Humor

All posts in the Humor category

PRICELESS

Published June 19, 2017 by rochellewisoff

Today Pegman takes us to the Burj Khalifa in Dubai.

Feel free to stroll around the area using the Google street view and grab any picture you choose to include in your post.

To enjoy stories inspired by the What Pegman Saw prompt or to submit your own 150-word story, visit the inLinkz button:

For guidelines and rules for the What Pegman Saw weekly writing prompt, visit the home page.

Thanks to K Rawson and J Hardy Carroll for heading up this challenge, one that I can’t seem to avoid. 😉 I’m not even caught up on my Friday Fictioneers reading, commenting and replying.

The Gold Souk in Dubai

Genre: Memoir

Word Count: 150

PRICELESS

            “Cash for your old gold,” boasted a reputable local jeweler.

            He set up a table at the front of the grocery store where I worked as a cake designer. There he made his offer to employees and customers alike.  

            “Wish I had something to trade in, I could use the money,” said Maggie, my coworker. “You got anything?”

            My husband is something of a jewelry junkie and bought some stunning gold pieces while stationed in Dubai during the Gulf War. Nothing I care to part with. My favorite is a simple heart ring, the symbol of storms we’ve weathered in our marriage.

            “Nah, but I wonder what this is actually worth.”

            Maggie took it and left the bakery. When she returned she tossed it on the counter. “It’s fake.”

            Isn’t it sad that a “trained professional” didn’t recognize 24 carat gold?  

            Like my daddy used to say, “It’s always something.”   

*

*

It’s rarely left my right index finger since December 1999. 24 carat gold is soft and easily bent. BUT it’s never turned my finger green.

 

HEAD TRIP

Published June 5, 2017 by rochellewisoff

Today Pegman walks along the docks of Cebu City, Philippines

Feel free to stroll around the area using the Google street view and grab any picture you choose to include in your post.

To enjoy stories inspired by the What Pegman Saw prompt or to submit your own 150-word story, visit the inLinkz button:

For guidelines and rules for the What Pegman Saw weekly writing prompt, visit the home page.

Another week, another Pegman tour. Thanks to J Hardy Carroll and K Rawson for hosting this weekly challenge. 

Fort San Pedro

What writer among us has never suffered from writer’s block? 

Genre: Questionable

Word Count: 150

HEAD TRIP

“Señorita Wisoff? Daydreaming again?”

“No, Señor Scott.” I snap my head to attention. A twitter travels around the classroom. My cheeks blaze with embarrassment. “I—I guess I dozed off.”

“Can you tell me which explorer landed in Cebu in 1521 and converted Rajah Humobon and his queen to Christianity?”

“Vasco de Gama?”

“Guess again. This explorer met his death soon after.”  

“Pope John?”

“Where’s your homework, Señorita?”

Sweat trickling down my backbone, I open my notebook to a page of scrawled sentences. “I did my deberes gramáticas.”

Eyes aflame, my high school Spanish teacher rips out my paper and holds it aloft. “You see, class, what comes of not paying attention.”

Suddenly I’m up to my knees in Pacific Ocean, surrounded by angry natives wielding bamboo spears.

“Holy Magellan! What a nightmare!” Snapping open my eyes, I kick off the bedcovers. “What on earth can I write for Pegman?”  

WAXING POETIC

Published May 25, 2017 by rochellewisoff

For the past five years, since joining Friday Fictioneers, I’ve written or posted a flash fiction at least once a week. My favorite genre is historical fiction, but that hasn’t stopped me from writing humorous anecdotes, realistic fiction or just plain nonsense. But any and all who know me very well will tell you that Jewish themes are my favorites. Nu? Why shouldn’t they be? I am after all, a Jew.  All four of my grandparents came from Eastern Europe to escape the pogroms in the Pale of Settlement or the Russian draft. 

Last month I met Eve Brackenbury, a gifted poet who co-owns Inklings’ Books & Coffee Shoppe in Blue Springs, Missouri, on Facebook. Social Media is my friend. 

Eve Brackenbury

Not only did I make a new friend that day, I also made a valuable connection on many fronts. Our first conversation dealt with the challenges of marketing. As we chatted in an IM she said, “You write Jewish Historical Fiction. Are you Jewish?” Is the Pope Catholic? 

Eve told me about the CloudBursT Jewish Poetry event and gave me Martha Gershun’s email address. Although I don’t write what I would call poetry, I thought perhaps Martha might be able to point me in the right direction as far as reaching a Jewish audience. I inserted one of my Jewish themed flash fictions in my email to her and, not five minutes later, the return email came with, “That’s really powerful. Would you like to come and read?” 

Martha Gershun- CloudBursT organizer and poet

I must’ve changed my mind twelve times as to which stories I would read. Finally, the day came, Sunday, May 21, and I’d narrowed it down to four of my favorites. The lobby of Congregation Beth Torah teemed with poets and their guests. We were warmly welcomed with food, wine and friendly conversation. 

So much Yiddishkeit. I felt like I’d come home. I particularly enjoyed Ellen Portnoy’s piece “The Nuances of Nu.” 

