Showing posts with label Humour. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Humour. Show all posts

Friday, March 5, 2010

#fridayflash: Nellie's Web

(Image: Luc Viatour)

by Lily Mulholland


Nellie was becoming a little tired of Wilbur. Take, take, take. He never gave her anything except a growing list of words he wanted her to weave. Well she’d fix him. The country fair was coming up and Wilbur was pegged as the star attraction.

The day of the fair arrived and the Zuckermans transported Wilbur in his five-star trailer. Nellie still had to ride in the truck with the other animals. They were installed in a curtained exhibit and Nellie went to work.

Crowds arrived for the big unveiling.


SOME PRIG


The crowd gasped. Charlotte’s daughter smiled.


~~~~~

Published earlier this year at Flashshot. Also published at Short Humour.

Friday, December 4, 2009

#fridayflash: Release

Olivia let the warmth of the sand envelop her and tried to ignore the ticklish sensation as droplets of sweat rolled slowly over the contours of her body. It was hot and she liked it. A long way from home, where the weather forecast had been for ‘cold and dark’. The massage lady approached. Olivia squinted through pretend sleeping eyes. She didn’t want to give her interest away until she’d had a chance to check out her would-be torturer. Having heard stories about permanent neck damage, overly amorous masseurs and being generally unused to having strangers’ hands on her body, Olivia was understandably nervous about undergoing this Thai holiday ritual. But, she was here. She’d finally mustered up the courage to come alone. That took some doing. She hadn’t had much self-confidence since her marriage fell over so spectacularly. The massage lady had somehow sensed Olivia was watching her.

‘Massage?’

‘ Yes please,’ said Olivia in a forced, over-cheery voice.

And, she realised, too late, that she’d come up into Cobra, exposing her bare breasts to the rest of the tourists lazing on the beach. While her cheeks coloured a little, she remembered that she was far from home and knew no one on this beach – she’d patrolled it twice before dumping her stuff on her little patch of sand, just to be sure. The woman dropped her cushion at Olivia’s head and sat down.

‘300 Baht okay?’

Olivia quickly worked out the exchange rage and figured this equated to about ten Aussie dollars.

‘Okay’, she said, managing to hand over some well worn notes to the lady without further exposing herself.

How old was she? She looked ancient. Olivia didn’t get another look at the woman, as her face was pushed gently down into her towel. Olivia heard the flick of an opening bottle. Warm sticky oil pooled in the small of her back. The smell of coconut reached Olivia’s nose, reminding her of her teenage years back in Melbourne. She and her friends had slathered themselves in oil at the Ashburton Pool, trying to outdo each other in resembling a hazelnut by the end of summer. Reminiscences were cut short as surprisingly smooth hands started working the oil up and down the length of her torso. Olivia remembered to breathe. It had been a long time since anyone had touched her bare skin and she tried to suppress a shiver.

‘You okay?’

‘Yes,’ mumbled Olivia into the sand.

The smooth stroking turned into firm and then hard pressure along her back. The lady found the knots in Olivia’s shoulders and neck. She didn’t hold back, using thumbs, knuckles and even her elbows to knead and pummel Olivia’s muscles and fibres. The pain levels were increasing but Olivia resisted the urge to shout stop.

Stop it did, but then the woman rearranged herself and her hands, either side of Olivia’s head.

‘Roll over.’

Olivia did as she was commanded with as much grace as she could muster, which wasn’t much, considering she held the untied strings of her bikini top in her right hand and was using her left elbow to try to gain some kind of traction in the subsiding sand. Finally she made it onto her back and straightened up the triangles affording a small degree of modesty to her boobs.

‘Okay?’

‘Okay,’ echoed Olivia, wondering what was coming next. The woman cradled Olivia’s head in her hands. She rocked it slowly side to side, like a baby. Olivia was lulled by the sensation and thought it reminded her of warm summer days sleeping in a hammock. Crack! Olivia’s neck popped audibly as the woman wrenched it first to the left and then to the right. Two more gentle movements and Olivia’s head was once again on the towel.

‘Okay?’

‘Fuck yes! GREAT, THANK YOU!’

Olivia was finding it hard to control her voice, which had gone all loud and squeaky. The lady beamed a smile around her broken teeth, nodded and stood up. She placed her hands together, bowed slightly and farewelled Olivia with a gentle khob-kun-Ka. As Olivia watched her disappear down the beach she realised she felt fantastic. Her body was loose, relaxed and calm. All those years of therapy hadn’t done a damned thing. Ten minutes in the hands of a stranger and she felt like a new woman. She felt released.

