Steve collected the tabs from soda cans.
He said it was for a school project for his daughter.
Anyway, everybody in the department got in the habit of giving their tabs to him.
Me, I sat at the desk behind him, so I’d throw my tabs over the cubicle wall in his direction.
Steve left for a new job a few weeks ago, but I’m still in the habit of throwing my soda can tabs at his desk.
Ali took over Steve’s desk this morning.
“What the fuck?” he shouts.
“Sorry,” I said, sipping my Coke Zero. “Force of habit.”
Tag: silly
Vicious Circle
Economists say that a feedback loop with detrimental results is a vicious circle, but all the circles I’ve ever known are nice circles.
Perhaps the economists are beating these circles as baby circles and making them grow up vicious?
You know, like how Pit Bulls are really friendly dogs that are great with kids, but got a bad reputation because they get raised to be vicious fighting dogs.
Rhombuses, on the other hand, are rotten little things no matter how you train them, but economists don’t like rhombuses, and circles are easier to deal with because you can roll them.
A Good Magician
I love doing my magic act for the kids.
After all these years the tux still fits me, although it and my cape, hat, and wand look a bit worse for wear.
And then there’s Pete, my bunny.
How long do they live?
Because I’ve had him for over thirty years.
No trick here: rabbit food, the occasional carrot or radish as a treat, and free reign of the house.
Perhaps he’s magical? Or some kind of government superbunny.
I offer him a carrot. “Are you a secret superbunny, Pete?”
Pete is silent.
A good magician never reveals his tricks.
Chinese Arch
If you built an arch and had every Chinese person line up and march under it at a rate of one person per second, the line would never end.
But why would you do such a silly thing? What good does marching people in a line do?
And even if you managed to build the arch, I highly doubt that you could convince every Chinese person to line up and march under it.
The Chinese have better things to do than march under an arch forever.
They’re to busy planning to jump all at the same time…
Oh no… EARTHQUAKE!
Stags Of The Star
Human Resources warned us: “Chris isn’t feeling well.”
Instead of his usual attire, Chris came into the office wearing a loincloth and feathered headdress, and he tapped my desk with a golden scepter.
“KNEEL BEFORE CHRISOCOATL!” he boomed.
I figured what the heck, so I kneeled.
“ARE YOU VENTURING TO THE STAGS OF THE STAR?”
Stags Of The Star? Stags…
Starbucks?
“I will journey forth and bring back plenty,” I said.
By the time I got back with everybody’s coffee order, he’d torn the heart out of the receptionist.
I took five bucks from her purse to cover her double-latte.
The Creation Of Kenny
I challenged art students to paint the ceiling of the college’s fieldhouse.
“Carefully, please!”
They replicated Michelangelo’s fresco in the Sistine Chapel, but substituted famous basketball players for the Biblical figures.
In the center was The Creation Of Adam, where Charles Barkley reached to touch the finger of Kenny Smith.
“Instead of a brain-like cloud, he’s perched on a giant meatloaf,” said the lead artist.
We laughed. Until a drip came down from the ceiling.
“It’s coming out of Kenny’s eye,” I said. “He’s… crying?”
Some of them called it a miracle.
I called it an expensive leak to repair.
Creepy Crawlers
When I was growing up, I remember having one of those creepy crawlers bug-making factories.
You poured a resin called Plastigoop into molds, put it in a hot plate to cook, then let it cool and set.
It was really fun trying to make the creatures look realistic with different colors of the Plastigoop.
They changed the formula around so that instead of heating the resin with the hot plate oven, you’d heat the resin, then pour it into the molds to cool and set.
These days, if I want creepy crawlers, I just leave the dishes out for weeks.
Lover Fighter
Hey, man. I’m a lover, not a fighter.
I don’t want to fight.
Unless you’re smaller and weaker than me. Then I’ll beat the crap out of you.
But if you’re bigger than me, yeah, I’m a lover. I’ll love you to keep from beating the crap out of me.
Until I can catch you off guard, that is. Then I’ll stop loving you, and stab you in the back or run you over with a car.
Of course, then I’ll go to prison, and knowing my luck, I’ll be stuck as a lover.
No matter how much I fight.
Vault
The reporter asked the billionaire if he could see his collection of rare musical instruments.
The old man walked over to a map, and waved at all the pins on it.
“A violin in a vault serves no purpose. It is meant to be played.”
The reporter smiled. “So, you’ve given them to musicians around the world?”
“Not really. I’m just messing with you. They’re in the basement.”
“May I see them?”
“If there’s any left. We’re feeding them into the furnace.”
The reporter fainted.
“I hate the press,” said the billionaire, and he picked up a violin and played.
Baptists
My grandmother always said that the problem with Baptists is that they don’t hold them under long enough.
So, I put my scuba gear in the trunk, headed over to First Baptist, and struck a deal to assist with baptisms at the local Y.
Now, instead of just tilting a person back in the water for a second, we keep them under for 20-30 minutes.
Switching tanks underwater takes some skill, but when we picked up an old-fashioned diving suit, air pump and a hose, we were able to keep people under for hours.
My grandmother still thinks they’re assholes.