Tag: society

The Odd Duck

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Down Highway 27, they got one of them side-of-the-road animal carnivals that’s been there forever and a day.
Forget about that boxing kangaroo or the bear that wrestles folks for ten bucks. They ain’t nothin’.
I wanna tell you about the Odd Duck: he’s a duck that quacks every other quack.
Okay, so he was a lot more interesting when the Even Duck was around, because Odd would quack once, Even would quack the second quack, and so on.
But the Even Duck got himself run over.
Now, the Odd Duck just quacks once and waits, lookin’ around for somethin’.

Gun Safety Lesson

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Once upon a time, there was a little boy with a very large gun.
His father always kept it in the nightstand, and it didn’t have a child safety lock.
The boy knew the gun was in there unlocked. So, standing on his very tippy toes, reaching, he got it out.
Looking over the gun, he checked to see if it was loaded.
Sure enough, it was.
And it was in his hands.
So, the little boy took the child safety lock out of the shopping bag and locked it up.
But he forgot to give his father the key.

Sulfur Neutral

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Grampa drove a really big Cadillac that got lousy gas mileage.
He’d owned it for as long as I could remember, and the cloud of smoke following us grew larger year after year.
“Why don’t you drive something friendlier to the environment?” I asked him.
“What?” he replied. “What is this environmental friendly crap?”
“Don’t you want to conserve energy and save the planet?” I said. “Or do you buy Carbon Neutral Offsets?”
Grampa thought for a moment. “No, I buy… um… Sulfur Neutrals.”
“Sulfur Neutrals?” I asked. “What are those?”
“Pull my finger,” said Grampa. “And you’ll find out.”

If I Only Had a Lawyer

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Jane and I grabbed the wet Brooks Brothers suit and excused ourselves from the conference room.
“What do we do now?” Jane said. “We need a lawyer!”
I look around, and I noticed a hay bale in the lobby.
“Why is that there?” asks Jane.
“Who cares?” I said. “Let’s try it!”
We fill the suit with straw, chant the spells, and the Scarelawyer leaps to his feet.
“I shall represent you to the best of my ability!” he says, and we head back in.
Two hours later, we strike a deal.
That’s the last time we build a Snowlaywer.

The Final Hours Of A Professional Slut

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Anne Nicole sat in her hotel suite and wept.
From the other room, her lawyer’s bastard baby shrieked.
The porn star wept harder.
She always got this way when she read the letters from her dead billionaire husband.
One after the other, his words tore at her heart and she yearned for him to be here with her again.
When she was finished with the last letter, the tears turned to rage.
“You found time to write this shit, but you couldn’t write a goddamned will?”
She poured out the pill bottle into her hand, swallowing them one by one.

Kotel

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When I told the congregation I was going to Jerusalem, they warned me about the Kotel.
“Try not to be shocked,” they said.
After weeks of travel, I was finally in the presence of the Holiest of Holies.
The only thing between me and it was an Arab market. Camels and horses, tied down to fixtures embedded the wall.
A merchant spits on the wall, walks back to his tent.
Elohim
My children will reclaim your Temple
Theodor
I slip it in a crack and pray.
Then I get out my briefcase and I begin to buy up the deeds.

Hopping Mad

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After a year in the hospice, columnist Art Buchwald died and his spirit went to Heaven.
However, when he arrived, he still only had one leg.
“Where is my other leg?” asked Art.
“We’re not sure,” said Saint Peter. “We’ve checked the warehouses, but there’s a huge backlog in inventory. Plus, there’s a problem with routing issues these days.”
After a brief discussion, they gave Art a set of canes and told him to come back in six months.
Sure, Art had a set of wings like everyone else, but landings can be a real bitch with just one leg.

On The Dotted Line

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The Sultan wrote The Director of NASA a large unsigned check.
“Take my beloved son into space,” he said.
He wrote a bigger unsigned check when his son failed the physical.
“Take him anyway,” he said.
When NASA reported that G-forces had stopped his son’s heart during launch, The Sultan called the NASA Administrator.
“Get my son back to me immediately so we may bury him promptly,” he said.
“It’s an eight-day mission,” said the Administrator.
“And your family is on an eight-day vacation here in my palace,” said the Sultan.
He wrote out three death warrants.
And signed them.

Pink Slip

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Betsy stared at the severance check and wept.
“Is this all I’m worth to you now?” she asked her boss.
“Come on Betsy,” said her boss. “You knew this was coming ever since they invented email.”
“But it was such a good gig,” said Betsy.
“Was… was a good gig,” the boss emphasized. “Nobody wants singing telegrams anymore.”
“I still get fan letters,” she said.
“But not new orders,” said her boss. “I’m sorry, but it’s either let you go or shut things down.”
He let Betsy keep her feather boa, the same one she’d been using for 60 years.

Profit And Prophet

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Jerry Bruckheimer finished his pitch.
Sumner Redstone raised an eyebrow and imagined the protests and burning.
“No,” he said “Hell no.”
“But he helps the police solve crimes no one else can,” said Bruckheimer. “And he’s a prophet.”
“We are not doing CSI: Mecca,” said Sumner. “Not after all that cartoon crap in Denmark.”
“Not the same,” said Bruckheimer. “We won’t film his face. We’ll film over his shoulder, or just his shadow over the desk and casefiles.”
“No,” said Sumner.
“And we’ve got Tony Shalhoub signed up for it,” said Bruckheimer.
Sumner leaned forward and smiled. “Tell me more…”