Category Archives: #humor/laughter

Brown Hash

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Writing prompt/Write about a family event that goes wrong.
Brown Hash
     The back door slammed and their lively banter entered the room before them. Jennifer kissed her mother’s cheek saying, “Happy Easter, Mom.” Her brother, Josh, smiled, “You made the bunny cake.”
     Laughter filled the air as they lifted items out of brown paper bags while talking. Carol arranged jellybeans on the white coconut icing to form the bunny’s eyes and mouth. His nose and whiskers made from black licorice were in place. Josh ran his finger along the cake edge to clean up dripping icing then licked his finger clean, “Delicious!”
     Josh, better looking than his sister, was the type featured in the New York Times fashion section, blue eyes starring poignantly into the future pondering a secret. His hair was black like his father’s. Today he wore a scruffy two-day-old beard that accentuated his masculinity. He called to his dad who stood by the stove, “Happy Easter. Whatever you’re cooking smells good.”
     His father looked up, “Come, give your old man a hug?” The fifty-five year old held a spatula high above his head as they embraced. Josh looked in the skillet, “Hash?”
     “Yea, hash. Gotta have your grandfather’s favorite. I doctor it up by adding onion, green pepper and more potatoes. They’ll be here around 10 a.m. or there-a-bouts, after mass.”
     Jason question, “They?”
     “Yup, Grandpa and his new squeeze, Pattie,” said John.
     Grandma had been dead five years. Recently Grandpa had been dating and now infatuated with one woman in particular, Pattie. Grandpa, a  ninety year old, was physically fit which Pattie said earned him the nickname Muscles. Grandpa frequently revisited his youth bragging about weight lifting. When he did, Pattie became amorous and misty eyed, after all the man still had a full head of hair. At eighty-five, she dazzled others herself dressed in bright neon colors, decorated with sequins. A schoolgirl’s laugh accessorized her personality.
     Carol rattled mixing bowls and baking utensils in the sink, rinsing them with water before putting the items in the dishwasher. She swished water in two empty cans and tossed them in the recycling bin, but missed. Jason bent to retrieve them. He studied the wet labels, “Did we get a dog?”
     His mom, Carol quizzically said, “A dog? Why would you think we got a dog.”
     “Because these are empty dog food cans you’re recycling.”
     “No put your glasses on, Dad’s cooking hash, the cans . . . . .” Carol did not finish her sentence but glanced at her husband who was cooking as the door bell rang. “Jason, get the door. It’s Grandpa and Pattie, I’m sure.”
     Carol disposed of the cans in the regular trash, pushing the cans to the very bottom of the pail. She joined her husband at the stove and inhaled deeply to confirm the revelation of he really was frying in the pan.
      Jason opened the front door and greeted his grandfather with a hug. Grandpa wore a navy blue pin stripe suite, a crisp white shirt and solid periwinkle tie, but no muscles. A Calla lily was pinned to his lapel. Pattie wore a ridiculously large hat, much too much fragrance and a big smile.
     Formal introductions took place in the kitchen. The egg and hash casserole was in the oven. John removed a mitt potholder to shake Pattie’s hands. Carol embraced the elderly woman pleased that she was hugged backed. Jason whispered to Jennifer, “Not really the Grandma type.” Jennifer responded by poking her bent elbow into his side and said, “Grandpa I made Mimosas.”
     Grandpa took Pattie’s hand and led her towards the granite counter, pointed at a stool and said, “Well what are you waiting we’re thirsty.”
     There were six champagne glasses on a green Plexiglas tray and Jennifer filled the glasses then deposited a stemmed maraschino in each orange juice drink.
     When the kitchen timer rang John said, “Time to eat! You folks get settled in the dining room. I’ll bring in the food.” He opened the oven door and removed the hash casserole, a platter of sliced baked ham, baking dish of corn pudding and cinnamon buns.
     Carol ignored Jason’s skeptical eyes saying, “I’ll get the coffee.”
     “None for me, Pattie and I will have another mimosa, won’t we.” Pattie nodded her head in agreement.
      Seated at the table everyone joined hands as they gave thanks.
      The conversation was lively except for their observation that Carol was not eating much. Her response, “I’m vegan. Well not completely but pretty much a vegetarian, don’t eat meat,” as she pushed some corn pudding around her plate.
     Grandpa keep chewing and with food in his mouth said, “You don’t know what you’re missing everything is delicious, especially the hash.”
     After a period of silence, Jason wiped his mouth with a cloth napkin and questioned his mom, “So did we get a dog?”

Gizmos & What-cha-ma-call-its

It has been a real struggle to write recently, so I have returned to a daily writing exercise. Randomly flip through the dictionary and point at a word. Once you have ten words stop. Like them or not, use as many of them in a story/paragraph.

