What's So Funny?
Russell Gayer, author speaker
Mail Order Bride
This week, I decided to go with an afterword instead of an intro. (Hint – read the story in the voice of Jim Backus)
Quincy squinted at the sign above the door. “Here we are, Bus Depot. Well, hello my dear, you must be Alexandria. I hope you haven’t been waiting long.”
(no response)
He grasped her hand. “My goodness, you’re frozen stiff. The long trip from Russia must have been horrible.
(no response)
“What a beautiful dress. Do all mail order brides come packaged for the wedding?”
(no response)
“Oh, you’re shy. I understand. Let’s find a quite restaurant and get acquainted over lunch.” Quincy slipped his arm around her waist and escorted her to the door.
“Hey Gramps, come back with my mannequin!”
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A few years back, I noticed a change in the world. Tree leaves lost their shapes and morphed into green blobs. The people who make street signs and highway markers began using a new font called “fuzzy” which made the letters run together into an illegible mess. Even friends and family members became to lose their harsh edges and take on a smooth, soft appearance.
I was hesitant to say anything, but assumed it had something to do with global warming.
Then, a few months ago, I went in for an eye exam. After forcing me to guess at various letters from the alphabet, the optician led me to the front door and asked me to hold a glass lens in front of each eye. Evidently, during my exam, someone changed the street signs, for now they were clearly legible from two hundred yards away. They even went to all the trouble to put individual leaves on every tree. Everything was in high-definition.
This experience reminded me of a cartoon character from the sixties named Mr. Magoo. He was an extremely near-sighted gentleman who often mistook parking meters for people and was known to strike up conversations with a variety of inanimate objects (like some of my writer friends).
If you are new to Friday Flash Fiction, the Executive Director of our Cartoon Camp is Hanna Barbera Wisoff-Fields. To learn how to participate in this exercise of madness, head over to her blog for step-by-step instructions. To read stories from other authors visit the FFF Hollywood Squares Authors Block .
Methuselah Comes to America
It’s not everyday someone you know has a four-digit birthday. In fact, most people would consider crossing the century mark quite an accomplishment in longevity. But like Methuselah says, “After three or four thousand years, who’s counting?”
At his age, finding health insurance is almost as challenging as finding a date. Although, for enough money, he can purchase limited coverage. The female companionship however, remains in question.
If you are new to Friday Flash Fiction, your Entertainment Director on this Cruise of Creativity is Julie “Twinkle-toes” Wisoff-Fields. To learn how to participate in this exercise of madness, head over to her blog for step-by-step instructions. To view the FFF “Collection of Authors” click here.
In the days before color (known as BC), Methuselah decided to emigrate to America. He’d spent twelve lifetimes herding goats in The Holy Land, and was looking for a nice place to retire.
His cousin, Hershel, sent him a brochure advertising an Eden in the new world called Florida. Allegedly, there was a Fountain of Youth hidden somewhere in this paradise of white, sandy beaches covered with beautiful bouncing babes. Methuselah threw on his kippah and boarded the first ship headed west.
Unfortunately, he made a wrong turn at Philadelphia and ended up in Havertown, PA. The rest, as they say, is history.
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Today’s post (my 118th if anyone’s counting) is a birthday tribute to one of the funniest bloggers in America, my good buddy, Perry Block.
BTW, Perry – Scarlett Johansson said to tell you “Hi”
Shadowbox Dancing
My fellow Fictioneer, Douglas MacIlroy, dubbed this week’s prompt “a writer’s paradise.” Id’ have to agree. If you can’t find something to write about from all the little cubbies in this picture (or outside the box itself), you should probably consider a different creative outlet.
The thing that struck me about the photo was the diversity that each piece brings to the collection as a whole. Every piece has its own personal story. They may be heartbreaking, spooky, funny, inspirational, or have historical significance.
If you are new to Friday Flash Fiction, the curator in charge of this museum of creativity is Prof. Tatum Wisoff-Fields. To learn how to participate in this exercise of madness, head over to her blog for step-by-step instructions. To view the FFF “Collection of Authors” click here.
This year’s class picture was the froggiest of them all. Mark looked like a tadpole, Wanda a Hershey bar, and Alan a ventriloquist’s dummy. Their teacher, Mrs. Melba Dunlop-Silverstein, stood on the bottom step at the far right of the group photo. Look closely and you’ll see the end of a wooden ruler sticking out from behind her back.
The class clowns were in top form. Lester had his index finger stuck up his nose to the 2nd joint while Ronnie made an elaborate show of pulling his underwear out of his crack.
The chalkboard sign read Creative Writing 2013.
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*This story is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to known bloggers is purely coincidental.
blunder grill
Evidently, the average American television viewer is enthralled by all things Redneck. The satellite airwaves are filled with reality shows of southern folks wrestlin’ gators, whittling duck calls, and surviving months in the wilderness on two cans of potted meat, eight ounce of grits, and a fifth of rot-gut whiskey.
