WHAT MADE YOU LAUGH?
TELL US! - 20 WRITERS TELL THE STORY
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Harinath👍✨ — The Carnival Confusion
What made me laugh? The moment I realized how absurdly human panic can be. It was one of those perfect evenings — music, lights, food, and laughter. My wife, her friend, and I were at a carnival, lost in the rhythm of the night. Instinctively, I reached out, grabbed my wife’s hand, and started navigating through the sea of people — or so I believed. Only near the exit did I realize I’d been heroically rescuing her friend the whole time, while my wife was still somewhere inside, happily swaying to the music. My heart stopped. I rushed back in, found her, and somehow managed to pull her out too — half sweating, half praying she hadn’t seen my blunder. But of course, she had. Just when I began stammering my apology, both of them burst into laughter. Turns out, it was all part of a prank! The panic melted into laughter, and that absurd mix of embarrassment and relief became the funniest memory of the night. Even today, my wife jokes, “Someday you’ll really run away holding the wrong hand.” And every time she says it, I still laugh — equally amused and embarrassed.
AN ORIGINAL © HARINATH B. @ 2025
Caitlin McColl — Getting old
Ah, getting older.
It’s this bizarre mix of feeling wiser, calmer, and somehow more breakable than a dollar-store wine glass. My husband is eleven years older than me (I’m mid-40s), which means I get an early preview of the wild ride ahead.
Take, for instance, the time I made homemade kale chips—those delicate, paper-thin snacks that practically dissolve in your mouth. You’d think it would be almost impossible to not crush them by accident. Yet somehow, my husband managed to break a tooth on one. A kale chip! How?? Physics refuses to explain. Another time he bent down to put a DVD into our DVD player (yes, we still have one!) and came back up holding his back like he’d just completed a CrossFit challenge. I asked, “What happened?” and through gritted teeth and a scream, he explained how his back had betrayed him.
We laughed—after I stopped panicking that he needed a chiropractor (or emergency dentist)—and realized this is the new reality. Your body becomes a drama queen with a flair for surprise plot twists. Getting old isn’t for the faint of heart, but at least it keeps the comedy alive.
AN ORIGINAL © CAITLIN McCOLL @ 2025
Gary L Taylor — Just yesterday
Just yesterday,
I, a 43 year-old man, had real issues opening a store-bought crème caramel in plastic packaging.
Standing, trying to release it into a bowl, I gently squeezed the plastic container, after removing the label from the bottom. It seemed to be stuck, so I applied more pressure. Again nothing. This time I squeezed harder.
Hard enough for the caramel liquid inside to spurt out of the end facing me and hit me on the chin. The dessert was still not exiting its plastic home though, so more pressure was needed as I pinched both sides of the carton with even more strength and force. More liquid caramel then exploded through the end of the carton, covering me in it. At this point, I realized I didn’t need to add any more pressure to get the crème caramel from carton to bowl.
I just needed to remove the lid.
Surprisingly, once I did this, it gently slid into the bowl, though all the previous pressure had effectively just left me with a pile of mush....and a face full of caramel. I didn’t stop laughing for some time afterwards.
AN ORIGINAL © GARY L. TAYLOR @ 2025
Mark Farley — He said
Ipswich, Newcastle and England footballer - having a laugh …. Standing behind this guy at a cash machine, (supermarket) Ipswich, The wind blew, £20 notes every where … I helped round up the paper money … Recognizing the well known local footballer, as I helped … All monies safely returned … He said - “can I give you my autograph” … I said - “that becomes embarrassing, because I would then have to give you mine” … He said - “I thought I recognized you, and gave me a hug” and walked over to his Bentley ….
