Julius Caesar had an assistant who’s job was to whisper “Caesar, thou art mortal” into his ear every so often to remind him to remain humble.
He also had a man whisper “Caesar, thou art ticklish” into his ear to remind him that he was ticklish. Then, that advisor would unleash a fury of tickles that would bring the great dictator to his knees with laughter.
Once, the tickling advisor went too far, and Caesar felt humiliated and violated.
He ordered the man to be executed.
The first advisor probably should have whispered “Tickler, thou art mortal” now and then.
Tag: silly
The Generals
General Clayton was a great soldier, and he earned many medals.
So many medals, in fact, he was unable to pin them all on to his chest.
That’s when he had himself cloned.
With all those additional chests, he could pin the medals on.
Of course, with all those additional General Claytons, they collectively earned even more medals.
More medals, more Generals.
It was an endless loop of generals and medals, until the Army ran out of medals to give to the generals.
Then, they all suddenly died of the same congenital heart defect.
Dammit. Now we need more cemeteries.
Wedding Soup
While shopping for vegetable soup, I saw cans of Italian Wedding soup on the shelf.
Wedding soup? Don’t Italians have cake at weddings like everyone else?
Do cake topper brides and grooms float? Or do you strip them out of their clothes so they can skinny-dip in the soup?
The Italian Wedding soup? I thought that Minestrone was the “Italian” soup, but it turns out they serve that at divorces.
Italian Wedding soup is nothing but noodles and meatballs. Why not just call it noodles and meatballs?
Are gays and lesbians allowed to eat it?
I’ll stick to Vegetable, okay?
The Gift
Prometheus stole fire from the gods and gave it as a gift to Man.
“If that’s a gift, why isn’t it wrapped?” asked Man
“It’s fire,” said Prometheus. “It burns wrapping paper and other things.”
“Will it burn me?” asked Man.
“Yes,” said Prometheus. “I suppose I should put it on a stick.”
Prometheus quickly fashioned a torch and gave it to Man.
“That’s neat,” said Man and he ran off to play with his new fire.
The fact that Prometheus had stolen fire made it impossible for man to take it back and exchange it for a fancy-knit sweater.
The Drinker
“Why don’t you believe in me?” asked God.
I put down my drink and thought about my answer for a moment.
I mean, it’s God. And He’s drunk.
But then, I don’t believe in Him, so why worry?
So, I turned to my right…
He was gone.
I asked the bartender where God went.
He shrugged and put the tab in front of me.
Holy crap! God sure can drink, and He has good taste in what He drinks. Expensive, too.
As I pulled out my wallet, God pulled out his credit card.
“I was in the bathroom,” He said.
Tolerance
After I broke my arm and underwent surgery to rebuild it, I was given Vicodin for the pain, and it worked. It kept the pain at bay when I took it regularly.
Forty minutes after taking a pill, I felt the rush and it felt good.
But over time, as I healed, the pain subsided. I built up a tolerance to Vicodin, and the rush stopped coming.
Take more? No. That leads to addiction.
Instead, ease off the drugs, and switch to Tylenol.
And then, when I’m better, and my tolerance subsides…
I hope I didn’t sell off my stash.
Sir Hugo Daft
Sir Hugo Daft’s compositions are the product of a musical genius and a bloodthirsty sociopath.
Refusing to limit himself to traditional instruments such as the cello or the flute, he dabbles with police sirens, car screeches, women screaming for help, and other noises meant to frighten and distract listeners.
He is just as proud of his seven Grammy awards as he is of his lifetime ban from terrestrial and satellite radio.
“You’re causing dozens of accidents a day with your music!” said the FCC Commissioner.
Daft smiled, accepted the ban, and waited for the Pentagon to buy his weaponized compositions.
The Happiest Man
Looking at Walter, with this frown and slouch, you’d think he was an unhappy guy. But if you asked him, he’d say he is the happiest man on earth.
“But we’re on Mars,” I say.
Walter laughs. “I meant to say Mars. Force of habit.”
He goes back to working on whatever he was working on. Usually plans for expanding the biodomes or upgrading the existing footprint of the colony.
“Nobody likes to get displaced and moved for construction and upgrades. They bitch at me. But when it’s over, they thank me. I focus on that.”
And he laughs again.
Pointers
In addition to a digital photo frame, I’ve mounted a laser pointer to the brace on my arm.
I can turn it on and wiggle it, to make the cats go crazy and chase it.
It runs on a pair of AA batteries so it lasts a long time. And the switch is a toggle, so I don’t need to hold down the button to keep the laser on.
I had a good time with it, until I fell asleep with my arm pointing out the window, flashing into the cockpits of airplanes landing at the airport two blocks away.
Negativity
After years of negative ads the citizens were so disgusted with politics that when Election Day rolled around, nobody showed up at the polls.
Not even the poll workers.
The media weren’t surprised at all, since they were so disgusted by the negativity, whoever hadn’t gotten time off for vacation or a faked-up medical emergency ended up chasing other stories besides the election.
Absentee ballots were completely absent.
Even the urban churches filled their buses with the faithful… and drove them to church to pray.
Washington and every state office was closed.
And people pretty much got along as normal.