Over the holidays, veteran television news anchors get the night off, and backup anchors cover their shifts
Sometimes, those backup anchors call in sick so they don’t have to read bullshit holiday stories or horrid tragedies like deadly house fires.
Oh, just stick a reporter up there. They can read a prompter, right?
I remember one that said the cops busted a ring of drug snugglers.
We gave him a huge teddybear and wrote DRUGS on its shirt.
The next day, the reporter was found dead.
Not suicide. Poisoned from tearing open the bear and trying to smoke the stuffing.
Tag: drugs
Rip Van Bob
Bob took naps during his lunch hour.
His coworkers teased him about it, calling him Rip Van Winkle.
One day, Bob napped, and his workers made an elaborate prank to make him think he was waking up in the future.
They sprayed his beard and hair white, but he was severely allergic to the spray dye and fell into a coma.
After 20 years in the coma ward, he woke up.
He looked in the mirror.
“GAH! I’M OLD!”
During his painful lengthy rehabilitation, he dyed his hair and beard black.
Same chemicals, but no coma.
This time, he died.
Cheeta-ing Death
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.
Half
The optimist thinks the glass is half full, while the pessimist thinks the glass is half empty.
Me, I drink everything out of a shot glass, and the bartender is always around to slide more my way, or he leaves the bottle there and we settle up the tab at the end of the week.
It doesn’t matter if the bottle’s half-full or half-empty either. The bartender keeps more in back, and his distributor runs an all-night liquor store a block away.
One time, all the shot glasses were in the dishwasher.
Except for the one in my pocket.
Cheers!
No Idea
I woke up with a splitting headache.
Checked my head, my hands.
No blood.
I looked around.
Hotel room. Clean, but nothing fancy.
Phone book says Dallas.
I’m in Dallas.
Where was I before Dallas?
I don’t know.
I check my wallet.
Cards. Driver’s license.
That’s me, Ted Martin.
I look through my receipts, trying to piece together how I got here.
Restaurants.
Hotels.
Rental cars.
I lay it all out on the bed.
I check my pockets for a cell phone.
None.
The nightstand. An envelope.
Full of white powder.
“Breathe” it says.
So I breathe.
And sleep.
Sleep.
Antidepressors
My doctor’s a little weird.
Instead of using tongue depressors, he calls them tongue anti-depressors.
“Because nothing’s more sad than an unhappy tongue,” he says. “I want my patients to be happy, and that includes their tongues! A happy tongue doesn’t mind being held in the face of rumor, and it certainly doesn’t wag along, let alone get gotten by a cat!”
It took a minute to digest all that before I had the nerve to ask “So, what makes them anti-depressors instead of depressors?”
“I soak them in tequila,” he says.
Which explains the lime and salt, I suppose.
The Rock
I bought her a drink, and she told me to go crawl back under the rock I crawled out from under.
I told her that I crawled out from under that rock long ago, and I was much younger and smaller back then. I don’t think I can fit under it.
And to tell you the truth, I’m not quite sure the rock is still there. For all I know, there’s a Starbucks there now.
So, I smiled.
She tossed the drink in my face.
The bartender tapped me on the shoulder. “Three’s your limit, pal. Hand me your keys.”
Liquid courage
The old gunslinger pulled out a flask, took a swig, and then offered it to me.
“Shot of liquid courage?” he coughed.
“No thanks, I don’t drink,” I said.
“It’s not whiskey,” said the gunslinger. “It’s liquid courage. Made by a wizard who lives out in the hills.”
I took the flask, held it to my nose, and…
It didn’t smell like alcohol.
It smelled like… well, it’s hard to describe…
It smelled like courage.
Chest-puffed out, none of the stink of fear kind.
I didn’t drink any, though.
I mean, his lips had been on the flask.
Bleeeeeeeeeeech! Disgusting!
Drug Problem
Two tablets of worry, chewable.
One tablet of fear, swallowed whole. If you feel light-headed, do not operate heavy machinery or operate a motor vehicle.
Three capsules of lust, taken with milk or mashed up in applesauce.
One tube of hunger, to be smeared on the thighs daily and allowed to dry before dressing.
Two drops of envy, one for each eye. May cause temporary blindness. If condition persists for more than four hours, purchase a dog and a cane.
And finally, one shot of…
What? You’re afraid of needles?
Shit. I should have given you this one first then.
Fresh Breath Of Fear
A long time ago, I had a bronchial infection.
The doctor prescribed antibiotics, painkillers, and inhalers.
The weird thing is, after I’d take a puff of the inhaler, I lost my fear of heights.
I could lean over railings or ride glass elevators, and instead of freaking out, I’d look around and enjoy the view.
I’m sure it wasn’t the antibiotics or painkillers, because I ran out of those eventually, but had plenty of inhalers.
They didn’t last forever, though, and the fear came back.
At least asthmatics can’t put up much of a fight when I need a fix.