Bob-ware Prison

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Bob-ware Prison

No one knew how long he’d been there before they found him. Even the coroner had difficulty determining the exact time of death. His report read “sometime on Friday.”

There were signs of a struggle. Locks of hair—torn from his head, chewed pieces of fingernail, coffee spills near the keyboard.

Friends and family gathered to grieve, wondering aloud if anything could have been said or done to prevent his untimely demise.

Everyone commented on the barb-wire halo draped over a fence post. Perhaps that was the key to unlocking the mystery. The words “bob-ware prison” scrawled beneath the prompt.

Call me in the Morning

Welcome to  Friday Flash Fiction.  This week's offering is tribute to Harry Nilsson and Jack Webb.  Photo courtesy of Madison Woods   http://madisonwoods.wordpress.com/ be sure and leave a link to your story when you comment on this one.  Thanks for stopping by

Call Me in the Morning

“Good morning, doctor. I’m Sergeant Friday, this is Officer Gannon. What seems to be the problem?”

“Some woman called, woke me up, complaining of a bellyache.”

“What made you suspicious of her activities?”

“She combined two substances and consumed them. What do you need from me?”

“Just the facts ma’am.”

“Her brother bought a coconut for a dime. She had another, paid it for a lime. She put the lime in the coconut and drank ‘em both up.”

“What did you tell her?”

“You’re such a silly woman. Call me in the morning and I’ll tell you what to do.”

Welcome to  Friday Flash Fiction.  This week's offering should strike a chord with those of you living in the Razorback Nation.  Photo courtesy of Madison Woods   http://madisonwoods.wordpress.com/ be sure and leave a link to your story when you comment on this one.  Thanks for stopping by.

Hole to Hide in

Have you been caught in a scandal? Did you publicly embarrass your employer and bring disgrace upon your family? Are you the butt of every new joke on Twitter, Facebook, and YouTube?

If so, Hidey Hole Inc. has just the place for you. Our secluded underground apartments provide the privacy to wallow in self-pity while you struggle to create a new life. Amenities include comfortable park benches for crying, praying, or sleeping, and waist-high steel rails to drape over when expelling cheap wine.

To tour one of our apartments, tap on the manhole cover in front of Van Winkle Tunnel.

 

Chunky Dunkin'

Welcome to  Friday Flash Fiction.  Photo courtesy of Madison Woods   http://madisonwoods.wordpress.com/ be sure and leave a link to your story when you comment on this one.  And, Thanks for stopping by!

Chunky Dunkin’ 

“This is where it happened, Sheriff. Do you want me to stretch yellow crime tape between those trees and start the investigation?”

“No, I don’t think skinny dippin’ qualifies as a real crime, Barn.”

“Humph, there wasn’t anything skinny about those two. Clem Miller said they came running out of the brush, naked as jaybirds, and jumped cannonball-fashion right into the river. It created a tsunami that washed his truck off the low-water bridge and swept away three of Arthur Boatright’s cattle.”

“Yeah, I know. I’ll have a talk with Aunt Bea. She needs to stop drinking moonshine with Otis.”