A quasi writer avoiding life through Zen meditation and grain alcohol

Humor

Bored Hellis and the Effed-up Texts

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fbf-1Hello, everyone. My name is H.E. Ellis, and I am a colossal pain in the ass when I’m bored.

Most days I keep my boredom at bay by adding cartoon characters or celebrities I’ve never met to my phone’s contact list, or by pranking unsuspecting people who happen to incorrectly dial my cellphone number. Then there are days when the boredom is too much and I share my pain by sending random and nonsensical texts to the poor souls who happen to know me.

Featured here are the best responses to the inane chatter that escapes my head on a daily basis: (more…)


How to Avoid the Slushpile, by H.E. Ellis

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fbf-1It’s Funny Blog Friday again, and I’m here to not only brighten your day but to pass along some sage advice on how to avoid the dreaded slushpile.

What’s the slushpile, you ask? The slushpile, my friends, is the virtual trash bin where your manuscript lands the moment a prospective agent determines it is not yet ready for publication. Believe me, after all your hard work this is no place you want to be.

So how do you avoid the slushpile? Read widely? Write often? Find yourself a solid writers’ group?

Hell no! You do it by following my advice, of course! I’ve spent the past year creating a collection of books designed to help would-be authors navigate their way through the jungle that is the publishing world. Choose from the following: (more…)


Laissez Les Bons Temps Rouler!

English Peas

English PeasLong before I became a New Englander I was a native of the south, specifically southern Florida. And as anyone who’s either lived in or even just visited the south can attest, no one throws a party better than a southerner (back me up here, Dayton). Because in the south a party isn’t just a party- it’s a balls-out drunken feeding frenzy of Bacchanalian proportion. I blame the heat.

It should come as no surprise that the southern party of the year, Mardi Gras, is celebrated in the party Mecca better known as New Orleans, Louisiana. French for “Fat Tuesday,” Mardi Gras reflects the practice of the last night of eating richer, fatty foods before the ritual fasting of the Lenten season.

Fat Tuesday, my friends, just happens to be today. (more…)


It’s….CUPID!!!

For Valentine’s Day I thought it only appropriate to interview the most wanted man, uh…boy in the world. I’m talking about the one, the only….CUPID.

CUPID – Pleasure to be here. Despite this being my busy time of year, I can always find time for you H.E., you helped my blog become what it is today and for that my heart is ever at your service…..You know, if you wanted I could set you up with somebody? I still feel bad about your last relationship. In my defense though, you were the one who fucked that up. Cupid’s arrow is rarely wrong and sometimes you got to give a little to get a little if you know what I mean….

***** So tell the readers, what is the hardest part being the God of Desire?

CUPID – The hardest part? My cock. (more…)


It’s Groundhog Day!

In keeping with the month-old tradition of holiday icon interviews I am pleased to bring you a sit down with the original weatherman himself. Today we dig deeper into the mind and home of none other than…The Groundhog. (more…)


Flash Fiction – UK Style

Copyright – Jan Wayne Fields

I decided to attempt a Flash Fiction Challenge when I saw the inspiration pic on BrainRants’ blog. If you would like to give the challenge a try, start at Rochelle’s Purple Blog and join the fun.

Here’s the concept (shamelessly stolen from Rants’ Blog): A weekly picture is posted, and the writer is challenged to produce one-hundred (more or less) words of some sort of fiction with a complete plot (beginning, middle and end). I’m calling out my girl Megan to give this one a try. Now, on with the frivolities!

Copyright – Jan Wayne Fields

Copyright – Jan Wayne Fields

THE THIRD WISH

Bob Geldof caught a glimpse of his reflection in the glass and realized he was Gary Oldman. Or was he Ewan Mcgregor? No matter. His first two wishes; a London flat and cash to go with it were executed perfectly. He didn’t mind the Leprechaun taking license with the third. There were many handsome Brits to choose from as a model for his new body. He had been lonely long enough.

Girlish giggles preceded the knock on the door and he rushed to answer shouting, “Just a minute.” The sound of Annie Lennox’s voice leaving his throat stopped him cold.


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