Category Archives: Humor

Shake and Flake

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I went to Popeye’s and asked for a couple of chicken legs. They still got the order wrong.

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I received a heart-warming letter from one of the neighbors. “Cease and Desist” is a great way to let me know someone is thinking about me.

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I found the best store ever. I can’t go back, though, because I noticed
they have a strict ‘no returns’ policy on the door.

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A friend of mine posted the phrase as a potentially new way to say “Goodbye!” in a cool way. I added her picture to give it some punch.

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I paid my restaurant check with a counterfeit bill. It seemed appropriate, as I’m pretty sure they didn’t serve me real food.

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Currently trying to convince a friend of mine, one with “Moore” as a surname , to change his first name to “Dinty.” No word yet on how successful I’ve been.

After posting this picture to social media, despite having a robust method to avoid them, Dinty Moore ads began littering my social media feed.

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The irony of seeing a “Don’t text and drive” decal in the back window of a pickup truck pulled over for DWI warmed my heart.
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(In the driver’s defense, as a Ford owner, I have to testify that owning one drives one to drink – or want to.)

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I bought a phone plan with unlimited minutes under the assumption I could live forever.

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Logo Wars in Springdale

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My apologies to Springdale residents. Satire is my friend. You should all know that NATO is about to declare war on the city logo.

I still hate the waffle-fry logo. The Explore Springdale variant, however, is awesome. Seriously. I love it. It’s simple and the symbolism is obvious. I might be biased, though, with a name like “X.” I’ve noted that many people happily insist that it’s my name due to illiteracy.

Each time I see the official logo, I wonder, “Why are we being punished?” It’s no accident that Kleenex offered to be our Official Sponsor in 2017.

I can’t prove it, but I suspect that the logo itself will soon be featured in some crime documentary. The demented subject of same will be shown on camera, his hair matted with chicken feathers, insisting “That darned logo made me do it.” Defense lawyers will start calling it the ‘Waffle Logo Defense.’ Even the guy from “Making a Murderer” won’t comment in case it causes him to receive a longer prison sentence.

I’ve resisted using the logo as an excuse to play blind man’s tic-tac-toe on the municipal vehicles afflicted with the logo. Or “no-go,” as the case may be. I do have a case of rainbow markers ready for when my willpower diminishes. The prosecutor* told me it’s just a misdemeanor to deface the logos on city vehicles. Also, while I will have to do community service, they will also give me a city beautification award if I manage to discolor enough of the logos to make Springdale residents happier by seeing fewer of them.

*This post does not advocate defacing city property. In my defense, though, if the property in question displays an official Springdale logo, it’s already quite defaced.

“Beauty Spits In The Eye of the Beholder” springs to mind when I see the logo. “We Lost A Bet” is my second thought, followed closely by, “LSD Is Your Friend.” A friend of mine suggested “A Chicken In Every Pothole.” That last part is humor, by the way. The streets and roads are nicely maintained, in my opinion. But if you drive a convertible, it’s no joke to pass or get behind a chicken truck. It’s my hope that some of the yokels figure out that the new bike lanes aren’t just really small third lanes, too. The screaming is getting fairly loud during peak hours.

We all agree that the logo, Ray Doton’s cowboy hat, and the mayor’s hairstyle are the three biggest hurdles facing Springdale. (The mayor as an administrator is doing a great job, though.) The city itself is awesome unless you live on the East side, in which case your GPS is permanently linked to the destination marked “Elsewhere.” Many people don’t know that we now hold the demolition derby on this side of town during normal traffic hours. So far, no one has noticed.

I would post the city logo here again. The last time I downloaded it, however, I got flagged by Facebook for promoting violence and for displaying graphic imagery. Just imagine that five drunken people got into a fight while playing pixie sticks and then became ill on top of the scattered sticks. It’s a pretty accurate rendering of the logo.

I’m biased, though. I like nice things and beauty, no matter what conclusions you might draw by looking at my face.

I’ve made several versions of logos through the years, some seriously intentional and most stupidly satirical, much like my outlook on life.

