Guy in a bar: Didn’t I meet you at Woodstock?
Me: No, my parents wouldn’t let me go because I was in the eighth grade.
(Suggestion: Stay away from pickup lines that reference a woman's age. Whether it suggests she's looks older than she is, like this one, or goes too far the other direction ("Didn't you go to school with my daughter?"), it's not going to end well.)
Saturday, January 31, 2009
Friday, January 30, 2009
Old Joke #5
Three pigs go out to dinner.
The server comes to their table and introduces himself. “Hi, I’m Jason. I’ll be your waiter this evening. Can I start you gentlemen off with a beverage?”
The first pig says, “I’ll have a rum and Coke.”
The second pig says, “I think I’ll have a dirty martini.”
And the third pig says, “Just bring me water. Water, water, and lots water.”
The waiter says, “Okay” and heads off to retrieve their drinks.
A few minutes later he returns and hands around their beverages.
“Have you decided what you’d like for dinner”? he says.
The first pig says, “I’ll have the roast beef.”
The second pig says, “I’ll have the lasagna.”
But the third pig says, “I just want water. Water, water and lots of water.”
The waiter kind of scratches his head, but says, “Okay.”
After checking on them and refilling glasses a couple of times, he says, “Can I interest you in dessert?”
And the first pig says, “I’ll have the cheesecake.”
And the second pig says, “I’ll have the tiramisu.”
And the third pig says, “Give me water. Water, water, and lots of water.”
The waiter says, “Certainly.”
Finally, as he brings them their bill, he says, “Would you mind if I ask you a question?”
The pigs shrug.
“Well,” he says, nodding toward the first pig, “I understand what you had for dinner.” And then he gestures toward the second pig, “And I understand what you ordered.”
Then he turns to the third pig, frowning. “But – what’s with all the water?”
And the third pig says, “Somebody has to wee-wee-wee all the way home.”
The server comes to their table and introduces himself. “Hi, I’m Jason. I’ll be your waiter this evening. Can I start you gentlemen off with a beverage?”
The first pig says, “I’ll have a rum and Coke.”
The second pig says, “I think I’ll have a dirty martini.”
And the third pig says, “Just bring me water. Water, water, and lots water.”
The waiter says, “Okay” and heads off to retrieve their drinks.
A few minutes later he returns and hands around their beverages.
“Have you decided what you’d like for dinner”? he says.
The first pig says, “I’ll have the roast beef.”
The second pig says, “I’ll have the lasagna.”
But the third pig says, “I just want water. Water, water and lots of water.”
The waiter kind of scratches his head, but says, “Okay.”
After checking on them and refilling glasses a couple of times, he says, “Can I interest you in dessert?”
And the first pig says, “I’ll have the cheesecake.”
And the second pig says, “I’ll have the tiramisu.”
And the third pig says, “Give me water. Water, water, and lots of water.”
The waiter says, “Certainly.”
Finally, as he brings them their bill, he says, “Would you mind if I ask you a question?”
The pigs shrug.
“Well,” he says, nodding toward the first pig, “I understand what you had for dinner.” And then he gestures toward the second pig, “And I understand what you ordered.”
Then he turns to the third pig, frowning. “But – what’s with all the water?”
And the third pig says, “Somebody has to wee-wee-wee all the way home.”
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Thursday Snippet
(In an effort to boost my readership (which is coming along nicely, and I'm an ungrateful wretch for wanting to it to grow even faster), I've decided to try an experiment. Since people seem to enjoy my lists, each item of which is just a very brief version of my usual posts, I'm going to try to post miniature observations/overheard conversations on my non-full-length post days. Let me know what you think, yay or nay.)
Overheard in the office a number of years ago:
Guy: "Have you ever heard of that drink called a screaming orgasm?"
Gal: "I've heard of them, but I've never had one.
I kid you not.
Overheard in the office a number of years ago:
Guy: "Have you ever heard of that drink called a screaming orgasm?"
Gal: "I've heard of them, but I've never had one.
I kid you not.
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
And the Answer Is....
