Archive for the ‘Humor’ Tag
Today is one of those dead days after the holidays where everyone is dragging ass with the loss of all that holiday adrenaline. I’ve decided I need to talk about politics for a bit after perusing the monthly observances listed for January.
Today is January 6th and I’ve discovered something earth shattering. The politicians must be losing their edge because not only have they chosen not to observe the 6th as Sherlock Holmes’s birthday which almost but not quite pisses me off, they’ve completely ignored the 6th for any type of recognition. While the 6th of January is included in some of the lame ass weekly observances, it doesn’t have a day of it’s own. How could our narcissistic and self-serving politico’s miss an opportunity like that. There’s a day for damn near everything and a few days that have multiple observances, so what the hell is wrong with the 6th of January?
Maybe it’s time for us to help those poor underpaid politicians do their job in a more proper fashion. How about we have the 6th remembered and observed as, “Take Down the Goddamn Christmas Tree Day” or “National Christmas Gift Refund Day”. Being as fair and balanced as I can possibly be I propose we name the 6th as “Take an Effing Liberal to Work Day”. We could show them off to our conservative friends and pass out a few food stamps as a surprise gifts.
The next time I have lunch with Nancy Pelosi and Harry Reid I’ll make that suggestion. They’ve been avoiding me since I refused that threesome offer over our last lunch. They’re so sensitive when sexually rejected it may take a few months for another invite to come my way (no pun intended).
I can’t wait for next year, it’ll take me that long to choose my liberal work buddy. I have a complicated and fun selection process which will make as many liberals as possible as uncomfortable as possible.
So there!
Last year at this time I decided to really and truly live up to and complete a list of ten New Year’s resolutions. Being the serious person that I am (no laughter please), I thought that if I created a more realistic list of things I just might accomplish them. If you read this blog recently you discovered that I successfully completed only five of my ten resolutions in 2012. I consider that a dismal failure.
I now will again promise to try harder in this coming year to meet and hopefully exceed my own expectations. As I stand here hanging my head in shame I propose this new list for 2013.
1. Don’t wear sweat pants outside the confines of the house less than twice a week (demanded by my better-half).
2. Pay less than $75.00 a month at Dunkin Donuts. I failed at the $50.00 level, now I’ll just up the monthly amount and hopefully be successful.
3. Tell my better-half I love her at least twenty times a day (again her idea).
4. Attempt to develop a casual and platonic friendship with my weird neighbors.
5. Convince my better-half that pizza is not an official food group and refuse to eat it more than once a week.
6. Don’t call the President a stupid, effing, liberal, socialist, narcissistic A-hole more than twenty times a week.
7. Read 3 non-fiction and 3 fiction books a month.
8. Fire at least 1000 rounds of ammo a quarter to fine tune my shooting skills to prepare for the impending anarchism which will follow.
9. Take a vacation to some exotic and strange non-American land (like maybe Boston, New York, San Francisco, or LA).
10. Refuse to eat dog food more than three times a month to help pay for my mandated Obamacare taxes.
It’s now a wait and see game. I’ll post the results again next December and hope for the best.
It’s New Years Eve-Eve. My sneaky scheme to convince my better-half to have a small party for New Years seems to have gone the same route as many of my other sneaky schemes, no where. There was some discussion of our visiting friends for a few hours prior to midnight but I honesty don’t think that’s going to happen. The last word I received yesterday was that we’re going to have a quiet night, just the two of us, for movies, Chinese food, and a marathon Scrabble game. I know, I know, it’s sounds really exciting so just calm down before you have a heart attack.
Most people don’t realize how exciting it is to spend time with us. You think that big party in Times Square and the dropping of the Big Ball is something, your wrong. Justin Bieber, Ryan Seacrest, and all of those other would be celebrities would kill to be sitting here again on our coach watching movies with us. You could cut the excitement with a knife, a really big and sharp knife.
Last year we threw a, New Years Day + 1, party so all of our celebrity friends from the so-so celebration in New Yorks Time Square could come to Maine the day after. We’re known far and wide for our fabulous gift bags that draw in the glitterati from all over the country and bring them up north to Maine. Beautiful imitation diamond earrings in the shape of lobsters for the women and a cool faux diamond incrusted diver’s watch favored by many of our local lobsterman. A magical Maine skin lotion, made from bear fat and moose extract is added to the bag and will keep their skin highly moisturized and baby soft. It’s also good for protection from the cold down to ten below zero. A good Chanel perfume will easily mask the odor of the bear fat.
As a special gift, we woke everyone up the morning after, collected all of their sleeping bags, and made them a hearty Maine breakfast of Moose and scrambled eggs. I can still remember Lady Ga Ga rolling out of one of the sleeping bags after a snuggly night with Justin Bieber. I’m not sure who I felt sorrier for in that circumstance but I think it was Justin. Next we passed out snowshoes for everyone and took a long, brisk walk through the snow covered Maine woods. Everyone immediately became a little sweaty and smelly so we took a quick dip in our local creek, after cutting a hole in the ice, to get their juices flowing again. Later after a few unrehearsed tunes from our guests back at the house, we said our final goodbye to end the celebration.
Who wouldn’t want to attend another party like that? I shouldn’t tell you this because it’s a huge secret and I wouldn’t want to alert the paparazzi but the 4:00am game of naked charades last year was incredible. Seacrest’s better-half, Julianne Hough, stopped the show when she was attempting the phrase, “your ass is mine”. I wasn’t quite right for a few hours after that. She eventually lost the game but everyone else was a definite winner. Although we did have a tough time keeping Jessica Simpson under control. Her cravings got out of hand when she viciously attacked a table full of the candied oyster appetizers. Not only can that girl sing, she can really eat too. It took four of us to get her off that table.
