Stood Up?


Thanks, Dale, for this gorgeous picture.

One of my favorites from December 7, 2016.


John’s blind date never arrived.  He waited in his favorite restaurant for one hour, 55 minutes, five glasses of water and three breadsticks.

Julie, his favorite waitress, saw his sad look.  “Maybe her phone didn’t charge.  More breadsticks?  More water?”

“No thanks, Julie.  I’ll give her fifteen more minutes.  After that, I’m going home.”

“Um, my shift’s over now.  I’ll have Brandon see to you, OK?”

“OK.  Have a good night.”

Fifteen minutes later, Julie emerged from the kitchen spiffed, dressed splendidly and drop dead gorgeous.

She sat down by the stunned John.  “Sorry, I’m late.  I had to work.”


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Better To Hold The Phone

CE Ayr.jpg

Pictures (as this one seemingly discarded — you gave up FINALLY, CE?) make great wallpaper in the basement.  And speaking of wall paper …

From September 10, 2014.


Since Pop worked out of our home in those days, our new cordless phone was his pride and joy.  So, why shouldn’t his office be the bathroom … the one off to the left of the front door?  The toilet sat below the window sill and he could look out onto the porch as visitors stopped by saying, “Hi, come on in.  I’m on the phone.”

Who would know, right?

It worked.  Until …

A visitor stopped by, saw Pop in the window conducting both kinds of business and doubled over in laughter. “I know what you’re doing.  I papered that room!”




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Mob Rule


Roger Bultot.jpg

“Pete Thompson.”  Nick Rapelli trembled, repeating his new name.

“Right.  Get used to it.  Car’s outside.  Move!”  The agent led Rapelli out the porch door.

Rapelli slid into the back of the sedan.  “I can’t thank you boys enough.  Where are we going?”

The driver answered, staring ahead, “Rainbow City.”

A cold, paralyzing fear hit Rapelli.  “Rainbow City?  You mean where they found Oscar Mazzarelli encased in cement …???”

“You win the prize, big man —- for fingering Tony Gardello and sending him to Leavenworth, you win big.”

The car returned from Rainbow City five minutes early —- and minus one nervous passenger.

(photo courtesy of Roger Bultot)


Wow!  It’s been awhile, hasn’t it?  I’m sure the Queen is speechless since I didn’t inform her.  But, now that the world has slowed down to MY level, I thought I’d occupy my time with better things.

How is everybody?



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“And In The End …”

… and believe me, I DO mean it as far as this story’s implications.

Thanks to Connie Gayer who provided us with (almost) Russell’s best side (should have aimed lower).



Dale and Shelley turned around at the sound of, “Ladies!”

Dale was shocked.  “Kent!  What a nice surprise!”

“Thanks.  Shelley asked me to write myself in as a guest star, so here I am.”

Shelley pointed. “We’re watching Russell dig a hole.  He’s the past master at it.”

Kent laughed.  “And falling into it, too.”  He called out.  “Hey, Russell, what’s it for?”

Russell stopped digging.  “A little surprise for Perry and C.E.”

Dale was shocked.  “You’re not going to bury them, are you?”

“No … new outhouse.  I hope it’s deep enough for them.”

Kent looked at Shelley. “Never!”



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It Doesn’t Matter Where


Photo By Rochelle, Queen of the Blogosphere


The realtor took Bill around the hallway of the house, second level and opened the closet door.   “They installed a shower in here.  Isn’t that something?”

Bill thought for a second or two.  “I’d sure hate to see where they did their laundry.”

The realtor continued the tour.  “In the 1800’s, this house had no indoor toilet.”

Bill understood.  Considering the age of the house, even the best ones had outdoor privies.

“And because there was no indoor plumbing, the former tenants really improvised.”

“So, these former tenants … where did they go?”

“Um … I think they went to Branson.”


OK, so it’s not entirely original, but when nature calls, there is NO answering machine!

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The Inner Truth


Photo by C.E. Ayr.


Jeff worked weeks on the sculpture.

I, however,  got nauseated looking at it.  “So, what’s this supposed to be, anyway?”

