Archive for the ‘Humor’ Category
Reality decided to return today and help me rid myself of all remaining holiday cheer. I just returned to the house after attempting to snow-blow approximately 10 inches of snow off the damn driveway. Being the smart fellow I thought I was, I bought a new snow blower two months ago. Mother Nature can’t get me this year! No sir! Why am I never right about these things.
I fired up the snow blower, pushed it out into the snow, plowed about ten feet and saw that my left tire was flat. I hadn’t touched the damn thing since it was delivered from Lowes and never thought to check the tires. There’s no doubt I’m going to pay for that bit of negligence. First thing, I’m going back out and try to use the snow blower even though one tire won’t cooperate. I shall return . . . .
Well that wasn’t much fun. Not being well versed in using a snow blower with two wheels it took a while for me to get the hang of operating it with just one. Unfortunately as I made my first turn through the snow I forgot to disengage the thrower. I shot about 200 lbs of snow directly into my garage onto my car. Lesson #1 was check the damn tires. Lesson #2 was close the damn garage door when your outside playing with the snow blower. I don’t think I’ll be able to use the snow blower again with just the one tire, it’s too difficult. It’s still snowing like hell and I’m going to be forced to dig out the old trusty snow shovel to do the rest of this. Let me tell you that just sucks. Back outside one more time . . . .
Well I was able to clean up the driveway a bit more but at the rate it’s snowing I’ll out there a few more times before morning. This is what I get for wishing for a White Christmas. I really hoped I’d never be forced to unretire that snow shovel. Karma, thou art a vicious bitch.
The final report shows 16 inches of snow, two sore arms, two sore legs, one sore back, and one flat tire. Just great, right?
Three more shopping days till Christmas. With that in mind I’d like to explain a few unforeseen consequences of living in Maine at this time of the year. This state teems with thousands of great white hunters who like nothing better than combing the woods in an attempt to kill something and eat it. As you can tell, I’m no hunter. I was born and raised in an area much like Maine, western Pennsylvania, where hunting is considered something of a religious experience. Most of my family were hunters and the king of all hunting was my father. Thank God for my nephew who took my place at an early age to accompany my dad on his hunting forays. I could never see the point since the taste of wild game just didn’t appeal to me.
At this time of the year the exchange of gifts is a tradition but in Maine it takes an unusual turn. Some of our more common Christmas gifts are cheese logs, meat logs, and moose logs. Nothing says Christmas like a twenty pound package of moose meat or squirrel filets but it still creeps me out just talking about them. A few weeks ago in an attempt to find other unique and delicious Maine specialties, I instead found these.
Beaver Butt Pie
All that you’ll need to get started with this nutritious and holiday related meal is a big fat beaver willing to give up his paddle and his innards. Simply lay the beaver paddle on the bottom of a pie shell, cover it with the preheated and stinky innards, sprinkle some brown sugar on top, and bake in an preheated oven at 350-degrees for 45 minutes. Add some fragrant pine fronds and a nice red Christmas ribbon and there you go. Ready for the family table.
Teriyaki Marinated Moose Lips
What could be more festive than cooking a bag of moose lips on the grill with a light snow falling in the moonlight. All you need to prepare moose lips are a dozen pair of lips, ordered from Amazon, two quarts of teriyaki sauce, and a hot and ready grill. Roast and season to taste. It’s a Christmassy lip-smacking snack to munch on as you watch the annual showing of “A Christmas Story”.
Coyote Sauce
Imported Maine coyote is a local delicacy but available now through internet sites for a pittance. If your outdoorsy all you need is a .22 rifle, a little patience, and BANG. Add a little gelatin to the broth that you cooked the coyote in and Well-La, the perfect addition to a Christmas turkey dinner as a side dish to replace cranberry sauce.
I know your mouths must be watering after reading and picturing these Maine delicacies but never fear, maybe next year some of our northernmost citizens will make all of these meals available through mail order for you to enjoy with your loved ones. You may not be able to visit Maine but we can bring the true Maine holiday spirit right to your door for a modest price. It’s only right that we share our overabundance of critters with as many people as possible. Also, we can use the money.
