Posts Tagged ‘Humor’

On this the 14th anniversary of the Japanese bombing of Pearl Street, I want to wish all our vets a good day. As Teddy Roosevelt said, “This day shall live in infancy.” Wise words from our 62nd president. To think he said such wise things from that scooter because he was suffering from concussions he got from playing football at the University of Illinois-Urbana. Or Harvard, I can’t remember, but it doesn’t matter. He was a great man. He reminds me of that other great president of his time Benjamin Franklin, who also discovered energy. I wish we had good Christian leaders like those two nowadays.

Please share if you love Jesus. If not, your grandfather will get gang raped by Ebola people just like God would want.

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Fun With Captions


Throughout my workday, I’ve been thinking about this picture. Here are my proposed captions. What are yours?

1. “Wwweeeeeeeeeeeeeee!”

2. “Open ‘er up. Let’s see what this beast can do!”

3. “I double dog dare you.” “Oh, well, if you double dog dare me…I’m such an idiot.”

4. “At Lincoln, hang a left. I’m the third woodpile on the right. Thanks a bunch.”

5. The first lizard mechanic. “At this straightaway, really unwind ‘er. Let’s see if we got that shimmy out.”

6. “The fly I’m after landed on that white Yukon. Dammit, man. Will this thing go no faster?”

7. “Look how far I’m throwing this truck!”

8. “You just worry about the road. I’m fine. Gah. Stupid suckerless-footed humans.”

9. “No, you’re doing great for a first time driver. Do me a favor though. Don’t ride the middle line. I’m a little vulnerable out here.”

10. “Hey, I’m only late one payment. Roll the window down, Mr. Tough Repo Guy!”

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Working late on a Sunday is simply wrong — unless you have the night shift on a Sunday that is. When I have to suffer the injustice of working late, on a weekend, for the 12th weekend in a row, I get a little peevish. I used to turn into an a-hole. Now, though, I just want to start a little trouble.

Here are the things I’ve wanted to put on Facebook, but decided not to. I don’t necessarily believe any of the things below, but it would sure be fun to see the reactions they got.

1. Forget Margaret Thatcher. What about Hugo Chavez?

2. Mad Men sucks and people who like it are stupid.

3. I don’t give a shit how much you love God and, frankly, He doesn’t either.

4. I bet Jesus gets sick of being compared to butterfly wings and other pansy crap. I bet He would like to read, “Jesus. Now that sum-bitch had it going on.”

5. I’m going to buy one of your macraméd Bible-verse hand towels just to wipe my ass with.

6. We need a 100% black president. This one has too much honky in him.

7. About 90% of you are older Honey Boo Boos and you don’t even know it.

8. That new haircut doesn’t hide those 145 extra pounds you’re packing.

9. Click “Like” if you agree that we should ban all guns, not just assault weapons.

10. Ronald Reagan was an idiot and a terrible president.

11. Wow! Your teenage daughter looks like a bigger whore than you were at that age. I didn’t think that was possible. What’s her cell number?

12. Next time you feel like posting a picture of what you’re eating take the fork and jab it into your neck instead.

13. I think it’s great you let your kid with Down Syndrome play t-ball. Oh, he’s not retarded?

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Thanks to Travellinbaen for letting me publish the post below on his most interesting site called Missing The Ground.

Mac’s discussion on belief, science, and religion in general got me to thinking about the Bible. Here in the Belt Buckle of the Bible Belt, you can walk out your front door and, within half a block, find someone who believes that the Bible is the inerrant word of God.

Most of these folks know that the Bible is not one book, but rather a collection of 66 books. Some of those folks will know that the 66 books were written over a period of about 1600 years. A much smaller subset of those folks will know the complex process by which the Bible came to be the Bible. But if more knew about that process and the disagreement that still exists, they might not take a stance that can only be described as Bible worship – acting as if the Bible itself were God, which breaks the very first commandment.

