What's So Funny?
Russell Gayer, author speaker
Three Monkeys
As we head into the cold & flu season, expect to hear these phrases; 1) Sounds like you’re trying to catch a cold. And, 2) You couldn’t have picked a worse time to get the flu.
My responses;
- Yes, I sat at the bus stop, waiting for six hours, then had to chase the damn cold up hill for three blocks in a snow storm. It wasn’t easy, but I finally caught the SOB.
- The Flu and I had originally discussed getting together in mid-January, but she was overbooked and this was the only time slot she had left.
If you are new to Friday Flash Fiction, the Director of the CBC (Centers for Blog Control), who has issued a strong waring for posts exceeding 100 words, is Brenda Sneezingfitz Wisoff-Fields. To learn how to submit your tale to the weekly collection, zip over to her blog for instructions. To rent a box in the FFF Hollywood Squares Authors Block click here.
Happy Holidays from Three Monkeys Outfitters
It’s not too late to buy the perfect gift for that gossip on your list. We have a wonderful assortment of blindfolds, earmuffs, and mouth plugs, all at holiday prices and gift wrapped at no charge.
This week, we’re running a special on hand-knitted “No-Hear” hats. Patented sound-blockers inside the flaps prevent even the smallest rumor from becoming Jerry Springer talk show material.
If you act now, we’ll also include our most popular black velvet hoodwink and unisex gag FREE. And it all comes with a 90-day no-malicious-talk guarantee.
Give ‘em the Monkey.
*this week’s post limited to 99 words due to my excessive overload of 101 words two weeks ago. You may have also notices I was missing last week–serving detention with my nose stuck inside a tiny circle on a chalkboard.
Seasoned Greetings
Merry Christmas from Russell the Red-Nose Writer & Connie the Green-Thumb Gardener
Greetings Friends & Neighbors,
We’ve been blessed to survive another year (you probably figured that out when you got this card). Some of you may have suspected for years that Russell had mental issues. Well, now it’s official—he’s retared.
They say, “Ignorance is bliss,” and you’ll never meet a guy any happier to have this affliction.
Rather than bore you with the trivial events that occurred in our lives in 2017, we’ve decided to share some of the things that didn’t happen.
- We didn’t win the lottery (again)
- Russell’s book didn’t make the NY Times Best Seller List
- We didn’t secretly meet with Vladimir Putin
- No one offered to make a movie about us
- Neither of us aged a single day (wishful thinking)
Yet despite all these failures and shortcomings, we feel happy and blessed. The Lord has been good to us. Praise God.
It’s our sincere wish that each of you have Joyous Christmas and a Happy, Healthy, and Blessed New Year.
__________X_____________ __X_________________
(his mark) (her mark)
The Ice Woman Cometh
How much time do you spend waiting in lines? According an MIT study by Richard Larson (I wonder if he’s related to Gary Larson—The Far Side cartoonist?) American’s spend 2 years of their lives waiting.
Briton’s call it Queuing and average about 67 hours a year, or 5 months, 2 weeks, and 5 days of their lives standing in lines. Last Saturday, Connie and I took 2 grandkids to Silver Dollar City and used 4 of our 6 hours at the theme park standing in lines. The other two hours were spent wedging our way through crowds trying to find the end of the lines.
One place where you never have to wait is Friday Flash Fiction. Speedy Gonzales Wisoff-Fields posts the photo promptly at the crack of midnight on Wednesday and you can join the fun whenever you’re ready. To learn how to submit your tale to the weekly collection, zip over to her blog for instructions. To rent a box in the FFF Hollywood Squares Authors Block click here.
I’ve never met a woman
Who’s more like the weather
She can change for the worse
At the drop of a feather
Forget that the forecast
Calls for 90 and sunny
Better put on your coat,
The Ice Woman Cometh
Like a frigid arctic blast
Sweeping down from the north
The temperature plummets
When she walks through the door
Suddenly you remember
What you like about summer
Better put on your coat
The Ice Woman Cometh
The stare “chill-factor”
Is way below zero
Her silence so deafening
It cuts to the marrow
Better put on your coat
The Ice Woman Cometh
*the above is an excerpt from a poem I wrote about 25 years ago. It’s been modified to come in at 101 words.
Social Thinking
Usernames and passwords: How many do you have and how do you keep track of all of them?
Just when I think you’ve come up with a system, the website wants me to change my password. I’ve had enough Apple IDs to fill an orchard. Evidently, they turn rotten quickly because none of them ever works longer than 24 hours.