AN ORIGINAL © MARK FARLEY @ 2025
Robin Ghosh — The Great Bag Mixed Up
Last night at my brother-in-law’s birthday party, he reminded me to tell everyone my bizarre travellers' story. Although the incident was embarrassing, with a little nudge from my brother-in-law, I was encouraged to tell my story to connect with everyone present. The Great Mixed-Up My story begins on a crisp morning at the Kuala Lumpur International Airport as my wife, and I prepare to depart on our separate journeys. We both had spent ten beautiful days exploring the lively streets of Kuala Lumpur, indulging in local food, and immersing ourselves in Malaysia’s rich multi-culture. Amidst the flurry of people at the airport, we shared our heartfelt goodbyes with relatives and friends. My wife went to her check-in counter with her carry-on bag and suitcase, while I went to my check-in counter at the far end of the airport.
© ROBIN GHOSH @ 2025 (ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED ON BOUNCIN' AND BEHAVIN' BLOGS)
Charisse Joy Melegrito — This morning
I overheard a conversation this morning.
They’re practicing interview questions.
“You saw your boss doing a crime, what will you do?”
Without overthinking, she replied:
“I’ll shoot him so I can’t see him anymore. As doctors say, prevention is better than cure!”
“You’ll get +100 points in heaven for that!”
Made me snicker.
What did I just wake up to?
AN ORIGINAL © CHARISSE JOY MELEGRITO @ 2025
Rebecca Landman — We Laughed to Death
One of the last big belly laughs I had with my Bubbie was about something truly grim. She kept forgetting that she was back in the hospital. Her medicine hadn’t been quite right, and now her brain was playing tricks.
Rebecca, go change my oxygen in the den, she commanded me from the chair in the corner of her hospital room.
Where’s that? I teased her. She looked at me like I was crazy, then whipped around only to find wall where there should have been hallway. She turned back to me, no fear, just hysterical laughter.
I’m not at home, am I? It so wasn’t funny, but we laughed so hard. One of those her-laugh-made-me-laugh contagions. Gasping for air about oxygen no less!
I still don’t really know why we found this particular moment in her human body’s demise so delightfully absurd, but I’m not itching for a deeper explanation. This memory surfaces for me whenever I need to take life less seriously. That moment was pure life, near death. We kept laughing as much as we could with the few more weeks of life she had left.
AN ORIGINAL © REBECCA LANDMAN @ 2025
Janet Ridsdale — Peed our pants
Through all of life’s joys and tragedies my faith and sense of humour are what have kept me grounded and sane. There have been many deep belly laughs through the absurdities of my life.
One that stands out is years ago when my friend and I decided to try belly dancing. Neither of us had ever done it before and life was very challenging at the time. There we stood in our belly dancing outfits facing a mirror. As the music started and the instructor began to speak, I could barely keep a straight face. We loved it and after class we laughed so hard we almost peed our pants.
😂 😂
We immersed ourselves into that course and it was so healing 
AN ORIGINAL © JANET RIDSDALE @ 2025
KaZ In The World — Two People
I am one of those people who find the joy and laughter in strange happenstance. In the faux pas. In that which may have caused embarrassment in the past, but today, it sparks laughter. It shows me I am able to shake it off, love my whole self, leave the judgmental eye of others behind. Imagine a car: It looks exactly like yours. It is parked in the area you parked. You open the door, jump in, sit down and grab the seat belt. Speak words and the words back are not the voice you know. “Hello”. “Oh my goodness, hello! This is not my car. BUT it IS my car. You are not my husband.’ “I am not.” Then a brief pause. Can you imagine? Two people brought together by a mistake. Neither concerned nor alarmed. Uproarious laughter from us both. Two women brought together for the briefest of moments. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I am pleased I did not alarm you. What are the chances?” “The chances are slim. You seem nice.” “As do you. Aren’t we so very lucky?” Now we have a story to tell with a happy ending.” How two people meet.
