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| "AMERICA'S FUNNIEST HUMOR"TM
SHOWCASE
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October/November 2011
Humor Writing Contest Results! |
Congratulations to
the Winners of our
October/ November 2011 Humor
Writing Contest!
An Inside Look At Financial Planning
By Vincent Bracco, Pennsylvania
Balance sheet – this is the sheet you see underneath the high-wire act
at the circus. The idea is, you, the investor, are on a high-wire
(pretend you’re wearing those funny tights) and at any time might fall
fifty or one hundred feet (that is, your stock drops fifty or one
hundred points) and get “killed,” luckily someone (your financial
planner) is always there with a very flimsy sheet to catch you if you
lose your balance and fall.
Common stock - this has to do with your ancestry and because it’s not
aristocratic why you keep getting stuck with low-paying menial jobs.
Essentially, your stock (bloodline) is common and that’s why you are
where you are and things will probably not change no matter what
happens.
Accrual accounting – this is actually an Old English (see OE) spelling
of the modern word “cruel,” as in wicked stepmother, but if it were
spelled that way, you, the investor, would most likely get suspicious
and think something was up (it always is, incidentally, except when it
comes to your portfolio which is down more than it is up), and with your
hard-earned money at stake, you’d want to put it where it would be safe,
like the nose of a horse, for example.
Cash flow – the principle behind cash flow, if understood by the
investor, will demonstrate once and for all why you never did, nor ever
will, have enough money. Cash, like any liquid (see liquidity)
especially water, always flows away from one thing toward something
else. Thus a principle at work in nature can illustrate for the investor
how to accumulate cash. You can’t. Even if you were to live downstream,
it would still flow away from you and into some polluted river. If you
say I’ll build a damn, that still wouldn’t work because eventually it
would burst and all your money would flow onto the next guy’s property
where it would stay and he’d prosper because he’s not you.
Dividend – the key part of this word is “end,” as most likely any
dividend you currently receive will soon end because you will need to
liquidate (see liquidity) your portfolio in order to a) eat; b ) fill
your car’s gas tank; c) buy lottery tickets.
Equity – although this word dates back to ancient times, its positive
meaning changed with the advent of mortgages and took on negative, some
might say sinister, meaning. Briefly, equity is what you currently don’t
own, but may own sometime in the future, provided 1) you actually have a
future and 2) you get there before someone catches on that you may own
something in the future and they want it now.
Fiscal year – this is a movement by anarchists to change the calendar
the human race has been using since the time of Caesar. No one knows if
fiscal is really a word, because it sounds made up, and most people
think it should really be pronounced physical, which would probably make
more sense.
Liquidity – this is the opposite of illiquidity, so if you aren’t sure
what liquidity means, try to think of its opposite and work backwards.
Keep in mind, liquid in financial circles is not so different from
liquid in any other circles; in fact if you’re going in circles, you’re
probably onto something. Remember, if your assets are frozen, they’re no
longer liquid and must be thawed at room temperature for at least 24
hours.
NASDAQ – these are the initials of the original Bowery Boys: Neil, Andy,
Seth, Doobie, Arnold, and Quinn.
Net worth – if you play tennis you know the net is worth about $18
dollars, but its greater value is in the way it separates the players
and can be hit with a ball traveling at the speed of light without
tearing. No discussion of net worth is complete without a discussion of
liabilities. Except here.
Tax shelter – this is a room eight miles below ground where the IRS
works, so in the event of a nuclear holocaust the government can still
send out tax due notices.
www.writingbothsides.com
© Copyright
by author, used with permission by Humor Press. No unauthorized reproduction or redistribution is allowed.
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 Christmas
Shopping -- The Play
By Peter Quinn, Tennessee
SCENE ONE
Setting: Hallway decorated for the Christmas season, man hurriedly
getting dressed, to “Go Christmas Shopping.”
Disembodied female voice (can be pre-recorded so you won’t have to pay
SAG wages).
"Honey, where are you going? It’s Christmas Eve,your mother is expecting
us!"
Man- "Dear, I will be right back; I have to go (pause) Christmas
Shopping.” He proclaims.
Two children, dressed in their PJs, each eating a Christmas cookie. are
watching this scene unfold. A 5 year old girl and a computer generated
doll of a small boy (this way you don’t have to pay SAG wages to the
boy).
Little girl – “Funny, dad, Ashley’s dad is going “Christmas Shopping”
too.””
Dad – “You know it’s not too late to tell Santa not to come.”
SCENE TWO
Setting: Inside a tavern, decorated for Christmas, crowded with men
ordering beer and toasting “Christmas Shopping”.
(Use real beer during rehearsals and have actors sign away SAG wages for
beer.)
Two men sitting at the bar- “I love this time of the year,” toasting as
a friend walks in.
