Tag: commentary

Fresh Flowers (Episode 1,000)

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Every day for the past two years, I’ve stopped by the cemetery on the way home from work and put fresh flowers on my wife’s grave.
It doesn’t matter if it’s raining or snowing or there’s a hurricane on the way.
Flowers. Grave.
Maybe a bit of wailing and shouting of “WHY? WHY? WHY?”
When I’m done, I get back in my car and drive home.
“Did you do it?” my wife asks.
“Yes, dear,” I say.
“Good,” my wife says. “Practice makes perfect.”
Looking back, I probably should have gotten her a necklace for her birthday two years ago.

End Of Lifed

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When a server needs its drive image reloaded, we pull the old hard drive and stick a new one in there with the drive image already on it.
Well, when I say new, I really mean new to that server.
The old hard drives have to come from somewhere, right? They’re drives that are yanked from other servers, wiped clean, and then have new software loaded back on them.
And they’re marked with a tally-mark.
When a drive gets twenty-five tally marks, like this one here, it’s end-of-lifed.
Come on, pass me the hammer.
This sucker’s gonna get it good.

Magic Compass

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My magic compass doesn’t point to North.
Instead, it points to Texas.
Wherever I am, it tells me which direction Texas is in.
It’s not terribly useful as a navigation device, but it’s a great conversation piece.
“How does it work?”
“Why Texas?”
“Where did you get it?”
Not only does it point to Texas, but it also points out Texans.
When a Texan sees this thing, they can’t help but smile.
Sometimes, they whoop.
I don’t think that’s a part of the magic of the compass, though.
Compass or not, Texans tend to be annoyingly proud of their state.

The Last Drop

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When Charlie retired from the waterworks, they gave him a gold-plated watch and a cardboard box to put his stuff in.
He took everything home but a large half-empty bottle of poison, which he left in the middle of his desk.
Charlie had started every day with a fresh cup of coffee, walking to the Filtration Pump Room, and putting a drop of poison in the city’s water supply.
He figured it would toughen people up a bit in these difficult times.
Charlie also dumped his coffee into the city’s water supply, but that’s because the coffee was so bad.

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.

A Swinging Bad Time

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You’ll have to forgive me for not replying to your email.
You see, I’ve got one of those laptops with a fingerprint reader.
The problem is, I cut my finger in the kitchen while chopping up lettuce for salad.
Now the laptop doesn’t know who I am.
There’s an option to use the password, but it’s been so long since I’ve used a password for my laptop, I can’t remember my password.
So I went to a hypnotist, and he swung a watch in front of my eyes for an hour.
But all I could recall was “A swinging watch.”

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.

1701

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New Year’s at the Blue Line.
Well, for the goyim. Rosh Hoshana wouldn’t be for another nine months.
Across the border, yellow and green flags wave from watchtowers while masked men carry crates of ammunition into homes.
Watching them, soldiers with unloaded rifles and blue helmets sipped coffee and called home on cell phones.
“Wasn’t 1701 supposed to solve all this shit?” asked Lieutenant Tzivni.
In the distance, a muffled explosion echoed in the hills.
“Mine?” asked Tzivni.
“Cluster bomb,” said Goldman.
“Think we’ll get our boys back?” asked Tzivni.
Goldman watched the Bluehelmets nap, and he shook his head.

Israelisms

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As Charley and Carol sit down to record another podcast, another couple sits down in Gaza, puts their headphones on, and they begin to record.
After dispensing with the weather in q’ranic verse, Abdul and Fatima argue over the news of the day.
Well, Abdul talks and Fatima agrees, fearful of the sting of Abdul’s hand.
Oh, and their daughter Yasserina has joined the resistance! Allahu Ackbhar!
Then Fatima thanks everyone (including Mahmoud from Dearborn), wrap things up, and it’s time to upload.
What? The server isn’t connecting?
They forgot to pay their bill, but they still blame the Zionists.

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.