Tag: silly

Crosseyed Joe

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Crosseyed Joe’s work was done. Black Bart and his gang of cattle rustlers were dead.
So was the sheriff.
And the barber.
For that matter, everyone else with the bad luck to be in the Last Chance Saloon this afternoon with Joe firing wildly.
Joe tipped his hat and rode off into the sunset, despite the horse’s protests. He spurred the horse harder and harder until the thing just gave up and ran for all it was worth.
That was yesterday.
This morning, vultures are circling over the canyon.
So much for Crosseyed Joe.
I feel bad for his horse.

Trampled Leaf

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This one’s real, that’s for certain.
Usually, it’s a corn or wheat field near a high school or college that’s been trampled.
For the publicity. The “Hi Mom” factor.
Complexity means fraud, since I know they like to keep things simple.
Besides, why would students or farmers draw attention to a huge marijuana patch like this?
The Feds want to burn it, but not before I get a few photos and… ahem.. samples.
Now now now… they’re for purely academic reasons.
But I have to admit, some of these flasks make radical bongs.
What the heck – pass the burner.

The Life Of A Messiah Is Always Insense

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Would you like to know why I’m so tense?
I turn water into wine, but wedding guests complain that it’s not a good year.
I multiplied the loaves and fishes, but people whine about carbohydrates and mercury levels.
The leper I cured didn’t grow back any of the appendages that rotted off, so he’s saying I did a half-assed job.
After that, Lazarus whines that his terminal cancer wasn’t cured, but he can’t die from it now. So he suffers constantly.
Bitch bitch bitch.
Finally, I come back from the dead, and I miss the weekend.
What a goddamned crock.

Waiting for the hammer to fall

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Sinner… spared.
Bus full of nuns… fried.
Child molester… spared.
Honorable soldier… fried.
Al Franken… spared.
Paul Harvey… fried.
“THOR!” yelled Odin.
The Father of The Gods scowled.
Thor’s thunderbolts had become increasingly wild over the past century, concerning his father Odin to the point where he consulted an orthopedic surgeon.
Thor was scheduled for Tommy John surgery a month ago, and after a few months of therapy and weight-training, it is my professional opinion that he’ll be as good as new.
Before he headed back to Asgard, he said “Thank you” and left me this hammer. Isn’t it cool?

The Coffin That Viper Built

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Count Viper may not have been born a Yankees fan centuries ago, but he certainly died one.
Twice.
For eighty years, the Count took in every night game, feeding on rude fans.
Well, never the ones with 3 on their back, out of respect for Ruth.
Last year, Alex Rodriguez shattered his bat and a piece flew into the stands where Viper had been a permanent fixture.
It pierced the vampire’s heart and reduced him to ash instantly.
A minute later, one of those rude fans brushed the Count’s ashes aside and watched the Yankees lose to the Red Sox.

Les vs. The Lesbians

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Les Nessman put the disk in his DVD player and hit Play.
Nothing.
He stabbed the button a few more times.
Still nothing.
He shrugged and wandered off to lunch.
Johnny Fever stepped over Les’ tape-wall, opened the tray, and turned it right side up.
Two hours hardcore of Jennifer and Bailey, all for Les.
He popped out the DVD, ripped a copy of Snow White, and put it in the tray.
Les came back from lunch and tried again.
It worked.
Later that day, Les was slapped twice for saying he thought Dopey’s kiss was the cutest of all.

Names

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Adam ran out of names by the time he got to the last three animals.
“What will you call this one?” asked Eve, holding up a furry, lumpy creature.
“I’m not sure,” said Adam. “Goat?”
“No, you’ve already used that one,” said Eve.
“Urchin?” he said.
“That’s the prickly thing over in the lagoon,” said Eve. “How about… platypus? Wait. You’ve use that one, too.”
“Screw it,” said Adam. He built a fire, and then cooked and ate the three creatures.
“I dub thee Breakfast, Lunch, and Dinner,” he announced. “Now where is Rabbit? I need to wipe my ass.”

Three Mighty Pirates

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The mighty pirate gang sailed the ocean blue for treasure and glory.
“Yar!” shouted Smitty.
“Yar!” shouted Pegleg.
“Yar!” shouted Captain Blood.
Many galleons did they board, plunder, and send to Davey Jones’ Locker.
“Yar!” shouted Smitty.
“Yar!” shouted Pegleg.
“Yar!” shouted Captain Blood.
No crew was deadlier with a score of cannon than they.
“Yar!” shouted Smitty.
“Yar!” shouted Pegleg.
“Yar!” shouted Captain Blood.
And they were the most fearsome scurvy dogs on Brussels Sprouts and Onions Night.
“Light a match!” shouted Smitty.
“Open a porthole!” shouted Pegleg.
“No wonder why they call it a poopdeck!” shouted Captain Blood.

Tastes Like Chicken

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Gerald the Geek was famous for biting the heads off of live chickens. I don’t think there’s a county fair that hasn’t had chicken blood drooled by Gerald on its midway.
One day, those wiseasses from PETA knock on my door, yelling all sorts of crazy demands.
“Let the elephants go free!”
“Stop torturing the horses!”
“Does the Snake Lady have an on-staff, full-time herpetologist?”
Blah blah blah. Damn hippies.
They also wanted Gerald fired. So Gerald did what came natural and bit their heads off.
If he gets out, it won’t be for fifty years.
So, want the job?

Heavy Hangs The Ape-Crown

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Fatigued and wounded, King Kong clung to the building with his remaining strength. However, all he could muster was not enough, and his grip failed at the worst possible time.
As he fell, he realized that he should have carried the blonde in his mouth so his arms would share the strain of climbing the building.
He also decided that climbing the building was quite possibly a bad idea, too.
His nemesis told the gathered crowd that beauty killed the beast, but Kong’s final thought was that poor planning and a lack of ergonomic awareness was a major contributing factor.