What's So Funny?
Russell Gayer, author speaker
Magic Bus
Welcome to the Rachel Crofton bus tour for the highly medicated. If you’ve ever taught a teenager to drive, you know the harrowing experiences that happen when riding with someone who has a wandering eye and an anvil for a right foot—in this case, Rachel’s daughter, Regina.
Your choices are;
a.) Keep your eyes clamped shut and a death grip on the “Oh Shit!” handle
b.) Take a fistful of sedatives 20 minutes before entering the vehicle
Today’s story is an excerpt from Rachel’s previously published essay, “Dodging Miss Daisy.” For those medicated enough to read the entire story, it can be found here.
If you are new to Friday Flash Fiction, the lady responsible for keeping our bus between the ditches is the ever capable Alice Kramden 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 author seating chart click here.
. . . And away we go!
Training starts with basic left-knee steering, then more complicated maneuvers are added as the student gains confidence in hands-free operation of the vehicle.
To graduate, attendees must be able to safely navigate the freeway at seventy-miles-per-hour, simultaneously text their best friend with one hand, apply mascara with the other, and scream at unruly children in the back seat.
Upon completion, the girls receive a “Beauty of the Boulevard” ankle bracelet and a gift certificate for Maybelline products.
I couldn’t be prouder of that girl, but there’s no way I’m getting in a car with her behind the wheel.
Double Indemnity
I’ve often wondered how often palace guards have to do anything other stand perfectly still in their freshly pressed uniforms and superbly polished boots. What happens if their crotch itches? Do they allow them to wear iPods these days?
Once Connie wins the lottery, I’ll see if she’ll let me hire two or three of these guards to post on the front porch to keep the riffraff out. Hopefully, they’ll still let me in, especially if I promise to let them scratch when the urge hits ’em.
If you are new to Friday Flash Fiction, the Queen Mother of the band of vagabonds is the illustrious Elizabeth “Maiden of Missouri” Wisoff-Fields. To learn how to participate in this exercise of madness, head over to her blog for step-by-step instructions. To view FFF author leader board click here.
Phillip was nervous about the new job. It was a highly visible position, though most passers-by saw only the uniform, not the person.
His benefactors promised safety and security, but that was BS (before surgery). When Phyllis Stanton testified before the Grand Jury, death threats arrived daily. They promised to track her to the ends of the earth.
A female tourist came by three days in a row, each time stopping to study Phillip and take photos from different angles. Sweat poured from under his helmet. What if the witness protection program failed?
She leaned forward and whispered in a deep, bass voice, “You’re kinda cute. I think we had the same doctor.”
Double Bogey on the Back 9
One of my all-time favorite Far Side cartoons featured a piano player in a western saloon. Seeing the villain was about to stroll through the bat-wing doors, he announced, “Uh-oh, bad guy, switch to minor key.”
If I’d listened to Gary Larson, this week’s story would have been written in F-flat minor (even though there’s no such key as F-flat minor), but who am I to take advice from a comic genius.
Instead, I kept rotating the photo at 90 degree angles trying to get feel for what the individual in the picture might be trying to accomplish. Judging from the garb and dialect (muffled cursing), I deemed there was only one sub-species of the human race that could possibly get himself in such a predicament.
If you are new to Friday Flash Fiction, the host of this weekly blogging tournament is Susie “Sandtrap” Wisoff-Fields. To learn how to participate in this exercise of madness, head over to her blog for step-by-step instructions. To view FFF author leader board click here.
Myron Muldoon Mackintosh was prone to getting in sticky situations. Even though he rarely made the cut, he was one of the most popular players on the tour.
His antics off the course were legendary. The supermarket gossips rags documented every aspect of his private life. A recent cover photo of him cavorting with the Doublemint Twins, dressed in red and green plaid bikinis, had created a rift with his sponsor.
“Mackintosh, this is your last chance,” declared the Minnesota-based, manufacturing giant.
