Category Archives: humor

Flash Fiction Titled Acerbic

Acerbic was previously published in Florida Writers Collection, Let’s Talk.
The challenge was to write a story less than 1200 words using dialogue only.

Setting; a doctor’s waiting room.

Acerbic

       “This is ridiculous.  I’ve been waiting more than twenty minutes.  My appointment was for nine fifteen.  What time was your appointment?”

     “Well, I’m not sure; I think nine thirty, why?” 

     “Unacceptable! My time is of value, too. Why aren’t complaining?”

     “I was told the doctor was running late when I signed in.”

     “It’s better if everyone is out of sorts.  I can complain for you, make something up, like your dog is in the car, sick and needs to be taken to the Vet.”

     “Reading here is as enjoyable as anywhere.”

     “Boy, you people are annoying, must you be so perky and pleasant?”

     “You’re upset.  Why don’t you thumb through a magazine?  There’s a travel article about Hawaii in this one.  Have you been there?”

     “You think looking at pretty pictures of places I can’t afford to travel to will help me… what?  Be happy I have to wait for a man I pay to tell me I’m sick. And looking at colorful advertisements won’t help either.  I’m Acerbic.  My parents and grandparents, on both sides, were Acerbic and proud of it.”

      “Acerbic?  Is that … American or … a religion?” 

     “Acerbic is a way of life.  You got a problem with that?  Our dispositions are generally crabby.  We find fault in others quickly and enjoy being sarcastic.”

     “Golly gee, everyone feels crabby from time to time.”

     “Golly gee?  Golly gee, we’ve been sitting here over a half hour.  Can’t you pretend you’re a little annoyed?  That wing back chair looks awful uncomfortable.  These doctors are all the same; think they’re better than the rest.”

     “His nurse said the doctor had an emergency, it sounded serious.  Are you really Acerbic?”

     “Our whole neighborhood is Acerbic.  We don’t like friendly.  People yell, ‘Don’t park in front of my house, jerk’ and threaten, ‘If your dog pees on my grass, I will call the police!’  Although things are changing.  Someone, I can’t find out who, moved my garbage pail out of the street on a windy day.”

     “You don’t mind if I read my book?’

     “Of course I mind.  I get it.  Why not say shut-up?  Add please if you have to.  It’s easy; watch my lips, ‘Will you please shut-up!’ ”

     “No, tell me about your life.”

     “Actually I had a great childhood.  We owned a small cabin not far from Rte. 95 below the Georgia border.  Dad named it Acerbia.  It was a retreat where we could be sour and discontent on weekends and during vacations.  You know, say nasty things about neighbors and relatives.”

     “Was that fun?”

     “Are you kidding, of course, the best.  By the way, they call me Unfortunately.  I’m Unfortunately Fortunato.  What’s your name?  Not that I care.”

     “Unfortunately is a first name?  And Fortunato your family…?”

      “Mom wanted an Acerbic name, nothing cheerful or common like Hope, Joy or Grace.”

     “That had to be a difficult name for a child.  Did she think it was a mistake?”

     “No, Difficult and Mistake are my brothers.  Mother named them good, too, because Difficult is in prison and Mistake, chronically unemployed.”

     “Was that a surprise?”

     “They still haven’t called anyone.  All they do is talk on the phone.  Someone else has to complain.  You can do it.  I like your pink eyebrows.”

     “My eyebrows are pink?”

     “Yea, they match your lipstick, compliments that bluish tint in your hair, and look cool on a woman your age.”

     “My hair isn’t blue! I’m not that old.”

    “Isn’t that book you’re reading in large print?”

     “It’s easier I don’t have to remember my glasses.”

     “Most seniors get a little forgetful.  It’s normal, not a problem unless you can’t remember what glasses are.  You know glasses magnify things, right?” 

     “I know what glasses are for and I didn’t forget them.  I do not need them to read a large print book.”

     “Did you hear that?  The receptionist called Ms. Fortunato.  That’s me, Unfortunately.  Doc’s ready for me.  Have a rotten, day”

     “You too, and my eyebrows aren’t pink!

The challenge was to write a story , less than 1200 words, using dialogue only. 

seriously . . . just saying, Claudia

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The Scent of Coffee

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Daily Prompt

     I walk into the coffee shop a strong whiff of coffee descends and I am in heaven. There is no other way to describe the effect and close my eyes inhale the aroma. My chest expands savoring the moment, and then with relaxed shoulders I join a line of customers. The line is not long.

