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Gordon Lawrie

Haggis Giganticis

30/11/2018

 
For St Andrew's Day.
Picture
Entering the dining room, the guests gasped. A giant haggis sat on the table, legs splayed, belly-up, stomach sliced open to reveal steaming entrails. As tradition demanded, its shorter left legs pointed north.
 
A female expert on haggis giganticis explained that it was self-disembowelling. "They cry 'Freedom!' doing it," she said. Most diners, though, wanted to know what the beast was made of.
 
"Take and look," said the expert. As they bent over to see, the diners were sucked inside the haggis' belly until all were consumed, making it larger still.
 
The belch made a hole in the ozone layer.

Life is Hard, but It's Harder When You're Stupid, Pilgrim

23/11/2018

 
Look, I don' know what went wrong down there. I thought we was just-a-gonna help those "Pilgrim" guys in their hour of need, ya know... help pick a few squash, make some soup, maybe. Boy were those guys ugly by the way – some of them had hair on their heads! How gross is that?
 
Anyway, those Pilgrim guys acted like they was John Wayne and it got a little nasty. But they sure seemed grateful afterwards and promised to cook a nice big meal for us at Christmas. Y'all invited. They're promisin' we'll end up feelin' real stuffed. Sounds nice.

Triotripe, the Literary Agency

16/11/2018

 
Literary agency 3Tripe had no paying clients. With only a stupid name and no influence over publishers, it merely provided addresses where authors might send their own manuscripts.
 
But 3Tripe was surprisingly profitable, supporting five staff including a well-paid Managing Director. It generated income by suing everyone imaginable for non-existent claims of defamation or breaches of copyright. Most victims should have fought the claims, but 3Tripe's bullying and intimidatory legal threats harassed them into settling needlessly.
 
Then, one day, 3Tripe received a demand for payment for legal fees from its own lawyers. It went broke within a week. Nobody cried.

Poppies

9/11/2018

 
Picture
My grandson and I are attending his first football match; it's Remembrance Weekend. My club has a strong connection with the Great War and observes its usual impeccable minute's silence before kickoff.
 
He's a bit bewildered. "Why are we wearing poppies, Grandpa?"
 
"To remember soldiers who died fighting for their country."
 
"You said wars were stupid."
 
"They are, usually. But soldiers don't start wars. They follow government orders."
 
"So wars are the government's fault?"
 
"Yup."
 
He pauses.
 
"But don't we elect governments?"
 
"Yup."
 
"Does that mean it's our fault the soldiers die, Grandpa?"
 
"Sort of. That's why we wear poppies."

The Day of the Dead

2/11/2018

 
Picture
The ritual of Santa Muerte concluded The Day of the Dead celebrations. A "husband" pretended to be dead and was carried in an open coffin to the local cemetary, his black-caped "mourning widow" leading the entire village in a drunken cortege. The local priest would then conduct a graveside "ceremony". Just as the coffin was lowered, the "deceased" husband would leap out, miraculously alive, and kiss his wife.
 
This time, the coffin was lowered and the husband leapt out – but couldn't find his wife's mouth to kiss. Then he saw the scythe.
 
"I've waited so long for this," she said.

In Mexico, the Grim Reaper is generally female, called 'La Catrina'


    Flash Fiction

    Flash fiction is very, very short fiction indeed - short stories of any sort of length from a Haiku to ten minutes' reading. Good for when you're in a hurry. This series is a selection of contributions to Friday Flash Fiction, where there's a limit of 100 words. I try to make all mine exactly 100 words.


    Collections
    (FREE!)
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    If you enjoy these stories, why not download Gordon's first two collections of these, called '100 Not Out' and '200 Not Out'? Available for all types of e-readers including Kindle and iPad, for free. Completely free, no strings.

    Click on one of the images below...

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