WINNER of the A Mused Poetry Contest 12/11/2020

After traveling the vast wastes of my comments section and e-mail only to find a few more entries floating amongst a specific search in the Reader’s Feed, I nominate WordPress for some New Year’s Resolutions….

But, that’s not why we’re here! We’re here (unless you’re lost) to name the poet who wrote the most amusing limerick about resolutions! And that is:

Untitled, by Ruth Scribbles
The girl said, “Oh no! I refuse!”
You simply just want to bemuse
I vow I won’t change
I love being strange
My nose wants to sport two tattoos

Congratulations, Ruth! You are the funniest poet for the week!

Understandably, many took this opportunity to reflect on a serious year full of serious things. Of those attempting humor, I selected Ruth’s because her surprise ending left me snickering the most. Well done.

Maybe you’ll re-think your goals this year after reading all the entries:

Untitled, by Richmond Road
Is it time for this year’s resolution?
To atone for last year’s contribution?
My performance next year?
No better, I fear
I am lazy. Don’t expect a solution

Untitled, by Richmond Road
Here is this year’s resolution
We’re dismantling the constitution
You can’t run. You can’t hide
We have reached the low tide
Step aside. This is a revolution

Untitled, by Matt
There once was a fat guy named Matt
Who resolved to lose weight and that’s that
Shoved his cat aside, and to his wife he lied
that his cat food diet is what he takes in stride 😻

You say you want a resolution, we-e-ll, by Doug Jacquier
There is an old man from Australia
Whose wisdom will not falter or fail ya
New years is his forte
So list to his thought, ay?
‘Resolving is useless, inter alia’.

Untitled, by Frank Hubeny
Those demons look deeply demented.
Based on deeds, none of them have repented.
Resolutions to keep
Are not won on the cheap.
With such demons you’ll turn up tormented.

How I wish I could make resolutions
That would stick when they’re stuck in solutions
When solutions go weak
Resolutions will streak
At the cost of some nasty pollutions.

Every plan I attempt goes to pot.
Every dream I cook up has a spot.
Resolutions today
May resolve in some way,
But they’re not, though, the kind that I’ve got.

Untitled, by Willowdot
This year I can say without doubt.
Is defunct and driven us all up the spout.
The virus has plagued us
Upset and betrayed us
It’s enough to make us all pout.

So what will happen next year
Maybe more of the same I fear
So I vow to sleep
My council to keep
Until it’s time for 2022 to appear.

But have I resolutions you ask.
I will definitely be wearing a mask
I shall keep my distance
And leave nothing to chance
Keeping covid free will be my task.

So what’s in store for you
Is ignoring the rules what you’ll do.
Or will you like me
Cover, wash and flee
Steadfastly ignoring advice that’s not true.

So really at the end of the day
There’s not much more I can say.
The Vaccine is here
Hold out your arm dear
And let’s kick the old Covid away.

Untitled, by Tnkerr
There once was a girl with a toothpick
Who resolved to write nary a limerick
She gave a small laugh
And slipped into her bath
A nude poet who’s anacoluthic

A New Year’s Resolution, by Hobbo
Ecological, his resolution
Eliminate foul air pollution
He stopped eating beans
Cabbage or greens
An effective, but small, contribution.

The Dissolution Of Hope, by Geoff Le Pard
Annually we solemnly resolve
Our past crimes to try and absolve
Yet we suffer conniptions
When our plans become fictions
And all hopes of success dissolve

Re-resolved, by Obbverse
It’s time to repeat the same damned vow I swore
Like last year, and all too many years years before,
It’s my traditional annual end-of-year vow-
‘Next year I’ll be a better man than I am now,’
So many broken promises, still plenty more in store.

Untitled, by Sara
On the treadmill I walk, my flubber a-flapping
Think I would have lost some with all that Christmas wrapping
So, here I am,
Here it goes,
The chafing on my thighs as red as Rudolph’s nose

Untitled, by BS
A cat spoke up with meows
His resolutions he sealed with vows
To catch more mice
Would be nice
But all he got was cows

Untitled, by Bruce
My New Year’s resolution’s a vow,
Though some smell a rat or a cow.
It’s the one day a year
When I shed all my gear
And reluctantly get in the shower.

Untitled, by Rugby843
It is late in the year 2020
Of faulty leaders we have had plenty
C’mon 2021
Get the job done
So we have a new year entente

You’ll have to say it all the time you know, by Herb
The end of the year should be fun
And that year had its place in the sun
But it sends the mind reeling
The terrible feeling
of saying twenty-twenty won

Untitled, by Arthur Richardson
The trouble with trying to be humorous
is that senses of wit are quite numerous.
This nonsense solution,
with a rhymed resolution,
is a punchline that stays unassumerous.

Untitled, by Minzkhaitan
Winter chills and the virus development never stops me to look forward
Blanket of hope gives the warmth of the new tomorrow
Child in me gets excited to set the new plans upright before we takeoff from 2020 to 2021

Untitled, by Deb Whittam
A middle aged woman named Debbie,
Had gotten kind of heavy.
She resolved to lose weight,
Began running every day before eight
Now she has more aches than an old chevy.

—–

Photo by freestocks.org on Pexels.com

Now, resolve to return tomorrow for next month’s prompt.

Ruth, here’s a badge for you to use on your site. Congratulations!

©2021 The poets, and their respective works

WINNER of the A Mused Poetry Contest 12/11/2020

Whew! One month ago, readers were challenged to write an a-musing Christmas newsletter poem. Humor and terrible poetry abounded, and one stood out as the winner:

Mabilene’s Christmas newsletter, by Doug Jacquier
Merry Christmas to all of you’s,
time for our annual catch up and news
We know you always look forward to this
so everyone here sends a big kiss. XXX

Hubby Dwayne knows it was really dumb-crazy
but since the lockdown he’s been a bit hazy.
Wore a mask to the bank and passed the teller a note;
six months in prison, that’s all he wrote.

Our eldest, Billie-Jean, she’s doing so well,
especially since she learned how to write and to spell.
She’s a Social Influencer now, raking in the money.
Praise the Lord, it’s the land of milk and honey.

Our boy, Nathaniel, is the world’s greatest nerd;
want a new app and you just say the word.
His latest is a thing of digital beauty;
Sort of a cross between the Bible and Call of Duty.

Young Charlene, well, she tries really hard
she’ll never be a whizz-kid or any sort of bard;
but I have to tell you she’s making considerable progress
on her ultimate goal: Member of Congress.

Old Mabel, our dog, she keeps pumping out litters
despite her bouts with the mange and the skitters.
Last winter we sold one to a damned fool yuppie;
it’s now in dog heaven, that poor slush puppie.

