It started days ago—deep, syrupy, baritone laughter poisoned my ears and violated my mind. I sound-proofed. my house, blasted my eardrums with music, and stuffed plugs in them; nothing worked. I searched my home but couldn’t locate the source.
It mocked me.
I couldn’t sleep. I twisted an iron hanger into a sharp rod and burst my drums. Blood flowed down my neck; all sound ceased—except for that loathsome laughter.
Greg thought he bought mint toothpaste. It was wasabi. His morning routine turned interpretive dance — arms flailing, karate kicking the mirror and tried extinguishing his tongue in the toilet. The cat, assuming war, launched off his face. Greg’s wife entered, coffee in hand, surveyed the scene, and sighed, “Temu again?”
Greg, steaming like a kettle possessed by Macbeth, wheezed, ”If mint tastes like Satan’s armpit, then yes, darling — Temu.”
Small sounds erupted, sputtering through his nose. Lance snorted next. Lance’s eyes watered as he tried to contain himself. His shoulders twitched. A hand rose to his mouth. The nominal up and down motion dissolved in great gusts of laughter. Soon he was splitting his side, tears streaming down his cheeks, body wracking, stress reducing laughs. They were the most holy of laughs.
Brother got home late, night after night from his date. He’d wake me. April fools was tomorrow. I knew he’d be late. I went to his bed. Short sheet the sheets, folded bottom over the top. Made the bed back to original. Late that night tired as he can be; he climbed into bed. I’m “asleep.” His sheet rips. Laughing, I knew there’d be revenge. I laughed myself to sleep.,
I asked my friend what that sound was and he said it was familiar but he hadn't heard it in a long time. Everyone in the room was smiling and making this sound, so I asked why this was. He said Denmark had taken over the country, granted free healthcare to everyone and confined Trump to Greenland. Then I remembered. The sound I hadn’t heard in so long was laughter.
The Visitation was at Landry’s Funeral Home. Solemn background music.
Michael Diller, only 29.
Wife Laurie, in black, stood alone at the open casket. Shoulders hitching. First only a squeak, then soft cackling. Finally, deep husky laughter. She whirled around showing a grinning demonic face.
Edward Landry hovering nearby, rushed to Laurie. With superhuman strength she flung him aside.
Whoa. Jim, this one hit like a jump-scare wrapped in velvet. That slow-build—from squeak to full-on demonic laughter—was wickedly effective. I heard that laugh echo through the funeral home. The way Laurie flips the whole room with one grin? Chills. Also, major props for using every one of those 70 words like a scalpel. You carved dread with precision. 👏
Now I’m rethinking open caskets and background music…
Once there was no laughter. Jack felt unfulfilled: Something was missing. He ate a banana, then stared at the slippery peel, knowing what to do. He stood up in meeting and tossed the peel to the ground. He pretended to slip, cartwheeling his arms wildly. When he fell, only to bounce back up to continue his antics, laughter was born. It's hard to imagine how we ever lived without it.
Jeannine, this is delightful! Jack’s banana-peel epiphany gave me flashbacks to classic slapstick—timeless and endearing. I love how you wove a mini origin myth for laughter itself, with just the right touch of whimsy. That last line lands so well: *“how we ever lived without it”*—simple, sweet, and true. Also, I can *see* the arm-cartwheeling. Thank you for the smile! 🍌💛
She doubled over, laughing. Tears streamed down her flushed cheeks. She was glad she had just come back from the ladies' room. She nearly regained control when she snorted--no light ladylike snort, but a snort like a happy pig in slop. That set her giggling again, which, of course, led to more guffaws.
Soon her friends were chortling, snickering, and hee-hawing. After a minute, restaurant patrons added their own cachinnations.
Stephanie, this one bubbled over with joy! You captured that beautiful, contagious chaos that only real, full-bodied laughter can unleash. The pig-in-slop snort? Perfectly timed and totally relatable. I love how the laughter spreads like a sonic wave—one person, then the whole restaurant in a symphony of snorts and hee-haws. Also, “cachinnations” was the cherry on top. What a delicious word to end on. Loved every syllable of this! 🐷🎉
The Jester had an introduction with the King. He was terrified because the King had executed his last Court Jester. Hiding a pigeon in his motley colored pants to amuse, he was introduced, bowing gracefully. Unintentionally, he squeezed the bird that countered by latching onto his manhood! He screamed, back flipped across the table onto the King's lap. To his chagrin, he had aroused more than laughter in his Majesty.
