Funny Of The Week/Nutty Newspaper Corrections Part Three

It’s an easy mistake to make…


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Monday Motivations

Recently, I started setting you a Monday challenge. You certainly seem to be enjoying them. Here’s another one for you:

Write a flash fiction piece of between 50-200 words with the following three lines in it somewhere. The lines don’t have to follow on from one another:

  • The glass smashed to the floor
  • He was in love
  • Just how was he going to get out of this one?

Here is last week’s challenge:

You had 200 words in which to write a story featuring the following two lines:

I hadn’t thought that would happen. So what was I going to do now?

Thank you to those of you who sent in the pieces you worked on:

Please click on the following link to see Simon Farnell‘s compelling story:

EDC Writing‘s is brilliant:

I sent the email, I know, I shouldn’t have. Well more a reply to hers, she’d hit me unexpectedly, early morning watching Mo Farah winning the 5000 metres final. In truth a race I hardly saw too caught up in chasing her with words. All I said was I missed her, her beauty her quirky ways … and that she was special, things I’d said before, come on, where did I go wrong?

Within the hour she’d sent back photos, quite a few, most innocent, except one or two. The pole in her bedroom, okay I guess we all exercise, but the tattoo, the last letter of my name clipping her pantie line. Had to be seen to be believed and yes right then I wanted to. I craved to trace the inked label, even though six thousand miles away, my night, her afternoon. A bit of ethereal fun, okay taken a bit too far, no real harm done.

I played it cool, sent back ‘looking good!’ she said ‘I’m on my way’. On the way to where? Bloody hell she’s coming to the UK! I hadn’t thought that would happen. So what was I going to do now?

Rajiv Chopra continues the super saga of Mary Jane Parker!

I am Mary Jane Parker. I am in a dilemma. You know my love – Spiderman.

Recently, I met with two of the cutest characters you could ever have imagined. Their names are Frodo and Samwise. They could very well be characters out of a book. They have this obsession with mushrooms, and pipes! Their feet are furry, and they do talk funny. Dark Lords, and Rings and strange creatures. Such imagination!

They are quaint, but they are so cute and I love to spend time with them. For some reason, I noticed that they seemed to be cold to each other. I wonder why. Really, I wonder why.

Then, there is Spidey. They detest him, and he returns the dislike. Why can’t they hug and kiss like we women do, and just be friends? But no. They must each try to best the other. Each wants to spend time with me alone.

It is flattering, it is, you know, but so stressful indeed.

And now, they are having a duel. Why?

I hadn’t thought that this would happen. So, what was I supposed to do now? A girl just cannot have her hair done in peace. It is so unfair.




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Guest Writer Spot

Welcome to my weekly Guest Writer Spot. If you’d like to see your work in this slot, please contact me here or by e-mail: I accept stories, poems, articles – in fact, anything and everything. All you have to do is make sure your prose is no longer than 2000 words and your poems no more than 40 lines.

My guest writer, Polly Timmens, has written poems since the grand old age of five. She works long hours for a big company and she says writing poetry is very therapeutic after a hard day. Here’s her poem:

Sacred Garden


Polly Timmens


She watches the morning unfold,

A beautiful woman with a head of gold.

Sweet, sweet music reaches her ears,

Her sparkling eyes brim over with unshed tears.

She walks through her garden, so sad,

Birds serenade her and her heart is glad.

Blossom bounces to earth, no sound.

And baby buds burst their way up through the ground.

Sun shines, joining in the new day,

Lighting leaves on the dancing trees with each ray.

She pauses, stroking the statue,

Her silky hands shiver with the morning dew.

Goodbye my love, my garden dear,

She sighs, a last look. She knows her time is near.

She thanks God for her brief return,

Though her sacred garden she will always yearn.



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My Weekly Writing Challenge

Looking for a new writing challenge? Here are my latest challenges for you:

OPTION ONE: Write a fifteen-word story with the words WINNER, FROZEN and ELIXIR in it somewhere.

