Tag Archives: Flash fiction

1156. Free phone

It’s a marvellous thing, modern technology. The Government gave everyone with dementia a free phone.

They spend all day phoning each other up to tell each other the same thing.
They spend all day phoning each other up to tell each other the same thing.
They spend all day phoning each other up to tell each other the same thing.
They spend all day phoning each other up to tell each other the same thing.
They spend all day phoning each other up to tell each other the same thing.

I’m talking about the Government, not those with dementia.

1155. Job interview

There were six people waiting for a job interview. It was a simple job, but with the difficulty these days of finding work, almost anything would do. The six waiting interviewees were applying for a mail sorting job. Madeline was in charge of the process.

Madeline was dressed in her Sunday best for the occasion. A little bit of power dressing, she thought, a little bit of black; in fact, quite a bit of black. She was startled to overhear, at least she thought she overheard, one of the applicants say to the others, “I don’t think much of what that woman’s wearing.”

The interviewing process began. Madeline gave each a pile of envelops and told them to sort things alphabetically into pigeon holes.

“Times up!” announced Madeline.

“But you never said it was a speed test.”

“Well what do you expect?” said Madeline. “I’m afraid you were all too slow. We shall re-advertise the job.”

1154. So closed-minded

Regina was the new editor of a prestigious magazine. It was a monthly publication that shared ideas and articles about flower arranging. It was extremely popular. It was possible to follow the flower arrangements without having to possess expensive vases. In fact, some of the best flower arrangements were made in old jam jars with things that most people could find in their gardens. Even weeds!

When Regina landed the editorial job she announced a few changes; in fact, more than a few! The whole format was overhauled, and the online format was made to accommodate various social media appliances. Only the rich could afford the flowers and vases used.

Regina’s opening editorial began:

Wonderful! Wonderful! Wonderful! Our design staff has been busy improving the appearance and content of our magazine. We’d love to hear your response to these wonderful improvements!

Four hundred and twenty-nine readers responded. Fourteen loved the new look; the rest hated it. People are so closed-minded, aren’t they? They can’t cope with change. They’re stuck in the Middle Ages, these people; thick-skinned dinosaurs who refused to adapt to the changing world. “It hasn’t taken long for the whingers and moaners of this world to crawl out of the woodwork,” declared Regina.

Subscriptions plummeted. The board gave Regina a substantial pay rise to celebrate her wonderful, wonderful, wonderful innovations.

1153. Who’s the suspect?

The front of Melanie’s house was next to the road, but the back lawn had a different neighbour bordering each of the three sides.

Melanie had a little dog, of which she was most fond. It was a Pomeranian and its name was Pom-Pom. In fact, Melanie got on better with her dog than she did with the three bordering neighbours.

You’ve no idea, said Melanie, what Anita Jones is up to. Her husband’s corpse was still warm and she was out cavorting with another man. And then barely three weeks had passed and he’d moved in. Moved in! Anita Jones, I’m telling you this to your face. You’re a cheap harlot. That’s all. Cheap harlot! My Pom-Pom has more principles.

Herbie Davidson, said Melanie, is overweight and disgusting. He walks around in his back yard wearing only his underpants. He’s too fat to do that. He’s gross from top to toe. Nor has he any manners. Herbie Davidson, I’m telling you this to your face. You’re a grotesque, obese piece of lard. That’s all. Lazy lard! My Pom-Pom has more principles.

And as for you, Andy McAlister, we all know you watch porn. You sit at your computer half the night grovelling over it. I can see it through the window. I’ve a good mind to report you to the police, you filthy-minded pig. Andy McAlister, I’m telling you this to your face. You’re a dirty gutter rat. That’s it. Gutter rat! My Pom-Pom has more principles.

One day Melanie saw rat poison tablets scattered on her back lawn. Pom-Pom must have eaten one. It was dead.

1152. Romance reader

Jonathan was nineteen years old and loved to read popular romances. He particularly liked the swashbuckling heroes who rescued the damsels in distress. Then they would fall in love and get married and live happily ever after. Why settle for dark, morose characters when a rumbustious champion could conquer the world? Of course, he never told his friends that he read romances.

It wasn’t silly for Jonathan to think he could be like that. There must surely be some bravery in the world, and some zealous ardour to go with it. All he need do was find the right girl and the right situation.

Anyway, he went to the First World War and got shot.

1151. Out to lunch

Two people worked in the office, Patricia and Evelyn. Well three people actually counting Mavis the cleaning lady who popped in and out periodically. When Patricia’s aunt died, she left Patricia two and a half thousand dollars! A favourite aunt indeed!

Patricia was so excited that she suggested to Evelyn that they go out to lunch together to celebrate. “And I’m paying,” said Patricia.

“You’ve no idea,” said Evelyn later (in confidence) to Mavis the cleaning lady, “you’ve no idea. She took me to Mr Slice’s Tea rooms and ordered a cheese and onion sandwich each. You’d think with all that money she’d be able to do better than that.”

“She’s a few crumbs short of a cake,” said Mavis (the cleaning lady). “Count your lucky stars. I didn’t get even a cheese and onion sandwich.”

1149. Some aliens are never satisfied

“You can go home,” said the doctor to the hospital patient.

“But doctor,” said the patient, “you know very well I am an alien and I was in hospital with broken limbs because my space craft crashed. It’s pretty obvious I can’t go home.”

“I had quite forgotten that,” said the doctor. “It’s amazing how quickly one gets used to seeing you wear that mask that enables you to breathe propane. I’ll see what I can do.”

Special accommodation was arranged for the alien. He could walk around freely while breathing healthy propane gases. But the alien was most unhappy.

“I’m sick to death of the food,” said the alien. “Day after day it’s the same potassium cyanide. Why can’t they vary it a bit, like the drink of carbon tetrachloride I was given last Christmas?”

They tried to vary the food a little after that, but to be honest the nurses in the Psych Ward were getting tired of it.