He was a hockey player, she was an Olympic figure skater.
So it stood to reason that they’d hold the wedding out on the ice.
Invitations went out to their families, friends, managers, agents, teammates and fellow performers.
However, when the day of the wedding arrived, very few people actually showed up.
The groom was huffing mad, his breath fogging the air.
The bride was in tears, freezing on her face.
They looked for their wedding planner and demanded to know why nobody was showing up.
“You wanted an ice rink wedding,” he said. “And they expected a chilly reception!”


In poker, a pair of fours is known as sailboats.
I don’t like boats. I get seasick just looking at them.
And why would I want two sailboats? That’s twice the maintenance cost, twice the slip fees.
“Well, if one’s being repaired, you’ve got the other one?” says the dealer.
“Yeah, if I’m crazy enough to buy a sailboat, I’m going to want to have a backup for when I miss the thrill of vomiting,” I respond.
Isn’t that just like a dealer, trying to sell you on another damn hole in the water to pour money into?
I fold.

Doctor Odd


Doctor Odd received the express written consent of Major League Baseball on Monday.
By Wednesday, Idaho was gone. Totally vanished. Nowhere to be found.
The market reacted quickly. Prices for potatoes skyrocketed. “Would you like fries with that?” was whispered only among the wealthy.
Congress held weeks of hearings, but they never did receive an adequate explanation from the baseball commissioner or Doctor Odd.
He said he was just being patriotic and trying to make Syria vanish, but his calculations were off by a bit.
What I found strange was that nobody ever asked for him to bring Idaho back.