Tag Archives: humor

Peace and Love

Posted on July 7, 2010 | 2 comments

“Peace and love!” I said loudly to my class when the clock struck noon. What can I say, I’m a huge Ringo fan!

“What are you doing?” someone asked.

“Ringo asked all of his fans to say that at noon, so I did. It’s his birthday.”

“You like Ringo Starr?” someone else asked.

“Of course! I have a bunch of his records.”

“Records? Like real records?”

“Yup. Plus I saw him last weekend in Atlantic City.”

Nobody responded. Finally, after a moment of silence longer than the one in before the pledge of allegiance, someone said, “Wow…I’m jealous.” Many people nodded.

I was surprised. I expected to be teased. Nope.

“Did he sing Beatles songs?”

“Yup.”

“No No Song?”

“Sadly, no. That was the one I wanted to hear the most.”

I had no idea so many people were fans!

“What was he like?”

“Well, he was quite lively, dancing around, really having fun up there, considering he’s seventy.”

“He’s seventy?!?” a few asked.

“Yup. Today is his 70th.”

A bunch of people start typing on their computers.

“Trust me guys, I’m right. I would know.”

Turns out they were Googling No No Song. Nice.

Happy Birthday, Ringo.

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Tales From Ringo

Posted on July 6, 2010 | 5 comments

“Did you notice nobody on stage ever said the word Beatle?”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. I found it odd and was paying attention. We’re seeing Ringo Starr, live, and the word Beatle has not even been uttered.”

She thought about it, and as she did he spoke into the microphone.

“This is a little song I sang that a couple of my old friends wrote for me.”

“See?” I said to her. She nodded as he started singing Photograph.

~

“Now we’re going to hand the show over to a good friend of mine, Edgar Winter.”

I paid how much to see Ringo? And he’s handing the show over to someone? What the hell?

“Are you ready to ROCK?” Winter yelled as I was a bit confused, even dumbfounded. Sure, there’s something to be said of hearing Edgar Winter sing Free Ride live, I’ll admit. But I can’t decide, is this a good thing or a bad thing?

“This song makes me think of Dazed and Confused,” she said to me.

“Yes!” I responded, still confused about my feelings on this issue. I mean, what if we hear this, but Ringo doesn’t sing No No Song? Or Octopus’s Garden?

This went on for four songs.  Will Palmer of The Romantics singing What I Like About You. Rick Derringer singing Hang On, Sloopy. Richard Page singing Broken Wings.

So the big question is, will he play the two songs I want to hear more than anything?

~

“So for those of you who don’t know, which is most of you, I had a new album come out in January, Y Not.”

Two people cheer.

“Thanks. Both of you.”

~

He did not play them. No Octopus’s Garden, no No No Song. So am I pissed? I still don’t know. It was fun, to be sure. He closed singing With a Little Help From My Friends, which was breathtaking. Exciting. Awesome. Yellow Submarine, sang by Ringo? Excellent.

“What was your favorite song?” she asked me. “The finale. With a Little Help. For sure.”

“Me too,” she responded, taking my hand.

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Five More Minutes

Posted on July 3, 2010 | 10 comments

The beeping of her alarm woke me up, but I didn’t mind.

“Hey,” she said, all sleepy-eyed.

“Morning,” I replied.

She turned away onto her side, an obvious hint she wanted to be spooned, and I followed suit.

“This is nice.”

She turned and smiled at my comment. Once she returned to being the little spoon I kissed her neck.

“I wish I didn’t have to go to work.,” I heard her whisper. “I could do this all day.”

“Same.”

She escaped my arms and rolled onto her back so I kissed her.

“At least you have off today. Lucky.”

I smiled. She’s always been jealous of my day off.

“You better get up. You’ll be late.”

She turned away again, signaling for more spooning. I scooched up against her and squeezed her in my arms.

She reached for the fluffy white comforter and pulled it over our heads.

“Five more minutes.”

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The Healthcare Issues of a Couple in Love

Posted on June 29, 2010 | 3 comments

“Do you ever think about marrying me?” she asked wide-eyed.

“Interesting pillow talk,” he thought to himself.

“Of course I do. I’m just waiting for the right-”

“Time?” she said with too much enthusiasm.

“Um…I was actually going to say health insurance.” He tried not to crack a smile.

She jumped up. “What?!?!”

He chuckled and she cracked a smile.

“What’s sad is that I know you’re only half kidding.”

“True.” He reached over and stuck his thumbs into her armpits before she could react and had her giggling in no time. “God knows I wouldn’t marry you for your money. You work at Borders!”