Now you know what you’ve been missing. Even Puerto Rico comes in a close second to these fun get-togethers, right Lily! I’ll be forced to blame my better-half for ruining another of our posh celebrity, New Years + 1 Day, parties. I must love her a lot because screwing me out of another exciting game of naked charades is not nice. I ask for so little . . .
The snow has finally stopped with the final amount totaling close to 17 inches. My back, legs, and arms were telling me it was more like 100 inches but what do they know. I rolled out of bed early this morning and knew in my heart the driveway wasn’t finished with me yet. I didn’t realize just how right I was.
As a last gift from our town’s snow plow I found the bottom of my driveway completely blocked from their last visit sometime during the night. This is an annual bitch of mine that I need to tell someone about but believe me, no ones listening. I grabbed my shovel and out into the cold I went once again.
Let me set the scene for you. I’m standing at the end of my driveway with wet feet and sore limbs after shoveling for at least a half hour to clear the mess. I finally finished (or so I thought) and I looked up the road and what did I see but the towns frigging snow plow heading my way. I swear that damn driver was grinning as he reloaded my driveway with a ton of now slushy and dirty snow. He should thank whatever God he believes in that I wasn’t armed. I start shoveling again and still grumbling about it when ten minutes later I hear the plow making it’s return trip going in the other direction. The snow had stopped, the road was empty of traffic, it was just me and the snowplow, and the towns incompetent driver.
I was standing directly across the road from my (new this year) mailbox when the plow swooped through, hit my mailbox, spinning it completely around, and left the door hanging by a thread. This is the third effing mailbox in the last five years that I’ll be forced to replace. As I’m sure you know, I was no longer smiling. That was how my day started.
I finished the shoveling and decided I needed to get the hell out of the house for a few hours. I was suffering from a mild case of cabin-fever. I ran a few errands, bought a few books, and took a few photographs. My blood pressure finally returned to normal and the day once again became calmer and more enjoyable.
Upon the return of my better-half from work I was made aware that we would be meeting some friends a a local restaurant later in the day for a few drinks and appetizers. I actually was looking forward to that so after a quick hour on the X-Box, I showered, shaved, dressed, and was ready to go.
We met up with our friends, had a few drinks, and got caught up the latest gossip and had a great time. Being the law abiding citizen that I am I stopped after three glasses of wine and went to drinking coffee. It turned out to be my best move of the night.
As we headed home the night was clear and cold and we were chatting a little. Just a few minutes from our house all of a sudden two white tailed deer jumped from an embankment on our right landing directly in front of us. Lucky for us and them I was driving slowly enough to get stopped and to let them pass. Even so that still got the old heart racing for a few minutes.
I pull into our driveway and I could see that the town’s garbage men finally emptied our trash container. As I walked down the driveway to retrieve it I noticed how icy it had become. I yelled out to my better-half to be careful and as I did I slipped and fell on my ass and twisted my already damaged knee It was a little stiff last night but right now as I’m lying in bed writing this, it hurts too much to get up. Looks like a few more weeks of hobbling around until it heals again. I’m never all that surprised by my clumsiness but it’s getting really tiresome. I guess I can celebrate my first fall for 2012 and look forward to the first one that’s sure to come in 2013.
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?
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
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 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.
As young children our parents made every attempt to make Christmas memorable for my sister and me. When my sister was very young and I was almost six I still firmly believed the tales of Santa and his elves and all that good stuff. But in the back of my young mind I secretly was beginning to have doubts. A lot of what I was being told by the family wasn’t what I was hearing on the street (at school). My friends had almost convinced me that Santa was BS and that my parents were actually the gift givers.
My folks apparently began to suspect I was wavering and that their propaganda was falling on deaf ears. In a conspiracy involving my mother’s sister, Anna Mae, they decided drastic action was needed. I’d been acting out a bit and being a little disrespectful so it was time for Santa to straighten me out.
It was about a week before Christmas and we were visiting at my grandparents home and as usual I was a being a huge pain in the ass like most six year olds. It was just after dark and I was walking through the house to the kitchen. As I passed the window in the hall I glanced over and almost crapped my pants. Santa was standing outside and looking right at me and smiling. I ran upstairs and hid under the bed and refused to come out until the coast was clear. My parents let me know in no uncertain terms that Santa was looking for those children who weren’t being good.
I cleaned up my act fast and became their little angel again. I have to admit I was a little shaky after dark and afraid to look out the windows for quite a while. Santa the terrorist had accomplished his mission. I saw him on two or three other occasions during the next two years, once at our home, and again in the cellar of my grandparents house but unfortunately I was already a confirmed non-believer. I went along with the charade for my sister’s sake and to avoid a smack on the ass if I told her the truth. By then I knew my parents were the ones I needed to suck up to and I did it in grand fashion.
Many years later while I was digging through a trunk in my aunts bedroom I discovered where Santa had been hiding. His retirement consisted of being hidden under a pile of sheets and pillow cases in that old trunk. My aunt laughed like crazy when I confronted her and we both enjoyed the moment very much.
What I never told her or my parents was the lingering collateral damage from their actions. To this day during the Christmas season I’m careful in dark rooms and try never to look out the windows. In the mall or in stores where Santa is holding court, I stay the hell away. That guy still scares the bejesus out of me.
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