What's So Funny?
Russell Gayer, author speaker
Frosty the Fireball
I’ve always wanted to use the name Madge in a story. Thanks to Rochelle, and her intriguing photo, I finally get my chance. Some of you may remember Madge as the beautician who soaked her client’s fingers in Palmolive dishwashing detergent to make them soft as a baby’s ear (or was it a lower region?).
No palms or olives were injured in the fabrication of this week’s installment of Friday Flash Fiction.
To read more stories, visit Rochelle Wisoff-Fields blog, http://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/ and click on the little blue InLinz critter to find links to other author’s offerings
Frosty the Fireball
(phone rings)
“Good morning, Irma, this is Flossie. Do you know what’s going on with Madge?”
“No. Is she all right?”
“Well, something’s going on. She’s too busy to talk on the phone, so I went over there. She kept watching the clock and practically shoved me out the door at 3 o’clock. Minutes later, a gray-haired man arrived and stayed for two hours.”
“That must be Paul. What else did you see?”
“Not much, her windows fogged over. He looks twice her age.”
“Well, Madge told me, ‘Just because there’s frost on the roof doesn’t mean the fire’s gone out.’”
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THE ICE WOMAN COMETH
I’ve never met a woman
who’s more like the weather.
Her disposition can change
like the swish of a feather
Forget that the forecast
calls for 90 and sunny,
better put on your coat
The Ice Woman cometh
Like an icy arctic front
sweeping down from the North,
the temperature drops
when she walks through the door.
Suddenly you remember
what you like about summer,
better put on your coat
The Ice Woman cometh
Don’t try to console her,
you’ll never be a hero.
The stare “chill factor”
is twenty below zero.
With a silence so deafening
it sounds like thunder,
better put on your coat
The Ice Woman cometh
Like any winter storm,
we know it won’t last.
We fear its approaching,
we rejoice when it’s passed.
The movement of time
slows to a crawl
while we patiently wait
for the Ice Woman to thaw
Moanin’ after Midnight
Be forewarned, this is a real groaner. Thoughts poured through my pea brain like boulder sized kidney stones passing through a narrow urethra. It took two rolls of paper towels to clean up the perspiration generated by umpteen hours of hard labor giving birth to this ugly baby.
For maximum effect, hold a coffee mug to your lips while reading the story. Photo by Ted Strutz.
To read more stories, visit Rochelle Wisoff-Fields blog, http://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/ and find links to other authors under the comments section.
P.S. ~ If you’re not a regular Friday Flash Fiction reader, save yourself some confusion and stop before the last line.
Moanin’ after Midnight
“Son, I say son,” a booming voice sliced through the night like a Daboll Trumpet off the coast of Cape Cod.
“Where’s the flying pigs? The widow’s boy loves them scientific gadgets.”
“We’ve got airplanes, helicopters, and space ships, but no pigs,” said the vendor.
“Then how about a pair of them X-rated glasses?”
“You must mean X-ray glasses, sir. I’m sorry, we only have sunglasses.”
“What am I going to do with you, boy? The sun ain’t even shining. (whispers) Poor kid, a big barn but an empty loft.”
“Check out our clearance rack, sir. Ted Strutz coffee cups.”
Does this decanter make me look fat?
If restaurant table condiments could talk, what tales they would tell. Secrets of illicit lovers, confessions of criminals on the lam, and horror stories of pranksters who leave the salt lid unscrewed for the next diner. This week’s episode features a 100 word rant by someone who’s a little self-centered. You might even say she’s ‘sweet’ on herself.
Thanks to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for a great photo full of endless possibilities.
To read more stories, go to her blog, http://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/ and find links to other authors under the comments section.
Does this decanter make me look fat?
Back in the old days it was just me, S & P, and maybe a bottle of Heinz. The kind that was so thick it couldn’t be pounded out with a jackhammer—and remember the song, “Anticipation?” I laughed my pour hole off.
Then people got weight conscious and some smarty-pants scientists invented artificial sweeteners. Now they park their little pink, yellow, and blue packets right on the table next to us. It’s insulting.
Try calling your lover Nutra-sweetie, or say their kisses are Splendalicious—see how far that gets you!
I’m from Hawaii and 100% natural. Kiss me, Sugar.
Walmartian Tour, 2012
When I was in high school, my buddy’s father ran the bus station in Fayetteville. I would intentionally refer to it as Jefferson Lanes just to piss him off. “Lines, damn it! It’s Lines, not Lanes,” he would scream. Sometimes his dad would pay us $5 each to clean the inside of an empty bus. You could buy a half-case of beer and a cheeseburger with that kind of money back then.
Thanks to Ron Pruitt for week’s photo and the personal flashback to the ‘good ol’ days.’ To read more stories, go to http://madison-woods.com/ click on the Blog tab, and follow the links.
Walmartian Tour, 2012
Their bags are packed and tucked safely in the storage compartment. His and hers spandex tights, pink stilettos, size forty-two thong underwear, weed-whacker shredded T-shirts, leopard print Cougar-wear, and two large bins of hair color, styling gel, and assorted make-up.
“A quarter of a million people applied for this year’s team,” said Bob Grossman, talent coordinator. “The competition was extremely stiff. It’s not enough just to dress tacky or obscene. Bad taste and poor judgment comes naturally to some people, but sinking to this level requires hard work and dedication.”
“We appreciate the Friday Fictioneers promoting the tour,” said Grossman.
