Why do birds suddenly appear every time you are near?
This is a trick question, right?
It’s because you’re covered with bird seed.
How do you do it? How is it sticking to your body?
Is it some kind of spray-on adhesive? Caramel? Office Depot gluestick?
Either way, it’s really kind of weird.
When the birds pick the seed off, does it hurt?
And do you scrape it all off at the end of the day, or do you wash it off?
I’m just curious, that’s all. And I’m sick of gluing dog biscuits to my body to attract dogs.
Tag: quote
Elegantly
Lying in his hospital bed, Albert Einstein, the smartest man in the world, was dying.
He coughed, smiled and told the doctors “I want to go when I want. It is tasteless to prolong life artificially. I have done my share, it is time to go. I will do it elegantly.”
They nodded respectfully and left the room.
The next morning, he was dead.
Nobody knows Albert Einstein’s last words because he spoke them in German, but the nurse at his bedside only spoke English.
However, I suspect he was saying “Get that pillow off of my face, you bitch!”
The Caged Bird
I don’t know what that Maya Angelou is getting on about, but she’s so full of shit.
I know the real reason why the caged bird sings: it’s a trick.
If you look closely, the bird’s stuffed. And when it sings, the beak doesn’t move. (It’s broken)
The singing came from a tape recorder built into the perch. Look. See it?
The switch is here on the electrical cord.
So that’s why the caged bird sings.
Why it sings Van Halen’s 1984 album? Because, I like classic Van Halen.
And I lost the bird songs tape that came with it.
Baskets
Mom told me not to put all my eggs in one basket, so I put then in two baskets, one hanging from each hand.
As I walked to the market, The Evil Basket Thief jumped from the bushes and blocked my path.
Oh crap. Not again.
“Ohhhh, what lovely baskets!” he chirped, rubbing his hands together. “I think I’ll take them both and add them to my collection!”
I sighed, put down one of the baskets, and drew my pistol.
“Uh oh,” said The Evil Basket Thief.
Dad told me not to put all my shots into the target’s midsection.
What A World
Long ago, while I was walking in Hoboken, Frank Sinatra came down the other way.
He walked up to a lamp post and tied a string to it.
Tugging on that string, he muttered “What a world!” before untying it and moving to the next post.
He did this for 30 minutes before a limousine caught up to him, and some guys in tuxedos helped him into the back.
When he died, I wondered if they tied that string to the inside of his coffin.
I dug up his grave, but it was empty.
(Perhaps he’s sitting on a rainbow?)
Poets Steal
T.S. Eliot said “Immature poets imitate, mature poets steal.”
Me, I steal, demand ransom, and threaten to cut off toes and fingers if my demands aren’t met!
He’s been tied to a chair in my kitchen for 3 days.
“My life is measured out with coffee spoons,” he says, and smiles.
I dump out the silverware drawer over his head.
“Let’s not be narrow, nasty, and negative!” He whines.
“Time’s up,” I say, pulling out my gun… and…
The damn thing misfires.
So, I pull a knife from the butcher’s block and I killed him.
Boy, did he did whimper.
Knowing
Whenever GI Joe used to say “Knowing is half the battle,” I wondered what the other half of the battle was.
My friends didn’t know.
“But knowing is half the battle!” I said.
“Yes, the other half,” said Ricky, the kid who ate paste. “Perhaps the other half is not knowing?”
“Just like that Socrates guy!” said Sue. “He knew that he didn’t know, so not knowing is… knowing you don’t know!”
“Maybe we just need to buy lots of their toys?” I asked.
We agreed, and played GI Joes in the sandbox.
Except for Sue; she played with matches.
Where’s The Candlestick Maker?
Theodore Baker didn’t like being called Theodore or Theo.
So, he called himself “The.” As in “The Baker.”
He hung out with his friend Theodore Butcher after school.
He also started calling himself “The.” As in “The Butcher.”
They thought it was cool.
Others didn’t. Kids made fun of them, asking where “The Candlestick Maker” was, and shouting “Rub A Dub Dub!” at them.
They were pushed around, picked on, and bullied constantly.
So, when they were cornered, The Butcher got out a butcher’s knife and The Baker pulled out a rolling pin.
The bullies ran.
But they couldn’t hide.
Elephant In The Newsroom
New York Times editor Abe Rosenthal said that he didn’t care if his reporters were fucking elephants, as long as they weren’t covering the circus.
However, Rosenthal changed his mind after paying a rash of elevator repair bills when reporters brought their dates to the office.
Then there was the stampede at the paper’s Christmas Party. I guess the peanut martinis were too strong, and there was an argument between two elephants wearing the same dress.
Abe put out a memo the next day: no dating elephants.
But clowns? Totally okay with him.
Care to sniff my flower, Mr. Friedman?
The Short End
Ever felt like you’ve ended up holding the short end of the stick?
This baffles me. I’ve always wondered which end of the stick is the short end of the stick.
After gathering thousands of sticks and carefully measuring every end of them, I’ve come to the conclusion that despite the wide variety in sharpness, thickness, branching, and leafiness, sticks don’t actually have short or long ends.
Other researchers working independently have confirmed my conclusions.
Then, we went camping together, gathered up some sticks to make a fire, and roasted marshmallows and wieners with the longer sticks.
Science is fun.