Monday, November 30, 2009

Flashing at Bewildering Stories

One of my flash fiction pieces, 'Dental Check', is now up at Bewildering Stories. Head on over for a chuckle if you haven't seen it before or if you'd like to read it again.

Friday, November 13, 2009

#fridayflash: Special delivery

By Lily Mulholland

I screw the lid on the flask, being careful not to spill the contents. It took a lot of effort to fill it and I didn’t want to waste a drop. Wrapping the flask in foil to keep it warm, I place it securely in my messenger bag.

Skipping down the stairs, two at a time, two at a time, two at a time, I descend to the basement where I store my bike. The apartment is too small to hang even a hook on the wall. Fortunately no one else in the block seems to ride. They all take a bus or walk. A lucky few have a car. Well, I sometimes think they’re lucky, but they pay for the privilege, that’s for sure.

I carry my bike up the stairs to the foyer and wheel it out the door. Making sure my messenger bag is sitting in the middle of my back, so it won’t swing around when I mount my bike, I push off and dive out into traffic. As I dart between cars and zip around buses, I can’t keep the stupid smile off my face. I’m wondering if anyone else threading their way through the city is carrying millions of sperm on their back. Then I think of possums – the way they carry their young, clinging tight with a concrete hold to the folds of their mothers’ skin. Then I feel silly. I’m not a possum. I’m a guy hoping to make a buck from tossing off.

I pedal faster, knowing I only have fifteen minutes to get the little fellas in the door and processed. I make it to the clinic with a couple of minutes to spare, park and lock my bike outside and head in to the collection counter.

Damn. There’s a hot chick behind the counter and I feel my cheeks start to ping. That’s not all that’s pinging either and I’m wearing cycling pants. I slide my messenger bag around in front of my crotch, like a shield.

Making eye contact with the clerk, I retrieve the flask and place it up on the counter.

‘Been here before?’ she asks.

‘No. I registered online and this is my first time.’ I feel like an idiot when I realise our conversation sounds exactly like an RSVP first date.

I give her my details and she looks me up on the database.

‘Fine. Your blood test and initial sample results are here. So you received your donation kit?

I nod.

‘Did you fill the flask up to the line as specified?’ she asks me.

‘Line?’ I ask.

One plucked eyebrow ascends and she looks at me the same way Mrs McGurk looked at me in Grade Three.

‘We can’t take your sample if it’s not up to the line.’

‘Oh,’ I say, ‘I didn’t notice a line. I filled it.’

She stares at me.

‘To the top?’

I look at her, unsure what to say. The moment is rather awkward, as we continue to stare at each other. I look at my watch. She fixes me with one last look, trying to work out whether I’m pulling her leg or in earnest.

‘Yes, and I worked really hard to get it here within the fifteen minutes,’ I say, trying not to let my embarrassment strangle my epiglottis. It wouldn’t do to be talking like an eight-year-old, as well as feeling like one.

Her eyebrow descends; she’s made up her mind.

‘Okay Mr Scott, thank you for coming in today. If your specimen meets our criteria, you’ll receive your cheque in the mail,’ she says in a bored tone. She places my carefully wrapped package on a turntable and spins it round so it disappears behind the partition. My little fellas have begun their journey.

Understanding I’ve been dismissed, I head back out to my bike. A little tear forms in the corner of my eye; I feel like I’ve just waved off a child on his first day at school.

Friday, November 6, 2009

#fridayflash: Dog's best friend

By Lily Mulholland

Max headed into the bar. Rocky was already there, three sheets to the wind. Max nodded to the bartender, who knew to send down two of the finest. He poured the shots and whizzed the glasses down the well polished bar. It was a neat trick. One glass stopped in front of Max, the other in front of Rocky.

‘Max,’ grunted Rocky in greeting.

Max saluted his friend with the glass before downing its contents and signalling for another.

‘Wassup?’ asked Rocky.

‘Lemme just get this into me. I need it after the day I’ve had.’ Max slugged the second shot and slumped down on the barstool next to Rocky.

Rocky raised an expectant eyebrow.

‘Got the vet’s bill today.’

‘And?’

‘Five hundred. For a freaking teeth clean.’

‘Jaysus. That’s more than my kid’s orthodontist’s bill.’

‘Aint that the truth.’

Max signalled for another round.

‘Yeah, and that isn't the worst of it. Vet tells me that I’ll have to bring him in twice a year for a teeth clean – that’s ten thousand over ten years! I should’ve got me some of that pet insurance.’

‘Jaysus.’

Max and Rocky stared at the TV above the bar.

‘Who’s winning?’ asked Max.

‘Dunno.’

‘And,’ continued Max, ‘the vet tells me that I’m likely to have to fork out for a full tooth extraction after about ten years. That’s another three freakin’ thousand.’

