2. Henry emerged from teleporter half hoover
3. Jesus’ fingerprints found on bunny’s corpse
4. Hell fails Ofsted inspection. Heads roll
5. Santa incarcerated after elf sweatshop raid
7. Brian May enters Nazareth riding badger
8. Miniturised man bites sleeping bed-bug
9. Jewish bank denies holocaust-denyer’s loan
10. Dustin Hoffman obsesses over Rainman sequel
12. Average white band received lacklustre review
13. Velociraptor sues over ‘chicken-splicing’ debacle
14. Terrible first date inside troll’s stomach
15. Dyslexic divorcees win custody of diks
See previous: Six Word Stories #3
‘You’re nobody in life unless you own a vessel sumptuous enough to accommodate a fully laden helicopter from which a bevy of scantily-clad uber-babes / Adonis’s (delete as appropriate) endlessly spill…
…Or at least, that’s the word on the street; a word spread by yours truly.
Boat building is all about leveraging insecurities.
You’re worthless without stuff!
My current arm’s race involves a pot-bellied platinum magnate, a wig-wearing premiership footballer and an Internet starlet who takes copious photos of her bottom.
As for me – I don’t own a boat.
But you should see the size of my house!
Written for: Friday Fictioneers
“We can confirm that the suspect was neutralized in a drone strike. The drone sent compromising photos to his wife and she emasculated him.” (140 characters)
Written for: Twittering Tales
Rita’s dinner-parties were the stuff of legend – a heady mix of rich conversation and frugal ingenuity. With crepe-paper chandeliers and coat-hanger candelabra she carried off an air of flamboyant spectacle.
Rita herself was grace-personified – a slight, elegant frame of dignity and decorum that desperate poverty had failed to mollify. She sported plastic earrings as though they were diamonds and wore rags as though they were modelling her.
At any given gathering attention inevitably turned to the oil painting that dominated the far wall of her pokey basement flat.
‘Ah yes, my ancestor – the countess,’ she began, as though the words were not well-rehearsed, ‘regaling the revolutionaries who’d arrived to cart her away to the gulag. If the stories are to be believed she made them wait while the portrait was painted and disarmed them with etiquette.’
Guests never failed to take the bait. ‘So, you descend from aristocracy?’
‘Yes,’ Rita always replied wistfully, ‘but alas nothing now remains of that decadent time…well…’
With subtle self-intimation her body language concluded the tale…
…Perhaps one thing.
Written for: Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers
2. Radioactive flan. Freak accident. FLAN MAN!
3. Selfie-stick laments enabling preaning douche…
4. Cockney bible offends ‘Crusty Buns’ (nuns)
5. Millipede copyrights trainers and becomes gazillionaire
7. Deaf Lepers form terrible tribute band
8. Edward trouser-press hands? No…Edward…
9. R Kelly’s final words: I believe (OR: Turns out R Kelly can’t fly)
10. Time-travelling pickpocket steals own wallet
12. With third helping Jagger finally satisfied
13. Wonderful news Bertie. Satan’s popping over!
14. Red-headed step child. The Prophecy!
15. Suicidal McDonald turns bun on himself…
Previous entries include:
6 Word Stories #1
6 Word Stories #2
‘I don’t understand it,’ said the Russian doll, ‘These shopping bags are getting bigger and home is getting further away!’ (123 characters)
Written for: Twittering Tales
Ron Lexican was the greediest man to ever walk the earth. There was nothing he wouldn’t shamelessly usurp – other people’s land, other people’s wives…
It got so bad that his neighbours banded together to build a big, beautiful wall with which to contain him.
When Ron learned of their treachery his cheeks burned incandescent orange with rage. He attempted to scale the spiky barrier but his tiny hands were not up to the task…
…So he tweeted out insults, but alas the wall was fitted with a device that blocked internet traffic. Ron was never heard from again #SAD…
Written for: Friday Fictioneers (100 word fiction)