The Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences has awarded a special Oscar to dogs for their convincing portrayal of man’s best friend. Other creatures in the Animal Kingdom felt slighted by their exclusion, but admitted, “We can’t compete with those lovable brownnosers. They just completely rollover for humans. Literally. And once you start rubbing their belly and they begin that cutesy spastic leg kick….we’re toast. It’s no wonder they get all the chew toys they want. Like they need any more. As it is now the males carry around their favorite chew toy with them full time .” Read the rest of this entry »

 

 

Boston MA – Seven teammates on the World Series champion Boston Red Sox are believed to be descendants of former President Rutherford B Hayes. The connection was discovered quite by accident when a genealogist at Ancestry.com saw an eerie similarity in their facial hair. After doing some research that can best be described as superficial, genealogist Kenneth Conigliaro explained, “At first I thought they’d descended from the Smith Brothers Cough Drops family, but on closer examination I detected a genetic similarity common to the facial hair of all 7 and sure enough all beards pointed to Rutherford B Hayes.”

 

When asked about slugger David Ortiz, Mr. Conigliaro offered; “Big Papi is from Santo Domingo and is not at all related to President Hayes. Genetic markers indicate he’s related to Nixon who spent time there in the early 60’s when he was having a personality installed as he readied himself for the ’68 campaign.” To buttress his evidence Mr. Conigliaro noted that Mr. Ortiz has a cat named Agnew. In tracing the relatives of President Hayes, Conigliaro believes Rutherford B Hayes is related to both Susan B Anthony and Johnny B Goode – by middle initial. After stating he hopes the Red Sox win the Super Bowl next year too, Mr. Conigliaro was led away by a very nice man holding a butterfly net.

In the thrilling celebratory moments after the last strike, David Ortiz was asked what he was going to do now that he was World Series MVP. He excitedly bellowed, “I’m going to that restaurant in the Bronx where Michael Corleone killed Sollazzo. I hear they’ve got the best veal in the city.”

 

Things haven’t been right since my mama accidentally dropped her little bundle of joy on the vinyl game mat so many years ago. It’s hard balancing a baby when you’re playing Twister. Mama taught me a lot about life, but all I can remember is: left foot red, right hand blue. Oh, that Twister ties you up in a knot.

As I got older (mostly due to the passage of time and not because I matured), my education continued in The School of Hard Knocks; most of which landed on my head and hence the title of our little story today. Mother thoughtfully enrolled me in this school simply by birthing me. Your mother did too? I knew it. We’re all classmates in this school whether we like it or not. However, this is not a tale of woe. It’s a tale of whoa! As in, slow down Dr. Phil while I sort this out. But even if I were to succeed, all I’d have is a well sorted life. So what? Botanists do the same thing categorizing plants and they’re no happier than I am. Still I wonder, if a botanist was a vegan, would they feel guilty about eating their work. Read the rest of this entry »

 

This Protestant hymn begs the question: What exactly is a sheave and why does it need to be brought in?

Well to answer that question, you’ve first got to listen to the song and then you should read the story. Here is the audio: Bringing in the Sheaves (Disco Version). Pay particular attention (if you can withstand it) to the chorus beginning at the 30 second mark.

I’ll assume you’ve just endured it, I mean listened to it. Are you still conscious? You surprise me then. Let me begin by defining some terms:

 

Sheaves    –       Bundles in which cereal plants are bound after reaping.

Bringing in  –      Picking up something that was formerly out, and carrying it to a place that is now in. Read the rest of this entry »

This is the city: Los Angeleez Califor-ni-a. The following story is true. The names were left the same because there were no innocent to protect. In a moment a description of the events. But first an ad from our sponsor Chesterfield Cigarettes:

More deceased doctors recommend Chesterfield Cigarettes for their cadavers who smoke cigarettes than any other brand. Why not try a Chesterfield today and experience the full rich tobacco flavor of toxic gases slowly nestling into your once pink lungs. And with Chesterfield there’s no morning hack. In fact, after smoking them for a while, there’s no morning at all. Just mourning.  

