Walking home from work, I saw a strange sight.
An evil clown was at the corner, waving a sign advertising a costume shop.
Halloween is next week, you know.
Anyway, I watched the evil clown dance and wave his sign at the passing traffic.
Not the most dignified of jobs, I know, but it’s still a job.
Plus, it’s unlikely that it’ll be outsourced to India, since there’s no point in some clown in Bangalore waving a sign around there when the store it’s advertising is in Houston, Texas.
“The economy’s looking up,” I said, and went along my way.
Tag: cliche
Smith’s Crooks
The Smith Administration was the most corrupt in modern history.
Congress is still trying to sort out the books to figure out where all the money went.
The largest chunk of it wound up in the pockets of Smith’s old college friends who he’d appointed ambassadors.
Unlike the campaign contributors who received the plum assignments of France and England and Berlin, these guys were posted to Oz, Narnia, and Mordor.
That’s right. They’d picked the names out of children’s books.
Sure, these crooks should be tried, but Justice won’t get involved because we don’t have extradition treaties with those places.
Billy Hill
My name is William Hill.
Call me William.
Do not call me Billy.
In school, the teacher would read the roll call.
So, he’d read my name as Hill Billy.
And everyone would laugh.
They’d ask me if I bathed in a creek, slept in a pig pen, or if my dad made moonshine.
Yes, I bathed in a creek.
Yes, I slept in a pigpen.
And, yes, my dad made moonshine.
It was the best moonshine in the state, and when he got a distillery license, we got filthy stinking rich.
(Okay, so maybe the stink was the pigs.)
Mixed Blessing
She’s always saying bad things happening, like lost keys or a chipped tooth, can turn out to be mixed blessings, but when you encounter the good and the bad so clearly, I don’t think the blessings have been mixed thoroughly.
She’s also bad with mixing oatmeal, and I hit dry patches of unmixed oats among the lumpy mush in my bowl.
If you chip a tooth on oatmeal and you’re told “Well, don’t think of it as a trip to the dentist, but think of it as a day off of work” that’s not a mixed blessing. That’s badly-mixed oatmeal.
Her Mother’s Eyes
She has her mother’s eyes.
Samsung Spectrals. A few generations old, sure, but they’re reliable. A classic.
Plus, the Zeiss optics are far superior for standard spectrum vision than the digital ones these days.
Too many artifacts. Too much smearing. Too many crashes. Too many new features to make up for poor design.
What good are polychromatic irises when you get headaches from the synchronization frequency?
The latest models use cheap structural resins warp and melt from elevated body heat.
If only her mother could see her today, achieving so much.
(Her eyes are in the shop again. Damn digitals.)
Buffoon
I took my girl to the county fair
Winning games with such manly flair
She coveted a gigantic balloon
But instead, I got a big baboon
Despite all the ululation and wails
It picked out the bugs from her pigtails
A commotion resulted from all the fuss
Then it climbed up a pole and threw dung at us
I apologized, admitting defeat
We abandoned it out in the street
When I tried to play all the games again
They were rigged, there was no way I could win
I lost my girl at the county fair
As
If
You
Care
Triple
Vinnie Double Chin’s laid up in the hospital.
Another heart attack.
Which isn’t such a surprise, because he’s at least five hundred pounds and eats five times a day.
When they tried to sink him in the river, the cement truck ran out before they could make his shoes big enough to fit.
Doctor says he needs a triple bypass.
So what does he do?
He calls up Cousin Vito, tells them they can bury witnesses under the freeway they’re building in his chest!
I hope he makes it.
Because I don’t want to be a pallbearer lifting that coffin.
The Turkey
The farmer has fed the turkey every day, and the turkey has every reason to believe this will continue on forever.
So, when the farmer loads the turkey on to the truck and takes him to the butcher, the turkey is thinking “The butcher is going to feed me?”
The butcher approaches with a knife, raises the blade, and then hands it to the turkey.
“Nobody will suspect you,” he whispers to the turkey.
Then he pulls out a photograph of a rival butcher.
“I want no witnesses.”
The turkey nods, and then says “So, when do I get fed?”
Balanced breakfast
Jimmy walked into the kitchen, picked up a banana, and put it on his shoulder.
Then he got out a bowl, filled it with cereal, poured milk into it, and stuck that on top of his head.
He didn’t spill a drop.
Then he dropped two slices of bread in the toaster, waited, and juggled the toast in one hand while spinning a glass of orange juice with a finger on the other hand.
He walked back to the table and sat down.
Janice wanted a diet soda, but Jimmy growled “That’s not part of a complete and balanced breakfast!”
Love Potion Number…
Love Potion Number One was too acidic. Burned through the flask, ruined the countertop.
Number Two tasted weird. Like bathwater. And grease. Ew.
Three and Four were highly volatile. Evaporated the moment you opened them. Inhalers? Nah. Asthmatics would get confused. And horny.
Five turned the subject violent.
Thankfully, Six acted as an antidote, but turned their skin green. Kinda kinky.
Number Seven was a deadly neurotoxin. We sold it to the CIA.
Eight makes a good stain remover. See my pants? Spotless!
Oh well.
Care for some tea?
Good. I’ll pour.
And be sure to drink it all, darling.