Those with necks of other colors (including blue-bloods) are fascinated by the determination, ingenuity, and bathing habits of the simple-minded Redneck. Have you ever wondered why there are no shows featuring Yankees doing dumb stuff? That’s because they lack the creative flair and daredevil attitude to start a sentence with, “Hold my beer while I . . .”
If you are new to Friday Flash Fiction, the head chef in charge of menu creations is Sunny-Side -Up Wisoff-Fields. To learn how to participate in this exercise of madness, head over to her blog for step-by-step instructions. To view the FFF “Menu of Authors” click here.
Bubba got elected to congress on the Aginner ticket, vowing to oppose any legislation involving change.
Celeste came to Washington in pursuit of wealth. She was young, beautiful, educated, and most of all—willing. Her part-time job at the Union Station gift shop paid only a pittance, but provided exposure to potential Sugar Daddies.
Two bites into his Cowboy Burger, Bubba saw a young woman clutch her throat, gasping for air. He rushed over and applied the famous hind-lick maneuver. An olive shot from the throat of the startled girl.
It was a life changing event for both of them.
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With college football season starting this weekend you’ll need plenty of food.
Here’s something that’s sure to be a hit at your tailgate party.
Not-so-White Castle
I have to confess, I’ve have not read “Fifty Shades of Grey,” but I did win flash fiction contest based on the title “Fifty Sheds of Grey.” The story was set in a one-hole outhouse and the poor tenant was bemoaning the fact that he’d eaten too many jalapenos the night before. It wasn’t the kind of story that would garner a Pulitzer Prize, but it did earn $25 and twelve months of braggin’ rights.
Most of us know from personal experience that not everything in life is Black or White, Good or Evil, and last but certainly not least, Sweet or Sour. Somethings fall into that sinkhole beneath the middle of the bell-shaped curve under the category of bland, boring, and downright forgettable. Such is the case with today’s delicacy.
If you are new to Friday Flash Fiction, the tour guide for our weekly excursion into the mystic is the famous trapeze artist who ran away from the circus to become a writer, Florenda Wisoff-Fields. To learn how to participate in this exercise of madness, head over to her blog for step-by-step instructions. To view the FFF “Hollywood Squares” author seating chart click here.
“This is where it all began.” The tour guide’s voice flat and cold as the stone walls surrounding them.
Alice squeezed Marvin’s hand and ducked cobwebs as they navigated the dimly lit passageway leading deep into the bowels of the castle.
“I can’t believe you wanted to come here.”
“Relax, the brochure said they’ve only lost three guests in twenty years.”
Filing into a large room filled with boiling cauldrons, the group covered their noses to ward off the rising effluvia.
A man wearing a chef’s hat held up a small hamburger.
Somehow the Grey Castle ‘Spyder’ sandwich never caught on.
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Feel free to offer constructive criticism.
Your keys, please
The photo below brought to mind the famous rhetorical question;
“If a man says something—and there’s no woman around to hear him—is he still wrong?”
Married with Children was a popular TV show about the time our children were entering puberty. I learned two important things from this program;
1.) How to sit on a couch with one hand stuck half-way into your pants
2.) How to whine the name P-e-e-e-g-g-g into a three syllable word.
In this week’s episode Kelly gets a job as a parking valet.
If you are new to Friday Flash Fiction, the construction supervisor for our weekly cabin of tall tales is the legendary lumberjack Paula Bunyan Wisoff-Fields, or “PB” as we affectionately call her. To learn how to participate in this exercise of madness, head over to her blog for step-by-step instructions. To view the FFF “Hollywood Squares” author seating chart click here.
“How was your first day at work, Pumpkin?”
“Oh, Daddy, I’m exhausted. This job is way harder than I thought it’d be.” Kelly tucked her blonde hair behind her ears and collapsed on the sofa.
“What happened?”
“First, we spent four hours in a classroom listening to some idiot ramble about customer service. He kept saying, ‘If you want good tips, do exactly what the customer tells you.’
Then, my first client stiffed me and started screaming at my boss. I don’t know why he was so mad.
He was the one who told me to park under a shade tree.”
Street Corner Talkin’
When I saw this week’s photo prompt two things immediately popped into my mind—dogs marking their territory on a fire hydrant, and the album “Street Corner Talkin” by Savoy Brown.
I decided to run the first idea past our black lab, Buster. He put his paws over his face and growled something about pet-profiling then threatened to report me to AARP (American Association of Retired Pets).
After seeing what happened to Paula Deen, and in fear of being banned from Pet Smart for life, I decided to go with the 2nd option. Still, with any luck, today’s offering is bound to offend someone somewhere.
