What's So Funny?
Russell Gayer, author speaker
The Waves of Our Lives
Have you ever noticed in those commercials for Viagra and Cialis how the narrator always says, “Ask your doctor if your heart is healthy enough for sex.” Well, I’ve never asked Dr. Bogomilov, but I imagine his response would be, “Vell, I guess you can try dat if you vant, but I tink you vill find it more pleasurable if you use a different organ.”
This leads me to the conclusion that somewhere in their twelve to fifteen years of medical school, physicians must required to take one of Dr. Kropotkin’s courses such as; Hospital Humor, Bedside Manner for Dummies, or The Human Funny Bone and How to Tickle it.
If you’re new to Friday Flash Fiction, the therapist who can teach you how to use your noodle to write 100 word stories is Karola Siegel (aka Dr. Ruth) Wisoff-Fields. If you’d like a book a session, visit her site and follow the step-by-step instructions. To view the writers in FFF Hollywood Squares Authors Block click here.
Janet, must you go?
Yes, Roger. This feeling’s been building in me for a long time. I can’t put it off any longer.
But what if they try to stop you?
Then I’ll do what I have to. I’ve never been one to make waves, but this is something I must do. They’ve left me no choice.
But you could be arrested, thrown in jail. What would that prove?
Perhaps my sacrifice would open the door for someone else.
Janet, you are the most courageous woman I’ve ever met.
Don’t be so melodramatic, Roger. I’m just going to the restroom.
Yes, this is my take on the transgender bathroom snafu that has so many people’s bowels in turbulence. If Janet wants to stand at the urinal next to mine and relieve herself, I really don’t have a problem with it–just as long as she doesn’t point and laugh.
Last week, asumani offered me a 75% discount if I could go three weeks without writing about bodily functions. Looks like someone is due a full refund.
I’ll Save You a Seat
A lot of people are terrified of speaking in front of a crowd. Not me. A tingle runs up my spine when I look out over a large, captivated audience and see people looking at their watches, yawning, and sending text messages to themselves just to pass the time.
It’s exhilarating to watch them inch ever closer to the edge of their seat while leaning back to count the number of tiles on the ceiling. But my favorite part is the thunderous sound of shoe soles echoing off ceramic flooring as they stampede toward the exits after my closing remarks. Not bragging, but sometimes the mere mention of my name sends them running.
If you’re new to Friday Flash Fiction, the public speaker who can teach you to write 100 word stories worth listening to is Dalette Carnegie Wisoff-Fields. If you’d like a Free 90 day trial, visit her site and follow the step-by-step instructions. To view the writers in FFF Hollywood Squares Authors Block click here.
Hey, I just got a great idea. Wanna hear it?
Not really. Most of your ideas are pretty lame, but humor me.
That’s it.
That’s what?
You know how they have conferences for different writing genres, like Western Writers of America, Science Fiction & Fantasy, and Romance Writers?
Yeah, go on.
Why not hold one for humor writers? I’ve got some great speakers in mind.
You mean like Dave Barry and Fran Lebowitz?
Not exactly. I can only afford those two guys from Friday Flash Fiction, Russell Gayer and Perry Block.
Really? How much are you paying attendees to come?
The White Tufts of Rover
Did you ever wonder if birds in other countries chirp in a different language than those where you live? Me neither. However, it does sound reasonable.
Researchers at the Perry Block Institute for Birdbrain Studies recently released a report supporting this theory. According to their study, crows from the Northeast U.S. alert their companions of oncoming traffic by calling out “Cah, cah,” while their cousins from the South scream, “Y’all, y’all,” (short for y’all look out). The southern crows are also much slower getting the message out, resulting in more highway fatalities in Birmingham than Boston.
If you’re new to Friday Flash Fiction, the insurance agent who offers writers coverage against birdbrain stories is Flo Nightingale Wisoff-Fields. If you’d like a Free 90 day trial, visit her site and follow the step-by-step instructions. To view the writers on a wire in FFF Hollywood Squares Authors Block click here.
General Starling reviewed the reconnaissance report and made a few last minute adjustments to the battle plan.
Satisfied, he smiled at Lieutenant Limbhopper and gave the order. “We attack at dawn. They’ll never know what hit ‘em.”
The word passed quickly down the line.
“We attack at dawn.”
“We attack her lawn.
“She eats her spawn.”
“The flapjacks are gone.”
“Your mother’s name is Ron.”
“Bonham drives a baby-blue Prius.”
