Wednesday, December 20, 2006
Sunday, December 17, 2006
I Like Monkeys
The pet store was selling them for five cents a piece. I thought that
odd since they were normally a couple thousand each. I decided not to
look a gift horse in the mouth. I bought 200. I like monkeys.
I took my 200 monkeys home. I have a big car. I let one drive. His
name was Sigmund. He was retarded. In fact, none of them were really
bright. They kept punching themselves in their genitals. I laughed.
Then they punched my genitals. I stopped laughing.
I herded them into my room. They didn't adapt very well to their new
environment. They would screech, hurl themselves off of the couch at
high speeds and slam into the wall. Although humorous at first, the
spectacle lost its novelty halfway into its third hour.
Two hours later I found out why all the monkeys were so inexpensive:
they all died. No apparent reason. They all just sorta' dropped dead.
Kinda' like when you buy a goldfish and it dies five hours later. Damn
cheap monkeys.
I didn't know what to do. There were 200 dead monkeys lying all over my
room, on the bed, in the dresser, hanging from my bookcase. It looked
like I had 200 throw rugs.
I tried to flush one down the toilet. It didn't work. It got stuck.
Then I had one dead, wet monkey and 199 dead, dry monkeys.
I tried pretending that they were just stuffed animals. That worked for
a while, that is until they began to decompose. It started to smell real
bad.
I had to pee but there was a dead monkey in the toilet and I didn't want
to call the plumber. I was embarrassed.
I tried to slow down the decomposition by freezing them. Unfortunately
there was only enough room for two monkeys at a time so I had to change
them every 30 seconds. I also had to eat all the food in the freezer so
it didn't all go bad.
I tried burning them. Little did I know my bed was flammable. I had to
extinguish the fire.
Then I had one dead, wet monkey in my toilet, two dead, frozen monkeys in
my freezer, and 197 dead, charred monkeys in a pile on my bed. The odor
wasn't improving.
I became agitated at my inability to dispose of my monkeys and to use the
bathroom. I severely beat one of my monkeys. I felt better.
I tried throwing them way but the garbage man said that the city wasn't
allowed to dispose of charred primates. I told him that I had a wet
one. He couldn't take that one either. I didn't bother asking about the
frozen ones.
I finally arrived at a solution. I gave them out as Christmas gifts. My
friends didn't know quite what to say. They pretended that they like
them but I could tell they were lying. Ingrates. So I punched them in
the genitals.
I like monkeys
odd since they were normally a couple thousand each. I decided not to
look a gift horse in the mouth. I bought 200. I like monkeys.
I took my 200 monkeys home. I have a big car. I let one drive. His
name was Sigmund. He was retarded. In fact, none of them were really
bright. They kept punching themselves in their genitals. I laughed.
Then they punched my genitals. I stopped laughing.
I herded them into my room. They didn't adapt very well to their new
environment. They would screech, hurl themselves off of the couch at
high speeds and slam into the wall. Although humorous at first, the
spectacle lost its novelty halfway into its third hour.
Two hours later I found out why all the monkeys were so inexpensive:
they all died. No apparent reason. They all just sorta' dropped dead.
Kinda' like when you buy a goldfish and it dies five hours later. Damn
cheap monkeys.
I didn't know what to do. There were 200 dead monkeys lying all over my
room, on the bed, in the dresser, hanging from my bookcase. It looked
like I had 200 throw rugs.
I tried to flush one down the toilet. It didn't work. It got stuck.
Then I had one dead, wet monkey and 199 dead, dry monkeys.
I tried pretending that they were just stuffed animals. That worked for
a while, that is until they began to decompose. It started to smell real
bad.
I had to pee but there was a dead monkey in the toilet and I didn't want
to call the plumber. I was embarrassed.
I tried to slow down the decomposition by freezing them. Unfortunately
there was only enough room for two monkeys at a time so I had to change
them every 30 seconds. I also had to eat all the food in the freezer so
it didn't all go bad.
I tried burning them. Little did I know my bed was flammable. I had to
extinguish the fire.
Then I had one dead, wet monkey in my toilet, two dead, frozen monkeys in
my freezer, and 197 dead, charred monkeys in a pile on my bed. The odor
wasn't improving.
I became agitated at my inability to dispose of my monkeys and to use the
bathroom. I severely beat one of my monkeys. I felt better.
I tried throwing them way but the garbage man said that the city wasn't
allowed to dispose of charred primates. I told him that I had a wet
one. He couldn't take that one either. I didn't bother asking about the
frozen ones.
