Jim S, formerly of JimSpot and now with Blog Critics, recorded a cool story based on today's 100 Words Or Les Nessman...

DAMN! Where is the cumin? He figured He’d once again have to run to the market to get something that was missing because she’d used it all up. After a thorough search of all the cupboards, there was none. He was sure the woman would never realize that his genius was hampered by interruption.

He dutifully donned his coat and hat and grabbed the keys. He couldn’t work under these circumstances, damnit!

He climbed out of the pitifully small opening to the igloo and started up the snowmobile for the three-hour trek to the market.

For CUMIN, for heaven’s sake!!

I knew it was a good theme. Glad I came up with it last night, wink wink.

Jim S. comes back with a new one...

What was that?

Thinking it was probably nothing, she got back to her work. Sweating profusely and muttering to herself, she meticulously counted out the wampum.

“One for you, one for me. One for you, two for me.”

It wasn’t quite fair, but to hell with them. They’d made her to divvy up the loot because she was apparently the only one who could count AND understand them.

Greed was, indeed a slippery slope. And a distracting one at that, since the ground shaking was actually their cannon shooting a fusillade at her village.

She NEVER even heard it coming.

Cool. Who else will become addicted to podcasting their 100 Word Stories? Will the entire world start podcasting them?

I hope so. Because they're even more fun to listen to that to write.

Jim S. has returned with a few more stories. I'll trickle these into the feed so you can savor each of them. They're really good.

He returned to his work with a renewed vigor not seen by many. Concentrating, he quickly moved through the job at hand. Repetitive and boring as it was, that didn’t matter now. All that mattered was the job.

Left, right, up, back. Done.
Repeat.
Left, right, up, back. Done.
Repeat.

Only a couple more and the job would be finished. The obsession would be quelled… for a little while at least.

Finishing up, he stepped away from the table to admire his work. He sighed and confirmed it in his mind; he WAS the best jumpsuit folder in the prison!

Obsession can be a strange thing.

Record MP3... FTP MP3... make entry... Save... rebuild feed...
Record MP3... FTP MP3... make entry... Save... rebuild feed...

Now we learn about Jim's home life...

It was the same old story. The one that involves wet noodles, dancing girls and a jealous orangutan.

Well, maybe it wasn’t all THAT common, but it was the same old story to me as I laid here in bed, staring out the rear window of my stuffy apartment. I saw the clear blue skies that I wouldn’t be able to stand under and inhale the sweet summer wind for quite some time yet.

Which gave me more than enough time to plot what I was going to do to that wretched monkey when I got a hold of it.

I get the feeling we'll find out in the very near future.

Jim S. falls into a deep, dark despair...

Despair.

Deep, dark despair.

It was a long story but he tried to make it shorter. The woman, the man and the child. It all ends in a deep, dark despair of the type that you only read about in those books with fancy Thor-like men on the cover. She’d left him for a history professor she admired and she had taken his boy.

Anyway, he looked down at the people below and decided that he should make them wait a little longer for the grand finale. Then again, he’d already thrown the baby and the bitch over, why wait?

Yes! The final twist!

A perfect match for this site! Hooray!

Jim S. The Folderman comes up with an odd story about a birthday surprise...

It had been a long night. Since it was my birthday today, I hadn’t minded spending the night with those “buddies” from Xylon-7. They were quite hospitable, as usual, it’s just that I tend to “forget” certain parts of the night after a few rounds of Driamian ale. Like the time they probed me, just to make use of that Earth-cliché. I didn’t remember it until the video was playing on the main view-screen in the office a week later. Ha-ha… very funny. Only Xylon knows what “fun” event from last night will turn up on the view-screen next week!

Happy birthday, Jim!

Jim S. takes the carnival ride exit sign theme to its fun conclusion...

