Auntie's Anti-Humor

Hill, and DickZ, thanks for the comments.^^^ Thank you as well AllAfricanBooks, and welcome to the LitNet!

If you're gluttons for punishment, here's some more
anti-humor:

You’ve heard of the “Age of Aquarius?” Well, that one is “Hair” and gone, giving way to a new one, which we like to call

The Age of the Credulous

Way back in the 1970s, the Television Gods offered an anthology series under the umbrella title, Love American Style. The often cheesy but occasionally cute show featured short, star-studded sitcoms interspersed with even shorter vignettes. One entr’acte depicted a bachelor seeking what is currently called “a friend with benefits.” The would-be Don Juan, however, wrongly assumed the amateur status of his intended pick-up, for when he asked her, “Hey, Baby, what’s your sign?” she replied, “Dollar!”

Asking a civilian that same question today might yield a different answer: “I dunno.” It’s not as if twenty-first century people are no longer interested in their personal horoscope, as if struck by sudden rationality. Thanks to a recent development in the field of astrology, people no longer know exactly what particular sign they were born under. Astronomers say that there now lies a previously undiscovered astrological sign--ominously the 13th-- in the zodiacal line-up. On top of that, the particular astrological persuasion you have been told was your birth-right is not the ”right” one. For instance, up to this point you might have thought of yourself as a non-assertive Virgo only to find out you’re a Leo in full roar. Changes in the celestial positions of the various constellations have brought about this reconfiguration, but it’s anybody’s guess why it took 3000 years for astrologers to notice:

http://www.associatedcontent.com/art...the.html?cat=9

This undoubtedly comes as quite a shock to the superannuated hippies still trying to turn hemp into a cash crop from their four-decade-old communes or New Agers needing help in deciding whether if today would be an auspicious day to sample that new 30-oz latte. Wait till they find out that the Zodiac is about to suffer through even more changes, including the discovery of two more new signs:

Piraticulus (“The Parrot.”) Babies born under this sign will grow up with an inexplicable desire to sail the high seas and plunder other ships. They’ll also be fond of wearing eye patches, Gilbert Roland shirts, and an earring (only in one ear.) This is the sign for people born during “Arrrr!” months.

Astraperigee (“The Fading Star.”) This is the astrological sign for people who readily admit what month they were born in but are evasive about the exact year. Astraperigees are likely to choose professions which will put them in the public eye and on Page Six. When they’re not doing a cameo role or a reality show, they like to spend their spare time making deranged phone calls and trashing hotel rooms.

Don’t be surprised if corporations see the Zodiac as still another marketing opportunity, like acquiring naming rights to sports venues or, as in David Foster Wallace’s Infinite Jest, calendar years. For example:

Global parent companies of restaurant franchises might claim a sign called Diarches (“The Double Arches.”) The constellation monopolizes the heavens especially during the time when Jupiter aligns with Mercury–rendering it “super-sized” and “fleet,” just like fast food. Diarches is most prominent when the Moon is in the Seventh House – of pancakes!

Similarly, huge discount retailers might hold the rights to a constellation called “Scatolus Magnus” (“The Big Box.”) People born under this sign are unusually docile, accepting "flexible" hours and no benefits, but they “take pride” in calling themselves “associates” and “team players.” As a constellation, The Big Box tends to outshine smaller “Mom and Pop” constellations in the galactic neighborhood and to out-source the stars above American factories to China.

Satellite television providers might claim “The Dish,” which is the sign for people born on weekdays between the hours of 9 and 4. The astrological influence of The Dish will seem fairly consistent, except when affected by local weather conditions, sunspot activities, and those times when The Dish Runs Away with the Spoon.

And finally, a bank that is “Too Big to Fail” might force a corporate merger of a “previously existing” sign, Aquarius, and rename it “Aquirius.” Rather than the current group of stars which compose Aquarius, a different constellation will be assigned to the new sign. The night sky will be dominated by a group of heavenly bodies resembling an enormous capital “S” with two vertical lines of smaller stars running through it. Aquirius will be the astrological sign for those born on July 1 (when the fiscal year begins) as well as on April 15 (income tax day.)

Let’s face it, though--the “sign” that influences every American’s life really is the dollar. Maybe the working woman on Love American Style was right.

Quote:

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Originally Posted by AuntShecky

Piraticulus (“The Parrot.”) Babies born under this sign will grow up with an inexplicable desire to sail the high seas and plunder other ships. They’ll also be fond of wearing eye patches, Gilbert Roland shirts, and an earring (only in one ear.) This is the sign for people born during “Arrrr!” months.

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Ahoy, Auntie.



J

What a hoot! You're on form with this one Auntie :D

Best, H

Note: Portions of the following so-called “humor” column have previously appeared elsewhere on the Online Literature Forums and have been recycled for reuse (or refuse) here. This material may contain stale jokes and cultural references well beyond their expiration dates. Reader discretion advised for this lame-brained piece o’ claptrap which we like to call

My Punny Valentine

The old calendar on the wall tells me that this coming Monday, February 14 is Valentine’s Day. It’s one of those non-holiday holidays in which you most likely will have to go to school or work, but if you dare forget that it's Valentine's Day, you'll find yourself either in the dog house or mercilessly teased by your little classmates, not to mention your dog.

Those of us old enough to remember when a “mouse” was something that made us call the exterminator and not a device allowing us post claptrap on the Internet used to refer to February 14 as The Feast of St. Valentine. In recent decades the “Saint” has been dropped, after the Church drummed him out of the ranks in 1969, apparently for administrative reasons. Maybe the Church decided to “go into a different direction.” In any event, there is no evidence that the Bishop formerly known as St. Valentine screwed up. It wasn't like he was involved in a scandal, like posting a shirtless photo of himself on Craigslist or anything like that.

In many parts of the world, – if not Kansas City, then whatever overseas town the greeting company outsourced its jobs to -- Valentine’s Day is a Joe Biden-style “big deal.” Likewise florist and high-end purveyors of chocolate candy get on their knees every night and thank the God of their choice for Valentine’s Day, Mother’s Day, Father’s Day, and Thinking of You Because I Just Heard Your Job Writing Greeting Cards Has Been Outsourced to Bangalore Day.

Valentine’s Day (or Night) is important for tony restaurants and even the ones whose owners aren't named Tony. That’s because on February 14 guys spring for romantic dinners for two as a special treat for their wives and sweethearts -- separately, of course. Or so I've been told. I can't vouch for this personally. It's been so long since we've been out at night that I can't remember who was sitting at the bar next to us, either a couple of Austrians drinking Australian beer or a couple of Austrian beers downed by Australians.

I hear tell though that for one night only you get to dress up and order anything you want from the menu instead of sitting at home choking down store-brand macaroni and cheese while watching “Jeopardy!” Maybe a violinist or two will stroll over and serenade your table and you can gape in delight while one of them deftly dips his bow and lifts your steak right her your plate!

Maybe your hubby or insignificant other will deign to dance with you to a beautiful love song, something up-to-the minute and straight off the pop charts, like: “What the Hell” by Avril Lavigne, Pink’s romantic ballad, “ F@*! Perfect” , or Pitbull’s passionate “Hey Baby (Drop it to the Floor)” –not to be confused with time-honored classics such as the deathless lyrics of Gwen Stefani’s “Hey Baby, Hey Baby, Hey Baby” (etc.) or the immortal 1992 masterpiece by Sir Mixalot: “Baby Got Back.” If songs like these fail to put you in a romantic mood, I don't know what will.

It’s really funny how almost every popular song is about love, but among all those thousands and thousands of songs over the years, only one well-known song mentions the word “valentine.” We're talking of course about “My Funny Valentine,” composed way, way back in 1937 by Richard Rodgers and his first -- some say his best – lyricist, Lorenz Hart. (That was way before my time, but it was playing in the background when my parents called the exterminator to get rid of the mouse.)

Anyway, it was a great song, but at one point it was almost too popular, performed so often that folks in the Business were getting sick of hearing it, so much so that when club owners (some of whom could have been named Tony) booked chanteuses for their establishments, the owners specifically had it written in the contract that “My Funny Valentine” would not be included in the repertoire. (Aspiring American Idol contestants apparently never got the memo.)

One of the lyrics in that song asks the musical question: “Is your figure less than Greek?” Well, it sure isn't. Maybe it’s Italian, because it’s shaped like a boot. And unlike the Greeks, I've never been seen bearing gifts.

Speaking of gifts, they can be a real buzz killer on Valentine’s Day, if you don't get ‘em, but especially if you don't give ‘em. This time of year is not really the time to choose a mate. (That’s “for the birds” in more ways than one.) Actually, this is the time when guys are likely to break up with their girlfriends, just so they don't have to bother getting them a Valentine’s Day gift. The timing, though, is very tricky. The guy wants to get it over with BEFORE February 14, but if he does it too soon, he'll be stuck with nobody to make the sandwiches for the Super Bowl party.

Then of course, on February 15 and the days following, he is free to makeup with his friend with all the "benefits." It’s a well-known fact that in the days leading up to President’s Day, thousands of re-engaged young women suddenly become fascinated with Major League Baseball, specifically the team headquartered in Arizona. Such a girl becomes a devoted fan in the joy of getting her “diamondback.” The boyfriend's back in her good graces, too-- at least until Easter.

Quote:

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Originally Posted by AuntShecky

The old calendar on the wall tells me that this coming Monday, February 14 is Valentine’s Day.

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I almost forgot. I keep thinking I've got another week to go.

Quote:

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Originally Posted by AuntShecky

Maybe your hubby or insignificant other will deign to dance with you to a beautiful love song...or the immortal 1992 masterpiece by Sir Mixalot: “Baby Got Back.”

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One of my favorites.

