Category Archives: Humor

Looking For Something?

If you don’t want an appetizer, you should always order a non-starter.

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After carefully observing these Anointed States of America over the last few days, it’s my opinion that the porous border isn’t the problem. It’s our porous brains, capable of so much, yet mired in the lesser.

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Terminix will no longer talk to me. I called asking for help with a major pest infestation that needed immediate attention. “Address?” they asked me. “The White House, and make it pronto.”

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I think I ate too much. As I got up to leave, the hostess looked at my stomach and then handed me a bottle of prenatal vitamins.

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I wouldn’t say they were mad but they were steamed vegetables.

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Jason’s obituary: “Killed By Bears” was the tragic and violent headline.

That’s a LOT of gummy bears.

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Fe-Fi-Fo-Fum Wi-Fi: Like regular wireless internet, except you have to climb a 100-ft. tower to use it.

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He said, “I stopped eating red meat, smoking, and drinking.”

To which I replied, “Yeah but it is the fact that you are an ass that is the problem.”

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I am going to do one of those white trash shows for TLC. My plan is to pretend to be backwater rednecks who have educational jobs. I’m calling it “Cleverly Hillbillies.” -X
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I wasn’t feeling quite right that day, so I drove to work entirely on Off Ramps.

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If you have more than one vowel in your name, you are selfish. Somewhere, a kid named Kpdnm is really unhappy.

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Why is there “Texas toast,” but not “Texas French Toast?” Is that too much geography for breakfast?

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“I don’t want to be shielded from my own stupidity. And I doubt that anyone makes a shield that large, anyway.” – X

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A realtor friend of mine invited me to a “Parade of Homes.” Worst band and floats I’ve ever seen.

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People with concealed carry permits concern me because it’s like they’re hiding something.

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I warmly embraced Friday, a sign that commerce is still a victor in this battle.

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What’s The Worst Thing Imaginable?

As Jeff was leaving the doctor’s office, his phone rang. It was his realtor. He went home and found his wife seated at the kitchen table. She was nervously waiting for him.

They had bought a new house and had drastically adjusted their lives to accommodate the changes it would bring when they moved.

“Susie, I’ve got some bad news and worse news,” Jeff told his wife.

“What’s the bad news?” She nervously asked.

“The cyst is malignant and I have to have it surgically removed next week, followed by 8 weeks of chemo.” Jeff hated to tell her.

“Oh no! Ok, though. We’ll deal with it.” Susie almost shouted. “What’s the worse news?”

She couldn’t imagine worse news than a malignant cyst but she prepared herself for the worst possible thing imaginable.

After a pause, Jeff told her “Our new house is subject to an HOA.”

A Song I Wrote To Amuse Myself (NSFW Language)

 

I made this from a friend’s social media. She posted a short video of her scaring her husband. Something about it tickled my funny bone.

Instead of obsessing over making the song in my head, I made something that would scratch the itch of wanting to do ‘something’ without spending 15 hours making a song I’d end up hating.

 

I laugh at this one!

 

X

 

 

Don’t Read This, Either: A List

“Stop a problem early.” That is why I kidnapped that SOB driving the ice cream truck around the neighborhood blaring that horrible music. #AprilSurprise

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I knew my doctor didn’t really like me. When I told him I was having breathing problems, he prescribed me an exhaler.

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Possible causes of anger:
1) Perceptive awareness
2) Underwear two sizes too small

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It turns out that the addition of a “Caution: crate contains 1 vampire” sign adds just the right amount of confused double-takes and laughter to the day…

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“He was so dangerous that the judge set the bond just for his booking photo at 1 million dollars.” – opening line from my next true-crime novel.

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Blank stare. That’s all I got when I told my co-worker that Neil Diamond’s classic song “Sweet Caroline” was actually a homage to cannibalism.

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To calculate the area of a circle, just multiply the radius squared by pi. To calculate the incoherence of the current president, just look at the face of his full-time sign language interpreter – the one with occupational Tourette Syndrome and arthritic middle finger.

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For everyone who is taking the time to early vote for me in Washington County, I’d like to take this opportunity to tell you that you’re probably high.