That’s how you could advertise cigarettes in 1954. And now back to our True Story:

 

 

A telephone conversation between frantic landlady Florence Katz Ross and her unimpressed friend Gladys Rabinowitz:

Florence: Yes operator. I’d like MElrose3-9421.

Operator: One moment please. OK. Go ahead.

Florence:  Hello Gladys? Gladys, you’re never gonna believe what just happened.

Gladys:     Well what is it honey? Do tell.

Florence:  Well I was just adjusting the rabbit ears on my new 8” Philco-Vision TV set to watch my stories, when Frank Sinatra and Joe DiMaggio break down my door with an axe, run over to me and demand to know where Marilyn is. I said   “Marilyn who?” And Joe says, “My wife Marilyn Monroe. She’s shacking up here with some bum and I’m gonna give it to him real good see. You capish lady? Now where is she?” Read the rest of this entry »

My little daughter Lisa and I always enjoyed strolling by the tidy homes and the babbling brook that lazily meandered through our idyllic neighborhood. We especially looked forward to strolling by the Heller residence. Not so much for the Heller’s, but for their 3 kitties who were always out front, lolling in and around the shrubs, suggesting a microcosm of their much bigger feline cousins who patrolled the fearsome African Savannas. Lisa would ask me why the kitties were always sleeping. I told her they needed their sleep. That if they didn’t get in their 22 hours they’d be exhausted the next day. She said she wished she was a kitty so she could sleep and dream all day too.

As we approached the Heller’s house we would coo our unique telltale catcall which caused the kitties to spring to attention and pitter patter down the driveway to greet us with great kitty enthusiasm. Of course being cats, just before they got within petting distance, they’d peel off and act disinterested until the notion of having their ears rubbed became irresistible. Then they’d swarm around us like a colony of bees, because they knew our visit meant one thing – 5 minutes of uninterrupted kitty shmushing. Ears were rubbed, scruffs were tugged and bellies were shamelessly exposed (usually the cats’). It was a beautiful display of human-feline affection. The only downside was that occasionally their fur would stick to our tongues. Read the rest of this entry »

Remember those insanely hot, deep-fried apple pies McDonald’s used to sell? The ones whose scalding apple lava filling was pumped directly from deep within the Earth’s core into the pie? Well I still have one I bought in 1978. And I plan on eating it just as soon as it cools down.  

McDonald’s claimed these pies were, “Just like momma used to bake.©” And it’s true, if momma had a PhD in Thermodynamics and a nuclear particle accelerator to heat the thing to the plasma state, just below the gaseous state. Let me put it this way: These are the only pies ever made that had a half-life. MacDonald’s offered them in two flame-throwing fillings: Apple McMagma and (during the St. Patrick’s holiday) Shamrock Napalm. As mentioned, I purchased my pie in 1978 for 45 cents and the return on investment has been phenomenal. Just by setting it in my furnace, I’ve managed to heat my entire house with it for over 40 years. The only downside has been the loss of all my hair. Read the rest of this entry »

It’s not easy coaxing a demented fictional character to write a humorous piece based on a personal experience, but with the help of Dr. Brown’s Flux Capacitor (on loan from Back to the Future) I brought the whole project together with minimum time warping and maximum hilarity. Although Mr. Bates is nutso to the core, he’s kinda entertaining when he puts pen to paper. No one was hurt in the making of Diarya and the only casualty was melancholy. So without further ado I present to you with limited run on sentences:

Diarya – A remembrance by Norman Bates of Psycho fame.

Trust me. This is some good sh*t. Read the rest of this entry »

 

I’d purchased a roundtrip ticket from SFO to JFK so I could watch my beloved Syracuse Orangemen (now known simply as the “Orange” owing to years of gender bias) take on the Penn State Nittany Lions at MetLife Stadium (known simply as “MetLife Stadium” owing to the millions they paid to name it). It was the opening game of the college football season and I was very excited to fire those neurons in the same area of the brain affected by cocaine. This is why football is so popular. It is a safe and legal drug – at least to watch anyway. Now, being 6’4″ and possessing a femur the length of a pool cue, I thought my airborne experience might be more comfortable if I upgraded to Economy Plus seating, where those few extra inches of leg room were stingily doled out like the gruel at a Dickensian orphanage. Read the rest of this entry »