Tag: commentary

Do you trust these pancakes?

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The courts upheld the ban against pancakes last year.
Now, the only place you can get pancakes is an underground grill.
Or, if you risk it, at home.
“We’re making waffles,” I tell the grocery checkout girl as she holds up my maple syrup bottle suspiciously.
The government says that waffles are a gateway breakfast food leading to pancakes, but I disagree.
I like waffles.
I like bacon.
I like orange juice.
But pancakes? No. They don’t hold butter or syrup like waffles do.
She bags the eggs, flour, and maple syrup.
I’ll make waffles.
But after that? Who knows?

What do we charge?

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What do we charge for a love potion?
Only ten bucks. They’re pretty cheap and easy to make, when you think about it.
Heck, the bottle costs more than the ingredients, which are just rainwater and a little salt.
This is why we try to have you drink these things in the store, or we ask that you bring the empty bottle when you want the antidote.
Why do we charge a thousand bucks for the antidote when the love potion costs only ten?
Because we can.
And based on how desperate people are, they’ll drink it out of anything.

Hercules

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In Greek mythology, Hercules is often credited with performing twelve labors. However, the original poem laying out these labors was lost to history. All we have are poems and stories inspired by the original poem.
Until now.
Reading these ceremonial urns, painstakingly pieced together by my team, it turns out that Hercules was the name of a town, not a single person.
It wasn’t a single individual performing these labors, but a community coming together to get these seemingly impossible tasks done.
So when you look around you, so many impossible problems, look around.
Perhaps, Hercules is already with you.

Gray Hair

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I remember when I discovered my first gray hair.
I was looking in the mirror and I saw a flash of something.
So, I stopped and looked around for a minute, and I found it.
A gray hair, tempting me to remove it.
I plucked it out.
Pretty soon, there were too many to pluck out.
Eventually, the gray hairs outnumbered the black hairs.
Now, I search and search, and only find gray hairs.
Except for one.
I look at it, and it tempts me to remove it.
So, I get the tweezers, and pluck it out of my nose.

Every 20 minutes

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Every 20 minutes, the timer goes off and I do 20 situps.
Sure, diet and walking can shed the pounds, but I carry my weight in my gut, so I needed to get better about targeting my trouble areas.
Situps are easy to do, and setting a kitchen timer to force myself to do reps over and over has been great about keeping the pace.
However, after a while, you can overdo it.
Hernias can be repaired, but lethal strokes can’t.
The timer goes off, and I feel a poke from the demon sitting on a stool.
“Do another twenty!”

Retraining

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I’ve tried to diet before, but it never worked.
I’d get back into the habit of eating junk food and it would all fall apart.
So, I trained myself to dislike junk food.
Now, instead of craving potato chips, I hate them.
When I see someone with a bag, I grab it out of their hands, throw it to the ground, and stomp them to bits.
This is rather violent and destructive, but it’s better than people who train themselves to fear foods.
After all, how do you think vampires got that way about garlic?
Stink-breath is bad for neck-biters.

How do you make a joke?

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The back doors to the ambulance flew open and a man covered with blood was rushed into the emergency room.
The paramedics said he was a comedian who had been beaten up by an angry mob.
After he was handed off to the doctors, the paramedics went out for a smoke with the desk clerk.
“Let me guess,” said the clerk. “He tried to tell 9/11 jokes and the crowd got really ugly.”
“No,” said the paramedic. “He was at a dinner party hosted by the Saudi Arabian consulate.”
“So why was he attacked?”
“He refused to make 9/11 jokes.”

They should do something

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The bumpersticker on the first SUV said “DRILL BABY DRILL.”
The other SUV had dozens of stickers representing environmental groups which disagreed with that sentiment.
Same make.
Same model.
Same lousy gas mileage.
Both were parked next to each other at the grocery store.
They’d both run inside “for just a minute” and left the engines running.
And the doors unlocked.
So, I reached in and turned the keys, shutting off the engines.
Then I threw the keys down a sewer grate.
Maybe it won’t make a bit of difference in the end.
But, unlike these two assholes, I tried.

The Middle Name

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I don’t have a middle name.
I mean, I don’t have one anymore.
I sold it to someone who didn’t have a middle name, found mine interesting, and offered me money for it.
“Why not just change your name?” I asked.
“We don’t do that in my culture,” he said. “There are only so many names available, and we compete for them. If we cannot win one, we buy it.”
He handed me a check.
There was a large number on it.
I agreed and wrote my name on it.
Then scratched out the middle name. It’s not mine anymore.

The Music Man

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Don Music was a puppet on a children’s show who’d get so frustrated trying to compose a song, he’d bash his head against the piano keys and give up.
Sadly, some children got the crazy idea that the proper response to frustration is to bash your head repeatedly against it.
These kids would bash their heads against their desks, balefully moaning “I CAN’T DO IT!”
One was the son of a florist, and after school he’d help out in the shop.
No matter what he tried, he never could keep a cactus alive, so he-
On second thought, don’t ask.