Back in World War 2, US Army regulations clearly stated that there were to be no atheists in foxholes.
Atheists that would ordinarily be assigned to foxholes found themselves reassigned to trenches, bunkers, and pillboxes.
However, the Clinton Administration’s “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” policy allowed atheists to join their religious brothers-in-arms in the foxholes.
It also allowed them to engage in all the gay sex they wanted to in those foxholes, just as long as nobody asked them why they weren’t shouting OH GOD, YES while climaxing.
As for the atheist chaplains, there’s no explaining some shit the Army does.
Category: My stories
Researcher
We knew from the start that my project would be greater than a single researcher’s lifetime, but no assistant matched my abilities or experience.
So, I cloned myself, and trained my clone to be my assistant.
And when I die, my clone will take over my research, and then he will clone himself.
To train as an assistant, just as I did with him.
And just as was done with me. And the me before.
How long has this been going on?
I don’t know. We never bothered keeping track.
I remind Junior to call himself “Professor” when my time comes.
Unglued
To the man with a hammer, everything looks like a nail.
To the man with a screwdriver, everything looks like a screw.
And to a man with spiders glued to his face, everything looks like spiders.
Why someone would glue spiders to his face, I’m not sure.
The man with a hammer offers to smash the spiders with his hammer.
And the man with the screwdriver offers to stab the spiders with his screwdriver.
Neither solution sounds good to the man with spiders glued to his face.
Of course, nobody thought to ask the spiders what they thought or wanted.
Wipe
Should auld acquaintance be forgot and never brought to mind?
I thought I’d solve that problem when I developed MindWipe.
Neurotransmitter blockers combined with targeted quantum spin alteration treatments to eliminate specific memories.
It wasn’t hard to formulate champagne with the blockers, but how do you convince someone to lay still in a quantum spin generator?
That’s when I came up with the relay.
We shaped it like a sparkly tiara, and I made the whole ballroom a quantum spin generator.
When the clock struck twelve, I threw the switch.
Oh, poor Dick Clark.
We’ll say it was a stroke.
Penny Saved
Benjamin Franklin said that a penny saved is a penny earned, but these days a penny is close to worthless.
However, if you save a lot of pennies, you could roll them up and exchange them for a few bucks.
The most I ever saved up at once was thirty bucks, and that had been kinda heavy.
Instead of wasting all that effort, I now stick a pound of pennies in a sock, and then whallop people on the head with them.
The most I’ve gotten that way was two hundred bucks from a guy coming out of the bank.
Drinker
I like to drink coffee with milk and Bailey’s in it.
But I’m out of Bailey’s.
So, I went to the liquor store for Bailey’s.
That’s when I realized I drank the last of the milk that morning.
I got back in the car, to pick up a fresh gallon of milk.
If only I had picked up more coffee… I was out of that, too.
After another grocery run, I had the Bailey’s, coffee, and milk.
I put a filter in the machine, poured in water, and hit the ON button.
Nothing.
I took my Bailey’s bottle to Starbucks.
Bambi The Commie
After every school massacre, the liberals blame the NRA and demand gun control.
And I polish up all the weapons in my basement and wait for the government to try to come and get them.
Yeah, I tell people that I use guns to hunt, but who the hell needs to vaporize Bambi with an automatic assault rifle?
Me. Especially if Bambi’s working for the government and trying to take my guns away from me.
Maybe if his mother carried an assault rifle to defend herself, Bambi wouldn’t have ended up an orphan and going around with that stupid bunny.
Art Deficiency
I was walking down the street on a beautiful day, when I was overcome by a strange feeling.
My balance failed me, and I collapsed.
An ambulance arrived, and the paramedics quickly checked my vital signs.
“When was the last time you were at a museum?” one asked.
“I don’t remember,” I said.
“THIS MAN IS SUFFERING FROM A LACK OF ART!” shouted the other paramedic, and I was loaded into the ambulance.
“The Downtown Contemporary is on drive-by,” said the driver. “But we’ll get you to a local gallery. It’s just two blocks away.”
And the siren wailed on.
The Zoo
I love the way the word zoo makes my mouth hum.
Zooooooooooooooooooooooooo.
I like to play my kazoo at the zoo.
But the zookeeper doesn’t like the noise.
“If you don’t want people playing kazoos at the zoo, why sell them in the gift shop?” I shout.
“Just because we sell them, we don’t encourage their use here,” he shouted back. “You can buy condoms at the drug store, but you don’t use them there, right?”
Of course not.
His wife is the pharmacist. We’re having an affair. And she’s on the pill.
(Or. at least she says she is.)
The Sled
I grew up in a big family, and we didn’t have much.
All the kids had to share one sled. We carved our names into it.
Right over the curse.
That Winter, the year I had the broken leg, the other kids took turns going down the hill.
“Let’s all get on!” shouted Robbie.
I watched through the window as the sled veered out of control, and they ran straight into the old tire swing tree.
Broken necks, hypothermia, and frostbite got them all.
Except me. I was the last kid left.
My dad busted the sled up for firewood.