Funny Writing Prompts

It’s the middle of November and I'm trudging through three feet of snow because, much to my dismay, bodies don't just bury themselves.

It's why I'm a seasonal serial killer.

So is my friend--a serial killer, that is to say. Not seasonal. Definitely not seasonal. Because while I'm haunting homesteads and butchering blocks in the idyllic eighty-degree Springfield summer, Jack is an emotional, imp...

Nancy slams the apartment’s door as she enters. A far cry from her usually peppy persona.

“I think Fran wants to break up.”

I look up from my spot on the couch.

“Did she say that?”

“Through…implications.”

I roll my eyes, returning to the commercial break.

Nancy pauses the TV, causing me to groan.

“I’m not your personal love guru.”

“I’ll give you five bucks if you just shush and listen.”

...

Eggs.

Flour.

Milk.

Honey.

Eggs.

Flour.

Milk.

Honey??

Shit. Shit. Why did I add the honey - That was meant to be for the end. I open the cutlery drawer to find a spoon. I need to get the honey out, it can still be saved. The drawer is stuck. It’s jammed by a tea towel. The honey is starting to sink into the milk and eggs, and the tip of the flour mountain in the bowl is beginning to cave. I’m yank...

It was considered unholy.

The reprimand we would receive for this would be earth shattering. We were going to suffer for this.

I don’t even know what we were thinking. You don’t think when you’re a kid.

We were all just way too hyper. The view of the city, the soft dusk signalling the first shadows of the night. And we all figured, well…why not?

No one would know anyway.

But now, sitting in f...

I toil for hours.

My legs bruise from the physical strain. My breath continues to fall out of my lungs in laboured stress, desperately trying to oxygenate my body.

My hands grip tighter, feeling the clasp of my own skin wrap itself together with increased vigor, drawing from whatever resolve I have left.

I beg of you, my body.

I beseech you, my legs.

Do not fail me, my hands.

Every week, I tak...

Ethel woke up and felt dangerous. Well, as dangerous as an 88 year old woman can feel. The legs didn’t quite work the way she wanted them to anymore, nor did the back. But she was insanely good at scrabble. And she was really good at trash talking Terry because Terry was truly awful at the game.

She slowly got up out of bed and got ready for the day. Today was going to be an exciting day, she co...

Dear Future People (sorry if you go by something else now),

I am hiding this time capsule so you can enjoy the coolest things of our time. I know by the time you open this you’ll have your own cool stuff that is better than ours, but at least give it a chance.

The first item is a Game Boy SP. it’s the blue one that flips open with a screen and buttons. I left Donkey Kong in it so you have a gam...

Lo

See thee the childe

See thou the arc of his arms?

The flailing of his feet?

See thou how the cans are strewn before him?

How he strikes them down in every instant?

Hark, friend, and witness!

His screams, they echo throughout the land

As his cries bring tears,

To red-shirted serfs

See, now the devastation as it is wrought.

He lays waste to aisles,

Besieges shopping carts,

And embattles the i...

“Then it begins.”

The letter ended there. Everyone else around the table looked shocked, but I remembered Grandma hinting at it a few months before her death. “When I die,” she’d said, “I want a giant Kahoot game with 200 questions about my life, and whoever wins gets my will.”

I’d laughed, thinking it was a joke. But here we were, close and extended family alike, preparing to play the biggest Ka...

Molly watched Sancho walk in. Hell, this mo’ fo was striding in past 10 PM without a care in the world. You could put some Bee Gees Stayin’ Alive to that stride, and it would be on point! This infuriated Molly to no end; she’s had to look after the young ones all day while Sancho skipped on his fatherly duties.

To do what? Pondered Molly. She needed to find out; she could not bear being lied to.

...

“What happened that night?” The policeman asked.

Ginger bit her lip, looking at her mother. “Well… my boyfriend, Jake, he uhm… he… he shot me.”

Her mother, Mrs. Kline, gaped at her daughter. “He shot you?!”

The policeman’s eyebrows were raised but he maintained his calm demeanor. “And where exactly did he shoot you, Miss Kline?”

Ginger raised a shaking finger and pointed it at her heart.

He...

“And as you can see, quarterly projections should match our three month projections based on the current weight of the Canadian dollar…”, his voice droned on further, soon to be setting a record for the world’s longest sentence and therefore worthy of stopping this meeting and placing a call to the good people at Guinness.

Eventually it would become a sort of unintelligible and uninteresting amb...