If you are new to Friday Flash Fiction, the Emcee who provides one-photo clues to our weekly 100-word riddle is Alice Ludden Wisoff-Fields. To learn how to submit your tale to the weekly collection, zip over to her blog for instructions. To rent a box in the FFF Hollywood Squares Authors Block click here.
“Thinking is the hardest work there is; which is probably the reason why so few engage in it.” – Henry Ford
***
It pains me to say this, but one group at high risk for Heavy Thinking addiction is writers. These individuals spend a lot of time alone in front of blank computer screens actually encouraging the thought process.
I attended one of their small group meetings. During a critique session, a Heavy Thinker will offer a fledgling writer powerful suggestions to improve their story. This continues around the room until the author of said paper shows signs of dizziness and intoxication from an overdose of knowledge.
I usually sit there with that deer-in-the-headlights-look, occasionally offering half a thought, just to be social.
* the above is an excerpt from The Perils of Heavy Thinking, available on Amazon in both paperback and Kindle.
The Most Heinous of Crimes
Tomorrow kicks off the annual gorging season here in America. Like me, I’m sure many of you have been in training for the past several weeks getting ready to put on an extra of layer of blubber before we head into winter.
There’s nothing more embarrassing than showing up at the Emergency Room with a pulled stomach muscle because you hadn’t properly exercised prior to a big meal. You’ll never win a medal at the Obese Olympics unless you get in shape—and round is the shape I’m talking about.
If you are new to Friday Flash Fiction, the chef who provides the stuffing for our weekly cornucopia of stories is Ernestine Gibbons Wisoff-Fields. To learn how to submit your tale to the weekly collection, zip over to her blog for instructions. To rent a box in the FFF Hollywood Squares Authors Block click here.
Detective Lowry pulled to the curb and studied the house. Other than the police tape, it looked like every other cookie-cutter home in the neighborhood.
Inside, a team of forensic experts combed the scene. The homeowners, a young husband and wife, sat shell-shocked at the kitchen table.
“What’d ya got?” Lowry asked the senior inspector.
“Not much. The Do-Not-Remove-Under-Penalty-of-Law tags from every mattress, pillow, and piece of furniture are missing. Who would do such a thing?”
Lowry wiped a white smudge from the mirror. It smeared between his finger and thumb. “When we find the invisible box, we’ll find the tags.”
Smokin’ Hot
Remember the old excuse, “The dog ate my homework?” Teachers didn’t believe it then and they don’t believe “The dog ate my flash drive” today. As far as I know, C.E. Ayr is the only person who actually took dog feces to class to support his case.
Other popular excuses in today’s world include; The FBI confiscated it as part of their investigation into Russian tampering. I was abducted by aliens and they kept it as part of their research. A tornado sucked it right out of my Mom’s car. I’d love you hear any creative excuses you can add to this list.
If you are new to Friday Flash Fiction, the Grand Marshall of our weekly parade of stories is renowned radio personality Gabby “Gate-Mouth” Wisoff-Fields. To learn how to submit your tale to the weekly collection, zip over to her blog for instructions. To rent a box in the FFF Hollywood Squares Authors Block click here.
Iowa City Fire Chief, Ken Peterson, removed his helmet and ran his fingers through what was left of his thin, graying hair.
This was their third fire in the past week. There would be an investigation of course, but he already knew the cause.
Fortunately, a lady in the apartment next door smelled the smoke and called 911. His crew arrived quickly and got the family out alive. The husband had been asleep on the couch, but they had to drag the wife out kicking and screaming—crying about losing her baby.
No wonder Peterson hated November. Damn that NaNoWriMo.
Black Friday Shopping
With Halloween securely in the rear-view mirror, the retail industry has declared Christmas Bombardment Season officially open. Apparently it’s “old school” to actually enjoy one holiday before moving on to the next.
Veteran’s Day is Saturday, but I’m not seeing ads for discounts on flags or restaurants offering free meals to those who’ve served our country. That means it’s up to us. If you know a Vet (and who doesn’t?), march right up to them, shake their hand, and thank them for their service. Don’t let this holiday get swept under the rug without acknowledging it.
If you are new to Friday Flash Fiction, our workshop is ran by Ma Keebler Wisoff-Fields, who serves up the prompts as part of her work-release program. To learn how to submit your tale to the weekly collection, zip over to her blog for instructions. To rent a box in the FFF Hollywood Squares Authors Block click here.
The day after Thanksgiving should be called something else. Black Friday doesn’t do it justice. People who never get up before 10am roll out of bed three hours before daylight, guzzle a gallon of coffee, and prepare to storm the stores.
