What's So Funny?
Russell Gayer, author speaker
A Non-Celebrity Roast
Greetings from sunny Southern California. Connie and I flew out on Monday. She’s having a procedure at UCLA Med Center and I’m observing people in an unnatural habitat. The culture shock goes both ways. Most residents of Westwood have never experienced a genuine Arkansas hillbilly either.
The last two times we’ve been here, we’ve experienced fire in some form or fashion. In December, we attended a Christmas service at the church next door where the communion coverings caught on fire. Last night, at 1:30 am, the fire alarm at Tiverton House went off and we all stood in the street for 30 minutes until the Fire Marshall gave the “all clear” to return to our rooms. You learn some interesting things from people in their pajamas at 2 am.
If you’re new to Friday Flash Fiction, the scoutmaster in charge of leading the Kumbaya singing is Dinah Short 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.
Welcome to Mean Fartin’s Non-Celebrity Roast. Break out the marshmallows and wienie stick for this week’s roastee, Russell Gayer.
Now, here to roll Russell over the coals are three real humorists; Linda Vernon, Virginia Antonelli, and Mean Fartin himself, Perry Block.
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LV: – I was misquoted. Russell’s writing is not tighter than Kim Novak’s face. It’s more like a boring weather forecast; widely scattered words with a slight chance of humor.
VA: – I used to think my adventures were lame—until I met Russell. He’s the only I guy I know who can write in (yawn) monotone.
MF: – Last weekend, Scarlett Johansson accidently downloaded a nude photo of Russell. She called Goodyear the next day to ask when they started making beige blimps with navels.
Russell’s response: – Geez, and to think I asked these people to post a review for me on Amazon.
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P.S. – this post is a tribute to Joan Rivers and all the comedians who made the Dean Martin roasts so much fun.
Ozark Snotmouth
I have a strong stomach, but this week’s photo made me GAG! Now, I’m afraid to go to sleep for fear this disgusting image has burned itself into my brain cell (singular). When I was child nightmares of snakes often plagued my sleep. Just when I thought I’d put that chapter behind me—BAM! Now, I have to write about it. Oh well, my shrink says it will be good therapy.
If you’re new to Friday Flash Fiction, the snake-charmer who summons stories from this basket of serpents, is Medusa 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.
I hate snakes. All five kinds—large, small, dead, alive, and rubber.
As a farm boy, I was unfortunate enough to experience dozens of unexpected encounters with these cold-blooded vermin. From March to November they sensed my every move, engaging in a horrible conspiracy to torment and terrorize me—often generating unsightly stains in my underpants.
The most horrific of all these despicable, slimy creatures is the Ozark Snotmouth. This snake does not have fangs, but smothers its victim in a disgusting drool the consistency of rubber cement.
There is no anti-venom. The best defense is tall boots and Kleenex.
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* reposted from August 2012
Goin’ Green
A few months ago, Connie bought a small autograph book at a garage sale. The first entry is dated December 28, 1939 leaving me to believe it was a Christmas gift. The original owner lived near Strickler, Arkansas and the signatures and personal notes appear to have been written by classmates and teachers at an all-girls school.
What really struck me was the flowery language. One classmate wrote (and I quote), “My love for you flows like water down a tater row.” Kind of chokes you up, doesn’t it? I don’t know when I’ve heard affection described in more elegant terms. And speaking of Purple Prose . . . .
If you’re new to Friday Flash Fiction, our director, and lover of all shades of lavender, is Violet Haze 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.
copyright – Roger Bultot
To reduce our carbon footprint, my wife and I bought a new hybrid vehicle for our landscape business. It’s a Johnston two-ton, flatbed powered by green vegetation or diesel. My wife refers to it as Big Johnston, or BJ for short.
Here’s how it works. BJ gulps down large loads of ivy, weeds, or grass clippings and turns them into methane gas. Certain plants, such as cabbage and broccoli, tend to generate a richer fuel blend, but also create noxious exhaust.
Avoid marijuana patches. BJ becomes lethargic and slow to react in traffic, followed by an insatiable appetite—gobbling flowers faster than you can plant them.
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In case you missed it last week, here’s a reminder about the book release.
Between now and September 1st, you can pre-order The Perils of Heavy Thinking from Pen-L.com at a 15% discount.
http://www.Pen-L.com/LandingPages/PerilsOfHeavyThinking.html
After September 1st the book will be available on Amazon and through other book retailers at regular price
Take a Letter, Maria
How many of you took typing class in Junior High? It was not the macho thing to do in the fall of 1969. The boys who took Athletics (those on football or basketball teams) qualified for a testosterone exemption and were not required to take typing. Those of us who were deemed lazy, uncoordinated, or neutered because of low IQ got to experience the joy of creating artwork by typing fifty-two Xs in a row, followed by six lowercase Rs, then more Xs, and occasionally a few irritable vowels.
