The 100 Word Stories Podcast

Lisa Richard Lizzie Thomas Ian Serendipidy Tom Norval Joe Tom Planet Z The next topic is Place LISA The Server Pete, a medical student, was working part time as a waiter. It’d been a difficult shift a packed restaurant with one particularly rude customer mostly insulting him and questioning his intelligence. He didn’t contradict her. It was a placement week and the same awful customer had been in a nasty car crash. Her shoulder had come out of its socket; He quickly and efficiently popped it back in. As he left the cubicle she asked if she knew him. “I was your thicko waiter, the other night.” Pete smiled, “I’ll be back to stitch your facial injuries in a moment.” RICHARD — 404 --- It was me. I was the one who opened the email that brought my laptop down. And it was my laptop that went on to crash the network and bring the server down. The same server that went on to trash the data centre, which screwed the web and brought down the internet completely. Yes, you can blame me for it all. I'm the one who single-handedly broke the information super highway. And apparently, it's not going to be fixed any time soon, so they tell me. But why not look on the bright side? No more dodgy emails! LIZZIE "Arsenic? We apologize. The server is offline." The questions continued until the server was back online. Everyone resumed clicking their buttons frantically. Some even chanted "the server is online, the server is online". What were the little tables for? "Roleplay," was the answer. She didn't know where the menu was, but the waiter whispered "no worries". He'd explain everything. The needle. What? No. But but... "the server is back online". Now she understood the little joke. "Here, Happy Birthday, have fun". She was a widow, a black widow. Go to the RP café and have some arsenic on our tab. THOMAS Server Mr. Liu moved like a shadow through Jade Lantern, his age hidden beneath a crisp blue jacket and knowing smile. He delivered plates of thousand-year eggs and drunken shrimp with eerie precision, never writing orders down, never making a mistake. One night, a new customer hesitated over a plate of braised eel. Mr. Liu leaned in. “Eat,” he whispered. “It’s watching.” The man laughed nervously, but Mr. Liu did not. He simply walked away, humming an old tune. Later, when the plate was empty, the man swore he saw Liu give the eel’s discarded bones a small, approving nod. IAN The Server “Soup’s cold!” “Well, I didn’t make it!” thinks Larry, apologizing. “The guy on table 5 says this soup’s cold,” Larry tells the chef. “Christ, don’t shoot the messenger,” Larry thinks seeing Fat Steve’s violent glare. Swearing, Fat Steve vindictively overheats it, and Larry takes it back. “I’m never coming here again!” says the table five guy. “Good, fuck off!” thinks Larry, heroically maintaining his composure, squeezed in the vice of customer and chef. Later he reads the feedback on the restaurant app. Terrible food, worse service. In bed, he receives his manager’s text message. See me before your shift tomorrow. SERENDIPIDY Whether you've enjoyed your meal, or not, please don't forget to tip the server. Make it a decent tip too, none of your measly ten or twenty percent. Better still, go the whole hog, the food is cheap enough for you to double-up, a hundred percent seems a reasonable ask to me. Your server works hard, particularly with what they have to deal with behind the scenes in the kitchen. So, please consider being generous. If not, don't blame me when they wait outside for you with a cleaver. And you'll end up as tomorrow's dish of the day! TOM Rabbit Holes The path of the geek is long and deep. Being in Silicon Valley in the late 70s if you had a cursor interest in Networks you were easily swept up in the techno-Gyr. Spent major time working with Sun, then Red Hat then SUSE.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. Any time he led a raid on another ship, things didn't end well. Unless you count that time George led a raid on that Filipino cruise ship. They were going to rob the casino, but people mistook them for actors playing pirates. "This is better than the shows in Vegas!" said the cruise ship's captain. "Can you do this for every one of our cruise ships?" George's captain signed the contract, and they made more money playing pirate roles than actually being pirates. George kept busy stitching up costumes.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. Most sailors speak in ways that are saltier than the seas, but George did his best to avoid swearing. He had a swear jar by his bunk, and every time he swore, he'd put a piece of eight in it. His shipmates would steal from the jar, and George would shout "WHERE THE FUCK IS MY MONEY?" And he'd drop another piece of eight in the jar. Which his shipmates would also steal. His shipmates eventually stole enough money to throw themselves a party. No, they didn't invite George.