I’ll sign off now and wish ‘Season’s Greetings’
(I don’t want to miss one of my AA meetings).
Love to you all and always remember
I’ll be back in your mailbox this time next December.

Congratulations, Doug! You are the funniest poet for the week!

As usual, I had great difficulty selecting one poem to win. Doug’s was clever, like others; followed a funny theme, like others; and it rhymed, like others. I chose his because I snorted at “[s]ort of a cross between the Bible and Call of Duty” and the lines involving “yuppie” and “slush puppie.”

Truly, all the others are a hilarious read as well:

Untitled, by Dumbestblogger
The dog died
Our RV broke down
We spent two weeks in Vegas
Retirement is fun

Untitled, by Trent McDonald
Hello
Friends and Foe
A few words
For you to know
It was a year of plenty
This 2020
It started slow,
But our fortunes continued to grow!
In March we sold TeePee
Each roll, ten and fifty!
In April a boom
Of selling lessons on Zoom
In May, for a price
We sent people to places quite nice
Each month we made more and more
Suckering both the rich and the poor
Cashing in on Covid fears
And rumors made in election years
Our fortunes soared
As people hid, quite bored
Trusting their luck
Sending us buck after buck
So you may moan
About being alone
About work being closed
And say the world is hosed
But I disagree
It was a great year, at least for me!
So in my holiday note
This year I’m gonna to gloat
For I am on the good list
For making money hand over fist
And sleep on bags of gold
From all of the garbage I sold
But don’t crawl to me
Looking for a present
Under your tree
I said I was smart
Not that I have a heart
There’ll be no money sent
Begged borrowed or lent
But don’t take it so hard
I did send you this card!
Merry Christmas (at least for me 😉 )!

The things that brought laughter this year, by Bruce
Aunt Mavis got covid and died.
The pot plant I got for my birthday died.
The cat died.
The canary died.
The kid’s interest in school died.
The eldest daughter’s marriage fell apart and died.
The car died.
We feel so out of place here where we live. I know that sounds dumb
But we’re thinking of moving to New York where we won’t stick out like a sore thumb.

Anus Horribilis – a bum year, by Geoff
Well 2020’s been one hell of a year
Though as you see it deserves one cheer.
In January our eldest lad
Decided to become a dad.
His wife however wasn’t happy
And strangled him with a unwashed nappy.
While we were dealing with that little trauma
Debbie our girl had her own drama.
She thought she’d do home repairs
But impaled herself on the stairs.
We entered March rather nervy
When we heard Aunt Joan had viral scurvy.
If that wasn’t bad enough,
Uncle Martin choked on snuff.
In April Grandpa called a meeting
To say ‘I’m gay’ though any joy was fleeting
As Grandma Susan showed her ire
By setting the old boy on fire.
May and June, they were grim
When cousin Mervin dissolved his twin
And my dear papa fared far worse
When too much beer caused his spleen to burst.
The months from July to September
Weren’t the sort you’d want to remember:
I broke a leg, Jane had conniptions
While Tiny Tom ate the kittens.
October promised to be better
We were given an Irish Setter
But sadly I must report
The bloody dog saw me in court:
Apparently I’m responsible
When he ripped out the postman’s tonsils.
I was bailed through November
Which brings us to December
Christmas looms;
We’re fighting the gloom.
I know many dear souls have passed away
And it will be quiet come Christmas Day.
But let’s try, shall we, to take the positives.
At least I’m not feeding my bloody relatives…

Christmas Catch All Ya’ll Up, by Obbverse
Hi guys, it’s time to keep ya’ll in the know,
With the festivities near we’ve horns to blow,
Folks keep sayin’ ‘times is hard, the ‘conomy’s shot’
But we’re happy as clams ’cause we got the lot.

My Jimbo’s gone up yet another pay grade-
He must’ve sold every pickup truck Jeep ever made,
The twins is gettin’ schooled and they’s top o’ the class,
We’re hopin,’ with luck, they’ll dredge up a C and pass!

Our Cody won the Jumbo Bear at the tri-county fair,
Took out them three ducks with two rounds to spare,
At the bake off my apple pie took out first prize as well;
The only blue ribbon you’ll see on this Southern belle.

Our Jolene’s playing Mother Mary in the nativity play,
Their damn Rodeo ain’t playing Joseph if I have my way,
No mistletoe kisses a’tween Jo Hatfield and Rodeo McCoy-
I sez ‘Jolene, you don’t have no truck with that bad boy.’

But then that dang new preacher had to up’n speak
‘Let’s try to forgive and forget, turn the other cheek,’
If I believed that liberal trash I’d be a’wineing at Mass-
This Southern Baptist knows Rodeo’s coveting Jolene’s ass.

Still, I must say they look good together, they act pretty tight,
They’ve practised at the Church Hall religiously every night,
Now Jo is a shining star as Mother Mary, positively glowing,
We’re praying, when Christmas comes Jo won’t be showing.

Christmas Newsletter, by Frank Hubeny
Larry’s Earth is on the Moon.
Greg’s might be on Mars.
Lulu’s livid with the news.
Sue shoots shooting stars.

I’m the final one who’s sane.
At least, I can pretend.
I have no time to rush away,
So Merry Christmas, friend!

The Christmas Email 🎄, by Willowdot
T’was the night before Christmas, I’m peeling the sprouts,
I’ll regret it tomorrow of that I’ve no doubts.
I’ve spent hours wrapping pressies for under the tree.
Everyones socially distancing so it’s up to me.
This year’s been a bummer so I thought let’s spread the joy
(cough) Here’s our news which is bound to annoy.
Let’s start with grandpa well he’s loosing the plot
he’s been stalking the estate quite a lot.
Since they said he can drive no more,
he been acting like a bear with a head that’s sore!
Hubby has been busy washing hands and making masks
when people get too close he takes them to task.
Jerome, Cathy and Hermione are fine,
in and out of school all the time.
Fighting over computer, laptop and tablet …all of them mine!
We’ve all had to isolate at different times ,
we’ve done as we’re told to avoid fines!
We’re all sick of watching the neighbours breaking the rules.
How will we ever be rid of this Covid surrounded by fools.
The chickens stopped laying last week,
the hamsters are missing we’ve not heard a squeak.
We’ve had our fair share of hospitals and Ambulances too.
But to fair in lockdown there’s not much to do!
My goodness is that the time,
I must get this sent then open the wine.
Merry Christmas to you and you bubble,
let’s hope 2021 is less trouble.
The Vaccine is coming we’ll all grow two heads..I don’t really care, in 100years we’ll all be dead!