All three in unison: "Christmas Shopping! Another round please.”
A group of guys come over including our harried husband from scene one.
"Christmas Shopping!" They toast, more beers show up on the bar.
SCENE THREE
Setting: A jewelry store; two men are bent over a display case filling
it with jewelry. The kid looks at the weathered veteran of the jewelry
store and asks;
"Why did Mr. Finkelstien bring in such a big crew on Christmas Eve day
and bring out all the stuff he couldn't sell?”
The veteran sighs, "Just wait."
Mr. Finkelstien walks over, a worried look on his face, "Are you boys
ready?" He asks, and as he pats the older of the two on the shoulder,
they give an affirmative nod.
Mr. Finkelstine to veteran jewelry store man - “I am going to need you
Ned, be strong.”
Ned – “Yes sir, I’m ready.”
Ned to the kid -“Listen kid, stick close to me and you will be OK, don’t
try to be a hero, got it?”
Kid- nods his head, not sure what is going to happen.
SCENE FOUR
Setting: Split stage with bar on right and jewelry store on left.
Tavern still a lively scene, toasts and laughter. One of the men gets
ready to toast (could be related to producer so he has signed away all
his SAG rights).
"Christmassss…." Then looks at his watch,
“Oh NO it’s four!”
Chaos in the tavern. En masse, the men rush out of the tavern right into
the jewelry store. A long non-stop stream of men heads right (make sure
to cut off the beer so all the actors leave), out of the tavern and into
the jewelry store. Last guy out is dragging a long stream of toilet
paper on his shoe (humorous affect).
Mass hysteria in the jewelry store as men rush in.
General shouts - "I’ll take it. I saw it first. Wrap it up." Uproar and
mayhem ensue.
Kid is seen running around when an errant jewelry box hits him.
Ned screams out - “Counter girl, counter girl, man down!”
Counter girls fight her way through the mayhem.
“Just a paper cut kid, you’ll be alright.” She takes out a band aid from
her purse and covers the wound.
Kid looks up and sees Ned in full action, surrounded, men shoving boxes
and jewelry at him non-stop, almost overwhelming him.
The kid shakes his head, looking at the counter girl and says.
“I can do this.”
A scream is heard in the background “Counter girl, counter girl, more
tissues!”
Giving him a reassuring smile she rushes back into the mayhem.
Kid grabs credit card machine, a full load of receipt paper and jumps
into the fray. They come at him and Ned, now they are a team, one by one
each of the Christmas shoppers is dismissed.
Lights dim as the chorus of the chaos fades away.
CLOSING SCENE
Setting: Lights fade on to the tavern, two waitresses with their shoes
off, resting their legs on the table, the barkeep leaning on the bar,
collar unbuttoned, Mr. Finkelstien, Ned, the kid and the rest of the
jewelry store crew, sit all disheveled, sweaty, hair rumpled enjoying a
quiet beer.
Mr. Finkelstien, lifts his beer in the air and proudly proclaims:
“Christmas Shopping!”
The rest of the cast raises their glasses and in unison.
“Christmas Shopping!”
http://bevnapdiaries.wordpress.com
© Copyright
by author, used with permission by Humor Press. No unauthorized reproduction or redistribution is allowed.
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 Meeting
Men in Bars
By Nanci Williams, California
I know why I am not scoring with Internet dating, and it’s the same
reason I don’t do well in job interviews. Quite simply, it’s the
inherent lack of alcohol. I am a better person with vodka. Ask anyone.
Dead sober I am riddled with self-doubt and nervous jitters. One or two
shots of Ketel One and I am confident, fun to be around, and - perhaps
most important in this context - beautiful. Yes, it’s true. Alcohol
makes me better looking. Beer bottle lenses work in the mirror too.
Every serious relationship I have been in was kindled in an
alcohol-induced state. My first husband and I went to high school
together. Years of smiling at each other in the halls and telling
friends we liked each other did nothing to put a class ring on my
finger. But two years after graduation we met again in a bar and it took
only three or four beers to realize we were fated to be together.
Husband number two worked with me at a large New York ad agency and we
rode the elevator together nearly every day for a year with not so much
as a word exchanged. It took the company Christmas party and lots of -
duh - alcohol before he was proclaiming his deep, unspoken admiration
for me and I was confessing to think him the man with the cutest butt at
the company. In Vodkian, the real language of love, that translates into
I have found my soul mate.
The third and last stroll down the aisle would never have taken place if
we had only served together on that event committee. It took the
post-event committee celebration at… drum roll please… a bar, for us to
get together.
So, please, all you people who say things like - “Well, it’s better than
meeting men in bars,” when they’re speaking of Internet dating, are
simply wrong. Another common phrase, usually uttered as justification
for fixing me up with a single neighbor, widowed co-worker, or
permanently single-for-a-reason relative, is: “The only kind of men you
meet in bars are drunks.”
