What's So Funny?
Russell Gayer, author speaker
All Wired Up and Nowhere to Glow
I’ve always admired people who had wise quotations attributed to their name. The trick is to say something clever enough that others would care to repeat it and credit the author. Here are some examples of words of wisdom people have imparted to me.
- “Sit down and shut up!” ~ Mrs. Sticklebottom (elementary school teacher)
- “Absolutely not! Get away from me, you creep.” ~ Debra Jones (my first crush)
This got me thinking about how selfish I’d been by not sharing my wealth of wit and wisdom. Here are a couple of my more famous sayings, followed by one that’s yet to catch on. Feel free to quote me on any of these.
- “My nouns and verbs don’t always agree. Fistfights have been known to break out in mid-sentence.”
- “The last time I opened my trench coat to expose myself to knowledge, knowledge not only laughed—it impolitely pointed AND laughed.”
- “Today is the first day of the rest of your life. Make the most of it.”
If you’re new to Friday Flash Fiction, the building inspector who issues permits for 100 word stories is Electra “Shock Therapy” 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 first seven weeks of winter had been brutal. Meteorologist searched as far back as records had been kept, but failed to find lower temperatures for an extended period of time.
“It’s the new ice age,” declared Hal Bore, a proponent of Global Warming.
But one man had a plan. Master Electrician, Ole Peterson, invented a giant, infrared heat lamp with enough power to warm the entire upper mid-west.
At dawn on February 2nd he was about to flip the switch when his partner, Sven, pulled the plug.
“Not today, Ole. Ve don’t vant de groundhog to see his shadow.”
Phishing for Chumps
Someone once asked my dad, “Pug, do you still go fishin’ as often as you used to?”
“No,” replied Dad, “I’ve cut back to once a day.”
I took Dad on his last fishing trip when he was 92. He died three years later.
Fisherman’s Prayer
Unknown
I pray that I may live to fish until my dying day.
And when it comes to my last cast, I then most humbly pray;
When in the Lord’s great landing net and peacefully asleep
That in His mercy I’ll be judged good enough to keep.
If you’re new to Friday Flash Fiction, the game warden who’ll be measuring our tall tales to see if they stay within the 100 word limit is Gertrude “Guppy” 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.
Junior thumbed through the dog-eared pages of his Bass Pro Shop catalog.
“Nadine, I’m gonna order me one of these boats and take up bass fishin’.”
“Junior, its 250 miles to the nearest river or lake. You ain’t gonna catch no bass out here.”
“You just watch.”
A week later, Junior launched his boat in waist-deep Kansas prairie grass and began fishing.
“Caught anything yet?” Nadine called from the back porch.
“Nope.”
“I knew you wouldn’t catch any bass out there.”
“Shut up, woman. And go back to your knittin’.”
“Junior, if I could swim, I’d come out there and kick your ass.”
It Ought to be a Crime
I think everyone ought to spend the night in jail at least once. It teaches a lesson in humility and gives you a whole new appreciation for many of the things we take for granted—like toilet paper. You also learn how to sleep with one eye open and that not all Asians are good at math.
If you’re new to Friday Flash Fiction, the warden of the Grammar Correctional Facility for Wayward Writers is Bernice “The Baton Bearer” (or B.B., as we like to call her) 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.
(to be read with a British accent)
Good evening, I’m Robin Leach.
Welcome to Lifestyles of the Rich and Infamous. Tonight we’ll take a behind the scenes look at celebrities serving hard time at the Ritz-Carlton Correctional Facility in beautiful Sun Valley, California.
Our hostess, that divine Diva in Orange, Martha Stewart, will share the secrets of designing a proper table setting in such squalid conditions.
After dinner, Robert Downey Jr. will give us the dope on which prison pharmaceuticals to avoid.
Then, we’ll join Bernie Madoff for the pros and cons of insider trading inside the joint.
And finally, Mike Tyson will tease the senses by nibbling your ear before saying goodnight.
Stay with us, won’t you.
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And that’s not all. My publisher is offering a special deal on the Kindle edition of “The Perils of Heavy Thinking.” Between now and February 14th (the sly dog) you can order this fun filled tome for the ridiculously low price of only $.99. That’s right. Better than a Big Mac, more satisfying than sex, and won’t rot your teeth. Just click on the title and place your order.
Directions? We don’t need no stinking directions.