Bon Appetite and Merry Christmas
(Sarcasm Off)
Today has been the most excited I’ve been in weeks. All of our Christmas preparations are finally completed. Everything is purchased, wrapped, baked, decorated, and it only took two months. All that work, effort, and thought invested into one 24 hour period after which we get to pack it all up for another year. Are we all that nuts? Don’t answer that, it was rhetorical.
You would think a huge sigh of relief would be in order but Nooooooooooooo! My better-half is what you might call an obsessive planner and her whole life revolves around tasks and their completion. She has a driving need to be working around the clock to feel any sense of accomplishment. Unfortunately some of that craziness often spills over onto me. I’m just the opposite. In my world if my tasks are complete, it’s time for a comfortable chair, a hot toddy, and a few hours of relaxation.
I was advised last evening as we were baby-sitting the new grandson who seemed to be enjoying himself a great deal by crapping his pants, throwing up on my better-half, and screaming at the top of his lungs, that on Saturday night we would be taking a Christmas pilgrimage to Portland, Maine. We could walk along Commercial Street, romantically hand-in-hand, to window shop, people watch, and quite likely stop at Three Dollar Dewey’s for a beer or two. I think she’s trying to establish some new Christmas traditions for just the two of us.
It’s important for her for some reason that we make a mandatory stop at Mexicali Blues (again with her Mexican fixation), a shop full of incense, do-dads, and New Age thing-a-ma-bobs. I normally prefer walking along Commercial street when the weather’s warm and I’m wearing a T-shirt and shorts. Not so much in winter clothing with piles of snow and slush everywhere. You should also be aware that since Commercial street is located along the water adjacent to Portland harbor that nothing says Christmas like the harbor smell during low tide.
After an hour or two of hoofing it up and down the street, we’ll be in and out of stores that I would never visit on my own. When we’re finished with the grand tour we can return to our car and hopefully not find a gift from the Portland PD meter maids, a $25.00 dollar parking ticket.
Next we’re scheduled to take a short ten minute ride to her favorite place in Maine and the world. The Great Lost Bear, a tavern and restaurant, located on Congress street in Portland. She requires quarterly pilgrimages to this bar because of their massive collection of beers from all over the world. They’ll stuff us with some of the hottest chicken wings you could ever possibly eat, a few needed drinks, and then send us on our way. Hopefully we make it home without hitting any sobriety checkpoints, being arrested for a DUI, or having our car towed.
If we complete all of that without incident we’ll have had a wonderful time and finally be able to settle in and wait for Christmas Day to arrive. I’ll then be patiently waiting for the next twelve months so we can do it all over again now that it’s an official family tradition. After all it’s freaking Christmas.
Everyone these days is constantly harping for me to partake of this festival celebrating the birth of Christ. Just to let most of you know, I’m what I would call a recovering Catholic. I was baptized and confirmed against my will at a young age but was able to distance myself over the next few decades. I feel I’ve gained a better perspective of things and since I’ve never rejoined the church you may consider me a righteous religious independent.
That explains my position towards organized religion and the related holidays they claim as their own. In an attempt to be fair I decided to do a little research into Christmas to determine if it was the actual birthday of Jesus Christ. It didn’t take terribly long to find out that December 25th is not the correct date of the birth but one selected by the Catholic Church to compete with certain other pagan celebrations that also took place in December. As best I could determine the actual season of Jesus’s birth was thought to be sometime in the spring. The church in its infinite wisdom took the same approach to scheduling that holiday as they do in handling everything else. They make it church doctrine regardless of the facts and their billions of believers follow right along.
In the early years of the American colonies, Christmas was considered a pagan festival and wasn’t too well received by the colonists. There was even a time between 1659 and 1681 in Massachusetts where anyone caught celebrating Christmas would be fined five shillings. Our current war on Christmas and religion led by our socialist friends at the ACLU pales in comparison to that carried on by our colonist forefathers.
I think my problem of developing a true Christmas spirit has finally been solved. I dislike the materialistic style of Christmas that many people celebrate these days and I’ve always disliked anything forced on me by any organized religion but the pagan holidays I think I can get on board with.
