What's So Funny?
Russell Gayer, author speaker
The Cow Catcher
Have you every taken something important and put it in a “Special Place” to make it easier to find the next time you needed it? This simple act is a reflection of your highly advanced organizational skills, forethought, and planning.
However, it is also the best way I know of to lose something permanently. There must be at least twenty-five things in this house that I’ve hidden from myself and can’t find. The problem lies in remembering where the “Special Place” is. And as soon as I go to the time, trouble, and expense to replace the missing item, it immediately turns up. I call this Murphy’s Law of Outsmarting Yourself.
If you’re new to Friday Flash Fiction, the little chickadee who fluffs her nest with 100-word stories is Flower Belle Lee Wisoff-Fields. If you’d like to participate in this exercise of madness, head over to her blog for step-by-step instructions. To view the ensemble of practicing fic-titioners in the writers in FFF Hollywood Squares Authors Block click here.
A passenger train, The Cornish Scot is creeping along at a snail’s pace. Finally it grinds to a halt, and Sandra sees Conductor Ayr walking by outside.
“Why are we stopping?” she yells out the window.
“There’s a cow on the tracks, Madam!” he replies.
Ten minutes later, the train resumes its dreadfully slow crawl.
The train had barely gone one kilometer when it creaked to a halt once more. Sandra sees Conductor Ayr passing her window again.
She leans out and yells, “What happened? Did we catch up with the cow?”
Squeaky Wheels
Bad news. I fear our new puppy, Liza Jane, is becoming a mime. Every morning she shows up at breakfast wearing white-face and black lipstick. She won’t talk when spoken to. She responds only with sarcastic body motions and exaggerated facial expressions.
To make matters worse, three times this week I caught her trying to rip the Do-Not-Remove tags from her toys. Heaven help us when she grows to seventy pounds and can lift furniture and mattresses.
I’m just praying Santa doesn’t bring Liza a striped shirt and beret for Christmas.
If you’re new to Friday Flash Fiction, you can trust your 100 words to the gal who wears the star, The Big Bright FFF Star, “Oil Can Boyd” Wisoff-Fields. If you’d like to participate in this exercise of madness, head over to her blog for step-by-step instructions. To view the ensemble of practicing fic-titioners in the writers in FFF Hollywood Squares Authors Block click here.
“All this skateboarding will catch up with you someday,” Mom said.
Fifteen-year-old Jesse smiled. What does she know? Sure, he’d taken a few falls and wrenched an ankle or two, but no broken bones—as yet.
Thirty years later just getting out of bed became a chore. It always took a couple of doses of lubrication to loosen the stiffness in his joints.
Bending to change a tire, lightning bolts of pain flashed through both knees and up his back. Finishing the job, he rose to his feet, staggered, and grimaced.
Maybe Mom was right after all.
Wheel of Misfortune
Deer season opened here last Saturday. The first two days went as planned, then on Monday, Local Wildlife Union #413 called for a walkout. Deer set up a picket line in my backyard and began demanding shorter hours and holiday pay for Thanksgiving.
The timing of the strike caught the AGF (Arkansas Game & fish) off guard and threatened to end the season prematurely. Several hunting camps have sided with the deer in urging the AGF to settle quickly. However, if they give in to the deer, it’s likely the rabbits, squirrel, and waterfowl will soon follow suit.
My recommendation is to break the strike by bringing in “replacement deer” from surrounding states. Mississippi, in particular, has a good number of well-qualified deer who are dying to cross the border. Arkansas deer have threatened to file suit, but this is a Red State, which gives them about as much chance of winning as a fart in a whirlwind.
If you’re new to Friday Flash Fiction, our Game Warden, who strictly enforces the 100-word regulations, is Ranger Rocky Raccoon Wisoff-Fields. If you’d like to participate in this exercise of madness, head over to her blog for step-by-step instructions. To view the ensemble of practicing fic-titioners in the writers in FFF Hollywood Squares Authors Block click here.
Dewayne had a God-given talent for snatching defeat from the jaws of victory. As a youth, the sports teams he played on would often be ahead by as many as ten points with a minute to play, and find a way to lose—thanks to Dewayne.
The same held true when it came to romance and business. He’d filed almost as many bankruptcies and divorces as Donald Trump.
