Tag: silly

Hurricane Damage

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The hurricane is coming soon, so I bought some plywood and nails.
I boarded my windows and cut down loose tree branches.
My neighbor had left without boarding up his place, so I used my leftover wood to do that for him.
I also cut down the loose branches from his tree.
When the storm was over, I went outside and saw there had been no damage whatsoever to his place and mine.
The next day, he took one look at the place and punched me in the nose.
“How am I gonna collect on the insurance now?” he yelled.

Dead Players

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My fantasy football team consists entirely of players who are dead.
I’m not sure how I ended up with these stiffs, but once the draft was over, I looked at my roster and it read like the obituary pages.
Damn.
I tried to trade for new picks, but nobody wanted dead players.
“They don’t throw interceptions,” I said. “They don’t fumble or miss tackles.”
My sales pitch didn’t work.
I close my eyes and imagine the team bus… well, it’s more of a hearse than a team bus.
Six weeks in, I’m winning.
And worried.
Will they start killing players?

Fry

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My old computer was slow. Painfully slow.
So, I tried to build my own computer. I’ve done it before. If you know what you’re doing, it’s not hard.
It’s hard when you’re sold malfunctioning components. It’s also hard when they want to make you wait a week to confirm they’re malfunctioning, then charge you for the labor to install faulty replacements.
Want to return software? Sorry. No can do. Against their policy.
So, I returned it all, told the credit card company to stiff them on the labor and software, and bought this nice laptop.
From somewhere else, of course.

The Purple Light District

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Hey, tourist.
I know you’ve been to the red light district, but have you seen the purple light district?
Strictly for the locals, but it doesn’t require more than a false beard and twenty zlotys to get past security and have yourself a good time.
One word of caution – one pair of underwear isn’t enough. You should wear two or three.
Me, I’m wearing five. These folks play rough when the lights go purple.
Real rough.
What? Purple light district isn’t your thing?
Then we’ll go to the ball pit at McDonalds… go play with the kids… YOU CHICKENSHIT PANSY!

The Magic Pants

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Miss Kathy reaches into her pockets and pulls out five bucks. “My pants,” she says, “are magical.”
Sure enough, any time she needs something, all she has to do is reach into her pocket.
She always pulls out what she needs, when she needs it.
Ketchup packets, keys, a spare cell phone battery, money – especially money.
She’s been tempted to tear them apart to see where the stuff comes from, but she doesn’t want to kill the magic pants like the golden goose.
Besides, they fit really good, and that’s truly magical when it comes to a pair of pants.

Bleachers

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I live under the bleachers.
They store the concession stands under here when the season’s over.
Of all the stands, I wouldn’t choose it, but it’s what I’ve got, and I’m happy for that.
I shower in the locker rooms, get food in the cafeteria.
At night, stray dogs roam around, looking for food.
I keep the stand closed and shuttered.
They paw at the door, even though there’s no food in here.
Besides me, I guess.
I could go home, but I kinda like it here under the bleachers.
And the students always know where to find the principal.

Measure

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They say Helen Thomas has been in the White House Press Corps for the past 9 presidents, but measuring things in terms of presidents is a horrible idea.
How often do you have presidents around.
“Hey, someone wake the president… we need to measure this piece of string.”
They did that back in Ancient Egypt. A cubit was the length of pharaoh’s arm.
Every five minutes, someone asking him “stick out your arm!” Like he’s a common junkie.
Got a house to build, gotta measure out the two by fours.
No wonder why he buried himself under tons of rock.

Earthquake

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Something smells good.
Is Alvin in the kitchen?
Is he making hamburgers?
He makes great hamburgers.
What’s that rumbling? Why is everything shaking?
Earthquake?
I ran for a doorway to brace myself.
Alvin didn’t stop making hamburgers in the kitchen.
Once you get Alvin started on something, it’s impossible to make him stop before he’s done.
The rumbling stops and everything stops shaking.
A few glasses have broken, some things have fallen off of shelves and popped off the walls.
Nothing important.
The hamburgers are almost ready.
I should set the table.
With paper plates and cups.
You know. Aftershocks.

The Code

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They talked in code, a quiet series of taps and gentle coughs that went undetected by the teacher.
Questions… answers… who’s kissing… who’s not seeing each other anymore…
Every year, they change the code so that teachers can’t decode their messages.
Out on the playground, Seniors teaching the pre-schoolers the basics… cough… tap… a click of the tongue…fingernail tap… fingertip tap…
Every so often, a new signal is added, like tapping a wristwatch. Or an archaic one is removed, like the sliderule swish.
At reunions, conversation is polite.
But the code?
She’s twice divorced… he’s so fat…
Oh, so brutal!

Vista

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The videos of Al-Qaeda training in Afghanistan – firing guns, running obstacle courses, and all that running – you never saw them with laptops, programming and coding, did you?
Those guys got H1 visas and headed to Seattle, where they were greeted by Microsoft.
“We’ve got housing ready for you,” said a blonde in a suit. “Just sign the NDAs on top of your welcome packets and we’ll head down to Redmond.”
Each programmer signed their forms, praised Allah, and looked forward to the day when their latest weapon against the Western infidels would be unleashed.
“Vista,” Osama had told them, grinning.