Premier Writing Contests Since 2005!!  $$$ Thousands $$$ In Prize Money Given Out!!

HOME     PRIZES     JUDGING     CONTEST RULES     ENTRY FORM     ONLINE STORE

Congratulations to all Finalists in our April/May 2010 Humor Writing Contest!

(Listed alphabetically by author.)

Opinion Polls Show Americans No Longer Trust American Public Opinion
By Carlos Arnade, Virginia

Political analysts across the nation expressed alarm that a recent Neilsen poll has revealed that 69% of Americans do not trust American public opinion. Analysts also expressed concern that polls reveal that 57% of Americans no longer believe computer spellcheckers, medical warning labels, or the sentencing decisions of TV’s American Idol judges.

Combined, these recent poll numbers confirm that the American public holds itself in the lowest public standing since the Neilsen organization began polling.
Harold Frum of the White Flint institute explained:

“Polling data reveals that public trust in politicians, broadcast media figures, and executive bankers has declined every year since the first television news broadcast. Now, new data shows public distrust has spread to the point that most Americans don’t trust themselves, their pollsters, and even their own pet dog.

Dr. Frum explained further:

“The public distrust of itself may be a natural reaction to the fact that Americans see other Americans voting for politicians, watching TV commentators, and using the ATM machines of Wall Street banks. This leads them to look upon their fellow citizens with a skeptical disdain.

If these trends continue we may see a day when individual Americans do even not trust their own cell phones.”

Nielsen pollsters claim that the American public’s declining opinion of itself also stems from the public belief that politicians, bankers, and media personnel belong to American-raised, English-speaking families, that have done little to regulate their members’ work habits.

Dr. Harold Frum explained how unpopularity can spread to the public at large:

“There is plenty of blame to go around for the mess our public opinion is in.

For example, our survey respondents are convinced that MBA professors created greedy Wall Street bankers by putting extra credit ‘grading default swaps’ on graduate homework assignments “

Dr. Frum’s “special assistant”, Todd Racher explained further:

“Everyone knows politicians are people whose personalities, somehow, got stuck in the middle of somebody’s high school yearbook. So when the average person reads about the politicians they blame the high school teachers, their once-favorite cheerleader, and the dorky kids that tried to enforce the cafeteria rules.”

Todd Racher’s “regular assistant” explained ‘extra’ further:

“When it comes to the obnoxious, intrusive, reckless, attention grabbing members of the media: polls indicate that the public actually can imagine what these people’s parents are like. So the blame radiates back up the family tree.“

Analysts Disagree Over Polling Data

Analysts from Virginia’s Fair Oaks Research Institute posted their own interpretation of Neilsen’s data result on their website:

“Multivariate data analysis indicates that public opinion is ‘highly correlated’ with its own internal attitude. We think, what happens, is that people see the results of public opinion polls and come to believe:

‘those people out there are just complete idiots’.

Then, over time and in the aggregate, the “those people-out-there-are-idiots” message creates a feedback loop which leaves in its wake the following message for each individual American citizen:

“You know I am, and most of my friends are, complete Dilbert-headed dolts”.

Harold Frum of the White Flint institute wrote in to disagree:

“We disagree. Data replication tests indicate, that with ninety five per cent confidence and five percent fear of laying an egg on our face, that the individual American never blames his or her own self.

Of course this interpretation doesn’t apply to Catholics during lent.”

The Fair Oaks institute wrote in to re-disagree:

“We disagree. Eventually every person, who is part of the system, eventually will be forced to stand in front a mirror and conclude that he or she is a Dilbert-headed dolt or a Charley Brown-shirted sucker for “validating the system.”

The Fair Oaks institute also noted:

“If the American people really were untrustworthy, the opinion polling data, which this whole dispute is based on, would be no good.”

Henry Lord Neilsen of “Neilsen polling” quickly posted the following website comment:

“The dispute between these two institutes validates our result. Both groups have lost all trust in each other’s analysis without, even, critical interference from the media.

