I have never understood the song “America The Beautiful.”
Yes, this country has its beautiful places, but what is so majestic about a purple mountain?
All the mountains I’ve ever seen have green, white, brown, grey, and black on them.
Never purple.
If I saw a purple mountain, I’d think it would look like a gigantic bruise.
Like someone punched our country in the face or something.
How is a gigantic bruise from getting punched in the face majestic?
Oh, so you think I’m overthinking this?
Fine. Let me punch you in the face. See how majestic you look then!
Tag: silly
She Sparkled
I saw the strangest thing in the paper today.
The theater critic reviewed a local production of Shakespeare and was unsparing in their attacks on one of the actors.
Despite the slowness and awkwardness of the venue, the set design did get praise.
But what was most curious was their gushing praise for a local performer of renown, going so far as to say that they sparkled, not just in the play, but everything they did.
They were in the audience, not in the play.
I’d tell you who said this, but they’re just a critic: nobody remembers their names.
The Captain
My title is Captain Of The Guard.
However, as I look at this week’s schedule, it’s meaningless.
Jacques and Fergusen are in training. They need to work on marching.
Oswaldo’s attending the Guard Convention, checking out new halberds.
Benoit called in sick, but he’s faking it. Didn’t schedule time off again. King doesn’t like rollover days.
Everyone’s out… except for me.
Not to worry: The same end-of-the-year staffing issues are affecting our enemy, too.
A lone attacker appears, yelling CHARGE!
I laugh, inviting him to sit down.
We shake hands, he sits. Invasion averted.
(This is why I am Captain.)
The Clown Bitches Need Oral
My life is a three ring circus.
A swarm of clowns flows from ring to ring, leering at the audience and pumping their hips in crude, suggestive ways.
Thrust thrust in your face, don’t look away, that just makes them laugh more.
The clown bitches don’t want your applause, they just need oral.
Drop your popcorn.
Drop your soda.
Drop to your knees.
The band is getting louder and you can’t hear yourself think.
Reach for the clown cock… pull it out… unwinding longer… and longer…
Tied-together handkerchiefs… then their dirty underwear.
All over your face.
(You can cry now.)
Pardon
The President watched the news in horror as the plane hit the Empire State Building over and over and over…
His National Security Advisor tried to brief him as he walked to the Press Room, but there wasn’t much known yet, other than the fact that a plane had hit the famous skyscraper.
As he stood there, fielding questions without answers, the identity of the hijacker was released:
It was a turkey.
A reporter stood up. “Didn’t you pardon that turkey this past Thanksgiving?”
The President then recognized the bird and winced.
“I guess he got cooked in the end.”
Fish In A Barrel
Ever shot fish in a barrel?
It’s not as easy as you think.
Fish are small moving targets.
And you have to take into consideration the refractive properties of the water.
Light bends considerably depending on the angle you’re looking into the water.
Don’t believe me? Stick a straw in a glass at an angle and look at it.
That weird break in the angle is due to refraction.
So, go ahead. Try to shoot fish in a barrel.
You’re better off just pouring the barrel out, picking up the fish, and smacking them on the ground until they’re dead.
Gun Fight
Only a fool brings a knife to a gun fight.
But it takes a bigger fool to bring floppy clown shoes, a bright red wig, and a seltzer bottle.
I stood there, staring at the fool, with my gun pointed at his head.
“What is it about ‘gun fight’ you didn’t understand?” I asked.
“I thought you said ‘clown fight’ when you called,” said the fool. “I think I need to get my hearing checked. Or were you chewing gum while you were talking to me?”
I shook my head, put my gun away, and turned to-
He shot me.
Carded
For my birthday, my wife drove us to San Antonio and we spent three days at the Hotel Valencia on the Riverwalk.
I’ve been on a diet for a while, so eating at all these fancy restaurants along the river kinda wore me out.
Still, it’s a nice atmosphere, and we had a good time.
Especially at Michelino’s, an Italian place. The salads were excellent, the dinner was superb, and the Chianti went well with the dinner.
Plus, I got carded.
Me. Who just turned forty-one. Carded.
I was flattered, until later on the waiter said “Oh, we card everybody.”
Noodge
My people worship Noodge, God of Constant Guidance.
There’s no priests to spread His word or prophets of His revelation, as He is here with us.
That’s him at the bar, the guy in the robe drinking a beer. That’s Noodge.
He is always telling us what to do, how to do things, and constantly judging us.
What? You don’t see Him? You don’t hear Him telling the barkeeper how to best pour a beer?
You’re serious, right? Heresy’s a dangerous thing. Noodge might hear you and… well, He just nags us more.
(Teach us how to ignore Him too!)
Gum Wad
I chew a lot of gum.
And when I’m done with it, I keep it all.
Ever since I was 8, I’ve added to the gum wad in my room.
When I went off to college, I took it with me, and I stuck it in the back of my closet.
I went into the Army, somehow managing to get through Afghanistan without losing the gigantic gum wad.
Now, I’m back home.
I made my home out of the gum wad.
Here. Have some gum. Enjoy.
Just give it to me when you’re done. I want to build a patio.