Imagine the scene. It’s 1547, one year after the Council of Trent (Catholic Church) has announced, “By God, these are the real books of the Bible and not what you Protestants say are the real books of the Bible. And we’re inspired by God in making these choices and you Protestants aren’t.” (See the problem already?)

It’s a small village outside the city of Mainz in what is now Germany. A Lutheran (Protestant) minister walks up to a peasant laboring in the field.

“Pardon me, sir, I’m Pastor Heinrich, a Lutheran minister. How are you this fine day?”

The peasant looks up from his plowing. “Fine. Well, other than the fact that I’m bound to this land for the duration of my natural life.” (Despite their German nationality, these characters talk like something from Monty Python.)

“I won’t keep you from your work. I just wanted to ask you if you have accepted Jesus Christ as your personal Lord and Savior. So, have you?”

“No, sir. My Lord and Savior is right over there. You see the tree branch that’s a little crooked but then points straight up to the heavens? That’s my Lord.”

“A tree branch? You mean to say you worship a stick?”

“Yes, sir. I read about it in an ancient writing that a traveler brought to me. The text says, ‘Behold the tree branch that pointeth toward me, which is to say, upward, toward the sky; definitely not down toward the ground. It’ll probably be on an elm, but maybe an oak – most assuredly on a deciduous tree. That much I know for sure. And everything written here is true. Oh, and I don’t mean to be such a bother, but if you don’t believe this writing, you’ll burn in a lake of fire suffering unimaginable pain for all of eternity. Now that we have that out of the way, I love you and you need to love others. And keep watch for the upward pointing stick…on an elm, or maybe an oak.’

When I read that passage, I knew this particular tree branch was the living incarnation of God.”

“Pointeth? Your ancient text uses the language of the King James Bible?”

“Well, sir, the King James Bible won’t be written for at least another 50 years from now, but I understand that for purposes of this ridiculous skit, the man pecking out our words on a keyboard is more interested in humor than being factually correct.”

“Quite right, but surely you don’t believe in a stick?”

“Why shouldn’t I? It was written down in an old scroll. Very authoritative looking.”

“What’s the name of this old scroll?

“The Book of Rick.”

“The Book of Rick? What a pathetic, unimaginative name.”

“Well, how do you know your Bible is real then?”

“Because it says so in the Book of John.”

“The Book of John? That’s a quite common name now, isn’t it? I don’t know why I should believe a John, but not a Rick.”

“Stop quibbling. This Bible is the inerrant word of God.”

“Dear Learned Minister, you see nothing circular about asserting the truth of a book because the book says it’s true? If I went on that assumption, I’d be worshipping that tree branch as well as your Jesus Christ and some guy named Allah. And who’s got time to do all that worshipping? A man would be up all night trying to work a full day and then get in some worshipping to all those folks.”

The peasant continues, “And when you say ‘this Bible,’ are you talking about the one with the books with those weird names like Esdras and Maccabee?”

“Oh, heavens, no. Those books are not holy and inspired like, say, Obadiah and Malachi.”

“But the Catholic Church says they are inspired. And the Catholic Church uses them.”

“Yeah, well, what do they know? The great giant Martin Luther judged those books to be inadequate.”

“But they were in the Bible for centuries. Why would your God allow people to read those books for centuries believing them to be part of the Holy Word only to have them chunked out by this Luther fellow?”

“You sure seem to know a lot for a 16th century feudal peasant.”

“Feudalism ended about 100 years ago.”

“But you’re still working your poor body to death and living in a hovel. Worshipping a tree branch to boot. What’s the difference?”

“Ah, now I’m no longer a glorified slave. Now I’m a small business. I’m told that if I work hard and don’t cause trouble, great wealth will trickle down to me.”

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Facebook Ideas

Let’s face it. The majority of the status updates on Facebook are downright boring (except yours, of course).

We need to help these folks come up with some better stuff. I mean, why should we suffer?

Because I like helping people out, because I’m a good guy like that, I give you the following Facebook statuses. Use them as you see fit.