June 25th, 2015
Interview, ban, states, disturbed, inspector, location, announced, wine, recipe, gizmo

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A Gizmo or What-ch-ma-call-it

     “Hand me that gizmo,” Rita said.

     “What gizmo?” Allen asked while tying his tie and studying Rita’s reflection in the bedroom mirror. Sunlight reflected the red highlights in her auburn hair.

     This morning he was dressing for an interview. It was his third in the hiring process. Today he would meet and chat with staff, each of whom had the ability to ban his employment. A mental picture of several inspectors carrying poster boards that read, “Go Home, We Love Fred!” disturbed him. If hired he would replace a popular boss whose subordinates had whined and complained about his firing. He need of a recipe for success, not distraction!

     Rita primped oblivious to his situation. With both hands raised above her head and holding a curling iron she stated, “You know that thing-a-ma-gig I use to curl my eye lashes.” Rita bent her neck and pointed her head to indicate a location, “That gizmo over there.”

     Allen tightened the Windsor knot at his neck and looked in the direction of her dresser. It was cluttered with; tweezers, nail clippers, buffers, files, and emery boards. Things scattered haphazardly about.

     Clueless, he responded, “Which what-ch-ma-call-it?”

     Rita sighed with annoyance. “It’s the one with loops for your fingers and a bar to you slip your lashes between. Don’t play stupid. It’s right there.”

     Allen sauntered across the room and examined the items on her bureau. He debated which one best fit her description of torture. Then as though playing Russian roulette, held it out to her and said, “You mean this doohickey?”

Me A Sandwich

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “You, the Sandwich.”

If a restaurant were to name something after you, what would it be?


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                                  The Crunch

It would be a sandwich, not a hoggie, hero or sub.
Something simple and delicious, to take on the run
My mouth starts to water and I lick my lips
Thinking of this everyday pantry item, always a hit.
Smooth and creamy it sticks to the roof of your mouth
Not to worry a thick slice of apple is packaged inside
That’s why it’s called  the “Crunch”

Recipe

2 pieces of rye bread, or any soft mushy bread of choice

Lots of creamy peanut butter

Slices of Granny Smith Apple

Cut the apple first than, than spread peanut butter on bread, layer apple inside.

Granny Tango

Voice Work

Your blog is about to be recorded into an audiobook. If you could choose anyone — from your grandma to Samuel L. Jackson — to narrate your posts, who would it be?

Granny Tango

Truly conflicted, Samuel L. Jackson and Grandma discuss who best can narrate “Seriouslyjustsaying.”

“So nice to meet you, Mr. Jackson.”

“Same here, Grandma or may I call you Gertrude?”

“Yes, Gertrude is fine, I’ve been told my granddaughter has a blog that will be recorded, will she be arrested, do I need a lawyer?”

“No Grandma, rather Gertrude, it’s nothing like that, a blog is a post, how can I explain this . . . your granddaughter is a writer and publishes her work online, she’s not in any trouble.”

“Oh petty, that is such a comfort, my brother Thomas was a writer, a lovely writer, so dear, why are we here?”

“Well Gert, they need someone to record, you know tape her stories, make an audiobook. It’s between you and me.”

“Oh petty, what’s an audiobook? I don’t want to do that.”

“F___, Granny I don’t want to do that either.”

“Well, Mr. Jackson, let’s get Mikey, he’ll do it!”

. . . Seriously just saying

 

 

 

 

 

The Mean Wife

 

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The Good Wife

Well, I do not want to be the director. Really, I would rather be Alicia, “The Good Wife”. She always looks great and never, never once shopped. Let us not pretend, in real life she probably has, as well as screamed at her kids.

Pretend is so much better and that is why we love Alicia.

However if I had to replace her with a family member it would have to be a Mother-in-law, not my mother-in-law. She recently died and  I will not speak ill of the dead, but no one cried for her.

We need not be maudlin, but have some fun.

Episode One:

Alicia drives to her kid’s school crying hysterically at dismissal and tells them their father, Peter,  is having an affair and she is going home to kill herself.

Pretend is so much better and that is why we love Alicia.

Dig Deeper

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Digging Up Your Digs

500 years from now, an archaeologist accidentally stumbles on the ruins of your home, long-buried underground. What will she learn about early 21st century humans by going through (what remains) of your stuff?

Dig Deeper

Terran 48 removed her head shell and spoke directly into the drone, “Contact the Archaeology Ministry, we unearthed a digital picture frame, manufactured by Kodak with humans of all ages laughing,smiling and dancing; evidence that Homo-sapiens were programmed for happiness as early as 1970. ”

. . . Seriously just saying

Not Happening!