I’d make a great pagan. I love really big bonfires, and long’s slinky robes, and even the occasional orgy or two. Say what you want about those pagans, they really know how to party. I’m sure there are many pagans in this country who maintain a really low profile due to all of the hateful and discriminatory things said about them over the years by the Christians. I truly feel their pain and still don’t understand why “we all can’t just get along”. Special thanks to Rodney King for that quote, he was always my hero and role model.
So take heart all you pagans, stand up, be recognized, and be proud of your rich heritage. I think next year I’m going to start a campaign for the creation of a new holiday where all of those people who feel disenfranchised by their organized religions can jump on board my pagan bandwagon. We’ll have Christmas trees but just so we can set them on fire because everyone knows it’s no fun to dance and frolic naked in the dark. I also hear that dancing naked around bonfires in December can be a bit hazardous. The pagans report a huge increase in frostbite occurrences during the holidays, so be careful out there.
I’m starting to get that old tingle of holiday cheer again. You just never know when you’re going stumble into a genuine religious epiphany. It’s a freaking Christmas miracle and I’ve been saved.
The Christmas season has taken an unusual and unexpected turn. I’m all for enjoying our local traditions but never in a million years did I expect to have an Indian Christmas. That’s Indian with a dot on the forehead not the Apache’s or Iroquois.
I mentioned yesterday we were were in the process of receiving between eight and ten inches of fresh, lovely, and white snow. A magnificent White Christmas was upon us. Wrong again. What I wasn’t expecting was the three inches of rain that followed and the four foot deep flooded backyard. It’s monsoon season here in Maine and nobody told me it was coming. Our White Christmas has been washed away leaving the gray and dismal landscape that no one wants to see. I suppose that a Christmas day that was to be filled with those holiday films that my better-half loves so much will be replaced by a few selections of Bollywood favorites. How about Lage Raho Munna Bhai a perennial favorite or Chala Murari Hero Banne, a real lover of dance toe tapper.
Maybe I’ll have my better-half dress in a pair of harem pants and do a dance for me before dinner around the Christmas tree. That would certainly surprise, please, and possibly frighten our visiting family members. It would also give excellent photo opportunities for next years family Christmas card. I have to say that with proper lighting and the camera at just the right angle she could be mistaken for a somewhat older version of Aishwarya Rai. Whatever you do don’t tell her I said that because her ego’s already over inflated.
Enough of my ramblings. We’re off for our final shopping safari to pick up a few last minute gifts. Just when I thought I was finished with this craziness I’m dragged back into it by the obsessed Christmas elf. Hopefully sometime this morning she will just run out of money. That would be nothing short of spectacular.
I’m having a good day so far. No Christmas carols playing in my head and no Christmas movies on the tube. Unfortunately I have the song O Womaniya running through my brain. It’s a special and popular selection from that Bollywood blockbuster, Gangs of Wasseypur. I really need to go to bed earlier and to stay away from that Indian movie channel.
Six more shopping days until Christmas. I’ll need to pick up a box of ‘diyas’ to keep my Indian Christmas theme alive. For those you who don’t know, ‘diyas’ are small candles used for decorating the home during Indian Christmas celebrations. Goodbye for now.
Christmas Ki Khushiyan Mubarak Ho
Well it’s now official, Christmas is here. Do you know how I know? My back is sore and my butt cheeks are screaming at me. That’s what snow shoveling can do to a person. I’ve mentioned a number of times how much I love the snow which upon occasion allows me to take some really beautiful photographs. Unfortunately the snow that’s currently clogging my driveway is a double-edged sword. It’s making everything look so nice and white and at the same time makes walking for me a real hazard. For most of my life I’ve been known as one of those people who can’t walk and talk at the same time on ice. It’s not such a beautiful thing when you’re laying on your back in the driveway looking up at the sky, ho;ping and praying you didn’t just break something.