I didn’t mind. There were a lot of cute girls in that class and it was still one step above Home Economics on the scale of socially degrading elective courses a boy my age could enroll in. I never dreamed the skills I learned in typing would come in so handy later in life. Just look at all those pretty pictures on my padded walls.
If you’re new to Friday Flash Fiction, the biker babe whose husband graciously supplied this week’s photo is Venus de Filo 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.
Mrs. Fannie Balderdash
69 Slut Street
Havertown, PA 19083
Dearest Fannie,
I was devastated to learn of your affair with my best friend, Harvey Ennis. Mere words cannot describe how deeply you’ve hurt me. Didn’t our twenty-four years of marriage mean anything to you?
The timing of your infidelity struck like a dagger to the heart. You knew we had a tournament this weekend and that Harvey always shoots the lowest score of our foursome. Where are we supposed to find another player of his caliber on such short notice?
Rot in hell, you inconsiderate wench!
Walter,
Your EX-husband
WB:ms
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And now, a word from our sponsor (or a moment of shameless self-promotion—whichever you prefer).
Between now and September 1st, you can pre-order The Perils of Heavy Thinking from Pen-L.com at a 15% discount. http://www.Pen-L.com/LandingPages/PerilsOfHeavyThinking.html After September 1st the book will be available on Amazon and through other book retailers at regular price.
Mesa Nerdy
I had a great exchange earlier this week with JB Hogan about historical figures using social media. Here are some sample posts.
GEORGE WASHINGTON: I chopped down Dad’s favorite cherry tree today. He was really pissed until I told him the about new set of dentures we were having made for him. Now, he thinks I’m the best son ever. – LOL
NERO: Party at the palace tonight. Togas optional. Bring your own fiddle or play mine. 🙂
HENRY VIII: My wife lost her head last night. Updated my profile from married to single (again).
If you’re new to Friday Flash Fiction, our carhop on roller skates who always delivers the good stuff is Margo Sue Ellen 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.
Hi, my name is Calvin. Aren’t you in math club?”
“Yes. I’m Leslie.” She bit her lower lip and avoided eye contact.
“Leslie. What a cool name. I can spell it on my calculator.” He flashed a buck-toothed grin and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “My friends and I have a big house off-campus. We’re having a party and I was . . . wondering if . . . you might like to come?”
“What kind of party?”
“Pizza and video games, watch reruns of Big Bang Theory, and discuss the virtues of nanotechnology.”
“Cool, a night out with the Nerd Herd.”
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My favorite nerd quote;
“It’s a lazy Saturday afternoon, there’s a couple lying naked in bed reading Encyclopedia Britannica to each other, and arguing about whether the Andromeda Galaxy is more ‘numinous’ than the Resurrection. Do they know how to have a good time, or don’t they?” – Carl Sagan
Lucy in the Sky
We don’t watch a lot of reality TV, but one show we have watched a few times is “Naked and Afraid.” This is where they dump two strangers, a man and woman, in a tropical jungle or Louisiana swamp for twenty-one days. To survive, they must find their own food and water, and figure out which leaves to wipe on that aren’t poison ivy.
I suggest they up the stakes and force these poor nudists to go on a twenty-one day public speaking tour in manufacturing plants across the U.S. For three weeks, they get to explain to angry factory workers why their jobs are being outsourced to China, Mexico, and the District of Columbia. The only food available is the out-of-date sandwiches from The Carousel of Death (break room vending machine).
If they make it out alive, they win a free wrist watch and a lifetime supply of Jenny Craig pre-packaged meals. What a deal! I suspect many of my fellow writers will be signing up in droves. You can’t buy this kind of exposure at any price.
If you’re new to Friday Flash Fiction, your flight attendant our weekly cruise around the Imaginary Skies is Blue Angel (Flaps Down) Wisoff-Fields. If you’d like to participate in this exercise in madness, head over to her blog for a complete list of safety instructions. To view the FFF Hollywood Squares Authors Block click here.
Lucy had flown enough to recognize normal turbulence. She stared out the window and whispered a prayer. The two-caret stone on her wedding band felt as cold as the relationship she’d left behind.
The airplane rocked from side to side and dipped erratically. Flight attendants stumbled down the aisle, their forced smiles masking the anxiety roiling in their stomachs like volcanos about to erupt.
A voice came over the intercom, but the words were slurred and undecipherable.
“What did he say?” Lucy asked.
“Captain Brooks wants a drink.” The attendant feigned a smile.
“Make mine a double,” said Lucy.
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For those of you who don’t remember Foster Brooks- here’s a little clip.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_detailpage&v=6jNNFqQODKE
Starve Trek
Monday morning found my inbox filled with emails from the insurance department informing me that it will soon be time for our Biometric testing. This is the annual event where they determine I’m too short for my weight. According to their scale, someone with my body mass should be eleven foot, two and three-quarters inches tall.