Out of 19 who read, I was third to the last, just before Eve. The ones I read are as follows:

THE ELEVENTH COMMANDMENT

            In preparation for his bar mitzvah, twelve-year-old Harvey Weinstein opened the book to his parashah. His stomach rumbled. “I’m hungry.”

            “Sh’mot beginning with Chapter 16,” said Rabbi Shmuel. “First in English, then Hebrew.”

            Harvey fumed. “I’m tired of Torah. I’d rather play Xbox.”

            “This is the perfect reading for you.” The rabbi winked and pointed to the page. “The children of Israel kvetched day and night in the wilderness. ‘Oy, Moses, we’re wet. We’re cold. We’re starving to death.’ Nu? Is there something we can learn from them?”

            “Yeah.” Folding his arms across his chest, Harvey smirked. “Jews don’t camp.”

***

FAMILY TREE

            “‘And they lived happily ever after.’” Leah shut the storybook.

            Shifra’s raisin-brown eyes, round as bottle caps, sparkled. “Bubbie? Did you love Grandpa at first sight?”

            “He was only eight when we met. Mama took him in…hid him from the khappers, bad men who snatched little Jewish boys from their homes and made them serve twenty-five years in the Czar’s army.”

            “Did she hide him in the closet?”

            “No she was smart, my Mama.”

            “He was like your brother, right?”

            Leah pointed to a tintype on the table of two little bonneted girls and grinned. “More like my sister.”

***

THE HEAVIEST WHEEL ROLLS ACROSS OUR FOREHEADS

            When I was a little girl in the 1950’s, Mom used to take me to visit my aunt in St. Louis. I so looked forward to those train rides. Sunlight dazzled through the trees as they whizzed by and the rhythm of the wheels along the track soothed me.

            Dad, on the other hand, hated trains, but would never tell me why. Only once did he accompany us.

            As we left Union Station, tears trickled from the corners of his faraway eyes.  

            “Daddy, what’s wrong?”

            “The stench was unbearable. Fifty of us crammed into a cattle car. I alone escaped.”

***

HATH NOT A JEW EYES?

            Do you know the word “Jew” is a common insult among Norwegian teens? Should this bother me? After all, I am a Norwegian Jew.  

            “If you prick us, do we not bleed?”

            Reptilian? I’ve been called this. Do people seriously believe this mishegoss—that Jews are lizard creatures from another planet?

            “If you tickle us, do we not laugh?”

             I will never forget holding my father’s hand as we strolled along a mountain path. Two youths shoved him and shouted, “Child murderer!”

             The memory of warm spittle dripping down my face sickens me still.

            “If you wrong us, do we not revenge?”

            Not in Norway. Instead, we hide in plain sight.

            Last summer a group of Hasidim invited us to a Jewish gathering in Oslo. We cranked up the music and danced in front of Parliament.

            I’ve heard that work makes us free, but we’re not falling for that again.               

 

 

 

 

14 April 2017

Published April 12, 2017 by rochellewisoff

Like us on Facebook

Our Mantra

The next photo is the PROMPT. Remember, all photos are property of the photographer, donated for use in Friday Fictioneers only. They shouldn’t be used for any other purpose without express permission. It is proper etiquette to give the contributor credit. 

PHOTO PROMPT © Dale Rogerson

get the InLinkz code

Please be considerate and try to keep your story to 100 words. Thank you.. 

Genre: Anecdote

Word Count: 100

HAND-TOSSED

            Monticello, a town in Upstate New York, is where we spent the summer of 1965, the last summer of my childhood, with my aunt and uncle. Having never traveled far from Kansas City, this was the adventure of my eleven-going-on-twelve-year-old lifetime.

            Unlike KC, restaurants like the pizzeria where I had my first ever, true pizza, stayed open all night.

            My brother handed me the red pepper. “Try this.”

            Aunt Lu scowled. “Go easy, Rochelle.”

            Did I listen? 

            Although the gooey cheese and sauce melted in my mouth, the pepper burned all the way down—and all the way back up. 

 

31 March 2017

Published March 29, 2017 by rochellewisoff

Like us on Facebook

Our Mantra

The next photo is the PROMPT. Remember, all photos are property of the photographer, donated for use in Friday Fictioneers only. They shouldn’t be used for any other purpose without express permission. It is proper etiquette to give the contributor credit. 

get the InLinkz code

Please be considerate and try to keep your story to 100 words. Thank you. 

***

Genre: Plagiarized Poetry with Apologies to Lewis Carroll

Word Count: 100

*

WHAT’S SO FUNNY?

*

The sun shone on the Med,

Twas shining with all its might.

The sea was wet as wet can be.

Rusty-Drain and Pinky walked hand in hand,

Shuffling through quantities of violet sand.

“If only it were cleared away,” said Pinky. “Wouldn’t it be grand?”

*

“The time has come,” said red-nosed Rusty,

“To speak of many things:

Of poems—purple pygmies—and joy buzzers—

Of snake-proof boots and strings—

And why the Arkansas is boiling hot—

And whether pachyderms have wings.”

*

“O Rusty-dear,” whined Pinky, shedding bitter tears.  

“We’ve had a pleasant run

“Alas, wee whoopee cushion have I none.”

