Category Archives: Satire Parody

No Law Against 365 Days of Xmas Decorations

Please forgive my passive-aggressive, tongue-in-cheek commentary…

Off the wall observation: Springdale has no law which prevents someone from leaving up holiday lights all year. So, if the POA/HOA doesn’t have one either, this means that I am perfectly fine installing the gaudiest, ugliest, flashiest nonsense that I wish to- and never, ever remove them, no matter how pitiful they begin to look or how many passers-by become strangulated by their hanging presence. This also means that those neighbors who have already decided they were going to do this starting last year are free to continue to do so.

I’m torn about this absence of a rule requiring holiday displays to be removed after a certain period of time. On the other hand, though, it presents a lunatic such as me plenty of room to make the city of Springdale regret this oversight. Who among us doesn’t want to see all the reindeer and a 9-foot Santa 365 days a year?

PS: I’m going to sneak over to a couple of houses and ADD lights to those they left up last year. I might even fix the string of lights a couple of houses down which shorts and arcs sparks across the guttering from time to time. It’s pretty at night, though, so maybe I won’t.

CrouchingTiger Woods

A quick, snarky note from a non-sports fan…
3 a.m. on a Monday morning. Two flats, damage to the driver side, bumper, taillight out, the car was running, and right turn signal was flashing. When they woke him up, his speech was slurred and he didn’t know where he was at.

At first, police thought he was Sean Spicer.

If that had been me, Johnson Police would have used my small intestine to tow me to the jail and then charged me with at least 5 misdemeanors.

Tiger didn’t hurt anyone, so they shouldn’t kick him too hard. On the other hand, he got into a car he obviously wasn’t able to drive safely and hit something. Unfortunately, he wasn’t driving anywhere near Congress.

I vote that we let him off with a warning and sentence him to WATCH five hundred hours of golf. He’ll be begging for mercy at that point.



PS: If you’ve never watched golf, it is exactly as bad as LISTENING to people talk about baseball, the earwax of sports.

Isn’t It Funny?


A poem I wrote to verify whether people read the content.


Noted baseball historian Ralph Ettenmeyer notes that Mike Pence was a naturally-gifted player. His well-earned nickname: Dingbat


Schrödinger’s Rain: It’s raining cats OR dogs.


Misheard News of the Day: Tyson announced its first antibiotic-free chicken today. In other news, antibiotics will now be chicken-free.


“Evidently, I’m a little too fabulous. I got a ticket for (g)littering on the side of the road.” – X


Joke/ Satire?    After my last Tyson chicken joke, Corporate wrote me, asking me to enumerate my frustrations with the company. #1: It’s not ethical that the food taste test division stole the smell of my old work boots as the inspiration for the flavor of their frozen chicken breasts. (In truth, this story is almost true but I’ll leave it to you to decide which part is technically an exaggeration.)


If people demand an answer when you don’t have one, here’s the best reply: “I don’t know, would you like me to go fill up at the Guess Station?” It works great when spoken, especially if screamed as a response or after ingesting hallucinogens.



I was asked to write a clever quip about human error. This isn’t supposed to be taken literally or as an endorsement of stupidity.


If I were a teacher, I would hate trying to explain “Do the right thing” in this world dominated by Trump and people like him.


For those who love those “Is your refrigerator running?” jokes, here’s a gift:
Call Tyson Corporate and ask…
“Do you have frozen chicken breasts?”

When you call, ask for Tina – she loves a good joke.


After my last Tyson chicken joke, Corporate wrote me, asking me to enumerate my frustrations with the company. #1: It’s not ethical that the food taste test division stole the smell of my old work boots as the inspiration for the flavor of their frozen chicken breasts. (In truth, this story is almost true but I’ll leave it to you to decide which part is technically an exaggeration.)


On health care: “Single Payer doesn’t have a Single Prayer.”


Keeping nude photos is a bad idea. But if you do, it seems like you should store them on a ‘flash’ drive.


