There was a letter to the editor in our local paper last week regarding TV drug ads. The author had watched numerous “wonder drug” ads and decided he wanted to feel the same joy, contentment, and fun times as the people in those ads.
He went to his doctor and asked for the drugs. His doctor refused to prescribe them because our friend didn’t have any of the illnesses the medication was designed to treat—but, he did recommend a doctor who would prescribe them (wasn’t that helpful?).
If you’re new to Friday Flash Fiction, the voodoo witch doctor who is always willing to prescribe 100-word stories is Marie Laveau 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. Bring a live sacrifice for payment.
“Mr. Crabappleton,” began Father Kowalski, “Say I, pronounce your full name and repeat after me the oath of your office.”
“I, Delbert Q. Crabappleton* . . .”
“Do hereby solemnly swear.”
“Do hereafter sit-in-de-chair”
“To faithfully execute the office of Goodwill Ambassador”
“To flick-a-flea on de cute officer of who-let-de-cat-indoors”
“To the best of my ability, so help me God.”
“To divest of my infidelity—wid’ no help from Maude—fer sure.
Father Kowalski exhaled in a long, drawn-out sigh. Turning, he looked at the mayor.
“Yeah, I think he got the gist of it,” said Mayor Peterson.
*not his real name. To find out who really got the job as Village Idiot in One Idiot Short of a Village you’ll have to read the book, which can be ordered here
Poetry, Horror, Psychological Thrillers
Stories From Within
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.
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