There are five ultra-short humor pieces on this page. Please tell your friends by linking from your site & social media. Dan is finalizing a collection of politically incorrect and sometimes raucous (not really risqué) original humor short stories, jokes and all around silliness. The collection is titled Profiles in Stupidness: Politically Incorrect Thoughts on Encounters with the Ridiculous & Irritating.
For “Daniel’s Dear” below, the narrator has an Appalachian accent. Use the audio if you’re unfamiliar with that.
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Daniel’s Dear
by Dan Gallagher
Do you know what a fire hunter is? Well, that’s a dogged hunter who don’t even let darkness keep him from gittn’ his quarry, that’s what! And if you still ain’t too sure, let me tell you ’bout the gitt’n’est fire hunter that ever got game: Daniel Boone.
Now, ever-body from the Alleghenies to the Mississip knows Daniel was a big man, and a hunter who wouldn’t ‘a thought nothin’ bout wrastlin’ him a ‘bar’. But what some don’t know is that he had the keenest eyesight of anybody in Ken-tuck! And he never gave up, not even fer dark. Why, he used a pine knot burning lantern to dazzle deer at night and take his quarry when’ere he had a notion tuh. But one night, his quarry got him!
On that night, near a ol’ crick bottom, Dan’I had his lantern up and spied him a pair o’ eyes of such warm brown that he was the one dazzled. But he shook his head to git him back his presence of mind and raised his musket tuh far. There was a blur, and a rustlin’ in them woods that told him the deer had a’ taken off quick. Now, ol’ Dan’l weren’t one ‘o them give up ‘ers, no. So off he took, just as fleet footed as a deer.
With the leaves a’ splashin’ loud ahead of him, and his own steps ‘a swishin real quiet – on account of he was more stealthy afoot then most deer – Dan’l began to close the gap round about a clearin’ up ahead that held a farm house in its middle. He raised his musket on the run, feet a’ flyin’ but sight posts nary ‘a bobbin ‘, just as the moonlight revealed the angelic form of a young woman…
[What happens next? Will Daniel be hung as a murderer or find redemption?] There is even an audio file, with dialect, for this one! Time to sign-up for full access to this and other great reads and download your choice of free self-help financial articles & spreadsheets, guaranteed fun adventure fiction and leg-pulling humor shorts (Uh… ultra short stories, not shorts you wear)!
Click to experience these & other Adventures & nonfiction: Get Dan’s fiction & nonfiction online or in-store: Amazon, Barnes & Noble’s NOOK & more!
Audit-ory Consternation
by Dan Gallagher
I got a threatening computerized voicemail, allegedly from the IRS. Since these calls only go out to gullible morons, I thought I‘d better call back and cooperate fully. The guy on the line had the same poor grammar and extraterrestrial accent that a supposed ‘bank representative’ had in a call I got the prior week. Last week, the bank guy said he was Peter Beasley. At that time, Beasley wanted to refund my debit card for a huge unauthorized purchase… if only I would give him the card number, expiration and code on the back. The new conversation with the ‘IRS’ went something like this:
“Thank you for so wisely returning call, Mr. Gallenger – uh, Gallagher. I’m Peter Badpoopi – I mean Beasley – from the Enforcement Division here at the Uniter Stakes Internal Revenue Servicing office here in Washington, Duh Capital. How are you and I’m glad you called today. This is because there remains only one moments to pay your debt before I will be forced to refer the matter to a Jury that is Grand. If I do that, you will be arrested and I do not want harm to come to you, Mr. Gallenger.”
“I don’t want any trouble with the actual IRS,” I replied, making my voice quaver.
“Of courses do you not,” he reassured me in faltering English. Then he resumed in a more threatening tone, “The reason that jail would be summoned in this case without immediate payment in full is that your personhood and as well your incorporation tax returns contain false hoods. We have verified that these hoods are false.”
“Of course I never intentionally false-hoodwinked anyone, Mr. Beastly,” I japed. “May I call you Peter?”
“Provided you pay now, yes. You may use either a corporated or person account.”
“Well thank you, Pete,” I sniggered. “I’d like to settle this matter now so that my goodwill toward the IRS becomes a matter of record.”
“Yes, of courses, because I will type this into my official report. What is the expiration date, please.”
“Sure, Peatrice,” I sneered. “May I pay by debit from the corporate bank account?”
“Yes, so give numbers to those account,” he commanded.
“Certainly sir, I mean Petie. The tax I.D. is 47 dash, F like foxtrot, U like uniform.”
“There must be more numbers, Mr. Gallenger.”
“Well, Penny, I got that number from the IRS when I incorporationed,” I mocked, “and that’s all they gave me. But you only need the debit card numbers, right?”
“Right, yes. But the timer on my screen is tickling to no more time, so this must be completed rabidly.”
“No problem, Peepee, I’ll get right to that. But I don’t think you’re very smart to rush me because I’m getting nervous and scared-ie. In fact, it seems to be true what they say: that there are far more dipsticks in an IRS parking lot than fluid levels to check. So please smartly don’t fluster me, okay?”
“Um, yes, I will not rush you as long as you are pasty.”
“Did you mean ‘hasty,’ Petra? Oh, by the way…”
“What is it, sir?” his voice built from impatient to suspicious. “Are you are delaying slowly and making a mock of the IRS?”
“I never meant to consterpate you, Mr. Bippy,” I larked. “But your mom is getting angry that you are pestering me. She’s lying next to me here. Would you like to speak with her? Hold a moment, please. She’s saying something.”
Next, I spoke in as feminine a voice as I could manufacture. “Tell that bag of hammers son of mine that he’s always been a cactus in my and his father’s butts, and we’re sure there was a mix-up with a lab monkey when he was born.”
