Young Writers Society

I read some jokes earlier which I put into here. It's just a random 10 minute work. It's funny though, in my opinion, please read it.

An Unbelievable Conversation

By Elizabeth Mathers

“Are you the man that performed an autopsy on my Aunt Cathy?” asked a thin man in a black suit. He walked up to a man in a white coat with a surgical mask on his face.

“Yes sir.”

“Was she alive when you did this?”

The man in the white coat turned and began to walk to the other end of the room. The man in the black suit ran up to him.

“Sorry, I didn’t introduce myself, I am Cathy Gannet’s nephew, Randy Gannet, I heard that she died last night and was brought here,” hastily said the man in the black suit.

“Indeed? I’m Harold Johnston; I own this cozy little death hole. Somebody did ring up last night, around 7 o’clock, saying that they had arrived to find Cathy dead in her sleep.

“Oh, how horrid! Did they say who they were?”

“No sir.”

“Well did Cathy know who they were?”

There was a long pause.

“No sir.”

“So they just barged into her house, found her and then called the police and you?”

“Possibly.”

“Those sick freaks! On the phone, could you tell if it was a man or a woman?”

“It was a man.”

“Did he come by to see you or anything?”

“Yes sir, as a matter of fact, he did.” Harold removed his surgical mask to show a busy brunette mustache.

“Oh, what did they look like?”

“They had graying reddish hair, a bandage on his right cheek and a beard.”

“Was it a man or a woman?” asked Randy.

Another long pause.

“Sir, did you drink a lot of paint when you were little?”

“Ha ha! Why?”

“I was just curious sir.”

“How did she die?”

“Died in her sleep. No traces of alcohol abuse, drug use, a heart attack, stab marks, or anything like that. Peaceful sleeping death.”

“Why didn’t anybody wake her up?”

“Sir, honestly now, why did you come here this afternoon?”

“I wanted to see her, before her funeral.”

Harold smiled at this and unclenched his fist.

“Of course sir, how rude of me for not asking sooner. Follow me.”

“Oh no, I’d prefer if you brought her to me,” Randy cleared his throat.

“Why? I can’t be expected to drag that coffin in here! The wake isn’t till tomorrow we mustn’t disturb the coffin,” Harold explained.

“Well wake her up earlier, we must discuss funeral arrangements.”

That, was the last that anybody ever heard from Randy Gannet.

All proceeded comments will be converted into brain cells and donated to Harold Johnston. The More the Marrier!