Category Archives: Fiction

Librarian Jokes

Not too long ago, I found a joke on social media that started with “I asked the librarian for…” and ended with a funny one-liner.

I am not sure why it struck a chord like it did, but it set my brain on an endless loop, trying to come up with one-liners of my own. While I certainly wouldn’t categorize myself as a comedy writer, I had a lot of fun with “I asked the librarian for…” as a writing prompt. This is the result:

I asked the librarian for books on comedy. She said, “That’s a funny question.”
I asked the librarian for books about joy. She said she’d be happy to help!
I asked the librarian for books about exaggerations. She said that was the strangest question ever asked in the history of libraries.
I asked the librarian for books about intuition. She said she knew I would ask that.
I asked the librarian for books about silence. She didn’t answer.
I asked the librarian for books about fractures. She said, “Give me a break!”
I asked the librarian for books about wheels. Her answers kept going around in circles.
I asked the librarian for books about hysteria. She slapped me.
I asked the librarian for books about dental hygiene. She smiled
I asked the librarian for books about warm destinations. She said, “Go to hell!”
I asked the librarian for books about tipping. She said, “That will be five dollars.”
I asked the librarian for books about toilets. She directed me to a crappy selection.
I asked the librarian for books about procrastination. She said she’d get back to me.
I asked the librarian for books about rockets. She told me to take off.
I asked the librarian for books about steamrollers. She asked if this was a pressing request.
I asked the librarian for books about minimalism. She handed me a leaflet and said that was all they had.
I asked the librarian for books about assertiveness. She asked if I was really sure that was what I wanted.
I asked the librarian for books about cars. She said I was driving her crazy with these requests.
I asked the librarian for books about analysis. She asked if I really thought it through before asking.
I asked the librarian for books about clarity in communications. She asked what I meant by that.
I asked the librarian if she had books about dealing with indecision. She said, “Well, yes and no.”
I asked the librarian for books about magic. She went behind the counter and disappeared.
I asked the librarian for books about exceptional circumstances. She said that on rare occasions they do have some.
I asked the librarian for books about conditions. She said it depends on a number of factors.
I asked the librarian for books about drama queens. She proceeded to tell me about how horrible her sister was ten years ago when she borrowed a sweater and stretched it so it never fit right again, so she’d never forgive her as long as she’d live because it was her most favourite sweater in the whole world, that she got on a Boxing Day sale, that the last one in her size, and it was 75% off…
… Which, coincidentally, also answered my question about books containing boring stories.
I asked the librarian for books about compassion. She said she understood and was here for me.
I asked the librarian for books about charity. She handed me a $20 bill, some woolly socks and a hot meal.
I asked the librarian for books about client service. After handing me a stack of books, she asked if I was pleased with the service she provided, if I could please fill out a short survey for a chance to win a $100 gift card, to please cone again and to have a lovely day.

Did you enjoy this post? If you haven’t already, please check out the rest of my blog at andrebegin.blog. From there, you can click on the “Follow” button to receive future posts directly in your inbox.
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Sincere thanks for reading!
Have a great day,
André

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The Writers’ Olympics

I don’t think I am different from other writers. My mind can sometimes wander between paragraphs.

As I tossed a crumpled piece of paper in the wastebasket across the room, I cheered to myself, arms in the air, “Two points!”

But even though writing isn’t much of a spectator sport, I started daydreaming about what other sporting events could form part of an Olympic-level game for writers of all backgrounds.

The opening ceremonies would begin with poets, writers, editors, screenwriters, proofreaders and translators entering the arena, smiling and waving to a cheering crowd of spectators with an appreciation for the written word.

The athletes would gather on the field, in the centre of the arena, behind their national flags, taking care not to drop their notepads and laptop computers as they capture their thoughts on this momentous occasion.

The judges then enter the arena and gather by a symbolic pedestal of reference books, to take the oath to officiate with complete impartiality and to uphold the principles of good grammar and spelling.

Oprah Winfrey, the queen of book clubs around the world, would declare the games officially open with an enthusiastic, “Le-e-et the ga-a-ames be-e-egi-i-i-n!” Continue reading

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When Money Talks

Shopping CartsIt was a quiet Friday night at the grocery store, picking up the essentials for the week ahead, when I spotted it on the floor, peeping out from behind the rack of discounted fruit. A five dollar bill!

As human nature would suggest, I took a look around, as if somehow the link between this five dollar bill and anyone in the store would be immediately obvious. The store was a ghost town. There was almost no one to be found.

I took another look around, this time to see if anyone else saw it. Clearly there was no risk of anyone swooping in to collect it.

Normally, when it comes to picking up a coin off a sidewalk, I wouldn’t think twice or look twice to locate an owner. I would just do it. But this case seemed different. Maybe it was because it was private property. But what hit me the strongest was the fact that it was five dollars, not five cents.

As these thoughts were blazing through my mind and the ensuing analysis of whether to pick it up or not, I’m not sure if the fumes from my recent oven cleaning had anything to do with it, but I could have sworn the five dollar bill said “Psst… Psst… André! Not meant for you!”

I took another look around to see if anyone else heard that, but again, the nearest customers were either squeezing the Charmin or inquiring about whether they stocked Grey Poupon. I looked down again and considered what the five dollar bill was saying. Continue reading

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