George was a dervish, but he wasn't a very good dervish. He tried to whirl, but he'd get dizzy quickly, and he'd trip over his own feet. So, he tried to whirl the other way, and he'd trip over his feet even more quickly. That's when George decided to give up whirling, and he'd stand perfectly still. "What good is a dervish who does not whirl?" growled his dance master. "Does not the earth turn?" said George. "And orbit the sun? Which orbits the galaxy?" The dance master pondered this, and then slapped George on the back of the head.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. He sailed the world, adventuring with his shipmates. But unlike them, he would take in local culture and cuisine. He'd be sipping coffee at a sidewalk cafe or enjoying some delicacy in a hole-in-the-wall while they'd be lining up at the McDonalds for a Big Mac and fries. And then they'd plunder and loot the place, burning it to the ground. George didn't try to convince his crewmates that going local was better than franchise food. Because he didn't want them plundering, looting, and burning his favorite places, too.

TOAST The house felt empty when the first responders forced the door but found Paul unconscious on the kitchen floor. They fired up the defibrillator; heard the click that signaled it was ready, then waited for the green light. “Clear!” Paul’s body jerked but was unresponsive. The room filled with Ambulance Staff, Police, Family. A toaster, tethered by its plug, was hanging off the side; his Mum put back in its place. The job got harder the smaller the room became but they continued well after they needed to. No one ever noticed the screwdriver that had rolled under the cooker.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. He spent most of his time on Facebook, telling his friends about his adventures. Instead of actually doing anything. You know, like pillaging, looting, and plundering. This annoyed the hell out of his shipmates, and they cut off his access to the ship's WiFi. But even the Guest access could access Facebook. "It's so that the people we kidnap for ransom can beg their relatives for money," said the captain. "Or they can start a Kickstarter or something." The frustrated crew threw George's laptop overboard. Then they threw George.

Thomas Richard Lisa Serendipidy Norval Joe Tom Planet Z The next topic is Server RICHARD --- Cross words --- Today's crossword was fiendishly difficult. I'd spent twenty minutes trying to figure out six across: 'Beginning with Spanish dippers, at Brazilian barbecue?' I didn't have a clue. My wife peered over my shoulder, "Churrasco!" she said brightly. "What?" "The beginning of Spanish dippers… churros, and the Brazil barbecue thing… churrasco." She smiled disarmingly, whilst I plotted various ways of murdering her, without getting caught. "OK, Brains", I retorted, "Try this. Two words, four and three - last one, 'O-F-F'" She gave me her unimpressed look. "In that case, you'll find your dinner in the T, something, A, something, H!" THOMAS Churrasco Gus had always loved a good churrasco, but grilling at home was fiendishly difficult now. His hands, butter-fingered with age, trembled as he tried to flip the steaks with tongs. The searing heat made him sweat, and balancing on two canes didn’t help. The first steak slid right off the grill. Cursing, he shuffled to retrieve it, nearly tipping over. His dog, Bruno, snagged the fallen prize. “Guess it’s yours now,” Gus muttered. By the time he managed a perfectly charred picanha, exhaustion won. Still, biting into the smoky meat, he grinned. Victory, however small, still tasted sweet. TOM Empty Click I’m pretty sure the term Click is met with an empty response. Well, I seem to be sore fully mistaken. The students of this century identified as 12 general “crowds” in modern high schools: populars, jocks, floaters, good-ats, fine arts, brains, normals, druggies-stoners, emo/goths, anime-manga kids, and loners. It’s been half a century since I did my click streaming, but without the exception of emo/goths and anime-manga kids I could pretty much Id one on sight. For myself I crossed two of these sub-groups during my high school stay: fine art and brains. I actually graduating magna cum laude from university. SERENDIPIDY Dear Friend. I was given your name by a mutual acquaintance, as a trustworthy and honest person. I have sixteen million dollars in a bank account I need to take out of my country, but I need a sponsor for my government to authorise the transfer. Half of that sum is reserved in your name if you are willing to help. I promise you, that if you assist me in this matter, I will give it all -Eight million- dollars to you for your kindness. Please click on this link, to start the online transfer process. Sincerely. Prince Hakim Hassan. --- NORVAL JOE Billbert spun to face Sabrina. “What are you doing? I wasn’t going to tell them you were here.” “I know,” she dropped her head sadly. “Your family has a reputation to maintain. I don’t want you to give it all up because of me.” “Good.” The woman stood up. “Get your things. The family is waiting.” Sabrina went upstairs. “Where is she going?” Billbert asked, feeling empty. “I can’t tell you,” Calabassa said. “Privacy concerns.” “She’s my friend. I have the right to know!” Billbert voice rose in pitch. She sneered. “No. You’re a little boy. You have no rights.” PLANET Z Even though I have a treadmill at home, I still like to walk in the rain. I get out my wet weather shoes and umbrella and put on my headphones and head out the door. There is something about the breeze and the moisture that’s refreshing. And walking through a space with trees and grass and everything else is a lot more engaging and feeling than simply walking on a treadmill, even if there’s a TV playing with a movie or scenery in which I try to lose myself. What’s a few allergy or cold pills in the end, right?

