Tag Archives: Humor

SBHM: Comedy Edition

Hi Ladies! I guess I’m back and doing shit! Kinda! I might also be ~high from not enough oxygen because I’m stuffed up so much I can’t breathe. This constant headache is my only companion. *cue tiniest violin ever* I’m actually feeling okay, or I’m too delirious to know better. Either way, WHEE! There were no posts or people, and I really wanted to share these hilarious BuzzFeed videos. You can probably expect more in the upcoming Heritage Months. Enjoy! (Oh and what I also like is you can turn on closed captioning for these videos too. Well, at least the first two. The last one is new to me! 😀

Trust me to bring it all down from the highbrow and thoughtful posts we’ve been having lately.

But you know what? Thoughtful humor is a good thing too. Continue reading

Spoof Story: Almost There (Part I) by Mari Carr & Jess Dee

My friends! Do you remember the series of spoof stories at ALBTALBS? (If not you should check them out – they’re quite entertaining. Especially the first parrot shifter one >.>) Anyway, the wonderful Jen W. at Cover Remix (you guys remember her right?) graciously allowed me and some other authors to use her covers. So I found victimswilling participants to write the stories. This time we have Mari Carr and Jess Dee.

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Almost ThereAlmost There (Part I)

Mari Carr
&
Jess Dee

Atlanta, Georgia is miles away from Jake’s Robert’s life in Sydney, Australia.
But since his mother uprooted them both to live in America with her new husband, Jake has no choice but to find his feet in his new home.

Problem is that new home, so totally foreign to him, is also strangely familiar. As is the hauntingly beautiful Southern Belle who appears to him out of thin air…determined to address him as John Masters, someone Jake doesn’t know at all.
Or does he?

Jake Roberts walked the length of another endless corridor, restlessly tossing his bright red cricket ball from hand to hand, cautious not to throw too hard in case he missed and the ball smashed into one of the priceless antiques lining the walls of the mansion he was now expected to call home.

It wasn’t any home he was familiar with. Hell, it wasn’t any country he was familiar with.

It’ll be a new start, his mom had promised. A whole new life for both of us. We can learn to be happy again.

Yeah, right. His mom may be happy. She may have gotten a whole new lease on life, what with the new marriage and all. Jake? Not so much. A month in Atlanta, Georgia—an ocean and a continent away from everything known to him—and he’d yet to settle into his new school, make a friend or find a sport he could relate to.

Hrrumph.

Senior year in Atlanta sucked great big dingo balls.

He should have been in Sydney preparing for his HSC, not stumbling around in a school system he didn’t understand. He should have been back in the tiny unit he and his mum had lived in for the five years since his dad had died, not exploring a rambling manor that had more rooms, staircases, hidden passages and priceless antiques than Hogwarts. The mansion had once been home to one of the countries most successful cotton farming families, but that was back before the Civil War had devastated the South. Back when slavery was still legal and cotton plantations had thrived. Now it was just a big, confusing house.

Jake’s interests didn’t lie here. They lay back in Sydney, with his mates and his school and a life that he knew. Understood. Enjoyed.

Maybe he’d just bite the bullet and try out for the baseball team. Yeah, the rules may be different to cricket and the bat an odd shape, but Jake had a killer bowling arm. Maybe he could pitch for the Atlanta High School Giants?

Come Monday morning, he’d track down the coach and find out what he needed to do to try out. It would be sick to meet a few of the players, possibly make some new mates.

The decision should have made Jake feel better. But Monday was three days away, which meant he faced another whole bloody weekend with not a thing to do, and worse, not a single bloody person to do it with.

“Why, heavens, John Masters. There you are. I have been searchin’ high and low for you.”

Startled by the unexpected, feminine voice, Jake missed the ball he’d just tossed. It careened past his hand, narrowly missing a sepia-toned, wood-framed photo of indeterminate age hanging on the wall.

“Mama is waitin’ to begin afternoon tea, and you know how she hates for us to be late. Why Edie has prepared your favorite tea cakes, and she’s already fussin’ that there won’t be any left if we don’t get to the drawing room soon.”