Yes, drunks: happy drunks, talky drunks, handsome drunks, lovable
drunks. They seldom ask questions or make judgments. They tell me I am
beautiful (because I AM), and we talk about silly things we have in
common, like agreeing that Prince was more talented than Michael Jackson
in the 80s. I remember each and every drunken encounter fondly, even if
the best ones ended in a division of cookware.
Internet dating takes the fun, the spontaneity, and the alcohol out of a
tried-and-true mating ritual that has served me well over the years. On
an Internet date, you know too much about each other before you have
that first coffee date. Coffee date! Caffeine has the opposite effect of
alcohol. My nervousness turns into visible shaking which often makes
them ask how long I have suffered from Parkinson’s disease. And caffeine
ugli-fies as much as alcohol beautifies. How can you “check for
chemistry,” as we say on-line, when the chemicals have been tampered
with?
I love that spark of excitement I get when I’m sipping on my fourth
cocktail and suddenly spot the most handsome man I have ever seen
looking my way. I am beautiful, and I know it, so I confidently stare
back, smile, and raise my glass in a flirty air-toast that says - "You
can buy me the next drink, baby".
He’s probably a Republican who hates cats, but all I care about at that
moment is how we’re going to look together on the dance floor in the
photo I will snap of us on my phone and send to all my friends to prove
that I am “getting out there” and not sitting at home eating bon-bons. I
can almost guarantee a union forged in a bar will last one, maybe two
months before I even find out he doesn’t ski, lives with his mother, and
hasn’t worked in years. My longest Internet “relationship” lasted 10
days. I’ve been in wonderful relationships with bar men I had nothing in
common with for a month, a year… whatever amount of time it took for the
chemistry to wear off and the restraining order to go into effect.
Chemistry lesson for today:
Decent looking, age-appropriate man + coffee + business setting = job
interview.
Decent looking, age-appropriate man + alcohol + social setting =
relationship.
© Copyright
by author, used with permission by Humor Press. No unauthorized reproduction or redistribution is allowed.
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 Worst
Christmas Present Ever?
By
Jonathan Criswell,
Delaware
Although no formal surveys have ever been taken , much thought has
been given to the subject of Worst Christmas Present Ever. Before those
of you who have received vacuum cleaners, chocolate fountains, or
fruitcake makers raise your hands, stop and hear this case for Worst
Christmas Present(s) Ever.
Frankincense and Myrrh.
As many of you know, on the night of Jesus Christ’s birth, the Three
Wise Men brought gifts of Gold, Frankincense and Myrrh. Frankincense,
according to the Texts --Wikipedia.org in this case-- is “an aromatic
resin…used in perfumes and (duh) incense.” Myrrh is defined as “the same
basic thing as frankincense, except totally different.”
And we all know what Gold is. The perceived disparity was not lost on
the Baby’s mother.
“This stuff stinks,” Mary said soon after everyone left the birthing
party.
“Seriously Joe, your cheap friends couldn’t just all go together and get
us more gold? What the hell do we DO with this stuff? Burn it to offset
the smell of those awful feet of yours?”
“I know, Mare, but you know Balthazar and Melchior. They tend to be,
umm…creative with their gift ideas. Remember for our wedding they got us
that birdbath baptismal font and all those cute little garden gnomes.”
“Yeah and you know what Caspar got us? Old-fashioned cash money. Moolah.
Where do you think that 80-inch LCD downstairs came from? I’m putting
this straight into the regifting pile. Mary Magdalene is all into this
stuff.
But honestly, if the Wise Man next to you comes bearing Gold as his
gift, wouldn’t you feel a little bit stupid carrying a bottle of
Obsession?”
“Ok Mary, enough. I’ll talk to them about it in the morning.”
“No need, Joseph. I’m taking them off the Christmas Card list.”
“Mary, don’t. First, I don’t think that will solve anything. Second, I
really want those guys to see our little Jesus sitting on Santa’s lap
next year and turning the kiddie fountain at the mall into a nice Pinot
Noir. Hey, where are you going?”
“Headed down to the Cash-4-Myrrh to see what I can get for this.”
Ouch. As you can see, not all gifts will go over as well as others. But
the lesson here is not materialism or greed this holiday season, as that
all tends to lead to ill will.
The lesson is just to make sure that everyone is on the same page. And
to temper expectations. Consider the subsequent rift that nearly divided
the three Wise Men.
“Jesus Christ, Caspar, what was that? I thought we agreed on
Pomegranates, Frankincense, and Myrrh,” a slightly infused Balthazar
asked (loudly) at the bar later that evening.
“I, I…what are you talking about?” a sheepish Caspar mumbled. “OK, OK. I
know. Look, I, uh…couldn’t find any pomegranates, so I just got gold.”
