What's So Funny?
Russell Gayer, author speaker
A Time for a Pill
My mother loved to watch soap operas. As a small boy, I can remember being told frequently to “Sshhs-it” during The Edge of Night. Mom scheduled all of her daily activities around these never-ending dramas, referring to them as “Her Shows.” My favorite character was the incredibly beautiful, lying, scheming, cheating, two-timing, home-wrecker whom my mother nicknamed, “That Little Hussy.”
What amazed me about these programs was how slowly the action unfolded. You could miss every episode for six weeks, and when you tuned in again, “BAM!” Rachel was still in a coma, Harvey was still on trial for flushing a goldfish, and Louise was still in the arms of her husband’s proctologist (Let’s hope he washed his hands first).
Welcome to the Thursday edition of Friday Flash Fiction. The executive producer and director of this program is Mary Tyler More-or-Less 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.
Jacqueline was waiting in the vestibule of the assisted care complex when he arrived. She was born deaf, dumb, and blind, but endowed with a rack like Dolly Parton.
Perry had promised to take her to an off-Broadway production of the rock opera, Tommy, and then to a video arcade for pinball before swinging by the “love shack” for a nightcap.
Anticipating an evening of romance, he took a pill. The directions read, “for best results, take thirty minutes to an hour before bed.”
Nuzzling her neck, Perry showered her with tender kisses. Minutes later he was sound asleep.
I promised Perry I’d let him get the girl in 2017, but he still managed to bungle it. Perhaps he shouldn’t store his Viagra in the same medicine cabinet as his Unisom.
Love at the Greasy Spoon
I feel sorry for all those people who put a lot of thought into Christmas shopping. They spend hours, weeks, sometimes months agonizing over which gifts to buy for their loved ones only to get a ho-hum response from the recipient before the item reappears three months later in a garage sale.
My approach is much simpler. Start at the garage sale and work your way back. So what if a wheel is missing on Tommy’s toy truck or Jenny’s doll only has one arm? The kids are going to spend more time playing with the box it came in than the actual toy anyway. And who cares if that decorative pillow has a wine stain on one side? Just pass it off as mode o’ day camo. They’ll love it.
If this is your first visit to the Friday Flash Fiction Flea Market of stories, the proprietress who offers a no-money-back guarantee is Felece’d Ya 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.
“You want fries with that?”
Still staring at the menu, he pointed to a cream pie photo.
“We got banana, coconut, or chocolate. Which do ya want?”
“Umph,” he grunted.
Working a block from the interstate, Fay had seen his kind before. A big, hairy galoot with bad table manners. His weathered hands made the salt shaker look like a thimble. Definitely not a tipper—this one.
“Banana it is.” She felt his gaze on her back as she went for the pie.
He gulped it down and headed for the door.
“Be careful, Kong. It’s a jungle out there.”
Y’all-Tide Greetings
Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, and best wishes to all. The cover photo of this year’s card was taken by our four-year-old granddaughter, Maudeline Bee.
Howdy friends and neighbors,
This year has been filled with more ups and downs than a roller coaster bouncing on a trampoline. Polly and I have been working on a new Christmas album containing several never popular and unrequested classics, such as;
Little Dumber Boy · Grandpa Got Run Over by a Beer Truck · Wide Christmas · Oh, Little Clown of Goshen Town · Rudolf the Brown-Nose Reindeer · Barely Audible Night (closed captioned for the hearing impaired)
We hope these songs will touch your heart and make this Christmas a memorable one for you and your loved ones.
Remember, often and always, to make a Joyful noise unto the Lord.
God Bless Y’all and have a Merry Christmas.
X________________________ X_______________________________
His mark her mark
The Old Grey Mare
Some of you may not be aware of the wide array of Prank Gift Boxes available this holiday season. Best sellers include, Turn & Churn, a butter maker that bolts on to your car’s tire, Bacon-Scented Dryer Sheets, and the ever popular Ear Wax Candle Kit (shown below).