Ken, this one soared—or should I say flapped—right into bawdy brilliance! The pacing was spot-on: from tension to chaos in under 70 words, with a twist worthy of a royal blush. That poor pigeon! That poor… Jester! And that final line? Gold. “Aroused more than laughter” is such a cheeky closer, perfectly toeing the line between medieval mishap and spicy hilarity. I’ll never look at motley pants the same way again. 🃏🕊️👑
Many Thanks for such an amazing review! I only hope that if I am to write a novel and it’s worthy, you could write the back jacket Blurb. Best Wishes, Ken
Ken, I’m grinning over here—and imagining a pigeon with an agent negotiating its next role! If your novel keeps even a fraction of this energy, irreverence, and timing, I’d be honored to pen the blurb. Just give me a whisper when the time comes. Until then, keep those mischief-laced words coming. They clearly have wings. ✒️🕊️📚
“Laughter”
It started days ago—deep, syrupy, baritone laughter poisoned my ears and violated my mind. I sound-proofed. my house, blasted my eardrums with music, and stuffed plugs in them; nothing worked. I searched my home but couldn’t locate the source.
It mocked me.
I couldn’t sleep. I twisted an iron hanger into a sharp rod and burst my drums. Blood flowed down my neck; all sound ceased—except for that loathsome laughter.
70mg of LAUGHTER: (Not quite the fun one suggested--I think I'm still recovering from writing yesterday's grief!)
The roar of laughter isn’t down to camaraderie created from shared struggles.
It’s not borne from friendship forged by fighting common adversaries, nor generated by mutual memories of uncomfortable obstacles overcome.
No, the roar of laughter merely echoes the same old corporate ladder-climbing, sycophantic nonsense.
It’s just part of more backslapping, goading and window-reflection grooming.
Yup, it’s the sound of a sweaty, superficial social game played out every Friday night.
Ha ha ha! These are brilliant! I love "Cage"! It's hilarious!
PROMPT: LAUGHTER
THE SOURCE OF AMUSEMENT
Winding him up was their favourite thing to do.
And they’d keep winding him up, until he blew his lid.
Because it always made them laugh to see him flapping around, unable to control himself.
It was such a simple and cheap source of amusement.
But they loved that jack-in-the-box… 😎
Toothpaste Tango
Greg thought he bought mint toothpaste. It was wasabi. His morning routine turned interpretive dance — arms flailing, karate kicking the mirror and tried extinguishing his tongue in the toilet. The cat, assuming war, launched off his face. Greg’s wife entered, coffee in hand, surveyed the scene, and sighed, “Temu again?”
Greg, steaming like a kettle possessed by Macbeth, wheezed, ”If mint tastes like Satan’s armpit, then yes, darling — Temu.”
Ha ha ha, this is truly hilarious! I love it!
Thanks :)
This was a fun one.
Finally someone uses the word "ghosted" correctly!
LAUGHTER (70)
Susie and I liked to get ice cream after school in the warm weather.
“I’ll treat you,” she said, “’cause you’re finally fifteen.”
We walked slowly towards the bus stop together.
“Guess what, Suze?” I said. “Now we’re both halfway to thirty!”
We stared at each other for a moment before dissolving into laughter. Eighteen meant adulthood. Thirty was ancient!
“That’s not funny,” she gasped, and we laughed even harder.
Small sounds erupted, sputtering through his nose. Lance snorted next. Lance’s eyes watered as he tried to contain himself. His shoulders twitched. A hand rose to his mouth. The nominal up and down motion dissolved in great gusts of laughter. Soon he was splitting his side, tears streaming down his cheeks, body wracking, stress reducing laughs. They were the most holy of laughs.
Lance was kicked out of Mortician school.
Love this! I can barely contain myself reading it!
70 Words - Laughter
Annabelle smiled as each of the cheerleaders and football players took their piece of the chocolate brownie the Literary Club had baked.
This was expected of them before each game, a show of school spirit.
But, these were also the same people who tormented her and her group daily.
Annabelle and the other school geeks erupted into laughter an hour into the game, the ExLax brownie was doing its job.
👏👏👏 Perfect revenge!
70 laughs
Brother got home late, night after night from his date. He’d wake me. April fools was tomorrow. I knew he’d be late. I went to his bed. Short sheet the sheets, folded bottom over the top. Made the bed back to original. Late that night tired as he can be; he climbed into bed. I’m “asleep.” His sheet rips. Laughing, I knew there’d be revenge. I laughed myself to sleep.,
I asked my friend what that sound was and he said it was familiar but he hadn't heard it in a long time. Everyone in the room was smiling and making this sound, so I asked why this was. He said Denmark had taken over the country, granted free healthcare to everyone and confined Trump to Greenland. Then I remembered. The sound I hadn’t heard in so long was laughter.