This is a follow-up to yesterday's spur-of-the-moment post and to some comments/questions I got on my VM tag list. You posted some hilarious suggestions for WTF (below). (If you haven't perused the comments, I strongly recommend taking a few minutes to do so. They're way funnier than anything I write.)
I was all prepared to go with Buffalodick's idea, "a cat in an alien suit," which made me roar with laughter and seemed altogether likely, until Debbie from Suburb Sanity pointed out that there are no trailers in the picture, and everyone knows aliens only abduct from trailer parks. We all know that cats are clever enough to get the details right, so, we're left with a mystery, I'm afraid. (BTW – Old Dog says the wall is a sound barrier along an interstate. He’s probably right. He’s annoying that way.)
The short story about the infamous art show is titled “Kim in Satin.” I’ll post it soon. I want to give some thought to whether just to post the version that won, or to go back to an earlier version. (I censored out everything that couldn’t go into a family newspaper.)
Regarding the Kix vignette – I did not rinse the cereal. I simply drained it, put it back in the bowl, added fresh milk and ate it. I did, however, rinse the bowl. I’m not a complete freak.
And, finally, to Comedy Goddess’s question: why “The Raisin Chronicles”? Here is a link to my first post, complete with the lyrics to “Lady Face,” the song I wrote in celebration of starting this blog.
I was all prepared to go with Buffalodick's idea, "a cat in an alien suit," which made me roar with laughter and seemed altogether likely, until Debbie from Suburb Sanity pointed out that there are no trailers in the picture, and everyone knows aliens only abduct from trailer parks. We all know that cats are clever enough to get the details right, so, we're left with a mystery, I'm afraid. (BTW – Old Dog says the wall is a sound barrier along an interstate. He’s probably right. He’s annoying that way.)
The short story about the infamous art show is titled “Kim in Satin.” I’ll post it soon. I want to give some thought to whether just to post the version that won, or to go back to an earlier version. (I censored out everything that couldn’t go into a family newspaper.)
Regarding the Kix vignette – I did not rinse the cereal. I simply drained it, put it back in the bowl, added fresh milk and ate it. I did, however, rinse the bowl. I’m not a complete freak.
And, finally, to Comedy Goddess’s question: why “The Raisin Chronicles”? Here is a link to my first post, complete with the lyrics to “Lady Face,” the song I wrote in celebration of starting this blog.
Sunday, January 25, 2009
Tagged by Vodka Mom
Vodka Mom tagged me, so here goes:
1) One day, years ago, I was wearing a dress at work and I fell backwards into an empty paper box. My arms and legs were sticking up in the air while my butt was stuck in the box. Instead of helping me out, the guys stood around and made comments like, “Where do you buy film for a camera like that?”
2) My parents were children of the Depression and their frugal ways transmitted themselves to me. I once made myself a bowl of Kix only to realize at the first bite that the milk was sour. Instead of throwing it away I dumped it in a colander, then put it back in the bowl and poured on fresh milk.
3) I took my first college class in the summer of 1969, just after my freshman year in high school. After that auspicious beginning, things went a little awry, and I didn’t complete my bachelor’s degree until 1998. I like to tell people I was on the thirty year plan and finished a year early.
4) Only once in my life have I had so much to drink that I was still trashed when I woke up the next morning. I went to work anyway. It was not a good day.
5) I once attended an art show that consisted of nudes of my daughter painted by her lesbian roommate. Said roommate had come out to her parents the weekend before “so they’d have time to adjust” before the show. I did not drink at this event, but when I later wrote about it in a short story that won a local contest, my protagonist did, with disastrous results. The story captured that event so well that, to this day, my daughter tries to steer me away from alcohol.
6) My husband’s favorite memory from our courtship is of a dinner where I poked myself in the lip with my fork and then tried to pretend it didn’t happen.
7) I’m too self-conscious to be a good dancer – I usually look like I’m having a painful muscle spasm. However, I LOVE Motown, and with enough alcohol, I have been known to dance in a way that is both fluid and sensuous. I know this because a) my girlfriends commented on it and b) I got propositioned by a young couple to join them in a threesome.
8) I once interviewed a young man who was so good-looking I got completely rattled, and asked him the same question three times.
9) I apply 15 different things to my face each morning. Sometimes I wonder whether I should head for work or just enter the Witness Protection Program.