Some women drag their husbands along as pack mules. I tried it once with Brad, but he’s harder to keep track of than a four-year-old at Chucky Cheese.
The concept of retail warfare flies over his head. It’s like trying to explain lip-gloss to a walrus. He nods like a bobble-head, but it just goes in one ear and out the other.
* the above is an excerpt from Black Friday Shopping Tips
The Spoiled Guest
I get my email in Outlook. Lately, the old gal has developed amnesia—or maybe Alzheimer’s. Either way it’s bad. She no longer recognizes me. Hers is short-term memory at its worst. Sometimes she asks me for my password two or three times a day.
I always click the little box that says, “Remember this password,” but she never does. I don’t know if an update would help her, or if she’s just getting to the age where she can’t remember who people are. That’s what happens when you get old (or, so I’m told).
If you are new to Friday Flash Fiction, our Facilitator has memory problems too. Each week I have to tell what her name is. You’d think she could remember something easy like What’s-Her-Face Wisoff-Fields? To learn how to submit your tale to the weekly collection, zip over to her blog for instructions. To rent a box in the FFF Hollywood Squares Authors Block click here.
copyright – Sarah Ann Hall
Dear Ma & Pa,
You was right about Aunt Ophelia and Uncle Wallace being surprised to see me. She broke out in tears and he was speechless for a couple of days. I never seen anybody so overcome with joy.
They shore got a fancy house. It’s even got an indoor toilet. There’s a big table in there with a whole bunch of jars on it. They’s so many, I didn’t know which pot to piss in.
Cousin Lucinda said if I come to her room tonight, she’d teach me a new game. I cain’t wait!
Your son,
Junior, Jr.
Draining the Swamp
“He’s more independent than a hog on ice.” This was one of my mother’s favorite sayings. In my sixty-plus years, I have yet to see a hog on ice so I don’t have a good visual image of what she was trying to communicate. What do you make of the metaphor?
Is the swine in question practicing a figure skating event for the upcoming 2018 Winter Olympics and unwilling to take instruction from his coach? Or, does he possess financial competency while sitting on a pile of diamonds? Or, is it a mixed drink made from bacon-flavored Liquor? I’d like your thoughts on this.
If you are new to Friday Flash Fiction, our Jewish expert on 100-word pork stories is Petunia Wisoff-Fields. To learn how to submit your tale to the weekly collection, zip over to her blog for instructions. To rent a box in the FFF Hollywood Squares Authors Block click here.
“We’ve been pumping for three days,” shouted Captain Ed Hocken above the roar of the diesel engine. “So far, all we’ve found is two revolvers, a shotgun, and a stolen car. What are you expecting to find, Lowry?”
“Evidence. You’ll know it when you don’t see it,” said the detective.
“Don’t tell me you’re still looking for that damn invisible box.”
Lowry glared at the gray Missouri bog. “It’s in there somewhere. Remember during questioning, when she kept tugging at her little feet like they were stuck in quicksand?”
“Yeah, she had a smirk too. You can’t trust mimes.”
The Battle of Gardenville
How many of you are collectors? As a youngster, I collected baseball cards. I’ve known people who collected stamps, coins, and belly-button lint. Not to be outdone, President Trump sports an impressive collection of ex-wives.
While collecting can be a fun, relaxing hobby, it can also become an obsession. The exhilaration of finding and adding a new piece to the collection is addictive and requires a frequent “fix” to satisfy the craving. Now’s the time to come clean. What do you collect?
If you are new to Friday Flash Fiction, the curator of 100-word stories is Gertrude Vanderbilt Wisoff-Fields. To learn how to submit your tale to the weekly collection, zip over to her blog for instructions. To rent a box in the FFF Hollywood Squares Authors Block click here.
“There he is,” whispered Platoon Commander Connie. “Shoot him.” She carried the flashlight while I lugged the heavy artillery, a bolt-action .22.
“Hold the light still.” The beam bounced around the backyard like a ping-pong ball in a blender. Sensing we were in a state of confusion, the armadillo launched a full-frontal assault and came charging toward our ankles.
A piercing scream shattered the night and echoed off distant planets. Rays from the flashlight ricocheted off tree limbs, power lines, and jet planes as the platoon commander retreated at warp speed–abandoning the lowly private in a vacuum of darkness.
*the above is an excerpt from a true-life adventure known as the “Battle of Gardenville.” The complete story will be included in my upcoming book.
Purchase ‘One Idiot Short of a Village’
Purchase ‘The Perils of Heavy Thinking’
What's So Funny? 