What's So Funny?
Russell Gayer, author speaker
The Art of Whine
Several years ago, Connie and I volunteered to work an event called “The Art of Wine” at the Walton Arts Center. This is as close as it gets to a red-carpet, Hollywood-style evening in Northwest Arkansas where our most elite (and wealthiest) citizens turn out in droves to be seen in their Sunday best. I had always wanted to attend, but tickets are $150/head (to keep out the riffraff—like me).
The gentlemen dress most dapper and the ladies tend to wear staccato heels and evening gowns which leave little to the imagination. My partner was armed with a walkie-talkie to communicate with the rest of the crew. Many times during the evening we were called to respond to “Code Pink” emergencies indicating possible wardrobe malfunctions. Fortunately, no one was seriously injured, but my partner did suffer from severe eye strain for several days following the event.
If you’re new to Friday Flash Fiction, our writing sommelier who knows the difference between vintage prose and bathroom graffiti is Juliette Gallo 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.
Prelude – In this week’s episode Jack Horner takes Goldilocks to dinner at the Fairy Tale Café.
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Waiter: Good evening Mr. Horner. We’ve reserved your usual table.
Goldilocks: But J-aack, it’s too dark in the cor-n-er.
Jack: Would you rather sit by the window?
Goldilocks: Nooo. The light from the street’s too ha-r-s-h.
Waiter: Very well. Here’s table near the center of the room. Would you like something to drink, or an appetizer?
Jack: Two cups of tea and some curds and whey.
Goldilocks: J-aack, you know I’m a-ller-gic to gluu-ten. I want fruit sal-ad.
The waiter returns with the appetizers and tea.
Goldilocks: This tea is too h-o-t.
Jack: Put some ice in it.
Goldilocks: I d-i-d. Now, it’s too c-o-ld.
Jack: Will you excuse me? I need to visit the men’s room.
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Epilogue – Little Jack Horner escaped through the door in the corner and never was
seen again.
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And now, a message from our sponsor; 
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S’mores Security Systems
Do you ever have a really great idea pop into your head while you’re busy doing something else? That happened to me earlier this week. It was so brilliant I just knew I could remember it without writing it down—WRONG. I keep hoping and praying it’ll come back to me, but the harder I try the less I remember.
It had something to do with words that are really two separate words crammed together. Here’s a poor example; Playtex. Playtex, as one word, is a brand name for undergarments, but if you break it into two words you can make a sentence such as, “In the school’s western, Bobby portrayed an Indian and John got to play Tex.”
Help me out here. What words can you think of that can be broken into two parts?
If you’re new to Friday Flash Fiction, the wordsmith in charge of proper diction and grammar 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.
Eva Keebler had been a prison guard during the Great War. Forty years later she became head of security at the family-owned business outside Hollow Tree, Michigan.
“Nothing gets past Ma,” said her son, Ernest, the plant manager. “Competitors once tried tunneling into our factory to steal proprietary cookie formulas.
“Ma heard the mole gnawing his way through our O-SHIT system (Outdoor S’mores Hi-tech Invader Trap). She lifted one of the graham cracker pavers and chopped him to pieces with her hoe.
“Investigators never found the body, but we dropped the Reduced Fat claim on our products for a week or two.”
She Came In Through the Bathroom Window
It’s good to be back in Arkansas. I spend a good three hours Tuesday clicking the heels of my ruby work boots together and chanting, “There’s no place like Goshen, there’s no place like Goshen.” Finally, the most powerful wizard of US Airways put us in a little metal tube and shot us half-way across the continent to God’s country.
I want to thank everyone for the prayers, kind thoughts, and healing wishes sent our way during Connie’s surgery and recovery. The poor girl went through a lot and now she’s stuck with me as a primary caregiver. That alone should provide plenty of incentive and motivation to heal quickly.
If you’re new to Friday Flash Fiction, the nurse in charge of administering weekly prompts is Clara Barton 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.
“Raul, what do you think of this new eye shadow?”
“It brings out the color in your eyes.”
“What about my hair, does it look all right?”
“You look ravishing, darling.”
“(sigh) Why do I even bother asking? You’d say I looked beautiful if my make-up was running and my hair looked like Phyllis Diller’s”
“What would you have me say? That you look like death warmed over?”
Thana smiled. “Trying to humor me, my love?”
“Well, I have seen some beautiful corpses.”
“It’s just so frustrating, trying to look presentable when you can’t see your reflection in a mirror.”
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I really wanted Raul to say, “Hey Thana, you have a piece of salad stuck between your fangs.” But that’s another story.
Oh, and about the title, it was the first thing that came to mind when I saw the photo and I couldn’t resist using it. Just imagine her flying through the window as a bat.
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.
Purchase ‘One Idiot Short of a Village’
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What's So Funny? 