Got a Ridiculously Short Story? Send it to me, and if I like it, I'll post it here for all to see! Just remember to keep it ridiculously short!

Newest stories are at the bottom. I'm a dumb, lazy web designer.

"Well, what are you waiting for?! Patch it through!"

The air in the control room was thick with anticipation. After what seemed like an eternity, the message crawled across the main viewscreen.

"I...AM...A...FART."

"Ms. Hoskins, what exactly do you think you have to offer this company?"

"I kill and take money!"

The doctor lowered his gaze in contemplation and sighed. The terrorists had him by the short hairs, that much was certain.

"Fine. What choice do I have? It's 'ballboob'."

"No," Fred replied. The sun was slowly setting; the air grew crisp and cool.

"Oh." said Rick. "Well anyway, I fucked your mom."

"Hold the knife real close to her throat, Mandy," Jacob whispered. Amanda smiled. It was her very first carjacking.

Don leaned back, sipped pensively on his expensive latte, and paused in thought before replying;

"Every night, just before I go to sleep, I tell God to suck my fucking hairy balls in hell."

Their mother, fresh from her kitchen duties, called to the children from the back porch.

"Get your icepicks, kids", she cried. "I'm having the visions! Dan Rather dies tonight!"

"Oh, cut the clowning and help me find my thumbs", she barked.

It was obvious they'd found true love at last.

But they were.

Me? I'm a dishwasher at Denny's. At least until my writing career takes off.

Which...judging from this...might take awhile.....

"Reruns of Rerun", he cackled. The concept never lost its appeal, even after three wives had asked him to choose between the marriage and his precious sitcoms.

"Fuck 'em all", he said and turned up the volume of his favorite episode, the one where Shirley gets amnesia and thinks she's Karl Marx.

Alice was coming on next. It was going to be a great day.

"Rot in hell, Joey Fatone," Alan whimpered, and pulled the trigger.

"You smell like candy. Touch my butthole," Amber said.

Maybe the guys in the locker room were right, Todd wondered. Maybe Amber is retarded.

"Great, just great", Gifford lamented. "This stench will haunt me till the day I die".

The panties rose to the dias above and began to pronounce doom upon the race of Man.

"You're pretty doomed, you cretins."

Gifford wept like a woman.

The crowd at Wolfgang Puck's enjoyed the Denver skyline at sunset and the pacing lunatics that railed of Christ and Seamonkeys with equal zeal.

"About time you learned to read a menu", accused Raoul, method actor from Boulder whose contempt for gainful employment was matched only by his vast collection of Zulu deathmasks. He produced an superflourous assortment of silverwear and pitched it at his customers as he chanted a Jimmy Durante war oath and a passable Jimmy Stuart "Odin" incantation.

And was immediately fired.

"Enough Toronakka, It will be ME who blows up YOUR throat"

"You're no match for my meatfingers here, I will demonstrate"

"Daaaaaaaaaaaaahnnkkkk! that DID hurt."

"Told ya, and now you wiggle into your grave"

WIGGGLE WIGGLE WIGGLE WIGGLE WIGGLE

Jeff was chasing off Jehovah's Witnesses in his boxers- they'd disrupted his vast toweling off after the clam dip (reason for breaking up #12)- and had left a telltale trail of oyster crackers in his wake.

Why just then the flowers arrived would remain a mystery, but a bouquet of lilacs and 'mums made all of Jeff's eccentricities seem trivial.

They honeymooned in the Catskills, far from the sectarian ring of Witnesses at the door. As he emerged from the bathroom, a lobster bit Jeff's big toe.

He sat with his beans and his hamburgers and his guitar and his thoughts and his profound farting as the wind picked up and the triplets began a falsetto flatulence of their very own.

Even the birds somehow sensed all was not right; many of them flew North and froze to death, while downwind of the monstrous hamburgers, a strange foursome found love.

We held hands that day. It was nice.

In the corner, artificial phalluses lined the walls like the bones of the slaughtered in the blood-soaked alleys of Namibia.

Erection or no, Janet Reno was going to hump me to death.

Stones and soiled undergarments rained upon the platform. Three gypsy children murdered a goat in a ritualistic fashion.

Today we would vote on the Constitution.

I know these dimensions well, because as my spirit floated away from my dying body I saw everything quite clearly.

I'd tell you, but I'm in Heaven now so why should I give a crap?

(That one's for you, Lucy Gap-Panties!)

Good thing I put that body bag of doughnuts aside for something special. Oh, could Ethal ever forgive me? I was evil, evil, evil.

His reply was cut short. We had spotted our designated target. We were government assassins on a mission. I sighed as I shouldered my rifle, took aim and carefully squeezed off three head shots. Larry, Curly, and Moe would never again fill the Grand Canyon with Jell-O and go canoeing.