humorous short story

Linda’s Bedtime Stories for Grownup Children: Judy ByerMyer

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Welcome Dear Readers.  Today’s blog is brought to you by the makers of WordPress Daily Prompt. 

The Prompt:  Time to confess: tell us about a time when you used a word whose meaning you didn’t actually know (or were very wrong about, in retrospect) 

Naturally, I was reminded of the time my dear neighbor, Judy ByerMyer, dropped by for a visit.

The Day Judy ByerMyer Dropped By

Judy Byermyer wordpress daily prompt

“Gosh I’m hungry!  I could sure go for some Colonial Sanders right about now.” Judy ByerMyer announced.

“Didn’t you have any breakfast, Judy?”

“Are you kidding? I slept in and then Katie couldn’t find her backpack, and then my car almost did-dint start and I could feel a migrate headache coming on and . . . ”

As Judy prattled on, I began to feel a little migrate headache-ish myself.

“. . . so anyways, I says to Katie,  ‘Katie, honey,  did you look under your bed for your backpack?’ sense it could have been there for all intensive purposes. But guess where she found it, Linda?”

“I looked at the clock: 8:35 a.m.  Judy would stay all morning if I didn’t think of a way to get rid of her.  I was mulling over ways to covertly set the house on fire when I realized Judy was trying to get my attention.

“Yoo-hoo!  Earth to Linda!  I said, guess where she found it?”

“Where?”

No guess!

“I give up, Judy.  Where?”

“Right on the hook!  It was supposably there the whole time!  Judy laughed like she was auditioning for a sitcom laugh track.  “Oh and wait til I tell you about what happened yesterday when we bolth got super flustrated because we could find her sweater anywhere and . . . ”

I looked at the clock again. One minute had gone by.  No force in the universe could slow down the passage of time quite like Judy ByerMyer. I had to think of a way to get rid of her.  But how?

” . . . so anyways we looked under her bed and we looked behind the couch and we looked  . . .”

I was beseeching the gods for an earthquake or at the very least a tidal wave, when there was a horrendous crash through the kitchen ceiling. When the dust settled Judy ByerMyer lay unconscious on my kitchen floor, knocked out cold by a well-timed meteorite. I was horrified and filled with guilt.  So much so that when Judy momentarily came to I confessed that I had beseeched the gods to do it.

“Never misunderestimate the power of the gods.” Judy ByerMyer said and added, “I sure hope I don’t go into a comma.”

 

Judy Byermyer in a comma
Commatose Judy ByerMyer

 

Until next time . . . I love you

 

 

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Dictionary, Shmictionary.

Circular Vacationing

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Copyright John Dixon

George where are you? I hear you — but I can’t see you.

I’m by the crooked tree!

Which one?

The one shaped like an S.

But they’re all shaped like an S.

I’m by the one that has a curlicue branch growing out of it.

But they all have curlicue branches growing out of them.

It’s wizened!

Oh wizened. That’s helpful, George.

Hey! You’re the one who insisted on vacationing at Macramé World, Marge!  Marge?  Marge?

I’m over here, George!

Where?

By the crooked tree!

Which one?

The one that’s shaped like an S.

* * *

If you would like to participate in Friday Fictioneers, go to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields-Addicted to Purple, write a 100-word story inspired by this week’s picture and  link up.  It’s fun!  It’s refreshing! You’ll like it! 

Until next time . . . I love you

 

Trifecta Writing Challenge: Gunther Randleroot’s Fortuitous Formula Fail

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Hello Dear Readers!  This week’s Trifect Writing Challenge was to write a story between 33 and 333 words using the third definition of heart:  3: personality, disposition <a cold heart>

Gunther Randleroot’s Fortuitous Formula Fail

Gunther Randleroot couldn’t believe his eyes as green tears started pouring out of them.  Of course, they were green tears of joy because Gunther never cried tears of sorrow. Gunther was a Martian and nobody liked seeing a Martian cry especially not his girlfriend, Hazel.

Gunther poured the formula that he had finally perfected after seven years of hard work into the beaker like he was pouring out his heart.