Despite the poor communications, the raid was executed with surgical precision. The enemy awoke to the ravages of explosions that left no windshield unscathed.
Historians labeled it “The Shitzkrieg.”
Crop Dusting the Five & Dime
When I was a boy, my favorite store was Sterling’s 5 & 10 on Emma Avenue. It was located next to a Mom & Pop bakery with a screen door on the front. In the summer, the tempting aroma of fresh baked pies, yeast rolls, and donuts wafted out onto the street. My highly trained olfactory senses would pick up the scent two blocks away. Captivated by this magic spell, I would lumber down the sidewalk in zombie fashion, salivating like Pavlov’s dog.
After satisfying my tastebuds with a couple of donuts and a maple bar, I would wander into Sterling’s to fondle the toys and plastic trinkets (made in Japan–not China) with my glaze-coated fingers. Once all these prize objects had been thoroughly covered in sticky fingerprints, I would purchase four or five packs of baseball cards and a nickel’s worth of bubble gum and jawbreakers. Today’s kids don’t know what they’re missing.
If you’re new to Friday Flash Fiction, the proprietor of this Shady Rest Hotel of writers is Kate Bradley Wisoff-Fields. If you’d like to fill the role of Billie Jo, Betty Jo, Bobby Jo, or even Uncle Joe with one of your stories, visit her site and follow the step-by-step instructions. To view the wanted posters of writers in FFF Hollywood Squares Authors Block click here.
An invisible cloud of noxious gas eased out the back of Darryl’s denim jeans and cascaded down the aisle, expanding in mushroom-cloud-fashion like fallout from a nuclear bomb.
Oswald Pembrook, located closest to ground zero, was the first to notice the change in atmospheric conditions. He sniffed the air, then quickly covered his nose and mouth with a handkerchief, attempting to ward off the rising effluvium. Tears streamed down his cheeks.
A look of horror swept across Beulah McGillicutty’s face. All color drained from her complexion. She stood frozen, staring into space, as if turned to a pillar of salt.
*This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual events or people (i.e. – Cousin Jerry, Perry Block, Kent Bonham, etc.) is purely coincidental.
Dumb as a Post
Today, I passed one of those Men at Work signs along the highway. According to Department of Labor, this phrase is intended to imply that somewhere within a quarter-mile radius one poor sap is working his tail off while five or six more lean on shovels and discuss the weather, sports, and that hot young waitress down at The Rowdy Beaver.
I’m thinking about ordering a Man at Work sign for around the house. That way, when Connie comes to check on the progress of a project she’s assigned me, she won’t have to ask what I’m doing when she finds me standing there stroking my chin whiskers. She’ll know I’m hard at work figuring out where to find some poor sap to do the job while I keep the shovel from falling over.
If you’re new to Friday Flash Fiction, the Bosshoss of this road crew of shovel-leaners is Sammie “Spade” Wisoff-Fields. If you’d like to fill an empty pothole with one of your stories, visit her site and follow the step-by-step instructions. To view the jury box of writers in FFF Hollywood Squares Authors Block click here.
“Marge, did you hear that Mayor Peterson wants to build a fence around the cemetery?”
“Why would he want to do that? Those dead people aren’t rising up again, are they?”
“No, it’s to keep the illegally dead out. You know, those who died here without proper documentation and are demanding to receive the same benefits as those who died legally.”
“What benefits?”
“For one thing, they get free lawn care all summer and artificial flowers on Memorial Day.”
“Won’t they just climb over or tunnel under the fence?
“Of course they will. Mayor Peterson is dumb as a post.”
Blind in One Ear
How many of you remember sonic booms? If you do, all I’ve got to say is, “Damn, you’re old.”
I’m not sure what year they outlawed planes breaking the sound barrier (maybe one of our History Detectives will reveal the date in the comments section), but those earth-shattering explosions in the sky would rattle windows for miles around—much like a former co-worker of mine when he “broke wind.”
I’m not blaming my hearing loss on either of those events. A recent accident at the Ear, Nose, & Throat Clinic has left me with a hole in my right eardrum. Now, I’m the proverbial old man who’s blind in one ear and can’t see out of the other.
If you’re new to Friday Flash Fiction, the talented artist who can teach you to color outside the lines is Binney-Smith Wisoff-Fields. If you’d like to dip your toe in this brave new venture, visit her site and follow the step-by-step instructions. To view the kaleidoscope of writers in FFF Hollywood Squares Authors Block click here.
“Grandma, do you know what happened to my crayons?”