A gift from my daughter that I’ve really been enjoying is a book entitled “The Insult Dictionary” by Julie Tibbot. Between the covers are hundreds of obscure, indelicate terms and phrases from ancient days up through modern pop culture. Armed with this new vernacular, I’ll be able to titillate friends and enemies alike.
Here are a couple of examples; “My great aunt is such a thornback, I’ll bet she’s never tipped the velvet.” (thornback ~a spinster; tip the velvet ~ kiss with tongues). “He tottered home late, covered in tears of the tankard, then shot the cat.” (tears of the tankard ~ splashes of beer on a man’s clothing; to shoot the cat ~ to vomit due to excessive alcohol intake).
And here’s a phrase Doug is sure to enjoy; Vice Admiral of the Narrow Seas ~ a drunken man who urinates under the table on his companions shoes.
If you’re new to Friday Flash Fiction, our Leader, who dares us to write with cogitation is Merriam Webster 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.
“Honey, I think we’re lost.”
“Lost? That’s ridiculous. I’ve never been lost in my life.”
“What about that time we were going from Joplin to Tulsa and wound up in Pensacola?”
“We weren’t lost. The map was folded the wrong way. And that shortcut took us further off course than I expected, but we were never lost.”
“Well, remember our trip to Sea World? I dozed off outside Barstow and when I woke up we were at the Great Salt Flats.”
“Yeah, I knew I should’ve taken that left turn at Albuquerque.”
“Where are we now?”
“Hell if I know.”
Gone, But Not Forgotten
Is it just me, or does Christmas tend sneak up on you too? Seems like only yesterday it was 4th of July. Then we celebrated Labor Day, got all dressed up for Halloween before letting my belt out a few notches at Thanksgiving. All the while, Christmas was just a distant day on the calendar, far in the future, like a planet in another solar system.
It’s the only holiday I know of that takes forever to get here, and then is over in a heartbeat. Twenty-four hours from now, most of us will be in an anticlimactic mode wondering how Christmas shifted into overdrive and left us behind faster than a jolly fat man propelled by eight supersonic reindeer. Maybe they should change the name of that song to “The Twelve Seconds of Christmas.”
If you’re new to Friday Flash Fiction, our Commander in the war against boring blogs is Judith “The Hammer” 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.
HONNAH LEE – Puff the Magic Dragon lost his courageous battle with lung cancer yesterday. His passing came as a shock to long-time fans who believed the myth; a dragon lives forever.
According to sources close to the family, Puff’s health had been in decline for a numbers of years.
“He rarely went out to frolic in the autumn mist anymore,” said a family spokesperson. “The cool, damp air was just too hard on his lungs.”
“Puff will be remembered as an advocate for peace,” said former President Bill Clinton. “Puff and I hung out in the 60’s. We did some draggin’, but neither of us inhaled.”
Once Bitten, Twice Busted
This morning I watched a really cute video of children explaining the events that happened in Bethlehem over two thousand years ago. When questioned about the animals in the stable they listed cows, sheep, goats, donkeys, horses, oxen, and the strong smell of manure. Not a single child mentioned chickens. Nor do I see poultry represented in standard nativity sets at Walmart.
This serious omission on the part of historians makes me cry, “Fowl.” I don’t know if Luke intentionally left chickens out of the birth of Christ story, or if it was simply an oversight on his part. In either case, it’s a sure bet he will never be elected to the Poultry Federation Hall of Fame.
If you’re new to Friday Flash Fiction, the Mother Hen who sits at a computer and pecks out our weekly photo prompt is Chanticleer Bantam 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.
“What is that, Professor Niggard?”
“The most dangerous insect on the face of the earth.”
“Really? Is it poisonous? Can it kill humans?”
“The bite is usually not fatal. But once bitten, the victim tends to suffer through long periods of financial instability, accumulate huge debt, and resort to compulsive behaviors beyond their control.”
“That sounds awful. Is the bite painful?”
“No. In fact most victims don’t even realize they been bitten until about a month later.”
“Can it happen to anyone?”
“Yes, but most victims are women.”
“And what do they call this insect?”
“Spendicus monēta. The shopping bug.”
Born in a Barn
For those of you tuning in expecting to read a FFF post, I’m sitting out this week.
Rather than bore you with a hundred rambling excuses, I’ve prepared a little eye-candy for your viewing enjoyment. Here’s a copy of the Christmas card Connie and I are sending this year.
Feel free to leave a comment. I should be back in the saddle next week.