However, we may have to bring in lawyers to protect the reputation of Neilsen polling data.”
Mr. Neislen’s assistant, Lady Neilsen in eternal waiting, quickly posted the following explanatory note on the Neilsen website:

“Our data does not cover lawyers. That is, polling data reveals that the public cannot classify lawyers as human breathing citizens; particularly in a country that forces American idol performers to appear before the judges -- without being given the right to remain silent.”

www.bananaws.com

© Copyright by author, used with permission by Humor Press. No unauthorized reproduction or redistribution is allowed.

.Return to Top

Travel Writing
By David Crawford, British Columbia

I’ve been meaning to do more travel writing, and not just because I heard you can cadge free trips for doing so. Many great writers of the world (Hemingway, Shakespeare, Napoleon) got free trips to far off places and wrote about them for fun and profit. Why not me?

Just to show that I am worthy of several international junkets (don’t forget my family and other baggage), let me tell you about Disneyland, truly a magic kingdom where dollar bills are made to magically disappear at a magically fast pace.

I took the family there once and we experienced a wonderful world of joy until our money ran out about an hour later. After that, we enjoyed many of the free activities that are available on site, such as picking up coins and trash, letting the kids shine shoes until the cops come along, and, of course, the many free parades where grandmothers nod off on benches and leave their handbags slightly open.

Meanwhile, my wife and I were debating whose kidney to sell so we could enjoy a hot dog.

We also suffered brain damage by going on the ‘It’s a Small World’ boat ride, the only ride we could afford, where an endless array of loud speakers played the incredibly sweet, repetitive song ‘It’s a Small Annoying World After All’ over and over and over!

The ride starts off pleasantly enough. You meander along in your small boat through scenic world vistas while listening to the treacly, skull-numbing song ‘It’s a Small Price to Pay for Not Having Your Kids Barf After All.’

Then the song starts getting to you, and you realize there is no escape. After the 17th repetition of ‘It’s OK to Spend Money After All’, you begin to notice subtleties in the music you didn’t hear before. Like the sound of gunshots from the staff room as long-term staff (one hour) begin blasting their toes off with handguns rather than submit their ears to another minute of this brain-mushing torture.

You notice after the 29th repeat of ‘It’s a Small Price to Pay for a Hotdog You Are Getting Very Sleepy After All’, that you are still only one third of the way along the winding, butt-numbing route.

The people in the boat ahead of you, who boarded their tub with traces of joy on their faces, are now starting to dribble blood from their ears as they search for ways to use the emergency fire axe on their shipmates in order to escape the din.

Meanwhile, the musical number ‘It’s Good To Vote For Obama’s Health Care Plan After All’ continues, getting louder and louder, and you find there is no throttle on the boat to make it go faster. There are no ejection seats or life rafts or signal flares either. You are stuck in it and forced to look at stupid little robots shouting their stupid song ‘It’s a Long Way to The Exit So Hand Us Your Wallet You Fat Slob After All’ and why is my face twitching again!?

We learned our lesson that first day, and for the remainder of the trip we just stayed in our hotel room and watched the Disney Channel on TV. We had Disneyland representatives come directly to our room every few hours to remove piles of cash and harvest organs from us by humming the song ‘It’s Like Water Boarding After All’.

This worked out great since it kept us from getting sore feet and we didn’t have to line up for rides and the kids didn’t urp up corn dogs and we had ready access to beverages for washing down our anti-psychotic medications and is it pill time again already? Oh boy!

So! Airlines and exotic hotels! What do you say? Comps available?

www.occasionalhumourist.blogspot.com

© Copyright by author, used with permission by Humor Press. No unauthorized reproduction or redistribution is allowed.

.Return to Top

Dad Passes Critical Potty Test
By Jonathan Criswell, Delaware

As a general rule, parents need to supply their kids only 5 basic things: food, clothing, shelter, lots of love, and quick access to the potty. Most days this isn't as easy as it sounds.

The middle-aged clerk at the outlet store today clearly has not brought her best game. She alternates weary, worn-out glances at my wife with long, confounded gazes at her cash register. She has less enthusiasm for her job than kids a third her age. She hopes that if she stares long enough at nobody, we will decide against making this complex return transaction until break time. Or a devastating hurricane will strike.

