Category Archives: satire

Friday Flash: The Results Were In

 

lightning-2a7z

 

The results were in.

After extensive training with the field’s expert, a long and gruelling campaign, sucking up to the right people, greasing the right palms, making the right friends, and working exhaustively to sway public opinion in his favor, Bobby Redman had the lead. His victory complete, he held his new office with pride. His long-standing dream would soon become his reality.

High from his recent triumph, he sauntered up to Kylie Weathers – by all accounts the most popular girl in Carl Smithers Middle School. Chicks dug power, so winning the election meant he’d land a cheerleader, right?

Two minutes later, he rubbed his freshly stinging cheek and retired to the boys bathroom to wallow in his defeat.

Who knew she had voted for his opponent?

 

*image courtesy of BigFoto.com

**Today’s #FridayFlash was inspired by the text prompt, “The results were in” at the six minute story site.

***On a personal note, I’ve recently begun volunteering to read at Librivox, a site that makes free audiobooks of public domain works available for download. Why not visit, either to download an awesome free book or to volunteer yourself? It’s easy and fun!

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Filed under Flash Fiction, humor, satire, slice of life

Friday Flash: It’s not easy being green

Rob Smith was a killer – but a killer with a conscience. Rather than waste bodies by dumping them, he used their compost for his organic vegetable garden. The only plastic bags he bought were recyclable, since he preferred to reuse his grocery bags. Even those were only acquired after exhausting his supply of organic cloth totes.

Reduce. Reuse. Recycle.

Everyone needed a hobby though; right? It’s a psychological fact that people need an outlet to be happy, healthy, functioning members of society. Rob paid his bills on time, always filed his taxes early, and contributed regularly to charity. In almost every way, he was a pillar of the community. So it was no surprise that he was a humane killer as well.

Asphyxiation could be extremely painful, but he rendered his victims unconscious by bludgeoning them first. Of course he could have used the hammer to simply do them in, but blood was terribly difficult to clean out of carpet.

So he prepared for his latest kill in the small, isolated cottage he called home. Rob laid out his well-worn hemp rope, a reused bag and his knives for compost preparation. His latest victim was vegan, and he imagined how the man would plea for mercy, argue, and beg for his life. A grin crept over his face. Vegans really were such smug, self righteous bastards. Their lifestyles might be environmentally friendly, but Rob couldn’t bring himself to change that completely. It was too extreme. The pleasure he derived from killing wasn’t too much to ask. Some might even argue it benefited Mother Earth.

Reduce. Reuse. Recycle.

And after all, didn’t he deserve a little fun?

THE END.

*I honestly wasn’t sure how this came out. I love the idea of the story, but I experimented with the rhthym of the words quite a bit. Consequently I reused a lot of words, many passive verbs and pronouns, more than I normally like. Polite comments and critique are always welcome!

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Filed under 52/250 Challenge, Flash Fiction, satire, Writing Corner

Friday Flash: Love is Blind


Love is Blind

“Welcome to the ‘Smythley Smith Show’ here on the BS Network. I’m your host, Smythley Smith, and I’d like to introduce our 2 guests, Karen and Howard. Their names have been changed for their protection.”

Karen looked at the studio audience and gave her husband’s hand a short squeeze. He made no response but gazed blankly at the people in the studio through glazed, filmy eyes.

“So nice to meet you both. Let’s get right to point. You say you’ve experienced discrimination?” asked Smythley Smith.

“Oh, definitely, there’s all sorts of prejudice against the undead. It’s dreadfully unfair.” She gave the grey hand another reassuring squeeze. Bits of skin flaked off and floated to the floor.

“Well, what discrimination are we talking about here?” asked Smythley.

“You should see the looks we get in public. It’s terrible! I mean, people shy away from us like we’re contagious or something. It’s not like zombie plague is catching.”

“But the plague is transmitted by bites…”

“Of course, but it doesn’t turn you into a zombie until you die. They’re called ‘Walking DEAD’ for a reason.”

