Posts Tagged ‘humour’

False Advertising

June 17, 2014 19 comments

I bought this bottle of Diet Coke yesterday. “Share a Diet Coke with Kirsty”.

Share a coke

I sat there drinking it for an hour. Did the promised “Kirsty” ever show up?

No, she did not.

What a scam.

Categories: Just Silly Tags:

Get Orf Moi Laaand!

May 21, 2014 87 comments

It’s fake Friday and therefore time for Friday Fictioneers! This week’s photo, to which we are challenged to write roughly 100 words, has been contributed by Erin Leary and the whole shebang is hosted as always by the talented Rochelle.

The story I wrote for this week was nearly 200 words even once edited so I’ve done an altered cut-down version. I’ll keep the original and maybe post it some other time. No depth to this one, just a bit of silliness 🙂 .

To read others’ contributions, click on Bracken (the little blue froggy).


Copyright Erin Leary


“Don’t even think about it,” warned the farmer as he saw Bobby eying the fence. “That land belongs to Mad Frank.”

Bobby laughed and leapt over. “Hey, the grass really is greener over here!”

The farmer shook his head sadly.

A hillock opened, a device shot up and there was a loud roar. Bobby’s head exploded, spraying gore in all directions. As his lifeless body toppled over, a second hillock opened and a loudspeaker appeared.

“Get orf moi laaand!” it roared. “You have ten seconds to comply!”

“Classy. Missile first, then the warning,” mused the farmer, wiping brain matter from his face. “Real nutter, that Mad Frank.”

Categories: Fiction Tags: ,

Counting Sheep

May 15, 2014 48 comments

It may not be Friday, but it’s certainly time for Friday Fictioneers! Hosted every week by the talented Rochelle, a whole host of people write a roughly 100 word story in response to a photo, which this week has been contributed by fellow Fictioneerer Sandra Crook.

To read the other stories for this week click on the little blue froggy, whom I have named “Bracken”.


Copyright Sandra Crook

“Look out! Run for your lives and don’t look back!”

“What? Are you not asleep yet? I thought you were counting sheep?”

“Yeah, awesome zombie sheep! They’ve surrounded a car and they’re eating the occupants. There’s blood and body parts everywhere. They’re bleating ‘baa baa baaaarains!’”

“Okay, this isn’t working. Try counting something else.”

“Like what?”

“Something a little more soothing. A little more sedate. Like cows. Try counting cows. I need to sleep myself, I’ve got a meeting tomorrow.”

“Cows it is then.”

Ten minutes later…

“Woah! Run!”

“Ugh. What is it now?!”

“Awesome vampire cows!”


All Screwed Up

May 11, 2014 26 comments

It’s time for Adam Ickes’ Storybook Corner! Impressively, I’m not waiting until the counter says “Submissions close in 5 minutes” to submit my entry this month. Here’s the cool badge.


The aim is to write 300-500 words. I’ve gone a bit over 😦 . It’s also a bit of a nutty story as I was feeling in a whimsical mood.

To read the other stories, click on the blue froggy.


The two boys ambled up the street. Davey, at thirteen, was the older of the pair, so he got to carry the air rifle. Bobby, at twelve, could only watch jealously while his friend aimed it here and there, pretending to shoot invisible enemies.

“When we gonna shoot something, Davey?” he asked.

“When we see something worth shooting,” answered his friend. “How about that stop sign?”

“That thing’s never gonna make a dent in that,” muttered Bobby. He turned away to walk back down the street.

“You’re probably right,” said Davey, taking aim at his friend’s retreating behind. “I bet I can bounce a few off your butt, though!”

Davey squeezed the trigger, eliciting a surprised yelp from Bobby, which soon changed to a groan of pain.

“You shot me in the ass! You shot me in the ass!”

Davey stared, horrified, at the growing stain on his friend’s behind.

“I… I… I thought it would just bounce off!” he quavered.

“I can’t believe you shot me in the ass!” moaned Bobby, bouncing around and holding his bum. “Call an ambulance!”

“Let’s not be hasty,” said Davey. “I’m sure it’s not serious.” Davey could see a nasty scolding in his future. He probably wouldn’t be allowed out of his room until he went to university. He explained this to Bobby.

“Your room? YOUR ROOM! I’m gonna tell, and you’re going to jail! You’re gonna be somebody’s bitch!”

As it happened a hiker had seen the whole incident, and seconds later a police van screeched to a stop, disgorging a host of rather scary-looking officers waving automatic weapons.

“Armed police! Drop the gun! On the ground, now!”

Davey dropped the gun and fell to the ground, shaking. Bobby continued to bounce around, holding his wound.

“He shot me in the ass! He shot me in the ass!”

“Calm down, son,” said the officer in charge. “It doesn’t look too bad.” He looked up. “Wait a second. Have you boys been shooting at the stop sign? Look at those dents!”

“No sir, it wasn’t us,” moaned Davey miserably.

“Armed police, shut up, stay on the ground!” came the reply.

“This is very serious, lads. Those signs are expensive. They belong to The Council. Your parents pay for those signs. We pay for those signs. Taxes.”

Several of the officers, thinking of their wallets, nodded in agreement and gripped their guns more tightly.

“But he shot me in the ass!” screamed Bobby.

“Shut up about your ass, son!” yelled the officer in charge. “Your ass will heal! That sign will need to be replaced. That’ll cost!”

They handcuffed Davey and bundled him into the back of the van, citing “one road sign, public property, destruction of”. The van roared off.

“But what about my ass?” mumbled Bobby, tears trickling down his cheeks, blood trickling down his other cheeks.

All alone, and feeling pretty sorry for himself, he made his painful way home.


“Officer-in-charge” was commended for his valour and is currently serving as head of the prestigious “Street-Sign Crime” unit out of Scotland Yard.

Bobby developed an ass infection and had to have one ass cheek amputated. He’s currently living in Droitwich with his old mum.

Davey was sent down for twenty to life. He became somebody’s bitch.

Categories: Fiction Tags: ,