**I’ll be hiding in a cabin in Booger County for a few days starting at noon on Friday, with no access to a computer, but will respond to comments when I return next week.Running of the Spiders
I struggled to find anything funny in this week’s photo, so I went with my first impression. It’s a mix of Alfred Hitchcock and Mel Brooks. It won’t make you spew coffee through your nose, but you might look over your shoulder. I’ll be attending Ozark Creative Writers conference in Eureka Springs this weekend learning how to be creative, so I won’t be responding or visiting blogs until Sunday & Monday. Ya’ll keep me in your prayers.
This week’s photo is courtesy of Jan Morrill.
To read more stories, go to http://madison-woods.com/ click on the Blog tab, and follow the links.
Running of the Spiders
Lucinda had always been afraid of spiders. Therapists suggested a variety of treatments including hypnosis. Nothing worked. The only way to overcome arachnophobia was to face her fear.
The streets of Pamplona were empty the day before its lesser-known festival. Lucinda thought it wise to familiarize herself with the course prior to the event.
The white stucco wall bore evidence of past participants attempting to escape the terror. Broken fingernails and dried blood stains littered her path.
Something moved behind her. A cold shiver raced down her spine. A lone gossamer strand trembled in the breeze.
“Tomorrow, Lucinda,” it whispered.
Burning Down the House
Following the example set forth by our fearless leader, I went back to the archives of October 2012 for this relic. Sandra and a couple of others have read it, but for most of today’s FFF participants it will be a new journey down the path of crude, juvenile humor.
If you’re new to Friday Flash Fiction, the Program Director for syndicating ancient blog posts is Desilu Wisoff-Fields. If you’d like to participate in this exercise of madness, head over to her blog for step-by-step instructions. To view the FFF Hollywood Squares Authors Block click here.
Hop Sing was insulted when Ben mounted a fire extinguisher on the kitchen wall. The grease fire had been small and posed no real threat to safety.
For years they had harassed, teased, and threatened his pig-tail. Now, he carefully plotted his revenge.
Donning heavy gloves, he diced a handful of Chi-Chien pods and stirred them into the beef stew he’d prepared for supper. Before leaving, he coated a bucket of corn cobs with Chi-Chien oil to stock the family outhouse.
“Cartwrights fight fire in big house and little house too.” Hop Sing laughed. “Fire extinguisher not put out flame”
2pm in the Garden of Dumb & Dumber
If you stopped by this blog expecting to have your intellect stimulated—you came to the wrong place. That would be Douglas MacIlroy at http://ironwoodwind.wordpress.com/ or any other of the gifted writers that participate in Friday Flash Fiction. Mine is low-brow humor. Stop now while you’re still ahead.
This week’s story is inspired by photo courtesy of Sandra Crook (which wouldn’t upload for some reason). To read more stories, go to http://madison-woods.com/ click on the Blog tab, and follow the links.
2pm in the Garden of Dumb & Dumber
“Gee, Lloyd, this garden clean-up is hard work.”
“You’re right, Harry. It’s nothing compared to the pool cleaning job the Temp service sent us on yesterday.”
“Yeah, can you believe those two blondes? Uma wanted me to dive in the pool and hunt for her bikini.”
“And what about Ella? She took off her top and asked me to rub sunscreen all over her body.”
“Right, the bikini was under her towel and the sun wasn’t even shining. Only a complete moron would fall for those old tricks.”
“Is that dog poop you’re holding, Harry?”
“Yeah, good thing I didn’t step in it.”
Lost at Peter Bottom
Last week, I was blessed to get the opportunity to read one of my short stories on Tales From the South. Paula Morell host this show each week and it is broadcast on Public Radio around the world.
You Rock My World
I’m not at all knowledgeable when it comes to art. It wasn’t even available as a minor when I attended the University of Hard Knocks. The closest I came to collecting art was three Vargas girl pin-ups from 1973. Here’s my interpretation of this fine piece of sculpture.
This week’s photo is courtesy of Lora Mitchell.
To read more stories, go to http://madison-woods.com/ click on the Blog tab, and follow the links.
You Rock My World
Erastus was exhausted. The 80 A.D. Olympics were only eleven months away. He had been working extremely hard since his disappointing finish three years ago.
His corporate sponsors insisted he grow a third wing to boost his chances in the decathlon. The extra appendage had improved his time in the running and jumping events, but a hindrance in the discus and javelin.
This morning, Pannychis said she felt the earth move when they kissed. He smiled. It was just Mount Vesuvius rumbling.
Now, covered in dust and suffocating, he put his head between his legs and kissed his ash goodbye.
How I Learned to Stop Worrying . . . .
Back in days before “Cougar” meant something other than a large cat, The Rolling Stones recorded a song entitled, “The Spider and the Fly.” I’ve been humming it ever since I saw the prompt. I expect three or four Fictioneers to take that route, and I look forward to reading their entries. Instead, I chose an angle our more “mature” readers could relate to. The third paragraph is an actual line from the movie.
This week’s inspirational photo is courtesy of my good friend, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.
To read more stories, go to http://madison-woods.com/ click on the Blog tab, and follow the links.
How I Learned to Stop Worrying . . . .
“Good morning, Mrs. Smith. How are you today?”
“Just fine, Doctor Strangelove. Do you have my husband’s test results?”
“Based on the findings of the report, my conclusion was that this idea was not a practical deterrent for reasons which at this moment must be all too obvious.”
“Could you break that down in layman terms?”
“Your husband has a growth over his hypothalamus. Here’s a picture of a healthy brain.”
“And here is the scan of your husband’s blockage”
“What does the hypothalamus control?”
“His libido or sex drive.”
“Good. It’s nothing that’ll keep him from mowing the lawn.”
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What's So Funny? 