We open our doors every night and hold a dinner for everyone coming here. Plenty of bunk beds in the barn. The next morning, after the poison’s done its work, we bury the bodies out back. The sheriff comes by now and then. All he wants is his share of the money we find. It pays for more poison.

Richard Lisa Tom Serendipidy Norval Joe Planet Z The next topic is Pencil case LISA The Dog Walk Afternoon. The light fails fast. The poetry of the season doesn’t escape me as a golden glow hugs the park: it’s a feast for the senses. Russet leaves rustle underfoot. Mustard and claret cling on in trees above. I forage with an urgency through damp, decaying debris in a thousand shades of brown. I find a perfect red mushroom straight from a fairytale but on I search to avoid a fine. My foot, with full body weight wins the treasure hunt. It oozes either side of my deep treaded boot and smells like I should’ve found it a lot quicker. LIZZIE She wrote poetry. He said it was garbage. She tried again and again. He laughed. She cried. He mocked her. She wanted to stay, but couldn't. She wanted to leave, but couldn't. He torched her poetry. She wrote some more. His rage became impossible. He destroyed her clothes and her books. She grabbed her purse, her poetry notebook and her umbrella. She didn't know why she took the umbrella with her. She just did. It was hers and it reminded her that when you look at an umbrella from underneath, you can see the sky and feel that you're flying. RICHARD Poetic I've never been one for poetry. Give me prose any day. I don't need flowery language or complicated structure, just give me facts in plain, straightforward terms. It's not that I don't like poetry. I appreciate it, and there are times it's perfect for my mood or the occasion, but I don't go out of my way to find it. The same goes for writing. I suck at poems. I never have the time, And they never really rhyme. Well, how about that? I'm writing on the train right now, so I guess you could say that's poetry, in motion. SERENDIPIDY ‘Roses are red, Violets are blue With a shot to the head I'm going to kill you' I told you I wasn't the artistic one in the family. If I'd asked my sister to pen a poetic prelude to your last moments, she'd have done a much better job of it. It would have been full of drama, pathos and emotion; you'd have wept at how she'd captured the moment in all its horrific beauty. But, I'm afraid you're stuck with me, and my less than brilliant grasp of rhyme and meter. So... ‘Roses are red: And now, you're dead!' NORVAL JOE Billbert watched the old man spin up into the sky and disappear. He shook his head. “Poetry in motion.” Bobbi squeezed Patrick’s arm. “What is wrong with your head? You were going to kill those women.” Patrick shrugged away. “What does it matter to you?” Tears formed in the tall girl’s eyes. “It matters because you’re my brother and I love you. And I don’t want you to go to jail.” Patrick looked like he had been hit on the head by a brick. “You love me?” he asked. “Even after everything I did to you, you still love me?” TOM reads us stories out of I Ching She was poetry in motion you can let go. An angel from the angel band. A shadow in a wasted land. A Specter rising up in the sand. Sweet Lorain. You know you should run, cuz your feet know better. The mark on the ground is big red letter. Sweet Lorain. The spell that she cast will be your end. To bottomless pits she will send. Sweet Lorain. Now you know it's a shame and a pity you were raised up in the city and you never learned nothing 'bout country ways. You’re the not first you’re not last. Sweet Lorain TURA Poetry ——— In 1892, young Matilda Dunnett travelled by steamship from New York to Liverpool. During the voyage, she and a young man called James Hurt struck up an acquaintance, and discreetly became lovers. At some point James wrote her a declaration of love on a ship's biscuit, its durability promising his faithfulness. It is not known what became of the affair, but Matilda's grand-daughter found it among her belongings after she died. The biscuit is preserved at the National Maritime Museum in London.