What's So Funny?
Russell Gayer, author speaker
Murphy’s Other Law
In honor of St. Paddy’s Day, it only seems fitting to pay tribute to the great Irish philosopher and noted lawmaker, Murphy. Now, I don’t know anything about his history, family life, or how many pints of Guinness he could drink before he had to relieve himself, but I am familiar with his laws.
One that I seem intent on proving and reproving multiple times daily is the famous, “Whichever lane I move to will immediately slow down, and the one I left will immediately speed up.” This law applies not only to traffic, but supermarkets, department stores, and public restrooms—any place where lines are formed. A nice addendum would be, “If you’re in a hurry, don’t follow Russell.”
If you’re new to Friday Flash Fiction, the Chief Justice who presides over the court of Fictioneers is the honorable Peppermint Patty 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 avatars of all the kangaroos in FFF Hollywood Squares Authors Court click here.
March 17, 1886
After not seeing another human for six months, a mountain man stopped by today and invited me to a party at his cabin.
He warned me there would be plenty of whiskey and heavy drinking. I assured him that as an old sailor, I’d emptied many tankards of rum.
Then he mentioned there would likely be some fighting. Whereupon, I shared stories of past brawls and melees.
Upon leaving, he informed me his parties often concluded with people having sex. I fought to conceal my excitement.
“What should I wear?” I asked.
“Nothing fancy,” he replied. “It’ll just be the two of us.”
Dumpster Diving
The results of the MRI scan on my brain are in. Connie and I met with a neurologist yesterday and he and a panel of three other doctors have concluded that I have a severe case of Sick-Cell Overload or Humorrhoiditis. The disease effects the Bouche de Toilette, or Potty Mouth Quadrant, of the brain. There is no known cure.
This may come as no surprise to most of you, especially Cousin Jerry who has been telling people for years that I’m certifiable. I never knew what that meant, but naturally assumed it was something akin to a registered letter from the post office.
If you’re new to Friday Flash Fiction, the television, radio, and book club celebrity who headlines our weekly program is Mae Midwest Wisoff-Fields. If you’d like to “Come up and see us sometime,” visit her blog for step-by-step instructions. To view the international avatars of the writers in FFF Hollywood Squares Authors Block click here.
“Russell, why do we have to get here so early? It’s an hour before sunrise. You know I need my beauty rest.”
“I can’t argue with that, Perry. But I’m afraid it would take more than a Rip Van Winkle nap to improve your looks. We have to get here early before all the best jokes are taken. Now, let me help you into the dumpster.”
“Why do I have to get in the dumpster?”
“Because you’re the crazy comic and I’m the handsome straight man. And don’t waste time looking for self-deprecating humor. I’ll take care of that for you.”
“Gee, thanks.”
Conserving Energy
Rather than warm up an old post from 2012, I decided to conserve even more energy and clip an excerpt from an already completed story. This week’s offering comes from my yet to be published essay entitled, “The Seven Six Habits of Highly Effective Procrastinators.”
Today’s lesson comes from Habit 5 – Natural Slothness. Even a novice procrastinator can achieve mediocrity by applying the Goldilocks Principle. Everything is either too hot or too cold, too hard or too soft, too fast or too slow, too big or too small—you get the picture.
If you’re new to Friday Flash Fiction, the master story teller who always keeps a fable on her table, is Mother Goose 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 not-made-for-TV avatars of the writers in FFF Hollywood Squares Authors Block click here.
With regular practice, the Goldilocks principle can become a key element in your daily routine.
If you drink coffee or tea, it may require hundreds of trials before achieving the optimum strength and bite of the brew. Then, consider the endless variety of additives. Perhaps you enjoy cream, sugar, honey, or a healthy shot of bourbon to enhance the flavor.
One morning, it took three of us Master Procrastinators four hours to perfect the ultimate blend of Irish Coffee.
I can’t remember what we did to celebrate this achievement, but was told later that I had a really good time.
Homecoming 1967
What’s up with these adult sippy cups? Apparently it’s fashionable for everyone in the thirty-something crowd to be seen in public carrying around highly insulated drink containers with spill-proof lids. They sit around the break room and brag about how the ice hasn’t melted after two days in the Sahara, or the coffee was still hot after climbing to the top of Mount Everest.
Hello?? ~ Here’s a news flash for you. ~ You’re supposed to DRINK the beverage, not carry it around for weeks conducting temperature experiments. I suppose in a few years this same crowd will be comparing notes on adult diapers. Boy, isn’t that something to look forward to.
If you’re new to Friday Flash Fiction, our hostess, who insists all stories fall somewhere between freezing and boiling, is Aladdin Von Yeti 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 dishwasher-safe mugs of the writers in FFF Hollywood Squares Authors Block click here.