AN ORIGINAL © KAZ IN THE WORLD @ 2025
Jemima — “Yes” I shouted
It was the kind of thick, restless heat that made the air uneasy. The scorching sun burned my forehead, forcing a tired “Ugh!” out of me. I couldn’t refuse my mother—she’d done countless things for me—so I stood by the roadside, waiting to take some items down to her shop. Something about the area felt off, though. It was as if sharp, watchful eyes were fixed on me. I tried to ignore the feeling and waved down a bike man. He actually looked quite presentable—not that I was judging all riders, this one just seemed different. We were halfway through the journey when his phone rang. Normally, I wouldn’t eavesdrop, but it quickly became my business when he shouted, “Madam! Madam! The man wey dey where I pick you say make I ask for your number.” (The man who was at the place where I picked you up asked me to collect your phone number.) I was stunned. It was both hilarious and ridiculous! The staring man was the culprit? What happened to the good old “Hello, my name is James Beaufort and I couldn’t help but notice you”? “Abeg, make I come down first, oga. This breeze too much,” was my lame attempt to buy time until we reached my stop. (Please, let me get down first, sir. The wind is too much.) When we finally stopped, I paid him and stepped down, still amused by the absurdity. Though I found the moment funny, I knew I had to be careful. I smiled, thanked him, and walked away—without giving the number. I probably would have, if he did this himself.
AN ORIGINAL © JEMIMA @ 2025
Humble Human — Rainbow warzone
Back then, my brother and I decided to go all out for Holi. Our house was getting painted, so buckets of fresh paint were lying around everywhere. We’d run out of actual Holi colors, and the neighbors were dominating the street fight, drenching us left and right. Desperate and mischievous, we thought, “Why not use the paint from home?” It sounded genius in our kid brains! We grabbed the buckets – bright reds, blues, and yellows – and unleashed them on the unsuspecting neighbors. Splashes everywhere! It was chaotic, dramatic, and honestly dangerous (paint isn’t exactly skin-friendly, and it could’ve been a disaster, maybe even lethal if it got in eyes or worse). The street turned into a rainbow warzone. When Dad found out, chaos ensued. He didn’t say a word to my little brother but gave me (the big bro) a solid thrashing! Even today, faint stains of that paint linger on the road outside our house. Whenever we pass by, my neighbor (now a friend) and I burst out laughing about it. No hard feelings – just pure, ridiculous joy that lives rent-free in my head. Can’t wait to laugh together this Saturday! 💛
AN ORIGINAL © HUMBLE HUMAN @ 2025
Janin Lyndovsky — In this outfit!
Most people would probably find this annoying, but it made me laugh out loud. It was early Tuesday morning, and I was running late for my long drive to the city. Dressed neatly in my black business pencil dress, I was almost ready to go. The doggies were staying home this time—George would come later to look after them. I just needed to let them out for their morning business. A couple of minutes later, Cindy, the little one, was jumping excitedly around the car, while Buddy, my border collie, had vanished. That’s when I realized I’d forgotten to close one of the car doors. Sure enough, Buddy was inside, sitting stiff with his tail tucked under, pretending he didn’t see me—clearly worried I was about to pull him out. When I reached for him, he turned into an eel—slipping through my hands, climbing over my freshly pressed business outfit hanging on the car door, and making a complete mess. I finally got him out, only for him to dive straight under the car. “Buddy,” I said, half laughing, “I’m not crawling under the car in this outfit!” He stared back, pretending to ignore me. I couldn’t help it—I laughed all the way to work.
AN ORIGINAL © JANIN LYNDOVSKY @ 2025
Mark Willis — A stupid lid
The first time I laughed so hard I cried after getting out was over a jar of pickles.
Simple as that. I was standing in the kitchen, fresh out, free for about a week, and I couldn’t open the damn lid. I’d survived the Dungeon, the courts, the cuffs, and somehow, this little green jar had me ready to throw hands.
Heather walked in, didn’t say a word, tapped the lid on the counter, twisted once, and it popped open easy. I lost it.
Like ugly-laughing lost it. The kind where you can’t stop, your chest hurts, and you’re half laughing, half grieving everything you held too tight for too long.
That jar broke something open.
It wasn’t about pickles — it was about freedom being ridiculous sometimes. How the hardest things finally end, and what stops you next is just…a stubborn lid.