I finally arrived at a solution. I gave them out as Christmas gifts. My
friends didn't know quite what to say. They pretended that they like
them but I could tell they were lying. Ingrates. So I punched them in
the genitals.
I like monkeys
Revenge of an Ex-Wife
She spent the first day packing her belongings into boxes, crates and suitcases. On the second day, she had the movers come and collect her things. On the third day, she sat down for the last time at their beautiful dining room table by candlelight, put on some soft background music and feasted on a pound of shrimp, a jar of caviar and a bottle of chardonnay.
When she had finished, she went into each and every room and deposited a Few half-eaten shrimp dipped in caviar, into the hollow of the curtain rods. She then cleaned up the kitchen and left. When the husband returned with his new girlfriend, all was bliss for the first few days. But..
Then slowly, the house began to smell. They tried everything, cleaning, mopping and airing the place out. Vents were checked for dead rodents and carpets were steamed. Air Fresheners were hung everywhere. Exterminators were brought in to set off gas canisters, during which they had to move out for a few days, and in the end even paid to replace the expensive wool carpeting. Nothing worked. People stopped coming over to visit. Repairmen refused to work in the house. The maid quit. Finally, they could not take the stench any longer and decided to move.
A month later, even though they had cut their price in half, they could not find a buyer for their stinky house. Word got out and eventually even the local realtor's refused to return their calls. Finally, they had to borrow a huge sum of money from the bank to purchase a new place.
The ex-wife called the man and asked how things were going. He told her the saga of the rotting house. She listened politely and said that she missed her old home terribly, and would be willing to reduce her divorce settlement in exchange for getting the house back. Knowing his ex-wife had no idea how bad the smell was, he agreed on a Price that was about 1/10th of what the house had been worth, but only if she were to sign the papers that very day.
She agreed and within the hour his lawyers delivered the paper work. A week later the man and his girlfriend stood smiling as they watched the moving company pack everything to take to their new home. including the curtain rods.
When she had finished, she went into each and every room and deposited a Few half-eaten shrimp dipped in caviar, into the hollow of the curtain rods. She then cleaned up the kitchen and left. When the husband returned with his new girlfriend, all was bliss for the first few days. But..
Then slowly, the house began to smell. They tried everything, cleaning, mopping and airing the place out. Vents were checked for dead rodents and carpets were steamed. Air Fresheners were hung everywhere. Exterminators were brought in to set off gas canisters, during which they had to move out for a few days, and in the end even paid to replace the expensive wool carpeting. Nothing worked. People stopped coming over to visit. Repairmen refused to work in the house. The maid quit. Finally, they could not take the stench any longer and decided to move.
A month later, even though they had cut their price in half, they could not find a buyer for their stinky house. Word got out and eventually even the local realtor's refused to return their calls. Finally, they had to borrow a huge sum of money from the bank to purchase a new place.
The ex-wife called the man and asked how things were going. He told her the saga of the rotting house. She listened politely and said that she missed her old home terribly, and would be willing to reduce her divorce settlement in exchange for getting the house back. Knowing his ex-wife had no idea how bad the smell was, he agreed on a Price that was about 1/10th of what the house had been worth, but only if she were to sign the papers that very day.
She agreed and within the hour his lawyers delivered the paper work. A week later the man and his girlfriend stood smiling as they watched the moving company pack everything to take to their new home. including the curtain rods.
Friday, December 15, 2006
Reuter's Makes a Booboo
Can you guess what they really meant to say?
"Queen Elizabeth has 10 times the lifespan of workers and lays up to 2,000 eggs a day."Photo of the original article
Friday, November 10, 2006
Men Are From Mars, Women Are From Venus
I don't really believe that, but this is too funny.
A professor told his class one day: "Today we will experiment with a new
form called the tandem story. The process is simple. Each person will pair
off with the person sitting to his or her immediate right. As homework
tonight, one of you will write the first paragraph of a short story. You
will e-mail your partner that paragraph and send another copy to me. The
partner will read the first paragraph and then add another paragraph to the
story and send it back, also sending another copy to me. The first person
will then add a third paragraph, and so on back-and-forth. Remember to
re-read what has been written each time in order to keep the story
coherent. There is to be absolutely NO talking outside of the e-mails and
anything you wish to say must be written in the e-mail. The story is over
when both agree a conclusion has been reached."
The following was actually turned in by two of his English students,
Rebecca and Gary.
THE STORY: (first paragraph by Rebecca)
At first, Jennifer couldn't decide which kind of tea she wanted. The
chamomile, which used to be her favorite for lazy evenings at home, now
reminded her too much of
Carl, who once said, in happier times, that he liked chamomile. But she
felt she must now, at all costs, keep her mind off Carl. His possessiveness
was suffocating, and if she thought about him too much her asthma started
acting up again. So chamomile was out of the question.
