“Eat your rice pudding, young man!”
“I don’ wanna!”
“Eat it all up, or you won’t get any ninja turtles!”
“But Mooooooooooom…”
“I’ll tell the store to never let you have a Donatello ever!”
That did it. Little Billy ate rice pudding every day for the rest of his life.
Was it left first, and then right, or was it right first? Hmm. Let’s try left first. Lift; swing forward; now what? Heel or toe? How was this thing supposed to bend?
No matter how much he practiced walking, Sully couldn’t help but feel that he was doing it wrong.
This story is based on a title suggested by @davefp.
It didn’t take long for Mr. McFitzwilliamson to prove that swimming in a pool full of coins didn’t work. A pool of twenty-dollar bills left him covered in paper cuts.
So he melted down all of his loonies and swam in that.
He’d never really understood the laws of thermodynamics.
This story was based on a title provided by @Vigafray.
He’d purchased the seventy-five foot yacht on a whim. With a fortune like his, such a toy was a trifle.
The first time he took it out, he “accidentally” ran over three sailboats and threw some lawyers overboard to handle it.
Bartholomew Regis Alberto Tanardier never thought about his initials.
@Charles_Mor told me to write a story about boats, so I did.
She was charming, witty, intelligent, and beautiful. I had to ask her out.
“I’m sorry, but I couldn’t do that.”
“Ah. Boyfriend?”
“It’s not that. I’m an NPC. I’m not programmed to move from this spot.”
I paused, stunned. “Oh. That’s terrible.”
She nodded slowly. “I really have to pee.”
Soon to be a student of culinary arts and therefore thrilled that he can call himself an “art student” and act pretentious on a technicality, Bruce Rytel’s hobbies include writing, gaming, and going by a pseudonym. You can read some of his other works of microfiction at The Brevity Cannon.
Editor’s note: An NPC, or non-player character, is a computer-controlled character in a video game.
“Why aren’t the llamas spitting?” pouted Rosie.
“Well they don’t spit all the time, honey,” explained Dad.
“But I wanna see ’em spit!”
“Sorry, dear,” said Dad. “Maybe next time.”
But the damage was done. It would take little Rosie twenty-three years to overcome today’s shattering of her expectoration expectations.
This story was based on a suggestion from @MisterFiendZero, who sent in the title as a story prompt via Twitter.
“Watch closely, folks! I’m about to make this volunteer completely disappear!”
It happened with a flash and a bang. The volunteer was nowhere to be seen.
After the show, the magician found the volunteer under the stage. As planned, the fireworks had perfectly disguised the gunshot.
This never got old.
This story was based on a suggestion from @danzama.
Husband arrives home having forgotten a significant anniversary.
Wife greets him, expecting dinner, flowers, cards, anything.
Husband apologizes, profusely. Wife demands recompense: “Something in the driveway tomorrow that goes zero to 215 fast.”
Next morning she discovers a small flat package. Imagine her surprise at a new set of bathroom scales!
Don Crawford was told this story by a Wendy’s employee and decided to convert it to 50 words and relay it to all of you!
“Hey!” someone shouted from behind her.
Mary turned to look. An elderly gentleman was rubbing his throat confusedly.
“Ow!” cried someone else, rubbing the back of their head.
A hand suddenly covered her eyes; a pen was at her throat. “Gotcha, honey.”
Having a commando for a husband was… exciting?
All was still in Buckingham Palace. Not even the royal mice were stirring, despite the delicious royal peanut butter that had been slathered on the royal mouse traps to stop them from stealing the Queen’s royal hair ties.
They’re learning, thought the Royal Hair Tie Protector to himself. The fiends.
@Zutzy responded to my call for three nouns to base a story on with “peanut butter,” “hair tie”, and “Buckingham Palace.”