What's So Funny?
Russell Gayer, author speaker
Myth Confirmation
When I saw this week’s photo prompt from Madison Woods http://madisonwoods.wordpress.com/ my mind started racing like a heavily sedated sloth on an exercise wheel. Could that be the road less traveled? Nope, the grass is worn down. Is it the path of least resistance? I don’t think so. It looks like an uphill climb. This fat boy would be out of breath before he got to the first bend. Unable to generate even the tiniest spec of genuine creativity, I did what any self-respecting humor writer would do in times of duress.—I stole an idea from a cartoonist. Let’s just say I’m “borrowing” it. He can have it back after you’re done reading.
Myth Confirmation
Marty had been planning this hiking trip for months. He and Judy both loved the outdoors, and their children, Will and Teresa, had finally reached the age where they could run wild in the forest with only limited supervision.
They’d spent a small fortune on gear and supplies only to be confronted by a large bear at the edge of the woods.
The bear rose to his full height, thrust forth a gigantic paw clutching a half-roll of Charmin. He leaned forward and whispered, “Trust me on this . . . you don’t want to go in there right now.”
Where the Rubber Meets the Road
I can really relate to this week’s photo prompt from Madison Woods http://madisonwoods.wordpress.com/ As I’ve gotten older, I’ve also become wider. (That’s right WIDER, not wiser) Some have even accused me of being full of hot air. The joke around my house is that my wife, Connie, could write “Goodyear” on my sides and rent me out to fly over sporting events and private parties. So far, I’ve not been able to overcome gravity, but I’ve got high hopes!
Where the Rubber Meets the Road
When I was a young rubber tree, springing up on a plantation in Indonesia, I often fantasied of becoming a blimp. Not just any blimp, a genuine, bona fide Goodyear blimp.
I could imagine my milky latex sap being refined into a glorious covering for the world’s finest airship.
I would be the star attraction at the coronation of kings, the Indianapolis 500, the Super Bowl, and of course, the annual Walmart Shareholder’s meeting.
But the hands of fate are often cruel. So here I lie, used, abused, and thrown on the trash heap of life—just a soiled prophylactic.
Medical Marvels
I know my blogging buddy, Douglas MacIlroy http://ironwoodwind.wordpress.com/ , was thinking of me when he sent this week’s photo to Madison Woods http://madisonwoods.wordpress.com/ for Friday Flash Fiction. You could hear the snicker echoing across the waves all the way from his mountain-top perch in Hawaii. This one’s for you, Doug. I hope you’re still snickering when you read the last line.
The encroachment of civilization brought death and disease, decimating the tribe’s number. Their only remaining virgin was the Chief’s nine year-old daughter.
Still, the belly of the mountain grumbled, belching smoke and fire, demanding a sacrifice.
Three castaways were captured near the lagoon—a white man and two women. The Chief forced the man, a college teacher, to choose which woman would die.
“You bastard!” screamed the redhead, hurtling into the fiery pit.
The next morning snow, frigid and unforgiving as a jilted lover, covered the mountain.
The Medicine Man noted in his journal; Ginger cures mountain God’s molten reflux.
Medical Marvels
Best Laid Plans (of Clowns & Men)
I don’t normally continue a Friday Flash Fiction story from one week to the next, but after seeing the photo Wednesday afternoon, I realized there was no alternative. So here goes . . . .
Photo courtesy of Madison Woods http://madisonwoods.wordpress.com/
Best Laid Plans (of Clowns & Men)
The interview went better than he could have ever dreamed. Ray Kroc was so intrigued by his marketing strategy proposal that he encouraged Ron to implement it at their busiest restaurant.
The focus would be on attracting and retaining young children as the primary customer base. Step one would be development of a small-portion meals containing a prize. Unfortunately, Ron relied on his degree in Entomology when selecting the contents.
Unsuspecting mothers shrieked in horror as live insects darted from their children’s lunch sacks. Angry complaints came pouring in.
Employees dubbed the highly unsuccessful and short-lived venture the ‘Grumpy Meal.’
Under the Rainbow
Welcome to Friday Flash Fiction. Photo courtesy of Madison Woods http://madisonwoods.wordpress.com/ Your suggestions for improvement are greatly appreciated. Be sure and leave a link to your story when you comment on this one. Thanks for stopping by
Under the Rainbow
Ron gazed upon the double rainbow with awe and admiration. A strange sensation swept over him, sending a tingle down his spine.
Unlike those who ran away to join the circus, he ran to escape it. His father was a juggler, his mother a trapeze artist.
Finding employment had been difficult. His unruly hair, goofy grin, and oversized feet proved to be unwelcome liabilities in the job market.
