What's So Funny?
Russell Gayer, author speaker
Three Blind Mice
Mushroom season has finally arrived in the Ozarks. No, I’m not talking about the hallucinogenic variety, but the edible members Morchella family known as Morels. You do not need a license or gun to hunt mushrooms, but it does require a great deal of skill, tactical maneuvering, and keen eyesight.
While mushrooms are not very fast runners, they have a highly developed 6th sense of recognizing the presence of humans. I recommend face paint and camouflage clothing if you hope to sneak up on one in the wild. Morels are wily creatures, born with the natural ability to hide in plain sight. Once spotted, they tend to “play possum” in hopes that you will not have them over for dinner.
If you’re new to Friday Flash Fiction, our emcee of orneriness is Mae Westburg Wisoff-Fields, who invites you to “Come up and write for us sometime.” If you’d like to participate in this exercise of madness, head over to her blog for step-by-step instructions. To view the FFF Hollywood Squares Authors Block click here.
Homeland Security arrested three men Wednesday, April 1st, after an attempted robbery at Moe’s Radio & TV Repair.
One of the suspects, Biff Scallywag, worked part-time at the repair shop. The other two assailants entered the store at approximately 10am, brandishing water pistols and demanding an assortment of tubes, capacitors, and resistors.
Police captured them beneath a second-story doorway where they had fallen on their loot. Authorities believe the trio planned to build a radio activated nuclear device with the stolen parts.
“I’m relieved to have them in custody,” said H.S. Director Eyesmella Fink. “We’ve been after the Hole-in-the-Head Gang for some time.”
Lonely Farts Club Band
April Fool’s Day is bearing down on us like a snow storm across the Sahara. If you’re like me, you know plenty of candidates who deserve a sound pranking. My all-time favorite prank dates back to the seventies. Kenny Young and I were eating sardines at lunch when a co-worker, Tim, started complaining about the odor. He went on and on about how nasty they were and chiding us about eating rotten fish.
After lunch, Kenny tucked the sardine tins under the front seat of Tim’s car. This was on a Friday afternoon in July. Tim drove home and parked the vehicle with the windows up all weekend. By Monday morning, the sardine remains had achieved a high state of putrefaction. Neither Tim, nor the car, was ever the same again. I’d love to hear the story of your favorite prank.
If you’re new to Friday Flash Fiction, the Duchess of Frivolity who coordinates the literary puppeteers is Kukla, Fran, & Ollie 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 FFF Hollywood Squares Authors Block click here.
Dear Diary,
My audition with Col. Sparky’s Fife & Kazoo Band went poorly. Never have I witnessed a more dismal group of musicians.
The vocalist, a prudish woman in her fifties, appears to have been beaten at birth with an ugly stick. Her range can be defined as somewhere between a braying donkey and a cat in heat. She could not carry a tune if given a lorry for transportation.
The tuba player on my left insisted on elbowing my ribs with each toot of his oversized fart machine. My banjo could barely be heard above the din.
– Simon Cowell
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Here’s one of my favorite Far Side cartoons. Kudos to Gary Larsen. 
The Cesspool of Middle Age
Those of you who read this blog on a regular basis know I’m prone to steal inspiration from unlikely sources. A couple of weeks ago, I butchered a passage of Shakespeare. This week, I’m plagiarizing one of the great comedic minds of the 21st century—the 2nd funniest man east of the Mississippi—Perry Block.
Perry rates second only because Dave Barry wrote, “To Russell, my Idol,” inside my copy of his book. Normally, I don’t condone idol worship, but I’ve decided to make an exception in Dave’s case.
If you’re new to Friday Flash Fiction, the Chuckwagon Driver on the Fictioneer Trail is Abilene Annie 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 FFF Hollywood Squares Authors Block click here.
“Frank, this place is creepy. Let’s turn around and go home.”
“Relax, Gladys, we’re almost there. You can’t expect to find the real Fountain of Youth at a rest stop on the freeway.”
“No, but this looks like a scene from Deliverance. I can’t believe that guy in Pennsylvania suckered you into buying this map. If he knew where the fountain was, why’d he look so damn old?”
“There it is, Gladys. That guy with a towel must be an attendant. Hey Mister, is this the Fountain of Youth?”
“Nah, it’s the Cesspool of Middle Age. I’m your host, Abe Vigoda.”
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This story idea stolen from, The Fabulous Fabled Fountain of Middle Age
Fallout
After scheduling three days of vacation, based upon a forecast of gorgeous weather, I’ve come to the conclusion that I missed my calling in life. I should’ve pursued a career in meteorology. Connie can verify that I’m only right one-third of the time (a generous estimate) and don’t know what I’m talking about then.
I have a booming voice and a commanding stage presence. So what if my girth blocks everything on the map from Tulsa to the Pacific Ocean. The weather in Phoenix never changes anyway. I’ll admit I’m not as young and attractive as Heidi Waggoner, but I promise to never send you out into the sunshine with a raincoat.