Nice humor piece! :D

Yep! I think you earned your corn with this one, Auntie. Very enjoyable. I particularly liked the part about the mouse :D

Live long and prosper - H

Quote:

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Originally Posted by AuntShecky

. . .
Maybe your hubby or insignificant other will deign to dance with you to a beautiful love song, something up-to-the minute and straight off the pop charts, like: “What the Hell” by Avril Lavigne, Pink’s romantic ballad, “ F@*! Perfect” , or Pitbull’s passionate “Hey Baby (Drop it to the Floor)” –not to be confused with time-honored classics such as the deathless lyrics of Gwen Stefani’s “Hey Baby, Hey Baby, Hey Baby” (etc.) or the immortal 1992 masterpiece by Sir Mixalot: “Baby Got Back.” If songs like these fail to put you in a romantic mood, I don't know what will. . .

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I'm impressed with your whole article, but even more so that you would know the names of all those modern 'songs.'

Well, it’s said that writers have to suffer for their art, and your ol’ auntie is no exception. So in order to write this latest ditty, I had to break my long-standing vow against watching the Academy Awards telecast. Man, talk about suffering!

For a while it looked as if I could have watched Masterpiece Theatre, or, shockingly enough, actually read something, as when I tuned in at 8:30, the ABC affiliate in my neck o’ the woods did not come in on my TV set. Instead of carrying the Oscar pre-game show, “On the Red Carpet,” the local station chose to broadcast dead air as a public service. But wouldn’t you know it, a few minutes later the stupid awards show came on after all.

The irony of the whole thing is that I never had to sit through any of it, had I but known that early this morning the good people over at WDUH-FM (One-oh-four-point-seven-and-a-half on your dial) were going to email me the following transcript of their complete coverage of the star-studded event. Thus, into the annals of cinematic history comes the latest bit of anti-humor which we like to call

If Sportscasters Covered the Academy Awards Ceremony

“–elcome, East Hogwashers. Muckenmeyer’s Discount Beer is very proud to present a very special edition of ‘Biff and Goose in the Morning,’ though of course it’s evening where you are on the East Coast. We’re broadcasting live from the Kodak Theatre out here in sunny California. I’m Biff Bennington, your co-host along with the lovely and talented Goose Ganderheimer. . . Goose, how’d ya like to tell our listeners how we happened to come by this gig?”

“Sure thing, Biff. Funny thing happened over in our studios in East Hogwash. Our usual arts, entertainment, fashion, and social scene reporter, Kristi Diaz-Bullekopf, was all set to come out here and cover the Oscar telecast for WDUH. She had her plane tickets, her reservations at the Holiday Inn, every thing all ready to go, when she thought she’d had time to finish some work before heading for the airport. She was writing a blog about tips on haircoloring tips, I believe it was. Well, all of a sudden Kristi broke free of the chains and sandbags that had up to that point anchored her to her desk and before you know it, she floated, up, up, and away. All I can say, Biff, is that at this point, Kristi will be ‘mist.’ ”

“Oh, Goose, that’s so sad.”

“You said it, Biff. At the time of the tragedy, that blog she was working on, 'To Frost or Not to Frost' turned out to be Kristi’s swan song.”

“Yep. She was so light-headed, er light-hearted. That is why Muckenmeyer’s Discount Beer –‘When it’s the price–not the quality–that counts’ has decided to dedicate this edition of 'Biff and Goose in the Morning' to Kristi. And that’s also why you and I are out here to cover the big Oscar show.”

“Speaking of fashion, look at the skimpy dresses these Hollywood chicks are wearing, Biff. I’ve seen more fabric on a sweat towel in the East Hogwash Boars locker room.”

“You bet, Goose. I guess that’s why they have to have ‘seat warmers.’ "

“You didn’t tell me we were supposed to wear tuxedos, though. I mean, who’s gonna see us, we’re on the radio–“

“But look at you, Goose. Who are you wearing?”

“Well, get a gander at the back of my jersey. You can see it loud and clear: it says “Don Mattingly.”

“Oh yeah. Nice L.A. touch. It sure is great to be here at the Oscars, but I’ve got a confession to make. I really don’t know that much about the movies. In fact the last Best Picture I saw was Chariots of Fire.”

“Yeah? Is that the really old one with Charlton Heston in it? I don’t know nothing about no movies neither. But I do know the first picture I ever saw and that’s when my mom and dad took me to the drive-in to see Francis the Talking Mule. (Or was that the day they bought a tv and the first show that came on was Meet the Press?)”

“Well, let’s take a look at this year’s nominees, shall we? Oh, here’s one that’s right up our alley– ‘Best original score.’ “

“Oh, I know! I know, Biff. Best original score– that would be August 31, 2004. Indians 22, Yankees zip.”

“You’re on a roll, there, Goose. Try this one– ‘Best visual effects.’ “

“I got it, I got it–oh, crap, I lost it in the sun! You try one, Biff. Of all the Major League Umpires, who has the most animated feature?”

“Not now, Goose. Right now we’ve got the winner of the Best Costume Design in the batter’s box and it’s Alice in Wonderland! Wow, just look at the size of that head!”

“Oh, are they on the Best Actor category all ready?”

“No, Goose. It looks like the two co-hosts are doing a comedy bit. She’s wearing men’s clothes and he’s in drag. Let’s listen in--”

“--Hot damn! There’s a Charlie Sheen joke! I win the pool, Biff!”

“‘Fraid not. That joke’s too lame. Sorry, Buddy, you’re DQ’d. On deck is the category for Best Picture, but first we’re going to break for a message from Muckenmeyer’s Discount Beer. We’ll be right back. . .Ya think they’re serving Muckenmeyer’s at the glamorous Oscar parties tonight, Goose? Back there in the Green Room?”

“Hey, one sip of Muckenmeyer’s and everything’s green, including your -–“

“Damn it, Goose, hit the mike! Hit the mike!--
. . .Okay, we’re back. Biff and Goose here at the Oscars. And it’s the bottom of the ninth with the Best Picture Nominees on deck. Holy Cow! There are ten of ‘em! Wow, that’s one more than the total number of teams in the AL Central and West combined! Okay, let’s look at the roster: Leading off is Black Swan. Second, ah, at last a sports-related movie: The Fighter. Batting next is Inception –“

“Oh, yeah, like the big party that comes after a wedding. . .”

“Then The Kids Are All Right--”

“--Must be about rookies–“

“ -Followed by The King’s Speech, then the one that reminds me of a Red Sox-Yankees game, 127 Hours–

“Or this show, Biff –“

“The Social Network, Toy Story 3 ,(1 and 2 must’ve been traded to other teams) Winter’s Bone , and True Grit .”

“That last one’s gotta be about the hot dogs at the concession stand at Memorial Stadium on the Upstate Campus of Downstate University at East Hogwash. What’s this? Somebody just handed us a telegram, Biff.”

“A telegram? In this day and age? Why didn’t they send us a text message or a Twitter or something. . .Oh, gosh. It’s from the legal department of the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences. They say we’re unauthorized to mention their trademarked words ‘Oscar’ or ‘Academy Awards.’ ”

“What are you talking about, Biff? You mean we can’t say ‘Oscar’? What do they do when Sesame Street comes on? Bang on the lid of Oscar the Grouch’s garbage can?”

“Hey, you don’t want to fool around with these lawyers. They’re so tough even Disney wouldn’t hire ‘em. Well, it looks like they’re coming up on the finale of the Os--, er, awards presentation broadcast. A bunch of school kids from Staten Island are singing ‘Over the Rainbow.’ The NFL ought to book them to sing the National Anthem at next year’s Super Bowl.”

“Not a chance, Biff. They’re way too good. They went through the entire song and didn’t flub one line.”

“Well, maybe there’s no a fat lady singing, but the ball game’s over. This concludes our special episode of “Biff and Goose in the Morning.” Tune in tomorrow morning when we’ll back in our WDUH studios to discuss why the East Hogwash Boars didn’t get an invite to the March Madness tournament for the 73rd year in a row. For Muckenmeyer’s Discount Beer and speaking for Goose Ganderheimer, this is Biff Bennington saying ‘So long from sunny California.’ “

“Are you sure we can say ‘California,’ Biff?”



If you're a glutton for punishment, here's some more
Biff and Goose:
Words of Whizdom 2010

Christmas Morning Play by Play

Thumbs up, Auntie :D a very enjoyable, rip-roaring guide to the main event. I actually think if they covered the thing that way it'd be a better show. Despite being a film buff in the distant past, when my youth was only twenty years behind me, I'm afraid to say that I took absolutely no interest in the awards. The Uk news told me who'd won best picture and best actor the next day, and that was only because of the British contingent! So, sadly I missed all the gushingly false tears and inane jokes from the compares. Somehow though, I think I'll survive...

Live and be well, H

PS, have you ever seen Simone? Brilliant movie satire on hollywood, and it stars Al Pachino, so you know the actiing will be good.

BFN

Thank you, Hawk, for your very generous response to Auntie's take on the Os--er, awards ceremony show. I usually don't watch it because it's usually just awful and totally irrelevant as I haven't been to a movie theatre in 15 years.

I prefer watching the old movies on TV. The other night TCM showed On the Waterfront(1954), which is one of the finest movies I've ever seen. I've been informed that one of the reviewers at the time said that Brando's acting in On the Waterfront was the greatest performance ever recorded on film. I'm no expert or"cineast" (is that how it's spelled?), but I whole-heartedly agree.