Too bad they didn’t ask me. I’m sure my line of Pre-Soiled Underwear gift boxes would’ve broken new sales records. Available in a variety of colors and styles, these fabulous unmentionables come straight from the factory with a yellow stain in the front and brown racing-stripe down the back. Scented options include; Pickled Eggs & Beer, Buzzard Breath, and Brown Bean Blowout.
If you are new to Friday Flash Fiction, our infomercial host who makes buying gag gifts fun, is Veronica Popeil 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.
“Henry,” she barked. “Eat your gruel before it gets cold.”
He stared at the tasteless, gray matter before him.
“There are millions of starving children in this world who’d love to eat as well as you do.”
The gruel stared back—taunting him.
“After breakfast, chop a hole in the pond. Those horses need water. Feed the chickens, and bust some kindling up while you’re out there,” his mother ordered.
“C.E. is coming over today,” Henry mumbled.
“Humph. What’s that little, dried-up Scot want?”
“He’s going to help me with my chores. I hear he’s very good with an axe.”
Snow-Global Warming (or Fantasy Island)
“Silver bells, silver bells . . .” Okay, okay, I promise to stop singing if each of you will make a $5 donation to the charity of your choice. Otherwise you’ll be forced to listen to my stirring rendition of “Little Dumber Boy.” (You can imagine who that’s about)
Remember all the great variety show Christmas specials that used to be on TV? People like Andy Williams, Perry Como, Glen Campbell, and Fester Ledbelly? They’d sing all the yuletide classics until you thought you were going to puke. And who can forget Iron Butterfly’s “In a Godda Davinity?” Those were the days.
If you are new to Friday Flash Fiction, our variety show host who makes every day a holiday, is Doris Day-O 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.
“Please, Dad,” begged Brandon. “Tell me again how you discovered global warming and saved the planet.”
“Well, son, I can’t take all the credit. Al Gore and I were being held captive by a tribe of scantily-clad Polynesian girls on a deserted island known as Hawaii. Every night, we were forced to drink Mai Tai and satisfy their lustful desires.
“While there, I invented the Internet and discovered snow-global warming. Al was able to escape and shared my discoveries with the world.”
Perry shook a snow-globe and sat it on the table.
“See, son. It’s melting.”
“Gee, Dad. You’re a genius.”
We should all be as fortunate as Brandon and have a hero like that to look up to.
On a side note, Al Gore had promised, if elected president, to appoint Mr. Block to a high-ranking position in the Department of Defense where he would have been known simply as Admiral Perry.
Traditions – The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly
With Christmas approaching, I thought I’d share a holiday story of how we established a tradition in our family. This is a video from the speech I gave on this topic at a Toastmasters meeting yesterday. Good luck with all your family traditions.
Roughin’ It
The VP of the group I report to decided that everyone in our family tree needed to do a Stretch Assignment. This has nothing to do with wearing yoga pants or watching videos of Richard Simmons, but rather an exercise designed to encourage people to try something outside their comfort zone.
A large number of us were voluntold that this would be a wonderful opportunity to learn new skills and remain gainfully employed. Over the years, Connie and I have grown quite fond of eating regularly and sleeping indoors. Therefore, I will do my best to become as pliable as a rubber band and get so far out of my comfort zone that even Rod Serling would be proud.
If you are new to Friday Flash Fiction, the mental aerobics instructor at our writing boot camp, is Jacqui LaLanne 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.
After his lawyers were done weaving lies and bribing the judge, all she got in the divorce settlement was a used tent, a cheap ice chest, a broken grill, and half a bag of charcoal briquettes.
“No ex-wife of mine is going to sleep out in the cold,” he bragged to reporters after offering to throw in a portable heater.
It was hard to believe she was once a beauty queen. But now, over forty and no longer considered a ten, he swept her aside like yesterday’s trash.
Damn prenuptials.
“Should’ve read the fine print, Mrs. Trump,” said her lawyer.
The Invisible Box – part III
My driver’s license expired last week. In October, Arkansas began offering so-called “enhanced driver licenses” to bring the state in line with federal Real ID Act standards. By 2020 a Real ID card will be required to board commercial airplanes or enter federal facilities.
