Category Archives: Humor

You Don’t Bring Me Flours Anymore


Several days ago, I brought my wife Dawn a nice vase of flowers.

It was, therefore, a surprise when she said, “X, you don’t bring me flowers anymore,” a couple of days ago. (Much like the old Barbara Streisand standard…)

Later that day, as I was reading, it struck me that she was, in fact, using one of her favorite communication tricks: the homophone. I won’t bore you with a redundant reminder of what constitutes a homophone because I’m sure that you all, much like myself, spent a good portion of the weekend reading your “Obscure English Quarterly” magazine.

So, today, I granted her wish. Now, she can no longer say, “X, you don’t bring me flours anymore.”

Quizzical initial looks of consternation aside, I think she enjoyed the surprise.

When I bought this gift today at Richard’s Flourist Shop, he told me to not add water to these flours. Even if I was going to make bread.

Skinny Pasta Experience

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I received an email from Weight Watchers. I had long assumed that they were indeed “watching” me, probably in anticipatory amusement, so I wasn’t surprised. Since all emails are opportunities to earn money and learn important things about both finances and anatomy, I paid close attention when a heretofore unknown product called “skinny pasta” was mentioned. I had never seen the word “skinny” in such close proximity to my own name, at least not in the last 30 years.

Dawn ordered a box of 6 packages of it from Amazon. It’s a little pricey, but not terribly so. Compared to the bill for getting one’s arteries cleared of obstructions, it becomes very affordable.

We were both excited to try it, as the pasta itself basically has zero fat and almost no calories. The Amazon brand also was “no odor,” which leads me to believe that there must be some Konjac pasta which smells like blended skunk livers out there on the market. By the way, you should search for “Konjac,” if for no other reason than to get the idea of liquefied skunk livers far away from your mind.

This pasta was ridiculously easy to prepare and almost impossible to screw up, both qualities which scream my name. I made a healthy marinara sauce for it and offered a bowl to Dawn. I forgot to mention that a relatively small pouch of this pasta contains almost 40% of the daily recommended fiber, too. I suspect it would be ideal to feed to one’s unsavory inlaws, especially if any of them were about to embark on a transatlantic flight – or engage in a dance marathon. If anyone you know has recently bought a new leather couch, this product might also be ideal for him or her.

After a few bites, Dawn said, “This reminds me of eating worms. I stepped on a worm this morning and this is exactly like that.” She made a face so contorted and unnatural that I imagined I heard an ominous bell ring somewhere in the distance, one signaling the end of all that is good and holy in the world. I expected her to then make the sign of the cross and throw her fork across the room. If you are wondering, her face was frozen in horror for 5 days as a result of her taste buds deciding that she was eating worms instead of pasta made from an exotic plant. Please note that it wasn’t the flavor she objected to; rather, it was the strange and unfamiliar texture of the pasta noodles. It might as well have been a plate of human hair, in her opinion.

I, of course, found it to be exceedingly delicious, in part because with the right sauce and/or seasoning, even thin cardboard can be exotically tasty. Anyone who has ever eaten at Buffalo Wild Wings, KFC, or Taco Bell should have no problem eating worms. Legal disclaimer: I doubt any of these chains add worms to their ingredients; my point is that their food is comparable to a mouthful of partially-cooked and gelatinous worms, topped with dirt and dead pigeons. I made the point about cardboard because I’ve discovered that the cardboard packaging at most fast-food restaurants is just as flavorful as the contents.

With the votes tallied, our votes zeroed one another. I, however, love this stuff. The texture is exotic. It reminds me a little bit of spongy surgical sutures as it rolls around in my mouth.

Given that we now live in a society which allows an archaic electoral college to override the majority or the will of the people, it is my pleasure to announce that my ecstatic and overwhelmingly positive review of this product declares that Skinny Pasta is delicious.

I recommend that everyone should try it once and decide if they agree that it is well worth the effort. It won’t make you run 3 miles a day, but in combination with a better diet, you will no longer need to.

P.S. If you order this, don’t eat the packaging. If you’re married, don’t attempt to use my logic at home. If you own Buffalo Wild Wings, KFC, or Taco Bell, please don’t add any flavorings to the food packaging – it’s already delicious and high in fiber.