It wasn’t a simple exit from a carnie ride. To her, it was a vision, an epiphany, if you will. Her entire life had been spent building up to this moment. On the other side of that flashy, impressive “EXIT” sign was a new life. She’d followed, unhappily in her mother’s footsteps and enlisted in the carnie lifestyle. Every step of the way, she’d dreaded it, UNTIL today. Today’s events had changed everything. This time she meant it. It was about time for her to be out of here. So, without further adieu, the bearded lady stepped through the exit.

You go, girl!

This podcast of a Jim S. the Folderman has been brough to you by the letter Q...

Why does it seem like everything is brought to you by the letter “Q”? “A” gets a bum rap if you ask me. It is first and foremost among the letters and yet that damned “Q” gets all that attention. It’s not fair, I say. And a good marketing campaign is essential to rectify the problem. Obviously, “A” didn’t think it would need a good publicist and manager. It forgot that the first is often the quickest to fade from memory and quite blatantly relied on advice from a manager who was already making the quick bucks on “Q”’s career.

A's manager sounds like my agent.

The theme was a White Rabbit, which I blew off because it came way too late and I'd already written something. However, Jim S. the Folderman was up to the challenge!

TA-DUM! For the 3,627,122nd time, “The Amazing Moldini” pulled the bloody white rabbit out of the hat. This time was slightly different, though. The rabbit really was bloody. He’d been calling it “that bloody rabbit” for so long that it actually didn’t register at first. It was a little hard to ignore the pregnant silence that descended right after the impressed sigh that he was so used to. Looking up at the bloody carcass, he sighed. To think, he’d actually thought that being the “house show” at the Broadview Retirement Home was the absolute lowest that his career could sink…

Go ask Alice!

Jim S. has a little too much fun with llamas.

“You’ve been charged with what?” “Unnatural acts of perversion.” He said. “It was the peanut butter that did the trick. Resurrecting the llama wouldn’t have been possible without it.” “Really?” I said, “Do continue…” “It was an idea I had a while ago. All of the DNA samples from every species have been stored up here since before the humans destroyed the earth. They’re obviously here so someone can resurrect the species made extinct by the humans’ stupidity. I figured I’d give it a try. It almost worked, too… until the police arrived.” THIS was going to be a challenge.

Um... okay.

Jim S. begins a saga of lamas...

It surprised me when I received the phone call from the director that I should report to brig #6. Ever since the humans had eradicated the earth, there wasn’t too much call for us legal-types on the orbital station. It wasn’t like there was a lot of room or motivation to get into trouble up here. I’d prepared a single defense, which basically consisted of a pre-formatted apology and it had done the trick every time so far.

A short time later, I was sitting with a scrawny, bespectacled scientist named Drienon.

Then he began to tell me his story…

This appears to be continued.

Jim S. the Folderman returns!

“He’s a very articulate black man” A series of billboards with that phrase were situated throughout Rhode Island a while ago. The word “black” was crossed-out with a big red X, so that it really read, “He’s a very articulate man.” These billboards left quite the impression on me because the statement makes perfect sense. The irritating habit of the media and most individuals is to use the first phrase and think that it matters. Read both phrases and tell me honestly that the first one is any more relevant to a conversation than the other. You would be wrong.

I've read this three times and listened three times three times. Can you explain this one by Jim S. the Folderman to me?

The crime of unnatural acts of perversion was no laughing matter. In fact, it was a very serious accusation and I had no idea how I was going to spin this in my client’s favor. It would take a minor miracle to convince anyone that he had even meant well, much less that he was innocent. However, since it was my duty and I was now forced to make a speech in front of the space station’s inhabitants, I’d do the best I could. Now, if I could just get the llama out of the briefing room, I’d get started.

Jim S. engages in a little trash-talk with another of the 100 Word Stories authors...

So, as I often do, I'm listening to 100 Word Stories and lo-and-behold, Andrew Ian Dodge, he of the "takeover the internet by being on as many sites and podcasts as humanly possible as long as we're constrained to 24 hours" philosphy announces that "Cry Freedom" is available on iTunes. So, working only a few blocks from home, I race home to check it out.... *sigh* no "Cry Freedom" on iTunes. *sigh* no Growing Old Disgracefully at all. Hmm... perhaps it's a conspiracy to prevent 100 word story-ers from writing and recording a review. Yup, that’s probably it. A conspiracy!