In case anyone missed it, I think Springdale is a great city, one making tremendous strides as it leaves behind its past.

That logo, though? I think the guy from Key and Peele is going to make a horror movie based on that thing if we’re not careful.
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See comments for examples of the logos. The chicken in this post is one I created. Please note that I wasn’t chained to expectations such as professionalism, common sense, or attention to detail.
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Here’s the official logo for Springdale. I apologize for the use of obscenity.

 

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Here’s on my simple ones. Boring? Yes. But not terrible.

 

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Here’s the Explore Springdale variant. Note that you don’t want to hurl like a high school partier when you look at it?

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Here’s the “George Clooney” of logos. Its beauty is unrivaled.

Nonsense, Listed

 

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1:
I have a friend who plays fast and loose with the language when it suits her, but jumps at any opportunity to express her language superiority.

So, I waited for her to say something provocative, like “Hello.”

“It’s a nonstop flight,” she said, talking to someone else nearby.

“How do you get off the plane?” I asked, smirking.

“What do you mean? Like I always do!” She snarled back at me.

“Oh, the plane is still flying when you get off? How is that nonstop, then?”

“You know what I mean, X. Don’t be ridiculous. It flies from one destination to another.”

“You literally don’t see the irony in your comments, do you?” I asked. “Never mind, I have to go look for stray bullets – I think they’re lost. But I couldn’t care less.”

“DiGiorno!” I shouted my goodbye as I walked away.
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2:
Today, I learned another thing NOT to say to people.

I headed for the restroom. I opened the door and stepped inside. It’s designed for one person. The last user was still in there and had neglected to lock the door.

“Do you have a close personal relationship with Jesus?” I asked in a loud, strange voice.

He was both startled and confused, attempting to gauge what I meant by my question as I laughed, leaving the bathroom.
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If the item you ordered fails to arrive, I suggest you send a picture of your empty front porch to customer service, letting them know that your box arrived in an unacceptable condition. They’ll reply, “Sir, we don’t see a box.” Reply: “I’m pretty sure that non-existent is an unacceptable condition.”
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4:
Have you heard ABC is making a revival of the 70s show about a singing family? It’s set in a Staples store and titled “The Cartridge Family.”
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One of the cleverest things I’ve read in a long time: “Farts are food ghosts.”
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It seems dumb that we haven’t thought of it before, like onion-flavored toothpaste.

If you need a phone number, the best thing we can do as a society to become better friends with each other is to dial a random number.

When someone picks up, we should introduce ourselves and ask them to look up the number for us. If they hang up, they’ll at least have a good story to tell their friends. If they look it up for us, we’ll have a minute to share small talk.

It will work like the “I’m feeling lucky” button on Google, with the chance of shouting.

Reach out and randomly touch someone today.*

*Celebrities accused of sexual misconduct are exempted, as are all
adult white males. And Adam Levine.
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7:
The mask people suffering from sleep apnea wear should immediately be renamed to “Sleep Snorkel.”
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I was excited until I discovered that the corn maze was constructed with creamed corn.
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Rejected comic book plotline: Catwoman has feline leukemia.
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10:
“Can I arrange an order of 500 axes?” is one of the best possible questions to ask Home Depot if you call them when you’re bored.
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11:
I find it hard to understand how I live in a world where Chris Brown can post positivity posts on social media.
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Trump: *Redacted
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13:
The traffic policeman didn’t buy my argument about parking where I wasn’t supposed to.