“Daddy, I have to pee,” my three-year-old daughter urges. Looking down, Gabriela is in a catcher’s squat with a vice-grip on her own crotch. Due to her parents’ historic inability to provide timely outlets in these situations, Gabby’s ability to “hold it” has reached Olympian levels. But not all Olympians win the gold. Accidents happen. Sometimes the gold wins.

My wife and I exchange inaudible mouth movements, me from the back of the ever-growing line, her from an exasperated front. I learn nothing, except that mouthing from the back of a 10-deep line makes you look stupid. So I maneuver our Ticonderoga of strollers to the front of the line to get an update, but more to flash a dirty look at the clerk, who is involved in a stalemate against a price tag and doesn’t notice.

I learn now that this was a second notice, the first coming 7 minutes ago when my wife first arrived at the check-out line and gave Gabby the standard, “Just a minute.” The clock is ticking. The pee is coming. The clerk is dawdling. The Dad is freaking.

“This sounds like a job for SuperDad,” the deep movie voice inside my head says.

Unfortunately, SuperDad left town the night I almost treated some minor teething discomfort with extra-strength Anbesol.

“This sounds like a job for PassableDad,” the voice sheepishly self-corrects.

There’s a bathroom just 4 doors down. We’re on our way. We got this.

“The other way.”

Right. We reverse field and head the other way.

“Would you like to try a cookie?”

Crap! They’re giving away free cookie samples at the ice cream place 2 doors down. (And why wouldn’t they, really?) SuperDad would have literally flown right by the cookies and into the restroom. But SuperDad also wears a cape. PassableDad wears XL long-sleeve t-shirts to hide his man boobs.

“Sure, we’ll have one,” PassableDad insists, and Gabby fumbles her first attempt to grab a cookie. “That one’s for the birdies.” Yes, dear. The clock has to be near zero. The red numbers are counting down. Do you hear that beeping? We have to move!

We’re in the men’s room. We bypassed an apparent Family Bathroom to get there. (“There was a family bathroom?” I’d ask my wife 6 hours later.) We enter an open stall. We’re in! But we haven’t won yet.

In front of us sits the Lincoln Continental of toilets. Imposing. Unwieldy. Gabby and her friends could have a play date on it. It’s also armed with the single most useless product enhancement my generation has given the world. Autoflush.

WHHHOOOOOOOOSSSSSHHHHHHH,” warns the overzealous toilet. “One false move and I’ll drown you both in a tidal wave of Gabby’s…”

We haven’t even done anything yet. Stop flushing, oh vile toilet!

“Daddy, I don’t like big potties. I don’t like them! No!” Gabby backs away like she’s encountered a wild jackal. I don’t blame her.

“It’ll be ok, we just have to sneak up on it,” I reassure everybody in the stall. And we do just that, gently setting Gabby on the only possible square inch where she can meet the mark without submerging herself. “Now, pee without moving.”

Gabby slowly, delicately dismounts and after we get her put together we lightly backpedal out so we don’t re-awaken this hideous beast.

We wash hands and the dryer greets us accordingly: “Get away from me or I’ll huff and I’ll puff and I’ll bllllllow you back in that stall.”

Goodness. Fine. We’ll go with wet hands. In the family bathroom I guess Elmo hands you a towel. Next time.

It's over! We beat Idiot Store Clerk, minimized the Cookie Girl distraction , and ultimately we took down the final boss, the Toilet Menace. Somewhere SuperDad indifferently files his nails. But PassableDad rejoices.! Clean pants are here to stay.

© Copyright by author, used with permission by Humor Press. No unauthorized reproduction or redistribution is allowed.

.Return to Top

When the Driving Public Is Stuck in Neutral
By Jonathan Criswell, Delaware

© Copyright by author, used with permission by Humor Press. No unauthorized reproduction or redistribution is allowed.

.Return to Top

Hallelujah! Free at Last!
By Juliana LeRoy, California

Shh, listen! Do you hear dry carpets?

I am finally ready to say these words, after a year and a half (possibly more) of working on it: My son is potty trained! Hallelujah!