At the U.S. Open, he revolutionized golf by inventing the piano shot, now known as the Flying 3M.
Mild Kingdom
Like every other American of my generation, I grew up watching Mutual of Omaha’s Wild Kingdom starring Marlin Perkins. The most amazing thing about this show was not the exotic locales or dangerous animals they encountered. It was Marlin’s ability to convince his none-too-bright sidekick, Jim, to perform death defying acts of stupidity.
Here’s an example of a typical scene.
Marlin: Here we are in deepest Africa. Our native guide, Walulu, has informed us that the largest crocodile in watering hole, whom they call Astaminyahna (translated “Gonna Get Ya”), is suffering from a toothache. My assistant, Jim, will now swim through the crocodile infested waters, pry open Astaminyahna’s mouth, and perform a root canal without the aid of anesthesia.
Jim (wrestling the croc): Marlin, could you hand me the vise grips and cordless drill?
Marlin: No can do, Jim. I might get mud on my new khaki shorts.
The mild animal in today’s story is obviously constipated or suffering from some sort of intestinal blockage. Too bad Marlin isn’t around, I’m sure he’d have Jim hogtie the poor creature and administer a soothing enema.
If you are new to Friday Flash Fiction, the host of this award winning program is Marlene Wisoff-Fields. To learn how to participate in this weekly exercise in madness, head over to her blog for step-by-step instructions. To read stories by other FFF authors click here.
PRESIDENTIAL APPOINTMENT
Scene: The President has assembled his cabinet for an emergency meeting at a secret location somewhere in Pennsylvania.
President: I’m sure you’re all wondering why I summoned you here.
Vice President: No, but I am curious why we are meeting in a third-story broom closet on the campus of Havertown U.
President: This is a matter of national security. I don’t want anything leaking to the media until we’ve made our decision. Then I’ll call a press conference and inform the American public.
Secretary of State: Oh, I love secrets. When can we start planning the cover-up?
Secretary of Defense: Is it terrorists? I’ll put the military on high-alert.
President: No, it’s much more serious than that. Ladies and gentlemen, meet our new, middle-of-the-road political mascot, “Doofus.”
Rapunzel’s Sister
Unless you’ve been hiding under a rock for the last two hundred years, you’re probably familiar with the Bros. Grimm fairy tale “Rapunzel.” As in most stories of this genre, the damsel in distress is terminally pretty and the hero brutally handsome (i.e. ~ Eagles lyrics to “Life in the Fast Lane”).
What you’re about to learn is the story of Rapunzel’s lesser-known sister, Carlotta—better known as Whollata in fast-lane circles.
If you are new to Friday Flash Fiction, the Fairy Godmother in charge of transposing everyday photos into miracles of literary art is “Magic Wanda” Wisoff-Fields (fastest wand in the Mid-West). To learn how to participate in this weekly exercise in madness, head over to her blog for step-by-step instructions. To read stories by other FFF authors click here.
Carlotta stared at her reflection in the mirror and flashed a picket-fence smile. She spun in a tight pirouette, admiring her linebacker figure and scarlet, Brillo-pad hair.
How could fate be so cruel? Poor Rapunzel sported long, beautiful tresses and the body of a centerfold, but only attracted one man.
Carlotta, on the other hand, was overrun with suitors scaling the fire escape of her Upper West Side apartment to sample her pleasures. The lack of air conditioning only fanned the flames of their desire.
“Take my advice,” she told Rapunzel. “Hang something out the window other than your hair.”
Who ya gonna call?
In this day and age danger lurks around every corner. Unlike the best selling author of Lame Adventures, Virginia Antonelli, who lives in the heart of Gotham City, we don’t have superheroes bouncing off every building looking for someone to save. In fact pickings are so slim we had to settle for a second-hand, spandex-and-cape-clad crusader called Stuporman.
He means well (bless his heart), but on most of his rescue missions the victims wind up saving him from the villain. Stuporman is not totally incompetent. He can fasten the velcro closures on his boots by himself and gets his mask on straight part of the time.