The Christmas Newsletter, by Hobbo
So, if by chance you meet
And concern is in her voice
Our living on the street
Is environmental choice

Untitled, by Deb Whittam
Ho, ho, ho, it’s Christmas yet again,
But in line with new protocols,
I’m implementing social distancing.

Split shifts on the Christmas line,
One and a half reindeers apart please,
Hey Elf one, was that a sneeze?

And ensure you use hand sanitizer,
Yes Dasher, on arrival and after breaks,
It’s vital, for heavens sakes.

And Elves no sharing tools, no sharing anything,
And if you’re feeling ill at all,
Please don’t come in and please toss tissues in the bin.

What?  Recompense for lost shifts?
Please, who do you think I am?
If you want to negotiate, Santa just ain’t in.

Untitled, by Ruth Scribbles
Dearest ones!

Sublime greetings to you and yous
Our CASTLE is fab, how is your zoo?

Hasn’t 2020 been the best?
We are special and blessed!

We have accomplished so many wonderful things.

Our gloriously framed masterpieces
Adorn the walls of our arboretum

Our new website for virtual viewing
We are not bragging, it’s full of cooing
(httd://weWouldNeverBrag.kiss)

While our paintings were drying,
We each learned a language.
Now we have zoom pals,
What an advantage!

We are just awesome
Our talents just blossomed

I wrote my memoir. Jim started the podcast “we are the greatest.”

We have enjoyed our together time-
Isolation, is the best!

We learned to be perfectly positively toxic.

I, for one, will be sorry to see 2020 go!

Love,
from our castle to your shack,

Ruth and Jim

Untitled, by Brutus Richmond
Another Christmas coming
And thanks, I’m doing fine
No cards are in the mail
Santa’s gone online
There’ll be no ho, ho, hoing
They’ll be no reindeer tasks
I won’t hear Christmas carols
The choir are wearing masks
There’ll be no get togethers
Forget about your rights
A blessed social distancing
Preventing family fights
For me it’s bar and humbug
On just another day
A shocking year is finishing
Another on its way
So that’s my Christmas greeting
For whatever that is worth
But I pray for all your happiness
I pray for peace on earth

—–

Photo by freestocks.org on Pexels.com

If that doesn’t send you off in the right holiday mood, I don’t know what will! Return, tomorrow, for next month’s prompt.

Doug, here’s a badge for you to use on your site. Congratulations!

©2020 The poets, and their respective works

WINNER of the A Mused Poetry Contest 11/13/2020

Friday the 13th is notoriously unlucky, a superstition held in Western cultures. Facing black cats, walking beneath ladders, or breaking a mirror; our poets bravely wrote to humor us despite a bit of bad luck.

One amongst them all rose to be the winning entry, and that was:

Oh Heck, by Hobbo
Seems like a case of bad luck to me
In agony, needs appendectomy
Flash of the blade
Incision is made
Surgeon thinks it’s a vasectomy.

Congratulations, Hobbo! You are the funniest poet for the week!

These poems were GREAT. I stifled snickers at midnight (the time I finally have to read over entries!) Hobbo’s elicited an unladylike snort; short, painfully funny, and definitely to the point.

I feel badly for all the poor luck had, but know you’ll enjoy reading the rest of the clever poems:

Thirteen Demons Sitting on the Wall, by Frank Hubeny
Lucky this or lucky that,
Luck as bad as that black cat
Cuddling, purring by my side,
Unlikely place for luck to hide.

Thirteen demons looking mean
Pretending that I haven’t seen
Them cackling when they watch me frown.
Too bored to laugh. I stare them down.

It’s not bad luck that made them fall.
They jumped like Humpty from the wall
And then they cracked. Oops. Breakfast time!
They’re lucky. That’s my final rhyme.

Lots, items, knacks, everything, by Deb Whittam
To the counter she marched
resolute, chin held high as
she looked the shopkeeper
directly in the eye.

That painting, there, the one
above the door, I’ll give
you twenty dollars,
not a penny more.

Silence met her words
but with a nod he agreed
and painting in her hand, she smirked,
there had been no need to plead.

At home she unwrapped
her highly sought after prize
only to discover on the frame
a notation that made shock arise.

twenty she had paid,
twenty she had offered,
but the tag clearly stated
clearance – just one dollar.

Riding your bad luck, by Doug Jacquier
Harry didn’t whinge about the flies
that crawled up his nose and in his eyes.
Townies might, like Tom, and Dick and Jim
but Harry would never have that said of him.

Out here, a man who couldn’t fix
a snapped axle (he knew all the tricks),
on a mail truck in a dry creek bed,
wouldn’t be worth bein’ bloody fed.

As for thinking you could hear a train,
you’d have to be born without a brain
or be a mental case escaped detention,
so he paid it not the least attention.

Well, he was right about the train
but what he heard was a wall of rain;
the flash flood took the mail and the truck
and Harry cursed but rode his luck.

A Shaggy Cats Tale, by Obbverse
We had a big black cat,
Grumpy, greedy, weigh too fat,
On Duckpond Bridge he was often sat;
Everything was ducky.

One big bad duck had enough of that,
Feathers flew, one bloody cat lost that spat,
Ran into the path of a passing Dodge Diplomat;
Flat out unlucky.

The Unlucky Date, by Heather Bergen
Jerry was unlucky,
His life was really sucky.
He couldn’t find love on account of his gas,
But finally, one day, he found a young lass.
He asked her out and set the date,
Though Friday 13, it couldn’t wait.
Though warned to postpone,
Jerry would not be alone!
But alas, he did leave broken hearted,
For as they sat down to dine he wet farted.

Untitled, by Gary
Oh no it’s Friday the thirteenth

Which is one less than fourteenth

Started the day by breaking a bedroom mirror

To find my huge tax bill just got a whole lot dearer

Then I mistakenly opened an umbrella indoors

And now my garden is full of rowdy dinosaurs

I foolishly walked under a builders ladder

And got bit on the bum by an angry adder

With a sore butt I then I stepped on a crack

Only to be attacked by a rabid wolf pack

Finally a Black Cat crossed my path

And now I’ve just fallen into the bath

Untitled, by Cupcakecache
Bad luck
needed no prescription
to find a home
next to the pug
running 3 feet from the black cat
Chasing the black cat
darting across the street
The black cat licked her lips
and as she gleefully bit into the tuna
left out
Mr. Pug
happened to escape the house
only to have the cat prance by
meowing
as if to say “Did I not eat a tasty morsel like you in another life, my 7th?”
The pug bit his lip
shrugged it up to Karma
and went off to take a walk around the hood.