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. You know how there's no such thing as "bad" pizza or blowjob? Well, don't ask George to handle your bachelor party. Rummy Bill learned that lesson the hard way. One pizza. One stripper. And the stripper turned out to be his fiancee's sister. She ate all of the pizza and threatened to tell her sister about the party. Rummy Bill paid her off, but the next day, the wedding was off. The sister snitched. As Best Man, George felt relieved. Renting a tux was so damn expensive, you know?

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. Which is why the captain teamed him with a group of H1-B foreign workers, who asked him a lot of questions and took a lot of notes. "You're going to outsource my job, aren't you?" George asked the captain. "No, I'd never do that" said the captain. Instead, he replaced George with a robot. The foreign workers programmed it with everything George did. The problem was, George did everything wrong, so the robot did everything wrong. When the robot fell overboard, unlike George, who could float, the robot sank.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. One day, he and his shipmates took over a cargo vessel, filled with wooden crates marked "covfefe." "Did they just spell coffee wrong?" asked the captain. "I don't know," said George. "Maybe we should open one of them?" The captain agreed, and George got out a crowbar to open a crate. That's when he heard... something... something strange. Claws scratching on wood. The snarling of a wild beast. Two days later, the Royal Navy found George adrift in a lifeboat, covered in blood. All he could say was "covfefe."

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. He worked off his frustrations by performing interpretive dance. Along the pier, he'd twirl and leap and tumble, throwing his hands to the sky and screaming. After a while, he got pretty good at it. Pirates from all around would dock at the pier and watch George, and they'd applaud and give him money. They became big productions, with a full stage, set designers, stage lighting, and a full orchestra. It caused George so many headaches and frustrations. So, he worked off his frustrations by being a pirate again.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. Some suggested that he was some sort of agent, spying on pirates for the Royal Navy. Which would explain George's lack of pirating skills. And the Royal Navy tattoo on his arm. Oh, and the fact that all his mail was addressed to "Undercover Royal Navy Agent." George would take that mail and say "Oh, that must be a mistake. I'll bring it back to the post office." He'd write notes in a little notebook, and take pictures of things. "It's an exchange program," said the captain. "Don't ask"

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. But he more than made up for it with enthusiasm. Unlike other pirates, who moaned and groaned about Mondays, George wished every day was Monday. He'd jump out of his bunk, ready to face the day's challenges. Not that Monday was any different than any other day of the week at sea. Pirates don't get weekends off. Nor do they get holidays or sick time. It's not that pirates weren't unionized or organized. They just weren't good at reading calendars. Not that George cared. Every day was an adventure!

