“Bro’ Job.” Ha! That’s funny. I bet I could write a pointless short essay riffing on that. I’ll add it to The List when I get up. So far, I have over 250 of these brilliant ideas written down. Bon mots, if you will, waiting for development into a story.
This is often how I write: a headline pops into my head when I’m in that half-awake/half-asleep mode in the early morning. I promise myself I will remember it when I get up by looping it in my head until I fall asleep again. Typically, I can’t remember the idea in the morning, but I can remember I’ve forgotten an idea.
Sometimes, I will get up— like now— and try to write some notes so I don’t lose it. Maybe even see if I can make a story from it.
During the day, I think “Why don’t you put a notepad and pen next to the bed, so you can capture these gems, fool?”
After decades of thinking it, and never doing it, I’m going to do just that. Excuse me for a moment. I’ll be right back…
… there, I did it: notepad by the bed. Didn’t wake up Lisa. Grabbed a Double Shot while I was up. Caffeine.
OK, time for some riffing.
Bro’ Job—
Japanese prostitute offering her/his/their/zir services. Pretty obvious, but a nice ethnic slur, so there’s that.
This would probably apply to Chinese hookers too, but it’s not as funny, somehow.
Any job Mike Rowe would do.
A job for a butch lesbian. But that would technically be a “bruh” job.
A job you can talk your brother into doing in your stead.
…
I don’t think I’m going to be able to make anything out of this one. Only five gags and two are pretty lame.
—To The List!
Vigil Aunties— A bunch of blue-haired old ladies out for revenge. Is there anywhere to take this one? Maybe a short story, but hasn’t this plot already been worked in Arsenic and Old Lace? And blue hair. Massively overdone these days, albeit with much more intense shades.
Napoleon Blownaparte— A direct hit by a cannonball at Waterloo. His right hand is nowhere near his coat buttons. In fact, we can’t find it. Alas, not enough story meat (if you’ll pardon the phrase) here.
Underdog Catcher— The tale of a liberal white nonbinary college student and her comrades. Imagine a Friends remake with woke characters. It could be a half-hour program with absolutely nothing funny happening while the protagonists try to outmaneuver each other to gain victim status, interspersed with commercials depicting unhappy multicultural families without a cis white male in sight. Skittles hair coloring. Maybe enough for a pilot?
Sacred Chow— An Indian restaurant serving only beef dishes. This is pretty offensive, so it’s got that going for it. I might be able to come up with names for some dishes. Moolligatawny Soup? Haven’t the Chinese already covered this with Moo Goo Gai Pan? But that, unfortunately, is a chicken dish, so that joke’s not working.
Non-Stick Pansexual— The heart-tugging story of a detransitioned gender dysphoria sufferer. “Mom, Dad, I’m so sorry I destroyed the family.” Tears. Hugs. Recriminations. Breast implants.
Sibling Brides Magazine— Ilhan Omar, Editor. Heartworming (not a typo) stories of brother/sister, sister/sister, trans-sister/brother, sister/trans-brother nuptials highlighting beautiful gowns, place-setting suggestions, and stunning, soft-focus photos of incestual weddings.
Magpies: Karens of the Avian World— Do you have Magpies in your yard? These fuckers will never shut up and will tear each other to pieces when offended. Sound familiar?
The Manstruation Monologues— A hilarious, sometimes maudlin, one-person story of imagined cramps, bleeding, and spousal abuse by a trans woman (who are women, dammit!). Brought to you by Always® brand femiman products.
Well, I guess I can make a story out of it after all, given loose enough parameters.
You try living in here, it can be torture. I’d rather be sleeping like everyone else.
Have you considered that this is a two word answer to most siblings and many millennials most common problems?
You kill me - "Pretty obvious, but a nice ethnic slur, so there’s that."
Genuinely funny. Happy Leap Day 2024!