Saturday morning, I will be competing in the NWA Toastmasters Area Humor Speech Contest. Thankfully, I won’t be going up against Donald Trump. He was in top form Monday night. There were several occasions where the entire audience rocked with laughter, including Mrs. Clinton.
As I prepare for the contest, I keep asking myself, “What’s this guy got that I don’t have?” I mean, other than several billion dollars, a gorgeous wife half his age, and terrible hair. Is it his timing and delivery, or the utter ridiculousness of his words? To improve, I have been practicing my scowl, grimace, and other facial expressions in front of a mirror.
I’m sure my topic, “The Six Habits of Highly Effective Procrastinators,” will pale in comparison to his side-splitting approach on the use of nuclear weapons, racial issues, homegrown terrorism, and building a dome over America to keep out aliens from another galaxy.
If you are new to Friday Flash Fiction, our moderator, who struggles to keep the authors on track by providing a weekly photo prompt is Ruth Gordon Wisoff-Fields. To learn how to participate in this weekly exercise in madness, head over to her blog for instructions. To rent a booth in the FFF Hollywood Squares Authors Block click here.
Mr. Gayer, you’re probably wondering why we brought you here. Remember your post from last week?
You read it?
No, but word gets around. You’re a self-appointed expert in many fields and hold strong opinions in all others. We want you to join us.
And who is us?
THEY, the international intelligence agency known as the unquestionable authority of truth, keeper of factoids, and proverbial mill of rumor fame.
And if I refuse?
We offer the position to Perry Block.
You’ve read his blog?
No, but he’s always wanted to leave a scar on the butt-cheek of mankind.
Okay. You win. Where do I sign?
Horror, Psychological Thrillers, Poetry, Flash Fiction
Stories From Within
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This is the blog of a woman who is seriously on the edge and I mean right ON the edge…no, not there… just a little bit further… further than that…no, further still…just a tiny bit more… just move slightly to the right a little…no, that’s too much…just move a tad to the left…that’s right, just there…now you’ve moved too far to the left… Damn, what part of the ‘on the edge’ do you not understand? Oh, and her matricidal boy genius, come devil spawn.
Or the three people I guilted into reading this blog, whatever.
Growing older is inevitable. Growing up is optional.
I may make you feel, but I can't make you think.
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AS I TOLD THE GIRL THAT I LOST MY VIRGINITY TO, THANKS FOR LAUGHING AT ME HERE TODAY.
I don't write, I touch without touching.
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Stylistically Abusing Language for the Betterment of Mankind
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And the worst things. And all that weird stuff in between.