100 Word Stories: January 20, 2006

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January 20, 2006

You know, New Orleans Mayor Ray Nagin might be on to something with his "making New Orleans chocolate again" idea.

Today's theme is "What if the place you lived in were made out of food?"

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Today is another day, another challenge, another test of resolve. I live inside a world of food. It’s a world in which nothing matters so much as the next taste. The struggle is constant, and never outside my conscious thought.

Breakfast goes well. Hardboiled egg, slice of dry toast.

I’m asked to eat lunch with a co-worker, I’ve noticed she has snacked all morning. She should really watch her weight, she must be at least 10 pounds heavy.

Dinner is supposed to be a date, a third date. There’s a message on the machine, - he’s cancelled.
I binge – I purge.

Posted by: kasac at January 20, 2006 8:28 AM · Permalink

Or maybe Ray Nagin should be run out of town on a rail as a flaming racist asshole. Tarring and feathering would be fine, too.

Posted by: Stacy at January 20, 2006 9:27 AM · Permalink

Errr... um... how many words was that, Stacy?

Posted by: Laurence Simon at January 20, 2006 12:39 PM · Permalink

Don't think she couldn't do 100 on the subject if she wanted to.

Posted by: David at January 20, 2006 1:17 PM · Permalink

It's all a matter of perspective. Your city may be made of cement and steel girders and panes of glass, all over an asphalt-topped foundation. And sure, to the millions of people who live and work there every day, none of those things are, by even the broadest stretch of the imagination, 'food'.

But, as I said, it's all a matter of perspective.

To a fifty feet tall giant lizard awakened by the unruly noise of an atomic bomb test, the city barely qualifies as a light dessert. And the people who live there? Sprinkles.

Chocolate AND vanilla, Mr. Nagin.

Posted by: Jeff R. at January 20, 2006 4:12 PM · Permalink

The velvety outskirts were firm and brightly colored. The alluring cleft of an avenue on one side hinted at the joys to be found further downtown. But, past the bright amber lights and the scarlet center was a pit so brown, dried and wrinkled it resembled a scrotum retracted in fear and freeze dried in a Floger's Coffee plant.
Eb looked at the end result of their labors in disgust and said "Take it down to the water's edge boys. Let's cover her well in sand, change the 'P' to a 'B', and resign ourselves to living in Miami Beach."

Posted by: Arky at January 20, 2006 7:12 PM · Permalink

The woman who had once been Goodie Hannah Moffet tapped her pretzel-pen against the surface of her graham-cracker-desk. The desk would have to be replaced soon, she thought, as would the rock-candy-rafters, the butterscotch-door, and the licorice-drapes (Twizzlers, she reminded herself - getting into bed with Hershey's had seemed like such a good idea at the time).

The solitary life of the "forest witch" was hard enough, but living in a candy house? Everything was constantly rotting, getting eaten by animals, and -

Hannah burped, and ruefully admitted that her choice of living quarters was doing nothing for her girlish figure, either.

January 20, 2006

January 20, 2006

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