I told him I should be given a non-speeding ticket, instead.
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14:
If I ever win a big lottery, I’m going to hang out by one of those prison signs indicating “Do Not Pick Up Hitchhikers.” About a 1/4 mile down the road, I’m going to pay John Qui├▒ones to stop drivers and tell them that if they had stopped to give me a ride, I would have given them a million dollars.
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15:
Speaking of lotteries, I should win. Unlike most people, I plan to reward people who’ve been advocates of mine and make many people’s lives better. If I win, so too do many others. If you don’t believe me, you should see the disgruntled look on my wife’s face as she reads this segment of the post.
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16:
“People are more likely to return a wallet if there’s a picture of a baby in it.”
That might be true, but it’s also true that a list of serial killers is probably just as effective.
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Some Fascinating Music History I Wrote About For Billboard Magazine

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The following story is of historical note, especially for music fans. Some of the lore has been forgotten in the intervening years. I wasn’t always an Eagles fan, but hearing this story when I was younger made me appreciate them much more. I wrote a polished version of this bit of musical history for Billboard magazine in 2008.The 1998 Rock and Roll Hall of Fame induction ceremony was held at the Waldorf-Astoria in New York. For many fans, it was the culmination of years of hard work to get the band The Eagles recognized for its influential body of work. The band member’s infighting had delayed their induction. Fleetwood Mac and The Mamas and the Papas were also inducted with The Eagles. The Eagles had several hits which were going to be covered during the ceremony: Hotel California, Life In the Fast Lane, Take It Easy, New Kid in Town, and a couple of others.

The ceremony itself is quite the spectacle. Many of the artists spent several days in New York before the event. The record labels and the Hall of Fame made an effort to ensure that the paparazzi and the artists alike enjoyed themselves and treated it like a vacation.

During the 1998 trip, Andy Griffith and Don Knotts attended the festivities. Both were huge fans of not only The Eagles but also The Mama and The Papas. Don Knotts also enjoyed Santana. They had arranged to attend the ceremony and the pre-induction activities in costume from their roles on The Andy Griffith Show. Don Henley and Glenn Frey were both huge fans of the popular show. They had even unofficially re-recorded the theme song for Don and Andy and planned to give it to them as a surprise.

Due to the complexities of keeping some of the members of The Eagles separated, there were times in which Don Henley and Glenn Frey were the only members accepting the offers of being tourists in New York. Santana arranged to have an entire bowling alley available to anyone interested in knocking over some pins the night before the induction ceremony. Naturally, Don Knotts and Andry Griffith accepted. With a little prodding, Don Henley and Glenn Frey agreed to go, provided that the old-timers agreed to don their television costumes for the event. Surprisingly, Andy and Don good-naturedly agreed.

On the night of the event, a huge party bus arrived at the service entrance of the Waldorf. Santana, Don, Glenn, Andy, and a couple of other honorees climbed aboard the bus. They opened a bottle of champagne in celebration. Don Knotts was having a little trouble with his new hearing aid. Santana kept teasing him about shouting.

They arrived at the bowling alley, laughing and singing old melodies. After they went inside, they were surprised to discover that all 36 lanes were theirs. Only one member of the press was allowed to be there, and she had agreed that it was entirely off the record. Don Knotts, in his role as Barney Fife, pretended to wave his fake pistol in the air each time someone teased him about his hearing problem.

To warm up, Don Henley suggested that they throw a few balls randomly down the lanes to get a feel for throwing the ball. Glenn Frey laughed at this, as he was a renowned bowler and loved playing for money. Don Knotts was a little embarrassed about how badly he would throw the ball, so he walked the entire length of the cavernous bowling alley to use the last lane. “Holler when you all are ready to get down to business,” he told them. Glenn, always a quick wit, replied, “Just fire a warning shot when you’re ready.” Everyone laughed.

Glenn and Don took turns hurling the ball down the alley. Both were competitively eyeing one another. Santana stepped up and asked them, “Do you hear that?” They listened for a second. After hearing nothing, they continued throwing the ball. As they continued throwing the balls down the lane, they heard a couple of shouts.

All of them froze, certain they could hear someone shouting.

Andy stood up, smiling his huge smile that everyone loved.

“Ignore him. It’s Barney. I mean, Don.”

He paused, taking a moment to look directly at Don Henley and then Glenn Fry, his smile growing even wider.

“That’s just Fife In The Last Lane.”
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No Bull

 

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If someone is being a jerk, just start calling them Monday without explanation.

I think this could totally become a ‘thing.’

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I got dragged to another budget meeting.

“I need ideas about why upper management didn’t take my proposed budget seriously,” my CFO said.

