What's So Funny?
Russell Gayer, author speaker
Charlie Chan at the FFF Circus
For centuries, man has attempted to modify nature by crossbreeding different plants and animals of similar species. Sometimes the results have been successful and at other times a total disaster.
Oranges are a hybrid fruit, traced back to a cross breed between a pomelo and mandarin. Mules are also a classic example of successful crossbreeding.
But the worst example of genetics gone awry is the Spork. Sure, these two sleep together in the same silverware drawer, but that’s no reason to force them to have sex. It’s wrong. It’s unnatural. And just plain perverted. What’s next, Spork porn?
If you’re new to Friday Flash Fiction, the munchkin who oversees this virtual circus is Olive Brasso Wisoff-Fields. If you’d like to participate in this exercise in madness, head over to her blog for step-by-step instructions. To view the FFF Hollywood Squares Authors Block click here.
Charlie and his family receive free tickets to the Crook & Kelly Circus from Cassandra Crook who wants him to investigate the death of trapeze artist, Jennifer Fly.
The investigation uncovers a love-triangle between Fly, Penny, the sword swallower, and Trent Lo, the lion tamer. Was jealousy the motive?
Later, Charlie learns Wadsworth Ayr, the snake charmer, had the hots for Ms. Fly, who repeatedly spurned his advances.
To further complicate matters, someone sabotaged the cotton candy machine and destroyed the popcorn serving bags.
The only clues are a sticky can of insecticide, popcorn crumbs, and a giant flyswatter.
The Forest of Disenchantment
Connie and I watch a lot talent shows, The Voice, America’s Got Talent, and American Idol. While most of these programs focus on music, there’s a wealth of unmined categories where contestants could exhibit their skills and for a shot at fame and fortune.
Besides the obvious – Outstanding Authors (where unknowns read their work to a panel of celebrity publishers), a plethora of lesser appreciated talents might provide some great entertainment. Here’s a few ideas, Scottish Grave Diggers, Canuck Canoe Carvers, Name That Wine, and the never popular Watching Watercolors Dry.
I’m sure you can think of a few more that would make television viewers reach for a barf bag. Please leave one or two suggestions in the comment section.
If you’re new to Friday Flash Fiction, the artist who splashes wine droplets on canvas and calls is “The Wrath of Grapes” is Georgette O’Keebler Wisoff-Fields. If you’d like to participate in this exercise in madness, head over to her blog for step-by-step instructions. To view the FFF Hollywood Squares Authors Block click here.
One day a group of Fictioneers went for a hike through The Forest of Disenchantment. Along the way they happened upon a strange looking tree.
“Do you think it’s the home of the Keebler Elves?” asked Keith.
“No,” Liz said, sampling a dry, tasteless cracker she found on the door stoop. “This cookie is awful.”
“Perhaps it’s a gnome house then,” Neil said.
“I doubt it. The door is too small.” Russell pointed to a tiny opening at the base. “I fear we’ve stumbled upon the lair of the infamous Purple Smurfmime. She’ll snatch the label right off your shirt.”
Parting the Yellow Sea
For those of us in the United States, yesterday was an important day. Grown men wearing top hats yanked a large rodent from its burrow and proclaimed Punxsutawney Phil saw his shadow. I wish they’d pick a name that’s easier to pronounce. How about Punxsutawney Neil, or Punxsutawney Linda, or Punxsutawney Sacagawea?
And what’s up with the letters “PH” sounding like an “F?” It’s a conspiracy, I tell you. To prove my point, “H” even teams with “G” sometimes to make an “F” sound, as in EnouGH of this Phoolishness. What are they trying to do, kick “F” out of the alphabet?
Here’s your assignment. In the comments, change any word spelled with an “F” to “PH” or “GH” and words spelled with those letters to an “F.” Here’s an example: Who’s Aphraid ough Virginia Woulgh?
If you’re new to Phriday Phlash Phiction, the Phractured Phreda who runs this program is Fyllis Dilla Wisough-Phields. If you’d like to participate in this exercise in madness, head over to her blog for step-by-step instructions. To view the Ph.Ph.Ph. Hollywood Squares Authors Block click here.
Three or four of us ten-year-old boys were milling around the bathroom when I discovered that one of the toilets was clogged. If you flushed it, water would surge over the bowl and create a mini tsunami across the floor.
Too bad we didn’t have some toy Egyptians and Hebrews. It would have been a great time to stage a reenactment of Moses parting the Yellow Sea.
A tattletale ratted me out and I was sent to the principal. On my way back to class, visions of Pharaoh and Egyptian chariots flooded my consciousness.
One more flush couldn’t hurt anything.
The Jury’s Still Out
They say you are what you eat. The same hold true for your brain. From an early age, I fed mine a steady diet of Rocky & Bullwinkle, Looney toons, and that thrilling test pattern that appeared when TV stations logged off the air.
