ComedyWriting
I Shouldn’t Have Started the Cult
To the residents of Maple Creek Estates, First, I would like to apologize for the chanting. I understand now that hearing forty-seven adults in identical linen robes humming rhythmically around the community garden at 2:00 a.m. may have created an atmosphere some residents described as “deeply concerning.”
By Ajan Lori A. 6 months ago in Humor
Hydration
Dear Mom, I am sorry for what happened at school pickup on Tuesday when all the moms stared at you like you had brought a raccoon in your purse. I could tell something was wrong because Mrs. Kendall stopped smiling in the middle of her smile, which is not normal for her, and because you waved at people who did not wave back. I know that made things awkward, and I am writing this apology to make it better.
By Lori Armstrong6 months ago in Humor
Sorry I Was Late
I am sorry I was late. I understand that when a person agrees to cover a shift, the general expectation is that they will arrive for that shift. Preferably before it is over. Ideally before the manager calls and says, “Are you alive?” in a tone that suggests both concern and paperwork. I was alive. That part, I handled. The problem was that I did not know I was supposed to be at work today. Or, more accurately, I had been told I was supposed to be at work today. I had nodded in what I now understand was a misleading way. I had made eye contact. I had even said, “Yeah, that’s fine,” which is usually considered a verbal agreement by people who listen when words are happening. Unfortunately, I was not listening. In my defense, I looked like I was. I had my serious face on. The one with the eyebrows. I was holding a pen, which gives off the impression of responsibility. I may have even written something down, though I cannot say with certainty because when I checked the paper later, all it said was “trash bags” and “don’t forget the thing.” To be fair, I did not forget the thing. I forgot work. Before the phone call, I believed I was having a productive morning. Not a successful morning exactly, but a morning with motion in it, and sometimes those feel similar if you don’t ask too many questions. I woke up with a list. Not a written list. More of a spiritual list. A loose collection of intentions floating around my head like balloons in a grocery store. I needed gas. I needed deodorant. I needed to return a pan to my aunt. I needed to stop by the bank. I needed to pick up the hoodie I left at Marcus’s house three weeks ago. I needed to figure out why my car smelled like onions when I had not, to my knowledge, transported onions. Work was not on the list. Again, this is not because no one told me about work. This is because I wasn’t listening. The morning began with the pan. My aunt had been asking about it for two weeks. Technically, she had not been asking me directly. She had been asking the family group chat, “Does anyone know where my blue pan went?” which I understood, spiritually, as a message for me. I meant to return it early. I did. But every time I remembered, I was either not near the pan, not near my aunt, or lying down, and the human body can only be expected to survive so much. So I got the pan from the back seat, where it had been riding around like a quiet passenger with old aluminum foil still in it, and drove to my aunt’s house. She was not home. That did not stop me because I am a problem solver. I left it on the porch. Only after I got back in the car did I realize it may not have been her porch. The houses on that street all look the same when you are trying not to make eye contact with a wind chime. So if anyone calls about a blue pan sitting beside a decorative goose, I can explain. Probably. After that, I went to get gas. This went almost well. I pulled up to the pump, went inside, paid twenty dollars on pump four, bought a coffee I did not need, and then got back in my car feeling proud because I had remembered both gas and caffeine. Then I left. Without pumping the gas. I got three blocks away before I realized the gas needle had not changed, which felt rude, honestly. Like the car could have said something. So I went back. Pump four was occupied by then. A man in a red truck was using my twenty dollars. I am not saying he stole my gas. I am saying he accepted a blessing meant for me and did not question it. I decided to let it go because I am growing. Also because he looked like he owned a lot of tools. From there, I went to the store for deodorant. I came out with sandwich bags, batteries, a blue lighter, a sympathy card, and a single banana. No deodorant. I do not know why I bought the sympathy card. No one had died. At least not that I knew of. But the card had a bird on it looking out over water, and I thought, “Someone will need this someday.” That felt responsible. The banana was less explainable. Outside the store, a man named Carl asked if I could “grab that end” of a recliner. I did not know Carl. I did not know where the recliner was going. I did not know why it was wet. But when someone says “grab that end,” my body does not consult my schedule. It simply grabs. So I helped Carl load the recliner into his truck. It took twenty minutes because Carl believed in angles but not planning. By the time we finished, he slapped the side of the truck and said, “Appreciate you,” like we had survived something together. In a way, we had. Then I remembered the bank. I did not go to the bank. I drove toward the bank, which is almost the same thing emotionally. But on the way there, I passed Marcus’s street and remembered the hoodie. The hoodie had been at his house for three weeks. Maybe four. Long enough that it had stopped being mine and had become part of his furniture. So I turned. Marcus was asleep. His brother answered the door and said Marcus was not home, which was confusing because I could see Marcus through the window, asleep on the couch with one sock on. I did not argue. I have learned there are some family systems you do not enter without a helmet. I asked for the hoodie. His brother came back with a hoodie. It was not mine. I took it anyway because, again, I was in motion, and momentum is dangerous when unsupervised. At this point, I still did not know I was late for work. I knew I was late for something. But that is a normal feeling for me. Some people wake up with peace. I wake up feeling like I have missed an appointment made by a version of myself with too much