I Suck at Luck, by Sara
Bought the winning ticket

Wind swept it in the thicket

Met a nice gal

She considers me a pal

Went for a run

For health and fun

Tripped two minutes in

I just can’t win

Adopted a dog

What a slob

He drooled on the couch

And ate the door

Tossed a message in the ocean

It rolled back to shore

I professed my love

To a sweetheart from school

She wrote right back

Her response, so cruel

You bullied me, she said

Made fun of my hair,

I hope your life has been filled with despair

I suck at luck

That much is true

But, as it turns out,

Karma was due

Friday the 13th Birthday, by Ruth Scribbles
‘Twas the night before Friday
When all through the house
Everyone was hiding
Yes, Even the mouse

They were all afraid
Of how she would act
When she discovered
The presents sent back

Her mommy and daddy
Cuddled up in the closet
Her siblings were hiding
And eating the chocolate

She arose from her bed,
Fuzzy was her head
“It’s my birthday!” She declared
“What a dreadful dream! How absurd!”

—–

Photo by David Bartus on Pexels.com

Thank you so much for the hilarious entries! Come back tomorrow for the next prompt. You’ll have a month to submit an entry!

Hobbo, here’s a badge for you to use on your site (again). Congratulations!

©2020 The poets, and their respective works

WINNER of the A Mused Poetry Contest 10/23/2020

Phew! What a challenge! This week, poets needed to compose a diamante about a diamond-seeker; a swindler; a gold-digger. When I wrote up the prompt, I didn’t consider how DIFFICULT answering it might be. So, understandably, these entries were more clever and interesting than they were humorous.

But, the winner is:

Untitled, by Teleportingweena
gold
shiny rich
dig find shout
pan stream nugget money
hop skip jump
heavy metal
miner

Congratulations, Weena! You are the funniest poet for the week! I found this poem so entertaining because you answered the prompt literally. Very funny idea.

You’d do yourself a disservice to not read all the fabulous entries. Here they are:

Untitled, by Richmond Road
Morning
Soft Sweet
Waking Shaking Beginning
Birds Bees Flowers Trees
Breathtaking Remaking Forgiving
Victorious Glorious
Day

Untitled, by Ruth Blogs Here
User
Needy, greedy
Desires, conspires, covets
Meal-ticket gold-digger
Pretends, discards, repeats
Serially, imperiously
Fake

The greedy gold-digger, by Hobbo
woman
calculating, opportunistic
searches, researches, discovers
partner, mansion, yacht, diamonds
tricked, duped, imprisoned
handsome, undercover
cop

Untitled, by D. Wallace Peach
Youth
Luxurious addictive
Fawning fooling pleasing
Days week years boredom
Reconsidered discarded replaced
Younger other
Woman

Untitled, by D. Wallace Peach
Diamonds
Brilliant dangling
Tantalize beguile enthrall
Avarice dreams luxury ease
entrapped hooked convinced
blinding, devious
paste

Untitled, by D. Wallace Peach
Dwarves
Bearded snoring
Picking shoveling boring
White laundry stitch seams
Cooks cleans dreams
Sweet deadly
Liberty

Untitled, by Willowdot
Thomas
Lythe, handsome
Pleasing, flattering, dancing
Money, diamonds, bedroom, cars.
Coaxing, grabbing, ageing
Arthritic, Madame.

Untitled, by Deb Whittam
Freedom
Dazzling, Ambitious
Cunning, Conniving, Calculating
Locks open, Doors close
Seizing, Capturing, Arresting
Helpless, Defeated
Imprisonment

Untitled, by The Bag Lady
Slick
Sneaky smooth
Dancing, prancing, prowling
Man, prince, knight, nobleman
Entice, envelop, engage
Active, alluring
Playboy

Untitled, by Teleportingweena
Janie
Flashy Schemer
Flirt Swish Smooch
Shoes Jewels Clothes Money
Twirl Smile Wink
Coquettish Digger
Gold

Everyone Owes Them?, by Larry Trasciatti
Victims
Entitled Deceptive
Blaming Expecting Resenting
Sheep Sheepdog Wolf Poison
Crying Brainwashing Rewriting Terrorizing
Insatiable Obsessed
Unhappiness

Untitled, by LSS Attitude of Gratitude
Gold-digger
Sultry, Fake
Lying, Cheating, Scheming
Seductress, Jezebel, , Partner, Confidant
Caring, Loving, Holding
Honest, Charming
Soulmate

—–

Photo by emre keshavarz on Pexels.com

Thanks for playing!! Return tomorrow for next week’s prompt.

TPWeena, here’s a badge for you to use on your site. Congratulations!

©2020 The poets, and their respective works

WINNER of the A Mused Poetry Contest 10/16/2020

Ah, the classic comeuppance due to the deserving braggart; the fall after the pride; the karma to one’s hubris -this was the theme for this week’s amusing writers.

Only one rose above the rest to claim the dubious honor of funniest, and that was:

Untitled, by D. Wallace Peach
When the fireworks failed to ignite
The smoker asked for a light
With a big inhale
The swaggering male
Set off to light up the night

He applied his cig without care
Smug when the fuse caught and flared
An arrogant rube
He peered down the tube
And the night lit up with his hair

Congratulations, D. Wallace! You are the funniest poet for the week! I would be outright lying if I didn’t say that several of these poems made me laugh out loud. The illustrious Madame Peach’s poem won for her hilarious imagery, excellent vocabulary, and humorous take on the prompt.

I really did enjoy all of these. I hope you do as well:

Untitled, by Frank Hubeny
While waiting to win the award
I got tired. The judges got bored.
They forgot to choose me.
Did they look? Did they see?
Well, they looked, then I looked how I scored.

Untitled, by Deb Whittam
Debbie went for a run
She boasted that it was fun
But she didn’t expect to slip on a bun
And pull a ligament in her bum

Untitled, by Trent McDonald
Stan sniffed as people froze in fear
And strode right by, nose in the air
His haughtiness so keen
That the dragon wasn’t seen
So he walked straight into the lair

Untitled, by Trent McDonald
Bob laughed at the custodian, Jed
Because of the things that he said
“Be careful in the mill
For those machines can kill!”
Not listening, Bob lost his head

Untitled, by Dumbestblogger
At carnivals the rides are fine
But games are really quite sublime
Fred sent the ball full eight feet high
Joe laughed and said “I’ll make it nine!”
He picked the hammer up with glee
Missed the lever, hit his spleen
He aimed to send the ball up nine
Now six feet under Joe does lie

A Slight Misunderstanding, by Writerinretrospect
“I’m sure we can survive it,”
Said the vampire to his friend;
“Oh, no,” the friend replied,
“I’d rather stay undead.”
“It’s not that far,”
Came the reply,
“There’s no reason to quake.”
And so across the street the dyslexic went
To find himself a steak.