“When the emcee called my name, I sashayed toward the microphone, accenting my patented hip-wiggle with every step. From out of nowhere this little, brown, Southwestern purse came waddling across the stage—straight for my ankles.
“I screamed. We all screamed. Even the marching band broke ranks and ran.
“Then that hag from Morrilton, ‘Debbie “Do-Gooder” Henderson,’ ran up and booted the armadillo with such force it went flying through the papier-mâché goal post on the Delta Chi float.
“The crowd went wild. Coach Broyles was so impressed he offered her a football scholarship and crowned her Homecoming Queen right there on the spot.
“I’ve hated that witch ever since.”
This event recalled by second-string cheerleader and renowned drama queen, Virginia Saxton. (An excerpt from the short story, Welcome to the Land of Opportunity)
Case of the Lame Punch Line
I’ve been kicking around a story line idea in which my buddy, Perry Block, stars as detective Sam “Lamp” Shade, who’s hired to recover his client’s sense of humor which was stolen while she watched a Republican political debate.
Groans abound as Block leaves no pun unturned in this rousing tale of international intrigue. He struggles to find something funny—anything funny—to make his client, Margarette, (played by the lovely and talented Dale Rogerson) laugh again.
If you’re new to Friday Flash Fiction, our house detective, who has solved more mysteries than Brian Doyle-Murray, is Slippery Elm 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 fashionable faux hairpieces of the writers in FFF Hollywood Squares Authors Block click here.
“Look there, Watson. What do you see?”
“It appears a gadget of some sort. For what purpose, I cannot determine.”
“Precisely. You see, but you do not observe. There is nothing more deceptive than an obvious fact.”
“I’m not sure I’m following you, Holmes.”
“The device has been strategically placed at the foot of this bed, taking into strict account the position of the sun and prevailing winds. The key to this mystery is found in the bed itself.”
“Surely you don’t mean—“
“Precisely. The bed has been stripped. Look again, Watson. What do you see now?”
“No sheets, Sherlock.”
On the Road to Dreams
Well, the results came back on the MRI of my brain. No cave drawings this time, just an endless black frontier where even the boldest of thoughts dare not go.
About ten years ago, I was diagnosed with apnea and have been tethered to a CPAP machine ever since. Now, they are telling me I need to have another sleep study to determine if adjustments are needed regarding the volume of air pumped into my system. Perhaps they’re onto something as my belly appears to have inflated to the size of a truck tire over the past few years.
If you’re new to Friday Flash Fiction, the hypnotist who waves a new photo on her website every week, causing some of us to doze into dreamland, is Dr. Wilma C. Dement 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 fashionable CPAP masks of the writers in FFF Hollywood Squares Authors Block click here.
“You’re getting very, very, sleepy.” Professor Dement dangled a wind-up alarm clock in front of my face.
“No, I’m not.”
“Yes, you are. Trust me on this one.”
“Okay. I’ll try.” I faked a yawn and batted my eyelids in slow motion.
“Imagine you’re in a field of soft, green grass, surrounded by yellow flowers.”
“All I’m seeing is skyscrapers and a dirty sidewalk.”
“A beautiful woman is walking toward you. She has something in her hands. A gift of love.”
“It looks like a broom and dustpan.”
“She draws near. Your lips touch.”
The alarm clock jingles.
“Zzzzzzzz . . .”
This week’s post inspired by the Cream song, “Deserted Cities of the Heart”
Chateau de Bunny
This Saturday, I’ve been asked to give the eulogy for my high school printing instructor. I enrolled in Graphic Arts, thinking it might lead to a future where I could utilize my skill with crayons and colored markers. I soon discovered Graphic Arts was just a fancy name for printing.
It was there, in printing class, where I met the most beautiful young woman. She had long, flowing hair and a smile that could light up the entire western hemisphere. We became inseparable, and were married shortly after my nineteenth birthday. That was forty-one years ago this month.
If you’re new to Friday Flash Fiction, the Sentimental Journalist who writes diary entries for fictional characters is Mad Housewife (or, MH if you dare) 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 fashionable hairstyles of the writers in FFF Hollywood Squares Authors Block click here.
“Are you sure this is the right address?” Harry studied the smeared ink blots scrawled on a cocktail napkin.
“Of course it is. Honest John said it had a metal gate.” Lloyd pressed his face against the lattice and peered inside.
“It doesn’t look anything like the pictures in the magazine or on TV. You don’t think Honest John would rip us off, do you?”
“Nah. Once you walk through that front door in your smoking jacket and silk pajamas, girls will be all over you, Harry.”