The restaurant review said that the place was very intimate. I’d say so. The waiter put his tongue in my ear while listing all the house specials.



Word of the Day: Doppelgänger – noun; a look-alike or counterpart to another person.



We decided not to burn books – we are burning Facebooks instead because we’ve had enough of people sharing what they find meaningful with other people.



Weird how people proudly shout, “Death from above.” No kidding. Where else is it going to come from? Are we filming the movie “Tremors?”


Have you seen the new walking paths designed for poets? They are haiku-ing trails.



Life is long, but really long if you’ve got gas in public.


I am not saying he is a bad cook- but the only thing he could make is an asserole.


The accounting team from Lewis and Smith Inc. are suing. They bought a package from the tour company to go witness the eclipse but when they arrived it turned out to be a subtotal eclipse instead.




Warning: double pun/ foreign phrase combination:

At work there is a beautiful little spillway cavern, with a bubbling spring exiting the opening. When there is a breeze along the lower level it is a divine place.

Lately though, a security guard has been placing himself nearby and prohibiting entry to non-employees and anyone whose face he dislikes.

As I take break nearby sometimes, I tend to hear his admonitions to some of the interlopers.

Today he was getting verbally chastised by an older white guy. “Give me one good reason I’m not allowed over here!” Mr. White Guy shouted at the surprised guard.

I stood up so that the guard could see me. I held up a hand to indicate that I’d like to answer for him. The guard nodded his assent.

“Sir,” I said, loudly.

“The reason you’re not allowed here is because you are a ‘persona non grotto.’ ”

And I laughed.





Did you know that our current Attorney General’s real name is Jefferson Beauregard Sessions III? He answers to the name “Jeff,” given that his preferred name of “Cracker” was taken. He’s so white that he doesn’t need to put on a hood for the firelit meetings.



Joe Kwon Do

Click link and button above to hear the latest ad I made for Joe, to compete with the Krav Maga system.



Joe, a large friend of mine, someone who looks like a human Bigfoot, despises those Israeli Krav Maga self-defense courses. Not content with merely turning off the radio when a commercial comes on for the local version, my friend rips the entire radio out of the dashboard and hurls it across the freeway. Naturally, this costs him a lot of money. His point is that if he can yank the stereo out of his vehicle while driving, he doesn’t need a goofy martial arts course to show him how to pull a human arm from its socket.

If you know anything in life, other than “You do not talk about Fight Club,” the second rule is that you do not tell your friends what you despise, or you will see and/or hear it for the rest of your life, and probably nine times at your funeral.

Given my friend’s hatred for Krav Maga commercials, I had no choice  but to make 11 different versions of the same jokes for him.

You’re welcome Mr. Bigfoot. Stop ripping out your car stereos. Not everyone was born with arms that look like the back leg of a bull. PS: And if you try to whip my butt I will use those Krav Maga tactics I learned just from listening to the terrible ads on the radio.


A Springdale Grocery Review From a Lunatic’s Perspective



For anyone tempted to try the new “10Box” food store, my review is: “Don’t.”

I’m going to get some flak for this satirical review, so cut me some slack. You’ll have to decide just how much levity and tongue-in-cheek I’m applying to my words.

Springdale recently lost its PriceCutter grocery store, after we collectively realized the place had lost its soul several years ago. Over a year ago, I wrote a story about entering PriceCutter as dusk neared, in search of a pecan pie. In all honesty and without satire, I still remember the strange angst and melancholy that visit bestowed upon me.

10Box took the zombieland of PriceCutter and managed to make something equally weird. Don’t be mistaken, though, Harp’s Foods owns this new incarnation. I think it will do quite well, but for none of the reasons that the management believes to be the case. There are certain aspects of retail grocery which Harp’s excels at, especially when using stores such as the one on Gutensohn Street in Springdale as the comparison. None of the things I love about Harp’s Food Stores seem to be involved with this new business model, however. It is the NASCAR of gourmet foods.

