Mister Clean wasn’t always clean.
Despite his parents’ best efforts, he refused to clean his room.
“You’d better clean your room,” his mother would say. “Or you’re not getting any dinner.”
“Fine by me,” he said. “Everything you make tastes like ammonia and bleach anyway.”
She’d send him to his room, and he’d happy comply, slamming the door shut.
“At least we don’t have to see his room with the door closed,” his father said.
But they did have to smell it.
So, they took him to a mental hospital, where his head was shaved and he received shock therapy.
Tag: silly
The Imaginary Volcano
Remember that volcano in Iceland that erupted last year and disrupted travel for weeks?
Which volcano?
Well, um…
I can’t pronounce the name.
And that’s what I wanted to talk about.
Nobody talked about it before it erupted, but when it did, people talked about it all the time.
Just because the name was unpronounceable, it didn’t mean they didn’t talk about it.
They just called it “That Icelandic volcano” over there.
So changing your name to something unpronounceable won’t keep you out of the press.
Or off of wanted posters.
Let’s just wear masks when we rob banks, okay?
Resolve
Breakfast, lunch and dinner: I always eat at the diner.
The moment I open the menu is when my resolve fails.
Honestly, I have no idea what I want. The more choices, the less able I am to choose.
Help.
I ask the waitress what she suggests, and she says “Well, what are you in the mood for?”
“Surprise me,” I say.
She takes the menu with a trembling hand, backing slowly into the kitchen.
The lights go out.
There’s a scream and then a thud.
Then, I hear sirens.
I shout “On second thought, I’ll have eggs over easy!”
Wake Up To Chili
Hey, ynow what’s really cool to wake up to?
The beautiful, delicious smell of chili.
I love chili, dude, so when I smell it, I’m wide awake right then and there.
It’s so much better than a buzzer or music or bright lights because all I did then was hit the snooze bar.
There’s no hitting the snooze bar when the air is full of the sweet aroma of five-alarm chili.
And when you lean over to take out that spoon to taste it, well, you’re up and running to the bathroom to put out that fire in your mouth.
Not So Nicely
After killing the bottle, I passed out.
My dream?
I was on the boat to Heaven.
Some dude holding dice and a bottle of whiskey stood up and shouted “Someone, fade me!”
The boat started to rock and I growled “Sit down!”
He stumbled over to me and stared at me with his bloodshot eyes, and the stench from his breath and grimy tattered coat filled me with disgust.
“Make me,” he said.
So, I tried, but we both fell overboard.
Down… Down…
That’s when I woke up, stumbled to the sink, vomited, and swore…
No more musicals before bed.
Her Name Was Splack
Her name was Splack.
I don’t remember if that was her first or last name.
When you have a name like Splack, it doesn’t matter. You don’t remember it.
Even if she introduces herself as Jenny or Ismelda or writes it on her panties and raises her skirt to greet people, once you hear the Splack, that’s all you’ll ever know her by.
The weird thing was, she chose to go by that name.
So, I went down to Human Resources and looked up what her full name was.
Closing the file quickly, I decided Splack was fine with me.
Ground Hog
It be Groundhog Day.
We has a special on groundhog burgers today.
What do it taste like?
I dunno, I ain’t tried one yet.
Go ahead. Try one. It on special, so it don’t cost much.
And you get fries and Coke. Free refills.
(The Coke, not fries. That extra.)
What you say? “This groundhog fresh?”
Course it’s fresh. Just runned them over with my truck this mornin’.
Even got one big sucker with my fender that some dude in the park was holdin’ up.
Yeah, the news say there’s six more weeks of winter comin’, but not for him.
Hit Somebody
Every February 29th, we celebrate St. Punch Somebody In The Face Day.
Everybody gets to throw one punch.
But there’s no limit on how many punches you’ll take.
It’s fun to look out the window, watching the neighbors run around, frightened and excited at the same time.
Me, I’m a masochist, because I walk down the street, smiling my shit-eating grin and daring people.
By the time I get back home, not a single punch.
Well, not this year.
In the past, I got my share. Messed me up good.
Now they turn away, disgusted at what they see.
Cowards.
Looms
Don’t believe the horror stories about textile mills.
Sometimes, they can be fun places.
Once a year, when we’ve made our production targets and have some material left over to play with, I like to go down into the floor and shuffle the punchcards like a Vegas dealer.
Then, I stack them back into the machine and start up the looms.
The patterns that emerge are stomach-wrenching eyesores, complete and total crimes against fashion and decency.
We get out the patterns, make them into slacks, and what we don’t sell to professional golfers we give as gifts to our grandfathers.
Double Rainbow
I’m not sure about the science of it, but every time we see a rainbow here in Skittles Valley, it rains bits of colorful candy.
Everybody runs around with buckets, catching the candy.
When all of our silos are full, the candy company comes around and buys up our annual harvest.
However, every now and then, there’s a double rainbow.
Nobody’s standing around with a camera shouting “WHAT DOES IT MEAN?”
Instead, we run to our cellars and wait for the storm to pass.
Glass breaks.
Wood splinters.
The winds howl.
What does it mean?
Insurance rates are going up.