Jeff wiped his hands on his smock.  “Inspiration’s from a picture of a meteor  a guy named ‘Ayr’ sent me. He commissioned me to do a sculpture for him. He said It fell from outer space.”

“More like it came from ‘inner’ space … someone’s lower bowels.”

“I’m using it to illustrate Ayr’s inner man:   his attitude, personality  …”

“Looks like something an elephant left behind.”

“I’m calling it ‘From Out Of The Ayr.’  Catchy, huh?”

“Oh yeah …  it did, all right.”



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Ten Years From Now

Unhappily, this is a true story that, as of this writing, the ending of it is still playing out  yet to be known.

flowers and packing boxes Dale R.jpg

Photo by Dale Rogerson.  Thanks, Dale.


Joe looked at his four daughters eating breakfast at the table.

Five year-old Debbie asked him how old she would be in ten years.

Joe didn’t want to answer it. Stay strong!  No crying!  “Fifteen, sweetie.”

May Ann announced,  “I’m gonna be 18 and drive!  The baby’ll be ten, right Daddy?”

The phone rang.  Joe answered.  His wife’s lawyer on the other end.  “Joe!  Good news!  We got an appeal!  Jill won’t spend ten years in prison.  She’ll be treated at a mental health center and, since she’s pregnant …”

His voice faded.  Joe announced, “Girls, it’s about your mom …”


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You Don’t Bring Me … Pasta?


flowers and packing boxes Dale R.jpgThis picture has been provided by the Dale-ectable Dale Rogerson.  She was pretty popular last week on someone’s blog (what’s so funny about that, I wonder?) and she just popped up again.

Must be those Youtubes are paying off finally.


“So … Dale brought these to you, huh?”

“Yeah. Usually it’s a pasta dish of hers.”

“Food, now flowers.  She likes you, Bill, I can tell.”

“Either way, I’ll send her a nice note.  But, flowers?  I don’t get it.”

Bill promptly typed an e-mail.

“Dearest Dale,

Thanks for the lovely flowers.  Such a sweet gesture, as always.  I was expecting one of your delicious pasta dishes, but these were great.  Russell thought so, too.  We ate them fast!

Yours, WMQ.”


“Nothing from Dale?”

“Only a bag of filberts and a note that says, ‘Nuts to you.’ “


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Kent’s Problem

This story first appeared  May 19, 2013.
And my name is really not William Q. Colby, it’s just the name of the blog.
My real name is Kent Bonham.
Phone Booth JHC.jpg
Great photo, J. Hardy Carroll!
Rochelle Wisoff-Fields operates this Flash Fiction store.  Please check for coupons.


“KENT!  Long time no see!”

“Um … hi, Reggie.”  Oh, great!  Always at a time like this.   He’ll talk about his kids and “the missus” while I’m in a hurry!  The guy annoys me, always has and just when there’s an emergency, too!  “I was just about to make a phone call …”

“On THAT?  Nobody uses that pay telephone anymore!”

Hey!  I can suck up the air around him!   Maybe that’ll knock him out.  


Did it!  I’ll just hang my suit and glasses here like I always do.  That dinosaur is almost over the Metropolis skyline! 

“Up, up, and away!”


And you all thought it was about ME, huh?   Eh … I’ll never tell.  😉

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The Ride of A Lifetime


EXPLANATION OF PHOTO:  I took this picture in Bethlehem, Israel.  I was so excited to see a thirty year-old Kansas license plate in the window.  It is from Reno County and the “J” is the first letter of the last name of the owner.  I never found out whose car this was.

Anyway …

Let’s talk about trains and how a train ride made all the difference.



Willie saw the impressive turnout for the memorial service.

An older gentleman turned to him and asked, “You had family on the train?”

“Yes, my grandfather.  You?”

“Yes, I actually was on the train.  Lived here in London since.”  He glanced through his program.  “I was all of seven when I met Nicky.  It feels quite odd to call him Sir Nicholas.”  He paused, then laughed.  “Can you imagine?  A man goes on two-week holiday and ends up years later with hundreds of children?”

A woman approached the dais.  “I’m Barbara Winton, and on behalf of the Winton family …”


Sir Nicholas Winton, organizer of the Kinder Transport that saved the lives of many Jewish children during World War II.




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