10) When I’m in practice, I’m a competent cook, but I have a tendency to crack under pressure. I made brownies for a meet-the-families rehearsal dinner for my second marriage and forgot them in the oven for over an hour. It was heartbreaking to watch the little sugar junkies from my side trying to gnaw off a chocolate fix.
Judging by the difficulty I had coming up with this list, future tags will result in some sorry barrel scrapings. Not saying "don't do it," just warning that the outcome may not be pretty.
As I was writing this, I debated whether to tag anyone else (thus putting them under the same pressure) and decided these people deserve the honor:
1) Hoodchick -- because I've learned more about her in a couple of months of blogging than from ten years of actual acquaintance. Let's see what else there is to know.
2) Chaka -- a recent follower, about whom I'd like to know more.
3) Jan -- because we have this weird, parallel lives thing going on.
4) Dedene -- because she live in France, and I'm totally fascinated by her life.
5) Christine -- an expat living in Italy -- ditto.
Your mission, my bloggy friends, if you should choose to accept it, is to grab the little award at the top of this post and use it to create a similar post, telling us some trivia from your lives.
(Note to Chef E: I'm not ignoring the lovely award you gave me, but I can't get it to shrink to fit in my sidebar, and I haven't figured out what post to do with it. You're learning what my "live" friends already know -- friendship with me requires patience, but if you value laughter, I'm worth it.)
Friday, January 23, 2009
Old Joke #4
Buddy Hackett told this joke on an HBO special back in the ‘80s. It’s not my favorite joke of all time, but it’s definitely my favorite punch line.
An 80-year-old man and a 20-year-old woman fall in love. They want to marry, but the old man fears that he won’t be able to satisfy his young bride. Then they hear about an experimental surgery that’s being done for couples just like them. The surgeon replaces the man’s penis with the trunk of a baby elephant.
After long and careful consideration, the man has the surgery, and it works out beyond their wildest expectations. After a blissful weekend in bed, they decide to move forward with the wedding.
Naturally, the girl’s parents want to get to know their future son-in-law, so they invite him to dinner. Although they are concerned about the difference in ages, they can tell that their daughter is really in love.
In fact, she can’t keep her hands off her fiancé. Under the cover of the tablecloth, the girl unzips the old man’s pants and begins fondling him. All the while, above board, the couple chats with the girl's parents about their wedding plans.
It is as the mother sets out a tray of potatoes that an elephant’s trunk shoots out, curls around a baked potato and drags it beneath the table.
The girl’s mother’s mouth falls open. Her eyes trace the path from the old man to the serving platter and back again. After a stunned moment, shaken, she clears her throat and says, “That was amazing. Could you do that again?”
And the old man says:
“I would, but I don’t have room in my ass for another potato.”
(Note: Despite the reputation I've acquired at Belle's house, no baby elephants were harmed in the telling of this joke.)
An 80-year-old man and a 20-year-old woman fall in love. They want to marry, but the old man fears that he won’t be able to satisfy his young bride. Then they hear about an experimental surgery that’s being done for couples just like them. The surgeon replaces the man’s penis with the trunk of a baby elephant.
After long and careful consideration, the man has the surgery, and it works out beyond their wildest expectations. After a blissful weekend in bed, they decide to move forward with the wedding.
Naturally, the girl’s parents want to get to know their future son-in-law, so they invite him to dinner. Although they are concerned about the difference in ages, they can tell that their daughter is really in love.
In fact, she can’t keep her hands off her fiancé. Under the cover of the tablecloth, the girl unzips the old man’s pants and begins fondling him. All the while, above board, the couple chats with the girl's parents about their wedding plans.
It is as the mother sets out a tray of potatoes that an elephant’s trunk shoots out, curls around a baked potato and drags it beneath the table.
The girl’s mother’s mouth falls open. Her eyes trace the path from the old man to the serving platter and back again. After a stunned moment, shaken, she clears her throat and says, “That was amazing. Could you do that again?”
And the old man says:
“I would, but I don’t have room in my ass for another potato.”
(Note: Despite the reputation I've acquired at Belle's house, no baby elephants were harmed in the telling of this joke.)
