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Episodes
- The Code
(1mb)
Mon, 25 Aug 2008 12:57:00 -0600They talked in code, a quiet series of taps and gentle coughs that went undetected by the teacher.
Questions... answers... who's kissing... who's not seeing each other anymore...
Every year, they change the code so that teachers can't decode their messages.
Out on the playground, Seniors teaching the pre-schoolers the basics... cough... tap... a click of the tongue...fingernail tap... fingertip tap...
Every so often, a new signal is added, like tapping a wristwatch. Or an archaic one is removed, like the sliderule swish.
At reunions, conversation is polite.
But the code?
She's twice divorced? he?s so fat?
Oh, so brutal!
- Vista (1mb)
Sun, 24 Aug 2008 08:01:07 -0600The videos of Al-Qaeda training in Afghanistan - firing guns, running obstacle courses, and all that running - you never saw them with laptops, programming, did you?
Those guys got H1 visas and headed to Seattle, where they were greeted by Microsoft.
"We've got housing ready for you," said a blonde in a suit. "Just sign the NDAs on top of your welcome packets and we'll head down to Redmond."
Each programmer signed their forms, praised Allah, and looked forward to the day when their latest weapon against the Western infidels would be unleashed.
"Vista," Osama had told them, grinning.
- Weekly Challenge #124 - The game "Twister" (1mb)
Sat, 23 Aug 2008 19:06:36 -0600The 100 word stories weekly challenge is where I post a topic and then you write and record a story based on that topic.
Sounds simple, doesn't it?
Topics are selected by the winner of the previous weekly challenge. This week reveals the triumphant Fricker Fracker...
How about.... The Game "Twister"?
You have until midnight on Friday August 29th to get the following in my hot little hands:
- The text of your story so I can post it on the site. Just post the text of the story in the body of your email message. Do not put it in Word, Word Perfect, Sun Office, or any other document format. Just copy-paste the text into the body of the message. This will save me the hassle of firing off another program to read it and it will reduce the chances that gmail will flag your message as Spam.
- If you have a blog, podcast, or other site that people can go to so they can learn more about your handiwork, the URL would be appreciated.
- What you would like the topic of Weekly Challenge #125 to be. Failure to send in a topic with your selection will mean that if you win, whoever is in second place will be considered for the topic, and so on.
- A recording of your story in .mp3 format. Please use your name as the filename if you can, okay? Makes it easier to produce the show quickly.
If you do not feel like recording a story for the podcast, well, go ahead and send the story in anyway. I'll include it in the show notes, but it won't be eligible for choosing the topic or winning the magnets.
Send the stories to isfullofcrap (at) gmail.com and then add a comment here saying you've sent it in.
Once all the stories are in, I'll assemble them into a single podcast collection for your enjoyment.
Good luck, and feel free to e-mail me with any questions you have.
Hear y'all in a week, and as always, keep it brief.
- Weekly Challenge #123 - Rampaging Chickens (14mb)
Sat, 23 Aug 2008 08:31:36 -0600Welcome to the Weekly Challenge Number One Hundred And Twenty-Three, where I post a topic and then challenge you to come up with a 100 word story based on that topic.
The topic this week was selected by Brad Z, and we went with Rampaging Chickens.
The excellent theme music is by Guy David
VOTING
Go ahead and listen to them and then vote for your favorites (multiple selections are allowed):
FRICKERIt was the last time anyone saw the Colonel alive.
Oh the humanity, the injustice.
The red stained walls of the kitchen tell this story.
The scratch marks of poultry talons on the frame of the door show this struggle.
Broken and cracked? are the black rim glasses that once adorned his face.
They remain on the floor... spectacles of his past.
No one really knows what happen that fateless night.
But many say that if you sit quietly by the neon sign out front,
You can hear the call of the now free chickens that roam? the Kentucky hills.
MIKE LEE
Alexander surveyed the food shelf. "We've almost eaten everything", he said. "I'll have to go out and find some more rations."
"But what if they're still up there?" said Karen, looking mortified. "You'll never make it!"
"We can't survive without food", said Alexander. "I'll be back soon. I promise." And, with that, he climbed out through the trapdoor; closing it behind him.
Karen wondered if she would ever see Alexander again. She closed her eyes, and tried to remember what life had been like before the Revolution.
A single tear rolled down her face. It hadn't always been like this.
MIKE
Lights came on in the farmhouse. Shotgun in hand, the man raced across the barnyard to the chicken coop, fearing the import of the frenzied squawking. Gun at the ready, he opened the door.
Feathers were everywhere, but the chickens were still upright. In the far corner, he spotted a bloody, furred lump. Amazed, he realized they'd actually killed a fox! Then he noticed a group of them advancing on him with grim purpose. A sudden flurry of wings heralded an even louder outburst of noise...
"I tell ya," he declared, "it's gotta be that new feed. 'Nuther drumstick, dear?"