Overlooking his latest real estate acquisition, Dewayne envisioned couples lining up in droves to float through his Tunnel of Love.
Too bad it was downstream from the sewer plant.
They All Look Alike
Here’s an enigma for you. Since I’ve retired, time has sped up. The period between 6am and 6pm is now four hours. Carve out a couple of meals and there’s barely enough time left to accomplish anything.
Plus, if you’re like me and spent forty years earning a degree in Laziness and Procrastination from Hard Knocks University, even a small task will take weeks, possibly months to complete.
The reduced hours in a day has also caused adjustment problems for my wife. With me underfoot, poor Connie now has twice as much work to do and only half the time to get it done.
If you’re new to Friday Flash Fiction, our ambitious, “Get ‘er Done” coordinator of 100-word tales is Lori The-Book-Table-Gal Wisoff-Fields. If you’d like to participate in this exercise of madness, head over to her blog for step-by-step instructions. To view the ensemble of practicing fic-titioners in the writers in FFF Hollywood Squares Authors Block click here.
copyright – J.S. Brand
“What did the mime look like?”
“Like a mime, dammit. That’s like asking what a penguin looks like. They may come in different sizes, but they’re all penguins to me.”
“Was it a man or a woman?”
“I repeat—it was a mime, dammit. I don’t know how to tell what gender they are. The pissed-off woman referred to it as Shelby, or Shelley—something like that.”
“Boy, you’re a lot of help.”
“Lowry, you’re the friggin’ detective. If you want to know what sex the mime is, go down to the Family Mart and do a full cavity search.
Leaky Weeks
In effort to improve my wit and humor, my daughter gifted me a book entitled “The Insult Dictionary.” The good thing about these insults is that many of them go back hundreds of years, so when you use one, the party you’re addressing doesn’t even realize they’re being put down.
One of my favorites is; “Vice Admiral of the Narrow Seas.” Noun ~ A drunken man who urinates under the table on his companion’s shoes. Please share your favorite slanderous saying in the comment section.
If you’re new to Friday Flash Fiction, our resident expert on swimming up to your neck in 100-word tales is Doris Salacia Wisoff-Fields. If you’d like to participate in this exercise of madness, head over to her blog for step-by-step instructions. To view the ensemble of practicing fic-titioners in the writers in FFF Hollywood Squares Authors Block click here.
Dear Ma & Pa,
Finding work in the big city ain’t easy. You cain’t talk to nobody about a job, you have to get on a computer and type in a bunch o’ stuff. But thanks to Cousin Audrey, I got on the government tit.
My boss is a senator from Arkansas. Right off, he gave me something called a security clearance. I’m supposed to keep my eyes and ears open and watch out for something called Liberals—they cause leaks.
Liberals must be worse than woodpeckers cause they got bowls sitting everywhere to catch the water.
Your son,
Clem
Eyeful Tower
Today, I’d like to discuss “Old Wives Tales.” The question naturally arises, how old does a married woman have to be in order to meet the “Old Wife” criteria, and why are their tales so unreliable (i.e. – fake news)?
And why doesn’t anyone ever say, “That’s a Wise Husband Adage.” Perhaps its because Wise Husbands are simply too modest and humble to take credit for being accurate almost 30% of the time. Regardless of the statistics, I don’t recommend arguing with an “Old Wife.” It only leads to trouble and there’s no telling what kind of tale she’ll tell afterward. All Wise Husbands know when to shut up.
If you’re new to Friday Flash Fiction, our resident expert on 100-word tales is Daisy “Granny” Moses Wisoff-Fields. If you’d like to participate in this exercise of madness, head over to her blog for step-by-step instructions. To view the ensemble of practicing fic-titioners in the writers in FFF Hollywood Squares Authors Block click here.
Dale was intrigued by the construction project next to the shopping center. The site swarmed with buff young men in tight jeans and sleeveless shirts. Beads of sweat glistened on their bronze arms as they went about their tasks.
“Hey girls,” she said. “Let’s climb the tower. It’s a beautiful day, eh? I’m sure the view is fantastic from there.”
Jilly agreed, but Shelley preferred to stay at ground level.
Afterwards they compared notes.
“That blond guy has the body of a Norse God.” Dale turned to Shelley. “What did you see?”
“A two-ton plumber bend over. It was an eyeful.”