Good old fashioned “potty training” has evolved into the politically correct “potty learning” in the preschool set, but let me tell you there is still a lot of “training.” My husband and I were trained first: we recognized the subtle signs and became adept at hurrying the child to the bathroom throughout the day… or cleaned up the resulting failure. Days were evaluated on how many accidents we had – or by how big the pile of laundry was, which is another way of saying the same thing.

There’s lots of “learning” involved in the training process, too. Here’s a sampling of what we learned:

*Some boys learn by being au natural, and others just get addicted to being naked.

* It’s hard to shop at the grocery store with a kid who wants to be naked.

* Size four Madagascar-themed undies flush just fine. Size six, not so much.

* The gleeful cry of “NO underwear!” followed by a flushing sound is not a happy sound for a Mommy.

* An entire roll of toilet paper, even unrolled, does not fit down the toilet in one go.

*When the upstairs bathroom floods to an inch deep across the entire floor and seeps out into the hall, it takes eleven towels to sop it up.

* Boys are all about the acoustics. There is a definite sound difference the higher up the bowl you go. Also, the higher up you aim, the higher and louder Mommy’s voice gets: “In the potty! In the potty! GAHHH!!! IN THE POTTY!”

* There are pop-up disinfecting and cleaning wipes available in multi-packs at CostCo.

* Boys need a good, stand-up role model for pottying – pun fully intended.

Not every potty training tip works for every child. Some parents swear by throwing a piece of cereal in the potty for the little man to aim at, but let’s just say we know our son too well to ever dunk an edible item in there. He’s not above fishing it out, and we’re actively discouraging foreign items in the potty, thank you! Maybe the cereal-aiming theory is instinctive to their little testosterone-driven DNA, though, because our son managed to put his own spin on the idea.

Throughout June my little man was fond of stripping down to just his little undies, and hanging out at home. We kind of thought that might save on laundry, and we were beaten down into staring zombies at this point, anyway, so we were mostly okay with this latest development. Then came the “O’s Incident.”

Thomas eats a round oat cereal dry, in a bowl, like other people eat popcorn. One hot afternoon he requested his cereal, and I poured a good-sized amount into a bowl and had him sit at the table with it. Then I left the room for perhaps thirty seconds, which, as it turns out, is twenty five seconds too long.

From the other room I heard the usual crunch, crunch, crunch, followed by a strange new sound: psssshhhhhkkkkk. What the --?

My son was standing on his chair, straddling the table, Shrek undies around his ankles, peeing merrily into the O’s.

For one brief second my mind refused to compute the visual, and then I was beyond horrified: “ACK!! NO!! We don’t go potty in the O’s!!”

My best friend’s mom heard this story and asked, “What did he do next?” A grandmother and former kindergarten teacher, she had that “aren’t kids the most amazing creatures?” tone, but please note that she did not raise any boys. The only acceptable answer to that question was, “THERE WAS NO NEXT!”

Oh, and for the record, the tip to give the child plenty to drink works great. They definitely pee more. Not in the potty, necessarily, but if you make sure you get plenty to drink, yourself – match your kid margarita for apple juice, say – you kind of stop caring after awhile.

Hallelujah! Hic!

http://mamabear.pnn.com

© Copyright by author, used with permission by Humor Press. No unauthorized reproduction or redistribution is allowed.

.Return to Top

A Story of Self-Fulfilling Prophesy
By Dorothy Rosby, South Dakota

If you tell yourself you're no good at math, it becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy. That’s why when my son asks for help with his math homework, I NEVER say "I'm no good at math." I say, "Go ask your father."
 
My husband is a former elementary school teacher whom I once caught thumbing through an old calculus book for fun. I never took calculus and I remember nothing of algebra or geometry. I take that back. I do know a rectangle when I see one. But I’m a Journalism major/English minor who did not realize until recently that telling yourself you're no good at math is a self-fulfilling prophecy. (Oh, and if you catch any grammar errors in this piece, remember it's an English minor, not an English major.)