If you have ever wondered what suffering from agoraphobia feels like, combined with the glee of being trampled by crazed shoppers training for pre-Xmas layaway triathlons, this emporium is for you. I went in the early afternoon during a weekday, not expecting to be hurled into the midst of the equivalent of a crumpled map, written in Korean and interpreted by a yodeler. If you want the full experience, I would recommend that you visit on a Saturday, between 11 a.m. and 2 p.m. It helps if you come when you haven’t slept or grabbed your first cup of coffee yet. If you have a concealed-carry permit, believe me, you will want to leave any weapons at home.

Shopping at 10Box was like waiting my turn at an intersection, except all the other drivers are told to ignore all normal social norms as they careen around the interior of the store. (And they get bonus points for filling their carts via the most erratic shopping routes possible once they are inside the store.)

Before I forget, all the workers wear purple shirts. You’ll never guess which color I had on after work today? Yes, that’s right. I’m accustomed to fielding questions from shoppers at other stores, especially Wal-Mart, but several of the patrons almost hurled themselves at me, begging me for any general information they could gather regarding an alleged 85-lb. roll of turkey sausage. I shared a couple of laughs with people, as they realized I didn’t work there. I still offered to help them find whatever item they were searching for, though. I’m not a total barbarian.

The gimmick with 10Box, other than the fact that you feel like you might actually stumble upon Rick and Michonne from “The Walking Dead” just around any aisle, is that the items in the store are already priced at cost, with a 10% unilateral charge added to all items at the register. This system is pure genius. As you all know, it is surprising how many people can’t do fractions easily. At some point, some people simply start weeping at the idea of math and being hurling every possible selection in their cart – all to avoid the admission that they don’t know if the box of shrimp they’ve collected costs more than the national debt of Peru.

10Box gets points for décor – or lack thereof. As already mentioned, they’ll get the “Walking Dead” crowd, in the literal sense and entertainment sense. When they say they don’t waste money on presentation or optics, they aren’t kidding: you can almost feel the breeze of the flea market as you peruse the aisles.

For the fans of the TV show “The Middle,” 10Box is the model I now have in mind when I picture the Heck family careening through the canned goods and produce at the mythical “Frugal Hoosier” grocery chain, where nothing gets thrown away, except your expectations.

Don’t take my word for all of this, though. I can’t be trusted as a reliable source. Please go visit 10Box yourself. Take all your kids, as many as you can find, and drive over for a visit.

Apocalypse +1


“Make no mistake, if you sit at their table, you’re going to have to use their cards to play the game.”



They promised me “chaos” everywhere today. I called him. He was already out there celebrating. Be like Captain * Chaos. Celebrate in victory or celebrate in loss because we are all still alive.



I’m going to miss this election, like an old friend who spent a drunken night at my house, stole my wallet, and used my toothbrush to clean his motorcycle.



The above picture describes the general consensus, after Hillary won the popular vote and lost the election.








“It’s hard explaining in another language that the candidate for liberalism won the popular vote and lost the election. It’s exactly how you would LIKE “The Voice” to decide the winner but never does.” – X








As each of y’all know, each President gets his official portrait done. Trump, not wanting to waste a single minute, has already privately reached out to potential artists interested in a commission to do his White House portrait. Given my immense artistic ability (the best, the absolute best), my commitment to a prompt call for service, not to mention by huge admiration for con artists, I pondered for hours, agonizing on the best possible way to capture Trump’s essence. When I finished this, tears of joy ran down my liberal cheeks as I contemplated the likelihood of being chosen from the many for this honor. I’m hearing that mine’s the best. People from all over are saying it’s going to be huge.




Boozman Salts His Ice Cream




Remember when you could really pick on someone without mud slinging? Here’s my John Boozman joke.

Boozman goes to a dermatologist and tells him, “Doc, the skin on my face is peeling really bad! What can you do for me? My opponent Conner Eldridge is a great-looking guy and I can’t have something like this during a campaign. I already look like Steve Buscemi.”

