Tag: silly

Metaphysical Therapy

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Mother was a Freudian psychiatrist.
Every time she tried to analyze me, she’d say “Tell me about your mother.”
And I’d say “Um, mom? That’s you, stupid!”
She’d nod. And then I’d be sent to bed without dinner.
Later, after I busted my knee and had surgery, I ended up with a metaphysical therapist.
Instead of building strength in my knee with exercise, we debated the nature of all existence and if it was still my knee or something entirely new.
Not only did I end up totally confused, the damn thing still hurts like a son of a bitch.

Bother The Shit

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My Uncle Leo bothers the shit out of me.
He literally bothers the shit out of everyone.
Yes, he’s a professional constipation remedy.
He’s most effective when he bothers the shit out of you in person, but he’s so bothersome, he can do it over the phone or even by email.
There’s recordings of Uncle Leo on the Internet being sold without his permission, but they’re not as effective as the real thing.
And some of them are downright dangerous, remixed to the point where he literally bothers the hell of you.
Try closing that dimensional portal in your ass!

Dragged through the mud

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I like to drag people’s names through the mud.
So, when it rains, I gather up the phonebooks and drag them through the mud.
People think I’m just playing in the mud and they point and laugh at me, but the joke is on them!
Unless they have an unlisted number, their names are being dragged through it.
I have an unlisted number, so I’m not dragging my name through the mud.
I’m as clean as a whistle.
Well, except for this mud on me. But you can’t avoid getting mud on you when you drag names through the mud.

Cheap Knives

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You can tell the class of friends you have by the quality of knife they stick in your back.
Sterling silver is the best. Those are the ones you forgive.
Stainless steel, maybe you don’t forgive them so quickly.
And plastic knives, those you should have never been friendly with in the first place.
The kind of knife matters, too.
A carving knife or a butcher’s knife lets you know they really care, while a butter knife will just slide right off no matter what it’s made of.
So that spork you stuck in my back, that’s low, man. Low.

Get Out Of Bed!

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For some people, it’s the alarm clock.
For others, it’s getting licked on the face by their dog or cat.
What gets me out of bed, well, that’s kind of a moot point.
I never get out of bed.
Ever since the drunk driver hit me, I’ve been here.
The tubes, wires, and nurses do everything for me.
And when they can’t, well, they put me under and cut more stuff off or stick in more tubes and wires.
The brown tube there, well, that pumps out my shit.
Probably to the kitchen, based on how this damn porridge tastes.

Beehive

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Flossie has a beehive hairdo.
It’s got actual bees in it, too.
Whenever she needs honey, she fogs her head with a smoker, waits a minute, and then pulls out a honeycomb to scrape.
Then she sticks it back in her hair and walks around until the smoke clears.
The bees wake up, and all is back to normal.
How does she wash her hair?
How does she sleep?
How does she have sex?
Yeah, try myself, but I’m not beating that hornet’s nest?
No. Really. There’s a hornet’s nest down there.
Not even with a beekeeper’s gimp suit, man.

Meat Pie

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“Sweeney Todd will give you a close shave, and Mrs. Lovett will make you into a wonderful meat pie.”
I read the poster twice.
And smiled.
So, I hobbled into the barber shop and happily shouted “I’m really to be murdered and turned into a meat pie!”
Todd looked me over, ran a hand across my chin, and smirked.
“You won’t do at all,” he said, and told me to leave.
Mrs. Lovett was just as dismissive.
“I just chop up what Sweeney sends me,” she said. “No special orders.”
In the end, she did sell me a meat pie.

Arrows

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All of the members of the tribe are expert archers.
Except one.
No matter how much he practices, he misses. Or he breaks the string on his bow.
He falls off of his horse a lot.
Don’t stand behind him when he’s got his tomahawk. His grip’s much too loose.
When asked to scalp an enemy, he merely takes a little bit off of the top and gives an excellent shave.
In fact, he’s got a business on the side. A barber shop in the white man’s settlement.
As for the gambling tables in back, well, that’ll never catch on.

Turtles

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It’s okay to hate on turtles.
Turtles are smug, patient little reptiles that plod along stream beds and aquarium tanks, completely without worry or concern for the stresses of modern, civilized life.
Plus, there was the time that I went to court to protest a parking ticket.
The jury consisted of twelve turtles.
I protested, demanding a jury of my peers, but the judge waved me off.
“We’ve been having problems with people showing up for jury duty,” said the judge. “So now, we go to the pet store and grab turtles.”
I guess kittens are too expensive.
Damn turtles.

Piano on the bus

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When I was little, I played the cello.
It was too big for me to carry, so I switched to the violin.
When I got older, I tried to play the piano.
The piano is not very easy to carry, but that was not one of my selection criteria.
Besides, the piano has wheels. You can roll it places.
Just don’t try to take it on a city bus.
Sure, an upright piano can fit in the doors, but they won’t let you roll it on.
Even with the wheelchair ramp.
So that’s why I have this iPod.
Wanna listen?