“Any questions, sir?” says the clerk.
“What are this medication’s side effects?” asks the customer.
“There are none.”
“None? Impressive. Three bottles, please.”
The customer pays and leaves.
Another clerk says, “You didn’t tell him it turns people into pathological liars?”
“I couldn’t,” says the clerk. “I’m taking it myself.”
This story was based on the prompts “side effects” and “pathological liar” at TypeTrigger.
One day Bruce Wayne brought Dick Grayson to the Gotham City Zoo.
While they were there, they got caught up in, and foiled, a mobster’s nefarious mammal-smuggling scheme.
“This city is full of animals,” said Batman.
It was that kind of writing that threatened to kill the comic book industry.
This story is based on a title suggested by @Wear_Wolf.
President Papi Kinsley rocked his wife, whispering, “You’re safe now.”
When she was asleep, Papi went downstairs. Zombie bodies were everywhere. He called Lord Zombino.
“I guess you didn’t know I’m a member of EZKIL, otherwise known as the Elite Zombie Killing International League,” Papi said. “Better luck next time.”
Nancy A. Cavanaugh is a freelance writer living in Keene, NH. You can read her flash and micro fiction at myflashywords.blogspot.com.
An ostrich, a penguin, and a barn swallow walk into a bar.
The ostrich and the penguin seem uncomfortable. “Are birds like us allowed here?” they ask nervously.
“Follow my lead,” says the barn swallow. “No one will bother you as long as you sit at the bar ‘n’ swallow.”
This story is based on a prompt suggested by @Matt_LRR.
“Ruff woof,” said Fido, wagging his tail, but Max just said, “Bad dog,” and put him out in the back yard, because Max didn’t understand the witty wordplay (barkplay?) Fido was using, which involved a canine equivalent of something like “putting the ‘toy’ in ‘toilet’,” and was really very clever.
Huddled in the muddy trenches, they dodged raindrops and warded off bullets with prayers.
“Man, this is really serious!” one soldier shouted to the other.
“Yeah, he usually writes lighthearted stories! This subject matter doesn’t really lend itself to jokes!”
“He’ll probably do some kind of meta-level cop-out with it!”
She looked left, then right, then strode purposefully out into the street.
Horns blared as drivers swerved to avoid her.
Oblivious to the mayhem around her, she reached the sidewalk, where she knelt and asked, “No, really, Ms. Chicken. What are you doing on the other side of the road?”
Samuel was studying Soviet philosophy, but he was having a hard time with it.
“It’s simple,” said Hank. “To the Soviet school, what makes us human is our ability to subvert our raw, natural instincts with humour and creativity.”
“I see,” said Samuel. “Basically, in Soviet Russia, joke makes you!”
“Oh yeah? Well your mama’s so fat she got hired by the fire department so people could fall out of burning apartment buildings and land on her without getting hurt! And she likes it!”
His friends hooted. “Solid comeback, mang!”
I folded my arms and sniffed derisively. “Your mama was so fat she died.”
Editor’s Note: This story was based on a call on Twitter for an adjective, a verb, and an adverb. @davefp responded with solid, fall, and derisively.
“Thank you, thank you. I’ll be here all night!”
“Get off the stage!”
“What, you wanna start something?”
“That’s right! Fight me, funny man!”
They fought. The comedian won.
“Go ahead,” said the heckler. “Make a joke at my expense.”
The comedian shrugged. “I don’t want to ruin the punchline.”
Editor’s Note: This story originally resulted in the police breaking up the fight, but I decided that using that ending would be too much of a cop-out.