Zoltar’s Revenge

In a reversal of Big, the Tom Hanks classic from the 80s, your adult self is suddenly locked in the body of a 12-year-old kid. How do you survive your first day back in school?

Not Happening!

I shake and shutter at the thought. The year would be 1960 and I’d be going into the seventh grade in WAJ Central.

You cannot make me do it, I am not going back.

I am, in fact, missing on the reunion list, although my name appears with the caption “Do you know where this graduate is?”

But I am not returning.

The school is named WAJ, after the sending towns; Windham, Ashland and Jewett. You can  locate it on a map, by looking for Green County above Kingston, New York. If you ski, perhaps you’ve been to the sloops of “Windham Mountain Resort.

WAJ is a small rural school with kindergarten through twelfth grade housed in one building. There were thirty-five students in my 1966 graduating class, one of which was my brother, because although older, he was left back twice.

Our move from Long Island to the Northern Catskills was a middle of the night move, motivated by our father’s belief it was better that constructing a bomb shelter.

Anyway, why go back as an adult, I was one of the few adults way back than.

Well I could go back and tell the science teacher, Mr. Christman, not to throw a frog reeking of formaldehyde out the window and comfort to Ms. Lazare, the French teacher, who after hearing a loud pop believed she’d been shot and fell to the ground clutching her chest. 

But I am not going back and you cannot make me!

. . . Seriously just saying

 

 

 

Dyslexia of The Mouth

denmark1051

 Uncanned Laughter
A misused word, a misremembered song lyric, a cream pie that just happened to be there: tell us about a time you (or someone else) said or did something unintentionally funny.

Dyslexia of the Mouth

Talk about hitting the hammer on the head or nailing the head of a hammer, well you hit the nail on the head. This is me and I blame my brother. In childhood, Victor hit me on the head with a baseball bat and on another happy occasion, a lead pipe. I hear him laughing now, and the laughter follows me.

Like a stroke victim, I think I am saying circumference, my mouth says circumcise and people laugh. “What? What’s so funny about a circumference?” I’m listening to my mind unaware my mouth is not cooperating.

This dyslexia of the mouth was brought to my attention by my boyfriend. We were twenty and playing the word game Geography. A graduate of private school, Iona Prep, he had a true advantage. I graduated from Windham Ashland Jewett Central and had traveled only once outside New York to Rhode Island.

We’d been through all the states and working on Countries. I was doing okay; until the letter, O.

Stumped to name a European City that began with O, Bob helped me saying, “It’s a city in Norway.”

I scream excitedly, “I know Openhagen!”

LOL, Openhagen? LOL,Openhagen?

Oslo is a city in Norway that begins with the letter O. Copenhagen, the capital of Denmark is close by. If the c is  scratched you have a European city that begins with O.

I wish I had a dollar for every time he has retold the story laughing very out loud.

We’ve been married for forty-three years.

. . . Seriously just saying

Blogging School Drop-Out

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April 24, 2014
It’s 6:45AM and I’m sitting at my desk wearing a pink fuzzy robe and slippers that are too big. The music from “Beauty School Drop-out” is swirling through my head only, blogging has replaced beauty.

Seriously, I’m considering dropping out or taking a medical leave from Blogging University. I don’t know if today is day ten, eleven or twelve. I haven’t completed assignments from day six through whatever we’re up to and I’m having dreams about failing.

It’s the day of the final, every seat in the classroom is filled, except mine. I wonder the room looking for a different seat and a pencil with an eraser. The exam will include reading aloud from Oliver Twist, and I never bought the book. A pencil holder is on the front desk, I check its content and none of the pencils have points. There are several Papermate Sharp Writers, but they are broken.

The professor, wearing jeans and shoes without socks, sneaks up behind me. He’s never been  to class before, and I’m surprised by his looks; a spitting image of Tom Scary, my first high school crush., except his  nose is much pointer.

He frowns, cracks his neck, and says, “Looking for something?”

I mumble, “A pencil.” Then continue to confess, “I’m unprepared. I never read Oliver Twist or Catcher in the Rye and can’t understand Shakespeare.” Tears are forming in my eyes.

He reaches in his pocket for a pen he hands me, saying; “Use this!”

Then turns to the class, and says, “Who wants to read first?”

I woke up in a cold sweat.

It took ten minutes to write this, an hour and fifteen minutes to edit, and two days to select an image header.

I’m getting dressed. It’s hard for me to think when my boobs are touching my waist, and besides I have dryer lint on my mind.

 

. . . . Seriously, what’s on your writing mind?

7 Golden Rules of Blogging