Sea Shore Entrepreneur
Has your spouse ever complained that you were only “half-listening?” Not mine. Connie says, straight up and without any hesitation, “You didn’t hear a word I said, did you?”
Most of the time she’s right, but occasionally I can repeat what she said verbatim. This seems to irritate more than if I’d never heard the words at all. “Then why didn’t you respond?” she asks.
I thought it was a rhetorical question,” I reply. Which only adds gas to the fire. How you keep the lines spousal communication open?
If you’re new to Friday Flash Fiction, our curator of 100 word stories is Shelley Van Gogh Wisoff-Fields. If you’d like to participate in this exercise of madness, head over to her blog for step-by-step instructions. To view the ensemble of practicing fic-titioners in the writers in FFF Hollywood Squares Authors Block click here.
It had been a slow day for Susie. Most potential customers breezed right by her booth. Occasionally, one would stop to ooh and aah over her seashells, but didn’t spend a dime. Scratchers & Farters, cousin Klint called them.
In hopes of making a sale, she incorporated her sister Shelley into the display. Shelley put on quite a show, mimicking seahorses, dolphins, and even a mermaid.
“Hey, Mister,” Susie called to a passer by. “Would you be interested in a real live oceanic impressionist—my sister the mime?”
“Sorry Susie, sister Shelley is a sad substitute for seashore souvenir.
Heavy Thinkers
Today’s intro topic is Gossip. My favorite story goes like this;
Mildred, the town gossip, saw the old pickup belonging to George (a new member of her church) parked in front of the town’s only bar one afternoon. She immediately began spreading a malicious rumor that George was an alcoholic.
The rumor soon got back to George. He didn’t attempt to explain, defend, or deny the accusation. But later that day, he parked his truck in front of Mildred’s house—walked home—and left it there all night.
If you’re new to Friday Flash Fiction, our Deputy of Dirty Laundry, who practices a “Nip it in the bud” philosophy, is Barnella Fife Wisoff-Fields. If you’d like to participate in this exercise of madness, head over to her blog for step-by-step instructions. To view the ensemble of practicing fic-titioners in the writers in FFF Hollywood Squares Authors Block click here.
It pains me to say this, but one group at high risk for Heavy Thinking Addiction is writers. They spend far too much time alone in front of computer screens actually encouraging the thought process.
Last spring, I attended one of their conferences, and let me tell you, there was a whole lot of Heavy Thinking going on. By the time the keynote finished her address, the entire audience was intoxicated on knowledge. They spent the next day scheming plots and sharing ideas.
I was appalled at their blatant display of Public Thinking.
What a shame to desecrate such a fine hotel.
* the above is an excerpt from the title story of “The Perils of Heavy Thinking” This book can be ordered by clicking the link on this page or by emailing the author. Many thanks!
Expialidocious
You may be familiar with the expression, “He’s all thumbs.” Unlike Midas, nothing turns to gold, but is instantly reduced to a pile of rubble by the fumbling touch of this clumsy oaf.
Let’s look at the pros & cons of having ten thumbs:
Pro Con
Giving a “thumbs up” sign Picking your nose
Hitchhiking Giving prostate exams
Texting Playing the piano
I’m sure you can think of many more in each category. Your job is to add one or two in the comment section. Let’s see how many we can come up with.
If you’re new to Friday Flash Fiction, our diminutive leader, who clutches a purple crayon in her tiny digits, is Thumbelina Wisoff-Fields. If you’d like to participate in this exercise of madness, head over to her blog for step-by-step instructions. To view the ensemble of practicing fic-titioners in the writers in FFF Hollywood Squares Authors Block click here.
“Wow! Your Aunt Mary has quite a collection of umbrellas.”
“Yes, so many in fact that she’s started her own airline business.”
“You mean online, don’t you?”
“No. These umbrellas are for flying. People rent them to tour the town. It’s so much safer than walking or riding a scooter, and the view is fantastic.”
“That’s interesting. How’s business?”
“It’s really taken off. She has a large number of regular clients—all of whom are women.”
“I’m not surprised. It’s gotta be more comfortable than straddling a broom.”
I apologize for not visiting the sites of everyone who commented on my post last week. Things got crazy from Thursday on. I’ll strive to do better this week. Thanks so much for dropping by and reading.
