Three Further
Flash Fiction Groaners
by Barry Ergang
SING HO FOR THE OPEN ROAD
"What's
in this rig that you were drivin' twenty miles
over the limit?" the highway patrolman asked.
"I carry
grains for the Grove Cereal Company," the
trucker said.
"They
havin' a big run on Corn Crunchies that you're in
such a hurry?"
"Nossir.
Me'n some buddies has a band, and we got our
first professional gig in town tonight. I'm late
as it is. Cut me a break?"
"I will--but
you drive within the limit, y'hear?"
"Thanks,
officer."
"What's
the name of your band?"
"We all
drive trucks for Grove Cereal, so we call
ourselves Haulin' Oats."
Originally
published at Flashshot, May 21, 2009
********************************************************
SEW WHAT?
Stickler,
president of Amalgamated Robotics, glowered at
his programming manager. "Have you any idea
what kind of mess you've gotten this company into?"
McGraw
swallowed, shook his head.
"We
shipped androids to Vivian Caravano."
"Right,
the fashion designer," McGraw said. "We
programmed the droids to hem dresses."
"Yes-except
you botched it."
"How?"
"The
androids can't stitch worth a damn. Three batches
of dresses were recalled from retail stores
because their hems came undone. The negative
publicity seriously damaged Caravano Enterprises.
It'll devastate our reputation." Stickler's
gaze grew distant. "I can't imagine a more
painful case of hemmer droids."
Originally
published at Flashshot, July 3, 2010
********************************************************
CLASSIC CONFLICT
Nine-year-old
Ivan Burnham infinitely preferred reading about
King Richard, medieval knights and the Crusades
over helping his father. But Mr. Burnham, an avid
gardener who wanted his son to learn the value of
growing food and flora, insisted.
"For the
best results, you must cultivate the soil before
planting seeds," he explained, holding out
the implement. "Use this."
"No!"
"Take it."
"I don't
want to."
"Would
you rather be grounded for a couple of weeks?"
Ivan took the
implement.
"Now till
the soil," his father said.
"Betcha
the Knights Templar didn't have to do this,"
the boy grumbled.
"Ivan,
hoe!"
Originally
published at Flashshot, March 21, 2011
********************************************************
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