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“…it was a place where one simply knew that family trees weren’t fully-branched…” -X

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Early this morning as I exited the auxiliary building, I heard high-pitched screaming and shouts of pain and anguish. False alarm. Someone was sitting in their car listening to a Luke Bryan song with the windows down.

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I ain’t saying the officer was racist, but he did have an ACLFU bumper sticker on his patrol car.

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This joke was written specifically to irritate a friend of mine: “I don’t mind that Chik-fil-A is closed on Sundays. I just wish they’d take a good idea and make it great by closing the other 6 days of the week, too.”

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I took a long walk this morning on strange roads, before the sun arrived. Later, I opted to walk again, even though it was apparently 150 degrees here.

To the drivers on St. Loius St., my apologies. As I walked up the long, slow incline heading toward downtown Batesville, a vengeful bug flew into my left nostril. Not content with being stuck there in my nasal cavern, it struggled and burrowed. I immediately convulsed like I had just attended a Cook-Your-Own-Skunk competition. I’m not sure how long I attempted to expel the insect invader.

But it did choose to exit through the back of my nose and from my mouth. The result looked like a madman’s spilled petri dish.

My nose feels like my ears do when I listen to Luke Bryan attempt a series of high notes without causing the neighborhood dogs to bark and howl.

Bugs: 1. X: 0

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I knew the movie was going to be crappy. The standard warning had been modified to say, “…this feature is intended for manure audiences only.”

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I don’t agree with torture. On the other hand, Luke Bryan provides a positive example where it works.

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My latest effort, “The Smell of Music,” didn’t go over as well as I had hoped.

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The classic oldies song “In The Still Of The Night,” it turns out, is not a homage to nocturnal alcohol production.

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The professor was at first confused by the complete lack of spaces In all of his student’s final papers – until he saw the headline: ” Local Area Hit By Blank Robber.”

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“Her name was Charles, which annoyed almost everyone.” – The first line of the next great American novel.
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It seems that the disgruntled man would have to continue to walk off-kilter and with pained gait for the rest of his life. The stick up his rear, it turns out, was a pre-existing condition.
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I’m handing out canned goods today. To random strangers.
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My friend Jeff invited me to go shooting. It’s not my fault that he didn’t ask me to wait until we exited his SUV. Sorry, Interstate 49 and specifically Exit 72.
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Our romantic evening evaporated when we discovered that our gondola was traversing a root canal.
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I was listening to a band sing 80s hits and became more and more uncomfortable and hot. Finally, it dawned on me. It was a cover band.
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Need a quick nickname for a co-worker who is incompetent and mean? Forrest Grump.
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“It’s always good to be prepared,” goes the cliche. Hansel and Gretel were prepared. Literally. By a cannibalistic witch. #Impreciseenglish
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I bought a new cabinet for my living room. It came with both a Secretary of Interior and Secretary of Defense.
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I sprayed for pests yesterday. The Purchasing Department took it personally.
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My apologies for the intense meteorological conditions.The high winds are in fact a result of my boss givng his Daily Status Report.
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My apologies for the intense meteorological conditions.The high winds are in fact a result of my boss givng his Daily Status Report.
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I started my new constipational martial arts class. It’s taught by Jean-Claude Van Bran.
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My new vegetable-based monetary system rolls out today: Bitcorn.
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Why isn’t a door prize called an “Enterprize”?
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Politics may concern me, but not nearly as much as the heart palpitations I experience when I hear a can of Pringles open in my presence or the rip of a newly-opened bag of Doritos.
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To save money, I built the new shelf in the living room with a karate saw.
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I ain’t saying my wife’s texts are long – but Penguin Books just sent her an unsolicited book advance bonus.
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My proposed budget at work was a masterpiece; it got nominated for the 2018 Fantasy Writer’s Award.
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Instead of asking “How old are you?” at liquor stores and cigarette shops, they should ask, “How old were you on August 15th, 2009?” It’s math, verification, and hilarity all rolled into one package.
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I went to turn myself in to the Springdale Police Department. They rejected me, telling me I needed to commit a crime first. I think they could have worded their advice a little better.
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In a new twist, the bank tellers now all wear masks and hoodies.
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Furlongs Per Fortnight

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Assuming that everyone has the same frame of reference is a problematic concept. Some people, like me, measure speed in ‘furlongs per fortnight,’ which is an actual speed measurement. MPH might be more convenient, but not nearly as interesting or capable of inspiring fits of math, a condition shared by most school children and all rational adults.