Sitting in the lobby with a dozen other applicants, Ron cast a wish upon the rainbows. The sky began to clear.
“Mr. McDonald,” said the receptionist, “Mr. Kroc will see you now.”
Moondance
I’m really looking forward to reading everyone’s entry to this week’s Friday Flash Fiction photo provided Madison Woods http://madisonwoods.wordpress.com/ When I first saw the photo, I imagined stories of Werewolves and other evil creatures going bump in the night. As might be expected, I took the road less traveled. As always, I look forward to your feedback. Thanks for stopping by.
Moondance
Moonbeams danced through the intermittent clouds drifting high above the scattered trees. Chad, Amy, Mark, and Veronica planned to spend the evening watching a meteor shower on the banks of Wildcat Creek. On the way, they stopped by One-Eyed Jack’s and picked up a quart of double-run shine.
The couples lay in the bed of Mark’s truck listening to Van Morrison and passing the fruit jar. Clouds obscured any view of meteors, but the liquid corn cast its own sparkle across the celestial canvas.
When the last drop was drained Chad hopped upon the pick-up cab, pulled down his pants and shouted, “Look everybody. It’s the moon over my Amy.”
Hole-in-the-Wall Gang
This week’s Friday Flash Fiction photo is provided by Mary Shipman by way of Madison Woods http://madisonwoods.wordpress.com/ Be sure and leave a link to your story when you comment on this one. I will be attending OWFI this Friday and Saturday and unable to reply to or visit other blogs until later in the weekend. As always, I look forward to your feedback, and thanks for stopping by.
Hole-in-the-Wall Gang
“Bang!” slammed the gavel.
“This meeting will come to order,” bellowed nine year old Chad Orton. “Brother Secretary, have we any unfinished business?”
“Yes, Mr. President.” Wally Green lowered his chin and peered over the top of his horn-rimmed glasses. “The broken plank on the south wall must be replaced. The hole permits cowans and eavesdroppers access to our secrets.”
“Very well. I appoint a committee of Steve Faubel, Billy Lang, and Rusty Hinson to secure lumber and repair the hole.
“Who will chair this group?”
“Faubel’s dad is a carpenter. Steve is hereby appointed Chairman of the Board committee.”
Bob-ware Prison
Welcome to Friday Flash Fiction. Photo courtesy of Madison Woods http://madisonwoods.wordpress.com/ be sure and leave a link to your story when you comment on this one. Thanks for stopping by
Bob-ware Prison
No one knew how long he’d been there before they found him. Even the coroner had difficulty determining the exact time of death. His report read “sometime on Friday.”
There were signs of a struggle. Locks of hair—torn from his head, chewed pieces of fingernail, coffee spills near the keyboard.
Friends and family gathered to grieve, wondering aloud if anything could have been said or done to prevent his untimely demise.
Everyone commented on the barb-wire halo draped over a fence post. Perhaps that was the key to unlocking the mystery. The words “bob-ware prison” scrawled beneath the prompt.
Call me in the Morning
Welcome to Friday Flash Fiction. This week’s offering is tribute to Harry Nilsson and Jack Webb. Photo courtesy of Madison Woods http://madisonwoods.wordpress.com/ be sure and leave a link to your story when you comment on this one. Thanks for stopping by
Call Me in the Morning
“Good morning, doctor. I’m Sergeant Friday, this is Officer Gannon. What seems to be the problem?”
“Some woman called, woke me up, complaining of a bellyache.”
“What made you suspicious of her activities?”
“She combined two substances and consumed them. What do you need from me?”
“Just the facts ma’am.”
“Her brother bought a coconut for a dime. She had another, paid it for a lime. She put the lime in the coconut and drank ‘em both up.”
“What did you tell her?”
“You’re such a silly woman. Call me in the morning and I’ll tell you what to do.”
Welcome to Friday Flash Fiction. This week’s offering should strike a chord with those of you living in the Razorback Nation. Photo courtesy of Madison Woods http://madisonwoods.wordpress.com/ be sure and leave a link to your story when you comment on this one. Thanks for stopping by.
Hole to Hide in
Have you been caught in a scandal? Did you publicly embarrass your employer and bring disgrace upon your family? Are you the butt of every new joke on Twitter, Facebook, and YouTube?
If so, Hidey Hole Inc. has just the place for you. Our secluded underground apartments provide the privacy to wallow in self-pity while you struggle to create a new life. Amenities include comfortable park benches for crying, praying, or sleeping, and waist-high steel rails to drape over when expelling cheap wine.
To tour one of our apartments, tap on the manhole cover in front of Van Winkle Tunnel.
Purchase ‘One Idiot Short of a Village’
Purchase ‘The Perils of Heavy Thinking’
What's So Funny? 