“You made us look like horses’ asses again,” Melchior groused.
“C’mon guys. Myrrh? Frankincense? That stuff is all fine, but you guys
have to remember, this is The Birth of Our Savior! A momentous event!
You have to go big or go home, and the fruit basket and perfume thing
just wasn’t doing it for me this time.”
“Just a little heads up next time is all,” Melchior asked. “We got stuck
last time too with that birdbath thing for their wedding.”
Caspar agreed to confer with the other two before making any last-minute
changes going forward. The Three Wise Men slept off their respective
buzzes under a bridge (no vacancies at the local inns) and headed home
the next day a slightly different way than they came in. Nobody is sure
if they were invited to Jesus’ first birthday party or His pre-school
graduation.
As for Mary, the folks at Cash-4-Myrrh eagerly accepted her contribution
and after carefully inspecting the load, provided her with a check for
$14.07 which further inflamed her. Then they turned around and sold this
rare edition for its actual value of $5,000.
Scholars have since debated if the birth of Jesus coincided with the
first known use of the phrase “It’s the thought that counts,”
(reportedly first spoken by Joseph several weeks later to a still
seething Mary, to which she is believed to have responded “We’ll see
about that later tonight.”) At any rate, it’s still a good thing to
remember.
Especially when you get a bunch of Rudolph-themed underwear this year.
© Copyright
by author, used with permission by Humor Press. No unauthorized reproduction or redistribution is allowed.
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 Put
That Checkbook Away!
By
Larry Ryals, Texas
MCI, AT&T,
and Publisher's Clearinghouse have your number. They all have great
deals for you that will change your life, enabling you to spearhead a
successful Puerto Rican lunar manned space program, have sexual
relations with the media superstar of your choice, and assume supreme
command of NATO forces in Montana. These great offers are, however, only
being made to the select few customers who are carbon-based and
humanoid. Imagine your delight, Mr./Mrs. Horribly Mangled Name
Pronunciation Attempt, to know you were chosen for this honor.
Before I go on, let me tell you that I (me, the guy writing this smug
sarcastic article) used to be one of the legion robots known as
telemarketers. During this horribly bleak period in my life, I actually
filled out a change of address card notifying my post office I was
moving from the sewer to the gutter.
Telemarketing was horrible. My boss was the uglier, more disgusting
brother of Jaba the Hut. Ed the Hut, we called him. Ed weighed about
3,500 pounds, wore suspenders which suspended the waist of his trousers
at about chin level, and smoked cigars that laughed at nerve gas.
"Job security is a wonderful thing," Ed would say. "Hey Ryals, how many
gallons of cyanide-laced prune extract have you sold tonight?"
"500,000."
"Ha! How long do you think I would stay in business if the rest of you
bums were as pathetic as Ryals here? Not long enough for your paychecks
to clear the bank. That's how long."
It was interesting that Ed would say that, as no paycheck ever issued by
Ed's company, Fly By Night Enterprises Where No Paycheck Ever Clears
Inc., ever cleared any bank.
Still Ed would say, "Job security is a wonderful thing." And I believed
him because, at the time, it was my only hope against having to cancel
my change of address request because I had to move back down to the
sewer. So I worked harder.
"Hi!," I would say, in a tone of voice similar to a game show host on
crystal meth. "How would you like a FREE (I would stress the word
'free') bottle of cyanide-laced prune extract?" At this point, one of
three things would happen:
A. They would hang up.
B. They would condemn me and all of my descendants to suffer in the
outer rings of hell for all eternity and repeatedly use the F word and
hang up.
C. They would explain that they are eating dinner and they're terribly
sorry and don't mean to be rude, but their tuna casserole is getting
cold, but it's been lovely chatting with me, and hang up.
In approximately one out of every 10,000 calls, I would get to my next
line, "With the purchase of an M-1 tank..." At this point, one of three
things would happen:
A. They would hang up.
B. They would condemn me and all of my descendants to suffer in the
outer rings of hell for all eternity and repeatedly use the F word and
hang up.
C. Well, you get the idea.
The telemarketer does not understand the concept of "no." As a condition
of employment by Ed, I underwent laser surgery to have this concept
removed from all my memory centers. Here is an example of a typical
phone conversation with me:
"Would you like a gallon of cyanide-laced prune extract?"
"No."
"Would you prefer beige or avocado?"
"No."
"Will you be paying with Visa or Mastercard?"
"No."
"Would you like an additional gallon for a cherished loved one?"
"No."
"And how many additional gallons would you like?"
This evening, as you're sitting down to dinner and you get a call from a
crystal meth-crazed game show host who says "Hi!", think twice before
you hang up. It just might be a cheerful IRS tax auditor.
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