The 100 Word Stories Podcast

Richard Tom Lisa Serendipidy Norval Joe Planet Z The next topic is Snot RICHARD Grandpa When grandpa retired, he was a rich man. He'd started small as a young man, and over the years, he'd created a mini empire of pawn shops. And the money came rolling in. He was an expert at valuations - or more accurately, he was an expert at acting. He could convince an expert that a diamond was glass, and gold was brass. You'd never know it. Such was the calibre of his acting. And, when he retired, he gleefully shocked all the ladies at the retirement home, telling them that he'd spent his whole life as a pawn actor! TOM Grandpa When grandpa retired, he was a rich man. He'd started small as a young man, and over the years, he'd created a mini empire of pawn shops. And the money came rolling in. He was an expert at valuations - or more accurately, he was an expert at acting. He could convince an expert that a diamond was glass, and gold was brass. You'd never know it. Such was the calibre of his acting. And, when he retired, he gleefully shocked all the ladies at the retirement home, telling them that he'd spent his whole life as a pawn actor! LISA We’re not just end of the month poor but nothing left to pawn poor and currently checking down the sofa, at the bottom of bags and in coat pockets for change. We scrape together a pound made up of 24 coins. Deciding it’s our lucky day we buy a scratchcard and win a pound. It’s tense as the winning card is swapped for another. With everything scratched but one tiny square we could win £100 or £100,000 or lose and stay hungry. The penultimate scrape takes off half the silver to reveal a pound sign, a one and two noughts... SERENDIPIDY Grandpa When grandpa retired, he was a rich man. He'd started small as a young man, and over the years, he'd created a mini empire of pawn shops. And the money came rolling in. He was an expert at valuations - or more accurately, he was an expert at acting. He could convince an expert that a diamond was glass, and gold was brass. You'd never know it. Such was the calibre of his acting. And, when he retired, he gleefully shocked all the ladies at the retirement home, telling them that he'd spent his whole life as a pawn actor! NORVAL JOE Grandpa When grandpa retired, he was a rich man. He'd started small as a young man, and over the years, he'd created a mini empire of pawn shops. And the money came rolling in. He was an expert at valuations - or more accurately, he was an expert at acting. He could convince an expert that a diamond was glass, and gold was brass. You'd never know it. Such was the calibre of his acting. And, when he retired, he gleefully shocked all the ladies at the retirement home, telling them that he'd spent his whole life as a pawn actor! PLANET Z Grandpa When grandpa retired, he was a rich man. He'd started small as a young man, and over the years, he'd created a mini empire of pawn shops. And the money came rolling in. He was an expert at valuations - or more accurately, he was an expert at acting. He could convince an expert that a diamond was glass, and gold was brass. You'd never know it. Such was the calibre of his acting. And, when he retired, he gleefully shocked all the ladies at the retirement home, telling them that he'd spent his whole life as a pawn actor!

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. He was a pretty good competitive eater, though. Every Fourth of July, he'd sail to Coney Island to compete in Nathan's Famous Hot Dog Eating Contest. He'd soak the bun in water, chow it down, and then eat the meat. Repeat a few dozen times. The problem was, George would build a huge lead quickly, often breaking the record, only to vomit everything up and get disqualified. He changed his strategy to vomit all over the other contestants, trying to make them vomit. "At least I'll tie," said George.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. On his days off, he'd walk around the local cemeteries, looking for groups of people. The bigger the group, the better. "He was such a good man," he'd say to the widow, or whatever was appropriate for the deceased. "We knew each other in high school." Then, he'd grab a free lunch from the reception, stuffing his pockets with shrimp and other goodies. He'd also grab some flowers, because the ship needed some color, or to make a good impression with one of the prettier wenches at the tavern.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. He liked to go to the city park and rent one of those duck-shaped paddleboats. Then, he'd paddle around the pond, threatening to board the other boaters if they didn't hand over their loot and precious cargo. "We have some frozen yogurt," said the couple in the other boat. "Oh, and some stuff from the gift shop." George took their stuff, laughed, and paddled away. "He couldn't have gone far," said a park security guard, who looked a lot like George. The yogurt was strawberry flavor. It was delicious.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. Every now and then, in the middle of a battle, he'd misplace his sword. "It's on your belt!" shouted the captain, slashing a British naval officer. When he'd lose his sword, he'd loot corpses, picking up a sword and giving it a test swing. "I don't like the balance." "The edge is dull." "What a gaudy handle." "Just grab a belaying peg!" shouted the captain. "Those are for losers," whined George. The captain stared at George. "You're so mean," said George as he grabbed a wooden club and pouted.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. Out on the deep ocean, the winds calm, the waves are still, there's little to do and all day long not to do it in. George would practice with his sword, or tie different kinds of knots. He'd work on his diction, his "ahoys" and "avasts." Lots of chortling, too. Running cannon drills, loading, reloading. Swinging on ropes. The other pirates would watch George and laugh, and go back to drinking... playing cards... whatever they did. The wind would return, and off on the trail of adventure they went.