If you’re new to Friday Flash Fiction, our own little ray of sunshine is the effervescent Bubbles McCall 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 FFF Hollywood Squares Authors Block click here.
Local farmer, Abner Dilday, awoke Tuesday to find a snow-white blanket of powder covering his pasture.
“It looked like a heavy frost,” said Abner, “but I knowed better’n that. Hell, it’s mid-summer in Calhoun County.”
Neighbor, Gwen Juicyfruit, had her own theory. “It’s fairy dust. I saw hundreds of them partying last night, their wings sparkling under a Strawberry Moon.”
“She’s sees lots of things.” Abner’s finger spun circles beside his ear.
“It’s ash chewings. There’s been a rumbling from the mountain all week. Last night, Uncle Bob came home drunk on moonshine, causing Mouth of Aunt Helen to erupt.”
Besieged
In the month of February, Connie and I attended two live performances. One was a series of comedic skits entitled, “Almost Maine” at the Arts Center of the Ozarks. The other was an off-Broadway production of “Camelot” at the Walton Arts Center. In the span of twenty-eight days, I absorbed more culture than you’d find in a half-gallon of buttermilk and a pint of yogurt.
Watching those plays was really inspirational. I couldn’t wait to sit down in front of a keyboard and create a classic of my own (won’t Perry be jealous?). So what if I borrowed a few key words from another writer. They don’t call me the Bard of Goshen for nothing.
If you’re new to Friday Flash Fiction, the hub of our wheel of writers is Juliet Prowse 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 FFF Hollywood Squares Authors Block click here.
But, soft! What fragrance through yonder window wafts?
It is dog poo, and toadstools fresh upon the lawn.
Arise, fair sun, and kill the grievous odor
Who is sick and pale with repugnance,
Ward off from thy nose the rising effluvia
Be not stricken by the stench that drifts upon the breeze
What leaves the fair maiden both sick and green
And none but fools doth step in it
Would through the airy region stream so bright
That buzzards gag and choke upon the sight.
See, how she plucks them from the lawn
with not a glove upon her hand
~ Wilford Snakesheare
Following the Herd
Last Thursday, I was invited to speak at the OLLI (Osher Lifelong Learning Institute) monthly birthdays and books get together at a local restaurant. This is a national organization with chapters at major universities across the country. A group of 12 to 16 members assembled for the luncheon, and I could tell they were hungry to learn.
Fortunately, they were in the right place at the right time and I was able to enlighten them on the following topics;
- The Intelligence of Rocks
- The Backside of Knowledge
- How to Achieve Mediocrity in a Success Driven World
Everyone left with their appetite for knowledge fully satisfied, and I sold three books. Overall, it was a very successful encounter for all parties.
If you’re new to Friday Flash Fiction, the dean of our growing college of writers is Laverne De Fazio Wisoff-Fields. If you’re interesting in trying to make the Dean’s List, head over to her blog for step-by-step instructions. To view the FFF Hollywood Squares Authors Block click here.
I grew up working on a farm. My job was to round up the livestock. You know, cows, sheep, goats, gerbils, whatever.
We’d get up before dawn and get after it. It didn’t matter if it was Christmas or Ivan Pavlov’s birthday, the chores had to be done.
Many times, I’ve come in wet and chilled to the bone, and curl up in a ball by the fire, shaking like I was trying to pass a peach seed*.
Finally, we sold the farm and moved to town. Now, I’ve been reduced to herding humans.
I swear. They’re worse than cats.
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*Yes, I know the correct terminology for the seed of a peach is “pit.” But “pit” doesn’t fit with the expression commonly used in the South when describing someone who is shivering to the point of convulsion.
Requiem for an Idiot
This week we had a couple of inches of ice and snow. If you’ve lived below the Mason Dixon line, you know it doesn’t take much of the white stuff to paralyze our infrastructure. Closings and cancelations scrolled across the bottom of the TV screen and we were all told to stay home for the public good—unless of course you drive a beer truck (a provider of essential services).
The anxiety ran so deep they even closed the Colon & Rectal Center of NWA. That announcement was cause for consternation and created a back-up from Bentonville all the way down to Winslow. Local officials called for calm when the flow of clients began to compact and exert pressure against the back door. Hopefully, the center will reopen soon and those folks can get some much needed relief.
If you’re new to Friday Flash Fiction, welcome to our clinic. Dr. Gabriela Wisoff-Fields will see you now. If you’d like to participate in this exercise in madness, head over to her blog for step-by-step instructions. To view the FFF Hollywood Squares Authors Block click here.
“Class, can anyone tell me what we’re looking at in this slide?”
“It looks like shards of scrap metal in a clear plastic dumpster with hydrochloric acid swirling around the bottom of the container. I can’t decipher the reverse print, but it appears to be unrelated to the contents.”
“You’re close, Janet. Very close.