As far as the failed telecast on Sunday night, there have been much funnier jokes about it than the ones yer ol' Auntie tried to come up with, for instance Jimmy Kimmel's parody of the winner for Best Picture and on the morning news show I watch daily, one of the guests was a big wheel at a cable network as well as host of his own show. His comments on the award telecast were very funny, but especially his opinion of the singing public school kids. I thought they were adorable, but this guy said that the Osc- awards telecast just wasn't the appropriate place. "And what was with the colorful teeshirts those kids were wearing," he asked. "What is this--a telethon?"

How Now, Brown ---Wha?

When success is the goal of launching a product, the conventional business advice is to “find a need and fill it.” Marketing executives have tweaked that basic guideline by creating a need for otherwise useless products. We have that tidbit of wisdom to thank for those wonderful contributions to western civilization such as the Pet Rock, the Snuggie, and cures for previously-unknown ailments such as the heartbreak of Restless Leg Syndrome.

Now, another product that we simply cannot live without has backed into the room. On his cable TV show yesterday, Dylan Ratigan mentioned that a website is offering a product designed for stressed-out urban dwellers who hanker for the natural ambience of the country and the relative simplicity of rural life. Now citified professionals can get a whiff of everything they've been missing with a new designer fragrance –“ L’essence de petarades des vaches” or “Cow Fart in a Can.” (The online article was unclear as to whether it’s a conventional can that requires an opener or if it’s an “aerassol” spray.)

Just think. You're a middle-manager forced to sit through a mid-afternoon meeting while some boss drones on about quarterly statements, core competencies, and spreadsheets.When the Head Gasbag demands, as he always does, to “think outside the box,” why not kick it up a notch and start stinking outside the can! That’s what I call taking the bull by the horns. The workplace have always dealt with the stuff found in the barnyard, so it may as well smell like the real thing.

Pop open the can and in an instant your cold, sterile office will be transformed into the bucolic serenity of the lower 40. Suddenly, minds once preoccupied with number-crunching will dream of the rustling of a breeze through the cow pasture, its earthy fragrance wafting upwind, maybe bringing with it visions of a corn-fed gal in pigtails and gingham just a-waitin’ for ya ta finish yer chores and meet ‘er up there in the hayloft.

In addition to improving employee morale, there are financial benefits that are beginning to smell really good. For instance, think of the scratch you'll save the company by opening one of these puppies (er, calves?) around half-past eleven, quarter to twelve. The employees who used to sprint out the door to the cafeteria or the Food Court will rapidly lose their appetites. They'll stay and work straight through lunch.

Grab yourself a requisition form and order a fiscal year’s worth of Nature’s Gift to the Pheromonically-deprived. Have it delivered overnight so your co-workers won't have to wait one extra minute to breathe in the bovine goodness. Come on, make your "moo-ve." Be sure to “stock” up so you'll have enough products to last till the cows come home. (If you're really lucky, maybe on the way home they'll stop off at a Taco Bell.)

Unless you've been living under the proverbial rock, you've heard about the 20-inch cobra who broke out of the Bronx Zoo over the weekend. It’s still MIA. Don't be fooled by the imposter claiming to be the escapee and posting lame-o “jokes” on Twitter. That’s the Anti-Cobra. The One, True, Living Cobra has slithered all the way up the Taconic Parkway to beautiful downtown East Hogwash, where it has been spotted ‘knocking ‘em dead’ nightly at Al’s Chuckle Barn. A portion of the cobra’s monologue follows:

“. . .[S]o I thought I'd try my hand at stand-up comedy. ‘Course actually having a hand would help. For me the hardest part about doing stand-up is standing up.

“I'll tell ya why I decided to split the Big House. I was sick of doing time, especially when I was completely innocent of all charges. My lawyer was lousy! The judge kept getting him mixed up with me!

“Not only that, I had to get away from all the emails and cell phone messages from people thinking that COBRA had something to do with health insurance. If they think I'm gonna help some out-of-work construction guy get a Viagra prescription, they're crazier than Charlie Sheen! LOL, my asp!

“What’s that – a heckler back there? Listen, I'm the one who gets to do all the hissing around here!

“Yep. I've been a cobra all my life. Back in college – Ah, I remember it well, I've got total recoil. Anyway, back in the day, I flirted with the idea of converting to another species. I was gonna be a garter snake, but I changed my mind. There’s not a chick on the planet who would let me get anywhere near her legs!

“Few years back I was going to audition for Snakes on a Plane. Didn't even make it to L.A. Airport security wouldn't let me through the gate. They told me to shed my skin. But I don't do nudity.

“If I don't make it as a comic, I've got something to fall back on-- the real estate business. What, you've never heard of reptile landlords? I won't have any trouble with tenants coughing up the rent. I've got some boa constrictors in my posse, and I'll just send ‘em over. They'll squeeze the life out of those deadbeats.

“Listen, fangs a lot, Ladies and Gentlemen. You've been an awesome audience. I'm here all week. Try the Prime Rib. Me, I'm partial to rodent tartare. I can't believe I swallowed the whole thing– whole!”


UPDATE 4/3/11
The escapee was apprehended and back behind bars at the Bronx Zoo. Can a reality show be far behind? It could fit the Animal Planet lineup, but the real housewives on Bravo could use some soft and feminine contrast, don't cha think?

By the bye, the cobra is a "she." The zoo is sponsoring a naming contest so that two-legged species can endow her with a moniker. All I can say is if the winning entry has anything like "aunt" or "Shecky" in the name, I'm ssssuing!

:lol: Some good laugh lines in there Aunty. :D I saw that story. Is she still on the loose?

deleted ____

Maybe it’s my peevish mood, but today there are two anti-humorrhoids for the price o’ one.

Up first is a parody (sort of) of a work whose creator probably doesn’t deserve to be spoofed. I’ve yet to see the two movies based on Diary of a Wimpy Kid, but the online version is cute as all get out. Well, it’s said that “imitation is the sincerest form of flattery” (also, as Fred Allen noted,” the sincerest form of television.) Here we go with the first ignorable piece-- typos, misspellings, glitches, and adolescent patois and all, though she gets the apostrophes right--which we like to call

‘Dairy’ of a Nerdy Chick or like, Milking It For All It Is Worth

Day One

I wanted to start each journal entry with “Dear Diary,” but it keeps coming out as “dairy.” It’s even weirder when I try to type my shorthand for “going to.” Some how I’m gonad have to disable the stupid Spell Check.

Day Two

It’s not even fifth period and all ready it’s a really, really bad hair day.

It started this morning when I got nailed for being late for Home Room. No fair! It wasn’t my fault at all! A bunch of college kids were blocking the steps and holding everybody up. They had basketfulls of condominiums and were passing out the little foil packs to everybody entering the school, one to a customer. The industrial arts teacher was ahead of me when a college kid goes, “Excuse me, Sir, are you sexually active?” And Mr. Crashaw is like, “No, I’m married.”

Lunch was the absolute worst! I was gonad sit with my BFFs. Kayla, Kyline, Madysson, and Edna and my self usually like to sit at the same table and text each other. But they like totally ignored me. I saw my EX- BFFs in the back of the cafeteria laughing with all those stuck-up b-words!

I hate those rich chicks! First of all, I don’t know why they don’t go to like some hoity-toity private academy instead of East Hogwash Junior High School. On the upside it’s good they’re so dumb because they push my average higher on the grading curve.

Secondly they diss us poor kids for not having fancy food like they have. And today I didn’t have any lunch at all! The Zero Tolerance Monitor at the front entrance confiskated my peanut butter sanwich + threw it into the trash can next to the Metal Detector. Sometimes the b-words have caterers come in, swear to God. They use silver spoons to eat fish eggs out of little jars and they guzzle what they say is champaine. I don’t think there’s any like real booze in it. But I bet ya it like cost big bucks.

The leader of their little whatyacallit –“click”-- Mindy Worthington-Farquar, is the snootiest. Her daddy is like so rich he let her have some huge designer– Pucci Gucci Coo or whatever-- reboot her gym suit. Mindy doesn’t even have to update her own Facebook page. She has Mark Zuckerberg on Speed Dial. The other day when she missed the late bus she had the principal drive her home. But first she made him put on a showfer’s uniform.

But it looks like the rich b-words and my EX bffs are gonad get their like come up Pence. Ethan, Evan, Aiden + Butch got a bunch of those condominiums and made like water balloons out of them to dump on the heads of those mean girls. LOL! I’m gonad get my cell ready to catch it all on video. G2G!

Day Three

When today started out it looked like I was gonad finally catch a break. Mrs. Symansky goes, “ Mary Ellen Briggs, report to the Guidance Office” Whooo! That rocks! Not because I like the guidance counselor so much. But because any day I can get out a first period gym is like Christmas.

On my way out of home room I accidentally on porpoise elbowed Ethan’s back. I’m like, “Whoops, sorry” and he’s like “Listen, 4 Eyes, when you go see old Crome Dome tell ‘im what he wants to hear. Lay some really, really lame-o stuff on ‘im like ‘I want to make a difference.’ They love nerdy crap like that. But whatever you do, don’t tell him you want a job just like he has or he’ll think you’re just brown-nosin’.” And I’m like “Ok, Buddy. Thanks for the tip.”

Ol’ Crome Dome was at his desk waiting for me. “Oh, Mary Ann, glad you could make it.”

He got the name wrong but I let it pass. “Good morning Mr. McClanahan.” He had a big paper cup full of coffee on his desk but didn’t offer me any. Sooooo typical.

“We’ve been looking over your permanent record and I must say your grades are pretty good.” I go, “Thank you.” And thank you Mindy, Muffy, Sterling, + Cooper.

“I know it’s early yet , and you’re still in EHJHS, but all of us are cureyus. Have you given any thought to the future? Long term, I mean. College plans? Career goals?”

“Well, Chrom--, er, Mr. Mac, I’m not really sure yet. One thing I do know is that whatever I decide to be I really, really want to make a difference.”