confidence. Then my phone rang. It was work. I looked at the screen and immediately felt betrayed. Not by work exactly. By the concept of being needed. I answered with my casual voice, which was brave considering I was wearing the wrong hoodie, holding a banana, and sitting outside Marcus’s house like a minor criminal. My manager said, “Where are you?” I said, “What do you mean?” There was a pause. It was not an empty pause. It had furniture in it. She said, “You were supposed to be here at ten.” I looked at the clock. It was 10:47. This was when certain memories began walking back into the room. Denise. The schedule. The conversation by the dish station. The way Denise had said, “Can you cover me Tuesday?” and I had said, “Yeah, that’s fine,” while looking directly at her but thinking about whether raccoons have thumbs. To be clear, I do not know why I was thinking about raccoons. I only know that I was. And in my defense— I wasn’t listening. Once I understood the situation, I came straight to work. Mostly straight. I did stop for deodorant because by then it had become urgent for everyone. I also had to turn around once because I realized I still had my aunt’s pan situation spiritually unresolved, but I decided adulthood is about choosing which fires to let burn. When I arrived, I understand I did not look like someone who had rushed. That is because rushing, for me, often looks like wandering with consequences. I was wearing Marcus’s brother’s hoodie. I had one banana in my pocket. I smelled like gas station coffee and recliner water. I had a sympathy card in the cup holder that said, “In this difficult time,” which felt suddenly appropriate. I clocked in. You looked at me. I said, “Traffic.” That was wrong. I apologize for that too. There was no traffic. There was Carl. There was the pan. There was pump four. There was the wrong hoodie. There was Denise, whose shift I had agreed to cover with my mouth while the rest of me was somewhere else entirely. So yes, I am sorry I was late. I am sorry I missed the first forty-seven minutes of the shift, the prep list, the delivery, and whatever happened with the sauce that everyone was whispering about when I walked in. I am sorry I caused concern. I am sorry I made Denise text, “Did she forget?” and made everyone answer, apparently in unison, “Probably.” That hurt. It was fair, but it hurt. Most of all, I am sorry I agreed to cover the shift and then immediately released that information back into the wild. I will do better. Next time, I will write it down somewhere more specific than the back of a receipt that also says “trash bags” and “don’t forget the thing.” I will check the schedule. I will pump the gas I pay for. I will stop accepting furniture-based side quests from strange men named Carl. And when someone asks me an important question, I will listen with my whole brain, or at least enough of it to remember whether I have a job that day. But in my defense— I wasn’t listening.
By Tifani Power 6 months ago in Humor
Consent Pending
A few years ago, a new law was enacted: ‘It is forbidden to open an animal’. No one had thought about surgeries. When an annoying journalist raised the issue during the press conference, the committee replied that the solution was simple: We just had to miniaturize humans so they could operate from the inside.
By helsing Riddick6 months ago in Humor
A Roommate Apologizes.... Top Story - May 2026.
Note: More cleaning up has revealed more documents I thought were lost for good. I found the following apology - spelling errors and all - on an old computer. It comes from a former roommate who's name has been removed from the document and my thoughts. And if any of you think it is unfair to post this, please be advised that he was a spoiled brat, pain in the neck, the reason why my laptop got stolen, and one of the people who abandoned me when the hydro bill came in and the power was cut.
By Kendall Defoe 6 months ago in Humor
It’s 11:59 PM on a Saturday… Guess What Just Broke?
It never happens on a Tuesday at 10:15 a.m. when the repair shop is open, the hardware store is stocked, and your neighbor Dave (who allegedly “knows about wiring”) is still awake. No, no… Life saves its most catastrophic breakdowns for the sacred hour between 11:59 p.m. Saturday and 2:00 a.m. Sunday, when every professional you might call is either asleep, closed, or at karaoke belting out a chorus of “Sweet Caroline.”
By The Pompous Post6 months ago in Humor
Why Didn't You Give Me A Top Story?. Content Warning.
Introduction Obviously, this is fictional because the support person actually has a meaningful dialogue with the protagonist. The protagonist is dismissed, but you can see that this is a total slice of ham fiction.
By Mike Singleton 💜 Mikeydred 6 months ago in Humor
The God Of The Switch. Content Warning.
Introduction Seriously, most of us don't have a clue how anything works, we just expect it to work, and if it stops we call someone to come and fix it, but we could never fix it ourselves could we? These are just some observations on the things in everyday life
By Mike Singleton 💜 Mikeydred 6 months ago in Humor
Humor has a way of exposing the beliefs we don’t realize we’re carrying
As humans, we trust appearances more than we like to admit. Don't we? It’s almost automatic. Before a word is spoken, before a story is told, we’ve already formed a quiet conclusion. We read signals without realizing it; uniforms, titles, posture, tone. These subtle cues act like shortcuts for the brain, helping us decide who someone is and how we should respond to them. It feels efficient. It feels natural. But it’s also where we get it wrong.
By Ajan Lori A. 6 months ago in Humor
I’m Sorry for Being a Diaper with Wings. Top Story - April 2026.
I am a diaper with wings who does not need to be an adult. I am sorry that I led you to ponder my wording. It is a grievance of mine that I do not know how to secure them the correct way; the sticky side does not stick where I would like and, instead, it sticks onto itself.
By Caitlin Charlton6 months ago in Humor
I’m Sorry About the Noise
I’m sorry about the noise. It was inconsiderate, especially at that hour, and I understand it may have disturbed your evening. I should have been more mindful of how sound carries through the walls, particularly given the age of the building and the fact that, as you mentioned last week, your daughter has exams.
By Stephen Stanley6 months ago in Humor