1. Well, another day of being a raging alcoholic.

2. Whose kid is this?

3. Dang, my neighbor is touchy about sharing his grill without prior approval.

4. Quick: are we in the city or county? I don’t think these guys knocking on my door have jurisdiction.

5. So apparently drying moderately stained grippers out on the line is against the homeowners covenants.

6. Hollering at the guard at the drunk tank won’t help. You got to bang on the door.

7. I now know what incontinent means.

8. Anyone hiring? The mannequin at my desk didn’t fool nobody.

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At one time or another, we’ve all either called someone a “complete idiot” or been called one. Well, Herman Grange of Isola, Mississippi wants you to know he’s not a complete idiot.

“I can name the original cast members of Green Acres in less than 5 seconds,” Mr. Grange says with a chuckle and not a little pride. “So, I guess I ain’t a complete idiot. Maybe an incomplete one.”

On Monday, shortly after Mr. Grange filed his qualifying papers to run in the special election for mayor, we sat down with the candidate. Below are excerpts from the interview.

“Have you ever held political office before?”

“No, sir. I am what they call an unknown.” He uses air quotes for the word “unknown.”

“What are some of the things you’re doing to gain name recognition?”

“Well, one thing is I submitted my name to the sex offender registry.”

“Have you committed a sex crime? Do you think you stand a chance of winning with a criminal background?”

“Aw naw. I’ve never been convicted of anything. I just did it to get my name out there. Once I’m on the registry, they’ll have to put those yard signs up in everyone’s yard and people will see my name.”

“Mr. Grange, they don’t put “sex offender” signs up in everyone’s yard. Just yours.”

“Oh. Well, that ain’t going to work at all.”

“No. People will just think you’re a child molester.”

“Huh. This politickin’ is harder than I thought.”

Asked about Mr. Grange’s candidacy, Interim Mayor Hezekiah Williams said, “Frankly, I didn’t know we had mayoral elections. This town is so small, I thought we just took turns. But, I reckon, he’ll be as good as anyone else.”

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Below is a transcript of my thoughts as I bought groceries and then gas.

At the grocery store:

This is a great. Just a couple more things and I’ll be done. Excuse me, dear lady, I’ll be wrapping up a couple of these apples as I begin the launch of the New Me. The slim, fit New Me. New Me likes apples.

Why is she staring at my basket? Did something weird make its way into my basket? Water, Diet Coke, chips. There’s nothing weird there. Why is she still staring? That’s just downright rude. How would you like it if I stared at your basket? Let’s see. (I start staring at her basket.)

Crap, she can’t see me staring at her basket because she’s too busy staring at my basket. Lady, don’t give me the sad look. I don’t have a sad basket. If there was nothing in there but booze, lotion, and the latest Teen Beat that would be sad. And scary. I would never buy that combination of things. I’m moving over to the plums and get away from this lady.

Plums, plums, plums, I like plums. Oooo, there’s a weird looking guy. I wonder what his story is. He’s only buying peanuts. Freak!

Damn, there’s another lady staring at my basket. Jeez, do I have newly-divorced guy written on the side of the basket? Did I get a different looking basket from everyone else? If so, that’s discrimination. I AM NOT A FAILURE! Why aren’t you looking at that weird guy buying peanuts? I got to get out of here.

At the gas station:

Oh great, there’s a guy buying gas on the other side of the pump. Now we’ll have to stand here while the pumps are going facing off like a couple of middle-aged gunslingers. There’s nothing you can do to make this situation less uncomfortable.

No hope of small talk here.

“Gas sure is expensive.”

“No shit, asshole. It has been for about 3 years now.”


“Sure is nice weather now that the heat and humidity are gone, huh?”

“I’m sorry, but I’m not gay.”


Yeah, I’ll just keep my trap shut and stand here with my sunglasses on pumping gas. God, we look like out-of-shape secret service guys.

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When Britney Cagle of Hot Springs, Alabama won first place in the individual meet of her kindergarten potato sack race, her father’s face beamed with pride.