OPTION TWO: Write a poem or limerick on the theme of DECEPTION.

OPTION THREE: Your word is DRAMA. What does the word mean to you? Acting on stage? A TV drama? Or making a mountain out of a molehill? Your piece of writing can be fiction or truth, or a mixture of the two; it’s up to you.

You had two weeks in which to complete the previous challenges. Here’s a reminder for you:

OPTION ONE: Write a six-word story with the word FLABBERGASTED in it somewhere.

OPTION TWO: Write a poem or limerick on the theme of DAYDREAMS.

OPTION THREE: Your word is SPORT. What does sport mean to you? Being part of a team? Drive? Ambition? Or does the word make you break out in a cold sweat if you even think about running/cycling/exercising? Your piece of writing can be fiction or truth, or a mixture of the two; it’s up to you.

Now for your wonderful mix of writing on option one:

Steve Walsky:

Pub feasting left him rather flabber-gasted!


Voted Remain. Brexit? I’m totally flabbergasted! 

Parachute failed! Garden trampoline landing. Flabbergasted!

Charles Norman:

Flabbergasted… sold my first short story!!

Flabbergasted just because I kissed you????

Rajiv Chopra:

Flabbergasted! GST made progress in India!


Rabbit food and still collywobbles?? Flabbergasted.

EDC Writing:

… and so, her own flabbergasted his …

… that she touched flabbergasted so much …

Urvashi Panda:

Single-flagged world with single-anthemed soul, Flabbergasted!

Now for option two’s super offerings:

Rajiv Chopra:

It is the day, and I dream and dream. And, dream some more.
I dream of the world and how it could have been before.
Before the bombs, before TV, and before all the noise
Of hateful shouts, of bullets of things we made our choice.

I often dream of years ago – millions and millions of years ago,
When the world was green, rivers flowed and winds did blow.
Of days when the sky was clean, the clouds were white
And skin would feel the cold wind’s tender bite.

But, we have made progress, we now go to the moon
Everything grows, and changes must happen soon.
We are governed by Time, by a strappy device
Our lives, our wrists, are caught in it’s cruel vice.

The world has shrunk, to the size of a screen
And, we don’t hear each other’s scream.
Trapped we are by a mobile phone
We have forgotten the warmth of home.

I dream of days when I had friends, of days of cheer
Laughter, hugs and jokes over a glass of beer.
Smileys replace the smiles in eyes, and faces
Our fingers tap, our fingers fly to close the spaces.

I dream of the days that have yet to come,
When machines shall replace everyone.
Mechanical toys, efficient and so cold,
Will kill our souls, if I may make so bold.

But, I must work, there is no time to dream
Not by day, or by night, else the master’s scream.
The day dream ends, and I ask myself
Am I the dream, or do I fool my self?

And another from Rajiv:

She comes to me in the dark of night, She looked at me with a face so white. I screamed and woke the ghosts that haunt, And disturbed them in their nocturnal jaunt.

She smiled at me with her bloodless lips, And walked to me, with her swaying hips. She opened her mouth, she seemed to bite. Oh no, I don’t give up with out a fight!

She smiled at me, with her teeth so sharp, Her nails are claws that scratch out the dark. She wants my blood, says it feeds her lust, And bit my neck, my world went bust.

I woke up suddenly, with a horrific yell – And looked around, at my daylight Hell. Oh, thank thee Lord, it was a daydream, But, damn thee Satan, I love her, I scream.

I am the dreamer, I am my dreams; It’s her bite I love, I’m crazy, it seems. This daylight world, I give to thee; I want the dark, the dark is me.

Graeme Sandford:

I dream of days
Mon, Tues, Wednes, Thurs, Fri, Sat and Sun,
When all nightmares will be forgotten
Consigned to the past
Never to be realised again.
I dream a dream of days
When we shall be free
Of prejudice and hate
When equality shall be seen and felt
When the needy have enough
When the rich share out their wealth
And when everybody cares.
I am a dreamer –
Maybe I am not a realist.