The security guard ran past me as I stood near the main lobby. I use ‘ran’ in the loosest sense of the word. If he were a cheetah, he would be an arthritic three-legged one.

30 seconds later, he half-jogged to the main door and stopped, his love of donuts now severely impairing his ability to continue on whatever chase occupied him.

After a few heaving breaths, he asked me, “X, did you see a woman run by here before I came by the first time?”

“Yes, I sure did.” A woman had nervously and quickly passed by me a minute before the security guard. She seemed to be fidgety, like someone trying to light a short fuse on a stick of dynamite. I assumed she had eaten in the cafeteria, a mistake often preceding a very quick and unexpected tightly-wound walk to the nearest bathroom.

The security guard impatiently followed up with another question. “What did she look like, X?”

“Well, her hair looked like Tourette Syndrome would look if it were a visual thing instead of an auditory one.” It seemed like it was the most distinguishing thing about her.

I now realize that the security guard was unaccustomed to descriptions by allegory, however, as he rolled his eyes and waved his hand dismissively.

As he headed back around for another look, I shouted after him, “She also had on pants that reminded me of an LSD-inspired fractal!”

It seemed like the only thing I could do to help him.
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Spices and Altercations for $1000, Alex

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I made a quick trip to the store. As always, things go awry. In this case, though, the maelstrom didn’t involve me. I was just a witless witness.

I stood near the spices, admiring the universe of flavorful options. Not only was my mouth watering, but also so were my eyeballs. (Though the detail adds nothing to this story, I highly recommend both the chipotle bacon and garlic jalapeño seasoning.) I can eat cardboard with the right spices or sauces. My wife would testify that I, in fact, often do, given my irreverence for what constitutes ‘food.’

Voices rose, obviously in dissent, and probably emanating from a nearby and unseen aisle. In a few moments, an employee of the dubious retailer walked into my peripheral vision, taking small steps backward, yet still barking at someone I couldn’t yet see. As he stopped, an older woman approached from the other side of the endcap of the aisle. Her finger stabbed the air in irritation as she spoke. She was adamantly demanding that the employee go self-procreate and accompanied by his terrible attitude, even though her recommendation was couched in both vernacular and anatomically specific language.

It should have been awkward to witness, given the venom in the air. It wasn’t, though. It was more like Live TV and comparable to the scene which ensues when the three guys attempting to put the alligator in the SUV suddenly find themselves being violently schooled by an uncooperative lizard.

I laughed. Both the woman and the employee took a moment to throw quick glances of scorn my way and then turned on one another again.

Since neither of them had swords, daggers, nor jousting sticks, I assumed the scene was safe. At least for me.

Exactly .5 seconds later, a man wearing an industrial uniform approached and stepped in front of the woman. She stopped her malevolent incantations. His arms were hanging directly down, probably to signal a benign intervention.

He spoke to the retail employee. “Sir, did you bring a mop with you?”

“What? Why do I need a mop?” the employee asked. “No one told me there was a spill.”

“If you keep talking to people the way you were just talking to this lady, I’m going to mop the floor with you.” He didn’t even wait for the employee to reply. He turned to the woman and said, “I’m so sorry. I think I fixed your problem.” He walked away, perhaps to right another wrong. If he wore a cape, it was well concealed.

The employee continued to stand at the opposite end of the aisle. His face was becoming increasingly redder. It seemed like his head was expanding as it did so and I feared his glasses might burst from his face like shrapnel if it persisted.

When I went to check out, I could see the employee near the end of the register area, animatedly telling his story to another obviously disinterested co-worker. His arms waved and moved like a broken windmill as he spoke. I’m not sure what version of the truth he was telling but I was certain his eyes were keeping watch for the mysterious man in uniform as he did so.

Who Says A Doctor Visit Can’t Be Fun?

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This story is true. All of us involved laughed at least 25 times during my visit. I’m beginning to question their sanity.