When he looked out the window, he was surprised that everything still went on as usual.  He watched as a herd of sporks sauntered lazily about leaving behind a trail of feathers like they always did.

Stupid creatures, Gunther thought. Didn’t they realize that Gunther Randleroot was now the most powerful being in the universe?

All Gunther had to do was nudge the beaker to the floor, and the impact would release enough energy to destroy absolutely everything!  Gunther took a moment to revel in his new-found power — even though he was much, much too cowardly to ever actually use it!

“Whatcha doin’ Gunthy?” Gunther’s girlfriend, Hazel asked. Gunther jumped! He had forgotten to lock the door again. Sporkfeathers! He didn’t want Hazel to know what he was up to.

“Nothing Hazel dear . . . nothing at all!”

“Ah you can tell me Gunthy! You know you can tell me anything!” Hazel batted several coquettish eyes at Gunther, and he immediately spilled the beans.

Not the formula in the beaker beans, but the can of Martian beans he was getting ready to eat.

Hazel ran to clean them up but slipped (Hazel was all antennas) and sent the beaker crashing to the floor.

Gunther screamed, “NOOOOOOOOOOO!” He closed his eyes and waited for the worst! But then . . . nothing happened.  Gunther looked around. There was Hazel straightening her antenna and through the window he could still see the sporks!

Gunther Randleroot couldn’t believe his eyes as green tears started pouring out of them for the second time that day.

Trifecta Weekend Writing Challenge: Sean Penn Gives His Mom A Very Special Mother’s Day Gift

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The  Trifecta Weekend Writing Challenge: write a 33-word story incorporating the word mother. Here’s try 2:

 

 

Sean Penn Gives His Mom A Very Special Mother’s Day Gift

After the Mother’s Day E-card hurricane, Sean Penn borrowed a rowboat and rowed through a sea of nouns, commas and adjectives to save his mother who was clinging to a raft of spam.

“Ma! Grab onto the boat!  Hurry Ma!”

 

 

Trifecta Weekend Writing Challenge: Stealing Rose Con Pollo’s Heart

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This week’s Trifextra challenge is simple, but ambiguous.
 
Three truths and a lie.
 
33 to 333 words
 

Stealing Rose Con Pollo’s Heart

 
Whenever she watched Fernando, Rose Con Pollo’s stomach spasmed with a jolt of love and her heart went pitty pat, pitty pat,  pitty . . . pat . . . pat. . . pitty . . . because she was in love and because she needed a pacemaker — but mostly because she was in love.
 
Rose adored everything about Fernando. The way he could hold his breath for four and a half minutes at a time, the way he could dive so deep to the bottom of the sea; but mostly, she loved the way he looked at her when their eyes met through the green bubbly water of the glass-bottomed boat where Rose liked to sit and watch her beloved Fernando dive for pearls.
 
Fernando  had stolen Rose Con Pollo’s heart, plain and simple.
 
Of course, there was no way Rose Con Pollo was going to leave her husband, Arroz, and run off with Fernando no matter how many pearls he found for her.  Don’t make her laugh!  No way!  Not a snowball’s chance  . . .
 
 
 

Trifecta Weekend Challenge Try 2: Poindexter’s Birthday

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The Weekend Trifecta Writing Challenge is to take a scene that involves (or affects) at least three people and write this scene from the point of view of three of the characters, using 33 words for each character.  —  HA! Just realized after writing my story I didn’t follow these directions . . . oops! 

Poindexter’s Birthday

“I hate my name,”  little Poindexter Hepatitis remarked to his mother, Roberta.

“Which one? Poindexter or Hepatitis?” Roberta asked absently — for her mind was more agreeably engaged with the placement of the candles on Poindexter’s birthday cake.

Poindexter was about to answer when he was interrupted by his father, Vladimir Hepatitis. 

“Nonsense!” Vladimir Hepatitis harrumphed. “Vladimir is a good enough name for me and it’s a good enough name for my son.”

“But father, you didn’t name me Vladimir, you named me Poindexter”

“No kidding? What was I thinking?”

The Hepatitis’s couldn’t stop laughing as they ate their cake.

Vladimir Poindexter Hepatitus