“Uncle Kent got an adult coloring book today. You should’ve seen him. He was so excited. He grabbed your crayons and ran outside.”
“I saw the book, but why did he—”
“You know, therapists say creating artwork can help adults explore their feelings, reconcile emotional conflicts, foster self-awareness, manage behavior and addictions, develop social skills, improve reality orientation, reduce anxiety and increase self-esteem.”
“When I see him, Uncle Kent’s gonna get a dose of reality orientation.”
“Why do you say that, Sweetheart?”
“He chewed the wrapper off every crayon.”
Liar’s Grove
Yesterday, I gave my 2nd Toastmaster’s speech at a club meeting. This was Project #8 from the Competent Communicator handbook and required the use of visual aids. I made some oversized flash cards to walk the audience through the hazards of “Irritable Vowel Syndrome.”
As a writer, I’m sure you’re well aware of the problems IVS can cause. Just the other day, I was scratching graffiti on a bathroom wall when “I” and “E” got into a fistfight over who should go first in the middle of a word. Things got ugly. It’s no wonder Perry can’t get a date.
If you’re new to Friday Flash Fiction, the Letter Tamer who has no problem getting her vowels and consonants to jump through flaming hoops is Jackie Collins 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 mug shots of all the addicts in FFF Hollywood Squares Authors Half-way House click here.
Our route to New Orleans skirted around Memphis and cut south, straight through Mississippi.
“Connie, did I ever tell you about my job at the cookie factory in Jackson?” I pointed to a road sign announcing the first exit to the city.
“No. When did you work there?”
“It was a summer job. I was responsible for adding raisins to the oatmeal cookie batter. Everything went fine until we ran out of raisins.”
“What happened then?”
“I substituted ‘smart pills.’ That is, until my boss fired me.”
“Why did he do that?
“He said the smart pills tasted like rabbit shit. To which I replied, ‘See, you’re getting smarter already.’”
*the above FF is an excerpt from the short story, What Happens in New Orleans.
My Daughter, My Hero
This commentary ran in the editorial section of the Northwest Arkansas Democrat Gazette on March 26, 2016. Connie and I couldn’t be prouder of our daughter. She is a free spirit, an articulate writer, and wise beyond her years.
Commentary: Rude is rude, politically correct or not.
Allendorf speaks for herself
Greta Allendorf is a better writer than I am.
A Fayetteville City Council member disrespected her at a local coffee shop where she works. His remarks were overheard and made public. Allendorf wrote about both the insult and the unwelcome publicity it brought, posting a letter to the alderman on the Internet last week. That letter was gracious while making strong, uncompromising points. That’s a difficult balance to strike, as any writer knows. Allendorf consented to reprinting her letter here.
First, some context. Councilman John La Tour asked her to join him in an impromptu dance a week ago Friday but wanted her to confirm her gender first. She objected. He went on, saying at some point, “I am a man and I can prove it.”
La Tour was trying to say something about the city’s civil rights ordinance at Allendorf’s expense. La Tour’s disdain for the voter-approved ordinance and the standard of civility it sets is no secret. But consider his conduct even by traditional standards.
No gentleman would ask a lady in public if she is a man. If he was unsure, a gentleman would keep quiet rather than risk giving offense. There was no need for La Tour to know. If he had doubts, he didn’t have to ask for a dance. And a gentleman also wouldn’t tell a lady in a public place he’s “a man and can prove it,” whatever the context.
La Tour’s comments are no reflection upon the femininity of Allendorf’s appearance. He admitted his inability to judge such differences by offering proof of his own gender, his own appearance notwithstanding.
Here’s the letter:
“John La Tour,
“Hi. You may remember me from Friday. I’m the ‘waitress’ you had the unfortunate encounter with. I am not actually a ‘waitress.’ I am a barista, and more importantly, a human being. I acknowledge that you are also a human being and not the complete monster you are currently being portrayed as on social media. I am also not the victim I see described in these posts.
“On the morning of our incident, I didn’t know who you were and just thought you were a jerk being a jerk to someone in the service industry. It happens everyday. When you apologized, you said it wasn’t your intention to offend me, but what was your intention? It seems now that whether you realized it or not, your intention was to bully someone who obviously didn’t share your political notions. Whether that’s true or not, you should know that your insensitivity to the plight of others can be very hurtful. Your behavior was unacceptable regardless.