If you are new to Friday Flash Fiction, the Engineer in charge of booking studio time, and a Top Ten literary artist on everyone’s chart, is the “Belton Belle” Ramona Jo Wisoff-Fields. To learn how to participate in this exercise of madness, head over to her blog for step-by-step instructions. To view the FFF “Hollywood Squares” author seating chart click here.
“Beat it!” he shouted.
The girl looked left and right. They were alone on the sidewalk. “Are you talking to me?” she asked in disbelief.
“Bingo, sister. You may be dumb, but at least you’re not deaf. Now, move along. This is MY corner.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Don’t play stupid with me. If you want to work the street in this town find another corner. This one’s taken.”
“Oh, I see, Mr. Snooty. And what makes this corner so special?”
“See the sign above that shop.”
“The Blue Hair Salon, so . . . .”
“This is where cougars come to play.”
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BTW – I’m always open to constructive criticism. If you’ve got suggestions how I can improve my writing I’d love to hear ’em.
Polli-Nation
I used to work with a guy who was born and raised in Puerto Rico. He told me the hardest thing about learning the English language was the metaphors and euphemisms we Americans use in everyday conversation. When I mentioned that I was going to “pitch a loaf” he wrongly assumed it had something to do with bread.
Today’s story features a disagreement which threatens to dissolve a long-standing relationship between one of nature’s most famous couples.
If you are new to Friday Flash Fiction, the Queen Bee of our hive is the famous therapist Dr. Ruth “Whadda talkin’ bout” Wisoff-Fields. To learn how to participate in this exercise of madness, head over to her blog for step-by-step instructions. To view the FFF “Hollywood Squares” author seating chart click here.
We interrupt normal blog programing to bring you the latest in the Sex Education labor strike.
Negotiations have broken down. The Bees are forming picket lines outside Bird headquarters to protest their stand on In vitro fertilization.
“This is an unnatural act and flies in the face of everything we’ve taught young people for generations,” buzzed Bee spokesperson, Honie.
“There’s nothing wrong with an egg outside the body,” countered Cindy Cardinal. “Why should it matter where fertilization takes place?”
In response, angry bees are constructing a wall of hexagonal wax cells to launch armed drones across enemy lines.
Film at eleven.
The Round-up
I spent yesterday in Indian country (Oklahoma) and barely escaped with my scalp (you have to be on your toes in those casinos). Today, I feel like stomping the dust off my boots, busting through the bat-wing doors of my favorite watering hole, and sucking down a frosty mug of ice cold sarsaparilla.
In this week’s story a daring young man attempts to herd a valuable cash-crop through the badlands in search of fame and fortune.
If you are new to Friday Flash Fiction, the Trail Boss in charge of this weekly wagon train is the straight shooting Rowdy Yatestein Wisoff-Fields. To learn how to participate in this exercise of madness, head over to her blog for step-by-step instructions. To view the FFF “Hollywood Squares” author seating chart click here.
Elton couldn’t believe his eyes. The lush valley below was overflowing with cotton candy, the largest herd he’d ever seen. Dollar signs flashed before his eyes as he contemplated how to get it to market.
The shortest route to the railroad was through Indian Territory. It would take a team of veteran drovers to get the herd through the high-walled canyons, ford swollen streams, and across the wind-blown prairie. They were sure to encounter some sticky situations, especially with the Sweetoothi tribe now on the warpath.
It would take a special breed of cowboy. Where would he find such men?
Bad bike, baaad!
Connie and got back from visiting Dr. Shlomo Raz at UCLA Medical Center late yesterday afternoon (my excuse for being late). I offered to donate my brain to medical science, but they politely declined, insisting they only accept brains capable of forming complete thoughts.
We’re going back for a longer stay in December and I’m taking my overalls. If you’re a Hollywood producer reading this, you might consider signing me for a new reality show, “An Arky in Westwood,” and we can film a few episodes while I’m in town.
If you are new to Friday Flash Fiction, the Biker Mama in charge of this weekly Tour-de-blog is the fast riding Alcea “Hollyhock” Wisoff-Fields. To learn how to participate in this exercise of madness, head over to her blog for step-by-step instructions. To view the FFF “Hollywood Squares” author seating chart click here.
“Is this the defendant?” asked Judge Burns.
“Yes, your honor,” replied Bailiff Smithers.
“Sir, you stand before the court charged with assault. The plaintiff states that on the afternoon of June 14th, in an act of premeditated malice, you swerved to strike a large boulder, causing the plaintiff to become airborne. Upon contacting the ground, he suffered contusions to the face, lacerations to both wrists, and a fractured left tibia.
How do you plead?
(silence)
“It is my order that you be strapped to the largest tree in the town square and sprayed with dog urine.
Bailiff, release the hounds!”
Purchase ‘One Idiot Short of a Village’
Purchase ‘The Perils of Heavy Thinking’
What's So Funny? 