We here in Maine are in the process of receiving approximately 8-10 inches of snow making this the first real snowfall of the winter. It’ll make for a white Christmas if the snow lasts but I’m almost certain that within 48 hours it will be looking more like dirty brown. In Maine we get loads of snow every year and also loads of SNIRT. SNIRT is a mixture of snow and dirt that rapidly piles up each winter leaving us with huge frozen piles in April that take until May to melt. That’s the double edged sword of beautiful snow; beautiful yet dangerous, white yet dirty, snow yet slush. I happen to be one of those unlucky individuals who can slip, slide, and fall in every one of those circumstances.
I’ve gone so far as to purchase snowshoes, walking sticks, and special shoe clamps to avoid breaking my neck or other important body parts. I’ve got scars in all the wrong places from past injuries suffered while putting my life at risk to shovel the driveway.
I’m sitting here looking out the window at my neighbor bundled up to the point of being unrecognizable and attempting to clear a path for his wife’s car. He looks thrilled to death at having a “White Christmas” and I know he whistling a Christmas carol or two as his boots fill with freezing cold and melted snow.
I’m not entirely sure where the term “White Christmas” originated. It intrigued me enough that I decided to find out. We have Irving Berlin and Bing Crosby to thank for the whole deal. I can’t find any other mention of that term anywhere. It’s just another child born of war.
"It was a peaceful song that became a wartime classic. Its unorthodox, melancholy melody—and mere 54 words, expressing the simple yearning for a return to happier times—sounded instantly familiar when sung by America’s favorite crooner. But 67 years after its introduction, some still are surprised to learn that Bing Crosby’s recording of the Irving Berlin ballad "White Christmas" became not only the runaway smash-hit for the World War II holidays, but the best-selling record of all time."
Since both Bing Crosby and Irving Berlin have long since passed on I can’t send them the “thanks for nothing” email I have bouncing around in my skull. I’d love somehow to get their freaking song out of my head just once during one Christmas season. It’s brainwashing I tell you, it’s a government plot, and it’s infected generations of us into becoming Christmas junkies. And just so you know, that damn “Silent Night” is running a close second.
As I head back out into the snow to complete my shoveling I’ll be thinking of those two gentlemen as I’m slipping, sliding, falling, and humming that damn song. Ughhhhhhhhhhhhhh!
Lest I forget, there’s ten shopping days left until Christmas. I’m sorry but I need a break from all this depressing holiday cheer and greed. Today is the day when we start the really important countdown. It’s seven days until the Mayan seers decided that the world as we know it will end. Can you hear those thunderous foot steps creeping up behind you? I wasn’t taking the threat of total annihilation serious until last night when alleged celebrity, Joel McHale, announced that “The Soup” would be airing their Doomsday special next week. I mean if that doesn’t convince you then all hope for you is lost anyway. I think it’s really all about stealing the thunder from the History channel who has been beating this Doomsday drum for a year to increase their ratings.
I can picture it all now. Hundreds of alien ships shaped vaguely like enormous dildo’s will arrive over the earths cities on December 21. Out of these craft will march armies of aliens who look surprisingly like a mean and disgusting caricature of Danny Devito. Years ago I was reading a book on the Mayan religion and it struck me at the time how much the god “Cizin, "The Stinking One", looked like Devito. He was the god of earthquakes, suicides, human sacrifice, and was often depicted on pottery in the form of a dancing skeleton, holding a smoking cigarette.
So let me review our dire situation:
1. A few thousand Mayan primitives predict the end of days on December 21, 2012. They immediately run out and have a smoke and then sacrifice a few thousand of their citizens to celebrate their predictions.
2. Centuries later two American cable TV networks begin promoting this cataclysm for better ratings, then sneak outside for a smoke.
3. Then a few major TV networks begin discussing “The End” in a somewhat serious manner, then sneak into the restrooms for a cigarette.
4. Then millions of idiots around the globe take up the chant, Doom. . . Doom . . . Doom . . . Doom. You know, it’s only a matter of time before some of these loonies begin removing themselves the planet just after having one last smoke.
Is it just me or have we all missed the connection tying all of these events together. Cizin, the cigarette smoking god, has passed that filthy habit down through the ages with the eventual intent to end our existence once he’s returned and saved all of the surviving smokers from death and destruction.