Expialidocious
You may be familiar with the expression, “He’s all thumbs.” Unlike Midas, nothing turns to gold, but is instantly reduced to a pile of rubble by the fumbling touch of this clumsy oaf.
Let’s look at the pros & cons of having ten thumbs:
Pro Con
Giving a “thumbs up” sign Picking your nose
Hitchhiking Giving prostate exams
Texting Playing the piano
I’m sure you can think of many more in each category. Your job is to add one or two in the comment section. Let’s see how many we can come up with.
If you’re new to Friday Flash Fiction, our diminutive leader, who clutches a purple crayon in her tiny digits, is Thumbelina Wisoff-Fields. If you’d like to participate in this exercise of madness, head over to her blog for step-by-step instructions. To view the ensemble of practicing fic-titioners in the writers in FFF Hollywood Squares Authors Block click here.
“Wow! Your Aunt Mary has quite a collection of umbrellas.”
“Yes, so many in fact that she’s started her own airline business.”
“You mean online, don’t you?”
“No. These umbrellas are for flying. People rent them to tour the town. It’s so much safer than walking or riding a scooter, and the view is fantastic.”
“That’s interesting. How’s business?”
“It’s really taken off. She has a large number of regular clients—all of whom are women.”
“I’m not surprised. It’s gotta be more comfortable than straddling a broom.”
It’s Slow Good
They say time is relative. Funny, but I don’t remember having a relative named Time. I did know someone whose last name was Time that I was quite fond of. His first name was Quitting. We got along extremely well and often shared a beer or two after work.
Quitting came from a rather large family and had a good number of cousins. One of them became a lightning rod for controversy. People either loved or hated him. Complaints range from having to reset clocks twice a year to blaming physical illnesses on him. He is also charged with being a thief. Daylight Savings steals an hour every spring, but gives it back in the fall. I wonder what he does with that hour during the nine months he keeps it?
If you’re new to Friday Flash Fiction, our faithful facilitator, who takes a licking and keeps on ticking, is Jonnette Cameron Swayze Wisoff-Fields. If you’d like to participate in this exercise of madness, head over to her blog for step-by-step instructions. To view the ensemble of practicing fic-titioners in the writers in FFF Hollywood Squares Authors Block click here.
“Perry, you attended the Pre-Paint-Drying Banquet last night. How do you see this battle shaping up? Is there one player who might come from nowhere to pull off an upset?”
“Keep an eye on ‘Plain Jane’ Jones. If she performs with the same intensity and passion she displayed in my hotel room last night, she’ll blow this thing wide open. That is, if she’s not too exhausted.”
“Perry, surely you don’t mean—”
“That’s right, JB. She painted all four walls and the ceiling. We spent the next six hours just lying on the bed watching it dry.”
*the above is an excerpt from “The Joys of Watching Paint Dry” starring the never-popular Perry Block, who happens to be celebrating a birthday today.
The Cereal Killer
Next Wednesday, September 12th, I’ll be attending a workshop entitled “How to Write Humor.” This event is sponsored by the Osher Lifelong Learning Institute, more commonly known as OLLI. According to their course catalog, attendees are supposed to learn how to create characters with strong comedic perspectives, and how exaggeration and illogical comparisons are used to make things funny.
The course lasts for two hours and students will be provided worksheets to help them develop their own comic characters and tips on creating a story premise that keeps the audience in stitches. I hope to learn something useful from this class—after all, I am the instructor.
If you’re new to Friday Flash Fiction, the classroom sketch artist who draws caricatures of the speakers during their presentations, is Allie Hirshfeld Wisoff-Fields.If you’d like to participate in this exercise of madness, head over to her blog for step-by-step instructions. To view the ensemble of practicing fic-titioners in the writers in FFF Hollywood Squares Authors Block click here.
The house on Snipe Lane made her fourth hit. She was starting to get quite a collection of Do-Not-Remove tags from the mattresses and furniture of the finest homes in Belton. Now, she had a container to display them in. The invisible box.
Her only complaint about today’s caper was the time and effort required to kill the Shredded Wheat. The box was almost full and it took a half-gallon of milk to drown the gurgling before it gave up the ghost and became listless beneath the stabbing of her spoon.
Shelley smiled. A good cereal dies a thousand deaths.
*the above is a snippet from Criminal Mimes
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