Between giggles she tried to defend herself both against the tickles and his teasing.

“Shut up! Yours isn’t much better – and at least-” giggles “Mine is-” laughing harder “full-time!” She started squealing as he switched it up and started squeezing her ribs a bit, tickling the old ivories.

“Let’s face it,” he continued. “Right now your health insurance isn’t so great. I’m looking for a girl with seriously awesome insurance. So you know, when I get sick, it’s easier. Cheaper. Five dollar co-pay.”

She jumped up and pushed his arms away. Now it was her turn as she somehow got her hands onto his belly, his weak spot. His laughter was uncontrolled as he fell to the ground.

“How about now? What do you have to say now?” she said, laughing as hard as she was when roles were reversed.

He tried but couldn’t get the words out. Finally she let up but kept her hands on his belly.

“Well? What do you have to say?” He grinned and she poised for another attack.

“Dental. And vision.”

So she attacked.

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It’s a Day at the Beach

Posted on June 27, 2010 | 4 comments

Photograph purchased at a yard sale, story typed on a Brother Charger 11.

This original print, along with many others, is now for sale on my Etsy!

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Posted in flash fiction, Typography

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Verisimilitude

Posted on June 24, 2010 | 2 comments

She and I were sitting each on one side of a statue on a park bench.

“What?” I asked her.

“Weren’t you listening to me?”

“Honestly, no. I am completely taken in by the verisimilitude of this statue. It looks so real.” I could not stop staring.

Her attention went from me (and anger) to the statue, one of a man in a suit styled from the 1960s, including a hat.

“Wow, you’re right. It looks so real. Lifelike.”

“If I didn’t know better, I would swear it was real,” I said.

She looked at it as if waiting for it to blink. It did not.

“Waiting for it to blink?” I asked with a laugh.

“No,” she said, a certain amount of defense in her voice.

“So what were you saying?” I asked around the statue towards the front. She looked behind the statue as if we were in some Abbott and Costello routine.

“Huh?”

“What?”

“What?”
“Who’s on first?” I asked.

“Shut up.”

“Meet me in front of the statue,” I called to her.

She did so.

“What were you saying?”

“I was saying…”

“You forgot?”

“Shut up.”

Her eyes turned back towards the statue. She started staring at it.

“Certainly does look real. Excellent craftsmanship, whoever made it.”

“Agreed,” I said.

At that the statue sneezed.

“Bless you.”

The word verisimilitude was suggested by Kate.

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Sunglasses and Rubber Boots

Posted on June 22, 2010 | 13 comments

I sat on the park bench reading, and she came up and sat next to me. I probably wouldn’t have noticed her if it were not for the rubber boots shooting into my peripheral view as I looked down at the novel.

They were bright blue, but that wasn’t what attracted my attention. I looked up at the shining sun and had to shield my eyes from it, even with my dark sunglasses on. It was a scorcher, and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky.

I looked over at her and smiled, she smiled back, but I couldn’t see her eyes through her dark aviators. She looked to be about twenty, wore a bright white and blue print dress and had nice legs. She had a vintage umbrella propped up against the bench next to her, and a little plaid satchel out of which she pulled a sandwich and an apple.

I tried to focus on my book but could not. Why the rubber boots? It was a perfect day, a bright blue cloudless sky backing up my thoughts as I looked around to see the other people in the park going about their busy lives. Not a single one carried an umbrella or wore boots; as a matter of fact none were prepared for any sort of rain at all.

I wanted to ask her, and was about to when a ringing came from her pocket and she pulled out a cell phone.

“Hello?” she said in a Danish accent, and I decided this was fate, I was not meant to inquire about her footwear. Instead I placed my book back into my messenger bag and went on my way, only to find that five minutes later, a sudden darkened sky opened up and rained down on me and the many other unprepared people on the streets. I pulled into a coffee shop for shelter, and before a minute passed the girl skipped by, dry under her umbrella, her boots protecting her feet from the massive flooding that was taking place, and her sunglasses nowhere to be seen.

Words sunglasses and rubber boots and photograph by Christina  Mølholm of And the Monsters fame.

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A Partially Fictional Father’s Day Story

Posted on June 20, 2010 | 5 comments

“You know why you’re a great dad?”

He took a sip of his coffee and raised his eyebrows. “No. Why?”

“Because every single time I’ve needed you, you were there.” He continued to look at me.

“When I have car trouble, I call you and you calm me down, tell me what to do. Something goes wrong with my house, my front door, I don’t feel well, I’m having a bad day, whatever, you always have an answer.”

