Humor
The Serious Busting of Mo-Hos
It’s a purple night, edged with the silvery streams of streetlights. The woman in camouflage patrolling the street raises a long, funnel-like object in the air. Her name is Jean. Most people call her, “Queen Jean, the Queen of the Mean.” It’s the best line on a resume teeming with military endeavors. Her partner, Tony, paces quietly six feet away before approaching her. He also holds a funnel-like object positioned tightly against the side of his camo uniform.
By Lois C Rannick4 years ago in Fiction
Clearly Over 25
“Approval needed,” the self checkout machine said. “Someone is coming to help.” In the UK, you can legally buy and drink alcohol from 18, but they have this “challenge 25” thing, just to let people hold on to their fading youth a little longer. Basically they’ll ask you for ID if they think you look under 25.
By R P Gibson4 years ago in Fiction
Ski Slope
We drove across this guy’s ski hill twice and pretty much ruined it, but it really wasn’t our fault. We had driven into this little town in the Alps somewhere in Austria to go skiing the next day on one of the huge glaciers they had set up as a ski resort. There wasn’t much snow that winter but the glaciers still had enough at the tops to get some skiing done. You had to walk down the rest of the mountain from halfway down, unless you wanted to scrape your skis to pieces on the dirt and rocks, but that was okay. At least we were skiing the Alps.
By Patricia Magdalena Redlin4 years ago in Fiction
Diary of a Single Woman
Nov. 17 Dear Diary, So, I have been thinking about my last entry regarding Jay. I know it was wrong to slap the poor guy, I mean, he didn’t really deserve, right? He was just doing what he felt was in the atmosphere between us. It didn’t merit the reaction it had. Needless to say, (more like: obvious to say) I haven’t heard from him since that night. I don’t expect to either. We didn’t exchange contact information and only absolutely crazy men would go looking for women on social media after she slapped him into a different orbital system.
By Iris Harris4 years ago in Fiction
Miss Betsy
The final abduction left Miss Betsy a changed cow. One would never know to look at her. She was a standard dairy Holstein, lovely white with black spots, wide ears that swayed when sounds caught her attention, soft muzzle so well designed to crop grass and munch grain. Her long, narrow tail did the usual job of most such appendages, swishing the odd annoying fly with a soft slap. She had a wonderful pattern on her sides that reminded most folks who admired her of Australia, but Miss Betsy didn’t pay any attention. She was a cow, after all, with bovine goals, hopes and dreams. Those being food, sleep and, well, the other things mammals do who aren’t particularly bright or are challenged to come up with something witty to say.
By Patti Larsen4 years ago in Fiction
