Ted “Avalanche” Jones played dirty. He was the dirtiest player in football.
Dirtier than Louie “The Freight Train” Brown, Robert “Knife To The Face” Williams, and Juan “Murder” Rodriguez.
That dirty.
He collected more flags than a lawn crew at Arlington National Cemetery after Memorial Day, and his fines ended up paying off the national debt.
He was so dirty, he was called for a late hit at his Football Hall Of Fame induction ceremony.
That’s right. He did a horse-collar tackle on his own son and threw him into the press pool.
They don’t make punters like that anymore.
Tag: society
Apple Picking
This weekend, we’re going up to a friend’s apple orchard to pick on apples.
No, we’re not going to pick apples. He hires Mexicans to do that shit. Do we look like Mexicans?
We’re going up there to pick on apples.
Sometimes, we pick on them by walking around the orchard, saying how much we really like oranges.
After that, we’ll drink wine and say how much better it is than apple juice or cider.
Finally, we’ll use baseball bats to beat apples out of the three.
(Just gotta be careful not to hit a Mexican while they’re picking them.)
Holy Gravity
The Bible says that Jesus ascended to Heaven, but the truth is that Jesus simply gave up his attraction to the earth.
He simply ignored gravity.
Since gravity keeps people on the ground, giving up on gravity causes you to rise rapidly from the earth, until you’re left out there in the void of space, floating around.
No, he doesn’t orbit the sun, because that takes gravity. He just floats around out there, watching the earth and moon pass buy once a year.
If you look closely at the sky around Easter, you might see him.
But I doubt it.
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.
The Witch
Gertie the Witch insisted on mixing potions from memory.
“I don’t need my spell book!” she’d screech at the Fire Department. “I’ve still got it all up here!”
He’d tap her forehead.. and noticed that her pointed hat was on fire.
The moment the firemen left, she was back in the kitchen.
Eye of bat…
Tongue of newt…
…or was it the other way around?
Her handwriting hadn’t been the best, even in her good days. And years of smoke damage had left the contents of her supply closet a grimy, sooty mystery.
I call dibs on her magic broom.
Max Paints
Max opened up a paint store, but the signmaker got the order wrong, so the sign said MAX’S PANTS.
Everything said MAX’S PANTS on it: bank account, business license, and all that other stuff.
He tried to paint an I in between the A and the N on everything, but people kept coming into his store asking for the cuffs on a pair of trousers to be altered.
Max got fed up with the mistake, and began to paint the pants that people brought in.
And they loved it!
Galleries… art museums… all trying to get his pants into them!
History Of Art
The East end of Main Street starts with a few yellow hand prints in the middle of the road.
The hand prints give way to hunting scenes, and then simple geometric designs.
As you travel West, the lines in the road progress through the history of painting… Babylonian… Persian… Greek… Roman… at Fulton Street, you get some Byzantine frescoes and mosaics.
A bit of the Dutch Masters and French Impressionists as you pass the Library, then Dadaist and Surrealist before the splattered mess reminiscent of Jackson Pollock.
(That’s not intentional. That’s where the road painter got hit by a bus.)
Sitcom Dreams
For a while, it seemed like every stand-up comedian got their own sitcom.
Then, they all got talk shows, and celebrities were so worn out running from show to show, they had no time or energy to do all the stuff that made them celebrities in the first place.
The guests dried up, the audiences dried up, and finally the advertisers dried up.
The comedians lost their talk shows and tried to get sitcoms, but the sitcoms were all replaced with reality shows.
So, they started their own comedy clubs, and the young comedians flowed in… with their sitcom dreams.
Fail
Every time I watch baseball games, I like to see the look of joy on the faces of kids who catch foul balls.
Or some adult catches the ball, but they hand it to a kid.
A foul ball. A ball hit out of play.
A failure.
And yet, a kid out in the stand gets so such joy out of it.
That’s way, way different from you laughing at my latest fuckup at work, kid.
That’s a mistake.
Me, I don’t laugh at others mistakes.
I learn from them.
Like, who to fire next.
Pack up your shit and go.
Unlucky
I got into the elevator with a banker.
He pushed the button for the fourteenth floor, and we started to go up.
“Why is there no thirteenth floor?” I asked him.
“It’s unlucky,” he said. “Thirteen is unlucky.”
I took out my wallet, pulled out thirteen singles, and offered them to the banker.
He took it without question and stuck it in his pocket.
“Why is that not unlucky, and a floor is?”
The banker grinned. “It’s unlucky for you. I think I’ll have a coffee.”
I didn’t tell him that they were counterfeit.
But I told the Starbucks manager.