"George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate." That's written in the center of The George The Pirate game board. Players roll dice and move their ship tokens around it. You can land on Treasure and pick up gold, Shipwreck Rock and lose a turn, or Port to resupply. If you land on someone's space, you have a battle. Then there's the Uh Oh spaces. You draw an Uh Oh card. Lots of bad things can happen. The captain looked over the game on the table. "Cute," he said. "But I asked you to clean the cannons."

Richard Tom Lisa Serendipidy Norval Joe Planet Z The next topic is Pawn RICHARD --- Something blue --- "You're not going." She meant it. No negotiating. Mind made up. Still, there was no way I was going down without a fight. I was determined to make a stand. "C'mon" I pleaded, "it's a one-off. I won't get another shot at it. Surely I deserve one. Please?" It didn't work. "No! You'll spend the night gawking at strippers, get blind drunk and end up naked, tied to a lamppost at the other end of the country! I know what stag nights are like!" "OK" I countered "then, I guess there's somewhere else I won't be going..." "Our wedding!" TOM 1001 All things pass through Chicago Since we’ve passed into a new millennium, seems fitting to regalia all with a story at the dawn of podcasting. When I was doing seven podcasts a week, one of them was interviewing podcast authors. Emboldened by its success and at this point running out of authors I reached out to the author of the sci-fi novel The Sparrow. Mary Russell kindly set aside her morning to talk. I Asked a few questions no one had ever asked her about her work. About caring capacity. When the interview was over she send me limited edition of her book. 1002 Your not going home again. Phil had worked for the college for 25 years. You would've thunk they would have gotten him a gold watch, a service pin, at the least a go away party. Nada, zip, zilch. Phil was cool about it. He would say when its time to go, better go. All the same some place with pull at your memories, such was the tiny college under the oaks. So on random Friday Phil walked the campus. He was pretty much ignored by even former coworkers. Its like Thomas Wolfe say you can’t go home again. LISA Short Tale about a short Skirt Picture the scene. It’s 1986 and there’s a roller disco at the weekend. Wars have taken less planning. We’ve chatted about outfits for weeks. It’s been decided that everyone will get ready at mine & we’ll get the bus from there. On the night Dad shouts ‘You’re not going out like that!’ from his comfy armchair. I’m equally humiliated and pleased. I say I’ll change. I know I must look amazing. It becomes a useful gauge – if Dad approves of the outfit I know it isn’t working. In time I become an expert at getting changed in small toilet cubicles. SERENDIPIDY I see you quivering in the corner, terror written in your eyes. Both you and I know this can only end one way, and it's not going to go well for you. It never would: that's the way the world works, and we both know that the odds are overwhelmingly in my favour. It's just a matter of time before I get bored, and you become paralysed with fear. And then, I make my move. I'll pin you down, my claws piercing your flesh, then move in for the kill. Cat and mouse. And, little mouse, you're not going anywhere. NORVAL JOE Billbert turned to face the sound of approaching steps. Before he could make out who approached in the darkness, he heard from behind, “You’re not going anywhere.” Like a gorilla had grabbed him by the neck, a jolt suddenly shook him before he lost consciousness. The following morning, Mandi walked into the kitchen. “Mrs. Weinerheimer. I think Billbert is gone.” Billbert’s mother put a hand to her heart and asked, “What makes you say that?” She shrugged. “I went to ask him a question last night and he wasn’t in bed. This morning, I checked again and he’s not there.” PLANET Z Back in school, my mother would never sign permissions slips for fieldtrips. "You're being punished," she said. But she never said for what. My friend Bobby faked her signature. "There," he said. "Problem solved." Except that my mother had called the school to make sure I didn't go. At least when I was being beaten for it,

