Tuesday, December 19, 2017


(Mr. Tudball, with Swedish accent) “Mrs. Ah-huh Wiggins, would you please come into my office and bring your steno pad. Mrs. Wiggins, I can’t hear you!!!! You keep forgetting to press the intercom button. It’s the red button on the intercom, how many times do I have to go over this with you.”

He mumbles to himself “My Gut, how did I ever hire this stupid woman?”

(Wiggins) “Okay Mr. Tudball, don’t let yourself get into a thither, I’ll be right there.  But I have to tell you I have to leave early to do some Christmas shopping.”

As she sits in his office checking out her nail polish, the phone rings and rings.

“Well Mrs. Ah-huh Wiggins are you going to answer the phone?  Never mind, I can see your mind is somewhere else.” (He mumbles something under his breath.)

“Hello, no I’m not ready to give an interview” (And slams down the phone). Are you ready Mrs. Wiggins for my dictation, where the hell is your note pad. Your sitting on it, right?”

Accusations update:    

It has come to the attention of the local media and Tudball Corporation executive board that three former secretaries have come forth with allegations of sexual harassment while working under Mr.Tudball employment. Of course, Mr. Tudball adamantly denies all these accusations. He tells the media, that they are trumped up charges as part of a hostile takeover of his company and to replace him.

They ask the two women and one man, why after twenty to twenty-five years they are now coming forward with these accusations. Their lawyer spokesman said, “It’s the feeling of my clients, since both Hollywood and political representative are now under scrutiny for these predatory misconduct, they feel Mr. Tudball being a very successful entrepreneur should face the same consequences and pay for these past misconducts. They all claimed mental anguishes with years of professional therapy required to overcome the sexual abuse.”

One woman said twenty years ago Mr. Tudball was once a spitting image of Gary Grant, (Really?) in the way he dressed and the slick way of talking me right out of my clothes. One time he even threatened to jump from his seventh story window unless I agreed to go on a weekend trip with him. When he was on the outside window ledge, she locked the window and quit.

The Second woman accuser, said twenty-five years ago, he looked like Gary Cooper (Really?) and that he insisted she sit on his lap while taking dictation. He was very international with Russian hands and Roman fingers. He had a foot fetish and thought my big toes were the most beautiful part of my body.  

The third individual, a man, accused Tudball of a 3-1/2-year relationship with him. He said Tudball had a seven-year itch in only 3-1/2 years and left him stranded and heart broken. He constantly flaunted, in front of me, the beautiful women in our office to make me jealous. I was never good enough for him or as his secretary.
Tudball dictates his resignation letter to the board of directors and Mrs. Wiggins returns to his office for his signature, sits down and starts buffing her nails.

(Tudball) “Mrs. Ah-huh Wiggins, I’m sorry you’re going to be losing your job today, so I am going to make a confession to you, but you must keep this as our secret between us.  (Thinking she is not too smart to begin with.)   Promise?”

“I promise!”

Twenty-five years ago, I became an agent for the Swedish government when they purchased Tudball and associates. I was recruited as an agent; my mission was to funnel funds into this country to influence the American Elections. We contributed millions and sometimes billions of dollars from both Russian and European countries to influence the election outcomes and in some cases, pay for play activities. Most of the American elections with negative ads and political contributions, we accomplished our goals.  Tonight, Mrs. Tudball and I are leaving for Stockholm to enjoy our retirement days in luxury funded by the Swedish government.”

“Not so fast Mr. Tudball, let me introduce myself, I’m FBI agent Donald Wiggins. I’m really a man posing as your secretary and an undercover agent. Our government finally uncovered the Tudball Swedish conspiracy, but we needed proof. That’s where I came in.   Now, Mr. Tudball, your entire confession is on tape. You’re under arrest as an agent of a foreign country to influence the American elections.”

“Your next stop Mr. Tudball is to meet our special prosecutor. We already made reservations for you at our nearest federal prison of our choice.”

Copyright 2017 Summerlin’s Writers and Poets Workshop – Las 
Vegas, NV.


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Saturday, November 4, 2017

"HOW THE WEST WAS WON" (Comedy Series) By Mort Harris


      The year was 1848. The American West teamed with hostile Indians. As more settlers moved out West, terror attacks became more frequent. The terrorists would attack wagon trains and burn down ranch houses. The President, in desperation called upon Stephen Gold, the Secretary of State.

      "We have a serious problem with terrorism in this country" said the President. "The Indians are attacking us indiscriminately. We have information that they are stealing herds of woman raping our cattle."

     "Sir" asked Gold, "could the report be in error?"

     "Never" thundered the President. "Our intelligence is indisputable, worse than that, the Indians have resorted to suicide knifing." 

     Gold was shocked, "Suicide knifing?"

     "Yes" said the President. "Terrorists are attacking saloons, they knife a few people and then stab themselves to death."

     "Insane fanatics," said Gold.

     "What's wrong with those Indians?"  questioned the President. "Haven't we been generous with them?"

     "I think that they are a little upset about us being on their land and slaughtering their Buffalo." said Gold.

    "Nonsense." the President answered. "It's those wild extremists, the Redskin Supremacists." He grabbed Gold by the shoulders, "Gold, you are and expert on the far West. I need you to go and check out the tribes. We have received reports that they are preparing for more attacks. More importantly, it is rumored that they are compiling arrows of mass destruction."

     Gold asked, "Have you intercepted any vital messages between the tribes?"

     "Only one, when we broke their smoke signal code."