After being begged for three whole seconds, Stuporman graciously consented to a phone interview by What’s So Funny? special correspondent, Rachel Crofton.
If you are new to Friday Flash Fiction, the producer of this fine program is Baba Wawa Wisoff-Fields (try saying that 3 times real fast). To learn how to participate in this weekly exercise in madness, head over to her blog for step-by-step instructions. To read stories by other FFF authors click here.
Rachel Crofton: What inspired you to become a superhero?
Stuporman: I’ve always loved the feel of spandex, wearing a cape, and the thought of having a secret identity.
RC: Did you have a mentor, or role model, who influenced your career?
SM: As a child, I worshiped Liberace. At fourteen, I attended a Prince concert and it changed my life.
RC: Uh . . . those are entertainers. What does that have to do with fighting crime?
SM: My super-power is my voice, Rachel. When I break into song, villains curl into a fetal position, cover their ears, and beg for mercy.
RC: What is the biggest challenge superheroes face today?
SM: Finding a dressing room. Phone booths are a thing of the past, leaving porta-potties as the only option. Last week my mask fell into the toilet and . . . .
RC: Gross! I don’t want to hear the details. Just tell us why they call you Stuporman.
SM: Because I confuse and astound evil villains—I stupefy them.
RC: Evidently, it works on reporters too.
Chiggerfest 2013
Please excuse the long-winded diatribe at the start of this post. If you prefer to skip this part (which has nothing at all to do with the story) feel free to scroll down and cut to the chase. My feeling will be injured, but I should recover in six to eight weeks with only minor psychological scars.
For those of you who follow the Lottery, as of this morning the current jackpot is the 7th highest of all-time and I expect it will climb further up the charts before the drawing this weekend. My wife’s theory is that you have to purchase your ticket in another state if you want to win. She backs this up by citing the number of past winners who bought their ticket while traveling on vacation.
She may be onto something. Last week when Jason and I were in Charlotte, SC, he purchased a $10 scratch off and won $30. He kept reinvesting a portion of his winnings and after three cards was $90 ahead. I guarantee you if we’d been in our home state of Arkansas he could have spent $90 and been lucky to have won $10.
Don’t waste your time or money on a lottery ticket this weekend. Connie and I are traveling to Carthage, Missouri Saturday morning for Aunt Verda’s 90th birthday party. At some point on this trip she plans to purchase the winning ticket and thrust us into the misery of becoming multi-millionaires. Having money will be quite an adjustment, but she thinks that over time we can learn to live with it.
If you are new to Friday Flash Fiction, the bookie taking bets on who gets the most chigger bites at the event described below is Carla “Whacha-Talkin’-Bout” Wisoff-Fields. To learn how to participate in this weekly exercise in madness, head over to her blog for instructions. Find links to other author’s stories by clicking here.
Chiggerfest 2013
Friday and Saturday May 17 & 18
Entertainment provided by:
Fleas to Please
The Kentucky Bloodsuckers
Chiggermamia
Dog Tick Revival
&
Itchy Scratchy and the Blow Flies
(Debuting their new album “Immune to DEET”)
An all-you-can-eat buffet will be provided by two pale-skinned teenagers making passionate love in the tall grass behind the wrought iron fence.
Tickets available at Chiggerfest.com or at the gate. Bring your friends and come hungry.
The weather is here ~ wish you were beautiful.
Fuzzy Headed
This week’s story weighs in at 127 words, classifying it as Featherweight as opposed to the Mini Flyweight guideline of our guild. But I figured, “Hey, if Perry can get away with it, so can I.”
I’ll be leaving for North Carolina before daylight Thursday morning and won’t return until after 10 pm Friday night. So, I’m apologizing in advance for not replying to your comments or visiting other author’s blogs in a timely manner, but will do my best to catch up over the next twelve weeks.