There was silence on the line until Beasley barked, “What? What did she say?”…
[What happens next? Will Dan get in deep kimchi with the IRS or suffer revenge from phone scammers–or get his own form of revenge?] There is even an audio file, with dialect, for this one! Time to sign-up for full access to this and other great reads and download your choice of free self-help financial articles & spreadsheets, guaranteed fun adventure fiction and leg-pulling humor shorts (Uh… ultra short stories, not shorts you wear)!
The next three are in their entirety on this page:
“Death of a Nameless Roach”
by Dan Gallagher
The roach died alone, unsung, unconsoled, in the dankness and weak light of our sons’ bathroom. No one cared that he had died, nor cared for him in life. Indeed he felt, most of his days, in danger from rolled newspapers crashing from the sky. He had fathered countless larvae. But insect divorce had deprived him of his right to watch them hatch, to bounce the growing nymphs upon his thorax, to feel pride at watching them progress to pupae and into adulthood. These were the saddest of the injustices he endured.
She had blamed him for scant and poor quality meals, not caring how he scrambled just to make a living in the dangerous trash bin. He had seen others enclosed within the trash bag, left as a trap for his kind. Yet he braved this horrific risk to bring her something that would mollify her; please her enough that she would take him back.
For a time he believed that Matthew and Joe were his friends. That is, until he ventured down the perilous hall to feasts of fuzzy peanut butter or “chocolated” Fruit-of-the-Loom left periodically beside or under my young men’s beds. “Now,” he must have whispered with quivering mandibles, “someone cares for me. I have friends and – dare I let myself hope in it? – love.” But he was only to suffer food poisoning and the stomp of a giant foot, a near-miss, deeply saddening clues that what appeared to be kindness and charity were falsehearted ploys.
Yes, the roach lived and died alone. No one named him or cared about the name I imagine he gave himself in his death throes. The roach died alone, destitute and abandoned by family, but never betrayed by friends: for never had friendship or compassion been offered. And when he died, no one interred his body; days passed as he stuck to a toothpaste spot near the sink. Finally, in tears and with aching heart, I could bear the sight no longer. “Matthew, Joe!” I sobbed. “Somebody flush this poor waif away, and please: have some respect for the d-, the d-, the dead.”
As Matt folded toilet paper for a makeshift coffin, I stayed his hand. “Do his six lifeless limbs reach upward to heaven,” I stammered, “or does a higher and unconditionally loving Mind pull his legs thither?”
The End
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The Origin of Road Art
by Dan Gallagher
In driving around my neighborhood and all around town, for that matter, I kept seeing long feather-looking paintings on the streets. At first, I thought these must have been commissioned by the city to beautify the dull gray-black roads. Then came the day when I chanced to spy two gentlemen in a tattered, spattered old pick-up truck with its tailgate down. As it rounded the curve, a five gallon can of red paint fell over, draining through the already multicolored gap at the hinge. The occupants were oblivious. It was then that it hit me (well, it did not physically strike me). I didn’t get a good look at them, but they must have been a couple of those messy British guys speaking English with funny accents. I imagined their conversation before departing the previous job site must have gone like this:
“Reginald, dear boy, please place the paint in the truck in safe preparation for our further travels. There’s a good apprentice. We wouldn’t want expensive paint to spill and also cause a frightful mess on the road now, would we?”
“Why, Mr. Mortimer, that’s a precaution quite considerate of the public, and prudently economical as well. I’ll just press the lid on tightly like so. Oh, dear! I’ve inadvertently closed my sleeve in the can. Silly me. But, I find myself dismayed: The bungee cords we acquired yesterday in that tool establishment are missing.”
“Give the matter not a thought Reginald, good fellow, for the principal of gravity will secure this paint in the truck bed. This phenomenon is because, as you will observe, most of the paint is at the bottom of the can thereby avoiding the precarious condition of top-heaviness. Rest assured, young man, it will be fine. Oh, and Reginald: You will wipe off that sleeve, won’t you, before joining me in the cab? Thanks so much.”
“Brilliant again, Mr. Mortimer! And may I say, I’m learning quite a lot under your tutelage?”
End
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Oh, Watson!
by Dan Gallagher
“Good afternoon, Watson. I see you’re awake.”
“Barely. I’m really tired from yesterday and this morning.”
“What have you been doing that has made you so exhausted?”
“I’m not sure. I slept through it all. But would you do me a favor, Dan?”
“Sure, Watson. Your wish is my command.”
“That’s much better, thanks. Could I get some salmon, please?”
“Smoked or canned?”
“I don’t know what ‘smoked’ means. How about the same salmon that Rocky-the-dog stole yesterday, the Friskies?”
“Are you sure he knew it was yours?”
“Well, he smelled my butt, so he must have known I eat that brand. You will speak with him about inappropriate behavior, won’t you?”
“Sure, Watson, I’ll have a talk with him.”
“And would you please bring the salmon here? I am so starved of nutrition because of Rocky that I’m not certain I can make it to the food bowl.”
“I’m very sorry to learn of your debilitation, Watson. It is temporary, no doubt.”
“You’re always so kind and reassuring when you’re not irritating me enough to make me bite and scratch. And would you put a little cranberry powder in it; you know what happens if I get a bladder infection.”
“Thanks for reminding me. Anything else?”
“Turn down the computer volume. You know what a light sleeper I am.”
“Yes. Quality rest is important for kitty health.”
“Oh, and Dan: Please don’t hesitate to let me know if you need a favor, too. I’d be glad to suggest to Rocky that he assist you.”
“You’re really much too generous, Watson.”
ENDClick to experience these & other Adventures & nonfiction: Get Dan’s fiction & nonfiction online or in-store: Amazon, Barnes & Noble’s NOOK & more!