A Little Humor


I was in an unfamiliar office building near Pinnacle in Rogers. One thing about Pinnacle is that it caters to almost every taste and whim, given the amount of money concentrated around its epicenter. It has a reputation for being a great place to shop, eat, and work.

Since I had deviated from my normal early-morning ritual, the scent of fresh coffee from somewhere within the structure sent me on a quest to find the coffee shop or kiosk selling it.

I went down to level one and across the connecting bridge inside. About ten feet away, I noticed a row of coffee bean containers inverted across a horizontal bar. The smell of java was incredibly strong. As I neared it, I thought I heard a small shout but couldn’t discern its origin. I stepped across a stainless steel strip across the floor and almost immediately a woman wearing a leather vest walked up and slapped me across the face. As I recoiled, I heard a snap and then a sharp pain traveled across my rear. I turned to see a riding crop being drawn back for another strike across my backside.

“Hey!” I shouted. “What the hell do you guys think you’re doing?”

Almost immediately, I felt another sharp pain across my rear. “Ouch!”

I ran backward, nearly tripping across the row of modern chairs aligned across the wall. Weirdly enough, each chair seat was adorned with multiple studs on top.

As I did, I noticed the sign across the top of the entrance of the coffee shop:
S C A R B U C K S Coffee and S&M Shop: We’ll Definitely Wake You Up!

This niche marketing is definitely getting out of hand.

A Funny Burial Anecdote



This is a truish story and names have been changed to confuse the guilty.

A famous writer, an author of at least 20 books, died in Springdale a few days ago. He was well-known for his sense of humor and dry wit. At my recommendation, his family went to a funeral home of which I speak highly. Although he usually doesn’t do so, the funeral director Scott offered to view potential cemetery plots with the family, even though he hadn’t yet met them and didn’t know the recently deceased. His dedication to customer service is quite legendary. I doubt he would have helped me had he not owed me a huge favor – but that’s a story for another day.

The family chose to visit Bluff Cemetery in Springdale. The place is known for its beauty and proximity to the creek running through downtown. Scott pulled in behind the new Cadillac the family of the deceased arrived in. The Springdale Parks worker had already arrived in a white pickup, his camera and clipboard in hand.

After the family exited the car and straightened their respective ties and dresses, Scott accompanied them to the periphery of the cemetery, situated below the overhanging trees. It was certainly a beautiful spot.

To make small talk, Scott nervously asked the family about the deceased. “What did your loved one do for a living?” he asked.

The youngest son answered, “Our dad was a famous writer. You’ve never heard of him?” He seemed surprised. “In fact, all of us are writers.”

“No, I’m so sorry, I didn’t know him or know of him. I read a lot, though.” Scott wasn’t sure what else to say.

The parks employee pointed out the available spots and mentioned that the price was adjusted, based on the reduced size of the plots. “We can dig with much more accuracy than we once could,” he added.

After a moment of silence, the youngest daughter looked along the edge of the cemetery where there were remaining spots available, seemingly measuring their size by her careful steps. She immediately started shaking her head.

“This simply won’t do. Not at all. Dad was too important of a writer to tolerate this kind of mistake.” She seemed agitated.

“How so?” Scott immediately asked.

“The plot’s too thin!” The daughter said, and then laughed loudly.

PS Writers always get the last laugh.

Adventure In Marketing


Adventure In Marketing

As many of you know, I often do work for other websites, usually satirical, and often hare-brained. Most of it I do without credit, which works out favorably for all concerned.

Recently, I had the chance to apply for an unpaid ‘think tank’ for an unnamed major U.S. pizza chain. When I first interviewed, I was certain I wouldn’t be chosen – as one of the hurdles was an IQ test. Since anyone who knows me knows that I find these things to be ridiculous and without merit, I finished mine in less than 4 minutes, using a system I call ‘random.’

When I slid it back across the oak table to the person conducting the IQ tests, she said, “Sir, you have 25 minutes to complete it all.” Without missing a beat, I replied that I already knew my IQ score.

“Really? What’s your score?” she sneered.

“Low oxygen level,” I replied, without daring to crack a smile.

I went home and almost forgot about the application process. Three weeks later, a welcome packet arrived in the mail, along with a website login and a credentialing packet. I had been accepted despite my interview antics.