Chrome Dome gave me a humongus homongus big smile that showed every one of his yellow teeth. Then he goes “Why, that’s really admirable of you, Mary Sue! “ He wrote somethin down and then he’s like, “Now, just so we don’t get you started down the wrong track, we want to eliminate the inappropriate courses at the get go. Tell me, can you 4 see any job that you don’t ever, never want to do?“

“Why, yes, Mr. Mac.” I go. “ Funny that you ask. There is one thing I don’t ever want to be.”

“Yes?”

“The last thing I ever want to be is a junior high school guidance counselor.” That was when Chrome Dome sent me straight to the Principal’s Office.

Whooo! This was my lucky day after all! The Principal wasn’t there. He went downtown to score Mindy some Justin Bieber tickets. You just know the line in front of the Rentacenter Civic Center box office is gonad be like soooo long.

Expecially if they’re handing out condominiums in front of the place.




Another piece impersonating "humor" immediately appears below.

(Note--This is the second of today’s humorrhoids. The first is posted immediately above.)


Sometimes I think I’m living in an alternative universe. I may be wrong, but I distinctly heard several mentions of a global unemployment crisis going on. Evidently I was wrong. The job picture can’t be as bad as everyone says it is, not if somebody is going pay a guy to lounge around the beach. I kid you not! It’s the real deal.*

I’m not envious or outraged or anything like that, but I am moved to post the following ditty which we like to call

It’s A Lousy Job, But Somebody’s Got to Do It

Through the knothole in the nine-foot-high fence I could see all sorts of activity going on– dudes in hard hats operating heavy machinery, climbing up on girders, drilling with jackhammers, pounding nails. I sighed and shook my head. Those lucky stiffs!

As much as I wanted to experience the vicarious thrill of laborious construction work, I had to get to my own place of employment: an expansive stretch of pristine white sand flanked by the endless blue sea, with the warmth of heat of the sun above me, the coolness of the ocean breeze in my hair. The name’s Boyle. Lance Boyle. Occupation: Professional Beach Tester.

How, you may well ask, did a nice guy such as myself end up in a place like this? Well, it was completely random. Sheer chance, you may say. Not long ago, I intended to get a refund for tickets to Charlie Sheen’s show. When I saw the three-block queue snaking around the corner, I got on the end. As it turned out, I was in the wrong line. Long story short, I got the job. As I say, it was dumb luck.

I’m glad to be working, don’t get me wrong, but I haven’t been this bored since I was a kid and sat in front of the TV waiting for Geraldo Rivera to open up Al Capone’s vault. All I do all day is sit around, soak up rays, read trashy novels, and Tweet. And I had to kiss my quiet nights at home goodbye. If I have to sip one more glass of Merlot or chat up one more beach babe I’ll go completely psycho.

Boredom isn’t the only occupational hazard. I must spend hours just shaking the sand out of my Speedos. The strong sunlight is beginning to fade my "tat." Things took a tern for the worst when the seagulls started stealing my nacho chips.

The other day I thought I’d finally found a ray of hope when the wind blew a sign right across my toes. It said “Bikinis–Half Off.” At last a break in the monotony, I thought. You can imagine my heartbreak when I discovered that the sign originally hung in the window of Dottie's Duds next to souvenir stand.

Yesterday I had enough. Just to occupy myself I helped a guy moor his sailboat. Then I held the pail of lacquer while a surfer was refinishing his board. The high point of the day was when I got a chance to clean the oil slick off a pelican. That’s when the boss caught me.

“Stop that!” she yelled. “Go lie down this instant and earn your pay!”

“Sorry, Ma’am, but I’m on strike,” I explained.

“Good, because you’re through. Hand in your beach chair and your SPF-40.” With that she Trumped me with the Full Donald: “Ya fired!”

So I lost the job. Big deal. Lance Boyle has been fired from better jobs than this. But Lance Boyle is nothing if not resilient. I got another gig that very day.

Not that it’s much better. I have to sit around a plush suite and watch every televised MLB game** for the entire season. As I say, the job is no home run, but I know times are tough and I’ll try to keep it.

All I have to remember to do is keep my nose clean, post my Tweets, and resist the urge to change the channel to C-Span.


*Beach tester


**baseball game watcher

G'day, Auntie, I had, in fact, already perused these little gems, noting that the first one appears to be an experiment in 3D posting, although the orientation of the secondary image is such that the human binocular arrangement of optical receptors is incompatible with the alignment of the display, thus failing to render the tri-D image to optimum effect. However, as a representation of the mindset and educational accomplishments of the distaff portion of American youth, the first of the pieces is both witty, and amusing.

As for the second, you once again reveal that truth is stranger than fiction. You might be interested to learn that on the website www.comparethemeerkat.com they are advertising a position with a 6 month contract with a pay packet of £40,000 stirling, as ambasador for Meerkovo. (this is a genuine advert.) I'd apply myself, but I know nothing about twitter or facebook, both prerequsites for a successful application!

Live and be well - H

(From the online journal of Mrs. Debi Snotenlocker, the Happy Housewife of East Hogwash, USA):

Debi Snotenlocker’s Storybook Moment

I almost forgot about the big historical event today. No, I don't mean Opening Day at Belmont Race Track. Yesterday I stopped at the Cost Cutter to pick up a pint o’ half and half, and they had a huge display of products with a big sign over it: Every Snack You Need for Your Royal Wedding Watching Party! They weren't kidding. ‘Cuz nothin’ says Merry Old England like frozen pizza bites, tortilla chips, and sushi rolls.

This morning I was up before sunrise. As usual, Brad was miffed. He’s “Gee, Debi, if you got up at 5 in the morning for this thing, how come you wouldn't get your butt outa bed to go trout fishing with me?”

And I go, “When you tell me that Brian Williams or Anderson Cooper are bringing their film crews down to the Esopus Creek, then we'll talk.”

I guess that was pretty snotty, but I was all cranky from staying awake most of the night reading up on English history in the encyclopedia. I found out about King Henry the VIII (all those kings had Roman numerals after their names, like the Super Bowl.) You always see pictures of him as a fat guy ready to chomp on a drumstick. I didn't know they had KFC back in the 1500s. Hollywood had nothing on that guy-- he had VI wives! The king divorced the ones he didn't like except for the ones whose heads were chopped off. (He must've done that when he was strapped for cash and couldn't cough up the alimony.)

Another king who lived less than 100 years ago fell in love with a woman who was a commoner and had a previous relationship. Not only that, she was an American. Wait a minute– a king can murder his wives but he can't marry anybody he wants? What’s up with that? Anyway, in 1936 this King Edward VIII said he would give up his whachamacallit–his kinghood --“for the woman he loves.” How romantic is that? Back when I was setting the date for our wedding, I couldn't even get Brad to change his Bowling Night.

But who in her right mind would want to be the wife of a guy who blew off the throne for her? I mean, she must've been under a lot of Pressure. She probably had to think long and hard before telling him, “Not tonight, Dear. I have a headache.”

Well, I wanted somebody to watch the wedding of Prince William and Kate Middleton with me. Trick, Trap, and Trip didn't want to have anything to do with it, once they realized that it wasn't a Disney DVD with talking animals. I offered to change the channel to the coverage on Fox News, but no dice.

You'd think Milwaukee, my teenage daughter from a previous relationship, would be psyched about this storybook wedding. Forget it! Two years ago I had to twist her arm to get the go to the All Star Game, but since then she found out how many millions MLB players make. So now she spends hours on her cell phone Googling rookies to see who’s an eligible bachelor. She is like shopping around for a Major Leaguer, or as my grandma used to say, “setting her cap” for one. I go, “You know, you could be a princess just like Kate. Prince William has a kid brother. What about him?”

“Yeah?” She says, “What’s his batting average?”

So I ended up watching the Royal Wedding all by my lonesome. It was beautiful! I saw the Beefeaters with their red uniforms and puffy hats. They looked like they just stepped off a gin bottle. I really appreciate getting to see all this because we don't have a monarchy over here in America, unless you count The King of Beers, Queen-sized mattresses, and Royal Crown cola. But we “Yanks” (also Mets and Red Sox fans) weren't forgotten. At the end of the ceremony, the band in Westminster Abbey played “My Country ‘Tis Of Thee.”

Naturally I was looking for celebrities in the crowd but didn't have much luck spotting anybody. I saw somebody in the row behind the boys’ choir who looked like Larry King, but it could've been a gargoyle. I heard Fergie of Black Eyed-Peas was going to be there, but not the Fergie who is Prince William’s aunt. I don't know if Donald Trump got an invite. But I think I did hear somebody demanding to see the royal marriage license.

As far as I know, the reception wasn't going to be televised. Too bad. I'd love to see the traditional wedding rituals, like we have over here, where the groom smashes the cake into the bride’s face.

Even though I only got to see the wedding on TV, I betcha it would've been a thrill to be there in person. Lots of tourists are buying tons of souvenirs, like key chains and commemorative plates. I heard that you can even buy a refrigerator with a full-color photo of the royal couple on the door. (This might work for somebody who is on a diet. Just one look at Kate’s skinniness would make you change your mind about that pizza or tortilla snack.)

One of my nicest possessions happens to be a souvenir, a gorgeous coffee mug. So what if it says “Welcome to Finger Lakes Racetrack” on it? At least it’s not Brad’s precious set of shot glasses from Vegas. One of them has two turtles going at it with the inscription: “Faster, faster!” And the other one has two pigs doing the same thing, only this time it says “Makin’ bacon.” He says he’s saving them for a special occasion.

So, if the Queen of England ever decides to cross the pond and pay a visit to East Hogwash, I hope she goes to somebody else’s house for teatime.