Thankfully, it takes all kinds; it just takes some kinds longer to do math. And at my house, that's the kind that's usually around at homework time. As a liberal arts person, I have to say, my least favorite of all math problems are story problems. Story problems take something I'm very fond of – stories – and turn them into something I'm not fond of at all: math problems.

I realize story problems are real life problems and that we encounter them on a daily basis. Take this example: Dorothy is baking a chocolate cake. The recipe calls for . . . oh wait. Bad example. I never bake cake, though I do eat cake, sometimes multiple pieces.

But let’s try another example: Mrs. Rosby's son needs $250 for the camp he’s attending this summer. He also needs a new pair of shoes which will cost anywhere from $20 to $50 depending on what kind of mood Mrs. Rosby is in the day they go shopping. Mrs. Rosby has $17. How much money will Mrs. Rosby need to win on scratch tickets in order to pay her son’s expenses? And how many years until he can get a job so he can pay them himself? (Oh, and don’t call me Mrs. Rosby. It makes me sound old. How many years older does it make me sound?)

When I help my son with story problems, the liberal arts major in me can't help but come out as you’ll see from the following story problems taken from actual math worksheets:

Problem 1: Each week Sarah washes dishes three nights, washes clothes one night, empties trash cans two nights, and cooks supper one night. If you stop by randomly one evening, what are the chances that Sarah would be cooking dinner? A math person would say 1 in 7 -- I think. I say, "What are the chances that Sarah could come to my house a few nights a week?" (I like stories with happy endings.)

Problem 2: David can walk 12 blocks in 5 minutes. If each block is 50 feet long, how many feet will David walk during the 30 minutes he walks his dog?" A math person would say 3600 feet -- or something like that. I say, "I don't know. Does the dog have to pee?"

Problem 3: Dorothy has 22 math problems to do. She completes one problem every three minutes. In hours and minutes, how long will it take Dorothy to complete all 22 problems? A math person would say, "One hour and six minutes." I say, "One problem every THREE MINUTES? Are you joking? That's no self-fulfilling prophecy; that's a miracle."

www.dorothyrosby.com

© Copyright by author, used with permission by Humor Press. No unauthorized reproduction or redistribution is allowed.

.Return to Top

My Random Thoughts...
By Elene Silva, New York

Don't tell me the morning of, that you have a trip and need a home lunch, just grab the jar of peanut butter, a spoon and can of Vienna sausage. Next time give me some notice.

There was a time that I was meticulous about laundry. Now I don't even bother to separate the clothes. In fact my kids are lucky I just don't spray them with Febreeze on their way out the door.

If you say I look like I am gaining weight you are definitely asking for the F bomb -- chances are if you notice, so do I.

Men please note when trying to get a lady's attention: "What's happening hot stuff" does not constitute a hello and licking your dry ashy lips does not constitute a smile. PS: make sure you have at least 8 teeth in your mouth if you smile.

Thank God I was taught to respect my elders otherwise I would have just kicked the cane out from under that dusty old fossil.

Every morning my dog follows me around like I owe him money. I am pretty sure I don't.

Job Posting: Full-time position available for a person to take my place and argue with my kids - must have ability to bring up the past and throw it in their face on short notice. Guilt manipulation skills a plus. Will pay in grilled cheese sandwiches.

My son just asked me when I thought I might be able to give him $200? For what, you ask? A belt, but not just any belt. A "WWE title belt." Oh yeah, that makes a difference. Might I suggest you make your own out of recycled cans.

The apple does not fall far from the tree indeed. My son told me that Mother's Day is just a day that moms take advantage of their kids. I replied, "Baby that isn't true - now hurry and finish those dishes because the laundry is waiting."

Just witnessed a crime being committed to a pair of Spandex. Damn girl, what were you thinking when you shoved your butt in there?

Sneakers...keys...cell phone....homework.....socks..... What are things your kids can't find in the morning?

...and the Academy goes to MEEEEEE..... for making you believe I give a crap.

I could not wait to get out from under my parent's roof. Having a curfew was the worst. Why didn't anyone tell me that when you have kids they would also be monitoring your whereabouts by calling 6 times in an hour to ask questions, like, Where is the extra roll of toilet paper? Is Colgate the only toothpaste we have? or Why is the milk on the wrong shelf?

