What's So Funny?
Russell Gayer, author speaker
Mutton, Honie
Those of you in the same age bracket as Perry Block probably remember Shari Lewis and Lamb Chop. For those under age thirty-nine—No, it wasn’t a cooking show (although some considered Shari to be quite a dish). Shari, whose real name was Sonia Phyllis Hurwitz, was a ventriloquist and puppeteer. Here’s a photo for future reference.
This weekend, Ozark Writers League will hold a quarterly meeting in Branson, MO. The Pennells are car-pooling with me and Connie and Kim has gleefully referred to this expedition as a “road trip.” It should be a blast. I’ve even promised to leave my blue hair-dye at home and stop acting my age.
If you’re new to Friday Flash Fiction, the shepherd responsible for minding the flock and rounding up strays is Heidi 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.
Horace was worried. After two years of begging, the network had finally agreed to let him create and host a reality TV show. Unfortunately, the guidelines and limitations they imposed infringed upon his vision of scantily clad sorority girls pummeling each other with feather pillows. A popular ex-president had even volunteered to co-star in the opening episode to give the series credibility.
Now, Animal Planet had taken over his idea and supplied a cast that could not speak English and were unwilling to follow simple direction. Monumental failure loomed on the horizon.
Who, in their right mind, would watch EweTube?
The Sinking of U.S.S. Mother-In-Law
Mother’s Day is Sunday and it’s only fitting that we pause and pay homage to the women who have made our lives heaven, hell, or some combination thereof. My own dear mother was a sweet Christian woman, naïve to the ways of the world, who generally thought the best of everyone. I didn’t realize until I left home how truly fortunate and blessed I was.
Not all women are cut out to be mothers. Some are better suited dishing out torture in prison camps, writing hate slogans for the Ku Klux Klan, and vaccinating patients at the doctor’s office. A good rule of thumb is DO NOT marry a child of one of these women. If you hurt their baby, they will track you to the ends of the earth and tear you apart limb by limb.
If you’re new to Friday Flash Fiction, our Grand Marshall for this Mother’s Day Parade of blogs is Roseanne Rosannadanna 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.
She was a proud boat. Her magnificent deck measured 284 square feet. Made from the finest South-Pacific bamboo, she was lovingly lashed together with over 3,000 feet of vine.
“What cha gonna name her, Skipper?” asked the mate.
“She’ll be named after a woman I’ll never forget, my mother-in-law.”
“Is that because she is supportive, dependable, and concerned about the welfare of her loved ones?”
“No, Gilligan. It’s because her sail is full of hot air and her deck croaks ‘nag, nag, nag’ every time I take a step.”
“Oh no, we’ll never get off this island,” moaned Gilligan.
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Here’s a great Mother’s Day song for y’all to enjoy.
If You Can’t Stand the Heat . . .
On Tuesday I fulfilled my civic duty by serving on a jury in a civil trial. One party was suing another over medical expenses related to a vehicle accident. I was hoping go get some good writing material from this experience for a future story. Unfortunately, they kept repeating boring stuff like facts and details (which they referred to as evidence), while we jurors were forced to employ match sticks to keep our eyelids from slamming shut.
I did meet some interesting people and shamelessly promoted “The Perils of Heavy Thinking” to the rest of the jury. They looked at me like I was from another planet and rolled their eyes. But when the time came to elect a foreman, I was the only nominee. I found out later this was an act of self-preservation as unhappy litigants often kill the foreman first.
If you’re new to Friday Flash Fiction, the Hanging Judge who hates dangling participles is Chief Justice Bobbi Jo 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.
Jake’s mother constantly warned him about the dangers of fire. She refused to let him go camping with other boys his age.
“Nothing good can come of it,” she said. “Those boys will poke you with a stick while sitting around a campfire.”
She really threw a hissy-fit when a neighbor girl invited him over to make Rice Krispy treats. “Of course she says you’re sweet and that she loves you,” said Mom. “She just wants your body.”
Tired of her overprotective ways, Jake Stay Puft attended a wedding reception. Unfortunately, Mom failed to warn him about fondue pots.
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For those of you who aren’t familiar with the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man here’s a picture.
G-String Boogie
One of the interesting things about playing in a band is the people (and behavior) you see on the dance floor. Mix one part pounding beat with four parts alcohol and inhibitions waltz right out the door. What’s left resembles the mating ritual of flightless birds as they attempt to entice a mate prior to breeding season.