Fractured Fairy Tales was one of my favorites. The premise is easy to imagine. You simply take a classic fairy tale and add a twist. Imagine what you could do with characters such as Snow Not-So-White, Blondilocks and the Three Gray Hairs. In the comments, please leave the title of a Fractured Fairy Tale you’d like to read.
If you’re new to Friday Flash Fiction, the fractured mime who runs this program is Shelley Kohlen Wisoff-Fields. If you’d like to participate in this exercise in madness, head over to her blog for step-by-step instructions. To view the FFF Hollywood Squares Authors Block click here.
Eric was pulled over for failure to proceed at a green light.
“Sir, have you been thinking?” the officer asked.
“No,” Eric replied, indignantly.
“Then you won’t mind taking a brain-wave sobriety test.”
The next thing Eric knew he was being fingerprinted and booked for DWT (Driving While Thinking).
“Mr. Wicklund,” said the judge. “Why didn’t you drive forward when the light turned green?”
“Well, your honor, I thought—”
“Ah ha!” the prosecutor screamed. “He admits it. He THOUGHT!”
After paying a hefty fine and attending a six-week course on thought-free driving, Eric finally got his license back.
*the above is a fractured version of the short story, The Perils of Heavy Thinking from the book by the same title.
The Pilgrimage
The pandemic has kept Connie and I spending more time at home and limited our social interaction with family, friends, and neighbors. Fortunately, we’ve been blessed by an outpouring of cards, letters, and phone calls from people we don’t even know.
I’ve been amazed by the number of people on the verge tears who call to tell me of the sleepless nights they’ve spent worrying about the extended coverage on my ’48 Ford truck. And since I became Medicare eligible, I have been overwhelmed by the concern of those offering to help me select a supplemental policy.
I thank the Lord every day for these caring strangers who take time out of their busy day to check on me. I feel pretty special.
If you’re new to Friday Flash Fiction, the snake oil salesperson who runs this program is Natasha Fatale Wisoff-Fields. If you’d like to participate in this exercise in madness, head over to her blog for step-by-step instructions. To view the FFF Hollywood Squares Authors Block click here.
Perry slumped at the picnic table, inconsolable.
The cab ride from Philadelphia had drained him physically, emotionally, and financially. He’d considered offering the cabbie a quarter tip but decided to save it for the coin-operated binoculars on the pier.
According to the directions provided by the emu in the yellow t-shirt and sunglasses, there should be a statue in the harbor and a lady begging to draw his caricature.
He arrived to find no harbor, statue, or lady, and that stupid one-word, jingle kept playing on a loop inside his head.
You only pay for what you need. My ass!
*For those outside the U.S., this story is a parody based on Liberty Mutual Insurance commercials.
Outside the Lines
They’ve been making adult coloring books for several years now. Most pages contain a jumble of intricate designs said to help relieve stress. They also make one with swear words for those whose clock is wound so tightly they’re about to explode.
Even our own fearless leader, Andrea Warthog W(T)F, is an advocate of color-by-numbers. Her wine glass series, known for their warm, fuzzy images as the glass nears empty, has led to a spike in sales for Boone’s Farm winery, especially the Strawberry Hill vintage.
What’s woefully lacking is a coloring book of crude, juvenile activities. Wouldn’t it be fun to throw down some reds and yellows on a picture of Bobby and Mark lighting each other’s farts? Or how about Cindy’s expression when she discovers the plastic snake Ted hid in her locker? I’d love to hear your ideas and suggestions.
If you’re new to Friday Flash Fiction, pick up a bottle of Boone’s Farm and schedule a session with our headmistress (see above). If you’d like to participate in this exercise in madness, head over to her blog for step-by-step instructions. To view the FFF Hollywood Squares Authors Block click here.
The image was grainy, but clear enough to conclude the subject was petite, barely five-feet tall. The figure crept across the backyard with elbows tucked, wrists hanging limp, like a small rodent sneaking up on an acorn.
“It looks like a midget,” Harvey said. “Do you think this one ran away from the circus?”
“It’s a mime.” Lowry replied with disgust. “A strange breed. Most are harmless, but creepy in their own way.”
“I’m glad Lucinda didn’t encounter this white-faced vermin when she came home. That would’ve freaked her out.”
Lowry nodded. “It would be enough to unnerve anyone.”
*an excerpt from Criminal Mimes.
Slow Times at Belton Jr. High
During my work career, I attended several classes on Time Management. The curriculum focused on scheduling activities and other tools to gain efficiency and become more productive.
However, occasions often arise where neither efficiency nor productivity is important. That’s why I decided to create a course called Time Wasters.
