It’s Like Magic

“Hey Mike, early as usual, come in it’s been a while.”

“Nice pad, but I thought you might have something a little bigger after that heist in…”

“Not here,” Darrel interrupted. That was a high profile gig and he was afraid the fed might be listening.

“Hey look at this little guy, what kind of dog is this?”

“That’s MacGyver, he’s a charcoal lab, he’s a lot of fun, but we haven’t worked out the potty training yet.”

“Hey Mike, since you’re early I hope you don’t mind if I finish up a few things before we hit the town,” Darrel says, tossing his friend a beer.

“Not at all. What is that anyway?”

“It’s one of those robot vacuums. Check out the furniture, I have the house set up so the vacuum can get under everything. It’s like magic; the place gets clean while we get drunk…”

* * * * * *

“uhh… what happened last night, what’s all over me? What happened to the girls we met? My head hurts. What’s all over the floor?” Darrel said as he tried to get up off the floor.

“All great questions Darrel. The three shots you decided to shotgun put you over the edge and you threw up on Anna, one of the girls we met. The same thing that is on the floor is all over you… poopy! You might ask how that happened. Well, it appears MacGyver took a crap on your floor and your wonderful robot vacuum managed to spread it evenly all under all the furniture and in every corner of this place. That’s right, there is dog shit covering every square inch of this condo, it’s really magical.

 

Note: You guessed it, I was feeding my Internet addiction, and I found a cool site about stupid criminals. As usual a strange story stuck in my head and I felt I had to share it with the world or at least you. I hope you enjoyed this one.

Love at First Sight

Short Funny Stories

Copyright: Janet Webb

They locked eyes as he made his way to the bar. He felt something, was it love at fist sight? Her green eyes spoke to his soul. She turned back toward the bar and took a drink of her newly refreshed sangria. Moving through the crowd, he admired the way she delicately ran her fingers through her hair. He sat next to her but couldn’t find the right words.

“… Hey.”

“ Not a chance loser,” she insisted.

He spun around on the bar stool and faced the crowd.

“What is she looking at?” he said and headed for the next best thing.

This story is my entry into Friday Fictioneers. The challenge is to write a story with ~100 words using the above photo as a prompt. I hope you enjoyed my story, if you would like to write you own short fiction check here for more info.

Hey, if you own a blog and want to write humor, check out my comedy writing page here.

Shots All Around: Drinking with Steve

“Is that your friend?” she asked, interrupting his poorly executed pickup line.

“Yep, that’s Steve” he told her.

“Why does he have a hockey helmet on?”

“To lower the possibility of brain damage from head butting random walls during fits of rage brought on by overindulging in alcohol,” he replied.

“Does that happen often… the head butting thing?”

“Yep! Did my answer sound rehearsed?”

“Yep… so where is your helmet?” she asked him, grinning.

“It’s in the seat next to Steve.”

“Oh by the way, I’m Sara,” she said.

“I’m Jim,” he replied reaching out to shake her hand.

“So, Jim, why aren’t you wearing your helmet?”

“Because, it was my turn to wear the goalie helmet. Do you have any idea how hard it is to drink beer while wearing a goalie helmet? I got tired of drinking through a straw so here I am.”

An announcement came over the loud speakers. “Thunder Buck, you’re up next with ‘The Love Shack’”

“Hold that thought,” he told her, getting up, walking toward the karaoke stage.

“Wait, you guys are Thunder Buck?”

“Yep.”

The stage erupted with background music from the B-52s, screeching voices of drunken middle age males, spirit fingers and a failed attempt at a front kick that resulted in a tumble off the tiny stage.

“That was quite a performance.” She said when Jim returned to the bar.

“Consider yourself lucky, Steve decided against the kilt this week.”

“What’s so bad about his kilt?”

“He always goes commando, even in the kilt, the famous front kick you just witnessed usually sends the crowd into a frenzy.”

“Ew, does he really ‘always’ go commando?”

“Not always I guess, he wears whitey tighties when he cooks. I think that’s a fairly new development though, not too long ago he burnt his pecker cooking an omelet.”

“Ha, how funny. How do you know that? Were you there?”

“Oh no, he told me all about it, he would have showed me if I hadn’t refused. He’s not shy.”

“Maybe I should go ask him a few questions myself,” she said getting up from the barstool.

“Be careful, he bites.”

* * *

 “You’re at it again huh?” the bartender asked.

“Yep, and I’m going to need another round of Thunder Bucks.”

Jim grabbed the freshly poured shots and headed to the table.

“Shots all around,” he said as he approached.

“Not for me,” Sara replied putting her hand up.

“Oh especially for you my lady, these are Thunder Bucks, named after us, you can’t turn that down.”

* * *

“Ah, my head is killing me,” Jim said to himself, rolling off of Steve’s couch.

He went to the kitchen for water. A few moments later Steve came walking out of the bedroom in his birthday suit.

“Are you going to cook an omelet for you guest?” Jim asked.

“No, at least not yet, we didn’t sleep much.”

“Ya I heard. Don’t forget it’s my turn to wear the helmet next week. You’ve got it two weeks in a row.”

This is my response to the WordPress Daily Prompt: You, the Sandwich

If a restaurant were to name something after you, what would it be? Describe it.

Last Night’s Temptation

His head was pounding, a familiar Saturday morning pain. After three tries the green light on the hotel door flashed and he walked into the room, a room he was sharing with five of his fraternity brothers. The sound of clapping and cheering made his head worse and aroused his curiosity.

“Ya buddy!”

“In and out huh?”

Silent, trying to comprehend the jeers from his brothers, he saw it, the sign of sweet relief. An unfinished bottle of Jack Daniels stood tall on the desk. He made a fast approach as if the bottle was getting away. He put the bottle to his lips, chugging, not letting up until the room fell silent.

He did not awake to the warm embrace of last night’s temptation. He awoke to the hard sole of a subway security guard’s boot and the caress of a cardboard box that smelled of rotting compost.

Funny stories subway

Copyright – Alastair Forbes

Funny Stories

My response to Alastair’s Photo Fiction