Route One, by Obbverse
He finally staggered triumphantly atop Mount Everest
Exhausted but immensely proud of his sky high climb,
Standing back to take in the view and a moments rest
He went from pinnacle to Ground Zero in record time.

Billy, by Hobbo
Billy bighead, a bit of a boaster
Invented the world’s largest toaster
One day he fell in it
And in less than a minute
His head was as flat as a coaster.

An Untitled (for reasons unknown) Limerick, by Michael Fishman
This handsome young man was in love,
well not totally, but kinda sort of.
He kneeled down to propose,
something tickled his nose,
and he blew boogers on her from below and above.

—–

Thanks for playing!! Return tomorrow for next week’s prompt.

D., here’s a badge for you to use on your site. Congratulations!

©2020 The poets, and their respective works

WINNER of the A Mused Poetry Contest 10/9/2020

Just in time for Halloween, this week’s challenge was to write the wittiest message inside your next anniversary card. So, who wrote the wittiest?

Unaltered By Time, by Michael B. Fishman
148,920 hours since we said, “I do”,
and honey, baby, I still love you.

You always fight fair, you sometimes let me win.
And who really cares if you’re no longer thin?

You’re the mother of my children and one day you’ll agree,
that it’s probably a good thing that the kids look like me.

You’re the one and only entry in my little black book,
and it’s never been a problem that you really can’t cook.

Your eyes are as bright as that very first day,
and it doesn’t bother me that your hair is all gray.

All these years later, and I happy I met ‘ya?
Every minute, every day, oh sweetheart, you betcha.

Congratulations, Fishman, on a-musing me! You won for the clever, terrible, almost-sweet mentions to your sweetheart.

Others went a similar direction. Others, still, went farther for a good laugh. Read and enjoy:

Untitled, by Trent McDonald
Happy Anniversary!
(Only 4 days late)
Did I tell you today
That you look great!?

And can you believe
It’s been 10 years?
So full of smiles
(And full of tears…)
I remember that day
Oh so very well
(A party the night before,
I still felt like Hell.)

But you were beautiful
In your gown and vail
But my hung-over mind
Was only thinking of some tai..(BLEEP! – sorry, keeping it PG 😉 )

But overall it was
A day from Heaven
Even if the rings were forgotten
By my best man, Kevin

And since that best of days
When you were made my wife
I’ve counted my blessings
So thankful that you are in my life!

(Did I make it up to you
With my poetry?
Will you please unlock the door
And perhaps forgive me?)

Untitled, by Jon
Dear, Oh dear,
Another year!
Let me be clear:
I want to share,
as many as you dare!

An Anniversary Messsage, by H.R.R. Gorman
They say marriage is about sparks,
About that someone who in the dark
Sets your mind and loins aflame.
But isn’t that meager? Lame?

I’ve learned in this blissful year
That’s it’s more like cracking a beer
Open and accepting farts
Are made by those with good hearts.

So while I take a hot shower,
You grunt on the throne with power.
It’s the sign of your loving care
That you keep pooping and don’t stare.

Happy Anniversary!

Untitled, by Hobbo
Married now for fifty year
And I still think you’re hot
So, love is in the air, my dear
When you say,”Yes. Why not?”

Aunty Jess, by Mister Bump
To write this prompt, it wasn’t hard,
I hardly ever send a card.
My family is very scant,
Except down under, have an aunt.

Another aunt in Lancashire,
She’s eighty now, delightful dear,
Her birthday now is round about,
I’d better pull my finger out!

The card’s awaiting me to send,
My missus made it last weekend,
Better than I could have bought,
But to the message, gave no thought.

No flow’ry message was supplied,
Just “Happy Birthday” stamped inside,
As long as there’s no writer’s cramp,
All I’m waiting for’s a stamp.

Must keep my cool, not overkeen,
Her birthday’s not ’til Hallowe’en,
By then must break out from my bubble,
If card is late, I’ll be in trouble!

Untitled, by Deb Whittam
Roses are red
Violets are blue
We’ve grown old together
What are we going to do?

Hard of hearing,
You snore, I fart,
Thirty years together
It’s way too late to part

Untitled, by Gary
So sorry this card is late

So sorry I’m a bit overweight

I thought we had an anniversary last year

Do we really get them every year, my dear

Just 122 words is perfect for a food shopping list

Or divorce papers which I have chosen to miss

I’ve really got no idea why you put up with me

Especially as I’ve just spilled coffee over your settee

Untitled, by Ruth Scribbles
Thirty years ago

We tied the knot

You promised peaches

That’s all I got

Always on the cards, by Over Soil
Last second writing “All my love” so cursory,
Time and again made us forget each anniversary,
For us, protecting trees was always on the cards,
So what better than a trip to a nearby plant nursery.

Untitled, by Ellen Best
I love your beard … when its not there.
And the shine … that’s not hair.
The way that you snore sounded sweet
Well until, the first time it woke me from sleep.

I love the ring in your nose
The way you bite at your toes
Because you can’t be arsed,
to get the clippers off the shelf.

I like all the things that you do,
But you never bag the dogs poo.
Now that might make me mad,
just a bit.
I am glad we got wed,
Though you spent a week in bed
Because of jet lag
As I recall you to say.

Romance is not dead
We’ll have adventures you said,
So we married on a beach in the bay
Even the bomb squad didn’t ruin our day.

—–

Photo by Asad Photo Maldives on Pexels.com

Thanks for playing!! Return tomorrow for next week’s prompt.

Michael Fishman, here’s a badge for you to use on your site. Congratulations!

©2020 The poets, and their respective works

WINNER of the A Mused Poetry Contest 9/25/2020

This week’s prompt of a seasonal haiku may have sounded simple, but making it funny was no joke. After narrowing down the funniest entries, the winner was:

Untitled, by DumbestBlogger
I drink my coffee
Leaves fall in the cup
I choke and die

Dumbestblogger chose morbid humor for his entry. Even with so few syllables, he succeeded in making me laugh.

Enjoy the others as well:

Autumn, by Roberta Cheadle
Leaves, leaves everywhere
I’ll persuade hubby to rake
Where’s my lingerie?

Untitled, by Obbverse
Get strangers together,
Talk about the weather…
That never changes..

Special Day, by Matt Snyder
it’s our wedding day
hurricane blows up her dress
our Kodak moment

Untitled, by Ian Kay
brand new leaf-blower!
blows leaves into neighbour’s yard
covers my dog’s poop.

Seasonal change, by Hobbo
stunning mother nature
fresh frock every day

have you met my wife?