I think you capture the unique US cultural outlook toward a Royal wedding beautifully. What a great way to separate yourself by bringing all the familiarity of your own lifestyle to the wedding!

Loved the comment about Trumpy!

Very entertaining, Auntie. Much better than the wedding itself.

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by Delta40

What a great way to separate yourself by bringing all the familiarity of your own lifestyle to the wedding!

---

Not my "own lifestyle"--Debi's.

“–so remember the name, Muckenmeyer’s Discount Beer when it’s the price–not the quality– that counts. You’re listening to WDUH, one-oh-nine-pont-four and a half on your FM dial. We take you now to the Rentacenter Civic Center in beautiful downtown East Hogwash for the Fourth Annual Commencement of the upstate campus of Downstate University at Hogwash, where University President Porterhouse Mistake is wrapping up his opening remarks. All of us here at the WDUH community offer our heartiest congratulations and good wishes to the Class of 2011 as we join the graduation already in progress”:

“- off your cell phones. We have another friendly reminder that for the duration of our time here, this venue, just as on the entire campus at DUH, we are a drug-, alcohol-, smoke-, perfume-, sugar-, tree nut-, ground nut-and trans fat-free zone. Please accept our apologies for the delay of the ceremony as well as gratitude for your patience while the Haz Mat team took care of the Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup wrapper in the south end of the Rentacenter parking lot. I’m told that the process normally doesn’t take as long as it did, but this time the wrapper originated from a twin-pack.

“Now, before we get to our commencement address and the awarding of the degrees, I beg your forbearance as I have been called upon to make just one more announcement. The History Department would like to inform Mr. Bradley Freen his final thesis is overdue. . . That’s odd. I seem to be experiencing a bit of déjà vu. If that’s the same fella who failed to finish his course work last year –and the year before-- one imagines that the principle on his student loan must be approaching the figure of the National Debt.

“At this point it is –or would have been– my distinct privilege to introduce our previously- announced speaker today, best-selling novelist and star of the popular reality show, Shore Enuff! – the inexplicable Woozi. Just a couple of hours ago I received a text message from Ms Woozi’s publicist to the effect that there has been a scheduling conflict. Ms Woozi has decided to honor a previous commitment by keeping her appointment at Geri’s Spa and Tanning Salon. Therefore, I am sorry to say that she will not be gracing us with her presence today, though I’m sure Woozi will be here in spirit! I might add that nothing kept her spirit –and her considerably ample flesh– from schlepping up to the Bay State to grab that honorary doctorate from M.I.T. but, in keeping with the decorum of the day, I’ll let that pass.

“I’m certain all of you will be gratified to know that one of East Hogwash’s favorite sons has been gracious enough to step in at the last minute. Esteemed faculty, beloved parents, underemployed alumni, and of course, the Class of 2011: Let me introduce someone you may already know –a man who never met an old joke he didn’t like--highly respected local businessman, owner and operator of Bucky’s Gas’n’ Go, give it up for the ever-available Lloyd “Bucky” Sinclair!”

(Sporadic applause.)

“Thank you profs, moms, dads, and grads. As you see it took me a whiles to get up on this here whatchamacallit –“


(Whispered) “Podium–“

“-Podium ‘cause you can see I’m on crutches. Just a little mishap the other day when I pulled a hammy from constantly goin’ and up down on the ladder to change the price per gallon.

“But as you can see, I made it down here all right. Maybe next time you’ll come and see me. Just about every day you can find me at Bucky’s Gas ‘n’ Go, down at the inner section of US 20 and County Route 66, right across the road from Slappy’s Tae Kwon Do Academy and kitty corner to Fluffy Puppy Pet Groomers. We’re about five minutes downwind of the Town Landfill and Waste Treatment Plant, you can’t miss us. Especially on a hot day like today.

“When you visit us, why not stay for lunch? I’m happy to say that the trouble over the burritos got settled out of court. Even if you don’t have a hankering for Mexican food, our delicious franks and assorted hot snacks will be available as soon as we can get the equipment up and running again. My lovely wife, Mrs. Sinclair, assures me that she’ll have the microwave all cleaned out and disinfected as soon as she is damned good and ready.

“Meantime we always have plenty of bagged snacks on hand at the Gas’n’Go– chips, prentzels, you name it. Every snack item sold at the Gas’n’Go carries has a guarantee that its expiration date is not past three weeks ago. That’s our pledge to you, our valued customers. Sometimes I gotta take a hit, but that’s all part of runnin’ a small business.

“Speaking of small business, my eight year old twins, Mitt and Newt Sinclair, will have the grand opening of their lemonade stand the day after summer vacation starts. I know that all o’ yahs are good Americans who buy locally, so of course, you’ll visit the boys’ lemonade stand. Their lemonade will go down good with the bagged snacks, especially since the lemonade stand will be open during the hottest time of the day, and during them hours the Gas’n’Go won’t be sellin’ any other cold beverages.

(Sound of a slap on the forehead) “Whoops! Silly me. I almost forgot why I was here! With yahs graduating and all, I’m s’possed to tell you some things that will jumpstart yahs on the Road o’ Life. I’m not much on book learnin’ myself, but I guess I picked up a couple of things from owning and operating the Gas ‘n’ Go. So here are some guidelines all of yahs should follow.

(Sound of a piece of paper being unfolded.) Lemme put my readin’ glasses on. There ain’t nothin’ wrong with my eyes –my arms are too danged short. Anyway, here we go:

One. Rotate your Tires.

Two. Always remember to have your oil changed and your sparks and points checked on a regular basis.

Three. Before Old Man Winter strikes, don’t forget the antifreeze. How do you make antifreeze? Hide her nightgown.

Four. Even after you finish school, keep on learnin’. When yahs go to the fountain of knowledge, yahs should open the gas cap o’ your brain and tell the attendant: “Fill ‘er up!”

And Finally-- Five. Whatever kind of a job you get after graduation -- it iould be runnin’ a jackhammer, trainin’ a bunch of raw recruits, or dentistry, remember the motto of the Oil Biz– “Drill, Baby, Drill!”

Well, Grads, that just about wraps it up. I wish yahs all best of luck out there in the real world. I know times are tough all over, not just for you and me but for everybody, even the Parent Company of the Gas ‘n’ Go– International Windfall Oil, Inc. Last quarter Windfall posted a profit of only three hunnerd and sixty five point one billion. Our CEO was forced to sell one of his nine mansions.

But congratulations, Grads! As my personal gift to you, every diploma given out today will contain a coupon good for a dollar off a lube job only at Bucky’s Gas ‘n’ Go between June 24 and Labor Day. PLUS– if you present a valid receipt from Mitt and Newt’s lemonade stand, I’ll actually look under the hood.




Previous DUH Commencement Addresses
2010

2009

2008

I had almost forgotten about this little ditty posted way back on in July of Ought Nine. (Maybe I should have forgotten about it!)

http://www.online-literature.com/for...3&postcount=13

Then, I opened the Sunday newspaper today and saw this:

http://comics.dp.cx/#beetle_bailey

Even the first name's the same.

Yours truly must be physic, I mean, psychic. Well, I'm told I've always had
"ESP"--an Extra Stultifying Personality.

PS. The quotation marks are around the wrong "art" in the title.

Words of Whiz Dumb 2012

--was Led Zeppelin with “Stairway to Heaven.” You’re listening to WDUH, one-oh-nine-point-four and a half on your FM dial. Up next the Fifth Annual Commencement of the upstate campus of Downstate University at Hogwash, proudly brought to you by Muckenmeyer’s Discount Beer. Remember the name-- Muckenmeyer’s -- when it’s the price–not the quality– that counts. We take you now to the Rentacenter Civic Center in beautiful downtown East Hogwash for the ceremony, where University President Porterhouse Mistake is concluding his welcoming remarks. All of us here at the WDUH community offer our warmest wishes to the Class of 2012 as we join the graduation already in progress:

“-happy to have you with us here in East Hogwash on this lovely day in May. Don’t worry about those threatening clouds–if they’re anything like our typical students, they’ll take their sweet time producing anything. Our ceremony will be underway presently, right after a few brief announcements. First, will the lady with the broken hip please remove her screws? You’re setting off all the metal detectors. Also, please move your walker, as it does not meet the qualifications for a handicapped parking space.

“Next we are happy to announce that this year we will have our very first graduates from our relatively new department of Martian Language and Literature. I’d like the Chairman of that department, Distinguished Professor William McGonagall to stand up and take a bow. (Sporadic applause.) Well done, Professor. Or should I say “Vrvlz Waashull”? Now some of you may be wondering what kind of employment opportunities await those who hold a bachelor’s degree in Martian. Well, Prof. McGonagall tells me that two of his graduates have already received job offers from the Fox News Network.

“Finally, I have a bit of news which may disappoint some of you, and perhaps make the rest of you stand up and cheer. We’ve received word that our original commencement speaker, The Situation, will be unable to make it as he has found himself tangled up in a Situation. Instead we have another speaker who has graciously agreed to step in at the last minute
to deliver this year’s Words of Wisdom. Today we are pleased to have, live and in person, right here in the East Hogwash Rentacenter Civic Center the author of the book that is number 3469 (with a bullet) on the Amazon Best Seller List. The book is “How the One Percent Lives” by a distinguished and highly successful lifestyle consultant to the Very Rich. So now, without further ado, Ladies and Gentlemen, give it up for L. Pierpoint Goldrich.” (Half-hearted applause.)