Sometimes I wonder if when my kids say "Mom, I told you about this like 50 times, I have been speaking about it all week." They are just messing with my head - or I am doing too good a job at tuning them out.

I love it when my kids offer suggestions on what to do with my money..... "We should get a new PC," or, "Why don't we get HBO." Note the WE pattern. How about WE get jobs.

The change guy in front of the bank asked if I "had anything for him" (as he tried to block my exit).... uh, yeah, advice, you ass - don't ask me for money especially when you are dressed better than me.

There is only so much control I have as to where my dog pees. I try to avoid nice rims, new bikes, helmets, and pretty flowers, but damn, now bushes have advocates from the piss patrol?

I never claimed or insinuated I was perfect, so if u think that, you came to that conclusion on your own. My only claim is that my crap doesn't stink.

Finding matching socks has become the bane of my existence.

I am just saying, hypothetically of course, that IF a collection agency is going to call you 5 times a day they should probably pronounce your name correctly.

Every New Year one of my resolutions is to stop swearing. Today I have come to the realization that as long as: 1. my kids live with me; 2. I have to take public transportation and 3. annoying people exist, I might as well cross that $#%* off my list.

Procrastination is best used when applied to doing laundry....

© Copyright by author, used with permission by Humor Press. No unauthorized reproduction or redistribution is allowed.

.Return to Top

Dining for My Art
By Kathleen M. Wooton, M.D., New Jersey

You turn on the local news just in time to catch the “Odd Person of the Week” feature. On your screen, larger than life and stranger than fiction is a middle aged woman/writer who is hurling tomatoes at passing teenagers and committing an act of felonious assault with two bunches of celery upon a nearby fire hydrant. The story closes with the news anchor commenting that this was funnier than last week’s story featuring Chuckles the Three-handed Ventriloquist and his tap-dancing cat, Ptolemy.

The woman in this feature is clearly:

A. On the express train to Insanity Street
B. On a diet
C. On the express train to Insanity Street and on a diet
D. Cleverly promoting her new book, “That Girl’s Not Right” by proving she’s “not right”
E. Not nearly as hilarious as Chuckles the Three Handed Ventriloquist and his tap-dancing cat, Ptolemy.

I have a low friend in a high place who gave me the skinny on this story. The woman on the news is a writer, who tried to combine a brand new diet with the upcoming release of her first book, “That Girl’s Not Right”. I (not me, SHE) left some notes that document my/her struggle to gain control in the midst of change. You decide what happened next. (The answer to the question is D, or at least I, no, SHE, prefers to think so!)

Day One :

Morning : Today is the first day of my new relationship with food. I will feed myself nourishing food. I will not overindulge. I will respect my body and my health.

Afternoon : Had veggie pizzas I made myself. They were nice. Wish I could have more cheese, but a new food relationship does call for sacrifice.

Evening : Made pizzas for entire family. I’m not really hungry. Tomatoes and celery are great for curbing a food craving. I can do this.

Day Two :

Morning : Hubby comes in bearing frosty cappucino for yours truly. Crap, 300 calories. Must make tomatoes, celery and small piece of low-fat cheese into satisfying breakfast.

Afternoon : Made veggie pizzas with same low-carb bread, low-fat cheese, and low-fat ham as yesterday. Am missing the fat in these foods, it seems to improve taste. Damn that frosty cappucino. Feeling some hunger pangs.

Late afternoon : Cripes, I’ve eaten enough tomatoes and celery to last a lifetime. Am considering food relationship infidelity at the nearest fast-food drive through.

Dinner : Tomatoes no longer my all-time favorite food, seem better suited as juicy projectiles. Wonder how son would handle an incoming beefsteak to the back. Tried to feed celery to dogs, they won’t eat it. Made ravioli for dinner, measured out my portion, still hungry. Pet parrots starting to transform into tasty, tasty poultry whenever I look at them. This is not good.

