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Posts Tagged ‘strange’

Strange Causes of Death as Seen on 19/19 (I mean 20/20)

  1. Wilma Cantwell groaned to death after reading my pun: “I was going to write this list in Times New Roman font, but it’s really not my type.”
  2. In Compton, Dylan Barrett Browning was crushed to death in a vicious drive-by poetry slam. Investigators say there was no rhyme or reason to it.
  3. Swami Baba Ganouj died when, after an out-of-body experience, he couldn’t get back in to his body again. In 3 attempts he failed to identify all the bicycles in a cosmic Captcha Code and got locked out. Enjoy the Astral plane Baba.
  4. Picture I always include in my resume. So what if I haven’t worked in 9 years. It’s who I am.

    In 1985 Sheena Loman was flabbergasted to death after sampling New Coke

  5. A Marilyn Monroe impersonator died when she tried to reenact the famous subway dress scene from The Seven Year Itch and an unexpectedly powerful burst of air from the subway grating lifted her and her billowing dress into the path of an oncoming bus.
  6. Finn Atwater died from being morbidly alphanumeric. Her Pinterest User Name was $5@H20 (“$5” = a fin and “@H20” = Atwater). RIP Finn.
  7. In 1952, the actress Rita Hayworth was instantly vaporized by paparazzi when they simultaneously took 22 glimmering shots of her. She was gone in a flash.
  8. Caleb Cushing of New York City turned to salt after accidentally seeing his grandmother doing naked hot yoga. He briefly became a pillar of the community – a salt pillar – till that same powerful burst of air that killed the Marilyn Monroe impersonator, blew Caleb to smithereens.
  9. Patrick Dunder, died when he was peering down a railroad track to make sure no train was coming and the barricade arm came down and conked him on the head.
  10. An absent-minded Grateful Deadhead dyed today when he realized he was wearing a white t-shirt. He tie-dyed.

A Strange Relationship. Is There any Other?

Local honey is the best!

Local honey is the best! My Muriel.

After chipping a tooth on my fiancée Muriel’s prosthetic clitoris, I knew life would never be easy. Muriel didn’t snore when she slept. Instead she did something more disturbing. Whenever she entered Deep REM sleep she’d emit a Dial Tone. A Dial Tone, like from Bell Labs. Very unnerving, although after about a month I figured out a way to call China, where prosthetic clitorises are made. So I ordered 2. One for her and one for me. I explained to Muriel, “This clitoris is great. Now I no longer have to go to sleep right after we make love.” To which she responded, “Oh is that what we were making?”

Did I mention she had no native intelligence? Instead she had Artificial Intelligence. From Hasbro. It might manifest itself like this: She’d put on scuba gear and go kayaking upside down in the lake. As Muriel maneuvered the kayak around the lake I’d see her capsized hull moving through the water while the occasional oar penetrated the surface from underneath.

If forewarned is forearmed, I should’ve heeded the birthmark located on her back: Best By MAY 2014. Muriel was so advanced and yet we met offline. Way offline. It was at a Pre-stressed Concrete Convention where concrete with mother issues went for counseling before their feelings hardened into an ossified mess. Muriel and I both worked there as counselors. Muriel would often sit before a couple of yards of pre-stressed concrete annealing in its rebar and advise, “If you think about it, not only are all politics local, but so is everything else.” That paradigm-busting advice usually did it and the concrete was no longer stressed. This relief worked for most concrete, but sometimes years later it cracked up in some form of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.

That’s when I told Muriel about the health benefits of local honey. She agreed and said she’d be my local honey. She’s so sweet. Early on Muriel would bring a lunch to church. I thought it was a bad idea saying, “You shouldn’t pray where you eat.” She cackled like a hen, because although she was my local honey she wasn’t immune to my humor.

Then she got me back. By now we were married and living in a 2 bedroom hive in a fashionable section of Compton. We went into the funeral business called Caskets with Friends. It did not go well. Between the ill-fated Frequent Diers Program and the sign advertising “Walk-ins Welcome” business was moribund. Well more or less moribund. Business also stunk, but that was more due to our poor embalming technique than anything else.

When I mentioned how we needed to refinish the coffee table she remarked, “David, as far as refinishing furniture goes we’ve only scratched the surface.” I couldn’t hold back any more and kissed her passionately. She got very excited and began emitting a Dial Tone. Then she suggested I try kissing her mouth next time.

Her brother Giovanni was one of those rare guys. Not only did he own a very expensive Ferrari, he also had a really big “Testarossa” if you know what I mean. How did I know? Well he lifted the hood one day and showed me. Muriel’s sister Gwen was a very fetching young lady and when I casually remarked to Muriel, “You’re sister Gwen is a beaut,” Muriel said, “How did you know she was a Butte? How did you even know she was from Montana?”

As the years passed we both agreed that time had gone by and although Muriel was well past her expiration date, so was I. We were 2 peas in a pod or bees in a honeycomb. Because she is my honey I’ll always love her sweetness.