“Are you saying that zombies are harmless?”

“Well, they’re people; aren’t they? Sure, they’re slow, have bad skin and chronic bad breathe, but so does the average teenager and we don’t hold that against them.”

“What other hardships have you experienced as a result of your…uh, relationship?”

Karen looked at her husband with adoring eyes. Love is blind, and she was obviously a woman in love. “Well, poor Howard has certain… ah… medical conditions as a result of his disease that require…”

“Yes?” prompted the host.

“Well, he’s on a special diet,” she said. She paused, then added, “For his health.”

The talk show host looked at the audience a moment before replying. Already several of the live viewers had been quietly sick into the provided bags while others looked queasy. He wasn’t sure how much the networks would allow. “You are referring to the zombie taste for brains and entrails…” It wasn’t a question.

“Well, he needs them. I mean, most people have no problem eating body parts. Fried chicken’s just muscles and…”

“But those are birds- not humans!”

“So, what’s the difference? It’s simply unfair to draw that distinction in light of my poor hubby’s condition. Right, Howard?”

Howard’s glazed eyes wandered to his wife. He felt her scalp with meaty fingers.

“Surely you aren’t suggesting people let him eat their brains…?”

“Braaaaaainnnnnssssss,” moaned Howard.

“Stop it, Howard,” said his wife. Addressing Smythley, she continued, “No, of course not. Well… yes, but not while they’re alive.,”

“I’m…speechless.”

Karen smiled. “Not a good position for a talk show host to be in.”

Smythley glared at her. Howard continued picking through Karen’s hair, but she batted his hand aside. “Stop that, Howard! Not here,” she whispered. Then, more loudly, “He’s still affectionate, still loving. He’s every bit a man as the day I married him.”

“Every bit the… Did you say EVERY bit?”

Karen blushed. Smythley wondered if he should ask about rigor mortis. “Well, anyway… let’s get back to the question of sustenance. Should I ask how you get Howard’s…his, um, diet?” Smythley watched Howard’s eyes follow a fly that had been flying close to his face. He made a grab for the offending insect, missed, and fell heavily to the floor. Howard turned glazed eyes on Smythley. The little man squirmed in his chair and adjusted his collar.

“Mortuaries, cemeteries, places like that. But we’re hoping hospitals will soon start donating body parts to those in need,” said Karen.

“Are you saying you dig up graves?” asked Smythley.

“No, don’t be ridiculous,” she said.

“Well, then what?”

“Some of the deceased have their organs donated. It’s hard to come by at the moment, since there’s such a stigma on donating your body to zombies, but a few kind hearted souls have helped us enough to get by. We’re also looking into vat-grown meat.” She beamed and swatted Howard’s hand away from her blouse.

“That sounds disgusting,” said Smythley, unable to hide a grimace.

“No more than eating muscles, which most people do anyway and they don’t bat an eye about it,” she said. “No dear, I wasn’t telling you to bat your eye, please stop,” she told her husband. Comprehension slowly dawned on Howard. He put his eye back in the socket.

A few more audience members turned pale and ran for the doors.

Smythley was cutting it close with the censors but still felt he could pull off the rest of the show. Oppressed minority fighting for their rights- it was a good angle.

He asked, “So, what do you eat, Mrs. Howard?”

“Me? Oh, I’m vegetarian!”

That was it. He might be able to sell the zombie thing, but vegetarianism would offend too many sponsors. He made the kill sign to his producer, which Howard took quite literally, and the show ended.

THE END

*UPDATE (2010-05-31) I feel just terrible that I forgot to include credit to my ‘beta reader’, VeganTexan, of the Vegan Represent Forums. He made helpful suggestions, offered encouragement, and I value his expertise as an avid lover of zombie literature. My sincere apologies that it took me this long to post my thanks here. My only excuse could be that a zombie ate my brains.  Thank you again, VeganTexan!

