Hello, peeps. Today is finally Flash Fiction Friday and I have not let you down. For your reading pleasure, I have the wackiest shit I could concoct from the submissions I gathered HERE. I will also be adding the submissions after the piece is finished.
Without further ado, I give you…
Whatcha Got Up There?
by Edward Lorn
Stop me if you heard this one, nurse.
A sasquatch walks into a bar and orders a Fuzzy Navel.
Whataya laughing about?
No that ain’t the joke.
A fucking sasquatch walked into a fucking bar and ordered a motherfucking Fuzzy Navel. We good? I can finish me goddamn joke, now?
Hey! Where ya going?
Hey, doc. What happened to her? Oh, that always happens. Birds don’t like me. I think it’s me breath. I’ve had stomach problems since Putin invaded Australia over that Malaysian Air Flight 17. He got Trump’s blessing, you know. Got my nerves all bound up. I’m jumping at everything. Anyway, it gave me garbage guts. Been burping foulness for going on eight days.
Yeah, you didn’t hear? Putin came right in on that horse he rides. You know the one. The one in all the memes. He’s shirtless?
Yeah! That one. What a cunt, eh?
Anyway, so I got garbage guts since I ate the thing what come in the umbrella the week of the plane crash. Since then, my stomach’s been a hurricane. No matter what I put down me throat, it comes out me bum like spray-on stucco.
Yeah, yeah. Like the monkey’s on Nat Geo, when they toss off in some bird’s hair, or throw a proper shit-pitch and hits the bloke right in the kisser. That was me after eating the—
Yeah. The thing what came in the umbrella. What, I didn’t tell you?
Bloody hell. Okay. Lemme backtrack.
So I get this umbrella in the post. Proper fucking thing. Long as me dick, it was.
Har, har, very funny. No it wasn’t a miniature model of a goddamn umbrella—Wouldja let me tell me fucking story, doc? For fuck’s sake, mate.
‘Kay, so I get this umbrella in the mail. Sumbitch is wrapped good and tight with some ½ grade 304 stainless steel. Kinda shit you use to keep your dumb kids in the basement when company’s over, eh.
I’m kidding. Jaysus, mate, don’t be so sensitive.
No. I’m not Irish. I don’t get what you’re saying? You think I sound—
Right, right. Sorry. Back to me bubblin’ guts.
So printed right there on the umbrella, it says: DO NOT FUCKING OPEN. And—
No, shit? Ya mean you’re a member of the DO NOT FUCKING OPEN Package Company, too? Monthly or quarterly, mate?
Fuckin’ yearly? I’m in the wrong profession, doc. Wish I could afford a yearly DO NOT FUCKING OPEN subscription on my scanner’s salary.
Anyway, where was—
Right. The DO NOT FUCKING OPEN umbrella. Well, I got them bolt cutters from under the bed, the ones I keep in case that narcoleptic burglar comes back and tries to steal the missus’ Vibro-Mantic. What do I do with the bolt cutters? Well, they pack a punch don’t they, the heavy fuckin’ things. Keeps me and her safe.
As I was saying, I’d just got through eating what come in that month’s DO NOT FUCKING OPEN package when I got the urge for a cold one. So I went to Evan’s Pub.
That’s what I was telling your nurse before she stormed out. A goddamn sasquatch comes into the bar and he orders a Fuzzy Navel. Bartender’s laughing at the big hairy fucker when Sassy turns to me and says, “Garble garble gobbledy gook.”
Like I know what he said. I don’t speak skunk ape, doc. He said some shit, and that’s when I vomited all over his corduroys. Didn’t know Sassies wore corduroys? Well now ya fuckin’ do mate.
Anyfuck, my new friend Sassy didn’t take kindly to being thrown up on, so he knocked me into the next time zone. Whata cunt, eh? Proper cunt, this fucking sasquatch was. And they want fourteen dollars an hour and union perks. Fuck ‘em, I say. Hairy bastards.
While I’m unconscious, I have this great dream about being in an orgy with a load of nymphomaniacs, but then someone turns on the light—
What kinda cunt turns on the lights at a bloody orgy? Guy like that, well, he’s got no reason to live, does he? At that point, when you’re running around cutting on lights while dude’s banging nymphos, well you gotta ask yourself if the Drano under the sink don’t sound delicious.
So the nymphos, they weren’t just nymphos, no. They were nymphomaniac pygmies. Dream turned nightmare, lickety-split, mate. Serious buncha aboriginal birds sticking my dick through their lips and nose and modelling it like it was any other bone. Imagine me, mate, dick through some bird’s stretched out nose. They got my testicles through the hoops in their ears—
Hey! Where ya goin’?
I said it was just a nightmare. Probably cuz I ain’t sleeping right. You have some narcoleptic breaking in every other night and falling asleep in your hallway and you tell me how much sleep you’d get.
Am I hear cuz the Sassy gave me a concussion?
Fuck, no. I can take a punch. I ain’t no girlie-man, mate.
Am I here because of the food I ate? No. That’s just why I went to the bar. I’ve had my share of rotten food, doc. I ain’t a new one, mate.
I’m here cuz of this.
I can’t bend no more.
Fuck me, I got it as wide as it’ll go.
You don’t see that?
What’s that? he says. What’s that? like he ain’t never seen a zebra leg.
You know I told you about me new job? Scanning barcodes? Well, yeah, who knew you couldn’t scan a zebra? Who knew they exploded? I sure as shit didn’t. That’s how I got the leg up there.
Where’d the zebra come from? Mate, we live in a world where sasquatches walk into bars and order funny drinks, and you want me to tell you why there was a zebra in the barcode factory?
Fine, he was this month’s DO NOT FUCKING OPEN package. One of their themed boxes:
The DO NOT FUCKING SCAN line.
Great, now I forgot me joke.
And that’s it. Hope you liked it. This one took me about an hour, and clocks in at 999 words, according to this website.
Credits (in order of appearance):
Annerlee: Zebra is used as barcode with catastrophic results. Check!
Evan: A man receives an unexpected package containing an umbrella… blood stained and wrapped in chains… with a note that says DO NOT FUCKING OPEN. Check!
Janie: A sasquatch walks into a bar and orders a Fuzzy Navel. Check!
Reanna: …a nightmare about nymphomaniac pygmies… Check!
Bill: …how about a narcoleptic burglar with a penchant for breaking into sex shops. SO CLOSE!
Sarah: Putin invades Australia over the MH17 disaster with Trump’s backing. CHECK!
Thanks to everyone who submitted. This was big fun.
See you tomorrow,
Pic of the Day…
…obviously belongs to Disney. Please don’t sue me, Mr. Mouse.