The “non-smoking” interest groups had it partially right all along. Smoking would be the death of us all. First-hand smoke, second-hand smoke, tars, nicotine and a few million Danny Devito’s . . . Oh the horror!
I’m desperately trying to make light of this Doomsday crap which continues to be repeated and actually scares the bejesus out of some of the population. Young kids are especially effected by anything they see on TV as being the absolute truth. They need someone to tell them this is bullshit. And you’re very welcome. You also have way too many fringe-group holy-rollers out there who can’t wait for the end to come and I hope it does for them. I don’t like fanatics of any kind because extremists scare the crap out of me and history will back me up on that. Here are my helpful tips for December 21, 2012.
1. Stop smoking!
2. Stop listening to the the media in an attempt to find the truth.
3. Read more about the primitive, human sacrificing idiot Mayans, to learn the truth about them. They were so smart they couldn’t find a way to survive as a civilization. They were effing geniuses, right?
One last thing before I go. I have a extremely hard time taking seriously any organized religion but any religion that has one of their gods puffing on a cigarette has no credibility. I’ve got to go now, I’m making reservations for dinner and a night out on December 22 with my better-half. It’s the “I Survived Another Apocalypse” celebration and there could be free T-shirts too!
Are you depressed about Christmas yet? Are you beginning to feel run down from all the shopping, the kids pestering about gifts, and all of the hoop-la we’ve come to expect? Me too!
With that in mind I’m going to make an exception today. Instead of my normal bitching about Christmas, the holidays in general, or crowded stores and malls, I’ve decided to cheer everyone up with a little non-dirty Christmas humor. If you like corn (that’s CORN not PORN) then this will cheer you right up. These jokes are so corny I’m certain your kids, if they’re young enough, will enjoy them. If they’re older that seven all you’ll receive for telling these jokes is a rolling of the eyes and shake of the head.
Knock Knock
Who’s there ?
Avery
Avery who ?
Avery Merry Christmas!
Knock Knock
Who’s there ?
Rudolph
Rudolph who ?
Money is the Rudolph of all evil !
Knock Knock
Who’s there ?
Wenceslas
Wenceslas who ?
Wenceslas train home ?
Knock Knock
Who’s there ?
Wayne
Wayne who ?
Wayne in a manger… !
Knock Knock
Who’s there ?
Donut
Donut who ?
Donut open till Christmas !
Knock Knock
Who’s there ?
Oakham
Oakham who ?
Oakham all ye faithful … !
Knock Knock
Who’s there ?
Snow
Snow who ?
Snow business like show business !
Knock Knock
Who’s there ?
Igloo
Igloo who ?
Igloo Suzie like I knew Suzie… !
Knock Knock
Who’s there ?
Mary
Mary who ?
Mary Christmas
Those jokes were so bad I’m almost ashamed to have posted them. Those were the jokes for the little ones, now it’s time for a few for the adults. First for the women out there. Why Christmas Trees are better than Men:
MEN vs CHRISTMAS TREES
- A Christmas tree is always erect.
- Even small ones give satisfaction.
- A Christmas tree stays up for 12 days and nights.
- A Christmas tree always looks good – even with the lights on.
- A Christmas tree is always happy with its size.
- A Christmas tree has cute balls.
- A Christmas tree doesn’t get mad if you break one of its balls.
- You can throw a Christmas tree out when it’s past its ‘sell by’ date.
- You don’t have to put up with a Christmas tree all year
I don’t want you men out there to feel left out so here are your reasons why a Christmas Tree is better than a woman.
WOMEN vs CHRISTMAS TREES
- A Christmas tree doesn’t care how many other Christmas trees you have had in the past.
- Christmas trees don’t get mad if you use exotic electrical devices.
- A Christmas tree doesn’t care if you have an artificial one in the closet.
- A Christmas tree doesn’t get mad if you break one of its balls.
- You can feel a Christmas tree before you take it home.
- A Christmas tree doesn’t get mad if you look up underneath it.
- A Christmas tree doesn’t get jealous around other Christmas trees.
- A Christmas tree doesn’t care if you watch football all day.
- A Christmas tree doesn’t get mad if you tie it up and throw it in the back of your pickup truck.