TOM
Tokyo was in peril. Again! One Hundred Foot Rampaging Chickens were making their way towards the Imperial Palace. Their claws tore the streets, wings shatter windows, beaks rented roofs. Machine guns, mortars, rockets and electrified fences all failed to slow the fowl?s perambulations. At the gate of the old palace a lone samuritic figure meet the chicken?s gazes. A tremor of horror raced through the flock as they came toe to talon with the man in the white suit. He raised a single digit of his hand passed a white goatee to moistened lips.
"Finger Lickn Good." Said the colonel.
JEFFREY
If she could just keep moving slowly and quietly she might have a chance of success.
"Chickie, Chickie, Chickie!" she screamed as she bolted forward.
The chickens were never in any danger, her arms out run did not stand a chance against a terrified chicken's sprint.
Her body tensed to squeal her battle cry and run at them again, but she never made it. The hen attacked from the rear, pecking at an interesting flower on her dress. It only pecked once before quickly turning to run the other way.
The little girl whirled around, stomped her foot. "Bad chickie!"
JUSTIN
"They want their nuts back, Jed."
"Aw pastrami, Ned, these are our nuts. They hide theirs in holes and stuff."
"I really think they want them. There are some outside the windows!"
"What in salami is the matter with you, Ned? Squirrels ain't gunna attack us."
"I dunno Jed, they looked rightly mean into my eyes."
"You've got smoked ham for brains, Ned!"
"Jed, they all coming fast, like on a rampage or something!"
"You are so full of corned beef, Ned. Them dang squirrlies are harmless!"
"They breakin' through the windows! Git em off me Jed!"
"Oh, olive loaf!"
STEVEN THE NUCLEAR MAN
Dusty air scraped its way into my throat while I ran. The scales covering the herd's bodies blended with the ground, except where blood spattered around claw and tooth. They hunted in herds, using the rough sandstone outcroppings as camouflage. It wasn't fair.
The reverse scriptease experiment had worked too well. Too many genes
were reverted too far back. In two weeks our peaceful flock had
morphed into a 65 million year old ancestor. They were not prey, and
we were fit to be fried.The rooster cawed through its dinosaur mouth. I ran faster, wondering
what I'd taste like.SOUGENT
The heat was unbearable, soon his little chipmunk ass would be barbecued for sure.
He tries screaming for mercy but there's no response from his cruel
captors, just laughter.Suddenly he hears a commotion and screams coming from outside the hot,
dark place he was in.Abruptly, he is out, the bright sunlight blinding him but he is able
to just make out a scene of carnage and mayhem, as if something had
gone on a murderous rampage.As his eyes adjusted to the light, he thought for a moment he saw
chickens.... hundreds of chickens, all covered in blood.ANIMA
Ever see a homeschool football game?
I play for the Rampaging Chickens.
We ain't so good.Our quarterback won't make eye contact.
Most of us play piano better than pass the ball,
and the cheerleader's skirts barely clear their ankles.Our name totally gives away our playbook--
We play an offensive game, consisting of huddling together and taunting the other team.
After the snap, we scatter, staring intently at the ground. On occasion, someone catches the ball; then it's a mad dash for the end zone.Amazingly, we are leading the league! beating our rivals, the Gesticulating Limpets.
Go Chickens!
GUY DAVID
The chef was furious. His apprentice was using way too much salt. ?Out? he screamed at the top of his voice, so loudly that he brought in the owner. Yev Kassem picked in. ?Can you try to keep it down?? he asked. ?Sorry, have to keep my apprentice sharp? said the chef. ?You are the artist? answered Yev and exited the kitchen. The chef turned back to his apprentice intent on continuing his screaming spree, maybe even firing him, when he was run over by a horde of rampaging chickens. ?No soup for you? came in the voice of Yev.
BRAD Z
Reporting live from the Channel 3?s eye in the sky mobile helicopter. From here I have a clear view of the city, the devastation caused by the rampage is unbelievable. At least 8 square blocks have been utterly destroyed. The military has surrounded the city in hopes of keeping the chickens contained. Reports estimate the death toll in the thousands. Something is happening; the military chatter has picked up quite a bit now. We are going to zoom the camera in for a .?oh my god! They are starting to fly! They?re coming straight for us, Fred get us??.
THOMAS
There was nothing I could do but sit back and watch. Hundreds of chickens passed in front of me. Unbelievable. Every size, shape, and description of the domesticated bird paraded before me. One wearing a lavender ballet tutu, pirouetted before me, then disappeared. Another with a large fruit covered headdress, cha-cha'd it's way over to me, blew me a kiss and also disappeared. A third was carrying a KFC bucket, eating a drumstick, and staring. He flipped me off, and then he, too, was gone. Waking me up, my dentist asked me how I liked his new anesthetic. Just... wow!!!