70 mg of Comedy Laughter
Four women. One beach house. Midnight.
Sheets rustled, a moan—or was it a howl? Laughter erupted, deep and throaty, shaking the thin walls.
“Should we check?” whispered Lena, clutching her rosé.
“No,” groaned Kim, face in pillow. “They're either discovering nirvana or testing a vibrating fruit bowl.”
Another peal, louder.
“Was that a goat?”
“Definitely a goat.”
Outside, moonlight kissed sand. Inside, bodies tangled.
Laughter rolled on.
No one slept.
Maaaa... 🐐 😂
Prompt: Laughter / Word Limit 70
The Visitation was at Landry’s Funeral Home. Solemn background music.
Michael Diller, only 29.
Wife Laurie, in black, stood alone at the open casket. Shoulders hitching. First only a squeak, then soft cackling. Finally, deep husky laughter. She whirled around showing a grinning demonic face.
Edward Landry hovering nearby, rushed to Laurie. With superhuman strength she flung him aside.
Aunt Meredith fainted.
Someone screamed.
Doors slammed shut. Lights went out.
Totally wicked...LOVED IT
Whoa. Jim, this one hit like a jump-scare wrapped in velvet. That slow-build—from squeak to full-on demonic laughter—was wickedly effective. I heard that laugh echo through the funeral home. The way Laurie flips the whole room with one grin? Chills. Also, major props for using every one of those 70 words like a scalpel. You carved dread with precision. 👏
Now I’m rethinking open caskets and background music…
Once there was no laughter. Jack felt unfulfilled: Something was missing. He ate a banana, then stared at the slippery peel, knowing what to do. He stood up in meeting and tossed the peel to the ground. He pretended to slip, cartwheeling his arms wildly. When he fell, only to bounce back up to continue his antics, laughter was born. It's hard to imagine how we ever lived without it.
Jeannine, this is delightful! Jack’s banana-peel epiphany gave me flashbacks to classic slapstick—timeless and endearing. I love how you wove a mini origin myth for laughter itself, with just the right touch of whimsy. That last line lands so well: *“how we ever lived without it”*—simple, sweet, and true. Also, I can *see* the arm-cartwheeling. Thank you for the smile! 🍌💛
Thank you, I'm glad it made you smile. I was aiming for cheer, sounds like I got it. 🤡
Yup, absolutely.
April 1 Laughter 70 words
She doubled over, laughing. Tears streamed down her flushed cheeks. She was glad she had just come back from the ladies' room. She nearly regained control when she snorted--no light ladylike snort, but a snort like a happy pig in slop. That set her giggling again, which, of course, led to more guffaws.
Soon her friends were chortling, snickering, and hee-hawing. After a minute, restaurant patrons added their own cachinnations.
Stephanie, this one bubbled over with joy! You captured that beautiful, contagious chaos that only real, full-bodied laughter can unleash. The pig-in-slop snort? Perfectly timed and totally relatable. I love how the laughter spreads like a sonic wave—one person, then the whole restaurant in a symphony of snorts and hee-haws. Also, “cachinnations” was the cherry on top. What a delicious word to end on. Loved every syllable of this! 🐷🎉
70 MG Of LAUGHTER
The Jester had an introduction with the King. He was terrified because the King had executed his last Court Jester. Hiding a pigeon in his motley colored pants to amuse, he was introduced, bowing gracefully. Unintentionally, he squeezed the bird that countered by latching onto his manhood! He screamed, back flipped across the table onto the King's lap. To his chagrin, he had aroused more than laughter in his Majesty.
Ken, this one soared—or should I say flapped—right into bawdy brilliance! The pacing was spot-on: from tension to chaos in under 70 words, with a twist worthy of a royal blush. That poor pigeon! That poor… Jester! And that final line? Gold. “Aroused more than laughter” is such a cheeky closer, perfectly toeing the line between medieval mishap and spicy hilarity. I’ll never look at motley pants the same way again. 🃏🕊️👑
Many Thanks for such an amazing review! I only hope that if I am to write a novel and it’s worthy, you could write the back jacket Blurb. Best Wishes, Ken
Ken, I’m grinning over here—and imagining a pigeon with an agent negotiating its next role! If your novel keeps even a fraction of this energy, irreverence, and timing, I’d be honored to pen the blurb. Just give me a whisper when the time comes. Until then, keep those mischief-laced words coming. They clearly have wings. ✒️🕊️📚