I was relieved to discover that getting the “enhanced” version was not going to require a surgical procedure to enlarge any part of my anatomy. I would be required however, to provide up to eighteen documents verifying my existence as a result of live birth (rather than divine creation ~ i.e., God’s gift to women).
The process was zipping along at the pace of a snail crawling through a molasses bog until we got to the part where they take your picture. Evidently, the customer ahead of me was a Perry Block look-a-like, causing both the camera and ID printer to crash. After giving the equipment repeated CPR and a cold shower, the DVM personnel were finally able to issue me a Real ID.
If you are new to Friday Flash Fiction, the photo archiver who issues fresh prompts each week, is Mattie Brady 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.
“What’s behind the door, Ma’am?” asked Detective Lowry.
“Oh, just This, That, and Sometimes the Other,” replied the Bobster. “Why do you ask?”
“I’m following up on an investigation. Would you mind opening it for me?”
“Sure. Please Say Kaddish for Me.”
“Huh?” Her response caught Lowry off guard. “Okay, I’ll play along. Kaddish.”
“See that wasn’t so hard.” She flashed an impish grin. Unlocking the chains, she swung the door open.
Inside, he discovered a beret, a purple mime outfit, and a tube of face paint. “Where did these come from?” he asked.
“From Silt and Ashes, of course,” she replied.
Mattie “Bubster” Brady, author of the books mentioned above.
Second Fiddle
Wednesday was the anniversary of my 29th birthday. On that hallowed day in 1984, prophets, tea-leaf readers, and a certain televangelist from Tulsa, had predicted time, as we know it, would stand still.
The catch was, to get your name on the list for the individual, anti-aging, time freeze, the envelope containing your donation to Jacob’s Ladder Prayer Tower Fund had to be postmarked by midnight on the 15th. Fortunately, mine was stamped at 11:58pm.
Flash forward to 2016 and you’ll see that I’m still the same dashingly handsome, modest, and extremely humble, boy-genius from days gone by. The product has retained its classic originality, only the packaging has been updated to lock-in freshness and appeal to a wider, global audience.
If you are new to Friday Flash Fiction, the Marketing Director who posts fresh photo prompts each week, is Lili Von Shtupp 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.
Born the result of a one-night-stand between a Double Bass and a French horn, Chantelle never fit in.
Rejected by orchestras, marching bands, and traveling gypsies, she found herself relegated to serving sour notes at a third-rate comedy club.
Her range spanned seven octaves, but her voice was always slightly off-key. Musicians debated whether she was a wind, or string instrument, while the comedians thrived on cruel jokes about her f-holes.
An odd-looking rich man saw her act and booked her for an outdoor event on January 20th.
“You’re a perfect fit,” he said, “to play Hail to the Chief.”
Chip off the Old Block
I’m a firm believer that the best way to improve your skills, whether it be in writing, sports, music, or attempting brain surgery, is to hang out with people who are better than you in your chosen discipline.
With that in mind, I recently joined a group that walks and chews gum at the same time. Believe it or not, a couple of our club members have even mastered blowing bubbles while performing this arduous task. Next week, we’ll compete against a team from Walmart headquarters. I’m confident we’ll chew ‘em up while walking circles around them.
If you are new to Friday Flash Fiction, the captain of our team, who never drags her feet when her mouth is full of gum, is Double Bubble 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.
Margo tiptoed up to the porch, her knees clamped together.
“Y’all got a bathroom?”
She squinted through pop-bottle-thick lenses. A short man with a large nose stood near the door, staring back at her.
“What’s a matter, don-chya speak English?”
“Humph,” she grunted. “Listen shorty, if I don’t find a restroom soon—”
“He can’t talk, Ma’am,” said a voice beyond the screen door. “He’s just for looks.”
“Well, he might’ve been cute at one time, but a gal would need a bottle of wine and two brown paper bags to get cozy with him now. Where’d you find him?”
“Philadelphia.”
Evidently, Perry’s began a new career as doorman at the Tucumcari Trading Post. Let’s hope that most of the visitors are more gracious to him than Margo.
Purchase ‘One Idiot Short of a Village’
Purchase ‘The Perils of Heavy Thinking’
What's So Funny? 