     "What did it say?"

     "Yankee go home" reported the President. " Those inconsiderate heathens."

    "Ungrateful savages" echoed Gold.

    The President  slammed his fist against his desk. "We have got to have more rigid immigration laws. The Indian act as if it were their land." Gold nodded in agreement. 

     "One more thing Gold, when you're out West find out what we can do to lure more settlers out there. I'll send a large army with you as a peace measure, of course."

     Months later, after Gold's futile search for arrows of mass destruction, he wrote to the President.

             Dear Mr. President,

                  I picked up some pretty trinkets and a great buy on a blanket. We had a pow-wow and I found the tribes were not open to our kind of democracy. They want to thank you for the gifts of whiskey.
                  Stephen (One Braid) Gold

     Toward the end of his trip, Gold found himself in Sutter's Mill, California. As he crossed  the muddy street he was struck by a speeding stagecoach. People gathered around his injured body.

     "Who is that?" they asked.

     "That's Gold" was the answer.
     "What happened to him?" another queried.
     "He was struck by a stagecoach" was the answer.
     Word started spreading through the town. "They struck gold."
    "Sutter's Mill."

      The Pony Express spread the news all the way to Missouri. "They struck gold in California."

      The excitement spread by telegraph to Philadelphia, New York,

and Boston. Thousands of people stampeded out west to seek their fortune.

     Upon his return, Gold was met by the President in the Oval Office. Gold was swathed in bandages, leaning on a crutch with splints on his arms and legs. The President pinned a medal on the cast that covered Gold's chest. Gold tried to salute, but the pain was too intense.  As the President heaped praises on Gold, he said, "You have exceeded my expectations. You not only pacified the Indians with whiskey, you found an ingenious way to get our people to go  West. 

     "Sir, the people of this nation are lucky to have a man such as you as President."

     "I know" he continued, "I sent my best General and more troops to suppress the Indian uprising."

     Months later, General Custer stood proudly on a hill top waving the flag of the 27th Cavalry and shouted for all to hear,  "I will stop those Indians if it's the last thing I do."


Copyright 2017 Summerlin's Writers and Poets Workshop - Las Vegas, NV.

Our author Mort Harris
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Thursday, October 26, 2017


Local television station KLZ is desperate to cover all the wild fires in the Los Angeles area. They assign Rickles, the local traffic announcer, to fill in as a temporary field interviewer. This could be Don’s opportunity of his career to move up the ladder as a field reporter.

(“Let’s see how he does.”)

(The scene is burnt-out homes and some fires that continue to linger in this residential area. Almost everyone has evacuated, a few stragglers stayed and tried to save their homes with garden hoses.)
“Hey you numnuts camera man, what the hells’ taking you so long, where did they recruit you from the local camera club?”

“My names Charlie, I appreciate you address me so.”

“Okay numnuts Charlie, let’s get this on the road. You know it’s a great opportunity for the both of us. Kid this is no joke, wake up kid and smell that smoke -wait a minute that familiar smoke is coming from you and what you’re smoking? Just hold that camera straight, well you please. No, I don’t want a joint."

“I think you need one, it will calm you down.”

“No, you imbecile, I prefer to drink myself to oblivion like normal people.”

“Where the hell did that audio nitwit disappear too? Where did they get him from, they probably dredged the bottom tank at the audio school of nitwits?”

(Broadcast from fire site)           

 “On The Air”

“Yes, Bob we’re here at the corner of Jefferson and Flamingo Drive and we have just been updated by the fire fighters, who have  been fighting this terrible fire storm where almost 45 homes have been lost in just this area of town. A few locals stayed on to try to fight the fires with garden hoses, but the fire line moved too fast for our professional to stop. We are attempting to locate one of these individuals.”

“Wait one minute, my camera man is signaling me to my right, it seems like we found a survivor crawling from under the rubble. My God I think we are under attack from a zombie apocalypse, someone get me a cross or stake, I forgot which one works with zombies. Wait he looks okay, I think we’re safe.”

“What’s your name, why do you have all this jewelry hanging out of your pockets, what are you robbing these houses, you smuck, someone call the police.”

“Wait mister, I can’t remember anything. I think I went back to my house to try to save my wife’s jewelry, but I’m not sure. I do remember that my name is Rex.”

“Here Rex, here Rex, I’ll get you a saddle. Okay Rex, tell me about your experience with returning to your home.”

“Well I was in this house (I think it was my house) trying to gather up all our valuables, when all kind of flashing white light were coming in from the front windows. Thinking it was the cops, I opened the front door with my hands up, to make sure they didn’t shoot me. To my surprise it was two alien grays grabbing me by my arms and helping me escape the fire storm into their ship. The next thing I remember was waking up in the rubble and seeing you.”

“Well, Bob, you heard the account from my only witness and of course this will end my career as a reported. I will always be known as the reporter on the Zombie Apocalypse meets the alien’s abduction, with a butthead named Rex robbing abandon homes on Flamingo Drive. “

"I know this looks like Looney Tunes, but this is all I have for now, signing off, I’m Traffic Officer Rickles from KLZ."

Copyright 2017 Summerlin’s Writers and Poets Workshop. – Las Vegas, NV.

Author’s Note: My condolences to victims of the California wild fires and their families. My Essence of sitcom comedy writing is not to make light of these tragedies, but to bring to the attention of our world-wide readers of these tragedies and especially  low-life’s like Rex who take advantage of situations like this, for their own gain. 

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