“First, you omitted the words ‘Once upon a time’ from the title,” I replied.

Bonus: no more budget meetings for me.

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The day started like a sauerkraut French kiss.

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Post-Truth Stipulation

Contrary to what teachers might say, the most impractical and useless command in today’s society is “Cite your sources!”

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A friend asked me if I was interested in going horseback riding. I replied, “No, but I might be interested in horsehead riding.” Did anybody ask the horse where he’d prefer I sit?

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For 20 minutes I mistakenly believed I was in a room full of deaf adults. It finally dawned on me that they were all politicians.

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How To Malign Three Careers In One Joke

My friend Jake started as a lawyer, a fact that confused many of his contemporaries.

For the last 5 years, he’s been a used car salesman.

I asked him why he transitioned from being a lawyer to selling used cars.

“Well, X, it’s like this. Being a lawyer was rock bottom and I had to do something to get off the bottom. At least I’m not a lawyer anymore.”

I was a little surprised. “Many people look down on used car salesmen though, Jake.”

“Yes, that’s true, but at least I didn’t become an insurance salesman!” Jake said with great enthusiasm.

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A noted co-worker and efficiency expert April Pennington: ” We’re Scrubbing Bubbles. We work hard so you don’t have to.”

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Each time I see a sappy, uplifting meme about positivity, I go outside and set fire to a magnolia tree. I do my part.

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I bought a book about the power of failing. I failed to read it.

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When We Went To Boston

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Boston gets fairly rowdy around St. Patrick’s Day. My wife Dawn accompanied me as I attended an event there three years ago. While we’re not drinkers like so many others who attended the conference held around the holiday, we tried to socialize and give our contemporaries a run for their money. It was likely it would be our only trip to Boston as adults.

The first night, we went to the House of Blues near Fenway Park. It was loud, raucous, and phenomenal. We left before the Dropkick Murphys made their annual appearance mainly because I wanted to get up early the next morning and see the start of the Southie Road Race.

The race was impressive. As is the case most other years, many of the runners dressed in bright green costumes, complete with wigs and shoes to match. People had warned us to be careful around the fringes, given the occasional idiot who might want to start a fight, ‘borrow’ $100 or just cause a problem.

It wasn’t until Sunday night that we had any problems. I wanted to hear some live music at Lansdowne Pub. My wife was a little reluctant. She knew I was going to want to walk the strip toward Fenway. Cities can only be really enjoyed by walking them. By 7 p.m. we were walking along and watching people and admiring the array of brick buildings lining the streets. To knock some time off the walk, we cut through a parking garage near Lansdowne Street.

As we traversed the garage, we heard shouting somewhere above us, and then a ‘boom.’ The squeal of tires punctuated the ‘boom’ sound. My wife looked at me in alarm. We decided to move along up against the inside wall of the garage. A few seconds later, a car raced around the corner nearest to us. Simultaneously, a man wearing a green jersey and green top hat stepped from the street outside into the parking garage. A man inside the racing car leaned out the window, pointing a pistol at the top hat-wearing pedestrian.

The pedestrian didn’t move out of the way. The man leaning from the window began shooting toward the pedestrian. At least 5 shots rang out. The pedestrian didn’t flinch. He stood his ground as the shots were fired. The car swerved around him at the last second and popped out of the garage to escape.

My wife and I ran over to the man in the top hat. Our adrenaline was pumping. “Oh my god! Are you okay?” we shouted as we neared him.

“Thanks, mates. Yes, I’m fine. Bullets can’t hurt me.” He seemed to be completely calm. Surprisingly, I don’t think he had been drinking.

He held out his right hand as if to shake mine.

My wife, as always, had a million questions.

“What do you mean, ‘Bullets can’t hurt you.'” she asked.

“My name is Rick O’Shea,” he said, as I shook his hand, and answering my wife’s question.
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┬┐Capers: Nature’s Prank of Deliciousness?

