|
|
|
| "AMERICA'S FUNNIEST HUMOR"TM
SHOWCASE
|
|
|
August/ September 2008
Humor Writing Contest Results! |
Congratulations to
all Finalists in our
August/
September 2008 Humor
Writing Contest!
(Listed alphabetically by author.)
In The Mood For
A Northerly Drive? Take A Cow
By
Burton Cole, Ohio
Science now says that cows have an
internal GPS that points them north or south.
Hooray for science. Grandpa Cole told me that 40 years ago.
“That's north,” he said. “You can tell because the cows are facing that
way.”
I thought they were facing that way because that's where the barn -- and
their nightly rations of grain -- stood, but I let it pass.
Grandpa Cole also once told me, “Here, take this weed and touch that
wire fence.”
Bzzzzzzzt!
“Yep, I remembered to turn on the juice,” he said.
“I thought that's what the green light on that box in the barn was for,”
I complained, rubbing the sting from my arm.
“Oh, yeah,” he said. “There is that.”
It turns out that the north-south thing wasn't one of his little jokes.
When he turned the cows out to pasture after the morning milking, they
headed south, grazing along the way. By the time evening milking
approached, they were aimed north to the barn.
Their internal clocks were less reliable. Gramps often had to call them
in: “Come-boss, come-boss, come-boss-ee!” Soon, we'd hear the clanking
of the bell on the lead cow, often without much urgency.
Invite a herd of cows to your party and they'd find the place -- if it
was north or south. But you better serve Coca-Cola because the milk may
saunter in an hour late if there's a particularly interesting thistle to
inspect along the way.
According to a team of researchers from Germany and Czechoslovakia,
about two-thirds of cattle grazing or resting will align themselves in a
north-south direction. They figured this out by studying satellite
photos of thousands of cows from around the world.
This begs the obvious question: If you're going to pull the Peeping Tom
routine, why cows? That's a little too much toleration of lactose.
The other question is where's my internal sense of direction? When I end
up on winding backroads, after the third twist, my sense of direction is
turned.
But not only do cows point like a compass, they also unerringly lope
right to their own stalls. Let 50 or 80 cows stream into a barn and each
heads to her own stall, night after night. I couldn't have done that at
school if someone swiped the number plates from our lockers.
So maybe the answer for my directionally challenged self is the same as
it is for how I should finally enter this Go Green movement: Let's put
our cars out to pasture and ride cows. We won't get where we're going in
any hurry. But consider how cool the list of features would sound at the
used cow lot:
* Runs on bio fuels;
* Factory installed GPS;
* Two-tone, genuine cowhide leather upholstery;
* Dual horns;
* Automatic fly swatter;
* Four on the floor;
* Mulching attachment is standard;
* High production of natural gas;
* Built-in, self-replenishing drink storage compartment;
* A sound system featuring a clip-clop beat, gentle lowing and way more
cowbell than motorize vehicles offer;
* Each model comes with a T-bone steak. And a rump roast.
The biggest drawback that I can see is that if ol' Bessie dozes in the
parking lot while you run into the store, vandals might tip her over.
The only question there is will she fall to the north or to the south?
I'm sure Peeping Tom scientists and their satellites already are working
on that crucial question.
http://www.tribtoday.com/page/category.detail/nav/5135/Burton-Cole.html
© Copyright
by author, used with permission by Humor Press. No unauthorized reproduction or redistribution is allowed.
.Return
to Top
 Wanna Help?
Stop Pestering The Bride!
By
Burton Cole,
Ohio
I want to BE married. It's the GETTING
married that's driving me nuts.
After nearly a decade of bachelorhood, I am counting down the last
couple of months before nuptialation. I'm not sure I'm going to make it.
I try to be helpful. Really, I do.
Take the tuxedo. I thought a 1970s theme would be cool since we both
graduated high school back then.
"There are four of us on the guys' side," I said. "We could paint our
faces and dress in the spandex, chains and leather of the metal band
KISS."
"Yes, you could," she said. "But not at MY wedding."
I decided it best not to mention my idea for the bridesmaids -- though I
still think striking the "Charlie's Angels" pose would have been
excellent.
It hardly seems fair that guys are allowed no input on the wedding gown,
but the bride-to-be marches her man to multiple tuxedo shops as if he's
her life-sized Ken doll.
“Well, that's nice,” she says, spinning him around like he's planted on
a Barbie fashion carousel. “But why don't you try on these three
jackets. Here, take these five ties, too. We need to see what each of
them looks like.”
“But we already chose a tuxedo. Six weeks ago.”