Finally, option three and a wonderful poem for you:

Geoff Le Pard:

I despair of seeing an English captain
Lift a world cup
Any world cup
Millions of pink faced fans screaming

I weep at the prospect of another beating
By the Australians
Doffing the baggy green.

My heart sinks while I the watch the ball
Turning end over end
As the All Blacks crush
The feeble rose
Under size 17 boots.

I’ll never stop watching
Knowing it’s inevitable.
After all I’m inured to despair
It’s the hope that kills me.



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Markets For Writers

This week’s market is a literary magazine, which accepts both unpublished poems and prose. The Moth will consider up to six poems (length not specified on the website) and two pieces of prose (up to 3000 words).

You can send your work by post or e-mail. To find out more, see their submission details. 

They also publish a magazine for children, The Caterpillar, which accepts poems and stories.

Competitions are held throughout the year. Visit the website for details.



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Funny Of The Week/Nutty Newspaper Corrections Part Two

Confused? You will be!


Posted in humor, humour, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , | 8 Comments

Monday Motivations

Last week, I set you a challenge. You certainly took it up, with several of you sending me your wonderful takes on the writing prompt. Here’s this week’s challenge for you:

You have up to 200 words in which to write a story with the following two lines in it somewhere:

I hadn’t thought that would happen. So what was I going to do now?

Now for last week’s challenge where you had the following writing writing prompt:

This was a matter of life or death.

Here are your fantastic pieces:

It’s a pleasure to welcome Simon Farnell to the challenge for the first time. Click on the following link to read his story:

Please click on the following link to read Helen Jones‘ super story:

Rajiv Chopra:

Frodo and Sam both loved Mary Jane Parker. There was a problem in this. They were best friends from another age, and you may even say that they came from a different world. The world does change everyday, every moment, but that is not important at this stage.
Mary Jane Parker had almost ended their friendship that had existed through the Fourth Age. Yet, there was one thing that still bound them together, and this was their hatred for Spiderman, that creepy crawly chap who loved, and was loved by Mary Jane.

Mary Jane found them funny, these two young chaps who were short, wore strange clothes, spoke a queer tongue and had furry feet. She found their addiction to pipes, mushrooms and dragons rather quaint.

Spidey disliked them, and wanted them out of the way. They decided to team up, for now, against him. This was a matter of life or death.


She was petrified of hospitals. It stemmed from the fact that she spent many years knowing what goes on behind the scenes. It’s not peaches and plums then.

Here she was, facing her worst fears. Being on the other side of the fence. With the imminent hospitalization, for no other therapy seemed to have worked. Fear killed her faster than the disease.

The uncontrolled growth of the cells of her abdominal organs had reached humongous proportions. She looked six months pregnant. It reached monstrous proportions when even her lungs started swimming in a deluge of inflammatory fluid.

She engaged in delirious banter. Nothing she said made sense. She couldn’t breathe. Her heart rate looked as erratic as the New York skyline. The oxygen in her body plummeted to the Mariana Trench. It was a matter of life and death!

Code blue resonated through the twenty storeyed hospital and she was wheeled in to the ICU for the last chance of survival.

Nest Madden’s turn now:

Can I believe him? This is a matter of life and death. Is she still alive? Is this another lie, or worse, a half truth. That smirk of his. He knows more than he’s telling me; I can feel it. I can smell his lies. But that’s not good enough. I need to know. The family need to know. They’re being broken on the wheel of guilt as it is. Why did we let her go out, why didn’t we offer to drive her? Is this the monster who took her?

Take a break, a cigarette, a coffee. Reevaluate what have we so far. Suspicion isn’t enough. What can we prove. Yes he was seen in the area, the CCTV shows them leaving the shop almost together. Then what, she vanishes.  So back at it; cool and professional. Ask the questions, he’ll slip up and tell us where to look.




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