Jim S. the Folderman takes a comment from an introduction and examines it for a bit...

It’s all about the stories. That’s what I heard Laurence say on a recent podcast..

It made me think of a line from a series of stories I used to read by Anne Rice; “The Blood Is The Life.”

I’m not sure WHY I thought of that line, but I did. I started to write a poem based on “It’s about the stories,” but after writing it, I realized that I can’t EVEN write poetry. I’ll leave that to Andrew.

The blood is the life and the stories are the point. A good analogy, if I do say so myself.

You know, I've done this myself, but never had the courage to admit it. Jim S. is more courageous than me...

When we bought the house, there was no storm door on the frame in the back of the house. As a housewarming and Christmas gift, her aunt had given us a gift card just for the purpose. I had some time to do it tomorrow and I had to go buy the door at the Home Depot.

An orange card glued to a cardboard folder would be awfully hard to misplace, wouldn’t it? Not for my wife. She had managed to throw it in the garbage!

That’s the reason I’m rooting through garbage bags instead of shopping for storm doors.

Ah, yes. The power of love. Jim S. floats around with it for a bit...

The iceberg came into view around the box. After floating helplessly in the icy water for the last two hours, he’d finally floated around the box to view the gigantic chunk of rock and ice. Due to his numerous injuries, he’d been unable to propel himself around the supply box. Only the icy water that numbed him had kept him from losing consciousness from the pain.

Incredibly, he recognized the beauty of the moment. Sure, only two hours ago, he’d been warm in his bed with his wife.

As he floated over, he came face-to-face with his wife’s decapitated body.

Jim S. answers the people who wonder why he is so mad...

Why are you so mad?

For some reason, people ask me that all the time.

It could be the steady diet of gansta rap, heavy metal and punk rock. You see; nothing gets done without music and most if it is from those genres.

Nah.

It could be my childhood and the fact that my mother and I were at each other’s throats most of it. I AM a middle child after all.

Definitely not.

It’s the fact that I’m a thinking man and I can’t withstand the day-to-day barrage of dum-dums. It’s more than a mere mortal can take.

It's time for a speech by Jim S. the Folderman...

Satisfied, I stepped back from the podium. The speech had gone well enough. Well, better than could be expected, considering the ugly circumstances which made it necessary.

It was never easy to personally deliver one’s swansong and I’d done the best I could. Now the rest was in other hands.

At the bottom of the steps, my faithful secretary waited.

“Good speech, sir.” She said, “but not good enough…”

Snapping out of my brooding, I looked up and was greeted by the discharge from her gun.

DAMN! I knew it was coming, but I NEVER thought it would be her!

Jim S. the Folderman experiences white-hot rage...

I've known a few moments of momentary satisfaction at a beautiful day or a gorgeous woman. Happy moments like the birth of my children, my wedding day and other things such as that briefly pierce through the shroud of doubt, confusion, melancholoy and... RAGE.

Yes, rage. I know it comes as a deep surprise but I'm a mad motherfucker. Just plain mad at the world. Overall, I've learned to live with it and usually, I manage to hold it back long enough to enjoy some happy moments.

Mostly, though, it just embitters me and makes me a jaded, cynical bastard.

Jim S. the Folderman still hasn't gotten over his rage.

I've never truly been happy.

My mind is a swirl of anger, bitterness, disappointment and hatred. Not for or at a particular person, group of people or even any THING in particular but just an overall permeating, deep RAGE at "stuff."

Depression forms an almost solid border to hold the rage back and keep it simmering on the back burner. Rarely, the rage pokes its head through but is quickly subdued.

An almost momentary flash of happiness occasionally interrupts this constant emotional battle. Every time, though, an uncontrollable factor breaks the happy-moment and re-heats the rage.

Then, depression sets in.