Once the birds were paired up, we slowed the tempo and played what we referred to as “belly-rubbin’ music.” These slow, romantic dances generated a great deal of body contact between the participants including groping and bumping of beaks. After which, many of the pairs would immediately leave the club in search of nesting grounds.
Occasionally, a couple of the males would get their feathers ruffled while in competition over a female with particularly attractive plumage. Sometimes a third male would swoop in and steal the prize while these two idiots battled for testosterone supremacy.
If you’re new to Friday Flash Fiction, the conductor of this Orchestra of Keyboard Clickers is Maestro WillamenaWisoff-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.
Eureka Springs, AR – Police and emergency personnel responded to a 911 call last night at the Rowdy Beaver on Hwy 62. One of the patrons collapsed on the dance floor and appeared to stop breathing.
“It was scary,” said bartender, Anita Drink. “The band was going into the chorus of Mustang Sally when this guy went down like he’d been shot with a gun.”
Evidence collected at the scene indicates the guitar player may have been responsible for the incident.
“It was an accident,” swears guitarist, Fret Boardman. “I hit C-major and Bam!—down he went—struck by a chord.”
Diving for Dollars
Everybody has a favorite uncle. Mine was Uncle Harry. He and Aunt Elsie couldn’t have children of their own, so he showered his nieces and nephews with extra attention. Their house was within walking distance of the city dump. In those days, the gate was wide open and you could go in and dig around in other people’s trash to your heart’s content.
Uncle Harry would always save me little treasures from the dump. It was mainly pocket watches that didn’t work and other shiny objects that would only a packrat would love, but still, it meant a lot that he thought enough of me to carry that junk home and save it for my next visit.
If you’re new to Friday Flash Fiction, the leader of this clan of wild and rambunctious misfits is Jeannie C. Riley 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.
Dear diary,
Uncle Doug stayed with us today while Mommy and Daddy went to Parent Teacher conference. He took me and Sissy on a treasure hunt.
“You gotta dive deep if you wanna get the good stuff,” says Uncle Doug. Then, he put on a big helmet and told us to pull all the cushions off the couch. Then, he dove in with nothing but his feet sticking out. Sissy got scared.
He came out with a fist full of coins and a black disk he calls a 45. Next week, he’s taking us to the dumpster behind Toys R Us.
I love Uncle Doug!
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I usually don’t read other’s stories before I write mine, but this week I made an exception. The idea for this story was already in my head, but was sent spinning down a different path, influenced by what I read at the other site.
Now, I know you’re just dying to hear what was on that 45 Uncle Doug found in the couch. Well, here it is;
Career Change
Most people fear Change. Some even prefer to stay in a bad situation rather than take a chance on something new. But in today’s world, Change doesn’t sit around and wait for volunteers, it moves right along whether we get on the bus or cower in the shadows. Aging is a great example.
This weekend, my lovely wife, Connie, will celebrate another anniversary of her 39th birthday. She may not look like the 16 yr. old girl who captured my heart, but inside, she’s more beautiful than ever. The hot temper has cooled over the years and now she just sighs and rolls her eyes when I do something stupid in public.
If you’re new to Friday Flash Fiction, the person responsible for changing the photo prompts is Susie “Spare Change” 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.
In fifteen minutes Godzilla had reduced Dr. McGillicutty’s Traveling Medicine Show tent to shreds. All that destruction had given the monster quite a thirst, so he consumed a couple cases of McGillicutty’s Cure-All elixir.
The potion rumbled in his stomach and in fifteen minutes he’d shrank to a small green lizard.
“You fired,” screamed the Japanese director. “Nobody scared of little gecko.”
“My career is ruined,” cried Godzilla, in a thick British accent. “How will I support my family?”
“Don’t worry, Martin,” said the insurance adjuster surveying the damages, “We’ll find you a new job in fifteen minutes or less.”
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For those of you across the pond, Geico Insurance uses a little green gecko as a spokeperson in many of their television ads. Their motto is 15 minutes can save you 15 percent or more on car insurance.
Renewal
Flowers are blooming, trees are budding, and people are coughing and sneezing. Mother Nature is kicking off her drab winter garb and slipping into floral prints to celebrate the passing of a particularly cruel winter.
To get in the proper mood for spring, you may want to consider ordering your Special Author’s Edition of The Perils of Heavy Thinking by clicking here.