If you are new to Friday Flash Fiction, the bouncer responsible for maintaining order in this establishment is Bella “Bone Crusher” Wisoff-Fields. To learn how to participate in this weekly exercise in madness, head over to her blog for instructions. After which, scroll down to the blue In links critter and follow the links to other author’s blogs.
“Ma’am, I’m going to have to cut you off.”
“Whaddya mean? I just got here.”
“Well, I’m sure it seems that way. Time really flies when you’re having fun.”
“Who said I was having fun? There’s more life at the county morgue than in this dump.”
“Now, now . . . let’s not get testy and resort to name calling. You can stay until you sober up—as long as you behave yourself.”
“Sober up? I haven’t ordered yet.”
“Ma’am, you were fuzzy-headed the moment you walked in. Now the whole room is blurry and starting to spin. You’re clearly intoxicated.”
“Who is this guy?” she asked the waitress.
“That’s Joe. He always stops in for a few shots before work.”
“What does he do?”
“Brain surgery.”
Geriatric Adventures
Bruce Willis is credited with saying something to the effect of, “No matter how old we get, we still feel twenty-three on the inside.” Most of the time I agree with that statement, but while battling gout a couple of weeks ago, I could’ve sworn I was eighty-eight.
When looking in the mirror, I always ask myself, “Who’s that old fart? Do we know him? When did he take the place of the young stud who used to appear there?” To boost my ego, I like to repeat the adage, “I may not be good as I once was, but I am as good once as I ever was.”
In this week’s story, a couple of octogenarian teenagers have a hormonal flashback. Gladys has been widowed several years and Richard lost his wife a few months ago after a four year ordeal with Alzheimer’s.
If you are new to Friday Flash Fiction, the registered nurse in charge of dispensing medication (and tightening my straight-jacket) is Florence Nightingale Wisoff-Fields. To learn how to participate in this weekly exercise in madness, head over to her blog for instructions. After which, scroll down to the blue In links critter and follow the links to other author’s blogs
“That’s disgusting,” hissed a teenager.
“Yeah you two, get a room!” The boys made gagging sounds and laughed before shuffling down the sidewalk.
“What do you think, Gladys?” Richard wiggled his eyebrows.
She smiled. “I’ve always wondered what the rooms were like in that fancy hotel.”
“One night?” asked the desk clerk.
“Nah, only a couple of hours,” said Richard with a wink.
The clerk rolled his eyes.
“Do you think we’ll be home before our kids report us as missing?” asked Gladys.
He pulled her close and lost himself in her deep sea-green eyes. “I certainly hope not.”
Presidential Library
Last September, Connie and I had the great pleasure of visiting the Clinton Library in Little Rock, Arkansas. We spent a couple hours there and probably saw less than half of what there is to see.
If you haven’t toured a Presidential Library, today’s your lucky day. Lean back in your fake-leather office chair and prepare to be amazed. You’re just a few short sentences away from experiencing the sights, sounds, and malignant odors of one of our lesser known Presidential Libraries, nestled in the sleepy, bedroom community of Havertown, PA.
For those new to Friday Flash Fiction, the Secret Service agent responsible for the safety and protection of our authors is the ever vigilant, Natasha Wisoff-Fields. To learn how to participate in this weekly exercise in madness, head over to her blog for instructions. After which, scroll down to the blue In links critter and follow the links to other author’s blogs.
“Is that all there is?” she asked. “We paid twelve bucks a pop to see a bookcase of ‘Dick and Jane’ readers, some used coloring books, and two dozen worn out ABBA albums?”
“No, ma’am, there’s more downstairs,” said the tour guide. “The unicycle the president rode to his first inauguration, his juggling balls, and the kippah he wore when he took the oath of office.”
“I expected more from a President of the United States,” she huffed.
“His library is two blocks down the street, ma’am. This one belongs to the President of Havertown University.”
*this week I came in at 96 words, leaving 4 extra for my buddy, Perry Block
Purchase ‘One Idiot Short of a Village’
Purchase ‘The Perils of Heavy Thinking’
What's So Funny? 