*This was actually my very first attempt at writing a zombie story, though it’s the second one I’ve ever posted on my blog. It hasn’t been quite right for any of the markets I’ve submitted to, but I’m really fond of this so I wanted to share it. You know what they say – you never forget your first zombie…

As always, I beg for welcome feedback. If you liked it, wonderful. If you didn’t, I still want to hear from you. Thank you for your time.

**Microphone photo courtesy of hidden hiddedevries under Creative Commons

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Filed under Flash Fiction, humor, satire, Writing Corner, zombies

Friday Flash: Adventures in Dentistry

Adventures in Dentistry

Bobby Flattoe loved his job. He’d been scaring little boys and grown men alike from the day he earned his degree and opened shop as a late-night dentist. In addition to this, the services he offered were so unique that he enjoyed an amount of financial freedom and price gouging unparalleled in the dental industry.

The man pulled himself as far back into the dental chair as possible as Bobby approached with his sharp metal tools. The field of dentistry had always been an unpleasant one- sticking hands into strange mouths, handling sharp instruments, dealing with pain – but Bobby’s disposition made him unusually qualified for his job. He checked the leather restraints.

“Now say ‘ah,’” he said.

The old man with the boyish face cringed.

“Come, I can’t do my job if you don’t open wide; can I?”

The young-old man opened his mouth and closed his eyes.

“There. That’s better,” said Bobby Flattoe, DDS. He examined the pointed tips of his patient’s chipped and worn incisors. As expected, they’d need to be replaced.

“I’m afraid, Mr. Smith that you’re going to need dentures.”

His patient’s eyes opened wide. The thick leather restraints bit into his flesh as he struggled to rise.

“Oh, now, we’ll have none of that, Mr. Smith. Besides, there’s no need to worry.” The dentist stuffed cotton into his patient’s cheeks as he spoke. “The specialty dentures will look and function like your own teeth, so you can follow your regular diet with only slight modifications.” Bobby prodded his patient’s gums, forced the mouth to open wider, and looked inside.

Mr. Smith, cheeks puffed like a squirrel hording nuts, attempted a question. “MmmmMmm Mufffmoof muummm?”

“No – pretty much the same. Just stick to tender virgins for about a month afterwards and stay away from crusty old men. They might get caught in your new teeth. Oh- and no gum.” He scraped the incisors with a pointed steel instrument.

Mr. Smith mumbled another question mixed with a deep throated snarl.

Bobby Flattoe, DDS poked the patient’s gums with the sharp instrument, causing the creature’s whole body to stiffen. “We can go over the specifics when you make your next appointment.”

Mr. Smith, like a trapped animal, voiced his anger and fear in a deepening growl.

“Yes, it’s going to be expensive, but I’m sure you can afford it. Now if you’ll excuse me, Mrs. Flattoe will wrap things up while I see to the next patient.” The dentist put down his instrument, pulled off his gloves and washed his hands.

A woman dressed in red medical scrubs stepped out of the shadows.

“She’ll answer your questions and make the appointment. Sorry to rush off like this, but I’m a little behind schedule tonight. My next patient’s a lycanthrope, and we both know how irritable they can be.” Bobby chuckled.

A howl eminated from the waiting room.

Mr. Smith’s struggles, which had persisted off and on throughout the visit, lessoned as the dentist left the room. He renewed them as the petite blonde approached him with a clipboard.

“Mr. Smith?” she said in honeyed tones. “I’ll release your restraints soon. But first I’d just like to go over today’s bill with you, as well as the cost of your new teeth.”

She showed him the clipboard. His body shook, and he passed out. She smiled.

God, she loved this job.

THE END.

*note: There are many fine dentists out there that are perfectly lovely people. Bobby Flattoe just doesn’t happen to be one of them.~ admin

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Filed under Flash Fiction, humor, satire, vampires/undead, Writing Corner, zombies