We are Southern writers with a strong sense of regional heritage who laugh at our own shortcomings and make diversity into an asset. We are proud of our turnip greens, cornbread and rural past, but recognize football, country music, and car racing as activities of a new South.

We would also like to go on record as the humorist group with the most couches on the front porch and the greatest number of junk cars rusting in the backyard.

We welcome any Southern humorist, comedy author, funny writer, or cartoonist who creates humor of any sort, or aspires to do so, to join our newsgroup and become a part of the comedy organization that sponsors our official Southern Humorists website.

We welcome true southerners, former southerners, transplanted southerners - and even danged Yankees, as long as you know that you will be the one who talks with a funny accent and that you're treading on our sacred Southern soil here.

And Now.... Here is a sample of the kind of writing we do...

_____________________________

They're everywhere, even in church  By W. Mark Berryman

Comedian Jeff Foxworthy has made an entire career off of “you might be a redneck” jokes. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining and I don’t begrudge him a bit. Some of them are down-right funny, if not a little too accurate.

While Foxworthy may have the corner on the “regular” redneck market, it appears to me there are “rednecks” (so to speak) everywhere you look. Take church for example. Churches are filled with what I like to call “Christian rednecks.”

 

 

The Seven Dwarfs Syndrome  By Ren Summerlin

For some people it starts in different ways.

For me it is nearly always the same. Itchy . My throat gets itchy. Then a little scratchy. Next is runny. Nose that is. Followed by stuffy. This is followed by some decongestant. Hopefully this will ward off what is sure to come.

 

 

The Barbecue Joint  By Sheila Moss

It was getting close to lunch time. "Should we eat first or should we find the party place first and then eat?" We decided it would probably be better to find where we were going first and then eat real food or fast food depending on how much time was left.

 

 

Hissy Fit  By Molly Dugger Brennan

As a public service, I will translate and categorize the uniquely Southern temper tantrum known as the "hissy fit." The hissy fit is a tool used almost exclusively by women and toddlers to beat their friends, family, and the unwitting public into coughing up whatever the fit thrower desires; be it a trinket, a change in behavior or environment, or a different alignment of planets.

Summer Time Without the Blues  By Jody Worsham

Many parents dread summer, not because of the heat so much as having the children underfoot for three loooong months. In a humanitarian effort to help these struggling parents and children, I am providing three activities to keep your children out of your hair, out of the living room, and out of the police report.

 

 

 

Spring Fever  By Tempa Daniels Fleming

Ah, Spring is in the air. Personally, I am mowing, uh I mean, moving toward the warmer seasons. Green is no longer flying out of my wallet to pay gas infused heating bills. Instead, I see it budding in the trees. My heart races with sunny enthusiasm and my voice rises higher to new pollen-allergy-induced heights. 

However, apparently during these warmer months this is the sound my husband has resonating in his thoughts, "Gentlemen start your engines!" 

 

 

The Shot  By Ike Martin

I just shot a man. It was purely accidental and I attribute it to my old age. I really have a problem and I have tried to ignore it, but hitting a man with a projectile. That’s hard to ignore. This madness can’t go on. I could have killed him. Hopefully, I didn’t. I realized I had a slight problem five years ago, but it is growing. In fact that’s the problem. It’s getting too big.

 

HTML Smarts By Wanda M. Argersinger

I used to be smart but that was at least 20 years ago and 9 gazillion brain cells ago. It was also two or three jobs ago, fourteen trips ago and at least twelve vaccinations, three grandchildren and two or three jobs ago. Forgive me if I’ve repeated myself. I used to be smart.

 

 

The Big Winner  By Ben Baker

Like a goodly number of you when the lottery recently hit $650 million, I bought a ticket.

Unlike nearly all of you, I won. Yes. Really. I am not kidding.

I nearly panicked too. After checking and rechecking my numbers to make sure I’d won (I did), I tried to decide what to do next. Crawling under my desk, while appealing, wouldn’t solve anything. Besides which, I do that even when I don’t buy lottery tickets.

 

Daylight Savings Cometh  By Marti Lawrence

In the beginning, God created the heaven and the earth, and it was good. (Not great, because the Internet hadn’t been invented yet ).

Then came beasts and mankind and one begot another and another (hopefully not with each other). The earth became populated, mankind made many advancements, and the Mayans told us this will be our last year on earth...

 

Politicians – The Mutants in Darwin’s Theory  By Rose Valenta

Uncle Harry came over for breakfast this morning. I was making corn fritters with maple syrup and the aroma traveled across our water-logged backyard into his bathroom, while he was getting a load off his mind.

He is not supposed to eat corn. The doctor told him that he has diverticulitis; he can’t digest American politics either, but Harry never listens to anyone.

 

 

Dirt Fairy  By Sharon D. Dillon 

Sometime in the past few days the dirt fairy visited my house. A dirt fairy is a little like Tinkerbell, but instead of visiting Neverland he or she visits good boys and girls when they are not home and fills their planter boxes full of nice rich soil.

What motivates a dirt fairy?  This was a mystery to be resolved. But where to start?

 

 

The Good, the Bad and the Naughty!  By Bobbi A. Chukran

I have a new nemesis---dastardly denizens that skulk, slither and slide under my bushes, up the branches of my boxwood and procreate prolifically in my new garden.

Here's a clue---crunch, crunch, crunch. That's the sound they make when I walk across my lawn early in the morning.

Snails! They are everywhere---millions of them! 

 

 

Okra Is For Lovers  By Cappy Hall Rearick

I had been engaged for less than a month when I took my fiancée home to meet my family. It was a textbook example of what a Pennsylvania Yankee should not do when meeting his soon-to-be Southern relatives. It’s funny now but when it was happening? Not so much.

After sitting down to the mid-day meal at Mama’s house, the token Yankee had the gall to bad-mouth okra. He might just as well have peed on Robert E. Lee’s grave.

 

I started the day bouncing around my hotel room on one foot, so guests in the room beneath may have wondered if I’d packed a pogo stick. Jet-lagged and stumbling, I careened into the desk chair that stood between me and the coffee maker. As I hopped madly up and down, I yelled names, not very nice names, names I’ve privately called editors who’ve rejected my work.