“Thank you, President Mistake. Faculty, shameless alumni, debt-ridden parents, and apparent graduates, let me first offer my condolences for being forced to attend a less-than-Ivy League institute of somewhat higher learning. I beg your indulgence if I lack the common touch and if I fail to “connect” with any of you. As a consultant to our country’s most successful citizens, I lack experience within the ranks of the hoi polloi, the so-called “99 percenters” of whom all of you are shining examples. For instance, I am more at home in the company of billionaire hedge fund managers rather than minimum-wage hedge trimmers. This is something you may know if you’ve happened to have read my book. If not, you’ll be pleased to know that immediately after the ceremony, you’ll be able to purchase a copy from one of the booths set up at all the Rentacenter exits.

“Having said that, as we go forward I will be more than happy to fill you in on how your superiors live. On my helicopter ride down here, I couldn’t help noticing the type of automobiles in the parking lot, most of which are low-priced, previously owned vehicles. Well, ladies and gentlemen, my clientele would not stoop so low as to let their help drive around in such humble conveyances. Not only that, my client’s chauffeurs have no use for parking lots, garages, or on-street parking. Instead they have car elevators. That in itself is a phenomenon known only to the Very Wealthy, but what’s even more amazing is how the cars themselves can push the appropriate button for the floor they want.

“Secondly, as I look out upon the assembly I see that the fashion sense among the ninety-nine percenters differs greatly from that the haute couture of my clients. In all my years of catering to the One Percent, I’ve never seen one of them ever purchase an article of clothing off the rack. By contrast, some of you look like you’ve just rolled out of the rack.

“I may be wrong, but I’m guessing that while some of you may own your own houses (which real estate salesmen endearingly insist upon calling ‘homes’), I use the term ‘owning’ loosely. I’m willing to bet– what you say, ten thousand dollars?– that most of you have mortgages. Maybe your property is, as they say, “under water,” or perhaps you have found yourself in foreclosure, or you’ve taken a second or third mortgage out in order to finance your child’s college education, which evidently ends today. Of course, most of you can only afford to rent a substandard place to exist. Again, my clients are not at all concerned with any of these problems. As a matter of fact, the only problem the One Percenters have with housing is remembering exactly how many houses they own.

“Now, I bet you all think you know what I’m going to say next. That I’m going to tell you that now that you have an education, you’ll have the opportunity to succeed. That all it will take is a little hard work, and someday you’ll leave the ranks of the bottom 99 percent and shoot straight up to the top and become a member of the One Percent.

“Well–all I can say is lots of luck with that one, kids. From my standpoint, the only way this will happen to you is if you win a multi-million lottery. Because you’re sure as hell not going to get rich with a degree from DUH! Thank you, and – what’s the phrase you folks like to use? Oh, yes. Have a nice day.”


Previous DUH Commencement Addresses


2011

2010

2009

2008
http://www.online-literature.com/for...ad.php?t=35518

Hello Auntie,

Just thought I'd leave, what JOH calls, "a dropping", on your thread so you know at least one of your chums has read it! lol. I must say, I was hoping for a more worked up story about the lady with the broken hip setting off metal detectors, perhaps involving airports, security guards, strip searches, swat teams and handcuffs - but maybe you are not feeling up to this yet ;)

This last offering is perhaps a little too true to life to be side splittingly guffaw inducing, but but it did twitch the corner of the Hawk's beak as he cast an eagle eye over it looking for rabbits, but there was not a hare out of place, Maybe I'll flap around and see if I can't drive Bambi to jump off a cliff so I can pick over his bones at my leisure. Failing this there are always tortoises to drop from altitude.

Live and be well - H

Dear Hawkman,
Thank you for your reply which reads like a storyboard for a Wile E. Coyote cartoon. Warner Brothers take note!
Auntie

It’s been ages since we’ve heard from Debi Snotenlocker. So let’s check in with the Real Housewife of East Hogwash and see how Debi, Brad, and their brood are doing :

Just when I thought it was safe to get into the water –- a relaxing, uninterrupted bubble bath - the screamers are out of school again! You’d think that the boys were hard-core criminals suddenly released from the pen on a technicality the way they’ve been whooping it up and sowing seeds of destruction wherever they step! The other day I was running some errands when I ran into their teacher at the liquor store. She was spending a big chunk of her last paycheck of the semester on a bottle of champagne. I guess she was getting ready to celebrate the upcoming season of two Snotenlocker-free months. From the looks of her, it was all she could do to restrain herself from breaking out into a chorus of “I Will Survive.” But the minute she spotted me her face turned all solemn. “Oh, you’re the triplets’ mom, aren’t you? You have my deepest sympathies.” Then, instead of saying “Enjoy your summer,” she said she was heading right to Church to say a special Novena for me.

What’s even worse, Milwaukee (my daughter from a previous relationship) is not exactly setting world speed records getting herself a summer job. Brad suggested she go down to Mr. Bumpety Bump Burgers and put her name in, but Milwaukee stubbornly refused. She claims that the grease they use to cook the French fries in would ruin her complexion. I said, “What are you talking about? They don’t make you smear the stuff on your face!”

And she goes, “No, but the little droplets fly through the air, land in your pores, and cause acne.”

That’s Milwaukee’s excuse to sleep until one pm every day, eat all my lo-cal Smart Chips and drink up all my diet decaf soda. For the entire day she just parades around in her bathing suit, while she and her friends constantly send each other text messages on their phones. I don’t understand it. She doesn’t do anything! What do they talk to each other talk about? Texting?

Then Brad got on my case trying to get me to agree that we’d all go to the Company Picnic on the Fourth of July. It’s not that he ever has a good time there, but it’s free. Not only that, it doesn’t take any effort on his part. But he’s got a short memory, that guy. How many years have we driven over to Seedy Grove, eaten lousy food, and put up with his pompous boss and obnoxious co-workers? Every year it’s a disaster, and every year he promises me that it was the last time. This time I really put my foot down. No more virulent attacks of poison ivy making Trip, Trap, and Trick look as ugly as the goat-scaring troll under the bridge. No more eating tainted macaroni salad, followed by massive quantities of Kaopectate. No more bits of fingers blown off by illegal firecrackers somebody smuggled in from North or South Carolina –or wherever.

So no. This Fourth of July, I absolutely refused to spend all night in an emergency room. Not this year. Not this gal. No sir. We argued back and forth over this for days. For a while there I was afraid that I’d have to bring out the heavy artillery-- I mean that, um, big gun that I never, ever want to use but the one that’s guaranteed to turn Brad into a jellyfish. But thank Heavens he backed down before I had to resort to that drastic bargaining chip!

Anyhow, before we knew it, the Fourth of July was here and we had nothing planned. As far as Brad and the oys (and of course, my high-tech, non-active daughter) were concerned, that suited them just fine. Let me tell you something, getting Brad to get up and do anything is like asking the check-out girl at the Cost Cutter to accept an expired coupon. “Look at yourselves moping around like mental patients.” (Actually, the five of them were lounging around the yard, but you know what I mean.) “ It’s a holiday, for heaven's sake. Why don’t you do something you all enjoy, like sports?” I gamely suggested.

Brad yawned, stretched, and look a swig of beer. “Like what?”

“You could rent a pony and try polo– or what’s that other weird thing that rich people do with horses? Dressage.”

“Ugh.”

“Or you could put up a net and try tennis. You’ve already got the grunting part down pat.”

“Hmmph.”

“How about softball?”

“What? No way! Softball’s for wusses and for chicks who can’t get dates.”

“Come on, Brad, I’m running out of suggestions. You’re the sports expert around here.” That was no lie. He watched so much sports on TV that the remote has been stuck on the ESPN channel for a year and a half.

“Touch football?”

“Wrong season.”

“Basketball?”

“Ditto.”

I’ve been often told that many, many people have a flattering opinion of me, that they always say, “Oh, that Debi–what a sweet woman!” I’m like that--I can’t help it–-I’m known far and wide for my good-natured temperament. But on July 4 I lost it. And, I’m sorry to say, I started yelling. “What is so difficult about this? Why is spending time with the children such a chore? Mention the name ‘Brad Snotenlocker’ to anybody, and you know what he’ll say? ‘Oh, yeah–he’s the guy who inspired the name of the company that makes reclining chairs–Lazy Boy!’ Go ahead– sit there and rot. See if I care!”

With that, I started to stomp across the lawn toward the house so I could get a cool, medicinal beverage to calm me down. But before I knew it, I inadvertently stepped into a loop of our tangled garden hose. One split-second later I was on the ground. The last thing I remember was seeing the kind of stars you don’t see on the flag on patriotic holidays.

When I woke up, I was in – you guessed it– a hospital emergency room. Only this time I wasn’t chewing my fingernails with worry while one or more of the kids was getting patched up. This time I was the patient on the stretcher.

Vaguely I heard a question from a female voice. “Social security number?” Maybe the nurse should’ve asked me that before she administered the morphine.

“You took a nasty fall. We’re going to X-ray your ankle. Also we’re going to monitor you in case you might have a mild concussion. Mother’s maiden name?”

“Huh?” At that point I wasn’t even sure I knew my own name.

“You won’t be able to walk around on that foot, at least for tonight. So–would you prefer a bedpan or a catheter?”

“Better give me both. I don’t want any more accidents.”

“You'll be glad to know the doctor is optimistic, Mrs. -–“ (a quick look at the chart) “--Shoemakerknocker. We’ll probably just keep you overnight for observation. But it’s a shame you’ll miss the Fourth of July fireworks.”

Yeah. Too bad. But there’ll be plenty of fireworks once Brad gets the hospital bill. It would have been better for everyone concerned if I had health insurance. But the insurance companies kept turning me down. They all said I have a “pre-existing condition.” Well, I can’t argue with that. I’ve been living with a pain in the butt for eleven years.



Fairly Flailing Tales #1

Hi Auntie,

Well this was very entertaining :) A well structured, witty tale of the domestic bliss of an American housewife. Loved the interaction between your protagonist and the teacher, and her inventive descriptions of the members of her household. Great fun.