Untitled, by Willowdot
Days are getting short
Gaia’s tempers getting fraught
We just won’t be taught

The Coming of Autumn, by Trent McDonald
Frost on the leaf tip
Now I am sweating again!
Just make up your mind…

***

Leaves turn to bright red
I run out to frolic, and…
Oops, now I am red!

Untitled, by Deb Whittam
Summers coming quick,
You squeal in delight but
mosquitoes bite … hard

The Farmer Wife’s, by Heather Dawn
Fresh autumn wind blows,
There the honey wagon goes,
No! I hung the clothes!

Fall Picture Woesby Heather Dawn
Picture perfect day,
No chance for a perfect pose,
Five kids ruin those.

Seasonal Change 1, by Fishman
Picked up a red leaf.
pulled a muscle in my back;
Thanks a lot, Autumn.

Seasonal Change 2, by Fishman
Autumn is here now.
Lovely time; I’d write more, but
sadly I’m out of . . .

Untitled, by BS
One plus one is two
I fall for you in the fall
Now go rake the leaves

Untitled, by Ruth Scribbles
Seasons in Texas
All four in a hot teacup
Sip at your own risk

Fall in Southern California, by Lauren
Where are my long johns?
The temps are below normal.
It’s reached 80 now.

—–

Thank you for entering! I loved laughing along. Please come back tomorrow around lunchtime for the next week’s prompt.

Dumbestblogger, here’s a badge for you to use on your site. Congratulations!

©2020 The poets, and their respective works

WINNER of the Weekly Hilarity Contest 5/29/2020

“You know,” said Arthur, “it’s at times like this, when I’m trapped in a Vogon airlock with a man from Betelgeuse, and about to die of asphyxiation in deep space that I really wish I’d listened to what my mother told me when I was young.”

“Why, what did she tell you?”

“I don’t know, I didn’t listen.”

-From The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy

If you love satire and haven’t tested the Hitchhiker‘s trilogy of five books, Douglas Adams would admit you’re not missing much. Of course, he didn’t hike across Preliumtarn to within view of the Quentulus Quazgar Mountains in order to learn who this week’s hilarious winner is.

And that is:

Beware, the Vogon or Swans die a ghastly death Dedicated to Paula Nancy Millstone Jennings of Greenbridge, Essex

by Deb Whittam

Resistance is useless,
My love will always transpire,
It will grow mold, as does
My unwashed towel,
Which travels in the vicinity of my armpit,
Where a small lump of green putty resides.

Resistance is useless but
DON’T PANIC
Flesh may rot, flesh may drop off
The stench may be unbelievably bad but
I will dispel it and find a stick and
Use my towel as a slingshot.

Resistance is useless,
Life, don’t talk to me about life.
The swan died a graceful death
But my towel was unfortunate,
It became stained with blood
Beware the VOGONS.

—–

Congratulations, Deb! You made me laugh the most, and are therefore the funniest writer of the week!

I LOVED reading through the entries this week. Anticipation of reading them kept me going throughout a busy week, and you did not disappoint. I chose Deb’s for the single reason that hers made me laugh aloud! -which I did from title to green putty to …dying swan?

That’s not saying the others wouldn’t make a Vogon leap from an airlock. See for yourself:

Unquestionable Truth Leading to Conclusions That are Edifying, Beneficial and Nice

by Dumbestblogger

Truth
I sit here in the warm mud and my legs feel comfortable for now but I wonder how long it will last
Afternoons begin as mornings
I could get out of this situation if I had an infinite improbability drive.
It sucks that that’s something I don’t have.
Oh no, it might rain
I guess I will just sit here-
42
Yeah, I just threw that number in because it’s in a book somewhere
Beautiful poetry is something that speaks to the soul.
We are only empty when there are problems with the mechanical apparatuses in our space ships/
So long, and thanks for all the fish

Oh
Did you think I was done
I’m not done
I could understand why you would think I was done with a line like “so long, and thanks for all the fish.”
But I’m not done
I will continue reciting this poetry because it is edifying and beautiful
Let us zoom across the Galaxy
Oh yeah, I forgot
I’m laying down in the mud
Oh well
It’s the thought that counts
It doesn’t necessarily count in a literal way of speaking

—–

Is There An I In Ford?

by Geoff

When Slatibartfast
Made a vast
Fiord for Ford,
Arthur Dent
Said it meant
He’d never be ignored.
Zaphod, instead
Lost his second head
Betting a million
That something so baroque
Had to be a crock
Of shit, said Trillium.
Those from Betelgeuse
Can be so obtuse
When buying rock formations;
And even the infinitely improbable
Will not turn something horribable
Into the jewel of nations.
As Marvin, when they asked,
Said, ‘I really can’t be arsed,
‘To correct this stupid defect.’
‘It is obviously so plain,’
When you think about his name,
‘He’s not perfect but a Prefect.’

—–

Untitled piece

by Gary

Douglas Adams wrote of other worlds and evil races like the Vogons

He didn’t need to lie and cheat, no need to come up with patronising slogans

Now we have our very own new fantasy story authors

Cummings, Hancock and Boris, the UKs evil lying rotters

They inspire as much hope as Marvin the Paranoid Android

And are as pleasant as a hot curry to someone with a hemorrhoid

They only look after themselves, just like two headed Zaphod Beeblebrox

They gorge on the finest food while the peasants are expected to stay in detox

We all thought the answer to life was forty two

Well apparently not, that answer was a load of poo

The answer to everything is now apparently the tourist site called Barnard Castle

We are instructed to lockdown but for Cummings that is far too much hassle

If you are Cummings you can test your eyesight by driving your kid 60 miles

Just a coincidence it’s your wife’s birthday, ignoring restrictions with many smiles

Now that’s apparently Ok as it Cummings says his little poodle called Hancock

A man so stupid he’s turned this country into nothing more than a laughingstock

So thank you Douglas for writing some of the funniest stories ever told

And thank you those who voted for Boris, a man as useful as the common cold

—–

Untitled piece

by Ruth Scribbles

Roses are black, I mean petunias
Because they lack, attendance at funerals

Hey! There’s a hitchhiker holding petunias
Is he going to a funeral?

The end (of someone)

—–

Big Bang, Bath Towel And Beyond

by Obbverse

Irate ratepayer Arthur Dent was confoundedly annoyed
To find his house and home planet completely destroyed,
Luckily the one poor excuse of a man Arthur had befriended
Was the perfect guy to accompany him when his world ended.

Ford Prefect was Arthur’s odd friends imperfect name-
A moniker once written oft on many an insurance claim-
Art never imagined his friend to be a bona fide illegal alien;
Born somewhere near Betelgeuse, not remotely mammalian.