A voice behind a “Flavor of the Season” sign calls out, “Sara, frozen latte extra whip cream.” A woman steps to the counter with a receipt in hand, “That’s me but I want a frozen latte with extra caramelized whipped cream.” Her emphasis on caramelized is exaggerate.

I study the iced plastic container with a sleek black straw poked into its dome cover as it is set aside and search my senses for a hint of coffee.

The line is not getting shorter but longer behind me.

I hear the cashier take orders for a Cappuccino, a Frappuccino (whatever that is), several Smoothies and a Latte Macchiato, and believe I am next in line when she announces her break.

The customer line is now out the door the strong coffee aroma diluted. Be patient I tell myself thinking I may have caffeine withdrawal when I am called and order, “A regular cup of coffee.”

“Tall or Grande?”

I want to tell her to just shut-up, hurry up and get me a cup of coffee but do not. I smile, “Tall, please.”

“Would you care for a Croissant, Scone, Cheese Danish or Cinnamon Morning Bun?”

“No, just coffee! I’ve been standing in line for thirty minutes I want a cup of coffee, not a Latte, Cappuccino, Espresso, Caffé Misto, or Green Tea. I just want a cup of coffee.”

. . . . Seriously Just Saying

Vegetal Trump

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What does it mean?

Vegetal implies something to do with vegetables, and or plants; as in big red tomato, or an oversized yam. Writers will interrupt the word, as either a verb or noun, although a dictionary defines vegetal as an adjective.

So why am I feeling mad at the mention of this word? I like vegetables and love plants.

A big red tomato, Donald Trump won!.

What the vegetal. I’m stunned and did not vote for him. However, I will root for him and hope the seeds planted grow into a hybrid unimagined by pundits, a plant with leaves of every color that capture the warmth and sun surrounding the universe and yield a bountiful harvest.

 . . . . Seriously Just Saying

Daily Prompt

Political Second Thoughts

 

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Daily Prompt

“Are you ready?”

“Not really?”

“Not really? We agreed to vote early, avoid the lines.”

“I’m having second thoughts.”

“Second thoughts, about voting?”

“No second thoughts about Trump. What if he wins?”

“He’ll be president.”

“Hilary’s a liar, she deleted emails and then there’s Benghazi? Think about Supreme Court nominees. How can you vote for her?”

“Well for one thing she’s not going to be investigated by the FBI and to my knowledge hasn’t groped anyone.”

“Your right! I’ll vote for Hilary. You know history is in the making, a woman president, and a man first lady.”

“Oh! You’re changing your mind? . . .  The Supreme Court? That’s some serious stuff, needing some serious thought.”

“You’re making a right about face?”

“Yes, you were going to vote for him. I can have second thoughts. ”

“Right but I had second thoughts first and now I’m voting for Hilary.”

“Well I’m voting for Trump! Any third thoughts?”

“Get in the Car.”

. . . . Seriously Just Saying

A Tiny House

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Daily Prompt

I want a Tiny House

A place to rest my weary head, be quiet as a mouse

An itsy bitsy treasure chest

With walls of solitude

Miniscule and clutter less

One pot, one coat . . . .

A best dress and pair of shoes to match the rest

Perhaps a weed-less garden

Its flowers tango to the breeze

This is what tiny means to me!

. . . .Seriously Just Saying

(I welcome any comments, especially regarding how to punctuate poetry)

Yippie Ki Yay Breakthrough

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Photo By Nev P

Daily Prompt Breakthrough

 

Yippie Ki Yay!  A breakthrough, I am writing.

What happened? I had writers block, and touted this previously enjoyable pastime, tedious.

Well, Saturday evening between bites of bratwurst and sauerkraut, a friend commented that she missed my blog posts and enjoyed my writing.

Sunday morning I awoke to write something. I am ready to get back on my horse and go for a wild and crazy ride. You know what I am saying. I love to play with words, cut and paste incomplete sentences to make complete sentences and obsess over where to place the comma or maybe it should be a semicolon.  

My breakthrough . . . . listen to what I tell myself about a favorite activity, writing.

There is nothing more enjoyable than fixing a dangling participial.

. . . . Seriously just saying

 

Miniature

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Daily Prompt Miniature

Lucy says my heart is miniature, her heart is bigger. Everyone’s heart is bigger than mine.

Lucy says my heart is a replica of hers, only mini; a mini heart, tiny and small; a miniature heart, the size of a frog’s.

Lucy knows because she dissected a frog.

Lucy says I am mini inside but not mini outside.

Lucy says if I don’t believe her she can dissect me.

 

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.