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. He'd been taking to long periods of melancholy and self-doubt. Or he'd obsess on the most esoteric things. "A container is a container because it contains things," said George. "If it's empty, is it still a container." "Well, it still contains nothing, right?" said the captain. "Yes, but nothing is nothing," said George. "I don't think it counts." "What if a container has the potential to contain things?" said George. As the two debated, their ship drifted closer and closer to the massive container ship they'd planned to raid.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. Consultants put together a focus group to figure out what was wrong with George. "Why doesn't he have an eyepatch?" said a housewife from Burbank. "And a peg leg. And a hook for a hand." "George is such a weak name," said a lawyer from Thousand Oaks. "Maybe some color of beard could be his name?" Others suggested that George be recast as a sidekick to a better pirate. They prepared a report for George, who threw it in the trash. Along with all of their invoices and bills.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. He hadn't planned on becoming a pirate. He hadn't planned on eighty thousand dollars in student loans, either. All for a Bachelor's degree in Social Justice. Nobody would hire him. "What if you paid for me to get my Masters and PhD?" he'd ask the interviewers. Security escorted him out. George tried to organize protests against them, but nobody would join. "Call us when you have a Masters or PhD," said the ACLU. That night, George noticed some pirates robbing the company's warehouse. George smiled, and he joined them.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. His annual reviews reflected this, and George got "Needs Improvement" while other pirates got "Meets Expectations" or "Exceeds Expectations." George didn't get a raise or bonus, and he envied the other pirates for their fancy new gold teeth and shiny new cutlasses. Rummy Joe showed off his bright new parrot. "He speaks five languages," he said. George sighed and went back to work. He figured that whoever got killed, he'd just loot their body for the coins, pry out their gold teeth, and exchange his old cutlass for theirs.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. He was always stopping and asking for directions. This was awkward at best, and dangerous at worst. Stopping in the middle of a battle for directions led to many unnecessary confrontations. Trying to make the best of it, the crew would board and capture the enemy vessels. One time, George got so lost, he wound up on the moon. Nobody's sure how he managed that, but the lack of air made it very hard to sail. And breathe. "Hard to starboard!" gasped the captain, and the ship turned around.