By sheer coincidence, I had recently tried to treat myself by ordering home delivery pizza. I had eaten healthy for a week and thought that a celebration was needed to keep my motivation.

It was a disaster. The cardboard box tasted better than the pizza. I was hoping to throw up, just to get the taste of that pizza out of my mouth.

The next day, I logged in to the marketing website to start an assignment. Lo and behold, the subject was the very same company which had reminded me how low the bar could be set for edibles.

I weighed the pros and cons of each option: submit great work and possibly be rewarded OR write the best food review possible.

This is the result: the new logo and motto for Pizza Hurt. Look for it at a location hopefully very far from where you are.

Drive-By Day



Caution: although humorous, this story isn’t for those of weak stomach…

Dawn and I ate a majestic meal at Jason’s Deli. When we went inside, I almost suffered a technology stroke because of the complexity of the self-serve kiosk. It’s my new favorite thing now, of course. I had a bowl of tomato basil soup which made my mouth sing the national anthem of Yugoslavia, followed by an eclectic selection of culinary oddness. There was a salad involved, but only in the vaguest sense. The cucumber dill dressing was so delicious that I found myself down on one knee proposing matrimony with the salad bar. I couldn’t find a straw; otherwise, I had intended to plunge one deep within the bin of cucumber dill dressing and drain it like a starved vampire might.

We went to Shoe Carnival. It’s a carnival, I’ll agree. The sales associates all graduated from the “Who, me? School of Helpfulness,” most of them with honors. Dawn found the perfect pair of shoes by accident. I kept myself busy by reorganizing the shoes under a system invented by a drunken Klingon.

We followed up the quest for the perfect shoe by going to Lowes, where ideas of home improvement slowly strangle themselves amidst the melee of price versus ability. What started as a simple desire to buy a projection display devolved into a debacle involving QR codes, Venn diagrams of overlapping lights, and 5 quarts of outright guesswork. By coincidence, we decided which display to purchase at the exact moment I said the magic words “I’m done,” as a wave of consumer apathy overload hit me in the head.

We finished our trifecta of activities by going to the grocery store, after a lengthy negotiation of back-and-forth ‘what-are-we-going-to-buy’ between us, some of it so detailed that we almost had to call a UN secretary in to take notes and mediate the discussion. All married people tasked with joint grocery expedition duties will understand the implications of this statement.

As we walked toward the front of the store, Dawn said, “Look at that girl throwing up!” It confused me because Dawn used her higher voice of wonder and amazement to tell me this. I was expecting to see a woman dressed as a Disney princess standing atop a glittering mechanical carousel, puking her guts out. Instead, just as I looked to my left, a blond-haired younger woman ejected her head out of the rear passenger window of an older green vehicle. Her shoulders exited the window and as she crossed the threshold, a stream of vomit cascaded from her mouth. It was so startling that time slowed to a crawl and the fountain of half-digested food seemed to arc upward like the highlighted basketball of the final shot of a championship game. (I’m pretty sure that if we were to watch it again on the parking lot security camera that even the footage would replay in slow motion.)

The vehicle she was in didn’t slow down as it turned, causing the arc of faux oatmeal and detritus to bend as it traveled. As distasteful as the image was, I couldn’t look away. I’ve not seen action that graceful since my early years watching Mutual of Omaha’s Wild Kingdom. There were now two small creeks of vomit on the parking lot. If I failed to mention it, this happened within a few feet of where we were standing.

While we felt bad for the woman, Dawn looked at me, and we laughed, in part due to the absurdity of what happened. There was no way to help the woman as she sped away. It seemed ridiculous that whoever was driving took off after the first round of sickness, much less as the poor girl continued to be sick. The entire moment caught us off guard and the dissonance of how quickly it happened caused Dawn to lose her usual sense of decorum and good taste. We were still laughing as we made our way through produce and the dairy aisle. It’s difficult to explain the hilarity of the moment, except to compare it t to the unnatural urge to laugh like a fool at funerals, or the inability to control a snicker when confronted with someone angrily telling you to “be serious.” Dawn usually can’t even stand the image of anyone throwing up, even on television. This woman had just provided an anatomical demonstration in 3-D, within a few feet of us, sound and visual on full display.

Surprisingly, my appetite for an entire bin of cucumber dill dressing has vanished.