Well, I said I would share the joy of these after Christmas.
My personal fave is the one about the butter, which looks like the writer's first language was not English.
What is it about crackers? It's like a forced attempt for the British to be "jolly". We have to sit there looking morose with a "mad" paper hat at a jaunty angle and tell some jokes that are a million miles away from the British sense of humour, as though a bit of ironic bantering of our neighbours at the dinner table were not an acceptable way of enjoying ourselves. Weird.
Welcome to The Pygmy Giant. Make yourself at home. You might think of this as an e-magazine, a Forum, a poetry slam, or a sticky table in the corner of a dingy pub.
Whichever you prefer, this is a place for British flash fiction, non-fiction, poetry, and pretty much anything else under 800 words. Giant works of literature in their concise clothing.
Why just British stuff? Because flash fiction on the web is dominated by our American cousins, and while that's not a terrible thing, we'd like to hear some of the small and powerful voices of Blighty. So read, enjoy, leave some (polite) feedback for the writers, and send us your stuff!
1 comment:
Well, I said I would share the joy of these after Christmas.
My personal fave is the one about the butter, which looks like the writer's first language was not English.
What is it about crackers? It's like a forced attempt for the British to be "jolly". We have to sit there looking morose with a "mad" paper hat at a jaunty angle and tell some jokes that are a million miles away from the British sense of humour, as though a bit of ironic bantering of our neighbours at the dinner table were not an acceptable way of enjoying ourselves. Weird.
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