Johnny blamed the milkman.
“Why would the milkman steal the last jug of milk out of our fridge?” said mom. “He has so much of his own in his truck!”
“He’s greedy. He wants it all for himself.”
“Honey, that’s–”
“GIVE ME ALL YOUR MILK!!” cried the Malevolent Milkman. “NOW!!”
A reader sent me this, and I thought it was too clever not to share. Thanks, Hugh3s!
Hi Tim,
I found your site, “Fifty Word Stories,” and found it interesting. With a few weeks of no updates, I was depressed to find that you were on hiatus.
So I decided to write a fifty-word story instead. I sat down at my computer and came up with nothing…
In case you don’t know what I found so great about it, count the words (as if you should have to do that with anything on this site).
Fleeing my prison, driven by the hunger, I found my victim. I struck. His blood flowed. The hunger was satiated, but then: panic.
The body was stuck on my tusks, and my flippers were too short to remove it.
The zookeepers apprehended me, ending the reign of Chumley, Vampire Walrus.
Josh Anderson is an amateur filmmaker and writer from Lubbock, Texas.
He won the gold medal with his eyes closed.
He’d never been much good at anything in his life, but the first time he found himself sliding down the icy, open-faced track he knew he’d found his place.
Speed. Freedom. Exhilaration. Bliss.
He was the Naked Sledless Luge Olympic Champion.
“Have you seen my wallet?”
“No, honey, and stop trying to change the subject. Just tell me… Does this dress make me look fat?”
“I would never tell you a dress made you look fat. You’re beautiful.”
“Aw, that’s so sweet.”
“The other dress makes you look very trim, though.”
“Luke, I’m your father!” said Luke’s father.
“That stopped being funny when I was in fifth grade,” said Luke.
“Join me on the dark side!”
“Nah, I think I’ll play on the light team this week.”
It hadn’t taken many pick-up soccer games for Luke to start wearing white t-shirts.
“I reckon you best be moseyin’ off now, son,” drawled the drawling old cowboy.
“Well aren’t we Mr. McDrawlyPants?” snivelled the snivelling little sniveller.
“Ker-Bang!” shot the shooty six-shooter.
“You brought it on yerself,” grunted the grunting, grumpy cowboy.
“Ow, my chest cavity really huuuuurts…” whined the whiny, dying whiner.
I’m trying out a new way to write dialogue. I think it has promise!
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!”
“Mom, my square-shaped brand-name cereal tastes like O-shaped brand-name cereal!”
“Don’t you mean diamond-shaped, dear?”
“No, Mom. That was just a clever marketing scheme! They’ve been square-shaped all along! And I don’t want them to taste like O-shapes!”
“You should write a letter and deliver it to the Post office!”
Don’t say I didn’t warn you.
“Dad,” said Junior, “I don’t think I understand women.”
Dad chuckled. “That’s common. Men never really know what women are thinking.”
“Yeah,” said Junior. “They open their mouths and all I hear is ‘blah blah blah.’ Literally!”
“Literally?”
“Literally.”
“Blah blah blah?” asked Mom, sticking her head in the door.