This class is designed to help people slow down and appreciate doing absolutely nothing. There are no lofty goals to achieve, no stressful timelines, and best of all—it’s impossible to fail. Our motto is, “Aim low and you’ll always miss your mark.”
“So, you going to the dance tomorrow night?” Shelley asked.
“No.” Clarence didn’t look up.
“It might be fun.”
“I doubt it. I don’t dance.”
“But you could listen to the music. Beeswax is playing.”
He shrugged. “I’d rather listen to ear wax.”
“You could hang out with your friends.”
“Don’t have any friends—‘cept Melvin—and he’s taking Debbie.”
“I don’t have a date either.” She sighed. “No one wants to go out with a short girl with curly hair.”
He stuck a finger in his ear and gave it a twist.
“Wanna listen to ear wax with me?”
The Night Before Yom Kippur
If you’re new to Friday Flash Fiction, it’s run by a woman who sticks a fork in an outlet every week to keep her hair curly, the permanently permed, Shirley Temple Wisoff-Fields. If you’d like to participate in this exercise in madness, head over to her blog for step-by-step instructions. To view the FFF Hollywood Squares Authors Block click here.
Twas the night before Yom Kippur
and as sure as a bagel ain’t a donut
everyone was excited about the day of atonement
With Papa in his turtleneck
And Mama in her bunny shoes
Kicked back in their recliners like a couple of old Jews
Tomorrow they’d go to the synagogue and pray
And beg G_d to keep that evil mime away
As a further precaution, they strung up some garlic
Bought plastic gold crosses and consulted a psychic
But while they were out, their mattress tags were stolen
By that La Petite Voleuse, Shelley “Yom Kippur” Kohlen
California Scheming
Have you ever taken a long cut–as opposed to a shortcut? What I’m referring to is driving around the world to get across the street. Some people call it “taking the scenic route,” or offer the excuse of avoiding heavy traffic, toll roads, or fear of getting stuck in a Presidential Motorcade. The goal is to ignore the shortest, fastest, most efficient route to your destination.
My wife, Connie, really enjoys doing this. In fact, her motto is, “If there’s a back road–take it!” As an experienced yard sale fanatic, she knows every side street, alley, and dead-end cul de sac in our portion of North America. We’re never truly lost, just not always sure where the road we’re on is going to take us.
Tell me about a time when taking an alternate route led to an adventure.
If you’re new to Friday Flash Fiction, the person who wrote from Kansas City to Hollywood with a laptop on her knee is Old Suzanna Danna Anna Wisoff-Fields. If you’d like to participate in this exercise in madness, head over to her blog for step-by-step instructions. To view the FFF Hollywood Squares Authors Block click here.
Look! Up in the bird. It’s the sky. It’s a plane. It’s Dyslexia Man.
Slower than a mentally challenged sloth wading through molasses.
Weaker than single-ply bath tissue.
Unable to infuse short sentences with a single noun.
Yes, it’s Dyslexia Man, backwards visitor from the hills of Arkansas who came to Bloggywood with the power and ability to render the English language incomprehensible. Dyslexia Man, who can alter the meaning of common phrases, blend two-syllable words into inaudible gibberish. And who, disguised as Enos “Skin” Flint, half-witted blogger for Friday Flash Fiction, fights a never ending battle for humor, foolishness and the Redneck way.
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We can only hope our hero’s arch enemy and lifelong nemesis, Grammar Girl, will stop by to save us from the twisted vernacular and nonsensical jabbering of Dyslexia Man. Please hurry, Grammar Girl!
Road Trip
Here in the South, the temperature is rising faster than the boiling blood of an angry bovine who’s just been teased with a red handkerchief. Since we don’t live on a paved road, Connie had to cook our bacon and eggs this morning on the hood of our car.
It’s gotten so dry that the Baptists are sprinkling, and the Methodists are using a damp washcloth for baptismal services. The good news is I’ll soon have a picking of sun-dried tomatoes straight from the vine.
If you’re new to Friday Flash Fiction, the cat-wrangler who runs this outfit is Bombalurina Hairball Wisoff-Fields. If you’d like to participate in this exercise in madness, head over to her blog for step-by-step instructions. To view the FFF Hollywood Squares Authors Block click here.
Dear Shelley, and my new best friend, Jan
Thanks for coming to visit me. It was a pleasure meeting you.
The portrait you painted of me was absolutely gorgeous. Dad says you have a degree from Walla Walla Bing Bang Art Institute. I have a variety of adorable poses if you decide to create a series for display at Crystal Bridges Museum.
Dad also warned me about your penchant for DNR* tags, so I slept with one eye open while you were here.
Please come again soon. I only get lamb when we have Jewish visitors.
Licks and slobbers,
Liza Jane
*Do-Not-Remove Under Penalty of Law
Purchase ‘One Idiot Short of a Village’
Purchase ‘The Perils of Heavy Thinking’