AN ORIGINAL © MARK WILLIS @ 2025
Jeannie Ewing — In laughter
My husband Ben and I visited good friends Terry and Darlene in Tennessee this past June. While there, I noticed this exotic plant in their backyard with large, waxy fronds and asked Terry about it. He said, “Oh, that’s a castor plant Darlene had in our basement, growing all winter. She just planted it outside a couple of weeks ago. It’s not native to here, of course, but her friend who’s from Jamaica taught her how to cultivate it from a seed, and she’s very proud of it.” “Will it survive the winter here?” I asked. He shrugged. “Probably not.” “Then what is Darlene planning to do with it?” Terry deadpanned, without blinking an eye as he breezed past me, “These are the questions that vex men’s souls.” Ben and I doubled over in laughter. Now anytime something happens that men claim they don’t understand about women, Ben and I tend to say in unison, “These are the questions that vex men’s souls.”
AN ORIGINAL © JEANNIE EWING @ 2025
Jen Duchene — He twinkles…
Nov 2024 Cliffs of Moher, Ireland My retreat sisters and I walk to the intriguing sounding Rock Shop. Past the field where the donkey I have named Ferdinand nibbles clover. No braying today! Having been exposed to things that have blown me wide open, I need this grounding. A van appears around the bend on the narrow road, and we all move to make room. It makes a beeline for me, and stops. The driver turns to me as if he knows me well, time shimmers and stretches between us. I feel as if I know him too, old friends passing . He twinkles as he says “All you need is a good coat” And we both laugh. Even though the wind is blowing and the rain is dripping, I am aware he is delivering a message from my Akashic Guides to carry me through my new unknown. Twinkle man drives off as the women clamor around me, buzzing about how the driver was heading straight to me. Yes, he was. I laugh, holding this truth in me, knowing whatever the upcoming energetic storms bring, all I need is a good coat. I still can’t stop laughing at this hilarious delivery.
AN ORIGINAL © JEN DUCHENE @ 2025
Liam Randall — “Oh my God!”
We sat at the breakfast table with our morning French Roast.
My love had an eyepatch from her first laser surgery for the cataracts that had been darkening her vision; it was time to remove it. Leslie, of the huckleberry eyes and the cocoa skin, blood of Native warriors coursing through her veins, was about to see clearly again, even if for now only through the one eye. I, with the good fortune to be her life partner, in eager anticipation.
This story ends with a haiku, because I’ve been writing them since January 2021, a few weeks before she gained her wings. The memory is one of the joys of my long life, and is, well, poetic.
Cataract lasered,
eyepatch off. First glance at me:
“Oh my God. You’re white!”
AN ORIGINAL © LIAM RANDALL @ 2025
Cecilia Winter — The Coffee Funeral
I still remember the day I quit coffee like it was a breakup with someone who actually texted back. Standing in my kitchen, clutching the mug like it was about to ghost me. The smell hit different, dark, rich, way too committed. My nervous system begged: “Just one more cup.” My therapist’s voice in my head: “This relationship is toxic.” So I dumped it. Literally. Poured that bad boy straight down the drain like I was in a Netflix drama. I swear I heard violins. My hands shook, not from withdrawal, but from the betrayal. The next 72 hours? Chaos. My brain felt like a damp sponge left in the sink for weeks. My head pounded like an illegal rave. I ugly-cried into chamomile tea. It tasted like regret and lawn clippings. Then, plot twist, something changed. My heart remembered it wasn’t supposed to sound like a panicking hummingbird. My hands stopped shaking. I woke up one Tuesday and realized: I was free. Still, every time I pass a Starbucks and catch that roasted smell, I whisper: “Rest in beans, old friend.”
