Category: Humour

All Stories, General Fiction, Humour, Short Fiction

Masquerade by Roger Ley

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The seed was sown when Riley joined the amateur dramatics group. He had played a couple of minor roles, first in a Sheridan play then in a Dickens, when the email arrived from the am-dram group’s administrator. It was forwarded from a film company needing extras for a few days filming in the local market town. He arrived at the crew’s temporary encampment in the central car park and was told he would be playing a policeman. He hadn’t worn a uniform since he’d been a scout and was surprised by the feeling of empowerment it gave him. The helmet, the collapsible truncheon, the mock pepper spray, it was a new dawn, he felt marvellous, confident. He was somebody, he was a policeman.

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All Stories, General Fiction, Humour, Romance, Short Fiction, Writing

If… by Hugh Cron – Warning Strong Adult Content

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“Mum, mum, I’m just going to come right out with it…I’m straight.”

“My God!”

Janice crossed herself and burst into tears.

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All Stories, General Fiction, Humour, Short Fiction

Blessed are the Little Things by Leila Allison

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There were only four tables in the cafe, and I saw that my date was already seated at one of them. I had figured this out by the process of elimination (there was nobody else in the cafe except her and the young woman behind the counter), and the stretched possibility that my date bore a slight resemblance to the younger, fitter, and brighter-looking person in her profile gallery. A “helpful hint” on the lonely hearts’ site says that you can judge your match’s interest level by the amount of preparation she has invested in meeting you. Interestingly, the lady had gussied herself up to a point which lay between rushing to the convenience store at five in the morning for coffee filters and awakening in a dumpster. And she seemed oblivious to every atom in the universe that wasn’t displayed on her iphone.

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All Stories, Humour

The Time My Dad Chewed Out a Cop by James Hanna

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Dad and I are shooting brown rats at the Putnam County Dump. I’ve got me a .22 Long Rifle while Dad has a Winchester 70 with a scope. We keep a tally of the rats we shoot ’cause that makes it a bonding experience. So far, I’ve plastered six of them while Dad’s shot seventeen. We’re shooting good ’cause there’s a harvest moon out and we can see them like it was daylight. And Dad’s been swigging Johnny Walker to keep his hands from shaking. A couple belts of Johnny Walker turns Dad into Daniel Boone.

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All Stories, Humour

Return of the Bog Monster by Jeff Blechle

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Reuben chomped on a crispy chicken back at the kitchen table when Deputy Nancy smoldered in through the back door, coughing smoke.

“Tanning again, Nanc?”

“These are flash burns!” The deputy dented her waist with the oven door handle. “Bog fog was thick. Smashed a boulder. Patrol car’s toast.”

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All Stories, Humour

Water Buffalo for One by Tim Grutzmacher

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Gary still had some paper to use up. He didn’t want anything to go to waste. He had ordered personalized stationery for years and relished any opportunity to use it. This particular batch featured a thick black line across the top of the page with his name standing out in the most powerful font he believed to have ever existed. He had decided to hand write it, Gary was quite proud of his penmanship and had received countless compliments about it over the years, along with decorations from his school days. It went as follows…

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All Stories, Humour, Short Fiction

Initiation by Richelle Co

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I stare into the fire, tendrils of heat swirling around my face.

It is the first time I will do this. I had anticipated growing inherent wisdom, like that of the elders, but here I am at a ripe age and still rendered witless by the task ahead of me. Adulthood is a farce.

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All Stories, General Fiction, Humour

The Samurai by Larry Lefkowitz

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The epiphany seized Sondheim at breakfast. The morning after he had seen, or rather dozed in part through, the Japanese movie on television. Scenes had flitted through his dreams and he was still in a vaguely Japanese mood as he descended to breakfast – or what he thought would be breakfast. There was none. To his query as to why not, his wife was dismissive. “My morning run,” she said; her white running shoes flashed briefly in the burst of sunlight before the door closed.

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