A sweet, floral scent, similar to but more subtle than the flowers growing in the garden outside, teased his nose. Bewildered, Jake searched the passageway—and saw no one.

“Now, don’t you look so confused. Surely you heard the bell. It rang not five minutes ago.”

Jake’s heart lurched when a hand slipped beneath his arm and settled on the back of his hand. Or that’s what it felt like had happened anyway. He could sense the dainty pressure of a palm and fingers resting on his skin. He just couldn’t see it.

WTF?

He scanned the walls and ceiling for speakers, wondering if someone had turned on a radio, but found nothing. Besides, the voice he’d heard wasn’t echoing through the hall. It was a soft, personal whisper in his ear.

He scrubbed his free hand over his eyes, wondering if jetlag had finally caught up with him, or if missing home so much had just gotten the better of him and he’d begun to hallucinate. There wasn’t a single person around, and yet there was no denying a young woman spoke directly to him.

Bloody hell! He was losing his mind.

“You’re tired again,” the voice noted. “Honestly, you need to get some rest before you leave. You’ll do the Confederates no good if you arrive for your first day of duty exhausted.”

As accustomed as Jake had become to the southern drawl, this woman’s accent was stronger than any he’d heard before, and he had to repeat her words to himself once or twice just to be sure they made sense.

They didn’t.

He had no idea who Edie was, what tea cakes were, where the drawing room was, why she’d mentioned the Confederates, and…oh yeah…just who the fuckola spoke to him.

“You’ve gone and done it now, mate,” he muttered, walking further down the passageway, leaving the ball where it had fallen. “Completely lost the plot.”

“Well, whatever do you mean by that?” the voice lilted, and something that sounded like layers of material swished at his side, along with the pitter patter of soft footsteps. “And the way you’re talking, it just doesn’t sound at all like you.”

Jake tapped his forehead. “Going bleeding crazy, that’s what I’m doing.”

The invisible hand that had settled on his slipped away and something brushed against his leg.

Jake was forced to grind to a halt as he walked chest first into something. Or someone.

He blinked twice.

No one was there.

A soft caress trailed over his cheek, the whisper of a touch that sent hot chills racing down his spine.  From fear? Confusion? Or something else altogether?

The contact was startling and unexpected and it made Jake jump a good few inches off the ground. At the same time though, there was something hauntingly familiar about it. Something comforting and intimate. Something that made his belly tighten in…anticipation?

“Who are you?” he whispered, finally accepting that someone…or something was in the room with him. His breathing accelerated, but the response didn’t seem driven by fear. Rather it was provoked by expectation. Excitement.

Silence followed as he counted breaths. One, two, three…ten. Enough time passed that he almost believed he’d imagined the whole thing. Then the swish of material sounded again.

“What do you mean who am I?”

Her voice sounded haughty, but tinged with just a trace of pain. He could have answered the anger, repeated his question, adding his own annoyance to the sound. After all, he’d been a bundle of frustration and fury since his mom had uprooted them and moved them half a world away.

But the pain in her voice stopped him. He’d hurt her feelings and that realization rested uneasily on his shoulders. “I’m sorry. I…” His words faded away. What could he say?

“John,” she whispered. “It is you, isn’t it?”

Jake started to say no, but the denial died on his lips. A memory niggled. Just a brief wisp of an image, more picture than movie. His mind conjured the remembrance of a beautiful young woman dressed in a full, pink ball gown, laughing at something he’d said.

“John?” she repeated.

Suddenly the voice was no longer coming from thin air. He blinked rapidly, his eyes focusing. It felt as if he were a blind man, seeing for the very first time. Squinting, he watched as the bright light before him took form, then shape. Color burst through the sheer whiteness, filling the foyer in front of him with her bright blue eyes, blonde ringlets, rosy cheeks…and that same pink dress.

Recognition dawned. “Elizabeth?”

~*~*~*~*~*~

So what’d you guys think?!

Laura Hunsaker Takes a Dare

A while ago I asked for book recommendations on twitter. Anyone who knows me well runs away screaming whenever I do this. It’s because I’m a picky reader. I discard or criticize most recommendations I get. Although I know better than to harass/follow up with people that *I* don’t know well. I also generally ask the person I don’t mind annoying  to vouch for the book saying it is one of the best they’ll have read all year. (This is why Cee now ignores me when I ask about books.)