I guess that’s enough stupid humor for today. I have to ration it out carefully until Christmas because I wouldn’t want any of you rushed to the hospital with your “sides splitting”. HO! HO! HO!
I’m feeling a little more upbeat today and I think my shopping trip yesterday may have helped a bit. I was searching diligently for my missing Christmas spirit and just when I found a little of it I lost it again immediately. An hour or two in a crowded mall getting elbowed and pushed around by damn near everyone can make that happen. People are scurrying everywhere and willing to kick your ass to get at something they want before you do. I was feeling non-combative so I stayed out of the line of fire and attempted to shop in a few stores. It does appear that common courtesy goes right out the window when it comes to Christmas shopping, especially in this Mall.
I should mention, this was the Mall that fired their Santa Clause last week because he was rude to the kids and their parents. A rude Santa in this Mall seems to me to be the ultimate irony. They should set up a kiosk here somewhere selling copies of the “Bad Santa” movie. I’m sure it would be a huge hit with all these intolerant and rude people roaming around. It’s ironic as hell that rude shoppers from this Mall caused the Santa to be fired for being rude. How utterly stupid.
I stood in Best Buy for the longest time trying to find an associate to help me but I wasn’t pissed about the wait since the place was a freaking zoo. Bad economy be damned as I watched IPods, IPads, tablets, and anything else you can think of going out the door in huge numbers. I’ve heard rumors that Best Buy has been having difficulties in this economy and closed stores that were unprofitable. In my humble opinion they’re just a showroom for all of those Internet companies like Amazon. You go on line and find the item you want. You then run to Best Buy, check out the item and get your questions answered, and then return home to order it on line where the price is cheaper. They have their work cut out for them if they want to survive as a viable company.
I went to the Mall office and attempted to fill out an application for the currently vacant position of Santa. No one took me seriously which really hurt my feelings. I explained that I have the unusual ability to tell parents and their kids to “piss off” without actually saying it. A smile and a pat on the head and off they go. They don’t realize they’ve been insulted until after they return home and even then they’re not really sure. My secret dream of being Santa just wasn’t meant to be. I’m going to try again next year after I spend a full year honing my rudeness skills to a level that will permit me to survive amongst the customers here.
HO!, HO!, EFFING HO!
I think today will be designated as “OMG I’m So Effing Bored Day”. I have an industrial strength case of the blah’s and a total lack of interest in just about everything. Since this blog has been officially christened “Every Useless Thing”, I should build on that. There are times when mind-numbing bullshit is necessary to help clear away the cob webs, to give me the ability to turn off the freaking cell phone, to stay at home away from the world, and chill.
Did you know that:
“PNEUMONOULTRAMICROSCOPICSILICOVOLCANOCONIOSIS”
is the longest technical word in the English language, according to the Oxford English Dictionary. It is a type of lung disease. If that little tidbit of BS doesn’t set off your snooze alarm then there’s something wrong and you need to seek professional help.
Try this one:
Showers account for 32% of home water usage.
Someone who feels much as I do today took time out of his boring ass life to do that research. Are you properly impressed, I doubt it.
Here’s another:
People who collect Teddy Bears are archtophilists.
Or this:
In ballet, a male dancer is called a danseur.
That’s real shocking piece of useless trivia. What the hell else would they be called. Are you snoring yet? Give me a few more minutes. Try this one on for size:
The small intestine is longer than the large intestine.
It only gets worse from here:
When humans are at rest, 15% of their blood is in their brains.
The lesson learned from that fact is that no matter what men tell you, this is the truth of things. Let’s continue.
Sexual intercourse between chimpanzees lasts, on average, 3 seconds.
And you ladies out there thought your high school boyfriends were bad. It just goes to show the dumber you are the quicker you succumb. I could continue on like this for hours but as I said earlier I’m effing bored today so I’ll do one more then stop.
In the State of Arizona it’s illegal to keep more than 2 dildo’s in your house.
Reason number 355 why you don’t ever want to live there. Well, this has been a barrel of laughs but I’m done. Tomorrow’s is definitely another day.
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