Connie has been surfing the web in search of a medieval rack to stretch me, but it’s highly unlikely I’ll reach the height goal by mid-October. It’s too bad. I was hoping to become as svelte as my good buddy, Mr. MacIlroy, who I’m told trains for disc-golf tournaments by chasing island girls at luaus.
If you’re new to Friday Flash Fiction, the writing fitness instructor who works overweight stories down to a slender 100 words is Jillian “Edit till you Drop” 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.
Captain’s log; Star-blimp, Baby Goodyear, has spent twenty minutes circling the Foodcourt Galaxy in search of the Silverware Nebula. So far, the only utensil we’ve encountered is a pair of primitive sticks.
“Mr. Spook, what do you make of this?”
“Highly illogical, Captain. Perhaps it explains why the natives have no problems passing their biometric exams.
“Bones, help me out here. How do I eat soup with these sticks?”
“Dammit Russell, I’m a doctor not a culinary wizard. Call engineering.”
“Mr. Snot, do you have a solution?”
“Aye, Captain. Try this.”
“Strange. It appears to be a hybrid of some form. What do you call this hideous invention?”
“It’s a spork, Captain.”
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This week’s offering came in at a gluttonous one hundred and twelve words. My sentences are seriously overweight due to their sedentary lifestyle, an overabundance of proper nouns, and lack of action verbs. The word-doctor says they’ll be lucky to make it past the weekend.
Sharp as a Marble
My dental appointment is scheduled for 3 pm on July 16th. By the time you read this my teeth will have been jackhammered free of plaque, polished, and flossed. I always dread this semi-annual ritual, but keep going back because of the little sign Debra has on the wall that reads, “You Only Have to Clean the Ones You Want to Keep.”
Let’s hope Debra hasn’t read my post from June 12th. Otherwise, she may break out the heavy duty cleaning tools (including oral dynamite) and hold my complimentary toothbrush for ransom.
If you’re new to Friday Flash Fiction, the literary hygienist who cleans every sentence and flosses between each word is Polly Dent 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.
Ewe told me to go stand in the corner—said I was baaaaaad.
Ewe accused me of being stubborn and hard-headed.
I said, “It takes one to know one.” (That didn’t go over too well.)
It seems I have a bad case of hoof-in-mouth-disease. My hole just keeps getting deeper and deeper. If I had a backhoe, I’d probably dig all the way to China.
Looks like I really pissed Ewe off this time.
Maybe if I lay low, keep my nose clean, and croon a few bars of “Ewe Really Got a Hold On Me, Baaa-beee,” Ewe’ll forgive me.
Sloburbia
Yesterday, I sat in a meeting with my boss and two others. He was throwing out metaphors to describe a production facility taking a hard look at their product and admitting they had “an ugly baby.” He also comparing it to people who have a hard time accepting that they have “a drinking problem.”
My take away from this meeting; “After a couple of drinks, your baby will look a whole lot prettier.”
If you’re new to Friday Flash Fiction, the bartender who’s willing to listen to your sob stories and offer friendly advice is Leah VaTipp 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.
“Have you met the new couple who moved into the Fredrick’s house?” Judi snuffed the butt of her cigarette on an empty beer can.
“Her name is Nikki. She’s a freak.” Wanda cleared a spot on the ottoman with the heel of her flip-flop. “What they did to that house is a crime.”
“You’ve been inside?”
“Yeah, it’s bad. I almost hurled a couple of times. The counters were spotless, you could eat off the floor, and the toilet had clean water.”
“That’s disgusting. How can people live like that?” Judi flipped a booger across the room. “There goes the neighborhood.”
Cepheus of Bellevue
This week you will be spared the long, drawn-out introduction by Lord Windbag of Goshen. He’s off to celebrate independence with friends and family.
If you’re new to Friday Flash Fiction, the person who never bores us with trivial chit-chat is the elegant and debonair Lady Astor 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.
Cepheus ascended the throne at nineteen. The next forty years brought a succession of queens passing through his bedchamber with no heir forthcoming.
“Alas, nothing but barren wombs,” declared his steward.
“Perhaps he’s sterile,” whispered the cook.
“Or gay.” The jester snickered and winked.
Wizards and magicians were summoned from surrounding kingdoms offering potions and incantations to stimulate fertility. Nothing worked.
As a last resort, they consulted the old witch, Hazel of Havertown. “Give him these,” she placed three diamond-shaped, blue pills in the chamberlain’s hand. “Your king shall rise and become rigid as stone.”
She failed to mention the possible side effects.
Purchase ‘One Idiot Short of a Village’
Purchase ‘The Perils of Heavy Thinking’
What's So Funny? 