Ford, once a wanderin’ scribe before this gig started to unravel
Knew his tenure on Earth was terminating, it’s nigh time to travel.

Ford had an inkling about this harmless planet he was stuck on,
That in a twinkling Arthur would ask ‘where on Earth, has it gone?’
Pangalactic Developers Inc saw Earth as an impediment to progress,
In their Universal view what harm is there in one itty-bitty bit of dirt less?

Ford, our hapless intergalactic hitchhiker, earthbound and lost
In desperation stuck out a digital thumb, plus all fingers crossed,
Finding on wakening they had been both uplifted and stown away
While all Arthurs worldly goods had been spectacularly blown away.

Now all Arthur possessed was his towel slippers and tatty bath robe,
Scant protection for a mere human going up against an alien probe.

(Hmm, barely made it past chapter one;
Guess Doug’s tale- and mine- is done,
For to 250 words I’ve been constrained;
Read Doug’s book and be better entertained.)

—–

Untitled piece

by Peregrine Arc

Maroon forms, no red, no salmon you nitwit.
Get in line again, try it all, dash it all
I said TRIPLICATE!
A man of many faces
I stare out the starboard portal and sigh
So all I can think of is the reason why:
42.
Not one jot more, I decry.

—–

Thank you all.

SPLAT! Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy T-Shirt (With images ...

Deb: Here’s a new badge as proof of your hilarious skills:

HilarityContestBadge

©2020 The writers, and their respective works.

 

WINNER of the Weekly Hilarity Contest 5/22/2020

“…[T]here really is no valid excuse for an able-bodied person going out of his head from being bewildered in the big woods so long as he has a gun and ammunition, or even a few dry matches and a jackknife,” says Horace Kephart, a man who left his wife and six children to live off the land very unlike Thoreau.

Who took this quote and this spirit and made me laugh the most?

Untitled piece

by Ian Kay

The big woods can play with your mind. It’s extraordinary how exponentially larger a bear’s mass increases when it’s charging your way. But keeping a cool head, knowing we were adequately equipped: I have a good gun; what’s more, I have the ammo! As backup, I have the good sense to hand the wife the jack-knife and a box of matches; there were the potatoes to peel and she might get a fire going for the pot, and I don’t think she’s noticed the bear yet. You can’t outrun a bear, they said, but you can always get remarried.

Congratulations, Ian! You are the funniest writer of the week!

I’ll admit I didn’t crack up as much as I did for the last two contests, but that’s more a result of Kephart and his writing than the talent of those who entered. I did a bit of eenie-meenie-miney with my favorites and decided Ian’s won for best answering the prompt and best making the reader laugh guiltily.

And here are the other well-prepared entrants:

Bodied, yes. Able, not so much

by Doug Jacquier

When I jack-knifed my camper trailer in a place where even the most desperate dingo has never ventured, my first instinct was to adopt the foetal position.
Cramp eventually encouraged me to survey the damage. Alas my trusty Beetle and my 6 metre fully loaded camper had merged as one, never the twain to separate.
Recalling the immortal words of Horace, I rummaged through the wreckage until I found my only ‘gun’, complete with ammunition, and felt comforted by the fact that I had a staple diet at hand.
I also found dry matches and after I’d assembled enough twigs and branches, I looked around for somewhere to strike a match on. I decided the rough canvas on the trailer would be perfect and proceeded to experiment. Unfortunately, I had failed to note that the jack-knifing had ruptured my fuel tank.
When the Country Fire Service issued me with a coat that tied at the back to keep me warm and choppered me out to answer some pointed questions about the loss of some million hectares of virgin state forest, I couldn’t help but think of those poor souls in quarantine who would give anything to be me right now.

—–

Untitled piece

by Debbie Whittam

Martin was a savvy bloke,
He worked hard and drank much beer.
He didn’t talk too much,
And rather liked Shakespeare.
One warm day he decided,
To go into the woods for a walk.
He didn’t get to far though
For a voice began to talk.
It told him to survive,
He would require many things.
A gun, ammunition, matches and a jackknife,
Was what he should bring.
Dutifully Martin did comply,
And set out singing his merry song,
Unfortunately the noise drowned out the sound,
Of the bear which just happened to come rushing along.

—–

Dumber Jack

by Obbverse

Jack the Lad could barely wait to turn twenty-one,
To cast his vote, to drive, drink (legal-like) and tote a gun,
To pick the biggest baddest gun you’ve ever seen,
To fill the part, just like in that Soldier of Fortune magazine.

Off out to the woods he went to bag him a bear,
Or a boar, a duck, a deer, doe or buck, Jack didn’t care ,
Through thicket underbrush and bosk Jack barged,
In his blundering search only his smart phone would be discharged.

As the hot autumnal sun started to wane
Our huntsman looked for any game, in vain,
In his ceaseless aim he wouldn’t couldn’t stop-
Still as graceless as a bull in a china shop.

There wasn’t a critter to be found for miles around
As he trampled his way through his unhappy hunting ground,
Finding fording a stream’s done at a hunter’s peril-
A cruel cool baptism resulting in splintered stock and bent barrel.

So, cold, wet, lost in the woods as it grows dark,
Sat nav and phone flat, but Jack’s quite the bright spark,
His safety match strikes, the dry leaves catch fire!
Remains to be seen if anyone finds Jacks funeral pyre.

—–

Survival

by Gary

A mouse took a stroll through a deep dark wood
Unfortunately Bear Grylls was in the neighbourhood

Eating a mouse is great television, so watch for the trap
The mouse is caught, consumed in one, the scene is a wrap

Now time for Bear to light a fire with only a wet leaf and knife
Then tell a story about how he is missing a comfy bed and wife
Time to build a shelter from just some twigs and his underpants
Now Bear shows how to clean his teeth using some angry army ants
Look to camera and announce its time to hunker down for the cold night
Then jump in the car, head to the warm hotel and really satisfy that appetite.

—–

Recluse

by The Bag Lady

“…[T]here really is no valid excuse for an able-bodied person going out
of his head from being bewildered in the big woods so long as he has a
gun and ammunition, or even a few dry matches and a jackknife.” This was the daily stated philosophy of Junior Beets, a devil may care recluse in the backwoods of Utopia.

Junior was getting tired of the backpackers traveling more frequently around his self proclaimed property.

Of course Junior had no rights concerning the surroundings of his area which was a world designed park in 2025.

Utopia was designed by the desperate survivors of the corona virus that wiped out ninety percent of the world population by 2023.

Junior Beets decided guns would ensure his privacy and started hoarding them in 2020.

—–

A Bash on the Noggin

by Kristian

I am a rather impulsive chap,

Unfortunately, it has to be said.

