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October 16, 2007

Tuesday

You need to kill an hour. So, what do you do?

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Comments

"It takes an hour to check in?" Shouted Tina.
She pushed past her bodyguard and searched the street for a cab. One stopped and she hopped in. Her bodyguard missed it so she relaxed. She pulled out a cigarette.
"No smoking in this cab!" The driver screamed.
Tina rolled her eyes. He threw his water over the smoke. She screamed as he lost concentration and hit a fire hydrant.
She got out and let the drops of water fall over her. She heard the screech of tires knowing the paparazzi were coming.
She'd rather be back checking in for rehab.

Posted by: Emmahh at October 16, 2007 2:54 AM · Permalink

10:20

“Kill Ann Hower…. Kill Ann Hower…. Aaauuuunnngghh…..”

Jesus this is a terrible story idea. I should save everybody
that reads 100wordstories some misery and delete it now.

Hmm… coffee sounds good.

10:39

“Must find Ann Hower…. Brains….”

They do kind of fix on Zombie stories, maybe I can make
this go somewhere. I’ll google ‘Ann Hower’.

10:57

I was ‘felling lucky’ but nothing.

The limited Zombie vocabulary makes for a bad monologue.
I need to think of another character.

11:12

“Hi Fred, it’s Ann, I heard you calling me.”

Amazingly, this story is getting worse.

More coffee.

11:20

**delete**

Posted by: kipp at October 16, 2007 9:28 AM · Permalink

I checked into the hotel, sent my bags up to the room. I had an hour before meeting the mayor so I headed out for a stroll. It was a warm evening and the waterfront was crowded with tourists buying tacky souvenirs from locals leaning out eagerly over rickety stalls. I hid behind my sunglasses and kept walking. A skinny kid came up alongside me, jumping and shouting.

"Dad? Hey Mom! It's Dad!"

I turned around, saw Maria walking off the beach.

"Shouldn't you be in Florida?", I asked.

She stared. "Does the government pay you to follow me too?"

Posted by: Kate at October 16, 2007 4:32 PM · Permalink

After a week full of computer networking issues, Brad was relieved it was 5 o'clock Friday.

With a hot date at seven, he decided to whip home, get changed and grab the pack of condoms out of his bedside table.

Breezing through the front door, he called out, "Mum, can you iron my red shirt?!"

"Hello to you too! Shirt's already done."

Brad stopped in his tracks, "When did you find time to iron?"

"Well, I caught the early train after work, got dinner ready and only had one load of laundry to do. That gave me time to kill."

Posted by: Rick at October 16, 2007 5:54 PM · Permalink