“I don’t always have the answer…”

“Fine. You have the answer, or within the next ten minutes I get an email from you with a link. Or someone’s number. Or a how-to video from Youtube.”

“I’m just trying to help. Let’s not make a big deal out of it.”

I took a bite of my omelet.

“You accept me for who I am. You support me in my decisions, my art, my stories, you back me up, you want to celebrate with me when I have success, and even when I fail.”

“I just try to do what I can. I don’t do that much.”

“Ha! Whenever I have a project, you figure out all of the details. If I stop by, you offer me whatever food you made the other day. Or some extra fruit and vegetables you picked up at the produce place. Or whatever.”

He continued eating.

“You joke with me when I need you to, or when I don’t. Well, pretty much all of the time. You call me when you want to talk sports, which is a pretty big deal considering none of my friends do that and I need someone to discuss hockey with. You ask me about the oil in my car, how my house is doing, what my day has in store for me, how work is, everything.”

He looked up and gave me that look he always gives me when I’m only partially making sense to him.

“What the hell are you trying to say?”

“Can’t you tell? I love you. And happy father’s day.”

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Turn Right, Ahead

Posted on June 14, 2010 | 5 comments

“The GPS says to turn here!”

Sure enough, as I scoured the tree-lined side of the road for the turn this robot voice was now telling us about, I could not imagine why we would turn into the woods.

Suddenly as if out of nowhere, a small, wooden bridge appeared in the brush. It looked sturdy enough, but before I could reply either way she turned the wheel and we were on it.

“Um…this isn’t even a road!” Ahead lay nothing but dirt.

“The GPS says it is!”

“I know…but once on Office it told Michael to turn and he read it wrong and ended up driving into a lake.”

She looked at me.

“And I can’t swim.”

I looked up and noticed a rickety sign that said “Road Closed” and under that saw something about the word lake and freaked.

“It said lake, it said lake!”

“Relax!” she said laughing. To be honest, I was laughing too. How could a GPS even know this dirt road existed, let alone that it was closed? We were laughing too hard to even watch where we were going.

“Turn around!” I yelled between laughs.

“Where?” All of a sudden we were driving past a brand new house with a small clearing across from it.

“Really, here?” I asked. Why would anyone choose this spot to build a house?

She laughed more as she turned into the clearing to make a three-point turn. I had my camera out.

“I hope someone comes out!”

“Don’t you dare take a picture of people if they come out! Nobody even knows we’re here!”

“Come on. A house that nice, they’ll probably offer us fresh squeezed lemonade.”

“Do you see any lemon trees around here?”

She had a point, but still.

We laughed hysterically until we came back to the bridge, and all of a sudden the GPS righted itself and the robotic voice said, “Turn right, ahead.”

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1,253 Steps

Posted on June 13, 2010 | 3 comments

They huffed and panted, each leaning against the railing of the walkway from sheer exhaustion.

“Man, this is really tough.”

“I know!” she agreed.

He looked over the picturesque mountainside, rocky terrain covering both the cliffs and the path they’d just climbed.

“So, don’t know if you noticed the sign, but this path has something like 1,253 steps, and that’s just the steps. Doesn’t include the regular hiking.”

“Wow,” she said between pants.

“Yeah,” he replied, sitting down on a nearby rock. He sighed from relief.

“Good idea.” She walked up beside him, plopped down on the rock, and then held his hand. He squeezed back.

“This is nice.”

“What, watching me sweat my ass off?”

She smiled.  “What a beautiful place.”

He leaned back and she rested her head on his chest as the constant sound of the rushing water of the falls soundtracked the moment. He reached into his messenger bag and pulled out half a bottle of water, opened it, and offered it to her first.

“Thanks,” she said, taking a swig and then handing it back. He wiped the lip of the bottle off on his shirt.

“Hey!” She shoved him a bit and he laughed and drank a large gulp of water. A family started making their way up the path towards them and he nudged her.

“Better get moving if we want to keep enjoying the peace and quiet.”

She nodded and stood up, reaching out her hand to assist him.

“How out of shape do you think I am?” he joked as she helped him to his feet. He turned and made his way to the next case of old boards that passed for steps at this particular park.

They stood at the bottom of the steepest set of least one hundred steps and looked up at them with despair.

He smiled and said, “Race you to the top.” She took off before he could even finish the sentence, and he bolted after her.

The steepst steps after the climb.Bushkill Falls, Poconos, Pennsylvania

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