The other day, I got in a flap

and totally lost my head.

I thought I’d got an Intruder

so I bashed them on the noggin,

With my hand-knitted draught excluder

I gave them one hell of a floggin’

You can imagine my total dismay

when they rolled over and I Saw

the Postman with his letter’s in disarray

and a parcel that was meant for next door.

I’m sorry for the postman’s headache

and I couldn’t be more distraught

It was a totally honest mistake

I just hope that he’ll settle out of court.

—–

Thank you for your responses! Come around tomorrow at 10 a.m. MDT for next week’s prompt.

20200516_082627

Ian: Here’s a new badge as proof of your hilarious skills:

HilarityContestBadge

©2020 The writers, and their respective works.

 

WINNER of the Weekly Hilarity Contest 5/15/2020

This week’s assignment was to caption the following photo:

Outlets

Who came up with the funniest idea?

“As a Christmas gimmick the chorus of the constipated electrical outlets did not bring many customers to the hardware store…”
masercot

Congratulations, Charlescot! You made me laugh the most, and are therefore the funniest writer of the week!

I’ll admit: I laughed at almost all of the captions you all came up with. As a judge of winner, however, Charles’ made me laugh out loud! I found others’ puns and wordplays fun and clever; I think the winner simply struck me in just the right funny bone.

If you want a good laugh or several, read the rest:

“Plug me until I bleed gold baby!”
Nitin Lalit

—–

“Socket to me, socket to me, socket to me”
Di @ pensitivity101

—–

“Though they kept a ‘side-eye’ on him they could never really tell if Harold was simply singing or trying to poop his pants.”
Tom Darby

—–

“After three days on the shelf at Walmart, the plugs were scarred for life.”
Trent, with altered photo, here.

—–

“Oh. You don’t get it? Well you’re clearly not plugged in.”
Dumbestblogger

—–

“Exclusive! Thomas the Tank’s 3d face replacement scandal. Left the world doubting Santa.”
Ellen

—–

“Anyone have a light” ?
rts – Facing the Challenges of Mental Health

—–

“Hey, stock boy, where are OUR masks.”
Doug Jacquier

—–

“Are you trying to turn me on? You’re going to have to do better than that because we’re more than pretty faces.”
Pete Springer

—–

“Only a few feathers short of a Hopi mask”
Jon

—–

“Come on, guys, concentrate! Harness the force and break free of these shackles!”
Ian Kay

—–

“Hey Joe, who’s the new neighbour?”
“Old flat face here? No price tag see, ain’t no one taking him to the checkout any time soon.”
Ian Kay

—–

“Hey, this guy says he’s ‘Tamper Resistant’.”
“Not judging by his expression, he ain’t.”
Ian Kay

—–

“This year’s emoji pose contest featured last year’s losers vainly trying to break the internet.”
Denny K

—–

When George Conduit accidentally electrocuted himself while trying to fix a malfunctioning depilator for Norma Primate, his overly hirsute podiatrist, he didn’t enter the Hereafter with any particular expectations. As a practicing Nano-Buddhist, he wondered if the stories of reincarnation were true and speculated, without pinning too much hope on it, that maybe an upgrade to something, if not royal then at least statesmanlike might suit him.
The initial segregation of that day’s deceased into religions took place quite quickly due, he later heard to a previous unseemly debate on the merits of purgatory as an alternative to soul based exfoliation as advocated by Polynesian Micro-Daubists. After that, to his slight surprise there was a sub-segregation into modes of demise. He managed to catch a quick word with a harassed looking official, better to understand the reasoning.
‘It’s all about Fate and Choice. We did a survey last year and found most Buddhists were happy if they got there first choice of reincarnation but if that wasn’t available they struggled with how to choose an alternative. We piloted a few schemes and found that if people accepted their Fate, which 90% did, they were happy with their demise and options based around that.’
‘How does that work?’
‘Well, dying in hospital, and reincarnation in a caring environment makes sense. A car accident and maybe you’ll see an opportunity in garage work or a motor dealership perhaps.’
‘What about…?’ But George was waved quiet and told to wait for the counsellor.
Time oozes rather than passes in the Hereafter and so George watched the minutes multiply and disperse like a slow firework.
‘Mr. Conduit?’
The speaker shimmered but that was the only way he or she – that wasn’t clear either – differed from your average service flunky. They wore a rather taut looking onesie which they fiddled with in a way George would once have found distracting but now seemed just part of the backdrop to his new existence.
‘Right well, I’ll get straight to it. As a Nano-Buddhist and given the surge in demises your options have narrowed somewhat.’
‘Yes?’
‘And given you acceptance that small is best…’
‘That’s what Nanoists believe…’
‘…you have three choices….’
George waited. The speaker stared at their clipboard, essayed what might have been a frown but could have been some involuntary facial origami and fiddled with their earpiece. They spoke into their lapel. ‘Yes, look, can I check the options for case 2427 of 20? Conduit, yes?’
They shimmered at George. ‘Won’t be a tick. It’s… Yes? You sure? They’re all rather… you know. Inanimate.’
There was a drifting sense of space seeping away and the speaker coughed and addressed George. ‘Three choices. A ceiling light fitting which gives spectacular views and guarantees some warmth. A fusebox which puts you at the centre of the ring main. Or a three pin plug socket.’
‘They all sound okay.’
The speaker seemed surprised at George’s apparent compliance. ‘You don’t mind? Most seek something a touch more flesh and blood.’
‘Not really,’ said George. ‘It’ll be change.’
‘A change?’
‘I rather thought I’d like to be a statesman but if that’s not possible at least this way I’ll be in a position of power. The socket, I think.’
Geoff LePard

—–

“The shock and horror as their mother tries to make the sparks fly between herself and every random passerby…”
Writerinretrospect

—–

“Oh no, did you see the size of that plug!!!”
Deb Whittam

—–

“😩 Wah 😩 wah 😩 Where’s mommy?”
Ruth Scribbles

—–

“Everybody together now…ready?”
“We’re ready!”
“🎶PLUG IT IN, PLUG IT IN! 🎶”
Peregrine Arc

—–

“Apparently this is a new service from the Supermarkets. Its sockets so you can charge up your robotic limbs. But it’s expensive, they charge an arm and a leg for it.”
Gary

—–

“Oh no! Here he comes again; I can feel those shocks going through me already!”
The Bag Lady

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“The Plastic Heads of Electricity Island”
RawGod

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“One of these things is not like the others…”
RawGod

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Thank you all for the hilarious photo captions! Come back tomorrow morning for the next week’s prompt.

Charlie: Here’s a new badge as proof of your hilarious skills:

HilarityContestBadge

©2020 The writers, and their respective captions.