But Auntie, you need to look at your opening sentence. It begins in past tense but doesn't stay there, "Just when I thought it was safe to get into the water –- a relaxing, uninterrupted bubble bath - the screamers are out of school again!"

I was a little confused by the reference to the "Big Gun," as in context it reads as if this is the employment of the standard metaphore or similie, but there is no exposition. What would Debbie's big gun be? This leaves one assuming that she actually has a gun. If it was your intention to convey this, then just saying .44 magnum would be funnier, I feel.

My only other quibble pertains to this sentence:

"I’ve been often told that many, many people have a flattering opinion of me..."

where you have split an infinitive. Well there's quite a bit of debate over whether they are bad or not, I've split a few myself in my time, but this one is rather noticable and jarrs a bit. I'm not sure whether this is intended as Debbies's idiomatic usage. Her other colloquialisms might be considered "down home, but "not ungainly. This one is to me. I would prefer, "I've often been told", or "I've been told often", here.

Apart from these three tiny pimples, your muse presents a face of beauty.

A fun read, thanks.

Live and be well - H

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by Hawkman

Hi Auntie,

Well this was very entertaining :) A well structured, witty tale of the domestic bliss of an American housewife. Loved the interaction between your protagonist and the teacher, and her inventive descriptions of the members of her household. Great fun.

But Auntie, you need to look at your opening sentence. It begins in past tense but doesn't stay there, "Just when I thought it was safe to get into the water –- a relaxing, uninterrupted bubble bath - the screamers are out of school again!"

I was a little confused by the reference to the "Big Gun," as in context it reads as if this is the employment of the standard metaphore or similie, but there is no exposition. What would Debbie's big gun be? This leaves one assuming that she actually has a gun. If it was your intention to convey this, then just saying .44 magnum would be funnier, I feel.

My only other quibble pertains to this sentence:

"I’ve been often told that many, many people have a flattering opinion of me..."

where you have split an infinitive. Well there's quite a bit of debate over whether they are bad or not, I've split a few myself in my time, but this one is rather noticable and jarrs a bit. I'm not sure whether this is intended as Debbies's idiomatic usage. Her other colloquialisms might be considered "down home, but "not ungainly. This one is to me. I would prefer, "I've often been told", or "I've been told often", here.

Apart from these three tiny pimples, your muse presents a face of beauty.

A fun read, thanks.

Live and be well - H

---

Thanks, Hawk, for reading the humor thingie. Does finding yourself the sole responder to yours fooly's posts ever make you lonely?

Re: errors:

Opening sentence is a reference to the trailer to the Jaws sequel:
"Just when you thought it was safe to go back in the water. . ."

"Big Guns"--a feeble attempt at a risqué joke.

Split infinitives occur when an adverb intrudes between the "to" and the verb part of the infinitive, as in the v.o. to "Star Trek"--"to boldly go where no man has gone before."

But it's okay to split hairs. Don't forget. This is written in Debi's inimitable style. For instance, introducing dialogue, your auntie would never use the phrase "She goes. . ." or "I'm like. . ."

Thanks again.

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by AuntShecky

Thanks, Hawk, for reading the humor thingie. Does finding yourself the sole respondee to yours fooly's posts ever make you lonely?

---

Well, it's nice to get, "far from the madding crowd," once in a while ;)

Via con Dios - H

Quote:

---

“Better give me both. I don’t want any more accidents.”

---

lol






J

The LitNet has a very strict rule-- and a wise one!-- forbidding discussion of current politics. So no comments of that nature, okay? Please do comment on the humor (or lack of it), though. The following is a bit of nonsense which, having been spawn in me tiny little brain some eight years ago, is far from "current." Not only that, the character portrayed does not represent any actual human being, living or dead -- for that, we can thank our lucky stars!

Stomping on the "Stump"

"Good afternoon. Welcome to our meeting of the East Hogwash Chapter of the League of Disgruntled Women Voters. Right now I have the distinct honor of introducing our special speaker today. Please put your hands together for the man who put the “pain” in “campaign”, the honorable Glibban Slimey, who is running for representative of the forty-third legislative region, District 6.5, in the first Cleaver Ward. Mr. Slimey. . ."

"Good morning, Ladies! My fellow Americans, I come to you today with a heavy heart. Perhaps it was a result of the beef burrito I had at the Hispanic Heritage Dinner last night, or the corn dogs at the VFW hall, or maybe it was the extra helping of kielbasa at the Polish Community Center. Erp! Er, pardon me.

"Many of you may already know me. You may have received my latest flyer with my family’s portrait, including my non-threatening wife, Dixie, and my two lovely daughters, Jenna and Fond du Lac. You know that I am just an ordinary citizen just like you. That is why the photo on the front of the brochure shows yours truly mowing the lawn, just as so many of you do – although most of you probably don’t cut the grass in a three-piece suit. (Speaking of “grass,” drugs are bad.)

"My concerns are the same as YOUR concerns. For instance, my opponent believes that we can solve the crisis in education by throwing money at it. This will not solve the problem. It’s not the money, it’s the principle. Also the assistant principal, the vice-principal, and the assistant vice-principal. Make no mistake, my fellow Americans, no teachers’ union will be left behind. We CAN solve the problem in our schools, AND we can do it by cutting YOUR taxes.

"On the campaign trail, many people come up to me and say, “Glibby, what about health care?” Well sir, I am here to tell you that Glibban Slimey has your health in his hands. When I am elected, I solemnly vow to make the world SAFE from erectile dysfunction, restless leg syndrome, and the heartbreak of toenail fungus. AND I will do this without increasing YOUR taxes.

"My fellow Americans, I implore you not to pay attention to the vicious smear campaign waged by my opponent, who, may I say, never met a lobbyist he didn’t like. Neither have I, but that’s beside the point. And while I do not wish to dignify some of my opponent’s false charges with a reply, his allegation was ingenious, I mean, disingenuous. He was wrong when he said that I had been planning to run away with a female intern to join a splinter religious cult. Let me say this about that: I did not have sects with that woman! And another thing I didn’t do was raise YOUR taxes.

"Soon Election Day will be here, and just as quickly it will be gone. When this race is over, I won’t lie to you, I am going to go home, relax, and kick back. (Well, maybe “kick back” is not the right word choice.) But until that day, it will be a long, hard slog. And I need your help. Come Election Day, please get your Photo I.D., your Proof of Citizenship, and your complete financial portfolio ready so you can exercise your right to vote. Please cast your ballot for me, the honorable Glibban Slimey, and I promise you that you won’t see hide nor hair of me for four more years. Except of course, for the campaign signs on your front lawn, which I promise to remove by Christma– -er, Holiday. Did I mention that I will remove them without raising YOUR taxes?

"And finally, may the god of your choice bless America. And while He is blessing us, I won’t raise YOUR taxes."

Gee, lady, he gets my vote! :D

Live and be well - H

Once again, the response is funnier than the original posting.
Thanks, Hawk!

The Snotenlockers Hop Down the Bunny Trail

It’s been ages since we heard from The Real Housewife of East Hogwash. Wonder how Debi Snotenlocker’s brood will manage to ruin Easter this year. Meantime let’s overlook the fact that Debi’s Spell-Check still hasn’t been repaired and check out her latest blog-post in all of its ungrammatical, unedited glory:

Men! You can’t live with them. And you can’t live without them. Or so they tell me. Now take my Brad. Please! He’s got this irritating way about him whenever he tries to solve a problem like finding a mislayed* item. It begins with a lot of throat-clearing and muttering to himself until it excalates* and he ends up making a big production number out of it. Actually he wants me to give him a hand, but God forbid he should come right out and ask for help. Maybe he thinks it makes him look unmanly or something.

Like the other day he was slamming through my kitchen cabinets and moving everything around. He kept going “Hmmph!” louder and louder until he was sure I heard him. “ I thought it was in here.”

I asked him what he was looking for, and he goes “My Twinkie.”

At first I didn’t know what he meant. Then it dawned on me. “I got bad news for you Brad. The company that makes them went out of business. No more Ding Dongs either.” That was no lie but I saw something in the Paper about Yankee Doodles. You can still get them, but first you have to go to town and have macaroni for lunch.

“No Twinkies?” he yelled. “That’s a sin!”

“So is pigging out on junk food in Lent,” I said. “And besides, it’s Holy Week. Have an apple.”

“Ya mean like Adam and Eve? That’s what started the whole sin stuff in the first place.”

He was nowheres* around when it was time to buy Easter outfits for the triplets. Bringing them to the Mall is like going to -- well, Purgatory at least. Trip, Trap, and Trick always run off in a hundred directions all at once smashing every piece of expensive merchandise in there* path. When I shop for clothes for them it is easy to find 3 of the same thing, but hard to pick out the right kind of material cuz* you never know what the weather is going to be like. It doesn’t matter if Easter comes in March or April. It either hits 90 or it snows. One year I bought them matching woolen suits and they sweated like pigs. So the next year I got them cute cotton outfits and they froze their little butts off.

Last Easter Brad was in charge of the grocery shopping. Big mistake. He never comes back with the right stuff. I gave him a list. Like I expesically* wrote White Eggs. But he still got it wrong.

What was I supposed to do BROWN eggs? And he goes, “You don’t even have to color ‘em! They already look like chocolate.”

That was just one of the catastrafees catastrophys mishaps that happened last year. I’m STILL digging up pieces of plastic Easter grass out of the rug. Thats* nothing cuz when I cleaned the house the other day the vaccum vacume Hoover sucked up a bunch of tinsel. I wouldn’t mind but the last time we hung tinsel on our Xmas tree it was 2007.

