Archive for the ‘Ditties’ Category

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All part of my “If You’re Not Going to Think About It, I Will” series

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Do you think the actor Treat Williams’s parents looked at their newborn son and thought, “Should we call him John or Treat? Hmmm. Let’s go with Treat?”

And the name served him well except for Halloween, when he’d get all tongue-tied at the door and say, “Trick or Me.”

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A band of Spaniards had come all the way from La Mancha to seek out the young Jesus, who was then ministering in Galilee. Over hill and dale they searched for the Messiah.
Spotting the Lord and his entourage walking in the distance, their leader beckoned to him:

The Man of La Mancha: Hey Zeus! Hey Zeus! Is that you?

Jesus and his apostles stopped and addressed the yearning acolytes. Peter gently corrected the man of La Mancha, “My friend, that is not Zeus. It’s Jesus. He is God, but he’s far from the Greek mythological God you’re confusing him with. Your group must be from Athens.

The Man of La Mancha: No sir. We’re from Spain and I know that’s Hey Zeus.

Peter: Hey Zeus? Oh, you mean Jesus. I get it. You speak Spanish and pronounce Jesus as Hey Zeus with a J that sounds like an H. Got it. Hey, be careful with that. I mean don’t go calling St. Joe, St. Hoe.

Just finished watching the Mormon version of The Bachelor. Wow!
He narrowed it down to 4 women, and then married all of them.

YES! Yes I’m fine. And why is everybody asking me that lately? Just because I write things like:

 

Let Me Be Frank

In the future, when hot dogs can talk, I foresee a very grateful hot dog saying to both his ancestors and his descendants:

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“Thank you. Thank you all. Because without you, I’m just a missing link.”

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I mean that’s sort of punny, write? And I say this with absolute relish, “My condiments to the author.”

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Palm Olive?

Not Over It!

Not Now. Not Ever.

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That Manicurist Madge would allow her client to soak her fingers in Palmolive Dishwashing Liquid, w/o first getting permission, is a professional malpractice and an affront to manicurists everywhere. When a manicurist “takes the smock,” her nail station shall become an altar of glorious grooming and not a den of desiccating detergent. 

And then Madge so callously remarks while working on the poor lady’s other hand, “You know you’re soaking in it?”

The aghast woman erupts, “Dishwashing liquid!”

Madge: “Relax, it’s Palmolive.”

Relax my ass. I want Madge’s license pulled.

This was not the hand job the client paid for. There’s nothing worse than a shoddy hand job. I should know.

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What’s next? Letting little fish eat the debris off your feet?

Readers to Me: Actually they do, do that with the fish Dave.

Dave: Really. Well then, what’s next? A sponge cake filled with cream?

Readers: They’re called Twinkies Dave.

Dave: Alright. It’s hard to maintain my outrage when I keep misfiring on my examples. How about this – what’s next a TV show about a likable guy who sells crystal meth? I don’t know. I’m off the rails here. This whole thing is breaking bad.

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The Restaurants of Dr. Moreau

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1. Veterinarians at the French Laundry have genetically modified a Turkey so it now comes Pre-Stuffed with stuffing. They somehow managed to cross a Tom Turkey with a large and shapely crouton, thereby producing the pre-stuffed bird. Diners are just gobbling it up.

Tom Turkey remarked, “Let me tell you something, croutons can eat crackers in my coop anytime.”

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2. These same veterinarians have met with less success in producing an all-in-one turducken. Seems they can’t get a turkey, a duck and a chicken to participate in a ménage à trois. After the 3 had gone out to dinner, the waiter asked  who would take the check and the gracious duck said, “Oh, just put it on my bill.”

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But then the duck got his feathers ruffled when he thought he heard the chicken make a dirty quack about him, when he heard, “You have an ugly waddle.” When what the chicken really said was meant for the turkey: “You have an ugly wattle.”

“Well cluck you,” said the duck to the chicken. 

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French Laundry Veterinarian and sous chef Dr. Moreau remarked, “There’s only so much I can do with a turkey baster and duck sperm. In order for this to happen the birds have got to flock together. The problem is they’re all a bunch of bird brains.”

After the dealer deals the last card he calls for everyone’s hand:

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Dealer:       OK players. Let’s get right to matters at hand and see what everybody has? How about you Player 1?

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Player 1:    Well, I’ve got 2 doxes.

Dealer:       OK. Player 1 has a paradoxes. Hmmm, that is puzzling? What’s Player 2 got?

Player 2:    I’ve got 5 Ellen DeGeneres’s…all wearing the same suit.

Dealer:       OK. Player 2 has a Straight Gay Flush. Player 3 what’s your hand?

Player 3:    It’s that thing at the end of my arm.

Dealer:       Thank you very much. And what’s your poker hand?

Player 3:    Read’em and weep. I’ve got  a wife, 3 kids, 2 dogs and a mortgage.

Dealer:       Alright. I think it’s obvious. Player 3 has a Full House. Player 4, can you top that?

Player 4:    I’m not sure. It looks like my King, Queen and Jack have all gone to the bathroom in the same toilet and just left it there.

Dealer:       Good God man! Don’t you know what you have? That’s a Royal Flush. You win.

 

7. I’ve spent time looking for my glasses…while I’ve been wearing them
8. After I blow my nose I always look into the Kleenex to make sure I haven’t blown my brains out
9. I’ve wondered where my iPhone was…while It’s been in my hand
10. I don’t know how to number lists anymore

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6. 

   Rodin’s “The Shamer”

   I don’t like nonsensical designer names, or names w/hyphens or one-word names or overly long names. I like plain, understandable American names, the way God meant them to be. Like Calvin Coolidge or Courtney Cox. That’s as exotic as a name needs to be. Except for Cher. I’m grandfathering her in. She and Jesus get to keep their one-word names.

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5. In elementary school, if I was really hungry mid-morning, I occasionally pinched a sandwich from the brown baggers who’d stored their lunches safely in the cloak room. Usually Phillip Picciotti’s. His mom Alice made such a nice sandwich. Thanks Phil.

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1. Believe me, my head is screwed on straight. It’s my body that’s crooked.
2. My world would be nothing, without the Undo button. Thank you Microsoft.
3. I wish I had something more enlightening to say about life. But I don’t right now. And I’m ashamed to admit it.