“I thought the sky was the limit for my little Brit. I knew that her future in hopping-related sports was bright,” said Britney’s father Ralph Cagle as he choked back tears.

“We had already paid a substantial down payment on hopscotch camp and paid a retainer for a private coach to help her with her lemon-on-a-rope jump roping skills– you know, where you swing the lemon on the rope with one foot and jump over it with the other? She’s showed a lot of promise at that thing. But now, I don’t know. I just don’t know.”

Only hours after Britney took first place in a record shattering 7.2 seconds, the parents of her most bitter rival — Jamie McClellan — accused Britney of using a sugar-based dietary aid or, as it is more commonly known, candy.

“Did you see how that child was hopping? She looked like she’d been shot out of a cannon or had a family of fire ants stirred up in her pants. There ain’t been a 5-year old yet who could break 7.5 in the potato sack race. All of sudden we’re supposed to believe this Britney kid can do it in 7.2? Nah uh. Something’s up,” declared Earl McClellan, Jamie’s father.

Asked to provide evidence of his scandalous claim, Mr. McClellan pointed to numerous Jolly Rancher and Now And Later wrappers found in Britney’s cubby. “They ain’t allowed that many sweets during the day. Maybe an animal cracker or two, but nothing like this. The kid has definitely been dopin’.”

Mr. McClellan continued, “Another thing. Look at her form. She ain’t even a good hopper. She stands too far upright to be that fast. Throw in the fact that they was runnin’ into the wind and it’s clear — that kid was high as a kite.”

Mr. Cagle vehemently denies the doping allegations asserting that Mr. McClellan is behind the candy wrappers. “I think this is a plant. Not like a fern or a daffodil, but, I mean, I think he planted them candy wrappers. Brit don’t even like Jolly Ranchers. Not grape ones anyway.”

Mr. Cagle says he’ll fight any efforts to strip his girl of her first place ribbon. “If they want to take this up to the school district, we’ll see them there. My baby has worked too hard to give up that ribbon without a fight.”

The school district declined comment except to say, “The school district has a zero tolerance for doping. Candy-aided records are not recognized and the offending children are immediately disqualified from the race. Further, the guilty child is forced to write Bad Bunnies Don’t Win Races 1000 times.”

Mr. McClellan said the doping has to end now. “This here’s a slippery slope. Allow them to get all hocked up on Jolly Ranchers now and they’ll be free-basin’ Tootsie rolls and M&M’s before they hit second grade.”

“The only hocked up person here is Mr. McClellan. I ain’t gonna say he’s a meth head; I’ll just point out he’s a weird kind of skinny,” Mr. Cagle said in a parting shot. “And his little hyena better watch her back.”

Britney Cagle’s blue ribbon is safe for now even if it’s mired in scandal. Asked about the incident, 5-year-old Britney whispered in a sing-song voice, “I so love Justin Bieber. And purple butterflies.”

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There’s nothing like a good cow story to get the week started right. Hat tip to Harmony for finding the article.

Reward Offered After Cattle Rustlers Hit The Northstate

Ranchers are beefing up security  after some cattle rustlers went to work in Tehama County.

This lead off sentence is quite telling. Not only is this journalist reporting the news, but he/she isn’t scared of a pun. Cows. Beef. “Beefing up security.” I get it. Witty. Go ahead and make room in your trophy case for that Pulitzer.

One Northstate family had more than a dozen calves stolen right from their property. A reward of up to $12,000 is being offered for information in the case.

Up to $12,000? You’re doling out partial payments for info? I assume crappy info won’t net you much:

“I think they’re male.”

“Great, thanks. Here’s 75 cents.”

Be careful or you’ll find yourself with only $3.82 to give to the person who positively IDs the thief.

Candace Owens and her husband John say that sometime between April 15th and now, someone stole 15 cows from their ranch west of Red Bluff.

You mean for a month you didn’t notice missing cows?

“Candace, it’s weird. Normally, when I’m out riding the range, I have to maneuver around these big blocks of living things that are moving around and taking up space.”

“You mean the cows, John?”

