Category: My stories

Water maintenance today.
They’re redoing the mains so they don’t have to shut down the mains every time they need to work on a single building’s water pipes.
I’m sure that whatever maintenance and improvements they do, every future break or problem will be upstream from the work they did.
I’ve set aside some gallon jugs full of water for whatever… toilet flushing, tea, bathing a muddy cat.
Some neighbors are angry at the cut-off, despite an email and text alert going out.
It’s 2022, people.
If you’re wanting paper notices on your door, maybe they should be eviction notices?

Spumco was the production company that produced Ren and Stimpy.
Spumco animators not only drew the characters, but they produced, filmed, and edited them.
You could say they were very hands-on with the production process.
Spumco’s founder, John Kricfalusi, was very hands on with young female artists.
He’d invite them to Spumco to learn the business.
More like monkey business.
Nickelodeon fired Kricfalusi and Spumco… because of the level of violence in the cartoons.
And Spumco was shuttered after lawsuits over royalties.
After an avalanche of sexual harassment complaints, Kricfalusi retired from animation.
Only because nobody would sponsor his projects.

Every weekend, there’s a cultural festival in my city.
This week, it’s the Italian festival.
Italian dances, Italian food, Italian poetry.
Next week, it’s the German festival.
German dances, German food, German poetry.
The week after, it’s the Caribbean festival.
Caribbean dances, Caribbean food, Caribbean poetry.
And after that, it’s the Japan festival.
Japanese dances. Japanese food. Japanese poetry.
There’s no Palestinian festival.
They grab bullhorns and scream at the local Israeli consulate.
And synagogues. And community centers. And the Holocaust Museum.
That’s what they call culture?
What a bunch of pricks.
No wonder why they don’t have a state.

Not only is Jackie the greatest hitter in the league, he’s also the league’s greatest pitcher.
He also leads the league in steals. He’s never been caught stealing.
On days he’s not pitching, he’s catching, and calling great pitches for the pitchers.
On the rare times someone makes it to first, he’ll gun them down when they steal second.
Someone injured? He’s got medic skills. He’ll get you back on your feet in no time.
He also manages the team, putting together lineups no team wants to face.
His parents are awfully proud of their sparkplug of a Little Leaguer.

Siegfried and Roy were stage musicians who used lasers, glitter, and white suits to amaze millions of fans who came to watch them on their Las Vegas stage.
They paraded their white tigers and exotic animals around, making them leap and disappear.
Roy was attacked by one of their white tigers and took years to recover before returning to the stage.
He died during the Coronavirus pandemic.
The next year, Siegfried died of cancer.
Magic? The truth is, anybody can make tigers disappear.
Well, more like everyone can, really.
When we destroy their habitats and drive the species to extinction.

President Roosevelt’s face is on the dime because of The March of Dimes.
Roosevelt had Polio, and The March of Dimes raised money for research to cure Polio.
George Washington owned quarter horses, so his head went on the quarter.
Abraham Lincoln said “A penny for your thoughts” to his wife before he was shot and killed, so his head is on the penny.
Thomas Jefferson’s life wasn’t worth a plugged nickel, said his angry neighbor who argued over a border fence between their farms, so his head is on the nickel.
Nobody uses all those other big, fancy coins.

Bob the Butcher was the best butcher around.
He had the best meats, the best knives, the cleanest store, the most generous scales, and the biggest smile.
Whatever you wanted, you could get.
And you could get it any way you wanted.
He could slice meat so thin, it only had one side.
The sausages were blended to perfection.
So fast with his knives, there never was a line, and the Take A Number dispenser still had the original 1 on it.
He even had a bone for every dog.
As he lured them into the back room for butchering.

The manager took the waitress aside.
See the guy at table seven?
The one with the wild hair.
He’s rich. He’s famous.
He’s a good tipper.
So, treat him nice.
Okay, said the waitress.
Famous last words, I suppose.
The next day, she was found dead at the guy’s mansion.
The guy claimed she’d shot herself.
Suicide? Accident?
Just as long as it wasn’t him.
Because he was a success, and she was a failure.
Guilty, they said.
See the guy in cell seven?
The one with the wild hair.
He’s rich. He’s famous.
And he’s going to die here.

Angry leftists want people to stop using the term “Mother” and instead use the term “Birth Person.”
They think the term “Mother” is sexist and denigrates transgender people or something.
By trying to change the term, they’re denigrating Foster Mothers and Adoptive Mothers.
People who step in and try to help a child who’s been abandoned or given up by the person who gave birth to them.
People trying to ruin the language can be some seriously stupid motherfuckers sometimes.
And I mean motherfuckers. Not birthpersonfuckers.
Although, to be fair, I should just call them fuckers and be done with it.