(second paragraph by Gary)
Meanwhile, Advance Sergeant Carl Harris, leader of the attack squadron now
in orbit over Skylon 4, had more important things to think about than the
neuroses of an
air-headed asthmatic bimbo named Jennifer with whom he had spent one sweaty
night over a year ago.
"A.S. Harris to Geostation 17," he said into his transgalactic
communicator. "Polar orbit established. No sign of resistance so far..."
But before he could sign off a bluish particle beam flashed out of nowhere
and blasted a hole through his ship's cargo
bay. The jolt from the direct hit sent him flying out of his seat and
across the cockpit.
(Rebecca)
He bumped his head and died almost immediately, but not before he felt one
last pang of regret for psychologically brutalizing the one woman who had ever
had feelings for him. Soon afterwards, Earth stopped its pointless
hostilities towards the peaceful farmers of Skylon 4. "Congress Passes Law
Permanently Abolishing War and Space Travel," Jennifer read in her
newspaper one morning. The news simultaneously excited her and bored her.
She stared out the window, dreaming of her youth, when the days had passed
unhurriedly and carefree, with no newspaper to
read, no television to distract her from her sense of innocent wonder at
all the beautiful
things around her. "Why must one lose one's innocence to become a woman?"
she pondered wistfully.
(Gary)
Little did she know, but she had less than 10 seconds to live.
Thousands of miles above the city, the Anudrian mother ship launched the
first of its lithium fusion missiles. The dimwitted wimpy peaceniks who
pushed the Unilateral Aerospace Disarmament Treaty through the congress had
left Earth a defenseless target for the hostile alien empires who were
determined to destroy the humanrace. Within two hours after the passage of the treaty the Anudrian ships were on course for Earth, carrying enough firepower to pulverize the entire
planet. With no one to stop them, they swiftly initiated their diabolical plan. The
lithium fusion missile entered the atmosphere unimpeded. The President, in
his top-secret mobile submarine headquarters on the ocean floor off the
coast of Guam, felt the inconceivably massive explosion, which vaporized
poor, stupid Jennifer.
(Rebecca)
This is absurd. I refuse to continue this mockery of literature. My writing
partner is a violent, chauvinistic semi-literate adolescent.
(Gary)
Yeah? Well, my writing partner is a self-centered tedious neurotic whose
attempts at writing are the literary equivalent of Valium. "Oh, shall I
have chamomile tea?
Or shall I have some other sort of F--KING TEA??? Oh no, what am I to do?
I'm such an air headed bimbo who reads too many Danielle Steele novels!"
(Rebecca)
As*h@le.
(Gary)
B*tch!
(Rebecca)
F**K YOU - YOU NEANDERTHAL!!
(Gary)
In your dreams, Ho. Go drink some tea.
(TEACHER)
A+. I really liked this one.
A professor told his class one day: "Today we will experiment with a new
form called the tandem story. The process is simple. Each person will pair
off with the person sitting to his or her immediate right. As homework
tonight, one of you will write the first paragraph of a short story. You
will e-mail your partner that paragraph and send another copy to me. The
partner will read the first paragraph and then add another paragraph to the
story and send it back, also sending another copy to me. The first person
will then add a third paragraph, and so on back-and-forth. Remember to
re-read what has been written each time in order to keep the story
coherent. There is to be absolutely NO talking outside of the e-mails and
anything you wish to say must be written in the e-mail. The story is over
when both agree a conclusion has been reached."
The following was actually turned in by two of his English students,
Rebecca and Gary.
THE STORY: (first paragraph by Rebecca)
At first, Jennifer couldn't decide which kind of tea she wanted. The
chamomile, which used to be her favorite for lazy evenings at home, now
reminded her too much of
Carl, who once said, in happier times, that he liked chamomile. But she
felt she must now, at all costs, keep her mind off Carl. His possessiveness
was suffocating, and if she thought about him too much her asthma started
acting up again. So chamomile was out of the question.
(second paragraph by Gary)
Meanwhile, Advance Sergeant Carl Harris, leader of the attack squadron now
in orbit over Skylon 4, had more important things to think about than the
neuroses of an
air-headed asthmatic bimbo named Jennifer with whom he had spent one sweaty
night over a year ago.
"A.S. Harris to Geostation 17," he said into his transgalactic
communicator. "Polar orbit established. No sign of resistance so far..."