“We might find something we like better. Isn't this exciting!”
“Excruciatingly so.”
When my beloved showed me the text she authored for the invitations, I
was elated. I'm a writer. Finally, I could be useful.
Right off the bat, I caught an error: “'Honor' is misspelled in the line
'... request the honour of your presence.”'
“That's the English spelling of honor. It's formal.”
“How about if we spell 'presence' as 'presents'? It's more direct.”
“Don't be crass,” she said.
I retreated to my computer and set up the gift registry. That I could do
-- until I realized I had no clue what to list. I can't help it if she
thinks my Coca-Cola table service isn't classy enough. Was she actually
serious about towels and sheets and junk like that?
Finally, I requested a rapid-fire digital camera and a loaded laptop
computer -- both beyond my budget -- and closed the registry, planning
to return after researching 7.1 Surround Sound systems.
It turns out that apparently we DO want dishes, towels and bed sheets.
And a bread maker. Who knew?
The whole thing mystifies me. Everything.
“Our wedding colors will be periwinkle and sunflower,” she told me.
“Huh?” I said.
“This,” she said, passing over two strips of material.
“Oh,” I said, “blue and yellow!”
“No, no. Periwinkle tints toward indigo. Sunflower is duskier. See?”
The next day, a buddy asked if I'd been told my wedding colors yet.
“Blue and yellow,” I said. “What were yours?”
“Purple and white,” he said.
“Bet that's not what she called them,” I said.
“Lilac and cream, I think,” he said.
“Yep,” I said. “Purple and white.”
At least I got one thing figured out correctly -- my best man is wearing
a gown.
That's only because my 21-year-old daughter accepted the honor -- not
honour -- of being my best “man.”
But don't ask me what kind of gown she's wearing. It looks like a yellow
dress to me.
http://www.tribtoday.com/page/category.detail/nav/5135/Burton-Cole.html
© Copyright
by author, used with permission by Humor Press. No unauthorized reproduction or redistribution is allowed.
.Return
to Top
Men
And The GPS
By Jennifer Huard,
New Mexico
What do you get the man who has everything? It was my
husband’s birthday last week and being the gadget guy that he is (aren’t
they all?), I thought it was time he had his own Global Positioning
System (GPS).
Men love GPS systems because it gives them a legitimate excuse for not
asking for directions from gas station attendants anymore. A GPS makes
them self-sufficient navigators and supposedly accurate in finding any
point of interest anywhere in the world. So, I called my sister to see
if her husband had a GPS.
“No, he doesn’t have one, but I have one in my car,” she tells me.
“You do?” I ask. “And how often do you use it?”
“I’ve never turned it on since I’ve owned the car,” she says.
Ah-ha! Another woman who doesn’t see the attraction in an on-demand map
generator. If I wanted to find out how to get to a new place, I would
simply go to the computer and print out the map. I thought I was so
hi-tech and quite a step up from the “old fashioned” method of calling
the store on the telephone and actually speaking to a live person,
asking for directions and writing them down on paper with a #2 lead
pencil.
Upon opening his gift, we all walked outside and stood in the middle of
the street. My husband smiled at his new toy and said “Look at that, it
followed us down the driveway.”
As he and our daughters were fixated on the little animated car on the
screen I couldn’t help feeling a little sarcastic. Not wanting to spoil
the joy for the kids, I said “Ok, everyone look up to the sky and wave.”
Caught up in all the technological excitement of the moment, they
actually did it.
I don’t know if they expected the car on the screen to shake its tires
and smile back at them, but we continued on our walk as it instructed
us. This was the same route we had taken almost every night in our
neighborhood for the last three years. We could do it with out eyes
closed. But of course, tonight we had to wait for the GPS to tell us
which way to go if we ever wanted to see our humble abode again.
After my husband’s first day home from work with his new toy, he
informed me “Lola” got mad at him.
“Who is Lola?” I ask.
“It’s my GPS, she is the voice who tells me where to turn, and when I
don’t go where she tells me, she has to reroute her directions to
accommodate my new course. That ticks her off,” he smirks.
Ticks HER off? Heaven forbid we tick Lola off. Hey, I’ve got a request.
Can Lola pinpoint all of your dirty black socks around the house and
show you the most direct route to the hamper? Let’s have her do THAT
task, huh mister? Put that in your pipe and smoke it. Or should I say
tap that on your touch screen and hit enter.
Speaking of upgrades, I wonder if he has found the spousal
birthday/anniversary reminder feature yet. It goes something like this:
Wife’s birthday in two weeks. Review hint list. Birthday in one week.
Purchase everything on hint list. Birthday tomorrow. Stop at Walgreens
and get card. Don’t forget to get a card from the dog. Stop at bank for
mad money to go inside card. Wrap all presents. Hang streamers. Pick up
chocolate cake/white icing with pink roses she ordered. Kiss her gently
on the cheek and tell her she doesn’t look a day over twenty-five.
I call it the MRS GPS.
www.rightshadeofwow.com
© Copyright
by author, used with permission by Humor Press. No unauthorized reproduction or redistribution is allowed.
.Return
to Top
Go
Hard Or Go Home
By
Eric Kester,
Massachusetts
Exercising regularly is an easy way of
increasing your chances of having a long, healthy life. This is terrific
news, considering that recent studies suggest that living is one of the
top priorities for humans, behind checking our email. Besides general
health, there are many other reasons why people like to stay in shape.
For instance, one of the main reasons guys try to keep their bodies fit
is because they are overly concerned with women judging them.
Conversely, one of the main reasons women try to keep their bodies fit
is because they are overly concerned with women judging them. As a
result of these very rational lines of thinking, many people go to great
lengths to exercise consistently.
The only problem with working out regularly is that it takes time.
Between eating meals, standing in line at Starbucks, eating dessert, and
lying on the couch eating chips, who can possibly find the time to get
over to the gym for a workout? Fortunately if you are someone who hasn’t
been able to fit exercise into your schedule yet, there is still time
for you to start a workout routine before your body evolves into an
amorphous blob. But before you go over to the gym, there are a few
things you should know to help improve your aerobic adventure.
Before even entering the gym, be sure that you are dressed
appropriately. I’ve found that the most popular clothing line seen in
the gym is from Baby Gap. By squeezing into clothes that are several
sizes too small, you can instantly make your muscles grow without even
doing anything! It is also a good idea to wear a shirt with some
inspirational message on it to pump you up. Shirts that say “Go Hard or
Go Home”, “Lift Like Your Hair is On Fire”, and “I Eat Babies”, are all
very good choices if you want amp up the intensity of the weight room.
Prior to your workout, make sure to get a good stretch in. You don’t
want to throw out your back while performing an intense athletic
movement, such as bending over at the water fountain (don’t worry, the
doctors say I should be fine in a couple of months). After stretching,
you may want to hit up the weight room for some “Arm Farm”. Those
pythons of yours need to be fed, so make sure to do plenty of bicep
curls. In between sets it is absolutely vital that you discreetly flex
your muscles in front of the mirror, thinking about what a fool Becky
was for dumping you.
After an extreme session of grunting and lifting waits, you should
probably get some good cardio in. One popular option is to sign up for
exercise classes, like “pilates”. These “wellness classes” involve a
group of people trying to repeat the movements of a much more flexible
and attractive instructor, all while in a room covered with mirrors to
constantly remind everyone of how out of shape they are.
If you would prefer, you can either go for a nice jog outside, or you
could try a treadmill. Personally, I now prefer to run on a treadmill
rather than on an outdoor path because I’ve grown tired of watching
mothers pass me while pushing a stroller. The treadmill can be pretty
tricky, however. Treadmills nowadays are very technologically advanced,
with a control panel similar to that of a 747, only with more buttons.
First, you must decide between unique running settings, each
specifically designed to help you accomplish whatever your aerobic goal
may be. Before hopping on the treadmill, make sure you know which of
these settings is right for you: “Weight Loss”, “Burn Fat”, or “Lose
Weight”. After deciding on one of these options, you can fine-tune your
treadmill to your liking. These fancy treadmills allow you to control
all variables that affect your running, like speed, incline,
gravitational pull of the earth, etc.
Once you start working out, it is important to keep it up. If you want
to get the most out of your workouts, you must be committed to getting
to the gym on a regular basis. Working out gets more fun as you go
along, so don’t give up on it too soon. Plus, do you really want to show
Becky that she was right when she said that you have a problem with
commitment? I know I sure don’t.
www.erickester.com
© Copyright
by author, used with permission by Humor Press. No unauthorized reproduction or redistribution is allowed.
.Return
to Top
How
To Avoid The Neighbors
By E. Mitchell, Illinois
Block Party season prevails from April to October, conjuring three vivid
images:
1) Neighbors chattering cheerfully; 2) children scampering across your
lawn; 3) the need to fake your own death.
If you’ve never attended a neighborhood block party (and if you haven’t,
where do you live so I can move there?) here’s how the ordeal unfolds:
People you have successfully avoided all winter long suddenly converge
on your property leading a limbo line over your freshly seeded lawn. A
portable mess hall blocks your driveway, while a roast pig resembling
Elmer Fudd arrives, terrifying the toddlers and the elderly alike.
Technically you’ve been “invited” to this extravaganza but you’re
expected to cater it as well. An anonymous letter (the cowards!)
instructs you to provide a “dish to pass,” something large enough to
feed the entire subdivision, making it more of a “bin to pass.” Assigned
houses are also asked to furnish desserts and hors d’oeuvres (why not
throw in a rubdown and landscaping for good measure!)
If being treated like a short order cook and service butler weren’t
enough, you are then called upon to “donate” a fee for libations and
incidentals. Since you would rather evaporate than drink the swill
provided, you get nothing for your money, with the exception of a
pińata-stick beating (included in the entertainment fee.)
Meanwhile, the spirited ringleaders responsible for the carnival
sideshow are always so liquor-soaked they fail to notice their abandoned
offspring leading a game of kick the can through your living room.
Illegal fireworks cap off the gala. Only after the cul-de-sac is
engulfed in flames do the revelers decide to call it a night.
How do you avoid such merriment next year? Plan your escape now! But be
warned, there are pitfalls to avoid.
The Lockdown Strategy (and why it won’t work): You tell everyone you’re
going away for the weekend then stock up on supplies, barricade the door
and hunker down in front of a handheld television (the glow from a full
sized set will tip off your whereabouts.) Unable to turn on any lights
after dark, you trip down the staircase and are forced to call the
paramedics. When the ambulance arrives your charade is exposed. You are
viewed with contempt as they cart you away on a stretcher.
Leaving town merely guarantees a rain date re-scheduled upon your
return.
There is only one real solution: move to an underdeveloped country where
the infrastructure is poor - to avoid block parties you must move to a
place where there are no blocks. May I suggest a cliff-side shanty with
a fifty-foot drop into a craggy ravine?
Just don’t be surprised when an invitation arrives by pack mule. Faking
your own death takes on new meaning and momentum when you are kicked by
the mule and go tumbling downhill.
As your life flashes before your eyes, you are comforted in the
knowledge that you have successfully avoided an encore performance of
the neighborhood cutup singing “My Way” into a bullhorn at midnight.
www.emitchellhumor.com
© Copyright
by author, used with permission by Humor Press. No unauthorized reproduction or redistribution is allowed.
.Return
to Top
Notes
From Over The Hill
By William Schmitt, New York
Most people can't point to the day and
time they turned old, but I can. I can't remember the exact date, but I
remember the day very vividly. My lovely wife was walking up the
driveway from the mailbox, and she was grinning. Normally, she has a
sweet smile, but this one was evil. She had a gleam of wicked delight in
her eye as she handed me an envelope, and said, (a little too
cheerfully) "This is for you." I looked at the letterhead, and gasped.
It couldn't be, not me! But there it was in cold black and white, my
name. And the return address read; THE AARP. "What the hell", I thought,
stunned, "I'm only 50 for crying out loud." I don't remember exactly
what the words said, but I know exactly what the spirit said;
Congratulations, you're old! It was my official invitation to join the
same damn organization my FATHER, who is old, belonged to. Now I was
being invited to come down and live at Old Geezerville with him. Plus I
had to pay dues for the privilege.
Actually, I had seen this day coming. I had, some years earlier, gone in
to a K Mart to purchase some trinket or something, and the bright (as
bright as they get at K Mart) young man behind the counter asked me if I
had my card. I didn't use a credit card so I said no, and wrote a check.
When I handed him my driver's license for I.D. he glanced at it and went
"oops" under his breath. Not quite far enough under because I heard him,
and since you don't have to call me twice to dinner I figured out what
oops meant. "Just what kind of card were you referring to?" I politely
asked.
"Uh, it's Tuesday, and Senior Citizens can use their discount cards
today."
"And how old do you have to be to get one of those cards?" I asked,
again politely and well under control.
"Uh, 55" he mumbled.
"Well, I'll apply for one, IN 10 YEARS!" I said as I huffed out in my
best, insulted shopper mode. I went home and related this incident to my
before mentioned lovely wife, who thought the incident should be treated
with lots of mirth. It was mirth that lasted well into the spring.
A year or two later my wife and I (yes, I'm surprised she's still in
this story too) were shopping in a game store for Christmas. Now this
wasn't a toy store, it was a game store, with board games designed for
older, college age kids. The rules for these things are printed in
volumes 1-5, so we’re not talking Chutes and Ladders here. I found one
my son would like, and went up to the counter to purchase it. The young
man behind the counter (who had probably been fired from K Mart) asked
me "Ah, buying a game for your grandson?" There was a sudden gush of
wind as my still lovely wife went bolting out the door, looking like she
had just swallowed a cat. My son was just barely reaching the
recommended age require for this game, and this bozo thought I had a
grandson that age?