I was seated in a nondescript patient room, amusing myself with wordplay and possible shenanigans. I vainly tried to make the interactive patient information display do something unexpected, such as indicating “Stop Touching Me.” I remembered to add something to my to-do list: bring a few crazy magazine titles on my next visit and exchange them with the normal magazines on the wall racks. I pulled this prank a few times when I was younger and it never failed to bring the expected confusion and hilarity. The interactive computer confirmed that I needed to lose more weight and recommended a haircut, preferably one starting with my back hair. Computers these days are increasingly impertinent, a trend which I enjoy.

My doctor asked me to come back in after 3 months, allegedly to determine if the blood pressure medication worked well enough to suit him. Being a doctor, though, meant that any condition not generally characterized as “still not dead” was an acceptable one to him. In my opinion, though, my visit was probably due to his suspicion that I had resumed eating for two people. No, I’m not currently pregnant, despite the rumors being broadcast by the waistline of my pants. I simply tend to eat for more than one person – not to be confused with a cannibal, who would tend to eat more than one person.

Because I arrived early, I could hear the goings-on of the doctor’s office as staff bantered, medical reps bartered their wares, and patients attempted to conceal the horror presented by the specter of a medical office. For most patients, a medical office is indeed a Pandora’s box, one filled with a hypochondriac’s WebMD web search. From outside, I heard the medical assistant say my name. “X” sounds like a curse when spoken in a normal tone of voice. Once people get to know me, they also tend to add an inexplicable “hissss” sound after my name, something that renders me slightly suspicious. I had already entertained her by claiming that the Med Rep in the inner sanctum of the back offices had given me free medical marijuana samples while in the lobby and that imbibing this sample resulted in the very low blood pressure reading she had elicited from me.

Assuming that the doctor would be on the cusp of opening the door, I placed my purple cellphone screen side down on the exam sink counter. I then quickly stepped behind the door, jamming myself in the corner as tightly as possible.

I felt the door open more than halfway. I held my breath.

I knew that on the other side of the door that Dr. Brown was scanning the length of the room, probably noticing my purple cellphone while doing so, and wondering where I went.

“Did the patient escape?” the doctor asked the two medical staffers seated nearby at the administration counter.

As he asked this, I quietly stepped out and away from behind the door, directly behind him, in plain sight of the two staffers, both of whom were looking at the doctor as he turned to face them and inquire as to my whereabouts.

Because decorum demanded it, I made a terrible, crazy face. Both staffers burst out laughing. The doctor sensed something behind him and half-turned, freezing as he saw me in his peripheral vision.

He shook his head and also burst into laughter.

Once we all stopped laughing, he told me, “No one has ever hidden behind the door from me like that, X. Well played. Well played.”

P.S. I don’t know what the billing code for playing “Hide-And-Seek” at the doctor’s office might be.

 

Customer Service For Werewolves

When being normal fails, I bring the weird. WalMart’s attempts to make me into a cashier have been inspiring.

Given that I was enjoying a bout of sleeplessness, I went to Walmart before work very early this morning. I ended up with more items than I had planned because I’m a guy. When I reached the front of the cavernous store no lights were on for the cashier stations. As I walked towards a smaller lady in the very front she looked up, saw me approaching and rapidly started walking in the other direction. Not to be outdone I went the opposite direction to trick her into thinking I forgot an item somewhere in the store. I then hot-footed it back to the front coming from the other side. Now, she was directly in front of me with no way to evade.

But surprise me she did. She started to walk away. So I pulled out one of the tricks of my youth and shouted a small howl. Not only did she stop in her tracks but several other people dropped what they were doing and turned to see what freak was howling at 4 in the morning.

I couldn’t help but laugh, which probably amplified how crazy I looked and sounded.

“I’m sorry your corporate overlords put us in this situation, but there are no checkers,” I told her.

She turned and bellowed to someone, “You’re gonna have to do his checking for him.” To me, she said, “#11 is open. She’ll do your checking for you.”

“If I do YOUR job and check myself out, this cat food is clearly buy one get two free. Also, if the moonlight hits me directly I am uncertain as to whether I can control the werewolf conversion.” Yes, I amused myself.

As the other lady came to check me out I asked her if she believed in werewolves. She laughed and laughed.

In the background, I could hear someone on the radio asking for another pair of hands up front. Whether for work, weirdos, or werewolves, I can’t be sure.

Today, I was the victor.

I hope the run-and-hide lady knows I was joking.