“Yeah, I guess so. But lately I’ve noticed that there are less of these things to maneuver around.”

“John, are you saying we now have less cows?”

“I guess so. You think I should count them?”

“I think there’s specialized fellas that are tying to make a quick buck,” said Candace Owens. “They’ve got to be knowledgeable at livestock in some fashion.”

Of course. “Specialized fellas.” That must be it. Generalized fellas couldn’t pull off a caper like this. Generalized fellas stick to stealing chickens and things of that sort; rabbits perhaps. Cows are no cakewalk. You have to be Tom Cruise dangling from a wire to pick off some bovine booty.

But why do you have to be “knowledgeable at livestock in some fashion” to be able to steal a cow? I’ll bet you can do it without knowing much at all about cows.

“Frank, let’s steal a cow.”

“Jimmy, you don’t know nuthin’ about cows.”


“Well, you got to know yer subject matter before you haul off and start stealin’.”

“Uh, I disagree.”

“Do you know what kind of feed to give to a cow?”

“Besides grass, no.”

“Do you know how they came to be domesticated?”


“Then you’re not qualified to be cow rustling.”

“I was going to put a rope around the cow’s neck, lead it into a stolen horse trailer, and then drive off. What’s wrong with that plan?”

Frank thinks for a while. “I guess nuthin’. Let’s go.”

John Suther is the senior special investigator for the Special Investigation Bureau of Livestock Identification. Suther said more than 1,800 cattle were stolen in California last year and they’ve already received 762 theft reports this year. Suther pinpoints ways to protect precious livestock. “Branding their cattle, that’s the number one thing,” said Suther. “And counting your cattle when you go through them when you’re missing them”

Special Investigator Suther inspires a great deal of confidence. When you’re missing cattle and you go through them, you should count them. Ah, so there’s where I keep messing up. [Hand to forehead] I had 4 cows. Now I just have this one staring at me. I couldn’t figure out what was awry. When I count them, I see that 3 are missing. I didn’t take them. Shazam! My cows have been rustled!

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This morning I took my kids to school and then came home to get ready for work. It took me all of about 30 minutes to get ready and head out the door. As I walked the 5 steps from my side door to my car door, I ran through a spider web. We’ve all done it, I know, but here’s my question: what is it with these super-ambitious spiders? By encircling my carport, WTF is this spider trying to catch? A flipping condor?

I can’t even begin to understand the 1% of the spider population that decides the basic web isn’t good enough.

“Larry, where are you going?”

“I’m going to launch myself into the air and try to reach that car door.”


“I’m going to try to catch a flipping condor.”

“They’re practically extinct, dumbass. Plus, the owner is going to drive away any minute and there goes your web.”

“Maybe I’ll catch an owl before the owner goes anywhere.”

“An owl? A single strand is not going to catch an owl. You’re wasting your time.”

“Ha. What do you know?”

Five minutes later, I walk through the single strand and hear a tiny spider voice shriek, “Crap!”

This past weekend I was mowing my yard and 20 feet from the side of my house and another 20 feet from the nearest tree, I walked through another spider web strand. Was the bastard building a volley ball net? Did I just ruin the arachnid summer olympics?


I have a kick it dog. What’s a kick it dog? It’s a little crap dog and it makes you want to kick it. Each morning, I sit on the stairs and put my socks and shoes on. Yesterday, kick it dog came up and licked me a single time on my 3rd toe, and then walked away as if nothing strange had just occurred. Explain that to me.

“I don’t want to lick him multiple times. That might send the wrong signal. You never know about these Southern boys. They say the sheep lie, but it sounded like they were telling the truth to me. On the other hand, he feeds me. I need to show some gratitude. I’ll just give a single lick. A single lick says, ‘Hey, thanks for the food, but I’m not coming on to you.’ Do I go for the big toe or one of those others? Shit, this is difficult. My brain is the size of a small orange. How the hell am I supposed to know which toe to give a single lick to? Screw it, I’ll just make contact, and walk off.”

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