The doctor examines him, frowns several times, and leaves the room for at least 30 minutes.

“Well?” asks Boozman as the dermatologist returned, obviously reluctant to give the senator bad news.

“John, the reason your facial skin is peeling off is that it’s trying to escape the ugly.”
PS: I’m only kidding about John Boozman being ugly.
But I have heard rumors that he salts his ice cream before eating it. And he hated the Lilly Ledbetter Fair Pay Act so badly that he won’t even attend a county fair for fear of a typographical mix-up. Also, when I went to buy a suit, I thought I saw him at Dillard’s, but it turned out to be a literal empty suit on the end of the aisle.
This is the kind of political rhetoric needed in today’s climate of poison eye darts.

A Trivia/Break-In Story

The following is a true-ish account of events that took place in October, 7 years ago at the Hignite household. Although some literary license has been taken, the entirety of this story is true. (All the errors are mine.)

Mike Hignite was sitting in his living room, burning the midnight oil. The lights were dimmed to the point of invisibility, given Mike’s Batman-like ability to see in the dark. In Mike’s hands was the book, “Computational Calculus Meets Divine Interpolation.” (As you all know, Mike only sleeps 55 minutes a night.) Mike could hear the peaceful rhythm of Marjay’s infrequent and melodious snore from the bedroom not too far away. The sound reminded him of slightly upset magpies on an early spring morning.

At about 12:04 a.m. a sharp metallic sound interrupted Mike from his reading. He carefully placed his book on the table to his right, his right hand then feeling alongside his chair until his fingers encountered the miniature replica Babe Ruth baseball bat next to him.

A couple of minutes later, Mike observed a black work boot materialize at the edge of the dimly lit living room, inching its way into his field of vision. After a few seconds, he observed an entire leg follow it around, then an arm and the torso of a black-clad stranger. The intruder then crept along the wall, oblivious to Mike’s presence. Mike slowly stood upright and moved along the gap between the living room and the kitchen. In a few seconds, the intruder would literally run directly into Mike.

Instead of proceeding, the stranger fumbled around in his left pocket and found a small cylindrical object, clicking it. A beam of light shot from the flashlight and reflected on the concrete floor. Mike slowly lifted the replica Babe Ruth bat until it was high above his head. He waited. As the stranger moved the flashlight up, the beam of light shone directly on Mike’s head, bat raised above it.

Half-smiling, Mike whispered, “Boo!” in a soft voice.

At this point, the intruder screamed like a broken, strangled teakettle and froze. Mike reached over and flipped the overhead lights on. The intruder, for reasons not ascertained, screamed again.

“Have a seat over there.” Mike pointed casually at the intruder. After a moment, the intruder moved and carefully sat down in one of the dining room chairs. Mike walked over to the fridge and opened it, getting two bottles of water out. He opened one and handed it to the masked intruder. He knew the law-breaker was going to need to stay hydrated.

The intruder reached up and pulled his ski mask up and off his head, revealing a mass of curly red hair. He looked to be about 17 years old.

“How did you know I wasn’t armed?” asked the surprisingly high-pitched voice of the intruder.

“What makes you think it matters?” Mike replied.

At a loss for coherent words, the intruder simply muttered, “My name is Israel. Are you going to call the police?”

“Nah, I won’t call the police, only because they are already here.” Mike took a big gulp of water from his bottle, as Israel looked at him, confused, then around the kitchen to search for evidence that the police were, in fact, already there.

Mike reached behind his head and from literally nowhere that could be seen with the naked eye, pulled out a badge, showing it to Israel. Israel turned ashen. Mike laid his badge on the table, next to the huge stack of mail and personal items the family insisted on tossing there as they passed by.

“I’m not going to call MORE police, if that’s what you’re afraid of. But I will make you a deal. The same deal I make with everyone who breaks into my house, if you’re interested.”