‘Jaysus mate. Is that normal?’ asked Rocky, dragging his attention from the game.

‘Yeah, the vet says it’s normal with this breed.’

‘Shoulda got yerself a smaller pet. Like a goldfish. They don’t have nearly as many problems,’ said Rocky, with just a dash of irony.

‘Yeah, I reckon I was sold a pup.’

‘You gonna get it put down?’

‘What’ll I tell the kids?’

‘That it’s gawn to live on a farm?’

‘That oldie. Don’t know if they’d go for it. They know humans were kicked off their farms after the Overthrow.’

‘Damn. They teach kids too much at puppy school these days,’ said Rocky.

‘Yeah, not like the good old days where all we had to worry about was chasing balls and catching frisbees.’

‘Ah well, dogs rule the world now. We’d better get used to the responsibility, I spose.’

Rocky checked his watch.

‘Well the missus will be wondering where I am. Best head off. It’s bath night. My job to make sure the kids haven’t picked up any fleas at school this week. There’s been an outbreak apparently.’

‘Righto mate. Give the missus a sniff for me. Tell her Princess says hi and we’ll see you on the weekend.’

‘Save a snag for me,’ said Rocky as he shrugged on his leather coat and padded out the door.

Friday, October 9, 2009

#Fridayflash: Dental Check

By Lily Mulholland

Eddie eased himself back in the chair. The squeaking noises coming from under his backside took him back to childhood, when his mother had literally forced him to come. She had peeled his fingers from the car door one afternoon and tanned his hide with such emphasis that Eddie never did it again.

‘Comfortable?’ peeped the dental assistant.

‘Ah, yeah, sure,’ he said. He was clearly uncomfortable – his nails were digging trenches in the vinyl armrests.

‘Great,’ she chirped. ‘I’ll go and let Dr Ron know that you’re ready. Back in a jiffy.’

‘Okayay.’ Eddie found himself unconsciously mimicking her singsong voice.

He stared up at the ceiling, taking in the thoughtfully placed laminated pictures of waterfalls and beach scenes. He realised he was holding his breath and made an effort to try to breathe normally. That made him think of the time Fiona had tried to teach him one of her new age breathing techniques she’d picked up at yoga. Or was it pilates? He couldn’t remember. She’d tried to convince him to meditate before he went to sleep. He’d rather have just fucked her – his favourite stress relief technique. Fiona, on the other hand, loved sex but it didn’t put her to sleep. It got her thinking, usually about what Eddie was thinking about.

‘You have to breathe in through your left nostril and out through your right,’ she’d said.

‘Are you pulling my leg?’

‘No Eddie, I’m trying to help you. Now concentrate.’

Eddie tried and to his complete amazement he found that he could actually do it.

‘I’m doing it Fiona!’

‘Good boy, Eddie,’ she’d said, her voice tinged with the slightest hint of sarcasm. ‘Now keep it going for the next ten minutes.’

Eddie was asleep in two. Fiona had pretty much given up after that. He hadn’t seen her in a while. He tried to remember how long it had been.

Eddie’s reminiscences were interrupted by the arrival of Dr Ron, in whose wake followed Chirpy and possibly her sister, Tweety.

‘Hello Mr Andresen!’ Dr Ron spoke in exclamation marks.

‘How are we today?’ And the ‘royal we’.

‘Fine thanks,’ mumbled Eddie. He wasn’t one for small talk.

‘So, we’re in for a root canal, eh?’ asked Dr Ron.

‘Apparently.’

‘Well, I’d like to say it won’t hurt a bit, but I’d be lying!’

Eddie watched on as Tweedledum and Tweedledee buzzed around Dr Ron, fitting him with new gloves, a mask and goggles, laying out equipment on trays, and filling two large syringes with what he hoped was the good stuff.

Dr Ron seated himself and spun around with a flourish towards Eddie. He pulled the light down close over Eddie’s face.

‘Open wide!’

Eddie opened his mouth and closed his eyes. His fingers were interlocked across his chest, a tight bridge of knuckles. He tried to think of something relaxing as Dr Ron stuffed several cotton wads into Eddie’s right cheek. He settled on Fiona’s breasts. They really were something. That creamy white skin with two perfect little strawberries. He felt a familiar warm feeling in his pants until the prick of the steel needle in his gum killed it dead.

He’d already had a root canal on the left side, performed by a no-nonsense army dentist last year. Since he’d got out he’d had to pay for his own dental work. That had been a shock. So here he was, subjected to the blindingly white smiles of Dr Ron and his two bimbettes.

The smell of anaesthetic was overpowering and making him feel sick. Eddie watched as Dr Ron withdrew the needle and asked Chirpy for the second one. Dr Ron hovered the needle over the insertion point on the inside of the gum.

‘Are we okay?’

Eddie tried to say no, but with a face full of cotton and half a fist already in his mouth, it came out as a tortured kind of assent. Dr Ron pushed the needle deep into the gum. Eddie passed out.

