Tag: silly

Excuses

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Every July Fourth, there’s some kind of hot dog eating contest at Coney Island.
Some skinny Japanese guy always wins, which is why they think five full-sized adults can fit into one of their cars, I guess.
I can’t eat animal fats anymore due to a crash diet my doctor came up with.
This is why I buy the big Super Star Dogs at Minutemaid Park – they hold the most condiments like relish or mustard and onions.
Those vegetables are healthy right?
And I swear it’s not my fault that someone put meat in between them and the bun.

Les Nessman and the Bandages

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There was a running gag on WKRP that Les Nessman appeared with a bandage somewhere on his body. Richard Sanders showed up one day with a bandage on, and the writers decided to keep it going throughout the series.
Sometimes, the bandage is not easy to spot.
Those are the episodes you can assume that Les had a really bad evening the night before with a crackwhore, and she (or he) wasn’t very delicate with Les’s various important appendages.
Who am I kidding? This is Les Nessman, dammit! No crackwhore will do.
Um… Bailey and Jennifer in a Les Sandwich!

Twelve Other Labors

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Cocaretzi is a Greek dish of stuffed ox intestines
It is also the name of Heracles’ cousin. He was similrarly tasked with twelve labors.
Most of them involved solving petty disputes between neighbors. One was getting a bad wine stain out of a toga.
The final labor of Cocaretzi had to do with catering a picky Greek king’s picnic. He was tired of the usual fare, so he challenged Cocaretzi to come up with something new.
Yes, this is where the ox intestines come in.
Cocaretzi was executed for the vile dish, but at least it forever bears his name.

Les Nessman vs. Satellite Radio

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With the advent of satellite radio, is there room for local news coverage of Les Nessman’s heyday?
I think so. After all, satellites are flimsy things that fly around like pinballs on a greased baking sheet. They fall and explode, too.
Radio towers are tall, sturdy things. In fact, RKO Pictures had a one on the North Pole before those damn environmentalists demanded that it be torn town.
It had something to do with those jaggy lightning bolts streaking out of the thing.
Anyway, in this era of iPods and X-radio, I yearn for the Golden Age of Les Nessman.

Les Nessman vs. The Martians

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I suppose if Martians had invaded Cincinnati, the public would have turned to Les Nessman for coverage.
After all, Les doesn’t just live and breathe news, but he practically oozes it.
By licking Les Nessman, you might experience a news hallucination, much like thrill-seekers lick certain species of toads for the vision-inducing properties.
No wonder why Johnny Fever was totally out of it. In his off-hours, he licked Les Nessman.
Did he imagine he was licking Loni Anderson instead?
Of course not. That would induce something entirely different. Something which I’ll refrain from repeating here openly, if you don’t mind.

Les Nessman vs. The Hurricane

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Les Nessman never did manage to cover a hurricane, since Cincinnati isn’t exactly in a hurricane-prone area and Mr. Carlson was very cheap when it came to the news division of his radio station. The travel budget was cab fare.
However, if he had covered one, I think he’d have been an impressive sight in his rain slicker, boldly holding out his wind-meter like an intrepid soldier bearing a torch in the darkness.
Of course, WKRP was a radio station, not a television news channel, so the viewers would have had no idea Les was doing any of these things.

Broken glass

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The Talmud dictates that there should be “awe and trembling” upon a couple getting married. The destruction of a glass has its roots in superstition, but it took one pissed-off rabbi to carry the odd practice over to Jewish weddings.
But instead of smashing a glass as tradition dictates, most Jewish weddings these days have the groom smash a cheap light bulb wrapped in a napkin.
Which means, of course, those weddings aren’t real weddings at all. Those couples are living in sin and shall be damned for it.
What do Jews break for a divorce?
The pre-nup, of course.

The Tortoise and The Patsy

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“Is everyone ready?” said the Owl.
“Ready!” said the Hare.
“Ready!” said the Tortoise.
The Rat poked its nose from the undergrowth and winked at the Tortoise. “Ready,” it said.
The Owl shrieked “GO!” and the Hare was gone like a bolt of lightning.
The Tortoise watched and chuckled.

The Hare sped along the racecourse he’d let the Tortoise pick out, through meadows and fields and finally down towards the farmhouse…
*SNAP*
The Hare shrieked in agony as four traps grabbed his body and ripped open his skin to the bone.

The Rat calculated their winnings.
The Tortoise munched lettuce.

The taste was not so sweet

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Like Monaco and Andorra, the pocket state of Vinodulce has sat peacefully in the mountains of Europe for centuries, retaining its own local culture and charm.
Count Vinodulce’s descendants have been excellent, wise rulers in all aspects save one: punctuality.
They are notoriously late for everything. Even their own funerals.
So, to keep up appearances, the Count vainly adjusts clock and calendar.
As a result, the ruling family always arrives on time. Hours, days, weeks, and even whole years are simply cast aside and ignored.
For all its modern amenities, Vinodulce is still quite literally living in the Seventeenth Century.

Don’t Pay The Catapultman

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“NEXT!” shouted a voice.
Arthur spat out the coin and handed it to the robed specter on the shore.
“Where’s your boat?” he asked.
“Repairs,” growled the ferryless ferryman. “Leaky hull.”
“So how do I get cross?” asked Arthur.
“Hop on,” said the ferryman, pointing to a catapult.
Arthur smirked. “Is it safe?”
“You’re already dead,” said the ferryman, shrugging. “What do you care?”
Arthur climbed on the catapult, and the ferryman grinned.
“Ready?”
“N-”
The ferryman pulled the lever, and Arthur was flung screaming into the gloomy mist.
“Replace me with a toll bridge, will they?” he grumbled. “NEXT!”