*

*

Any questions?

RUSTY-DRAIN

Click here if you’d like to read Original Poem

PINKY

MAZEL TOV BEGORRAH

Published March 13, 2017 by rochellewisoff

Today Pegman takes us to Dublin.

Feel free to stroll around the area using the Google street view and grab any picture you choose to include in your post.

To enjoy stories inspired by the What Pegman Saw prompt or to submit your own 150-word story, visit the inLinkz button:

For guidelines and rules for the What Pegman Saw weekly writing prompt, visit the home page.

This week’s location was suggested by the talented Alicia over at Up From the Ashes. Thanks Alicia!

Thanks to Karen Rawson for running the show.

______

Sorry to be so late this week. I had a busy weekend and really didn’t think I’d make it at all. However the Pegman Force is strong and resistance was futile. Below is my choice from the Pegman Prompt Buffet. 

Genre: Anecdote

Word Count: 150

MAZEL TOV BEGORRAH

My mother cradled my newborn son in her arms. “Look at his Yiddishe punim. If you couldn’t have a girl, the least you could’ve done was name him after my father of blessed memory. Sam’s a good name.

I grimaced. “It’s not like I had control over the sex, Mom.”

She glowered and I could pretty much read her mind as soon as the words “control” and “sex” left my mouth. Her opinion of my marrying a goy was no secret.

“You can always come home,” she often reminded me—until the day I announced my pregnancy.

Despite her objections and disappointments, over the years Mom grew to accept her son-in-law and adore her grandson. No matter what, she insisted on calling him Sammy.

“What kind of name is Shannon for a Jewish boy?”

What better name for a baby born the day before St. Patrick’s day?

 

Shannon and his mother a few years later. 

SCHUHLEDER

Published March 4, 2017 by rochellewisoff

Today Pegman walks through a St. Louis neighborhood.

Feel free to stroll around the area using the Google street view and grab any picture you choose to include in your post.

To enjoy stories inspired by the What Pegman Saw prompt or to submit your own 150-word story, visit the inLinkz button:

For guidelines and rules for the What Pegman Saw weekly writing prompt, visit the home page.

Since I chose the destination this week, I had no choice but to write a story. Right? Of course, right! 

Even at 150 words…50 over my normal flashes, I found myself wishing for more. 😉  Below is my choice of prompt. It brought back some wonderful childhood memories.

st-louis-home

Genre: Mostly Memoir-Some Fiction

Word Count: 150

SCHUHLEDER

            Compared to our ranch-style house in Kansas City, George Weinberg’s two-story in St. Louis seemed a veritable palace. I looked forward to sojourns with our cousins in the early 1960’s.

            Although George’s wife Carla, a German refugee, was generous and an impeccable housekeeper, her cooking left something to be desired—taste.  We didn’t dare complain. Carla had survived unbelievable hardship and she meant well, but how can a person ruin hamburgers?

            The summer I turned fifteen, Mom had dental surgery. Granting her request to be left alone, Dad took me to our favorite getaway for an overnight.

            It was dark when he woke me. “There’s a great diner around the corner.”

            Alas, Carla stood at the foot of the stairs, platter in hand. “Guten morgen!

            “Pancakes?” Dad’s stomach let out an audible whimper. “You shouldn’t have.”

            “Nonsense. I should let my guests leave hungry?”

            What’s the German word for ‘cowhide?’        

zicharonot

Memories and commentary.com site

e.l. dalke: survivor

a journey of fractures, in my own words

Waas Blog

We all have a unique story….I want to share yours!

Creativity for You

Posts about creativity research and application from Thomas Ward, Professor of Psychology, University of Alabama.

The Wasted Love Song

life, fiction & other unrealities

Jellico's Stationhouse

Come on in and sit a while...

WHAT PEGMAN SAW

a weekly flash fiction prompt inspired by google maps

Lori Ericson, Author

An author's perspective of mystery and more.

anelephantcant

Random thoughts and images, some serious, some humorous, some pointless

Honie Briggs

SERIOUSLY!

Alyssa Davies

You Can Never Be Overdressed or Overeducated

Flights of Fancy

The Totally Unambitious Blog

The Off Key Of Life

Or….Identifying The Harmless Unhinged Among Us.

What's So Funny?

A WordPress.com humor blog

The Write Melony

Renowned Writer Extraordinaire - in my mind!

unbuttoned or undone

Hang on, Hang on

A Dalectable Life

The little and large things making my life delicious!

Hoxton Spanish Tutor Info

This WordPress.com site is the cat’s pajamas

Sound Bite Fiction

where nothing is quite what it seems

yadadarcyyada

Vague Meanderings of the Broke and Obscure

mezzojan

a libretto for the comic opera of my life

elmowrites

Writing about writing

What's for dinner, Doc?

La Gringa's Kitchen : Flips & Flops in Baja, Mexico

Claire Fuller

Writing and art

Green Writing Room

Hilary Custance Green's reading and writing notepad

Oldentimes's Blog

a little old, a little new, life in the slow land of country living

Caely in the making

- one day, they'll say "because of you, I didn't give up" -

%d bloggers like this: