|
|
|
| "AMERICA'S FUNNIEST HUMOR"TM
SHOWCASE
|
|
|
August/September 2009
Humor Writing Contest Results! |
Congratulations to
all Semi-Finalists in our
August/
September 2009 Humor
Writing Contest!
(Listed alphabetically by author.)
Listen To Me
By Cindy Argiento, North Carolina
“Before you read the mail, we need to talk,” I told my husband.
“No good ever comes from those words,” he replied as he eyed the mail on
the table.
“Why do you say that, “I inquired.
“Well, last week you needed to talk after watching ‘Oprah’ and proceeded
to tell me what my problem was. I wasn’t aware I had a problem.”
“Geez, I thought you’d be grateful and thank me.”
“I should thank you for listing my flaws in alphabetical order?”
“You’re welcome.”
“But, what the heck, what’s my problem this week? How are you going to
fix me?”
“I think we could work on our communication skills, don’t you.”
“No. I think we communicate just fine.”
“By communicate do you mean I talk and you listen?”
“Yeah, it works for us. Why screw with it?”
“Anyway, I went to the bookstore today and read this book..”
“Oh, God, a book; haven’t I begged you to stop reading books, to stop
watching ‘Oprah’ and to stop reading women’s magazines? All they do is
fill your head with crazy ideas, we fight and I end up in the dog
house.”
“The name of the book is The Fine Art of Small Talk, by Debra Fine.”
“Small talk; you want to do small talk? I married you so I wouldn’t have
to talk anymore. I prayed that one day you would run out of things to
talk about. I’m still praying.”
“In the book she gives 10 tips for Tip-Top listening. Promise me you’ll
really listen and not do that pretend listening where you bob your head
a lot. Ok? Ready?”
“This is gonna be tough. After we talk can I read the mail?”
“Of course.”
“Then let’s get this over with.”
#1- Learn to want to listen – must have the desire, interest,
concentration and self discipline. As my husband and I talked about our
day I was proud of him for exhibiting self discipline by squelching his
desire to grab the mail which was a stiff competitor for his interest.
#2- Become a “whole body” listener – listen with your ears, eyes and
heart. Needed improvement – I thought as my husbands gaze would
constantly drift toward the mail. As for his ears, well, he kept
insisting, “Your phone’s ringing. Go answer it.” This lead me to believe
his heart wasn’t in it.
# 3- Control internal and external distractions. I noticed during our
talk my husbands’ hand slowly inching closer and closer to the mail
until the external took over his internals and unable to resist any
longer, he grabbed an envelope and ripped it open. Curious as to why he
put his head down and started crying I pried the letter from his hand.
It was a coupon for Barnes and Noble. Tomorrow I would make a trip and
find a book with the answer for his unprovoked, emotional outburst. I’ll
fix his problem. He’ll thank me.
www.cindyargiento.com
© Copyright
by author, used with permission by Humor Press. No unauthorized reproduction or redistribution is allowed.
.Return
to Top
 Human
Diversity Report Irritates The British People
By Carlos Arnade, Virginia
Across England crowds erupted in protest in opposition to the United
Nation’s human diversity report, which recently published genetic
sequences of human subjects from six continents. The British were not
just upset over results which showed that human beings, everywhere, had
almost the same DNA sequences but also were upset over rumors that DNA
sequencing machines had shut down half way through testing because they
“got bored “finding the same pattern over and over.”
The streets of London quickly filled to the sidewalks with thousands of
demonstrators protesting the report’s publication, while a snap BBC
survey showed a British public skeptical of the report’s findings that:
-- human DNA sequences were 99.5% the same worldwide
-- 99% of human genes have the same DNA sequences as chimpanzees
And
-- the British people, as well as the rest of the world’s people, share
the same cellular structure and waste system as: escargot snails.
Said one Hyde Park protestor:
“This report is an outrage and insult to my family ancestors who
endeavored for years to attract proper mates. To claim that all their
charming effort, clever courting, family management, and pedigree
building could do no better than a digested French slug is a statement
more twisted in its logic than any double helix.“
British protests focused on the report’s finding that the genetic
composition of the British population is 89% Celtic and 11% Anglo-Saxon
descent. While this statement was stoically accepted by the British
Government, it was the report’s claim that the French have exactly the
same Celtic/German genes that ignited official ire and contempt.
Stated the British Minister of Unregistered Ministries:
“ To claim that the prudent citizens of the British Isles are the same
people as the snail eating, wine obsessing, Musky odor loving, dainty
linen, sneering, French is akin to claiming that our precious life
giving sun is just an average sky blinking star.”
The French Minister of Twice Registered Ministries blamed American
technology:
“A credible study of diversity must first diversify its own self with
French manufactured DNA counters. Unfortunately American sequencing
technology seeks to sort the genes of humanity into a new world order of
hybrid-corn-syrup digesting, mouse-of-Mickey loving, genetically
modified Mac-mer-icans. In contrast, French DNA counters see-quance the
precious code of life in a polished relaxed style and never produce the
same boring results; even for the same person.”
Despite the excitement in London’s streets the British reportedly were
reticent to discuss the diversity report’s finding that 21% of the
population of the Kent district of England and 12% of the nearby
district of Essex share a 60% genetic overlap with the region’s one time
inhabitant, Charles Darwin.
Said a medical statistician, Ronald Wu, who contributed to the diversity
report:
“At least, now we understand why Darwin sat on his description of the
principle of natural selection for 30 years.”
Explained the Dr. Wu’s graduate assistant James-Hank Wong:
It appears that Sir Charles, by sitting on his book, the Origin of the
Species, for a few years, was able to give himself a bit of a head
start.”
Explained graduate assistant James-Hank Wong’s girlfriend Linda Lee Wu:
“ Sir Darwin carried out this burst of “extra genetic circulation” while
writing his final book on earthworms. He seems to have attracted
mistresses with tales of daring digs for the worm segments of the earth.
Given the type of mistress that would be enthralled by such tales, we
can’t say that Darwin got as much of a head start as he might have
hoped.”
The French Minister of Twice Registered Ministries commented on the
Darwin controversy to Paris news reporters:
“There are those who have a refined taste for the exotic scents of the
gastromeny snails who inhabit the finer soils of this Earth. And then,
there those who have a fixation with worm segments, bad dirt, and women
who encourage men to keep their perversions outdoors. We must not forget
that, in life, what counts is not the counting but quality of the
counted. It could be just one tiny DNA strand on one tiny gene on,---
let us say, just to speculate, the 24th chromosome,--- that has become
so ordinarily aligned that it impels an entire people to prefer black
steel ribbed umbrellas over the artwork of a French parasol. But it is
'la difference’ that comes from a petite transfer of a little gene that
has kept the world from reading le guide Darwin, du la gastronome
escargot.”
www.bananaws.com
© Copyright
by author, used with permission by Humor Press. No unauthorized reproduction or redistribution is allowed.
.Return
to Top
Millions
Of Americans Are Diagnosed With Deficit Attention Disorder
By Carlos Arnade, Virginia
A team of Pentagon budget planners, economists, and psychologists
recently analyzed forty years worth of personal finance data from
twenty-four U.S. cities and reported that eighty-six percent of American
adults and ninety-four percent of American teenagers should be been
diagnosed as having: “deficit attention disorder.” A report to top
Pentagon and White House officials warned that if the diagnosed
affliction is not treated it could lead Americans to compulsively spend
more money, to rapidly devalue future obligations, and leave many
Americans unable to name the day, (referred to in past years as
“tomorrow”), which comes after, “today”.
The report stated that when a sample of 600 Americans were asked to
choose the correct definition of:“the next fiscal year”, eighty-two
percent of the respondents choose option “d” which defined the next
fiscal year as:
“Some far off time in the future when robots and Salvadorans do the work
and computer viruses have deleted all the unpaid bills.”
The investigative leader of the Pentagon report, Dr. Howard Wayne, made
an official statement in front a newly made $200-million F-22 jet
fighter while a cluster of reporters from more than sixty newspapers
looked on:
“Americans have lost the ability to plan for the future defense of this
country or even plan for any future at all. If you ask the average
person where he or she will be in ten years the average answer is:
“it doesn’t matter as long as everybody’s cell phone is turned on.”
Dr. Wayne gave one explanation to the twenty remaining reporters:
“Originally, we thought Americans believed that the big energy companies
are heating the earth like a good Texas barbecue. That explains the,
as-if-no-tomorrow, spending. But when we asked about this, people gave
us answers such as:
‘Yeaah. Global heating is a complete, freaking, real hap-happening. But,
it’s so far into the future, --like,-- the sun will be totally burned
out-- by then anyway’. “
Howard Wayne explained to fourteen remaining blank faced reporters:
“This answer is worrisome for it indicates that Americans have gotten
themselves into a position where their best hope for a solution to our
fiscal problems is a disaster that changes the subject.”
The Pentagon team reported that the most severe case of deficit
attention disorder was found inside the communications and political
sectors of the economy. According to the report, stories on the
Government deficits tend to sink towards the back section of newspapers
and then slowly curl into the food and obituary sections.The Pentagon
team also reported that they found that the deficit attention span of
the broadcast media was, on average, fourteen seconds, or two seconds
lower than that of children with the more well-known attention deficit
disorder.
Said team leader Howard Wayne to three reporters left standing on the
runway:
“The attention lines between children with attention deficit disorder
and adults with deficit attention disorder crosses somewhere between the
print and broadcast media. We have yet to get a measurement on a
reporter than has both attention deficit disorder and deficit attention
disorder but when we do; we want to see if that attention span is
significantly different from that of the average representative in
Congress.”
Conklin McNeil, the OMB assistant director for survival, put the problem
in perspective:
“Our budget spaceship is caught in the grip of a black hole which is
pulling our nation’s balances towards the dark point of no escape or
return. When we point out the gravity of the situation—Congress and the
American people, freeze up, light candles, and then, break out, singing
happy birthday. When Americans see candles they remember they want to
eat their cake too.”
Doctors and economists, studying possible deficit attention disorder
treatments, have prescribed the following suggestions:
-- Copies of People magazine in Doctor waiting rooms be replaced with
upfront medical bills for each patient.
--Let talking live parrots to serve as credit cards.
And:
--Ban accounting firms from using double exit book keeping.
Said Dr. Wayne to the F22-fighter pilot, whose computer controlled plane
had quietly rolled away, after the three remaining reporters slipped
off:
“Americans want to forget deficits. But the massive growing debt won’t
forget Americans in this real hard world of ours. One day, the working
robots, Salvadorans, and computer viruses will come to your house and
demand their money back, even if it’s your birthday, and your friends
are in the middle of singing you a happy surplus song.”
www.bananaws.com
© Copyright
by author, used with permission by Humor Press. No unauthorized reproduction or redistribution is allowed.
.Return
to Top
Thanksgiving
Makeover
By Laura Bridgwater, Colorado
I know that parents wear many hats—Nurse, Teacher, Police Man, Taxi
Driver, Midnight Diapernator—but I must have missed the chapter that
describes the overwhelming duties of Tradition Keeper. This job comes
with a ceremonial headdress that only an anthropologist could love.
Over the years I’ve tried my best to don this feathery albatross. I’ve
kept the family’s oral history alive and archived photographs and birth
certificates. I mail Christmas cards and bake birthday cakes. But it’s
the holiday spreads that are making me feel browbeaten.
Take Thanksgiving, for example. Why spend a month planning and preparing
a meal that is over in less time than it takes a 4-year-old to make a
new friend on the playground? Ditto for ironing the tarp-sized heirloom
tablecloth and shining the Benjamin Franklin-era silver.
Just because the Pilgrims did it, we have to do it? If the Pilgrims
jumped off Plymouth Cliff, would we do that, too?
It’s time for a Thanksgiving make-over. Besides, if anyone can
understand our quest for freedom from holiday persecution, it should be
the Pilgrims, right?
My first suggestion is to create your own
“I-can’t-believe-it’s-not-a-real-Thanksgiving” Thanksgiving.
My hero is that TV commercial mom who dusts her face with flour so she
appears as if she’s been baking Rice Krispies all day. Well, douse me
with gravy because here’s what I’m contemplating:
Buy Thanksgiving scented candles because nothing says tradition like the
smell of home-cooked food. On the Monday before the Meal of the Year,
light the candle named “Defrosting Turkey in A Sink of Cold Water.” On
Tuesday, light “Pumpkin Pie Baked in Advance.” On Wednesday, burn two
candles: “Bouquet of Sage and Sautéed Onions” and “Bubbling Turkey
Stock.” On Thanksgiving, light them all at once along with “Great
Grandpa Needs a Bath.”
In addition to the candles, invest in a set of autumn-colored Tupperware
and hire a caterer. Insist that the caterer use the Tupperware. That
way, the food can go straight from the table to the fridge.
Or, consider spicing it up.
Have you read those cooking magazines with articles about mouthwatering
regional Thanksgivings? There’s the Cajun Thanksgiving with deep-fried
turkey; the Tex-Mex Thanksgiving with cranberry avocado salsa; and the
French Thanksgiving with chestnut-stuffed guinea hens, rosemary-roasted
potatoes, and celery root. It’s food porn.
So close your eyes and point to the map. This year, my finger landed on
the Hunan province of China. My planning includes collecting take-out
menus and circling possible items for delivery.
No worries--you won’t be branded with the scarlet letter like Hester
Prynne for cheating on the turkey with the sesame chicken. But if you
are branded, think of the “A” as standing for Asian fusion. Plus, Asian
fusion looks fabulous served in autumn-colored Tupperware.
If it’s true that it takes 30 days to create a new habit, then in 30
years your family won’t remember a time when they didn’t say what they
were thankful for over five-spice turkey with lotus leaf rice dressing.
Or finally, consider a casual tailgate Thanksgiving.
The dress code is football jerseys, which makes it more comfortable for
every one to over eat. Use eye black under each eye to reduce the glare
off the automobiles and from grandma, who won’t approve. If you’re
feeling festive, write “Happy” under the right eye and “Thanksgiving”
under the left.
And luckily, autumn-colored Tupperware is perfect for tailgating.
By adopting one of these traditions or downsizing your own, you’ll spend
less time as the Tradition Keeper and have more time for things you
enjoy. Run a 5K, or if Turkey Trots aren’t your thing, participate in
the only part of the traditional Thanksgiving that I highly recommend
keeping—the Turkey Cot, otherwise known as the best nap of the year.
© Copyright
by author, used with permission by Humor Press. No unauthorized reproduction or redistribution is allowed.
.Return
to Top
If
You Don't Read This, I Will Kidnap Your Family
By Pete Lopez,
New York
Okay, now that I have your attention,
it’s highly unlikely that I would actually go through with the
kidnapping. Besides the obvious concerns of serving significant jail
time and not having the technology to monitor who has read this, there
are numerous other factors.
First off, I am far too lazy to put in the necessary research in order
to decipher where family members reside and devise a plan to capture
them. Secondly, I dwell in a small apartment making it highly unfeasible
to house more than several victims simultaneously.
Finally, I envision myself treating the captures more like guests. I
would end up feeling guilty and in an effort to sooth my conscious I
would try to make their stay as pleasant as possible by providing
recently released DVDs and maybe perform some juggling and comedy skits.
Now that I think about it, I would have to cook meals and that is
something that I barely do for myself. I would spend so much time
fussing about being a respectable host that I’d end up forgetting that
the sole purpose of these people residing here was to exhort their other
family members into reading this.
This whole process would turn into an enormous hassle. After re-thinking
I have concluded that this fiasco would end up being way more trouble
than it was worth. If the only reason you have read the above is for
protecting family members then I am truly sorry for the waste of time.
Despite my apology for the empty kidnapping threat though, I must be
honest and inform you that I will think you’re an idiot if you don’t
read this. Alright, I admit it’s impossible for me to judge one's
intelligence level strictly based on reading whether this was read and
withdraw my mean spirited words.
Alas, if you don't read this piece, I will quit brushing my teeth.
That's right, if you forgo reading this, then the burden of my rotten
and decaying teeth will rest upon your shoulders. Alright again, there
is no excuse for poor hygiene and my mom would never allow me to go
through with this.
Let’s try a different non threatening angle. If you read this piece then
good fortune will result today. I better add a disclaimer in
parenthesis. (If you didn't think you had good luck today, then the good
luck was that nothing bad happened. If something bad happened then your
good luck stopped it from getting any worse. If you had the worst day of
your life then your luck is that going forward all your future days will
be brighter.)
Alright, I throw in the towel. Attempting to trick people into reading
my work is quite superficial and I prefer to believe I am above that.
The problem is that I want to become wealthy and I recently picked
writing as the path to accomplishment. My thinking is after writing
this, someone will then drop down the sky and offer me unimaginable
riches.
I already have the situation detailed in my mind. Mr. Magic Man (Triple
M for short) will slowly float down from the clouds and say “I have read
some of your material and it's absolutely fantastic. Here is a million
dollar check and a job writing for my newspaper. I shall provide a
supermodel as your secretary and the key to the city.” Of course I would
respond with “about time”... I mean “thank you for the opportunity, you
won’t regret it.”
In theory it sounds great for a young orphaned boy having the hopes of
becoming a writer. He saved money from recycling cans in order to
purchase an outdated typewriter with missing letters. For years he
worked countless hours at minimum waged jobs while still holding the
dream to become a successful author. Sleepless nights created his only
free time to write and he did the best he could without the use of the E
and L keys. Finally after 15 years, he got his well-deserved big break
and was the feel good story of the decade.
I, on the other hand, want to skip instantly to the big break. Thus, I
created the concept of kidnapping family members to expedite the
process. Since my overnight writing career has proven to be fruitless, I
shall move on to another get rich quick scheme. Maybe doing daredevil
stunts or writing lyrical recipes for a musical cook book. Who knows
what crazy ideas I'll come up with next and be too lazy to follow
through.
© Copyright
by author, used with permission by Humor Press. No unauthorized reproduction or redistribution is allowed.
.Return
to Top
Get
A (Virtual) Life
By Shane McAfee,
New York
I enjoy playing video games from
time to time. I have invested in several video game systems over the
years. After all, I like it better to play on my Sokitumi 3000 at home
than paying a week’s wages in quarters in an arcade. There are two
reasons for this: 1. Arcades are not on every corner as they were in my
teenage years. 2. Given than I am in my early 40’s, my Dad no longer
supplies the week’s worth of quarters (no matter how nicely I ask).
If you don’t want to invest in a Sokitumi 3000, you can go to the
Internet and play a wide variety of games free of charge. You can even
sometimes combine your video game system and the Internet and play games
with total strangers within the privacy of your own home. The gaming
world allows you to be a soldier, fight space aliens, or join a rock
group. You can do all of these things awhile sitting in your pajamas
with a plate of cookies. If you want something less sedentary, you can
get a sports game that will have you on your feet swinging, throwing, or
running (and never your living room).
I have come to understand that part of the draw of a video game is to
live vicariously through the role of a virtual entity. Who wouldn’t want
to be a princess-saving plumber, a major league baseball player, or a
heroine in painted-on clothes saving the world from apocalyptic
destruction? Personally, I do not wish to be a heroine in painted on
clothes (but that’s just me). Who wouldn’t want to join a rock group
that hasn’t recorded anything new in 30 years? Imagine, if you will, the
following scenario: “Hey man, can you play guitar? Ace Van Snider broke
his hand.” “No, but I have a guitar shaped game controller and I know
all the color patterns.” “Well, get up on the stage with us, man. YOU’RE
IN!” One must admit it’s a great escape from the world.
However, I have become greatly confused of late. Players all over the
world (me included) have been drawn into a different type of game. I am
referring to games of simulation. You start in a virtual environment
that is completely bare and build it from the ground up. You can be a
virtual farmer or a virtual college girl in a dormitory. I personally do
not want to be the virtual college girl (but that’s just me). You can
build an amusement park or a restaurant. The simulated gaming world
offers a wide variety of scenarios. What’s strange is that you can even
be an average Joe living in a virtual home. You can buy virtual
furniture, virtual appliances, and a virtual painting to go above the
virtual fireplace paid for with virtual money. I have even seen someone
seat their virtual character on a virtual couch and play a virtual video
game on a virtual wide screen HDTV. That’s right. I saw someone playing
a video game where there avatar was playing a video game. I was afraid
that avatar’s avatar would also be playing a simulation game that would
create a virtual vortex that would end the world as we know it.
What gets even crazier is that some people even revolve their real lives
around their virtual characters. I got home from work the other day and
asked my wife to run an errand with me. She was sitting at the computer
and said she had to wait until her cookies were done. I took a sniff and
noticed something strange. I couldn’t smell anything baking. My wife
corrected me. “No, my ‘ErsatzWurld’ avatar is baking cookies. If I leave
now, they’ll burn. Do you want my home to catch fire?” I asked her to
forgive my obvious thoughtlessness and ran the errand alone. When I
returned she was tending her online farm. After all, you can’t let
virtual blueberries go to waste.
I can’t help but wonder what will happen next. Perhaps the virtual
farming industry will take an economic nosedive. This will inspire three
virtual musicians to host a virtual fund raising concert. You can have
virtual vendors selling overpriced virtual t-shirts. You can recruit the
rock group gamers to fill the virtual bill. Maybe Ace Van Snider’s hand
has healed. If not, I’ve been practicing.
http://bdgjm.blogspot.com
© Copyright
by author, used with permission by Humor Press. No unauthorized reproduction or redistribution is allowed.
.Return
to Top
How
Better Health Care Can Save the Economy
By Dan McGinley,
Connecticut
Unless you live
way out in the woods like me, tending to barrels of sour mash whiskey in
55-gallon drums, you’ve probably noticed a lot of talk about this
trashed economy, and various health care issues.
I was out jogging the other day (running from G-men) when a brilliant
solution presented itself, and let me tell you; this is not a common
occurrence. Plus, I usually try to solve things on the toilet, but I got
to thinking – Hey! Why not kill two birds with one stone? Why not let
one problem solve the other? Why not just start running down this
shallow creek, where the hounds will lose my scent?
So you can see how I’ve become very adept at multi-tasking, which by
nature is just addressing different issues at the same time, akin to
killing a whole flock of birds, but we’ll stick with the economy and
health care, because now my head hurts.
Despite this narrative babbling, it’s really quite simple: Both of these
monsters suck money out of us like calves draining their mother’s udder;
therefore, it makes total sense to turn one of them into a preverbal
“cash cow,” so that only one truly sucks.
And the answer is right there in front of our moo-pie faces:
Cash for your clunker organs!
Donating organs is great, but also another way for wealthy surgeons to
get free parts while charging the recipient an arm and leg (pun alert).
I mean, when was the last time your mechanic said, “Hey, do you mind
giving me your old car when you buy a new one, so I can use all the
working parts?”
I would gladly give him my old car, if he promised free repairs for the
rest of my driving days.
If I was offered free health care for the rest of my life, or major
discounts, I would happily IOU everything from fallow hair follicles to
that nuclear device buried in my chest for superhero activities. The way
things are going, you could have my eyes for a dental rinse.
Ahhhhhhhhhh! That HURT!
And how does this stimulate the staggering economy?
Hell if I know. Whoa! If you’re not paying outrageous medical bills,
then you have more money, and the economy is stimulated! In true
American fashion, this is where outsourcing comes in!
According to Michael Wines of The New York Times, dated August 26, 2009
(yes, it all rhymes):
“At least one million people in China need organ transplants each year,
but only about 10,000 receive them, according to government statistics.
Dr. Huang said that most of those organs — as high as 65 percent, by
some estimates — were taken from death-row inmates after their
executions.”
In other words, they can’t execute prisoners fast enough, in a place
where people get the death sentence for ripping that little tag off the
mattress. Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! Just kidding, Chinese people! I really don’t
need to anger my daughter’s kung fu teacher! Those cute little throwing
stars come out of nowhere!
Enough light humor; what are you doing with that pancreas later tonight?
It could be kind of an IOU policy to the Chinese government for when you
expire, but remember, you never want to tempt fate by visiting the
awesome and beautiful orient (damage control), where you could get the
death penalty for belching in public – which is probably the way it
should be everywhere! It’s a brilliant law!
Since the Chinese yen is probably worth about a million American dollars
these days, start thinking of a price list, starting with your big
American . . . lung. You could probably get advanced enough yen for that
humungous and thirsty SUV Detroit will start selling again, once gas
prices drop another nickel.
Oh yes, the possibilities are endless, and I’m only tapping one of many
foreign clients eager for big American parts that are often enhanced
with silicone and all of those energy drinks flooding the stores, like
steroids.
In case you haven’t noticed, our hair is getting big again, and unlike
most body parts (except my specialized Hibernian liver), quickly grows
back. Where do you think those crazy kung fu monks with wild blonde hair
and eyebrows get their looks? Oh yeah . . . you feeling me?
It’s only fitting to end this brilliant proposal with the words of an
obscure philosopher: “If you can’t overpower other nations, sell them
used body parts.”
Problems solved! Moonshine toast!
http://invasive1.wordpress.com
© Copyright
by author, used with permission by Humor Press. No unauthorized reproduction or redistribution is allowed.
.Return
to Top
That's
No Moon
By
Danielle Mutarelli,
New Hampshire
Star Wars is fantastic for little boys.
Or so I thought. Wholesome, teaches good values, what could be wrong
with Star Wars? It seemed that of the many things my seven year old son
could be obsessed with, this particular saga was a gem. It has it all-
good vs. evil (evil may look cooler but the good guys win), action
packed scenes easily replicated with a couple of used tubes of gift wrap
(see? It even teaches recycling), a kicking soundtrack, and timeless
toys that still make the big boys (that would be dad and the uncles)
want to get down and play.
But there's one other thing that Star Wars has that I'd forgotten about,
that is until my son took a shine to Return of the Jedi. That's right
folks, Princess Leia in a gold bikini. (And here I was thinking his love
of the film had to do with Ewoks.)
One day I found him staring at a Star Wars book with a picture of the
scantily clad maiden. “You know, bud,” I said, “There are other pictures
in that book. Maybe you should try turning the page.”
“No,” he shook his head without peeling his eyes off the page, “I like
this one.”
My husband stepped up behind him asking, “What's he staring at?”
Followed by an,
“Oh,” and a “yeah.” Actually, now that I think of it, it was more of an,
“Oh, yeahhh.”
Then came Uncle Ed, “Leia, looking good.”
And Uncle Chuck, who just giggled.
Not long after this incident I found myself in the women's locker room
with the little Star Wars fanatic changing after his swimming lessons. I
was helping him put on his shoes and noticed him smiling. It was one of
his happy smiles usually reserved solely for something pertaining to
Star Wars. I glanced over my shoulder fully expecting to see someone
with a Star Wars beach towel, but instead followed his gaze to one bare
and rather large boob.
Obi Wan's voice immediately sounded in my head, “That's no moon.”
“Look away, son. Look away!” I cried, as if full frontal nudity would
damage his retina.
Before the 'moon boob' sighting I'd never seen any bare skin in the
locker room. In fact, I rarely ever saw women in their underwear. It was
a very G rated locker room so I hadn't thought much about bringing him
in here. But now I knew that we'd have to start using the family
changing area. I loathed the family changing area. The floors were wet
and littered with slimy discarded paper towels. It was always steam room
hot and reeked so horrible of mold and mildew that one whiff and I was
sure mushrooms had sprouted in my nose. The swamps of Dagobah looked
like a spa compared to this place. But the time for us to relocate had
arrived, now that boobs were on his radar. It appears my young Jedi was
growing up.
© Copyright
by author, used with permission by Humor Press. No unauthorized reproduction or redistribution is allowed.
.Return
to Top
What
Time Does The Liquor Store Close?
By Debbie Patrick, Pennsylvania
The top 5 reasons why I’m going to have a martini tonight.
1. During afternoon centers Jack didn’t make it to the bathroom in time
and peed all over himself, the floor and part of the wall. Then, after
we ran to get the change of clothes, extra socks and undies from the
nurse, another child went in and slipped on the “water” on the floor,
and HE needed to change.
2. Rayne and Nick were calling each other b*tches at lunchtime. After
intense questioning, it was determined that only Nick was calling people
b*tches. Rayne only says “sh*t”. Her mom lets her.
3. Alex had a SEVERE meltdown during free play, laid on the floor
kicking and screaming, and said he hated school, his teacher (HUH?), his
whole class, and his cousin Jack. After PLENTY of crying and sobbing, I
finally got to the bottom of the story. Jay wanted the horned dinosaur
instead of the long neck that Alex was willing to part with. Alex, in
the meantime, had been in three time-outs since he walked in the room
this morning. Things were clearly not going his way.
4. The class bunny (who roams the room freely) managed to get on top of
my teacher desk and promptly chewed the special new crayons I had
purchased for an activity on Friday and then crapped all over Drew’s
behavior chart. Alex had brilliantly kept the teacher pre-occupied.
5. The teacher tried unsuccessfully to locate a recipe for RABBIT STEW
on the computer because she THREW IN THE TOWEL and took them ALL outside
for recess at 2:00. However, after getting 18 children zipped, one girl
buttoned, locating Taylor's missing glove, and forcing several repeat
offenders into the bathroom, we only managed 14 minutes outside.