“A deal?” Israel’s look of confusion only intensified. “What kind of a deal?”

“You can choose to either go to jail tonight. Or you can play a game of trivia. If you win, I let you go and you take all the money I have in the house with you. If you lose, you go to jail.” Mike smiled in that secret way that only he and 6 unidentified CIA officials would understand. This is the point where Israel should have flung himself headfirst through the nearest window to take his chances. But he didn’t, ignorant and oblivious to what would soon face him.

“Okay, I’ll play you,” Israel said with mock confidence.

“Slow down, pardner. You’re not playing me. I’m going to wake my oldest son up. Oh – and don’t thank me. I’m not doing you any favors.” Mike downed the remainder of his water and went to wake up the genius of the house.

So, that’s how it came to pass that at 6:32 a.m. on a Tuesday morning the residents of ______ Avenue in Springdale saw the strangest of sights: a large, red-haired man dressed in black ran crying and screaming from the Hignite household. Some witnesses claim that the unknown person fleeing was whimpering, “Stay in school! Stay in school and make good choices,” as he ran away. At the door of the Hignite house stood Jackson and Mike, howling with laughter.

“Dad, I sure hope someone else breaks in soon. I love these moments!” Jackson turned and looked at his dad and winked. They laughed one last time as they shut the door, going back inside just in time to see Marjay emerge from the kitchen and exclaim, “Not again!”


PS: Mike is a friend of mine who is actually a police officer. Every member of the family is a genius and the scenario I describe above is what I would like to imagine occurs frequently at the Hignite Household.

