Belinda doesn’t care what I do or say. She just wants to shop, party, and sleep.
Me, I want to do something more. Maybe settle down and raise a family.
But it’s hard to do when you’re always hopping to from one hotspot to another every night.
Betsy is the sensible one. Wants all the same things I want.
But Belinda is so much fun.
That’s when it hit me: I’ve already got the mistress. All I need is the one I can marry. Right?
Belinda doesn’t care what I do or say. But Betsy packs a wicked left hook.
Tag: cliche
Fish Park
I like to spend my summers at the cabin with Fred, my pet goldfish.
“Let’s go down to the lake,” says Fred.
I pick up his bowl and carry him to the lake.
Then, I dip my finger into the water.
“It’s a little cold, but not too cold,” I tell him.
A few others are down by the lake with fishbowls. We wave to each other.
“That’s fine,” he says, and he leaps from his bowl into the water.
He likes to swim around in the lake with his friends.
It’s like a dog park. For fish.
And friends.
Weather Sacrifices
Back home, we had a saying: if you don’t like the weather, wait 15 minutes.
Around here, they say: if you don’t like the weather, make a bigger sacrifice to the gods.
(Those that disagree get sacrificed to the gods.)
So, I brushed the goat’s ashes from the altar and looked for a bigger goat.
Sadly, the goat I’d just sacrificed had been our last goat.
The conversion table that came with the altar says that four chickens equals a goat.
I selected five from the coop, slammed their heads against the altar, and lit the fire.
Rain, dammit. Rain.
Fred’s in a better place
Shady Acres Home is a dump, and Old Fred had the worst room at Shady Acres.
It was too hot in summer, and too cold in winter.
But despite all this, Old Fred smiled.
“One day, my days here will be over, and I will be in a better place.”
And when that day came, Fred’s bed was empty.
“There was an opening at Golden Arms,” said the administrator of Shady Acres to the staff. “Fred moved out.”
When Fred died, nobody said he was in a better place.
He’d donated his body to science. That medical school is creepy.
Batman
Mom got me a Batman costume for Halloween.
“I’m Batman!”
I turned my bike into the Batmobile.
Then, I turned the basement into the Batcave.
You know. So I can fight crime.
I was on my Batcomputer when Mom told me to come upstairs for dinner.
“I’m Batman!” I growled.
“Does Batman want a hamburger or doesn’t he?” she asked.
I threw my cape in front of my face, dropped a smoke bomb, and grabbed a hamburger on my way out the door.
As I got on my bike, I growled another “I’m Batman!” and pedaled off to the Library.
Happily ever after
“And they lived happily ever after,” said the prince to Doctor Odd. “We want that.”
The princess agreed.
Doctor Odd put together a pair of Eternity Machines, wired up the royal couple, and threw the switch.
All lights blinked green, and a pair of glowing crystals slid down a chute.
Doctor Odd added them to his dining room chandelier.
As for their bodies, he fed the prince to his pet wolves, and the princess was fitted with an artificial mind.
Doctor Odd dressed her as a maid, and she kept the lab clean and tidy.
Until the wolves ate her.
Grass
I have to go to a funeral today.
Most people get all dressed in black for funerals.
I’m no exception, but I do like to go barefoot.
The grass at the cemetery is amazingly soft. So much softer than the grass at the golf course or the city park.
Almost as soft as the grass at the dog park, but there’s dog turds all over the grass there. And dogs.
So, I go to funerals when I can. Barefoot.
The feel of the grass and dirt between my toes.
It feels so good when I dance on the bastard’s grave.
Arts
The National Endowment For The Arts was founded to foster artists of all kinds.
Except one: con artists.
So, The National Endowment For Con Artists was started to foster them.
From all across the country they came to apply for grants: con artists, frauds, bamboozlers, and hucksters.
Some flew in from other countries with false documentation and credentials. When you think about it, faking up citizenship papers is a good test for your con artist skills.
In the end, the Endowment failed, because nobody on the board could agree on a definition of “legitimate” con artist with a straight face.
Envy The Mashed
Whenever I see that a restaurant sells potato skins as an appetizer, I look for mashed potatoes on the menu.
Because there is nothing more cruel than to flay the skin off of a potato and then cast the naked potato out into the cold, shivering and frightened.
At least they are not alone in their suffering, since one cannot just have a single potato’s skin.
Huddled together in the alley behind the restaurant… how cruel!
Better to throw them into a bowl and mash them up to end their suffering. The poor potatoes in the alley envy the mashed.
Thanklessgiving
When I hear the phrase “heavy with child” I imagine a large burlap sack stuffed full of babies.
Juicy, delicious fat babies.
So… so tasty!
Sadly, Old Doctor Parker doesn’t go door to door anymore with his burlap sack. His heavy, squirming burlap sack.
For a while, though, you could call his office, and he’d let you in the back door, and you could pick out the one you wanted.
But the angry mob, waving their torches and pitchforks, made quick work of Old Doctor Parker and his shady “day care center.”
We’ll settle for turkey this Thanksgiving, I guess.