But before he could sign off a bluish particle beam flashed out of nowhere
and blasted a hole through his ship's cargo
bay. The jolt from the direct hit sent him flying out of his seat and
across the cockpit.
(Rebecca)
He bumped his head and died almost immediately, but not before he felt one
last pang of regret for psychologically brutalizing the one woman who had ever
had feelings for him. Soon afterwards, Earth stopped its pointless
hostilities towards the peaceful farmers of Skylon 4. "Congress Passes Law
Permanently Abolishing War and Space Travel," Jennifer read in her
newspaper one morning. The news simultaneously excited her and bored her.
She stared out the window, dreaming of her youth, when the days had passed
unhurriedly and carefree, with no newspaper to
read, no television to distract her from her sense of innocent wonder at
all the beautiful
things around her. "Why must one lose one's innocence to become a woman?"
she pondered wistfully.
(Gary)
Little did she know, but she had less than 10 seconds to live.
Thousands of miles above the city, the Anudrian mother ship launched the
first of its lithium fusion missiles. The dimwitted wimpy peaceniks who
pushed the Unilateral Aerospace Disarmament Treaty through the congress had
left Earth a defenseless target for the hostile alien empires who were
determined to destroy the humanrace. Within two hours after the passage of the treaty the Anudrian ships were on course for Earth, carrying enough firepower to pulverize the entire
planet. With no one to stop them, they swiftly initiated their diabolical plan. The
lithium fusion missile entered the atmosphere unimpeded. The President, in
his top-secret mobile submarine headquarters on the ocean floor off the
coast of Guam, felt the inconceivably massive explosion, which vaporized
poor, stupid Jennifer.
(Rebecca)
This is absurd. I refuse to continue this mockery of literature. My writing
partner is a violent, chauvinistic semi-literate adolescent.
(Gary)
Yeah? Well, my writing partner is a self-centered tedious neurotic whose
attempts at writing are the literary equivalent of Valium. "Oh, shall I
have chamomile tea?
Or shall I have some other sort of F--KING TEA??? Oh no, what am I to do?
I'm such an air headed bimbo who reads too many Danielle Steele novels!"
(Rebecca)
As*h@le.
(Gary)
B*tch!
(Rebecca)
F**K YOU - YOU NEANDERTHAL!!
(Gary)
In your dreams, Ho. Go drink some tea.
(TEACHER)
A+. I really liked this one.
Thursday, September 07, 2006
Blogging instead of mailing
I've recently discovered that blogging isn't all hype. Sometimes it makes sense to publish certain things to the world instead of sending it to one person. I don't expect the whole world to be interested in it. I don't mind if friends of friends or even total strangers read it. I just want to be able to share my life with people who I can't visit as often as I like.
I'm terrible at keeping up with correspondence via email. When new stuff happens in my life, I never email my friends. When I eventually see them they always say "I didn't know that you *insert new info here*! You never told me that! Why don't you call me you lazy sod, what, are your fingers broken so that you can't hold a phone, type an email or even pick up a pen?!?!" or something along those lines.
I don't know who to mail, or who to call, or when to do it! Sometimes people phone me, and I really really want to hear from them, but it's a bad time to talk and I have to let them go and I feel like a total jackass! Well no more. If I really want to have a conversation with someone in particular and it's so hard to match our schedules, then I should mail them and schedule a call! If I've got some news, and I want all my friends to know it, then I should send it to them! Thats what I think this blog should be for!
I don't think this blog replaces email. I don't think it makes up for my lousy correspondence skills. I don't think everyone will like this idea as much as I do. But blogging makes me feel better, and hopefully will be something that motivates me to make more of an effort to keep in touch with all the people I never wanted to lose touch with.
Mike
I'm terrible at keeping up with correspondence via email. When new stuff happens in my life, I never email my friends. When I eventually see them they always say "I didn't know that you *insert new info here*! You never told me that! Why don't you call me you lazy sod, what, are your fingers broken so that you can't hold a phone, type an email or even pick up a pen?!?!" or something along those lines.
I don't know who to mail, or who to call, or when to do it! Sometimes people phone me, and I really really want to hear from them, but it's a bad time to talk and I have to let them go and I feel like a total jackass! Well no more. If I really want to have a conversation with someone in particular and it's so hard to match our schedules, then I should mail them and schedule a call! If I've got some news, and I want all my friends to know it, then I should send it to them! Thats what I think this blog should be for!
I don't think this blog replaces email. I don't think it makes up for my lousy correspondence skills. I don't think everyone will like this idea as much as I do. But blogging makes me feel better, and hopefully will be something that motivates me to make more of an effort to keep in touch with all the people I never wanted to lose touch with.
Mike
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