One of the chimpanzees that played Tarzan’s companion in the movies died recently at the age of 80.
I’m just as shocked as you, because all the other chimpanzees died young.
The first was found drowned in a hot tub after an all-night cocaine party.
Another tried to rob a bank and was gunned down by the cops.
The one we all thought would break the curse became a preacher, then hung himself in a hotel room after getting caught molesting innocent young altar chimps.
I guess the last one lived his life clean.
For a goddamned monkey, that is.
Tag: silly
Coming Out Day
On National Coming Out Day, the Closet Squad dons fabulous uniforms, just the right balance of denim and leather, no cheap vinyl here, girls, and they march for the closets.
And lock themselves in them.
Knock all you want. Not coming out. And you can’t make them.
It’s not a problem with them. It’s your problem. You just don’t understand, you just don’t know, you just don’t realize how hard it is for them in there, but it would be harder to face the discrimination… the harassment…
Do I smell cheesecake? Oh, can you just slip some under the door?
Red Velvet Cupcake
In the center of the cupcake shop, bathed by a gentle light, sat a glass pedestal.
There, in the light, a cupcake.
A red velvet chocolate cupcake.
The greatest… ever!
I approached it, guessed at its weight, filled a small giftbag with mini-cupcakes about the same weight as the red velvet cupcake, swapped the bag for it.
I waited.
Nothing.
Walking to the door, I expected a low rumble and blow darts and a spiked pit…
Oh, and a gigantic boulder to chase me.
Instead, the store owner hit a switch and locked the door.
“You gonna pay for that?”
Fluffyboy
My cat has a boyfriend.
He’s a fluffy grey and brown seal-point.
And he’s friendly. He rubbed against my leg and let me pet him.
I said “Hi, Fluffyboy.”
And he looked up and meowed.
“Is that your name? Fluffy?”
No reaction.
“Boy?”
He meowed again.
I met his owner, and yes, his name is Boy.
And my cat goes to visit him at their place now and then.
Now, when the back door is open, Boy will come visit, have some kibble, use a litterbox, and meow once.
Myst follows him outside, and they go play in the dirt.
Three Little Gods
The first little pig built his god out of straw.
The second little pig built his god out of wood.
The third little pig built his god out of stone.
They fought amongst themselves as to which followed the true faith.
The wolf didn’t believe in any religious nonsense, but he was good at faking it.
One by one, he let the pigs “convert” him, taking all three of his would-be saviors captive.
The stone, he used for a roasting pit.
The wood made an excellent frame.
And the straw lit easily.
“By the gods, so delicious,” moaned the wolf.
Stamp
I can’t remember the last time I needed a stamp.
I pay my bills online with online banking.
I send electronic cards to most people. Okay, some merit actual cards, but postage is prepaid by Hallmark now.
Heck, when was the last time I needed a letter at all? Those are also electronic messages, through my email or via a phone or some instant messenger program.
Oh, now I remember: I had a cut on my finger, and I didn’t have a bandage.
Then, I fell asleep, and someone dropped me into a mailbox.
Clunk.
LET ME OUT OF HERE!
The Music Of The Stairs
The music teacher in my high school was rather avant-garde.
Instead of learning to play our instruments in the traditional sense: blowing into them, stroking them with various implements, or smiting them with mallets in some semblance of rhythm and meaning, we tossed them down a flight of stairs to listen to the odd beauty of the cacophony.
The school administration tolerated his madness, and since the instruments were already in bad shape, tossing them down stairs was significantly less expensive than repairs.
It was when he filled in for the drama teacher than they had to let him go.
Tough Break
They say Harvard is tough, but I learned medicine at the Jersey School For Doctors.
Doc Fontanelli asks the class what’s the difference between a twist, a sprain, dislocation, and a break.
The students, they all got their combs out, did their hair, checked the cigarettes rolled up in their sleeves.
So Doc grabs Vinnie by the arm with both hands, gives it a yank, and Vinnie goes down with a yell.
“That’s a dislocated shoulder,” says Doc.
He proceeds to twist Vinnie’s elbow, sprain his wrist, and break his nose.
“The nose ain’t a bone,” moans Vinnie.
A plus.
Fluffy Cat
Fluffy doesn’t look as much like a cat as what a cat might cough up.
He’s all fur, and unless he’s walking around, it’s hard to tell one end from another.
We’re not too sure how he sees through all of that.
And when it’s dinner time, he waits until we’ve left the kitchen before he goes for his bowl.
We find him in the strangest places.
The sink. A punchbowl. Inside a boot.
We thought about getting Fluffy a companion, so we picked up one of those hairless cats.
They sleep curled together, Yin and Yang extremes of hair.
Keep Sharp
Legend has it that the Grim Reaper sharpens his scythe by the light of the moon.
Bull.
First off, he’s got a whole set of scythes.
As for sharpening, he’s too busy. So he drops some of them off at my store every week and I handle that for him.
Sometimes, it’s a rebalanced handle. Ergonomic grips. Or reinforcing the blade mounts.
Nothing’s worse than having a blade come loose in mid-stroke.
He swings, he misses. That’s what you’d call “A brush with Death.”
With rotation and maintenance, it won’t happen again.
My service is a cut above the rest.