Over the river, and through the woods to the prison where grandmother’s serving time for armed robbery.
“Social Security and Medicare suck,” said grandmother. “But if you’re in prison, you get everything covered.”
Prison food’s bad, and it’s actually better than the crap Meals On Wheels brought to her run-down apartment every day.
So, instead of clipping coupons and looking at cans of cat food at the end of the month, she robbed a bank.
We brought a pumpkin pie. She pulls out the file, and throws it at me.
“Don’t do that again,” she says. “I like it here.”
Tag: silly
Zymurgist
Due to budget cutbacks, the school district laid off all the guidance counselors. They were replaced with hats that contained strips of paper with the names of careers written on them.
Students line up, pick a career name out of a hat, and then pick classes based on the skill requirements of that job.
They used to flip through a book and stick their finger on a page to pick out a career.
But the book was in alphabetical order, and word spread fast that the last career in the book was Zymurgist.
Speaking of which, care for another beer?
Thank You Notes
When I was young, I got the crappiest gifts from my relatives.
Socks. Ugly sweaters. Inedible sugar-free candy.
You know, shit like that.
So, I never wrote thank you notes to them, because I wasn’t going to thank them for crappy gifts.
One year, my mother arranged for everyone to send me packages of thank you notes as gifts.
They were made from heavy stock paper.
Perfect for making paper airplanes.
They kept their shape, and flew longer than simple notebook or copy paper.
I’d have thanked them for the notes, but I used them all up making the airplanes.
Shampoopoo
Every week, shampoo manufacturers come up with a new formula that incorporates some obscure and absurd natural ingredient like monkeypuzzle tree oil or himalayan yak scrotum shavings.
Sure, the supermodels in the commercials are practically orgasmic over their shiny and bouncy full hair, but all I ever want is to shed less dandruff and not smell like a flower shop.
Nope. It’s impossible to get shampoo without this wacky Amazonian rainforest crap in it anymore. I’m stuck with hyacinth pollen extract reviving my roots and Mongolian rose elbows on my split ends.
No wonder why Bruce Willis shaves his head.
Chili
Jenny thought that God would save her from Jimmy, but the harder she prayed for a miracle, the worse Jimmy beat her.
So, one day, she put rat poison in the chili she cooked for dinner.
Jimmy came home from work, and without saying hello or anything, began to eat.
Jenny watched him, waiting for Jimmy to clutch his throat and die.
“Quit starin at me,” said Jimmy, and he took a knife and stabbed her with it.
Up in Heaven, Jenny asked God what the fuck happened.
“I did send a miracle,” said God. “I neutralized the rat poison.”
Bill Murray
Groundhog’s Day is a movie where Bill Murray plays a jackass weatherman who gets stuck covering the Punxsutawney Phil shadow ceremony.
He goes through the day over and over until he gets his shit straight and he wins the heart of his producer.
There was talk of a sequel: Valentine’s Day, where he and the producer-chick hook up for the first time, but something goes horribly wrong, so he has to live that day over and over again until he gets it right.
To me, that sounds like a plot for a perfectly good porno movie.
Shut the fuck up, you’re rocking the boat
I dreamt last night I was on the boat to Heaven.
Some dude stood up and shook dice at me.
“What are you, some kind of D&D freak?” I said “Sit down.”
The guy then pulled a bottle of whiskey out of his jacket and offered it to me.
“Dude, this boat’s already got me seasick. Put that away and sit down.”
He frowned, and that’s when a great big wave hit.
I shoved him overboard, took the bottle, and drank it.
Someone told me to sit down.
I told them to shut the fuck up.
Sanctimonious little prick.
Pike’s Peak
For the life of me, I don’t remember where Pike’s Peak is.
I could Google it, but that takes effort. I’d have to close this window, open another, and then type it in.
Thank goodness for my iPhone. I can just hold the button down, ask Siri where Pike’s Peak is, and I’ll know the answer.
Siri shows me Pike’s Peak of Texas, a floral shop that’s up the Inner Loop, near the Northwest Freeway.
Shit.
Where is the mountain Pike’s Peak?
Siri responds with a vague map with a red dot in… Colorado? Nevada?
I’ll just fucking Google it.
Balancing Act
The flight to Portland is full, and all the overheads are full of cruelty-free carbon-neutral backpacks.
“You’ll need to check your roll-on,” says the gate attendant.
I walk to my seat, but a bearded hipster is already in it.
“Dude,” he growls.
The stewardess apologizes and guides me to another seat.
“We had to move passengers around to balance the sarcasm and irony.”
I sit down, stuck between two reeking natives too cool for deodorant.
Forget flotation device. Can a seat be used as a gas mask?
An alarm goes off.
The stewardess says I’ve set off the sarcasm alarm.
The Old Men
Old Man Winter complains a lot about the bitter cold and his joints hurting, but that’s nothing compared to having to look at Old Man Spring’s ghastly bleached-white hairy shins.
And once you stumble across Old Man Summer laying out at the beach, well, you’ll wish you’d been born blind.
Old Man Fall tends to just stay in his rocking chair on the patio, drinking cheap beer and watching the leaves turn.
He’d be the most agreeable of the bunch if he didn’t sit there with his rifle, threatening to shoot people if they don’t get off of his lawn.