Richard Lisa Lizzie Serendipidy Norval Joe Planet Z The next topic is You’re not going RICHARD --- Glen Talnara --- Sometimes you have to treat yourself, even if it means being extravagant. Everyone deserves to feel special every now and again. My treat? A forty year old, limited edition single malt. Lovingly distilled on a remote Scottish island, following a family tradition, centuries old. It wasn't cheap. Actually, it was eye- wateringly expensive, but I felt I deserved it. I was out the day it was delivered. UPS left a card. They also tossed the box over my eight -foot fence, where it landed on a pile of rubble. So, no whisky for me, just a box of broken glass. LISA The Start of a Not Normal Day It felt like the outside was inside and everyone was in a temper. Glass glittered the carpet and Dad was looking for someone to blame. We were shouted at to keep back but the cat didn’t listen and ran through the shards. The glass had gone into my brother’s school shoes. A speck of blood from the cat’s paw painted red on the carpet. I wanted my breakfast but I didn’t dare say. Dad had something else to shout about as the cat dragged a half alive sparrow from behind the TV. We were going to be late for school. LIZZIE Sparrow, a limited edition of dolls, had everything but sparrows, the symbol of protection and hope. A doll house, doll furniture, doll-everything. It looked dark and gloomy. An adult now, his sister still loved dolls, the pink kind. He hated his sister. When he gifted Sparrow to her, she loved it. Well, that didn't work, he thought. So, he got another doll, wrapped in a white shawl, a reminder that even when you're trying to get revenge, there is always a glimmer of hope. OK, great, now he wanted to destroy the damn thing. He smiled. Perhaps that would work! SERENDIPIDY Isn't the birdsong lovely? Most would agree, but not I. You see, birdsong is by no means cheerful or joyous. In reality, it is bleak and despairing. The sparrow sings of pain and anguish, of death and destruction, of such sorrow it would break your heart. The songthrush sings of shattered dreams, like broken glass shards, harsh and piercing. The robin, mourns each passing day, cursing life and its misfortunes. Songs of woe, of loss and melancholy. But, not the crow. The crow's harsh cawing is a joyful, happy sound. He's laughing at all the other birds, poor, sad things! NORVAL JOE Peering through the broken glass of the small window, Billbert saw that Sabrina was blindfolded and gagged, and wore oversized coveralls with the arms wrapped around and tied in front of her like an ouroboros. A dot of red light appeared beside Sabrina. A laptop computer sat on a table next to her. Its webcam had just come on. Were her captors in another room watching Sabrina from a distance or was the camera aimed at the window, watching him? The back porch door burst open and feet pounded down the wooden stairs. Billbert had the answer to his question. PLANET Z I don’t know why I collect Pez dispensers, but my closet has dozens of bins of them. They’re all kinds of different designs and colors and characters. If I get one from a series, I have to complete the whole set. I used to have them out on shelves to display. But after we moved, I haven’t taken them out of the bins yet. There’s one that was a limited edition Tiffany glass dispenser, but I think it got broken in the move. So instead, I’ll probably put my Millard Fillmore dispenser on the lit rotating stand on the shelf.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. Which made him the perfect patsy for Long John Silver. What? You don't remember George from the book Treasure Island? Well, that's because I'm not talking about Robert Louis Stevenson's book. I'm talking about Treasure's Island, a porno flick in the Seventies. Treasure was a chick with huge tits marooned on an island with a pirate. "So, why do they call you Long John?" was her first line. And last one. After that, they did things that I can't tell you about here. Go rent the movie yourself, cheapskate.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. He liked to plan raids. Maybe overplan them. He'd draw up detailed maps from scouting missions, lay out a model on the table with intricate hills and trees and ships. "They have working sails and bells!" said George, flicking a tiny bell with his finger. TING! He spent so much time planning, thee was never any time to conduct the actual raids. So, his crewmates would sell his models to museums and rich aristocrats. "Hey, we're low on art supplies," said George. "We'd better plan a raid on Michael's."

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. He wanted to fly a Jolly Roger over the ship, but he wasn't very good at sewing. The first flag came out all crooked. "Looks like the Jolly Rickets," said the captain. "You know, because of the bones." "I get it," grumbled George, and he tried again. "More like the Jolly Osteroperosis now," said the captain. "Maybe we can check eBay?" George kept trying and failing. Eventually, he ordered a He-Man cartoon Skeleton iron-on patch. "Have I mentioned recently how much of a disappointment you are?" said the captain.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. While sailing around the Hawaiian Islands, he called "hard to port" when he meant "hard to starboard", and ended up running into some very hard rocks. "Welcome to Maui," said the natives, handing out flower leis to each crewman who crawled out of the wrecked ship. While the pirates enjoyed the... um... hospitality of the island, George worked on repairing the ship. It took him three weeks, and the crew begrudgingly set sail again. And hit the rocks again. "Hooray!" shouted the crew, crawling back to the happy natives.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. Some people like coffee. Others prefer tea. So, when his shipmates raided and plundered, George would grab the tea and coffee. The tea was useful for bribing British Navy vessels to let them go. The coffee was useful for bribing American Navy vessels. George couldn't stand either coffee or tea. He preferred rum. Lots of it. So much, he was pretty much wasted off his ass all day. No wonder why his aim was so bad with the cannons. And he tended to steer into the rocks so much.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. He also wasn't a very good public speaker. At the annual pirate conference, the keynote speaker dropped out at the last minute and the organizers begged George to fill in. "Sure," said George. "When is it?" "Right now," said the emcee, shoving George on to the stage. George rambled about himself for an hour, telling endless boring and pointless stories. The audience booed and rushed the stage, dragging George to the exhibitor's hall where several vendors were proud to demonstrate the latest available in plank-walking technology and hangman's nooses.