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My wife noticed that the market offered Great Value capers as we scavenged the aisles. We use a shopping system consisting of two parts: meticulously-compiled lists using a digital system, followed by an uncontrolled bout of consumerism and selecting one of everything which strikes our fancy. To outsiders, we sound and look like we have been on a deserted island for fifteen years.

I controlled myself and bought only two jars of capers, even as I silently wept at my sin of leaving some capers on the shelf, sentencing them to a solitary life. Capers are one of those things which I will consume until the last one on Earth is in my belly. I work hard to temporarily forget about them. Despite my efforts, they sometimes summon me in my slumbers. I love capers so much that I even eat them on air-popped popcorn, in soup, and straight from the jar.

Note: If you rinse your capers prior to ingestion, you are not the type of person who will be reading anything I write. It’s a fact that rinsing anything conveys the wrong message to your loved ones.

Technically, capers are either flower buds or cleverly-disguised rabbit droppings. I’ve learned that the answer depends on whom you ask. Many argue that they aren’t actually edible at all. This is a specious argument: anything is “edible” with enough will power and enthusiasm.

My mom’s onion-laden “cooking” proved this thesis decades ago. I was forced to try many dishes and foods almost at literal gunpoint. Unfortunately for me, capers were nowhere to be found anywhere among my parent’s choices for food. It would have been easier for me to request a lit cigarette at twelve years of age than ask for something as exotic as a caper. Instead of capers, I ate boatloads of onions and cigarette ash.

Years ago, I discovered that the Romans used capers to treat paralysis. This confused me, as many people who’ve tried capers in my presence immediately freeze with a horrific grimace of disgust on their face. That sort of person cannot be trusted, so take note. For some, capers taste exceedingly lemony. The taste is so pronouncedly lemony that some who eat them report seeing nothing but Ford motor products for an hour after eating.

If you’re interested in using capers in your meals, the single most important note is this: whatever amount you think is reasonable, quadruple that and sit back and enjoy the puzzled looks of your soon-to-be former friends and alienated family members as they share your culinary gift of capers. As far as you know, it’s impossible to have a caper allergy. If you inadvertently discover that someone does have such an allergy, you should rest easy, knowing that you found a way for them to live a moment of intense joy as they tried this treat.

Among other health benefits, capers will prevent you from getting a cold or the flu. This isn’t due to their medicinal properties; rather, the odor tends to keep normal human beings at an adequate distance, one which precludes airborne germs and viruses from reaching you.

Joking aside, capers are purported to have many health benefits. If I owned an MLM pyramid scheme (aren’t they all, though), I might list the benefits here. I will take the time to admonish you, though. If you eat capers for any reason other than the divine flavor of this briny foodstuff, you should be forced to march half-naked in the Alaskan tundra. Capers are their own reward. However, if you’re a real human being and appreciate fried food, fried capers are your answer to a long, happy life. I don’t ever fry food, so I can only imagine enjoying them this way again.

Note: don’t take health or eating advice from anyone unless you can see everything they themselves eat. Regardless of what they might say, they’re eating pork rinds and mayonnaise, like the rest of us.

Today, I made spaghetti squash with a tomato alfredo sauce. On my portion, I lovingly carpeted my squash with over half a jar of capers. My wife, on the other hand, savagely refused my generous offer to do the same justice to her plate.

Last week, I was deprived of both spaghetti squash and capers. Some villainous fiend had circumspectly placed a couple of bright-yellow honeydew melons in the spaghetti squash bin. Noting the pronounced color, I chose one without further review. It wasn’t until I used a hacksaw to cut the alleged squash lengthwise and noted the incredible ease with which I cut the object, followed by the pungently sweet scent of honeydew melon, that I realized my idiocy had once again prevailed.

Well played, Walmart Produce Villain. We’ll meet at some future point. If I catch you as you laughingly switch lookalike produce, I shall grab your pants and yank them down to your ankles in full view of our fellow Walmart shoppers. It’s not like we haven’t witnessed that before, many times, shopping there.

Which reminds me to add buns to my Alexa shopping list.

As I sit here writing this, my caper addiction calls my name. I’m probably going to use one of the online grocers and surprise them with a 128-bottle order of capers.

