Humor

Minister Fer Roads
Minister fer Roads _______________ I live in South Morang near Melbourne, Australia. What’s interesting about that is there isn't a Morang; no North Morang and no East or West Morang just South Morang and while I’m talking about whacky suburb names, how about this one: Just up the road from here there’s Whittlesea. True. Whittlesea. Nearest bit of coast is over an hour’s drive away. Can’t you feel sorry for the poor bugger who bought a boat and moved there?
By Suzsi Mandeville4 years ago in Fiction
Barry Dagman's party
Barry Dagmans Party A short skit ______________________________ Scene: The stage is bare except for a washing machine. (Hollowed out so Barry can climb inside. Handle on the back, so he can make it look like it vibrates …)
By Suzsi Mandeville4 years ago in Fiction
Phone Home Alone
They were following me again. Of that much, I was positive. The jolting jingle of their feet made the little fuckers hard to miss, even if they half-heartedly dodged around corners.
By Katherine Schultz4 years ago in Fiction
Having to let go..
Defined by the wonderful Goggle, collateral damage is defined, and I quote "injury inflicted on something other than intended target."
By I am me Amanda Nissen/Champion4 years ago in Fiction
The Definitive Idiom (Part 1)
Between a rock and a hard place in a situation where one is faced with two equally difficult choices
By Don Money4 years ago in Fiction
Klimt's Nightmare
We went to see The Doors in concert. Because there weren’t enough people, so not enough tickets were bought, we had to go without the magic of watching The Doors.
By Sandra Tena4 years ago in Fiction
Death Inc.
Technically, Jerry Carroll had been dead for seven days now. That was, dead in every conventional medical sense of the word anyway. It had all come as a bit of a shock to him, as you would imagine. Firstly, he had been somewhat down on his luck anyway, but being killed had really been a downer. Secondly, his death had been a huge mistake and it should have been someone else who’d copped it. He attempted a heavy sigh as he pondered this, but it sounded more like he was blowing a raspberry, as the flap of skin where his throat had been cut vibrated noisily in the escaping rush of air. Typically, he had been in the wrong place at the wrong time and had gotten involved with the wrong people. There was no denying he had been involved with some slightly dodgy dealings but had never intentionally hurt anyone and certainly didn’t deserve this. It should have been one of the other couriers, Al the Snake, who went on this particular delivery. Admittedly his memory was patchy at best; but now it was cracking up like an iceberg drifting further and further into warm waters.
By Phil Tennant4 years ago in Fiction
We'll Go Down In History
Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer had a very shiny nose And if you ever saw him, you would even say it glows However, due to his difference from the established norms Poor Rudolph was forced to live the life of a recluse from his oppressors Who saw no purpose for him until such a time as was convenient For them to achieve their own Capitalist goals But thankfully Rudolph had spent his formative years reading Marx and Engels And was eager to throw off the yoke of oppression once and for all…
By R P Gibson4 years ago in Fiction
Well-formed Females
Day 1 It had been approximately one year since their last camping trip, and in that time everything and nothing had changed. It was typically the nothing that sparked intense conversation among the women, focusing on the irony and idiosyncrasies of adult life. The commonality of shared values and perspectives brought them together and would strengthen their bond over the years. For example, it was agreed upon that under no circumstance should one put their exposed feet up near an airplane window. This kind of behavior warrants public shaming, or at the very least a sneakily taken photo for Instagram with the caption “really tho?”
By Erin Bailey4 years ago in Fiction
Missed Connection
It was December 1986. There were no cell phones. There was no email. There was no social media. We still had landlines. Voicemail was still not a thing. It was still physical answering machines connected to the landline phone. Calling in to listen to your messages was also still in its infancy. You had to have a real expensive answering machine to have that feature. You had to wait until you got home from work, from shopping, from wherever to listen to your telephone messages.
By Zoe Stimm4 years ago in Fiction
A North Pole murder
Detective Biggles surveyed the area. The room had been thoroughly trashed and laying there in the middle was the body of Scampy, manager of the electronic toy division. Biggles walked over to where the elf lay. The elf’s back was riddled with sharpened candy canes. The detective leaned in to get an even closer look. “Hm,” he thought to himself, “very sloppy, amateurish… this was someone’s first stab at murder.” Officer Nettles sidled up to the detective. He had taken Nettles under his wing, sensing real potential in her as a detective on the North Pole Police force. “What do you see, Nettles?” Detective Biggles asked. “I think Scampy was targeted,” she posited, “but this was clearly not a professional hit.” Biggles allowed himself a smile. “Good eye,” he complimented as he stood back up, “Now what?”
By Lloyd Farley4 years ago in Fiction
“THE EXORCISM OF MICHAEL BLACKBURN”
“THE EXORCISM OF MICHAEL BLACKBURN” The feeling that ran through my body as I read the invitation I had received was that of excitement and anxiousness. It was a formal birthday party invitation from my good friend Ben. Back twenty five years ago receiving a hand delivered card with details of a birthday celebration was the equivalent of being invited to the Rothschild's Surrealist Ball, you were in, and you were elite. You knew you could live free from the shackles that our parents placed on us even if it was for only an afternoon. But this party would be different, this party was a sleepover.
By Doug Radmore4 years ago in Fiction