Sometimes I wonder if I’m going down the right path pursuing humour writing. I find comedy writing challenging and goal orientated. To craft a short story that will make a total stranger smile and offer a bit of a satirical look into the world today is often a daunting task.

There’s a definite line in the sand between making someone laugh in casual conversation and the ability to make someone spit out their drink in hilarity over something you’ve written.

I am not honking my own tit here. I’ve put out many jokes that have fallen flat immediately upon publication…

I’ve always thought of myself as an adorably charming, awkward person. You know, like those gorgeous women in movies who trip over their own feet and fall gracefully to their asses only to have the most handsome man in the world reach down a hand to help them up. The woman, who is self admittedly “such a clutz,” stumbles over her words endearingly and blushes uncontrollably when she says, “Oh, thanks for the handsome — Uh, I mean hand! Oh God, I’m such a fool!”

Yeah, that’s me all the way. Except I tend to lean in real close to…

First of all, I’d like to point out that I didn’t sit on the baby intentionally. It was an entirely understandable misunderstanding in that I was a little drunk, and the baby, being a newborn, was relatively small and undetectable in my inebriated state.

Also, I’d like to make it clear that the baby is fine. Well, from what I hear, the baby is fine. I lost touch with the mother shortly after the shower when I sat on her newborn.

In all honesty, there is so much that can be misconstrued when you sit on someone’s baby by accident…

I talk a lot of smack about my dad. Whether it’s over the phone to my brother or while writing about my life and times, it feels like it was my dad who shaped me into the person I am today — not because of any profound parenting skills but instead just the variety of ways he has ignored me over the years.

But there I go again. I’m projecting it all onto this man, who was probably doing his best at the time. …

I am crying in a tiny bathroom in the back of a bakery, asking myself how the hell I will do this business owner thing. Burnt cakes clutter the prep table in the kitchen, deflated choux pastry and the soggy remnants of what should have been a loaf of sun-dried tomato bread sully every available space in that tiny work area.

I don’t know if I can do this. A large section of my chest feels as though it may collapse at any moment because something is pumping wildly inside of it. I could walk out the back door right…

Hello, preggos! Firstly, a great big thank you for reading this ad in its entirety. Most of the feedback I’ve gotten so far has been, well, negative at best.

What most people don’t know is that birth-watching is an actual god-given right. As women, nay, as humans, we should be given precedence to watch any other human bring forth life since we are all brothers and sisters of this great earth.

But wait! Maybe you’re not familiar with the act of birth-watching. The concept is quite simple. Me, as the birth-watcher, views expecting women in the utter majesty of childbirth…

I’ve uncovered some awful writing lately. Usually, I’m not one to undercut fellow writers because we are all brothers and sisters under the pen. But the literary crimes I’ve been experiencing lately are just heinous, to say the least.

Maybe it’s due to the flagging economy. Perhaps you people see a prolific and esteemed writer such as myself (I did receive 58 views on my writer profile last week after all!) and assume I’m rolling in royalty money from all of the highbrow work I’ve created in these past few months. Either way, the bad stories have got to stop.

…

I was first introduced to The Princess Bride by my older cousin Roger. I’ve lost touch with Rog now in my adult life, but back when I was seven, he was like the coolest 16-year-old on the planet. I idolized my cousin. He was a weird dude who used to refer to my brother and me as ‘septic doggies’ while strumming away on his guitar to an audience of adults sitting around a coffee table and sipping hot toddies. Maybe there weren’t any hot toddies. That might just be my mind’s eye making things classier than they actually were.

I…