Jilted Lover
I think of the Thanksgiving holiday as boot camp. Just a few days of intensive training to get you ready for the real thing. Over the next four weeks my stomach muscles will be sorely tested. There will be parties to attend, company dinners at work, potlucks, and trays of sweets shoved down my throat like a steam engine gobbling coal. Without proper training even the strongest are doomed to failure.
The hardest part of it is the mental aspect. Modern society—that two faced hussy who tells us to exercise and take care of our health, and then in the next breath spews an endless onslaught of ad for rich food, dark beer, and erectile dysfunction. Why don’t they ever show fat people in those bathtubs? It irks me. We need a bath now and then too.
If you’re new to Friday Flash Fiction, the little elf who unwraps a new photo prompt for us each week is Ginger Ali 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.
“Heidi, you look so down. What’s the matter?”
“Men. They’ll steal your heart, then disappear.”
“When did it happen?”
“Two days ago. It came a heavy snow. Kids were playing in the yard. I looked up and there he was.”
“And you fell in love?”
“I couldn’t help it. The way he looked at me with those big dark eyes, his crooked smile, and wearing that silly hat.”
“And he just disappeared?”
“I guess you could say that. He faded away, right before my eyes, like an apparition.”
“What was his name?”
“Frosty.”
“Don’t worry, dear. He’ll be back someday.”
Well Red . . . I mean Read
Contrary to popular belief, we DO have more than one book in our library. I know this to be true because my good friend Nancy Hartney, who works at the Fayetteville Public Library, donated her copy of “The Perils of Heavy Thinking” to that fine institution. This probably explains why, after 90 days on Amazon, I have yet to sell a single copy. Remember dear readers, books make excellent Christmas gifts.
While I’m at it, I’d like to debunk another theory. NO, we are NOT having baked hen for Thanksgiving. Don’t even think about it. Connie’s hens will all die of old age and natural causes. I don’t know what kind of meat we’ll be serving—whatever the Good Lord provides on the highway I suppose. Hopefully, it will be raccoon or groundhog as I’m getting rather tired of possum.
If you’re new to Friday Flash Fiction, the Pilgrim who sets the table with a photo prompt for us each week is Charity Hope 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.
“Wake up, son.” Officer Ridgley nudged the young man’s ribs with the toe of his boot.
“Uh . . . okay.” Abram rolled into a sitting position, head hung low.
“Look at me. Your eyes are glassy and red. How much have you had to read?”
“Only a book and a half—and they were short stories.”
“Uh huh, I see. What’s in that backpack?”
Abram dumped the contents on the ground.
“Well, well, what have we here?” Ridgley fanned three textbooks across the grass. “Science, literature, calculus. Pretty heady stuff, kid. Sorry, but I’m going have to book you.”
“On what charges, Officer?”
“DOK—drunk on knowledge.”
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I’m apt to get arrested this week for exceeding the word limit. This story was clocked on radar at the obnoxiously high rate of 108. The good news is I’ll never be accused on being drunk on knowledge, and as far as I know, being dense as a block of granite is still not a crime.
A Case of Mistaken Identity
The chicken “spa” is now fully operational. Last weekend, we dug a trench and ran electricity 175 feet from the old shop building to the upscale apartment complex formerly known as the chicken house. The ladies can now bask in the soothing glow of infrared heat, wallow in a dust-bath, or enjoy other amenities at the low cost of only a few eggs per week.
“Miss Connie gives the best deep-tissue massages,” says Hilary, a young Rhode Island Red. “She really knows how to work her fingers up under your feathers and release all that tension and stress. Plus, there a great fruit bar here with watermelon rind and fresh persimmons. Next week, she’ll begin decorating for Christmas. I can’t wait to see what’s in my stocking.”
If you’re new to Friday Flash Fiction, the concierge who can direct you to some of the best writers in the blogosphere is Henny Penny 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.
“Can you describe the assailant, Ma’am?” Detective Lowry tapped the touchscreen of his iPad.
“Well, he attacked me from behind, so I didn’t get a real good look at him. But his arms are white—white as snow.”
“Anything about his voice or mannerisms that might help us identify him?”
“He had this cute little giggle, like he was really enjoying himself—the pervert.”
“We’ll put some posters up based on your description. Do you think you could pick him out in a line-up?”
“Absolutely. He puffs a little white cloud every time he breaks wind. I’ll never forget that smell.”
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Here’s the police line-up.
Purchase ‘One Idiot Short of a Village’
Purchase ‘The Perils of Heavy Thinking’
What's So Funny? 