AN ORIGINAL © CECILIA WINTER @ 2025
Meditations On Permafrost — Chicken juice
A long time ago, when I was a young Meditations on Permafrost, I’d just moved into my first apartment. To celebrate, I was throwing a small party. I’d decided to roast a chicken. Unfortunately, I’d left it far too late to buy one. So after work, I sprinted to the shop, ran straight to the poultry aisle, grabbed a bird… and immediately gagged. The wrapper had split. Chicken juice. Everywhere. On me, on the other chickens, on the shelf, biblical levels of contamination. I ran to the checkout, hands dripping, and asked for something to wash with. They stared at me and said, “We don’t have a toilet.” I said, “Surely you have a staff one?” They conferred, then told me they did, but I couldn’t use it because it was a health and safety risk. I might slip. They weren’t insured. I asked for tissue. They said I’d have to buy it. Then, in a moment of mercy, someone brought me a pair of blue plastic gloves, which I had to put on over the chicken juice. I asked if they were at least going to get rid of the contaminated chickens. They said they couldn’t do anything until the cleaner arrived tomorrow. So I walked home, little blue gloves held up like a T-Rex. Sans chicken. Sans dignity. When I got back, one of my friends, a tall Austrian physics student working in finance and always early for everything, was waiting outside. He took one look at me, asked what had happened, heard the phrase “chicken juice,” and collapsed in laughter for about five minutes. Totally inconsolable. Then I did too 😂 Apparently “chicken juice” is much funnier in Austrian than in English. Hendlsaft.
AN ORIGINAL © MEDITATIONS ON PERMAFROST @ 2025
Ink & Heritage — Don't vanish, just laugh
I recently published "The Art of Evaporating," about the disappearing people in Japan. Life sometimes comes at you so hard that you’re at a loss about how to proceed, so you pack up and vanish. Two years ago, my sister and I did just that. Well, it turns out, your life is hard to shake off. We’re in Korea, at a Buddhist temple by the sea. It’s hot and humid but there’s a cool breeze making the prayer lamps and windchimes dance. The waves are breaking below us and all is serenity. “Man, I’m so glad I mopped the floors of the apartment before we came,” says my sister reflectively as she looks out to sea, looking all poetic and s**t. “You should put that on your epitaph,” I reply. We both burst out laughing right there in between the Buddha and the sea. We laugh so hard we’re crying and we have to keep it pushing before a monk gives us the stink eye. Later, in a cab, we sigh and smile. That banal act of mopping reminded us that escaping life isn’t necessary. We just have to remember that life is still good if you can laugh at it.
AN ORIGINAL © INK & HERITAGE @ 2025
Karl Anthony 🇨🇦 — Dawn run
The world is half-asleep when Piper and I step onto the trail, her paws whispering against the earth, my breath rising like incense in the chill air. The horizon blushes with hints of soft gold spilling through the trees, and for a moment, the forest feels like a cathedral built for two. She runs ahead, free and certain, a living prayer in motion. I follow, my heart finding rhythm with hers, feet beating time to something ancient and wordless. Each stride feels like a conversation with God, quiet, honest, unhurried. Mist clings low in the valley, curling around us like memory. Piper glances back. Her eyes are bright with that knowing joy only dogs possess, the kind that doesn’t need explanation. As the sun crests the ridge, light pours through the pines, catching her fur in fire. I stop running. I just stand there, grateful, breathless, and small, watching my dog chase the dawn like it was made just for her. And maybe it was.
AN ORIGINAL © KARL ANTHONY CA. @ 2025SATURDAY SOUNTRACK — A SPECIAL 🎶🎵
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PLANET RAL — ISSUE 15
THEME: FEELINGS
After a quiet orbit — we return.
Words burning. Emotions wild. Feelings rolling, unbound, unlocked. I want to talk. I want to express. I want to scream. I want to jump. Feelings. Feelings. Feelings. Send in one stanza of poetry. Nothing else. No rules. No structure. Just feeling — pure, honest, alive.
Feel.
Publication: Saturday, November 22nd, 2025
Theme: FEELINGS
Format: One stanza only
Honored to be featured alongside so many damn good storytellers. Laughter’s a strange kind of medicine, isn’t it? Big thanks to Planet Ral and everyone who shared a piece of their joy here. Felt good to be part of something that reminds us not everything has to hurt to matter.
Thanks for including me in that, Ral.
I'm enjoying (and laughing along with) the other contributions. It's a great piece and something like this is a great tonic to take us momentarily away from some of the more downbeat and gloomy things happening in the world right now.