I might have lost the battle today, but the war rages on. Oh, and as
Anthony walked out of school today, these were his words.
“This was a great day, wasn’t it Mrs. Smith!!” Whose room WAS he in
today?
http://www.vodkamom.com
© Copyright
by author, used with permission by Humor Press. No unauthorized reproduction or redistribution is allowed.
.Return
to Top
My
Foray Into Journalism
By Richard Pierce, Nevada
Recently I came across an ad in my university’s newspaper that read,
“WRITER WANTED.”
I was determined to get the job. Since a very young age I’ve dreamt of
becoming a world-class journalist, and I saw this opportunity as the
perfect springboard to launch my journalistic career.
All I needed was my first scoop.
First, I figured I should dress for the part. How does that old adage
go? “Dress for the job you want, not the job you have.”
I stopped in nearly every store in the mall, but none of them carried
those hats with the press card in the front. When I asked the young
woman at Old Navy if she knew of a place that might sell those hats, she
suggested I try the costume store.
“Costume store!?”
Angrily, I threw the remaining contents of my Cherry-Berry Slushee I
purchased from the food court into her face. “I’m a journalist, not some
kid playing dress-up!” I shouted as I ran out of the store, narrowly
dodging security guards trying to apprehend me as I fled.
Unable to find proper journalistic attire at the mall from which I am
now banned, I was forced to improvise. I rummaged through a local thrift
store and found an old fedora that I retrofitted with my own homemade
press card. They also had a rather fetching tan trench coat that fit me
perfectly!
I slipped them both on. Now I was ready.
First up - Sports.
I didn’t feel like driving all the way to my college campus to cover a
baseball game, especially when there’s a perfectly good Little League
field around the corner from my house. I arrived at the field and
marched right into the dugout to interview some players, and was
immediately told to “get the hell out now” by their coach.
Watching from the stands, I took copious notes, occasionally running up
to the chain-link fence with my notebook to interview the players taking
practice swings in the on-deck circle.
“Billy! Billy! Is there any truth to the rumors that you were taken out
of last week’s game in the second inning because you had diarrhea and
accidentally pooped your pants?” (I had a pretty good source on this -
Billy's 8-year-old brother Joshua, who also made allegations that Billy
was a “fart licker.")
Billy declined to comment, and began to cry. Billy’s father called the
police.
“Aren’t you too big to be playing detective?” asked the officer when he
arrived.
“I’m not a detective,” I answered snidely. “I’m a journalist.”
“Whatever. Just stay away from the baseball fields.”
Next up - Politics. Unable to schedule an interview with the Student
Body President, I decided to hide behind a bush outside his last class
and follow him home.
“Why are you dressed like that?” he asked me when he answered his front
door.
“I’m a journalist.”
“You look like a detective.”
“I'm not a detective!” I shouted, growing very impatient of this whole
journalist/detective confusion. “Now come on! Tell me what kind of
scandals you’re involved in!”
“Look man, I don’t know how you found my house, but you need to leave
right now or I’m calling the cops.”
He slammed the door in my face. I decided to stay and pound on his door
until he admitted to being involved in at least one scandal. The cops
arrived a few moments later to escort me away.
Last stop - Film Criticism.
I purchased my ticket online for the 7:30 showing of that week’s hot new
release. Unfortunately, I was late arriving to the theater and the young
man behind the counter refused to do an exchange because tickets
purchased online were “non-refundable.”
Naturally I was enraged, and after that things got a little hazy, so I
can’t tell you exactly who threw the first punch, but a fight certainly
did ensue. I vaguely recall being pulled off the young man by a security
guard and screaming “It’s OK! I’m with the press!” at the top of my
lungs.
Again, I was driven away by police.
Finally, a few days later, after all these tribulations, my big day
came... The first time I got to see my name in print!
Unfortunately, the article was not written by me and the headline read
“Man dressed as detective assaults movie theater employee.”
But that still counts though, right?
© Copyright
by author, used with permission by Humor Press. No unauthorized reproduction or redistribution is allowed.
.Return
to Top
Confessions
Of A Husband Beater
By Katherine Turski, Texas
I beat my husband the other night. I couldn’t help it, he asked for it.
“I’m tired of playing games,” I said. “How much more do you think you
can take?”
“Come on,” he coaxed. “Just one more round of Battleship.”
He shouldn’t have pushed me like that. After the third beating he reeled
slightly, blinking in bewilderment.
“How can you do that?” Staring at the ships on the computer screen, he
added, “I can’t even find your aircraft carrier. What kind of goofy
strategy are you using?”
“It’s called ‘hide the ships where you can’t find them’.”
“That’s ridiculous. I should be able to find them all.” This is from a
man who demands daily where I’ve hidden his reading glasses. “You must
be cheating.”
He shouldn’t have accused me of cheating. I demolished his fleet three
more times. Even his PT boat wasn’t safe.
“Just a few more rounds,” he mumbled.
“Haven’t you had enough punishment?”