Last Easter the triplets had a war cuz they all thought they’re* baskets’* were smaller than there* brothers.* Trip, Trap, and Trick threw eggs everywhere and started stabbing people with the ears of chocolate bunnies. Then they started squishing marshmellow* chicks in each others* faces. Finally, I had confixcate conficskate take away all the Easter baskets. I sent all 3 straight to their room and told them I didn’t want to hear another Peep out of them.

Milwaukee (my daughter from a previous relationship) is old enough to know better but I had trouble with her also last Easter. She told us she was too big to get an Easter basket, but we just KNEW she’d have kittens if she didn’t get something from Brad and I.* So we got her a big chocolate bunny. A nice solid one, not a cheap hollow one. Naturally this offended her. She goes “ I can’t eat a rabbit! You KNOW I’m a vegetarian.”

Brad laughed at her. “At Xmas you ate a gingerbread man. Does that make you a cannibal?”

That was last year. Hopefully* this Easter is better. But for us Snotenlockers a holiday is the same as doing penance. Like filling out a tax form or sitting through the DVD of Les Miserables.



*
[Sic]

Hillarious, Auntie! I'm not sure about the repeated (multiple attemepts) misspellings though. Given the idea that this is supposed to be a written blog, one kind of imagines that the first attempt would just be back-spaced out. You start out just highlighting that it's an intentional mistake with just one go at it. But then you introduce the double whammies two thirds of the way through. It's not that it isn't funny, because it is, very. But the multiple does sound more like reported speech, perhaps a technique more appropriate to including a description of Debbie's writing of the blog, or a scene in which she is engaged in a monologue. Here though, simple misspelling wouldn't be sufficient and the errors would have to be presented as mispronunciations or Malapropisms.

What say you?

Live and be well - H

Thank you very much for reading and commenting on this, Hawkman. The Spell-Check device in Debi's PC is on the fritz, hence the mispellings. Even if it did work, it wouldn't pick up the errors in "they're/their/there" nor the misplaced (or missing) apostrophes. Trial and error method on her part. But at least she admits the possibility of being wrong as opposed to other writers who arrogantly defend their invincible ignorance.

The Sixth Annual Commencement Ceremony


“ –nics, barbecues, or just getting together with your freeloading friends. Remember Muckenmeyer’s Beer, when it’s the price– -not the quality-- that counts. You’re listening to WDUH, East Hogwash, one-oh-nine-point-four and a half on your FM dial. Congratulations to the Class of 2013 of the upstate campus of the Downstate University at Hogwash. President Porterhouse Mistake III is wrapping up his introductory remarks, so we take you live to the Rentacenter Civic Center, where the Commencement Ceremony is already in progress –-“

“-logies for the delay. The emergency concerning live ammo allegedly connected to last week’s gun show here at the Rentacenter has turned out to be-–fortunately-–a false alarm. Security has informed us that it has indeed discovered magazines, which turned out to be a couple of old copies of Barterer’s Digest. Again, thank you for your patience. Another announcement, this one for the owner of the vehicle with license plate “I-H8-PEEZ”: your car stereo was left on. The parking lot attendants would have notified you earlier, but they were waiting for the final note of ‘Stairway to Heaven.’

“And now we come to the high-point of the ceremony: our eagerly-awaited commencement speaker. We’re sorry to report that the originally-scheduled speaker,Iron Man (of Iron Man 3), will not be with us today after his appearance earlier this morning at East Hogwash Elementary School. As you may know, EHES is a magnet school, and Iron Man could not tear himself away.

“Despite that, I’m very sure that you will be delighted to hear that DUH has found a replacement who was gracious enough to step in at the last minute. He’s widely recognized by the East Hogwash business community as the owner-operator of a series of short-lived establishments. Many of you may have partaken of his generosity in offering dozens of employment opportunities with pay approaching minimum wage. As a restauranteur and pioneer in culinary experiments, he recently submitted his new book, Alimentary, my dear Watson, to Vanna Tee Press. And did I mention that he’s a former DUH grad, er, attendee? So without further ado, put your hands together and welcome Charles ‘Chuck’ Wagoner!”

[Sporadic Applause.] “Thank you, President Mistake. I’m honored to be on your menu today, but that’s not an endorsement of cannibalism. [Sounds of coughs, shuffling chairs.] Members of the Class of 2013, disaffected administrators, semi-learned faculty, over-extended parents, underemployed alumni, and last but certainly least, holders of promissory notes for student loans: today is Commencement Day or, as I like to call it, the first course at the Sumptuous Table of Life. You might think it’s a sit-down dinner. Well, I’m here to tell ya, Ladies and Gentlemen, life’s not a banquet. It’s a buffet–-you’ve got to help yourself!

“For instance, you‘ve got to go after your dreams with gusto. If Gusto refuses to help you, go it a-loan.

“I learned that lesson early. When my first venture, an olde English pub set in a hot air balloon, couldn’t get off the ground, I immediately went to work on my next project: a specialty restaurant called 'Cloaca.' I designed it to cater to the needs of the chronically costive, but there was a lot of obstruction. The County wouldn’t issue me a building permit when I failed to come up with plans for an emergency evacuation.

“After that, I was even more determined to succeed in the restaurant business, to make a name for myself that didn’t sound like ‘Loser.’ I dreamed big, hoping to head a national franchise. I pictured myself getting my own show on the Food Network, where I saw myself screaming at my kitchen staff and laughing whenever my well-chosen spicy words got bleeped. But a celebrity chef has got to start somewhere.

“So I tossed my losses like artichoke debris and did a do-over, using my imagination to open some really fun nightspots and off-beat eateries right here in East Hogwash. But for some reason, the clientele failed to appreciate creativity. There was also a matter of settling some personal injury lawsuits. (‘Food poisoning.’ Yeah, right. More like a case of dollar-sign-itis.)

“I’ll be honest with you, those temporary setbacks were bringing me down. The restaurant business at large was having its own digestive problems. Folks thought they’d just as well stay at home rather than go out for the same old, same old. By the way, if a recent meal keeps repeating on you, that’s a good sign you’ve been to Taco Bell. Or Papa John.

“On the other side of the plate, merely offering ‘something different’ doesn’t really spark the palate. I don’t know about you, but if I craved a ‘new taste sensation,’ the first thing that comes to mind wouldn’t be moose meat lasagne. And the first place I’d look for it wouldn’t be a Scandinavian furniture store. Besides, if you’ve had just one serving of moose meat lasagne, you’ve had them all.

“In my previous attempts to bring adventure to dining in East Hogwash, I offered my patrons plenty of spills and chills. My patrons thought that meant sloppy waiters and a stingy heating system. I was just about ready to pack it in, when I happened to hear the news that the UN has recommended that the world consider insects as a protein-rich food source for humans.

“Wow! That was a revelation. For millions of years bugs have been biting us. Now we’re going to bite them back. To me, this was one of those ‘Eureka!’ moments, like a heat lamp switching on over a steam table.

“Why not take it to the next level and open a theme restaurant? It would be as trendy as the gentrified neighborhood where I found my next location. I found a crumbling but stately building and bought it for a song –‘It’s Only a Shanty in Old Shanty Town.’

“Right away, I started brainstorming and scratching ideas for my innovative menu on the back of a gnat-kin. First, pre-dinner cocktails: stingers and, of course, grasshoppers. Then, appetizers. Cicadas are in season this year, but a rival restauranteur, Dylan Wong of The Paisley Dragon, was already serving them sautéed in a light ginger sauce. The only thing wrong with eating cicadas is that seventeen years later you’re hungry again. So I substituted freshly-caught silverfish served on a bed of crushed ice with lemon wedges and a piquant cocktail sauce – guaranteed to stick to the ribs as stubbornly as they do to your cellar floor.

“Developing delicious entrees came with problems as knotty as a termite’s nest. My version of ‘Surf and Turf’ was going to be a combination platter of water beetles and horseflies. But the water bugs wouldn’t quit spinning around the plate, and the horseflies had a pesky habit of flitting down to the OTB parlor.

“I created a gourmet roach meat sandwich, served open-faced and cooked to order – -rare, medium rare, or extra crunchy. Grilling the roaches was wicked – they kept slipping down between the little grates.

“There was pandemonium the day our first shipment arrived – we’d ordered them live, so they’d be fresh,-- but somehow they escaped their packaging and scampered all over the place, mingling with the others already residing in the building. So we herded them all together and made an adjustment to the description on the menu: ‘Featuring an fine assortment of Imported and Domestic Blattaria species.’

“A scary incident involved one of our suppliers when he was gathering products at a local hive. The angry bear who confronted him stopped growling only when it discovered the guy wasn’t after the honey, just the bees.

“Despite all the initial setbacks, we opened on schedule. The place is called 'Bzzt!' and already it’s generating a lot of buzz.

“But that first night -- I won’t lie to you – I was nervous. Worry stuck to me like ants on a sidewalk sticky with dried-up Gatorade. What if my coconut -flavored cocoons failed to pop on time? What if the customers complained, ‘Waiter –there’s no fly in my soup!’ You could say I had butterflies in my stomach. Later on, I felt better knowing that the butterflies were in the stomachs of my customers.

“Well, a little flea in my ear is telling me my time’s just about up. So congratulations, Class of 2013! Just to show you my faith in your future, inside each and every diploma you’ll find a free coupon good for half-off any Bzzt! dessert, including Shoo Fly Pie and Lice Pudding. Remember – every item on our menu is 100% Deet-free. So right after the ceremony flutter on down and enjoy! Bring along your electronic devices – the joint is crawling with antennae!”

[Crickets.]


Words of Whiz Dumb for 2012

Had me smiling all the way through, Auntie :D

Live and be well - H

I liked the sandwich made of imported and domestic Blattaria species.