Thomas Richard Lisa Serendipidy Norval Joe Tom Planet Z The next topic is PICK TWO Give it all, Empty, Churrasco, Fiendishly difficult, Click NORVAL JOE Billbert’s mother, her superpower being incredible efficiency, asked, “Have you spoken with her?” He felt a conflict deep inside himself. How could he not lie to his mother and also be true to Sabrina. He couldn’t. “Yes. She said she wants to be left alone.” Calabassa perked up. “You know where she is?” Billbert folded his arms. “Yes. But I’m not going to tell you where.” “Billbert,” his mother said firmly. “They have a placement for Sabrina, and she can’t stay here.” “Why not?” Billbert snapped back. “We have plenty of room.” “Here I am,” Sabrina said from the hallway. TOM shoes of the fisherman Timmy kicked a chunk of broken marble. There was a lot of broken marble. Small fires burnt through out Rome. In the shadow of a doorway a man was going through the motion of mass to no one particular. Timmy thought this could well be the most Visceral moment of this long trip in the city. That of course was indeed a sad play on words, because the man in the doorway was Pope Visceral the V. And much like the priest is Graham Green novel had lost all but the nagging reflex of his faith. More motion that connection. SERENDIPIDY People think I get a visceral pleasure out of writing about gore, violence and the more unpleasant topics, and perhaps I do, but I really don't think that's a bad thing. It's just stories, after all. Right? Well yes, and there's no harm in that. However, you should always bear in mind that we write about the things we know. And I do have to undertake an awful lot of 'research' to ensure my stories are authentic. I'll be honest with you, writing about this stuff is a lot of fun. But the real pleasure happens before I start writing! THOMAS VISCERAL Benny "The Cleaver" Reynolds had been the town’s butcher for forty years. His hands, thick as hams, bore the scars of countless cuts, his apron forever stained in shades of crimson. He knew every beast from hoof to hook, could split a carcass clean with a flick of his wrist. The cold room smelled of iron and sawdust, and Benny hummed as he worked, his knife gliding through sinew like poetry. He'd seen it all—thieves sneaking in for scraps, a man hiding a body in the grinder once. Benny said nothing. He just kept cutting. Business was business. RICHARD --- Extreme --- My brother is a bit of a thrill seeker. He's into extreme sports. You know the sort of thing, hang gliding, base jumping, white water kayaking. Not so much sports, as dicing with death. He says that it's the adrenalin and visceral sense of fear and imminent danger that drives him; I say it's his obvious insanity. Even so, I encourage him - it's good to have a hobby, and as long as he's only putting his own life at risk, that's fine by me. It's not that I don't like him. It's more a case that I fancy his wife! LISA Everyday is a School Day “Can anyone give me a definition or put the word into a sentence?” asked teacher, Rachael, pointing at the word VISCERAL on the board. A hand raised immediately– “I bought a visceral jumper at the weekend!” Polly said proudly “That blue one? It’s acrylic!” replied her friend “Nah it’s never made of nails.” The rest of the class were concentrating on their phones so missed the exchange. Rachael had felt for a while she needed to find a new job. it was very definitely not a visceral feeling. She got her own phone out and registered with a recruitment agency. PLANET Z Two men with shields over their eyes, strapped to chairs and swords strapped to their hands. Face to face, slashing each others faces without a flinch. Hoping their wounds scar over to show their bravery and honor. Those who fear the blade have surgeons give them scars, agreeing with others to lie about a duel to cover their fear an...

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. How many pirates do you know that hand out comment cards while they pillage, loot, and burn? "On a scale from one to five, how would you rate this pirate's behavior?" The problem isn't that George fails to specify whether one is the best or the worst on the scale. It's that he never has a pen or pencil handy when the person asks to borrow one. "I'm the one stealing from you, not the other way around!" snarls George. And then he swipes the comment card from them.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. He also wasn't very informed on the election. "Who are you going to vote for?" pollsters would ask George. "I don't think I can vote for either candidate," said George. Operatives from both parties wined and dined George, showering him with gifts. "Vote for us," said one party. "No, vote for us," said the other party. And they spent even more on George. When Election Day came, George didn't vote, and he stayed home. "I still don't think I can vote for either candidate. Piracy is a felony, right?"

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. When we were young, we thought we could do anything. George, not so much. He knew his limits. He knew he wasn't immortal and powerful like we were. As we were reckless and living life to the edge. George would watch us with this sadness. Not out of jealousy. Or envy. But pity, because he knew. He knew we were so wrong. And as we died young, one by one, in battle, in bar fights. Buried with eye patches and peglegs and hooks for hands. We proved him right.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. During tourist season, he worked for a water taxi service between the islands. People snapped selfies with him, and he'd give his best pirate leer or he'd draw his cutlass and demand their gold and jewelry. They'd laugh, and gave him excellent reviews on the comment cards and Yelp. "George is the best pirate ever," they said. "If only the islanders were as charming as George." At the end of the season, George returned to his ship and showed his mateys the reviews. They threw George overboard and laughed.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. He liked to send a lot of unsolicited email, and people reported him as a spammer. "I'm a pirate, and we pirates loot and pillage towns and ports," said George to his hosting provider. "And sometimes I notice that when some of my shipmates can't get it up when they're ravishing and raping, I make a note to send them an email about this herbal remedy I distribute." "Sounds reasonable to me," said the administrator, and they turned his account back on. George smiled, and sent out more email.