**********

‘Welcome back Mr Andresen.’

Eddie heard Chirpy’s voice.

‘You’ve been asleep for quite some time.’

Eddie tried to open his eyes, but the lids felt so heavy.

Eddie’s tongue felt its way along the teeth on the bottom right side of his gum. Everything felt normal, apart from the inevitable bruising. He tried to bring his hand up to rub his jaw, but he couldn’t lift his hand. Either hand. Eddie tried again and realised that his four limbs were held fast in restraints.

‘What the fuck?’

‘I’m afraid you’re in no state to go anywhere Mr Andresen.’ The voice had taken on a different tone.

Eddie tried to open his eyes again. He half succeeded. Enough to see that he was no longer in Dr Ron’s rooms, but was in a large oval shaped room devoid of any furniture other than the bed he was in.

‘What the hell is going on?’

‘We’ve harvested your X chromosomes Mr Andresen.’

‘My what?’

‘Your sperm Mr Andresen. But only those carrying the X chromosome. We require them for our breeding program.’

‘Breeding program?’

‘We have completed phase one of our absorption program and taken sufficient breeders for our start-up requirements. A major undertaking, but suitable young women were easily sourced by Dr Ron.’

‘We are now in phase two. We require human X chromosomes to mate with ours. Once mated, the embryos will be implanted into the breeders, creating the perfect beings.’

Eddie’s head was spinning.

‘Perfect beings? What the fucking hell are you talking about?’

‘It’s not important. You have served your purpose. Once you are fully recovered, you’ll be returned to your apartment. Don’t bother talking to the authorities. Your army medical file has been altered to show you were discharged due to paranoid delusion.’

Eddie stared at Chirpy with her sickening white smile. It was only then that he was struck with the terrifying thought of how exactly they’d stolen his sperm.

Friday, October 2, 2009

#fridayflash: A Reservoir Dog

- Why am I Mr Yellow?

- Because you’re a faggot! All right?

- Why can’t we pick our own colours?

- No way. Tried it once. It doesn’t work. You get four guys all fightin’ over who gets to be Mr. Black.

******************************

- I just don’t think we’re gettin’ our cut, all right?

- But we’re not the lead act. We’re just the support.

- So you think I’m getting a big head then, do you?

- Nah, I just think you should realise that this isn’t about you.

- Yeah, but you’re gettin’ your own show. Bet you’ll get paid a lot more now.

- Well you need to pitch your ideas for your own show – that’s what I did. I’ve been working my backside off, brown-nosing Mr Blue for years.

- I don’t think he’d go for it. Mr Blue’s got it in for me.

- Well try Mr Purple. You know he’s got Mr Blue’s ear.

- Mr Purple? He’s a lightweight, always smoking ‘herbal’ cigarettes. Maybe I could have a go with Mr Red. He’s kinda goofy. Might be more prepared to listen to me.

- Well just don’t come over all aggressive. You’re a bit like a dog with a bone sometimes, you know.

- I know, I just can’t shake this off. I feel like we’re being stiffed. You know what I saw the other day? Our faces – yours, mine, Henry’s and Dorothy’s – on toddler wipes. Toddler wipes I tell you! That’s what the skivs think of us. They think we’re shit – literally!

- Well that’s what you signed up for when you got the contract.

- Sure, but –

- Hey Henry, you happy with your gig?

- Bahreebop Wags! Bahreebop Cap’n. What’s going on? I thought we were supposed to be rehearsing.

- Old Wagsy here reckons the fab four are scrooging him

– Dude you’ve gottta chill out. You get plenty of bones and there’s plenty of bitches in the crowd. I gotta tell you, I’ve got my eight hands full with those yummy mummies backstage every afternoon! Maybe you should get Dorothy to make you a cup of rosy tea – that’ll help settle you down.

- Henry, you’re such a fag. I’m outta here. You pussies can keep kissing those Wiggles’ butts, but I’m gone. Ciao ciao fellas.

Before Wags can get any further, Captain Feathersword unsheathes his blade.

- Have you lost your fuckin’ mind? I’m not gonna let you make a terrible mistake.

Wags, sensing a challenge, turns around and bares his teeth. Henry tries to intervene.

- Come on, guys. Nobody wants this.

Wags snarls at Henry. Henry starts to fidget and his trademark giggle consumes him. Wags advances on Captain Feathersword, who turns his sword on himself and attempts hara-kiri. He doesn’t get far; his sword is a fuchsia feather.

Dorothy, who has been watching from behind the scrim, rolls her eyes and worries for the future.

‘We’re supposed to be fuckin’ professionals.’

************

With apologies to Quentin Tarantino. The dialogue in italics is from the Reservoir Dogs script. The rest is mine :)

Tuesday, July 28, 2009

WEbook submission: Squeezing a watermelon

If you haven't checked out WEbook yet, it's a cool place to workshop your writing, as well as make your own contributions to 'projects'. They also have challenges. I submitted a 50-word nanostory here, called 'Squeezing a watermelon'.