Day Three :

Breakfast : Had soup and sandwich for breakfast. They were low-fat. Someone shoot me. Wondering if I’ll gain weight if it’s my own arm I chew off. Gagging at the mere thought of tomatoes. Every time I close my eyes I see bacon. I want my Mom.

Afternoon. Wondering if vegetables feel pain. Really hoping they do, want them to experience excruciating agony with every crunch. Wish the USDA would reclassify cheese as a vegetable so I could eat more of it. Cheeseburgers oh cheeseburgers, why have thee forsaken me?

Evening : I miss fat. Miss carbs. Miss salt. Seeing dancing fast food whenever I close my eyes. Had vegetable cocktail drink – would have hated it, but it had salt. Lots of salt. I swear the celery and tomatoes are taunting me. Must sleep – only way to stop the dancing fries.

Day four :

Butt-crack of dawn : The veggies must die. They promise fullness but they don’t deliver. I will exact my revenge. Come with me, celery and tomatoes – sample the bitter flavor of my wrath…

You all know what happened next. I wonder how she’s going to get the smell of celery off her hands, the juice really permeates the skin. Or so I’ve been told. I’d never assault a fire hydrant with celery – twice.

Someone feed me. Or buy my book and I can feed myself.

www.thatgirlsnotright.net

© Copyright by author, used with permission by Humor Press. No unauthorized reproduction or redistribution is allowed.

.Return to Top

Russian Roulette Is Not the Same Without A Gun
By Blake Zurbuchen, California

“Russian roulette is not the same without a gun.” – Lady Gaga

I guess I really shouldn’t expect much from someone whose name is essentially the sound an infant makes because it doesn’t know how to communicate and is only really capable of crapping its pants. Basically her name means that she is a grown woman who still can’t communicate (and craps her pants).

When I first heard this lyric, which is prominently stated after the second chorus in her crap-tacular song “Poker Face,” I wished someone would just stab me in the ears because I didn’t think it was possible for a dumber statement to be uttered (slightly edging out Pacman Jones' quote about how he doesn’t have problems with “scrip clubs”).

First, it makes absolutely no sense on any level. It is literally just words. You’re right; Russian roulette IS not the same without a gun. In fact, it isn’t even Russian roulette anymore; it is a bunch of people sitting around a table passing a bullet around. Gaga, is there any standard for what goes from your head to a song lyric, or are you just lazier than Stuart Scott’s left eye?

Here are some statements that make equally as much sense. Eating dinner is not the same without the food. Getting up is not the same when you’re lying down. Doing the essential thing that defines what you are doing is not the same when you don’t do that essential thing. These might sound kind of lame, but you really have to hear them with music playing.

Second, stop telling me Gaga is such a talented artist and how hot she is. Gaga doesn’t just look like she fell out of the “ugly tree,” it looks like she was strapped to the “ugly chair” and bludgeoned with the “ugly ball peen hammer.” You always know when someone isn’t hot by how much everyone tries to convince you that they are. Nobody has to say Megan Fox is hot. That’s like saying Orenthal James likes to get his double-murder on.

Same goes for you, Danica. If you didn’t have such finely tuned hand-eye coordination perfectly suited for taking last place, you would be just another chubby girl. But because you can adequately drive a car without endangering the lives of everyone around you, I’m supposed to watch you race and think you’re hot. Sorry, if I were that delusional, I’d write something on how people should watch the WNBA.

Third, the fact that she says “is not the same” implies that regular Russian roulette is really a blast (pun slightly intended). Does anyone who is still alive really think Russian roulette is really that great?

Look Gaga, I’ll play Russian roulette with you, but you have to let me load the gun. Maybe that would kill two birds with one stone; but then again, stoning two birds is not the same without a stone.

.

humor writing, humor writing contest, humor contests, humor column, humor columns, humor essay, humor essays

Copyright © 2005-2012 HumorPress.com
1128 Royal Palm Beach Blvd., # 102
Royal Palm Beach, FL 33411
Info@HumorPress.com

humor writing contests, humor essay contest, humor essay contests, writing contest, writing contests

  Home | Prizes | Judging | Rules | Entry | Showcase | Affiliates | Writers | Partner | Contact  |  Top