If you’re new to Friday Flash Fiction, the tour guide for this festival of fiction is Boysenberry 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.
Kent had heard the horror stories, but considered them wild exaggerations. Stepping up to the dispenser, he took the next available number and found a seat next to a young Hispanic lost in oblivion—like an inmate awaiting lethal injection.
Three hours later, Kent was called back. A grim woman with a husky voice asked to see his paperwork. She scanned his personal information, narrowed her eyes, and nodded for a supervisor.
He reviewed the forms and flashed a sadistic grin.
“Mr. Bonham, welcome to the DMV. We cannot process your renewal. Come back when you have ALL the proper documentation.”
Lost in the Hood
It’s good to be back for Friday Flash Fiction—the place where even guys like me and Cooter (not exactly giants in the literary world) can post 100 word stories without being completely and totally ignored.
I’ve spent most of the last week in a back-n-forth editing session with Pen-L Publishing. This means I actually I had to read my own book. Fortunately, I have a short-term memory so most of the stories were new to me. I kept shaking my head while reading, thinking “Boy, the guy who wrote this must be insane.” I should have known, my cousin, Jerry, warned me that the author was, in his words, “certifiable.”
If you’re new to Friday Flash Fiction, the woodland nymph in charge of selecting our weekly photo prompt is C’est la vie 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.
Katherine was an enigma. Quiet and reserved, she preferred to glide among the shadows rather than follow the woodland path that led her ancestors to glory. The last thing she wanted was celebrity status, yet the paparazzi stalked her relentlessly. Even here in the forest it was hard to escape the glaring view of the telescopic lens.
Sometimes she wished she could change her surname. But what good would that do? The expectation of greatness hung like an albatross around her neck.
Damn great-grandpa Robin, and damn aunt Little Red Riding. Why did I have to be born a Hood?
We’re Gettin’ Close
I won’t be particpating in Friday Flash Fiction this week, so I’m hoping someone will pick up the slack and come up with a creative name for Ms. You-know-Who.
Pen-L Publishing sent me a proof copy of The Perils of Heavy Thinking to review and edit. This has caused me to perform more heavy thinking than I’m used to. We’ve decided to start with a Special Author’s Edition (SAE -sounds like motor oil, doesn’t it?) which means the standard edition (for Amazon release) will be delayed until August. However, those of you who are interested in purchasing one directly from the author will be able to do so in April.
Thanks to all of you who voted on the cover. Here is the latest draft.
Last Sunday evening, I had the honor of appearing on Tales From the South for the third time. Here’s the link to the Stitcher podcast if you’d like to listen. I was the second reader, so my story, What Happens in New Orleans, starts about a third of the way into the broadcast.
Bored Walk
After repeated problems with our internet air card (AT&T MiFi), we decided to part company. It was an amiable divorce, they kept the money and internet access and we get to stare at a blank screen. Connie is going through Facebook withdrawal and my opportunities to post, read, and comment on blogs is limited to what free time I can scrounge up at work during breaks, lunch, before/after normal hours, etc. Therefore, I apologize for not visiting, reading, and commenting on as many of your blogs as I would like. We are engaged to a new provider and hope to tie the knot (no gifts, please) as soon as they are able to come and install the equipment.
Yesterday, I received one of those letters that every registered voter hates—the dreaded Jury Duty summons. Names are supposedly drawn at random, but after speaking with other registered voters (most of whom have never served), I have come to the conclusion that I’m exceptionally good at being random since my name gets drawn at regular intervals. Too bad I don’t have the same luck with Powerball tickets.
If you’re new to Friday Flash Fiction, the Lottery Commissioner in charge of selecting weekly photo prompts is Babette “Bingo” 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.
Born on the day Ernest Tubb died, Claude knew he was destined to become a country star. He had the boots, the cowboy hat, even the sequined-encrusted, powder-blue jump suit. All he lacked was a decent singing voice.
“When Claude Bawls sings,” one music reviewer wrote, “his vocal tones are reminiscent of a coyote who sat down on a steel trap.”
Claude’s entourage included a couple of bleach-blond, trailer-trash bimbos and his cousin, Leroy. Booked to play a Louisiana swamp family reunion, one of the bimbos constructed a sign from an empty beer carton promoting the event as “The Bored Strait Tour.”
Purchase ‘One Idiot Short of a Village’
Purchase ‘The Perils of Heavy Thinking’
What's So Funny? 