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
The Bone Chute
The strangest place I ever worked was a mail order company.
I’d just gotten divorced, and my primary goal in life was to stop running into my ex-husband and his hussy at the grocery store, and then going home and crying until I vomited, so when a job was offered several states away from Ohio, I opted to take it.
It was not, on the surface, a match made in heaven. I was vegetarian; they sold hunting equipment. I was pro gun control; they sold ammunition. I favored animal rights; they favored animal pelts. (As room décor. Seriously -- every office at VP level and above sported a bearskin, or a moose head, or a fish. The place was a taxidermist’s wet dream.)
On the other hand, I could buy weekly provisions without a meltdown, so it all evened out.
Not only was this place just drenched in testosterone, it was situated across the street from the stockyards. My favorite feature of the stockyards (other than the opportunity to get stampeded by an escaped bull whilst walking at lunch) was the bone chute.
The bone chute was a conveyor line that transported the leftover parts of the carcasses to a second-floor opening in the western wall of the slaughterhouse. Outside, a dump truck waited to haul the offal away. On a brisk winter’s morning, the sight of a rib cage with red flecks of tissue still clinging to white bone, gently steaming against a cloudless blue sky, was enough to take your breath away.
It could do a number on your breakfast, too.
It was not a female-friendly environment. It was said that during one of the buying meetings, during a discussion about tee shirt logos for the next catalog, the CEO proposed one that said, “What Do All Battered Women Have in Common? They Don’t Know When to Shut Up.”
Since I wasn’t feeling all that great about men at that time, I derived a fair amount of enjoyment from being the scariest woman they’d ever met. For example, I started my meetings on time, regardless of whether everyone was there. When people showed up late and wanted to know what they’d missed, I recommended that they get the notes from their neighbor. They soon began arriving on time.
It was kind of like those cartoons you see of elephants piled up in a corner, cowering away from a mouse.
My favorite quote from that era was made by the woman who ran the Telemarketing Department, whose office overlooked the slaughterhouse.
“Every evening I look out at the bone chute,” she said. “If I don’t see myself dropping into the truck, I figure it’s been a good day.”
I’d just gotten divorced, and my primary goal in life was to stop running into my ex-husband and his hussy at the grocery store, and then going home and crying until I vomited, so when a job was offered several states away from Ohio, I opted to take it.
It was not, on the surface, a match made in heaven. I was vegetarian; they sold hunting equipment. I was pro gun control; they sold ammunition. I favored animal rights; they favored animal pelts. (As room décor. Seriously -- every office at VP level and above sported a bearskin, or a moose head, or a fish. The place was a taxidermist’s wet dream.)
On the other hand, I could buy weekly provisions without a meltdown, so it all evened out.
Not only was this place just drenched in testosterone, it was situated across the street from the stockyards. My favorite feature of the stockyards (other than the opportunity to get stampeded by an escaped bull whilst walking at lunch) was the bone chute.
The bone chute was a conveyor line that transported the leftover parts of the carcasses to a second-floor opening in the western wall of the slaughterhouse. Outside, a dump truck waited to haul the offal away. On a brisk winter’s morning, the sight of a rib cage with red flecks of tissue still clinging to white bone, gently steaming against a cloudless blue sky, was enough to take your breath away.
It could do a number on your breakfast, too.
It was not a female-friendly environment. It was said that during one of the buying meetings, during a discussion about tee shirt logos for the next catalog, the CEO proposed one that said, “What Do All Battered Women Have in Common? They Don’t Know When to Shut Up.”
Since I wasn’t feeling all that great about men at that time, I derived a fair amount of enjoyment from being the scariest woman they’d ever met. For example, I started my meetings on time, regardless of whether everyone was there. When people showed up late and wanted to know what they’d missed, I recommended that they get the notes from their neighbor. They soon began arriving on time.
It was kind of like those cartoons you see of elephants piled up in a corner, cowering away from a mouse.
My favorite quote from that era was made by the woman who ran the Telemarketing Department, whose office overlooked the slaughterhouse.
“Every evening I look out at the bone chute,” she said. “If I don’t see myself dropping into the truck, I figure it’s been a good day.”
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