What we have here is the mirror image of a cross-section of a writer’s brain. Notice the occasional bright spots, or random ideas, wallowing in the deep abyss of shallow thinking, and soon to be consumed by an all-engulfing sea of confusion.”
“Ah, I’ve read his work.”
Gone with the Breeze
Tuesday afternoon, while driving across the endless plains known as Kansas, I noticed a sign hanging over the entrance to someone’s driveway. The sign read, “On this spot in 1897 nothing happened.”
I couldn’t wait to get home and tell my cousin, JB Hogan. As President of the Washington County Historical Society, this is the kind of information that makes him salivate like Pavlov’s dog. What followed was a lengthy exchange of emails discussing other places of non-interest where nothing ever happened. I encouraged JB to write a series of articles documenting these historical non-events to share with the world. Look for a three-volume tome to be released by early November, just in time for Christmas.
If you’re new to Friday Flash Fiction, our curator of historical-fiction is the esteemed Gertrude Himmelfarb Wisoff-Fields. If you’d like to participate in this exercise in madness, head over to her blog for step-by-step instructions. To view the FFF Hollywood Squares Authors Block click here.
Phrett! Phrett, where are you going?
I’m going back to Oregon, back where I belong.
Please, please take me with you!
No, Snarlett, I’m through with everything here. I want peace. I want to see if somewhere there isn’t a damp, foggy, miserable stretch of forest that’s missing a Sasquatch. Do you know what I’m talking about?
No! I only know that I love you.
That’s your misfortune.
Oh, Phrett! Phrett… if you go, where shall I go, what shall I do?
Frankly, my dear, I suggest you shear your legs and back and start a Snarlett O’Harry sweater-of-the-month club.
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When I saw this photo I was instantly reminded of the Carol Burnett classic “Went With the Wind.” My version incorporates the Bigfoot culture that is so popular in America today.
In regards to the sign – “On this spot nothing happened,” rumor has it that a similar one hangs in Perry Block’s bedroom.
How Sweet the Sound
Last week I attended a class entitled “Personal Branding.” I’m sure all of you are familiar with giant global brands such as Coca Cola, Budweiser, and PerryBlock.com. Like me, some of you may be big fans of Lame Adventures Travel and enjoy guided tours of popular NYC subway benches and weekend cruises to sleepy Hackensack, NJ in a ’63 Impala (group rates available).
Did you know that YOU are a brand? Yes, it’s true. You may not have a logo, buy Super Bowl ads, or have your image on the side of a milk carton, but you still have a brand. It’s what people think of when your name is mentioned. What comes to mind when you hear these names; Charles Manson, Tiger Woods, Marge Simpson, and Jim Bob Duggar? If your brand is not what you want it to be there’s still time to create a better image. Who knows, you may be the next PerryBlock.com.
If you’re new to Friday Flash Fiction, the brand famous for an Addiction to Purple crayons (but who always chews the wrappers off) is Periwinkle Plum Wisoff-Fields. If you’d like to participate in this exercise in madness, head over to her blog for step-by-step instructions. To view the FFF Hollywood Squares Authors Block click here.
“The key is hidden in the gazebo.”
“How do we get to it?”
“Through the labyrinth.”
“Not me. The last time I went in there I wet my pants.”
“That was a long time ago. You were just a kid.”
“I don’t care. He’s still in there. One wrong turn and you’re in his clutches.”
“But you’re taller now. You can see over the top. There’s no way to get lost.”
“I’m not taking any chances.”
“It’s hard to imagine a woman your age still believes in monsters?”
“The Tickle Monster is real, I tell you.”
“You’re Amazing, Grace. Simply amazing.”
Weather Forecaster Found Dead
You may remember this one from last year. Or, if you’re like me, you’ve slept since then and care barely remember what you had for breakfast this morning. Either way, I couldn’t turn down Gordon’s family when they asked if I’d repost it.
SPRINGDALE, AR – The body of Gordon Dale Groundhog was found by a motorist yesterday afternoon on the side of Shady Grove Road. Authorities suspect he was the victim of a hit-and-run accident. The police report states there were no signs of skid marks on the pavement. Persons with information regarding this accident are urged to contact the Washington County Humane Society.
“I don’t mean to sound cruel or heartless,” said one local television meteorologist, ” but this couldn’t have happened at a worse time. Everyone was looking forward to seeing him drug from his burrow Monday morning and shook around like a rag doll in front of our cameras. Now, our long-range forecast is shot to hell.”
Four crows, two buzzards, and a possum have been assigned to remove the body. “We’re going to let him lie in state a few days,” said one of the crows (under the condition of anonymity). “We want to give family and friends plenty of time to pay their final respects–and allow the body to ripen–before we begin the disposal process.”
Drive-by services are scheduled for 2 pm this afternoon. Condolences may be sent to your local TV station–attn: Chief Meteorologist.
Rest in Peace
Purchase ‘One Idiot Short of a Village’
Purchase ‘The Perils of Heavy Thinking’
What's So Funny? 
