Sometimes it’s hard to do a good cartoon.
Thought I would try this version. You can decide which one you prefer, if either. The earlier one appeared on Tuesday, July 17, 2012. You can also click on CarToonsday in the links below and it will bring up that CarToonsday cartoon as well as others.
Filed under cartoon by author, CarToonsday, writing
Q.: How many mystery writers does it take to change a light bulb?
A.: Two – one to do most of the turning and the other to give it a final twist at the end.
The mystery began in the most unlikely of places, and it was a shock to hear about.
[Editor’s note: Okay, so this one is a riddle. What would you expect for a mystery?]
Filed under Monday morning writing joke
Source: http://www.knoxnews.com/news/2012/jul/16/kpd-probes-shooting-of-man-in-underwear/
Knoxville, TN: What do you say to man in his underwear, lying in the street, shot in the back?
A bit of law and disorder on the streets of our fair cities.
On July 16, 2012, one Mr. B. was involved in a shooting incident that left him in the street of Washington Ave., dressed as described above. In need of medical assistance, the 30-year-old male was taken to the University of Tennessee Medical Center. Since Mr. B. has been “less than forthcoming” in helping the police, little else is known at this time.
One can only assume that the childhood exercise of show and tell has taken on an adult spin: show more and tell less.
Butt not to be outdone or maybe undone is a better choice of words here, a man in the West Tennessee town of Dyersburg, TN, complained to police when an accused prostitute took $40 from him, but did not “deliver the goods” so to say.
and
http://www.stategazette.com/story/1870129.html
On July 5, 2012, a 62-year-old man contracted for services with a woman half his age at the corner of Bowen Lane and Hornbrook Street. She then runs off with the money. He reports her to the police, who have a talk with her. She claims the money was for drugs – crack cocaine – and that she gave the money to another man, who then ran off, too.
The police cited her for prostitution and cited him for patronizing a prostitute. Both are misdemeanor citations. The second, still at large, unknown man has not yet been sighted.
Court date for Mr. Senior Citizen and Miss Rock and Roll was scheduled for July 20, 2012.
Now, I ask you, was the man in the underwear the mysterious second man? Granted, Knoxville, TN, is about 350 miles from Dyersburg, TN, but between July 5th and 16th this second man could have made it across the state, and might even have been making contact with an as yet undisclosed third man.
After all, in today’s economy, you have to stretch every dollar as far as you can.
Filed under absurdity, Sunday silliness, Workshop weekend
The sun peers over
my shoulder, an old man who
gives heat as advice.
Filed under poem, poetry by author, Workshop weekend
[Editor’s note: Parts 1 – 8 of The Kibitzer and the Kidd are available by clicking on “Kidd” or “Kibitzer” in the tag section. This is science fiction western with more than dollop of humor and satire.]
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“The Boss wants to see you,” said one of the men blocking the Kidd’s way.
They were both tall, thick, and none too brightly dress. In other words, they fit the typical definition of goons.
“Tell him I have an opening next Tuesday and I’ll pencil him in.”
One goon looked at the other one as if they were seriously considering this offer, and that’s when the Kidd made his move. He ran toward then, feinted to the right and then to the left, and then charged right toward them, intending to split the space between them. But a loose board sprang up from the floor, tripped the Kidd, and he tumbled into one of the goons, almost knocking the goon backwards.
Soon the second goon was behind the Kidd, pinning his arms to his side with the first goon pulled a dark hood over the Kidd’s head and tied his hands.
Then they started jerking him across the floor.
The Kidd thought he heard a floor plank say, “Had to do it to keep the plot going.”
It was then the Kidd realized he was looking at the plank with his right eye. The left one was covered. Soon they were both covered and he was lifted up and shoved outside.
The air felt noticeably cooler, as if the evening were sighing at the folly of humans. But there were also sounds: clanging and banging, voices raised and footsteps running along the wooden sidewalk. Somebody bumped into the Kidd, slumped by him, and continued running without even saying “excuse me.”
The Kidd thought he heard someone shout “Fire!” and “Spreading!” but he wasn’t sure from which direction.
Were they headed toward the fire? Were these goons going to throw him into the flames?
“There’s somebody trapped inside.”
“It’s only that Kidd fella.”
Two voices, both soon gone.
He was being lifted again. One goon on each side.
“Open the door,” the goon on his right said.
“You open it.” the other one said.
“The Boss is waiting.”
“Then open it.”
The Kidd kicked his legs around until he felt his boot hit something.
The goon on his left groaned.
The Kidd kicked again, aiming as best he could.
The goon let go and cursed.
The Kidd turned and kicked at the other goon while he worked his hands free. They had not tied them well. He then reached up for the hood.
He was free of the hood and the other goon at the same time. He turned to run and immediately bumped into a third person, who looked uncomfortable and displeased.
“You have come all this way to see me and now you want to leave so soon.” It was a statement and not a question.
“I came here for cough drops,” the Kidd said, “and a hot toddy. Whatever festering range war you have is none of my concern.”
“Global warming is everybody’s concern.”
The Kidd stared at the man. He was tall, stocky, and looked very much like Al Wayne. A step-brother maybe? Or was this some sort of joke with the same guy pretending to be two different people? That way, he got all the good lines.
“Let me introduce myself.”
“You are Al Wayne’s evil twin, John Gore.” It was a statement and not a question.
“Don’t interrupt the Boss!” one of the goons said and shoved the Kidd toward the surrey’s open door.
The Kidd tripped and fell to the street. The air was clearer down by the dirt, not as much smoke and burning odor, though it stank of the shit recently dropped by the horse pulling the surrey.
“Goon!” Gore said. He then reached out and helped the Kidd back up. “Please excuse the manners of my aides. Sometimes their enthusiasm exceeds my expectations.”
Gore brushed some of the dust off the Kidd’s upper arm. He then climbed inside the surrey.
The goon’s nudged the Kidd toward the surrey’s door.
“Let me go so I can help a friend who might be trapped in that fire. Then I promise I’ll come back and we can talk all you want.”
The goons kept the Kidd boxed in. He nudged away from the door, but the goons clamped hands on him, lifted him up and threw him inside. They then slammed the door shut.
The Kidd scrambled around the tight quarters until he was up on the seat opposite Gore.
“I will send my aides,” Gore said. “They can handle the situation better than you or I.”
Everybody wants to talk to me, the Kidd thought, but nobody says very much.
Reluctantly, he agreed. If nothing else, once the goons were gone, he could escape, albeit, without his sidearms. No plan was perfect.
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(To be continued….)
The once was a woman from Tangiers
who had trouble with buying her brassieres.
Every time she tried to pay
they’d send her away,
saying she had too much in arrears.
Filed under Freeform Friday, poem, poetry by author
High, crimson cirrus;
low, purple, bruised cumulus:
dawn fights into day.
Filed under Haiku to You Thursday, poem, poetry by author
There once was a hairdresser in port
who, while wearing a pink hard hat, would cavort.
And to this very day,
though the construction’s gone away,
is still known to have a snarky retort.
A hairdresser and her hard hat. Retort extra.
You can find out more about this pink hard hat and the woman wearing it at: http://ephemeralfilaments.wordpress.com/.
Filed under limerick, poetry by author, Random thought
What are you writing with your seconds of each day of your life?
Each second a moment you can get lost in a good story or poem, writing or reading it.
Filed under Writing Tip Wednesday
Sometimes it’s hard to be a good writer.
Filed under cartoon by author, CarToonsday
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