DAPHNE
Mike sat there trying to figure out where his day went wrong. The morning presentations rehearsal went well. His team broke for lunch before the presentation to the Board. They went to a local Chinese restaurant. He got the special spicy chicken dish. It was really good, spicy and flavorful. 1 hour into the presentation something was wrong. He excused himself, got up and started to walk quickly. His walk turned into a sprint, he barely got the door closed and his belt undone in time. A ½ hour later, he knew why it was called Rampaging Chicken, as he did another courtesy flush.
LAIEANNA
The Priestess had spoken fast with a thick accent so Billy's scribbled notes were unclean. Now he couldn't really read them. He still tried, throwing in what he guessed were the correct ingredients. The circle of power was drawn and five chickens were beheaded though he may have over done it with the count. Three mumbled words and the chicken bodies went wild, violently crashing into everything in the room. The severed heads screamed in anger. Billy scratched his head and squinted at his notes again. It dawned on him. He forgot a human body, necessary for a revenge zombie.
PLANET Z
Agent Starling. A pleasure to see you again.
Well, Clarice - have the chickens stopped rampaging?
I remember you telling me... when you saw them... feathers... beaks.. you ran away as fast as you could... where did you go... what restaurant was it... ah... yes...
McDonalds. The Golden Arches.
What did you order... a hamburger? No, too plain, even for you, one generation from poor white trash.
Fries? An apple pie? No, not you.
The number five. Orange soda.
And ten chicken nuggets.
What did you dip them in? Sweet and sour? Barbecue?
Just plain ketchup.
Goodbye, Clarice.
And, Bon appetit.
- Business Card War (1mb)
Fri, 22 Aug 2008 22:07:57 -0600I'm the office manager. I print up business cards for everyone.
I keep a set of everybody's handy for reordering purposes. Just mark your changes and go.
I keep another set for playing War.
Shuffle the business cards and deal them out.
I turn over a card, you turn over a card.
Now, who would win in an argument, the janitor or the CEO?
CEO wins, so I take your janitor card.
We go through the deck, turn over our piles, and start again.
It was a fun game, until my boss caught me playing, and tore up my card.
- Pushbutton Moon (1mb)
Thu, 21 Aug 2008 22:23:43 -0600You can't see the stars in the city because of the lights.
So, Rico takes all his dates to the planetarium.
He knows the security guard there. Rico brings him weed for when the night gets boring.
One switch dims the lights and another turns on the machine, making tiny pinpricks of light spread across the dome.
?I can name them all,? he says, laying with his cousin Rosarita.
His finger traces the ancient outlines of constellations, telling stories about legends and monsters.
His other hand traces a line on her cheek.
It's 3 in the afternoon, and they kiss.
- Coins (1mb)
Wed, 20 Aug 2008 21:40:59 -0600I stacked up quarters by the jukebox.
Everybody in the bar sighed and knew what was coming.
Six... Five... One...
It was her song.
It became our song, but before it was our song, it was her song.
She shared it with me.
She shared everything with me.
Until... the accident.
They said she fell asleep at the wheel, but she was parked when the other car hit her.
The guy that hit her disappeared, abandoned his car.
The registration and plates were fake. Stolen from a dealer's lot.
I put in another quarter.
Six... Five... One...
All night long.
- Donor (1mb)
Tue, 19 Aug 2008 05:54:20 -0600Cheryl put ?Imagination and fingernails" on her organ donor card
It wasn't easy to find, but tucked away, hidden behind her nightmares and dreams, there was her imagination.
"So fragile," said the surgeon, and she gently lifted it out and put it on a ceramic dish.
Her assistant checked the national registry and found a match - an artist, skilled with a brush but without inspiration or the creative spark.
"Call them," said the surgeon. "And have them ready by ten."
The assistant nodded. "Anything else?" he asked.
"No," said the surgeon, and she put the fingernails in her pocket.
- The Cookie (1mb)
Mon, 18 Aug 2008 21:24:15 -0600The timer goes off, and I open the oven.
There's just one cookie on the baking sheet, but it's a big one.
It's bigger than a dinner plate. And it has chocolate chips the size of quarters, ready to melt in my mouth.
It's cool out, so I put the sheet on the window ledge to cool.
Milk. I'm going to need milk.
I hop on my motorcycle and head to the store, pick up a quart of milk, and rush back.
The cookie's still there, waiting.
I can't eat it. It's too... perfect.
I drink the milk and sigh.
- Jealous Aquaman (1mb)
Sun, 17 Aug 2008 05:54:26 -0600Aquaman lays back in his tub, watching the Olympics on a portable television.
The announcer says Michael Phelps' name, and the superhero winces.
A twinge of jealousy. A scowl. A clenched fist.
He looks at his costume folded up on the toilet seat.
Orange, green, black, and yellow... sure, the colors are ugly, but it's a classic.
And functional, too, he reminds himself. That technological suit they wear in the Olympics still can't produce race times like a true superhero.
Or let them talk to fish.
?Give it up, dude,? says his pet goldfish.
Aquaman sighs, and changes the channel.