Things to Consider For Friday

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Just as you shouldn’t use a fork to adjust a toaster, it is inadvisable to attempt to relax and meditate using music from the “Rocky” training montages as background music.
It occurred to me yesterday that weather forecasts could be immensely improved if they were delivered in poetic prose – and especially so if viewers could call in an read it that way. The weather, unlike the news, doesn’t really need explanation or editorialized: let’s stop being so unimaginative with it.
It’s still surprising that when your mind is bent or troubled, you see things in plain sight you’ve never noticed. I had that out-of-body visual sensation this morning, driving down Butterfield Coach Road and saw an interesting tree house. It’s always been there, year after year, waiting for me to see it, much less admire it. Today, though, it clicked and my first thought was that I was hallucinating it.
As devoted you might be to reason and logic, trust me; there is always an idiot behind you making rabbit-ear fingers or a face that could best be characterized as “Steve Buscemi.”
Among the reasons that the accusation of prejudice stings is that it is subjective to the viewer – and definitely to the accused. It’s a hat no one willingly sees themselves wearing.
One of the most delicious sensations in life is that feeling you get when you shout a warning repeatedly, only to be ignored – and then the stuff hits the fan and everyone is running around in pandemonium asking, “Why didn’t we see this coming?” And you, of course, think, “Why didn’t you listen to me when I told you it was coming?”
When someone tells you have no common sense, the real message is that they alone possess it.
A friend of mine, Jorge, was going through some battles with anxiety. He swallowed his pride and signed up for emergency counseling, only to find out when he called that it would be a minimum of 2-3 weeks before he could see anyone. He then went to his doctor’s office and explained his situation. They told him, “Oh, you can’t see any doctor for anxiety, stress, or depression, you have to wait for a regular appointment with YOUR doctor.” Jorge, without hesitation replied, “It’s a good thing I’m not at the literal end of my rope or in danger or anything.” True story, too.
Many secularists aren’t necessarily nervous about just a blurred line between church and state, it is just that they wish they could put it to a vote as to which religion gets to the be the one calling the shots. There’s a huge difference in being Catholic and the belief systems which enjoy handling live snakes and living without electricity. Everyone is convinced their religion, denomination or faithview is the singular answer for everyone, if they would only just listen. It is precisely the breadth and wealth of differing views that makes overlap of society and faith almost impossible.
I think every phone system should have a “Bingo” option. When you press # for “Bingo,” all the possible extensions get randomized and your calls goes to literally anyone at the company, even the startled janitor who didn’t even know he had a phone in the broom closet. On the other hand, I think that there should be an option to send a shock directly to the CEO’s ear if the phone system is difficult to use.
Of the 100 + ancestry family trees I’ve done, few of those requesting investigation had American Indian ancestors I could verify. Investigating the tendency to believe one has Indian heritage uncovered an entire sociological backdrop which many have written about. I’ve had several people insist they have such ancestry and I feel bad for them because usually, I know that before I even start researching that the road will probably dead-end. To be clear, it is not necessarily because their family stories might not be true, but because it is nigh on impossible to prove, even with DNA, if you don’t already have a decent trail to prove it.
PS: for those who have trusted me to do their family trees, I have learned much and been greatly rewarded in so many unexpected ways as I discovered a vast interconnection between all of us. It’s been an honor to find hidden family members, write stories that literally define our cultural history, and connect people to forgotten pieces in their pasts. For most of us, we are much closer than we know, even down to our chromosomes.
I think the world can be generally categorized based on the likelihood of whether you agree or disagree with this statement: “My instruction manual for life is always subject to change, based on complicated yet logical criteria.” -x
If ever elected to be President, on my first day I will make good on my pledge to hire a cadre of people smarter than me – and then listen to them. While social issues will always take precedence, the best ideas will always get the most attention. Politics comes last. And we will have a great lunch, because people feel more human when they are sitting around a table or couch, eating, laughing, and thinking. In fact, that’s what we need: a national lunch hour.
I wish I had a billion dollars, because you can be certain that I would do the craziest, most fun things to the people I know. A friend of mine mentioned she had twice entered the wrong vehicle and that all red vans were subject to her inadvertently entering them. If I had crazy money, I would secretly place about 50 vehicles similar to hers at her work and film her reaction as she exited. Likewise, I’d wait until she was driving somewhere and upon my signal, 50 of them would surround her and follow her everywhere she went.
As an aging middle-aged white man, I can’t tell you how ecstatic it makes me feel to know that I have not followed the worn steps of my contemporaries by rejecting new and different music. Thinking that music declined at a certain point is the surest indicator that life is shrinking away from you.
I knew that the civilization was bad because they didn’t provide A-1 Sauce when they burned people at the stake. Get some class, people.
The weird thing I’ve learned again: if I write something that amuses me, it is going to be amusing to a certain % of other people, too. Unlike normal people, I don’t ever get writer’s block, either, which may or may not be a good thing. You can’t trust either the criticism or the applause, not in a pure motivational sense – and you should never underestimate how many are watchers, never joining the conversation.
(The rest is one observational chain of thought…)
People tend to say that you can’t step into the same river twice. Each step I take, each forward motion reinforces this idea of the indefatigable progress of ‘me.’ But I do sometimes look into this river and realize that currents have pulled me backwards, away from whoever I think I am.

I believe one powerful draw of great literature, television or cinema is that it can create a new universe in our heads. The imaginary people inhabiting those worlds effortlessly teach us new things and hold an infinite variety of mirrors for us. When those characters rejoice or suffer, we feel their pain. We can’t help but to relate to them as though they are people we might meet if we open the door suddenly, finding them on our doorsteps. We hope we find them there. It’s not only a testament to the skill and creativity of the people who’ve created those worlds, but also to the gift of our own imaginations.

As we see them behave stupidly or with malice, we call them hypocrites. It is only later that it occurs to us that we might be recognizing our own ignorance in their actions.

As I age, I of course succumb to the temptation to read a cherished book again or to watch television or movies with an older eye. At times, the surprise I feel steals my breath, and with such unexpected vigor that I can only shake my head. That surprise when revisiting old characters is proof that I have also changed, one imperceptible bit at a time, relentlessly. The characters seem deeper and more connected to me because I have also underwent deviations, hopefully due to a rich, full life.