As you see, I don’t normally ask at large. But I did that time – and I added the caveat that “I did not want erotic romance that was “OMGWTFBBQ (eg m/m/m/f/m/f/cow/m/parrotshifter/m/f/m)” which set off a whole conversation. And my twisted little mind came up with a dare. For any brave authors.

And four wonderful, gamine, lovely, and fabulous authors endowed with a healthy sense of humor took up the challenge. Laura Hunsaker was first. The dare was to write a story about a parrot shifter. And she did.

Boy, did she.

I give you… Parrot Shifter the First. (My “title.”)

Parrot shifter?

I watched him don a pair of aviator shades, even though it was nearly pitch black in the club. I was able to dismiss the ridiculous sunglasses at night routine though, because he bobbed his way over to me. Over six feet of manly sex god stood staring at me. I wished I could see his eyes, but those damn glasses only showed me my reflection.

He cocked his head in a birdlike fashion, and his deep voice sizzled over my skin as he asked me, “Can I buy you a drink?”

I looked him up and down, from his motorcycle boots to his sunglasses. Before answering I darted my tongue along my top lip. “Limecello, please.”

The bartender had been watching us unabashedly, so my mystery man had only to nod his head for my drink to appear.

He leaned against the bar and stared at me like a hawk.

“So, Limecello, what’s a girl like you doing in a place like this?”

“It’s Polly.”

“Polly?” he parroted.

I leaned in closer, letting my lips brush his ear, “My name. It’s Polly.”

Cocking his head once more, he let his lips brush my own as he whispered his name. “I’m Jack.” His warm breath made my no-no places tingle. I wanted him, and I wanted him bad. About to ask him if he’d take me home, we were interrupted.

“Yo Jack!”

The call came from behind us, we both turned to see 3 men, who all had that same sort of bobbing walk Jack had, coming towards us. No, walking was too tame a word. . .they.. . strutted.

“Jack, we need you.”

One of the guys cocked his head at me, once more reminding me of a bird. He tilted his head, and looked down his beak-like nose. “Who’s the babe?”

Jack squawked, “Leave her out of this.”

Hands raised, his buddy backed away, but not before giving me a good, long stare. I stared right back at him. There was no way his buddies were gonna cock-block me tonight. I pressed myself up close to Jack, glaring at the guys.

“Excuse me a moment, would you, Polly? I’ll be right back.” And he left me! The jerk. All I could think was that there was no way he was leaving me alone. I followed after the guys.

Strangely they went out a back door into an alley. What I saw next would turn my life upside down. There were 4 man-sized parrots kicking the crap out of a wolf. But just for a second, the wolf rallied and raked his claws over a parrot. When I saw feathers flying and blood gushing from a lime green wing I screamed. The eyes that met mine across the way weren’t human, but for some reason I knew they were Jack’s. Jack was a—a man-parrot or something!

He transformed into a human and bobbed his way over to me. “Polly, I didn’t want you to find out like this.”

“What are you?” I pressed my back against the door, fumbling for the doorknob.

“Please, don’t be afraid. I’m just like you, except I can turn feathery under a full moon.”

“So, what, you’re a were-parrot?”

“We prefer the term Parrot Shifter.”

“And you, beat up wolves in your spare time? I thought you were special! You’re just a thug who kicks dogs!”

He made an irritated noise, a cross between a squawk and a chirp. “He’s a rabid werewolf, and he was attacking a human woman. We are a brotherhood of Parrot shifters sworn to protect humanity.”

Oh, my heart melted a bit. He was like a superhero, or something. *le sigh*

“So the big question is, do you think you can accept me as I am? Feathers and all?”

Was I too shallow to take him as he was? I mean, I’m no peach if I haven’t had coffee, in fact I’d say I’m more of a monster than he was.

“Oh Jack, of course I can.”

Gripping my buttocks he pulled me into his body, pressing his hips against me. “Then I guess there’s just one more thing to say.”

“What’s that?” I breathed against his lips.

“Polly want a cracker?”

So what’d you think? 😀