Pictured: capers with a side of capers, garnished with capers. The pistol is in anticipation of all the interlopers who will attempt to separate you from your plate of capers. The lemon slices are to squirt in said assailant’s eyes if your gun is taken.

P.S. I can’t understand why you’re still reading this. Have you learned nothing? You should be either eating or shopping for capers right now.

Danger: Soup For Lunch

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I found myself being shaken violently.

As I opened my eyes, I felt the cold kitchen floor on my back. The overhead lights blinded me momentarily.

“Hey, X, wake up! What happened?” my wife asked me as she continued to shake me.

I raised myself to a sitting position, trying to clear my foggy head.

As my hands began rubbing my sore eyes, my wife said, “Be careful, you’ve got bruises under your eyes and on your face. Who hit you?”

I couldn’t remember anyone else being in the house with me. As I tried to process what might have happened, I remembered that I was about to eat a bite of lunch. I had gone to the cupboard, which we jokingly call “The Sarcophagus.”

“Aha!” my wife exclaimed just I recalled randomly pulling out a can of soup to open it.

“Look, honey.” My wife held up a partially-opened can of soup as I turned my neck painfully to look.

It was a can of whoop ass.

Surprise! A Humorous Story

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Several years ago, the CEOs of several hospitals in the region attended an NWA Business symposium. During that meeting, they decided to do something to foster a friendlier environment among their respective hospitals.

For the first time ever, each hospital system decided to send several teams, separated by departments, to compete in the first annual Medical Awareness Day (MAD). With such games as Tug-of-War, Engineering Feats, Singing Contest, Cook-Off, Softball Tournament, and Spelling Bee, the CEOs also proposed that each department would compete outside of its normal comfort zone, drawn and assigned randomly to each department.

After a full day of intense competition, the Nursing, Dietary, CNA, Housekeeping, Biomedical, and Support Services were all tied among three hospitals. As the day progressed, the strain of having a good time while valiantly attempting to win each competition had intensified. The day was a huge success. The trophy for the overall winner now waited for a single team to claim it.

For the last competition, the Maintenance Departments from each of the three major hospital chains drew “Spelling Bee” as their realm to compete. The maintenance men all shrugged their shoulders and decided to compete to win.

All three teams sat in a huge “U”, with the CEOs seated up front, given that this would decide the entire crown for the year. The remainder of the 1,500 capacity room was packed with onlookers. As each team began, each of them spelled their assigned words without much complication. They only asked for the definition of a word three times for the first 30 words.

The CEO for Northwest Health held aloft a tiny strip of folded paper.

“This is the last word. The first to spell it correctly wins it all.” He smiled, certain that his team would be crowned as champion, given that the maintenance team from his hospital was next up.

The CEO read the word.

“Could I have the definition? I don’t recognize that word,” the team captain for Northwest Health’s maintenance team asked.

“Sure,” replied the CEO. He pronounced the word and then read the definition.

The Northwest Team Captain stared blankly. “Pass,” he said. “I’ve never heard that word before.”

The CEO then continued asking each member of his team to spell the word. All 6 of them failed.

After Northwest, the Mercy maintenance team did the same, with the same result. Everyone in the room became anxious, knowing that the entire competition could now be won by the maintenance crew at Washington Regional.

The CEO for Washington Regional was smiling from ear to ear.

Starting with the team captain, he asked each person of his maintenance crew to spell the word neither of the other two teams could master.

In succession, all of them misspelled the word. Gasps could be heard among the onlookers.

Finally, the last maintenance person from Washington Regional attempted to spell the word. As he said the last few letters, everyone knew that he had failed. The CEO put his head in his hands in disbelief.

The coordinator for the event, knowing that the moment was being televised on a local news channel, leaned in and asked the CEO, “What was the word none of the maintenance crews could spell? We have to know!”

After a moment, the CEO opened his right palm and laid the strip of paper with the impossible word face-up on the table in front of him.

The camera zoomed in to focus on the word.
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On the strip of paper was written: R E P A I R E D