The 100 Word Stories Podcast

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 developers to build a housing subdivision.

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. The caption reads: “This ship's biscuit (inscribed with a love note) shows signs of damage by larvae.” Poetry! ——— Z Jerry was posted to a far colony. Faster than light travel, made travel fast, but the infrequency of ships along the routes made communication less than instantaneous. A Data block would collect important information, and it would be delivered along the route. Sometimes a ship would be lost and news of the loss would take a while to arrive before another data block could be sent. Jerry sent poetry back to his fiancé, trying to entice her to get aboard the next ship. Eventually, she agreed. It wasn’t until the next circuit that Jerry learned her ship had vanished.

Every time Elaine drank herself into a blackout and woke up in some strange guy's bed, she swore she wouldn't do it again. Bagging up the guy's body, washing the place up, putting him in his own car's trunk. Over and over and over. One day, she'd slip up and leave evidence. A hair, being seen together on a camera. Dropping the car off at the chop shop. "Nice BMW," said the owner, looking in the trunk. "We'll take the disposal out of your finder fee." That night, Elaine went out to celebrate. And a guy sent her a drink.

Early Hollywood was pretty racy. Lots of violence and nudity in movies. So, the Catholic Leagues would produce lists of movies with ratings of each. Some were safe, that their parishioners shouldn't see. Others weren't safe. And then some they said if you saw them, you'd go straight to Hell. Sure enough, people used the lists. They skipped the safe movies and went to the naughty nasty smut shows. When the Hayes Production Code arrived, nudity and violence were curtailed and censored everywhere. And the churches stop publishing the lists. But people still went to Hell for their earlier transgressions.

My first pizza was Barnaby's thin crust in Northbrook. Their sign had a brown potion bottle, but I always thought of it as a bowling pin. We also went to the original Uno's for deep dish. Greasy thick dough pies. Same with Godfather's. Gross. When we moved, a local joint called Rufini's got me back to thin crust. Until Little Caesar's and their Detroit casseroles turned me off. Abortion-soaked spongy toast. And I choked down Sbarro's only because they were free. These days, it's wood-fired brick oven. And a crust so thin, I can cut my wrists with it.

Why didn't I make perfect grades in school? The work was boring. And my parents thought I wasn't emotionally capable of handling skipping grades. Except that I wasn't emotionally capable of dealing with being bored, either. Check my juvenile rap sheet. Eventually, I got a scholarship to a private school. And did college-level physics and math there. So, academically, I was ready for college. Except they required four years of English. Yet, when I graduated, a Junior was allowed to attend summer School English to replace a year. I tried to ram the headmaster's car. (Also on the rap sheet.)

When I was little, my parents compiled a baby book. It had photographs and report cards and vaccination records. And some Bank of Israel bonds from a rich uncle that would mature when it was time for college. Both were for ten dollars. Two pizzas on a weekend. Gee, thanks. But the page with the gift list mentioned three bonds, not two. So, I dug around the closet and found the third one. It was for a hundred thousand dollars. My parents had tried to swindle it. So, I swindled it back And it paid for a lot of pizza.

I worked at a place that offered free lunches, free snacks, a free gym, and free power charging for electric cars. Oh, and free cheap cell phones. They didn't pay great, but with these perks, they added enough to the compensation to make it worth staying. When the pandemic hit, they didn't offer a lunch stipend, sent out three small boxes of snacks over two years, and that's it. People who asked about the perks were made to feel like shit by management, so they left. They tossed their free cheap cell phones into the gym. And went to lunch.

Richard Lisa Tom Serendipidy Norval Joe Planet Z The next topic is Poetry LISA Christmas Christmas was always the same at Mums. Everyone stayed over except Auntie Lizzie because she had to get back for her dog. She gave the best gifts but apologised saying she hadn’t got out to buy anything this year so, it was a shock when she handed me a present. It was a pricey looking necklace. “They’re real. Not paste.” Excited by this my brother unwrapped his even larger parcel. It was heavy and had a bit of a smell. He said nothing but showed us her dog. I was dying to say: ‘at least you can stay over now.’ RICHARD Ho, ho, humbug! I hate Christmas gift shopping. It's not that I don't enjoy choosing and giving gifts, it's all the hassle that comes with it, and I'm not the most organised of people. I have friends who buy presents throughout the year, wrap and label them as they go along, and when December comes around, all the hard work is done. Not me though. I used to leave it to the last minute, and it was always a nightmare. Thankfully, I don't usually see family and friends until after Christmas, so now I buy most of my gifts in the January sales! SERENDIPIDY I grew up in a very annoying family. All my siblings could have been described as gifted. Between them, they excelled at sports, the arts and academically. Unlike me. You'd never describe me as sporty, I can't paint, write, sing, act or play music and I dropped out of school, failing every exam I took. I suppose you could say that, for me, it was an unhappy childhood: watching my brothers and sisters succeed and flourish, whilst I floundered. They're not succeeding now however. Not since I poisoned them all. I guess my cooking skills weren't up to much either! TOM Tis Da Season I don’t go Christmas gifts. My family and every close friend is a good 1000 miles away. I do have one person who I do un-Christmas gift with. Each year we head down to the local Walmart. Pick out a functional but not so fashionable leather wallet. You do this four decades you end up will a draw filled with wallets. Not bum you all out, but that friend die a few years back, so now truly I don’t do Christmas gift. I must admit look in the draw of wallet is a bit of gift when the snow falls NORVAL JOE The old man snarled at Billbert. “You’ve gifted the Five Star Sisters a reprieve, but it won’t last very long.” The door slammed open. Mrs. Weinerheimer charged in, shouting, “Gift is a noun. Not a verb.” His mother’s superpower of efficiency was more than the Black Knights control over Billbert and Sabrina could handle. As the tsunami dissipated to nothing, a tornado formed over the dilapidated cabin and ripped the feeble roof away. Mandy and Mrs. Weinerheimer rushed to Billbert while Bobbi grabbed Patrick’s arm. The tornado shrank, wrapped its tail around the Black Knight leader and whisked him away. PLANET Z Sometimes I like to buy things on Amazon for myself, get them gift wrapped, turn off notifications, and get blackout drunk. I don’t remember that I bought the things, and when they arrive I’m pleasantly surprised. Then I read the notes, and they’re horribly disturbing… downright creepy. How the Hell did they know this about me? Are they spying on me? Are they stalking me? Then I see the credit card statement and wonder if they hacked my account and stole my credit card. I call the card company to cancel my card and I change all of my passwords.