He shook his head. “Are you kidding? I’m just getting warmed up. What,
are you scared of losing?”
“I’ve been petrified the whole time.”
“Very funny. Come on, set up for the next round.”
I put a hand on his shoulder and said softly, “It’s late, honey, we need
to get to sleep.” Once the lights were out, I pretended not to hear him
whimper, “Just one more round”. I felt like a sadist.
For the rest of the week he begged me for more. I only replied, “Not
tonight, I have a headache.”
Several nights later we visited another couple. After dinner they
invited us to play games. My husband’s face paled and he excused himself
to the restroom, claiming a possible case of distemper. The wife gave me
a look eloquent with sympathy.
“You beat your husband, don’t you?”
“Only at Battleship. He asks for it, though.”
“They always do.” She stared at the husband, who fiddled nervously with
a card deck. “Try beating this one at Scrabble. He’ll keep you up all
night until he finally wins. The tiles are so stained with sweat you
can’t read the letters any more.”
“And the dictionary?”
She shuddered. “Don’t ask.”
Ads for popular games claim their products bring people closer together.
So does hand-to-hand combat.
Yet, after much thought and research, I’ve finally found the perfect
game for my husband and me to enjoy. There will be no more complaining,
no suspicion of cheating, no criticizing strategy. I call it “Strip
Twister”. The way I figure it, my husband will never know if he’s
winning or losing, and even if he does, he probably won’t care.
© Copyright
by author, used with permission by Humor Press. No unauthorized reproduction or redistribution is allowed.
.Return
to Top
Toilet
Paper, On A Roll... Or Wipe Out
By Jo Worsham, Texas
For those of you who have a long way to go before Medicare Part Z, you
may not fully appreciate toilet paper, a.k.a., toilet tissue. For those
of us who have ever winced at the bucket of corn cobs in the corner of
the outhouse, or noted only the slick shiny pages of the Sears Catalogue
are left, toilet paper is the greatest invention, ever.
It is also the perfect Christmas gift. I will purchase only American
made products for Christmas and the one thing that I have found to be
solely made in America is toilet paper. Who wouldn’t appreciate knowing
that there was an ample supply of the round little white “tires” stashed
in the hall gift closet, especially when you were staring at an empty
cardboard tube in your time of need? After all, it’s practical,
non-seasonal, and one size fits all, well most.
Toilet tissue is also the most underused advertisement medium. It is
located in every private and public building in this country. Why not
put your message on the paper roll that keeps on turning?
I am surprised that politicians haven’t caught on to this mass means of
advertisement. The novelty companies certainly have. Imagine printing
your opponents name on every rectangular sheet of toilet paper. Those
who support your opponent will buy it by the car loads. Those who
support you will buy it to symbolically “wipe” out your opponent. In
either scenario, your war chest will be full.
Besides being an excellent advertising medium, toilet paper is an
excellent means of protection against natural and man made disasters.
Closets stacked floor to ceiling with the soft rounds have been approved
by The Weather Channel as a secure place to be during a tornado,
hurricane, earthquake, or missile attack. The rolls absorb the impact of
the blast; plus, they are close at hand when you are having
the…stuffing….scared out of you at the time. Serving double duty, so to
speak.
The only downside to this product is that it has yet to go totally
green. There is something about seeing “Toilet tissue, made from
recycled paper” that causes me to reach for a different package.
There have been improvements to this product over the years. For one
thing commercial toilet tissue now comes in giant rolls the size of a
car tire inside locked metal wheels and securely bolted to the walls. To
compensate for the additional weight, the roll width has been narrowed
to mere ribbons and definitely not suitable for wide bodies.
A walk down the paper goods aisle at your local grocery store will give
you a sense of the wide variety of tissue available these days. You can
purchase regular, double, or even triple mega rolls. There’s quilted,
super strong, extra soft, embossed, scented, single layer, double layer,
and some with a touch of aloe.
The penny wise shopper is hard pressed to find the best bargain. Super
strong may cost less, but it may be only one layer requiring twice as
much for a single event. Extra soft may be doubled layered but with
sheets that are narrower than others, it may not be a bargain. Embossed
looks pretty and the sheets may be wider, but there are fewer squares
per roll. Scented may be single layered, wide enough, the same size as
embossed but upon closer examination the hole in the cardboard roll is
twice the size of any other roll
What is needed is a standardization of toilet tissue. Maybe that should
be a new cabinet post in our government. Czar of Toilet Paper
Standardization. Having a Czar could generate a government standard of
one-half inch cardboard tube for the toilet paper. All holes need to be
the same and our government can sure see to that.
With standardization, technology could extend into the paper holder
itself. We may be unrolling to songs such as “Stop, in the Name of
Love”, “We are Family,” or “Wipe Out” from tiny speakers concealed in
the paper holder as we attempt to save paper.
So the next time you are stuck with coming up with a gift for that
special person who seems to have everything, or you are in a hotly
contested political race for town mayor , consider made in America,
non-standardized , mostly non recycled toilet paper. It’s the paper you
use every day.
.
|
