We name our office printers after artists.
Matisse was very slow and you can see the dots in the rendering.
Pollock was just downright messy, leaking ink all over the place.
Van Gogh would cut off every so often.
Warhol never got many print jobs, but it served as an excellent copier.
Renoir’s colors were far too bright, and it cost us a fortune.
Breughel and Bosch were a nightmare to set up and keep running.
And the less said about Mapplethorpe, the better, okay?
In the end, we gave up and sent all of our print jobs to Kinko’s.
Tag: silly
Taco-Faced God
God talks to me.
Me!
People think you’re crazy if you say God’s talking to you.
And I agree with them, because, like, why me? What’s so special about me?
God says I’m special. When He talks to me.
Thing is, he doesn’t appear with the big white beard. Or like George Burns.
He talks to me through tacos.
Sure, you see lettuce, beef, cheese, and hot sauce. But I see God talking to me.
Maybe it’s just the Taco Bueno kitchen guy hitting on me.
If it is, well, it’s so not happening.
(I asked for NO jalapenos, kid!)
Love of Money
The state quarters program was a hit with collectors, so The Mint tried it with presidents and dollar coins.
That program wasn’t a hit, and not only did warehouses fill up with uncirculated presidential dollar coins, but the bill that funded the program required that Sacagawea dollar coins be produced, too.
Also unwanted, helping fill up the warehouses faster.
This program went on for years, wasting money, until a radio show exposed the waste and Congress de-authorized the program, halting production.
Deep in the warehouses, an old Scottish duck climbs a shelf and swan dives into the pile, laughing hysterically.
Klingons
Back when I was in high school, there was a Klingon Language Club where they spoke that language from the Star Trek show and movies.
They wanted me to join, but I didn’t see any use for it.
A few years later, when we were at the graduation barn dance, a strange light appeared in the sky, and a Klingon warship landed in the parking lot.
The Klingon Language Club, dressed in full Klingon battle armor, greeted the ship.
Its cannons blasted them into atoms.
You know, because it was Kirk at the helm, slingshotted back in time.
Stupid geeks.
The Can
Preacher say you can’t put God in a bottle or a box.
Or packed inside a wrapper.
Bright colors, big letters.
That’s not where you’ll find God.
You have to put Him in a can.
Not a cheap Aluminum can.
Or a rusty tin can.
You have to put Him in a steel can.
A solid American steel can.
Bigger than a soup can.
But smaller than a barrel. Or a keg.
Like that tomato soup can for prisons and schools.
Or the one restaurants get olives in.
About that big.
Gimme that can opener.
Let’s get us some God.
Otis
There are two Saint Otises of Prague.
The first Otis is the Patron Saint of Elevators Going Up.
The other Otis is the Patron Saint of Elevators Going Down.
They were martyred when their elevators collided.
How elevators in separate shafts collide was a total mystery, and the priest who was called to deliver last rites to the two Otises declared it a miracle.
The Vatican handled the rest.
And this is why you see OTIS on every elevator.
Well, the ones that the Saint Otises watch over.
There’s no Otis on this one?
Um, I’ll take the stairs then.
Revolution!
The revolution is a terrible disappointment.
We should have overthrown the government by now.
But we haven’t.
We go back and read our revolutionary notes.
Che Guevara said that the duty of every revolutionary is to make the revolution.
So sweep the revolutionary streets with revolutionary brooms!
So scrub the revolutionary toilets with revolutionary brushes!
So make the revolutionary donuts with revolutionary dough!
So make the revolutionary coffee with revolutionary coffee machines!
Revolutionary cream? Revolutionary sugar?
You like it black?
Viva la revolution!
And dunk the revolutionary donuts into revolutionary coffee!
Too much coffee.
Too jittery to revolt.
Let’s nap.
Cart Racers
After watching the bobsledders racing down the track at the Olympics, I got my friends together and we came up with The Shopping Cart Races.
Late last night, we got really drunk and stormed a grocery store parking lot, setting up carts in the parking lot to mark out a course.
Then, we formed teams of four, three people in a cart, and the fourth pushing as hard as they could before jumping in and riding along.
The first team discovered they couldn’t steer.
Instead, they tipped over and crashed.
Just a few scrapes and bruises. And no gold medals.
Referrals
I asked the witch doctor, and he sent me to a fortune teller.
I asked the fortune teller, and she suggested I consult a mountaintop guru.
I climbed the mountain and asked the guru, and he handed me a Ouija board.
I checked with the Ouija board, and it told me to refer to the I Ching.
I tossed the bones and looked them up in the I Ching, and they said I should use a Magic 8 Ball.
I shook the Magic 8 Ball and it said “Answer Hazy, Try Again Later.”
That’s how much my employer’s HMO sucks.
Limber Me Timbers
When Jill finished her Phys Ed and Business degrees, she opened up a yoga studio.
Business was good, plenty of young mothers and forty-somethings needing to lose a few pounds, or keep pounds away.
Then, Wii Fit and other cheaper options came out, followed by the recession.
She tried pilates classes, but those didn’t draw.
“Try a GroupOn,” said a friend.
Half-off coupons brought in a wave of signups to her studio.
Then… disaster.
First day, the room was filled with buccaneers.
One waved a printout in his good hand.
“Yarrr, I signed up fer Pirates classes!”
Damn you, Autocorrect!