“That’ll be cool. Who would’ve thought we could afford our own Playboy Mansion?”
After conferring with Perry, we decided these to rename the characters Harry & Lloyd, as this is supposed to be fiction.
Jingle Magic
Tomorrow, I have a couple of medical appointments. Dr. Connie has made arrangements for MRI scan of my brain. The last time they did this procedure, May of 2010, doctors discovered cave drawings of primitive hunters gorging themselves on buffalo fat laced with Cialis. Unfortunately, ancient man had no bath tubs, but the images did reveal males and females sitting next to each other in his & hers mud puddles.
Afterwards, I’m scheduled for a carotid ultrasound to see if there’s any blood getting to my brain. Many of you who are regular readers of this blog have often expressed concern about the inner working of my brain, or lack thereof. These tests will likely confirm your suspicions.
If you’re new to Friday Flash Fiction, the Surgeon General who has issued a mental health warning regarding the post below is C. Evelyn Croup 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 fashionable hairstyles of the writers in FFF Hollywood Squares Authors Block click here.
Hello, boys and girls. Welcome to The Jingle Writer. This week we’ll learn how to work “Jingle Magic” for products no one wants to buy, but everyone needs in their medicine cabinet.
Finding words that rhyme with the product name can be tricky. In those cases, focus on the intended benefits and add a cheerful melody.
If there’s poison in your soup
And it’s either die or puke
Grab a bottle, drink it fast
Sandra’s Syrup of Ip-e-cac
Here’s another example;
When lame humor stories
Become a pain in the behind
Insert a Block Suppository
And ease your troubled mind.
Today’s post sponsored by;
Sandra’s Syrup of Ipecac ~ Sweet, yet extremely unsettling
Block’s Suppositories ~ Tapered, for Fast Relief
Stairway to Kevin
Well, it appears another Powerball drawing has come and gone without leaving me a billionaire. Too bad, cause we had already earmarked every penny for something we couldn’t live without. Plus, I spent all week polishing my letter of resignation, ready to hand it in this morning.
I guess it’s just as well. I’d hate to be saddled with the burden of wealth. Had I won, no doubt Donald Trump would be calling this morning begging me to be his running mate in November. I hate to sound shallow or vain, but I just can’t see me teaming up with someone whose hair looks like that.
If you’re new to Friday Flash Fiction, beautician who clips and details every photo prompt prior to posting is Vidal Sassoon 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 fashionable hairstyles of the writers in FFF Hollywood Squares Authors Block click here.
“Hurry! Come quick. I’ve found it.” Amy struggled to catch her breath.
“You found what?” Dawn tiptoed around a broken statuary in the abandoned garden. “Another gazing globe covered in poison ivy?”
“No. The pathway to enlightenment. I knew it was here. I just knew it.”
“Are you sure it’s the right path?”
“Duh. There’s a sign on the wall next to the staircase.”
“Okay, but you know sometimes words have two meanings.”
Cautiously, the girls made their way up the winding stairs.
An old man sat slumped in an open porta-potty.
“Hi. I’m Kevin. Hope you brought some paper?”
The Boomer Brothers
The Boomer Brothers
The story is a tale of redemption for retired Human Resources Manager Flake Boomer (Perry Block) and his brother Deadwoody (Russell Gayer).
After being thrown out of the senior center for cheating at Bingo, Flake is irritated at being picked up by brother Deadwoody in the Boomermobile, a red and white AMC Pacer, instead of the Plymouth Valiant the brothers used to own.
The Boomermobile
The brothers visit their childhood haunt, a Jewish delicatessen they grew up stealing bagels from, only to learn it will close unless it pays $1,252.19 to an Amish dairy who is holding their kosher cream cheese hostage until the deli’s delinquent bill is paid.
After visiting a Roman Catholic priest, where Flake confessed to being aroused by his fourth-grade science teacher’s unshaved legs, Deadwoody has an epiphany without even knowing what one is.
The pair decides they must prevent the deli from closing as restitution for all the bagels they stole as children. To do so, they enlist the help of The Hartford adman, “Mad Matt” McCoy and organize a rummage sale to earn the $1,252.19.
“Mad Matt” – Rummage Sale Barker
Along the way, they are targeted by a horny male dog, Frank & Mike from American Pickers, and a Cajun Polka band—all while being relentlessly pursued by a band of elderly women wearing yoga pants.
In the end, the brother’s quest falls short by $916.42, but the Amish agree to release the cream cheese if Flake and Deadwoody promise to stop singing Jewish folks songs outside their dairy.
Purchase ‘One Idiot Short of a Village’
Purchase ‘The Perils of Heavy Thinking’
What's So Funny? 