“You said to me that it’s not hard to declare gender, that there are only two choices, male or female. I, like you, am not well versed in gender politics. We just can’t possibly understand what it means to be transgender. But in my lack of understanding, there’s a well of compassion. I can’t imagine how hard it must be to just exist in a world of those who don’t understand and hate you merely for existing. In your lack of understanding, there is fear. I get that. That’s very human of you. But how does that fear serve you? How does it serve your children?
“It certainly didn’t do much for you this weekend. It was no fun for me either. Our little encounter has blown up in a way neither us of would have expected. I don’t revel in this kind of attention and chose to lay low, but that felt more victimizing, and irresponsible. The things you said to me on Friday were wildly inappropriate and even though I personally didn’t feel assaulted or sexually harassed, I have to speak up for those your bullying was intended for.
“I hope this weekend has shown you that you are governing a community that doesn’t share your oppressive belief system and doesn’t tolerate this kind of treatment of its citizens, regardless of the gender they identify with. We no longer see you fit for duty. I hope you choose to resign your post, but if not, maybe you can choose to move forward, regardless of your beliefs, with an attitude of respect, compassion, and humanness towards your constituents. We’re all in this together.
“And for the record, I declare myself woman. And I love to dance. If you can put aside the fear and hate, I’d love to take you up on that dance, regardless of how you identify.
“Love & Guts,
“Greta”
Stuporman
I’ve never been a big fan of superheroes with the possible exceptions of Underdog and Super Chicken. Generally, I prefer the bumbling anti-hero who strives to avoid conflict, but tends to accidently save the day simply by default.
Such characters consistently fail in areas where they most desire to succeed (i.e., romance, best-selling author, etc.), and have an uncanny knack of always ending up in the wrong place at the wrong time. Trouble follows them like a band of gypsy hemorrhoids, yet they can’t help but crawl out of every sewage hole smelling like a rose.
If you’re new to Friday Flash Fiction, the cosmetic-wielding Wonder Woman who can teach you to hold successful home parties from the comfort of your own blog is Mary Kay Wisoff-Fields. If you’d like to dip your toe in this brave new venture, visit her site and follow the step-by-step instructions. To view the imprisoned souls in FFF Hollywood Squares Authors Block click here.
Slower than a sloth wading through molasses!
More powerful than an extra-strength laxative!
Able to leap small bounds in a single building!
Look! In your soup!
It’s a fly! It’s a bug!
It’s Stuporman!
Yes, it’s Stuporman… strange visitor from another planet, who came to Earth with a bad toupee and reasoning abilities far beneath those of a concrete garden gnome!
Stuporman… who can reverse the flow of raw sewage, bend spaghetti noodles with his bare hands, and who, disguised a foul-mouth politician from a great northeastern metropolis, fights a never-ending battle for ignorance, hatred, social injustice, and the extinction of the American Dream!
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Stuporman did not authorize or offer to pay me millions of dollars to post this on my site. He furthermore wishes me to inform you that any resemblance between his character and that of any politician living or dead is strictly a coincidence.
Flushed
I’ve taken many personality tests over the years, including the famous “Berkman.” It’s amazing how accurate most of them are in describing all of my wonderful qualities, especially my modesty and humility. These traits come in handy when I’m standing in front of a crowd giving a block-buster speech
One thing they haven’t been able to do is tell me how to overcome SAD (Socially Awkward Disorder). No, this isn’t some sort of political aversion. It’s what happens when you put me in a situation with a group of strangers and expect me to mingle and be fluent in chit-chat and small talk. I freeze up. Connie usually finds me cowering in a corner, hiding behind a magazine. She tells me, “It’ll be all right,” but it never is.
If you’re new to Friday Flash Fiction, the cigar-smoking psychoanalyst who peels back the layers of our weekly tales is Sigourney Freud Wisoff-Fields. If you’d like to participate in this exercise of madness, stretch out on her couch and follow the step-by-step instructions. To view the imprisoned souls in FFF Hollywood Squares Authors Block click here.
One day, a couple of us boys were in the restroom when someone discovered one of the toilets was clogged. When flushed, water would surge over the side and create a miniature tsunami across the floor.
An older Jewish boy, Perry, pulled out his toy Egyptians and Hebrews, and suggested we stage a reenactment of Moses parting the Red Sea.
While Perry was being paddled for flooding the teacher’s lounge, I returned to the restroom before heading back to class. From out of nowhere, visions of Pharaoh and Egyptian chariots stampeded across my consciousness.
One more flush couldn’t hurt anything.
Purchase ‘One Idiot Short of a Village’
Purchase ‘The Perils of Heavy Thinking’
What's So Funny? 