A/N: I had to write a humor piece for Creative Writing last year, and I threw this up. I was going through my flash drive from last year and just stumbled upon it, so enjoy it or something.

I am going to be completely honest with you: I am a hilarious person. No, it’s true! I am just too funny. I’m so funny, that I’m almost dangerous. Everywhere I go, I leave behind me a path of doubled over, out of breath bodies with broken ribs and tears streaming down their pink, scrunched up faces. I am officially an international threat. Comedians everywhere are losing their jobs because of me, for people are coming from all over the world to hear me crack a joke for free rather than pay to see a professional do it. This may or may not be an over exaggeration.

That aside, it should be easy for me to share a specific anecdote about a funny event in my life. However, I cannot think of a single thing to write about. Not a single thing. This may be because a bunch of funny things do happen in my life, but the retelling of these stories may only be funny to me. Sure, I could write about that one time when I was dragged to church against my will, and some chick up at the alter advised us to “refrain from orgies and drunkenness.” I thought it was hysterical. Mind you, I was the only one in the church who found this amusing (that could be because it was a 9:30 AM mass and only old people go to mass that early and I don’t think they laugh at stuff like that). Honestly, though, does anyone want to read a story that takes place in church? I know I don’t, so why waste my time writing something that even I wouldn’t read?

So, this is the epic tale I have decided to tell you. The one about how I couldn’t think of anything to write, so I wrote about not knowing what to write. Here it goes.

Once upon a time, there was an easily distracted writer sitting at her desk contemplating on what to write. This writer was me. I had been spinning in my computer chair and staring at the ceiling for a long while now. I was growing increasingly dizzy, and decided that I needed to stop before I puked.

I sat up and stared at my computer screen, at the blank Word document that was open in front of me and at the blinking cursor at the very top of the page waiting to be used. I could almost hear it calling out to me.

“Emily,” the cursor sang, “Don’t you want to type anything? Don’t you want to be my friend?”

I rubbed my eyes. It was then that I realized what was happening! It was my old nemesis, my arch enemy, THE JOKER TO MY BATMAN.

Writer’s Block.

The bastard.

“So,” I said, spinning around in my chair to face my enemy, “We meet again.”

“It has been too long, my friend,” WB smirked.

“Not long enough.”

“Shall we get this over with, then?”

“Come at me, bro.”

I bet you thought we were going to get into some huge, earth shattering battle. Please. I wish it were that simple.

“Why are you hitting yourself?”

“Stop.”

“Why are you hitting yourself?”

“Seriously. Stop.”

“Just tell me why you keep hitting yourself.”

“I can’t write with you here. Go away.”

“I just want to know why you keep hitting yourself.”

“Okay, seriously.”

“Seriously what?”

“Seriously, I’m going to kill you in three seconds.”

“I am Writer’s Block. I AM A PARASITE THAT LATCHES ONTO YOUR SOUL. I CANNOT BE VANQUISHED.”

“We’ll just see about that!” cried a voice from behind us.

There, in all its majesty, was the beautiful beacon that humans know as Inspiration who had come to rescue me from the annoyance that was Writer’s Block.

“Oh, crap,” WB muttered.

“You’re screwed now,” I said.

“Writer’s Block, shoo!” cried Inspiration, “BE GONE, PEST!”

“I’m going, okay? Everyone just calm down.”

Then he was gone.     

“Oh, golly gee,” I said, “Thanks, Inspiration.”

“Hey, no problem. It’s what I do.” With that, Inspiration climbed inside my head, and I wrote happily ever after.

For now…

 -

Emily was sure all was well as she turned in her paper. Writer’s Block had not reared its obnoxious head since that fateful day. Little did she know that WB was watching and waiting for the right moment to strike.  Emily may have won the battle, but the war was not over. No.

The war had just begun.

(Source: scribbles-and-scratches)