"Yeah, it is" I calmly replied "I had his father when I was 8." Actually
I never said this, but I did think of it later, and it would have made a
real snappy reply. But at the time I was more concerned for my dear
wife, whom I thought was going to burst a vein from laughing so hard out
in the car.
I guess it’s the beard. I’ve had one for 33 years; my mirthful wife has
never seen me without it. It has a touch of gray in it, if you think
white looks like gray. One day while I was subbing in Mr. Peters
kindergarten class, one of his students said to me; "I know who you are.
You're Mr. Peter's grandfather!" This would have made me about 80. “No
honey, I’m not. Now why don’t you go play tag with the wall?”
Standing in line at the bank during the holidays some kid behind me
said; “Look Daddy, it’s Santa Claus.” I shot him a glance that said “You
better be talking about just the beard kid,” then mentally took him off
my good little boy list.
I blame my wife. She doesn’t want me to shave or color my beard because
when we’re out walking together it makes her look younger. People ask me
if she’s my daughter. “Yes she is” I reply, unhurt by the implications,
“I just wish I could remember who the mother was.”
http://thehermitcrabspeaks.blogspot.com
© Copyright
by author, used with permission by Humor Press. No unauthorized reproduction or redistribution is allowed.
.Return
to Top
How
To Quit Your Job
By Joel Schwartzberg, New Jersey
I've resigned from eight jobs over the past 18 years, and have handled
the "giving notice" moments with everything from heartfelt empathy to
sadistic glee. In some cases, the writing of my departure was on the
wall -- or in a catastrophically misdirected e-mail. Other times, the
news came as a complete surprise to my boss, despite a string of days in
which I inexplicably wore interview suits to work and took two-hour
lunches. "Laundry day," I kept saying.
Giving notice beats getting it, hands down, but quitting can create just
as much anxiety. It's not as easy as taking Johnny Paycheck's advice
from his subtle 1977 hit "Take This Job and Shove It," or in the more
obscure but equally catchy follow-ups "Take This Job and Eliminate It"
and "Take This Job and Outsource It."
Leaving a job on purpose is an unusual concept for our parents and
grandparents, who generally stayed with the same job their whole lives.
They didn't have to worry about 401(k) rollovers or expiring stock
options before they left. They just had to worry about rolling over and
expiring. These days, especially in the media industry, people switch
jobs all the time.
Those of you who've given notice know it can be complicated. For one
thing, you have to act like you share your boss' pain. If you honestly
do, then go ahead and show it. If you don't, at least try not to giggle.
You also have to pretend that those three sick days, four "car couldn't
start" days, and two "waiting for cable guy" days were not conspicuous
ruses for interviewing. (Note: It won't help to say, "No, wait, that
sick day was real!")
Experts suggest handing your supervisor a brief and upbeat letter of
resignation, volunteering to help with the transition and keeping
negative comments to yourself. Saying "I'm so outta here!," though both
brief and upbeat, is not a good resignation icebreaker.
If there's a gap in your medical benefits between jobs, know that
employee health care coverage often extends to the end of any month you
started, so you may want to time your departure as close to the start of
a month as possible to give yourself a long grace period. After that,
COBRA kicks in. In case you're wondering, COBRA stands for "Coverage
Only Because Recently Axed."
I still keep in contact with my old supervisors, and have profited off
those relationships. Sometimes we've partnered on projects, other times
we've swapped leads and contacts. So, as they say in contemporary times,
don't delete any bridges. And don't wax on about your latest job to your
soon-to-be ex-colleagues. They'll nod supportively, but they really
don't want to hear it.
Don't go around trying to collect the snack run money you're owed
either. It's gone. Let it go.
Speaking of collecting, some people think it's fair to take a few office
supplies on the way out. Not that I did when I quit my last job. No
way... Well, who can really read the writing on blue Post-it notes
anyway? I was doing people a favor. And that Ficus plant in the lobby?
It's not like anyone really noticed it.
My co-workers often took me out for lunch on my last day, as per the
"free lunch on birthday or last day" rule observed by any U.S. company
within five miles of a TGI Friday's. A day that started with me giving
notice typically ended with them getting the check.
That's the time to say your truly meaningful office goodbyes -- outside
the office. And remember to order appetizers.
www.jesttokill.com
.
|
