This just in:
Former world heavyweight champion Mike Tyson announced he will return to the ring on June 11 to face tomato can Kevin McBride. The reason Iron Mike wants to return to boxing? Tyson heard all of the Wendy’s finger chili jokes and, well, it made him hungry for an ear.
Why is Tyson boxing again? You guessed it, he’s flat broke. Tyson is so broke, to make ends meet, he’s been polishing the coffin that Don King sleeps in during the day.
What’s the dealio, my frizzles, Torn Slatterns and Nugget Ranchers?
Sort of like that
Cardinal Bernard Law, who failed to stop sexually abusive priests, led a Mass for thousands mourning Pope John Paul II. Isn’t that like hiring Michael Jackson to entertain at a Chuckie Cheese?
That would explain it
In Nevada, a special education teacher was arrested for suspicion of flashing her breasts to students and possessing marijuana. This does, however, explain why the boys overwhelmingly voted her “Teacher of the Year.”
Hate to see that
At the Los Angeles Lakers 1985 championship reunion, Magic Johnson said his old team could beat the current Lakers despite their age; upon hearing this, Kobe Bryant had Magic traded to the Miami Heat.
When he heard about what Magic said, Kobe Bryant got so mad he almost fell of his room service waitress.
Yeah, right
Pfizer, the company that makes Viagra, reported that profits went down 6% last year. Pfizer nervously explained the reason that profits were down was that they were tired, anxious and had too much to drink.
Premise from Janice Hough
The Beverley Hills Teddy Bear Co. is producing a talking Jesus doll. I bought one, pulled the string, and the Jesus doll said; “Why the hell did they take so long to bury the Pope?”
Good news, bad news
A State Department official said that Bush nominated U.N. Ambassador, John Bolton, was “An 800 pound gorilla” who abused his power and bullied underlings. The bad news for Bolton is that this could kill his nomination. The good news is that Martha Stewart has now fallen madly in love with him.
Since you asked:
The worst thing is a snob, but a close second to a snob is a hypocrite, and the only thing besides a snob that is worse than a hypocrite is when it turns out you are, in fact, that very hypocrite.
When it comes to responding to e-mails, I am officially the biggest hypocrite on the planet. No matter how necessary the response, I can casually sit on an e-mail for weeks, only responding when I am good and ready, thank you. And I actually get peeved when somebody sends me a whining e-mail asking why I haven’t responded. I haven’t responded because I haven’t responded, OK? Sheesh. Back off, Slappy.
But, oh Lordy, no sooner than I let go of the mouse button to send an e-mail, I expect a response back but now and fast. One minute is too long to respond back. And then do I start sending the whiny e-mails complaining like a little bee-yatch that they haven’t sent me anything.
No lie, I will actually sit there hitting the send/recv button until I land a returned e-mail like a flopping trout from an Eastern Sierra icy stream.
Pathetic.
Send me an e-mail and I’ll prove it. But when I finally do respond? Oh, brother, you had better send it right back to me. Or there will be whining in your future. Oh, yes, my friend, there will be whining in your future.
(Polite golf-like applause)
lexkase@san.rr.com
Labrador update:
OK, we’ve known all along that Kasey is a smart dog. Very alert, very quick, very easy to train. Sure, she is a shameless food scrounge, but she is smart. Wrigley? Not so much. But get this: Wrigley may be a lot smarter than we give him credit.
What has the big Wrig, the diesel weasel, Wrigger the digger, the confused looking hound beast been up to? When I let him in each night after I feed him, if I’m sitting on the floor back against the couch watching the TiVo’d Cubs, as I was last night, Wrigley will casually stroll by and try - or succeed - at stepping right on my, well, crotch. It is his all-too-unsubtle way of reminding me he is still not happy about the unfortunate procedure I once put him through.
Let it go, Wrigley, the boys are as gone as the old west. Did you know that Mrs. Fields named a chocolate chip cookie after ol' Wrigley? Semi-sweet, no nuts.
Badabingbadabeepbaddaboopbadoop.
The Vatican has not called
I don’t mean to be a pessimist, but I think it’s important to be somewhat of a realist. So, I just have to face it, I don’t think they are going to pick me as the next Pope. No, I know what you’re going to say, it’s still early, and don’t give up, and I’d make a great Pope, other than not being Catholic and being married, but that is exactly why I think they should choose me.
Think about it. Last time they went with devoted, brilliant, Catholic, workaholic, sainted wonderful, nearly perfect man who was celibate. Now they should go in another direction, and it doesn’t go more in the other direction than me.
And I would pick a cool name like Pope Rope-a-Dope, or Pope Liquid Soap, or Pope "Ain’t no" Dope. That last one would be my Rapper Pope name.
But enough lobbying. If they pick me they pick me, if they don’t well, I will have to turn the dirty black beast Cherokee back into a Jeep from the converted Pope mobile. I sure hope that tailor will take back those robes and the big-ass hat I had made. That is one big-ass Pope hat, let me tell you . . .
It’s too bad. My yellow labs Kasey and Wrigley looked really cute in their big, pointy dog Pope hats.
Let’s just imagine, for a second, that, despite all odds, they picked the biggest jerk from your high class school as the Pope? Pope Judd Edwards. That would make the next reunion interesting.
“Oh, they named you a senior partner? Wow. Well they named me Pope, lawyer boy. Now run off and get your pontiff another scotch and soda. Capice?”
It would make it hard to hit on the ladies as Pope.
“Wow, Susie, you’ve been working out. Say, um, this party is dying. Let’s say I take you for a spin in the Pope Mobile. What? Oh, that. Listen, between you and me, that whole celibacy-thing is kind of a P.R. stance. Let’s just say, between you and me, well, when this basilica’s rockin’ don’t bother knocking. Susie? Hey, come back . . .”
It's official, I'm going to H E double hockey sticks.
Former world heavyweight champion Mike Tyson announced he will return to the ring on June 11 to face tomato can Kevin McBride. The reason Iron Mike wants to return to boxing? Tyson heard all of the Wendy’s finger chili jokes and, well, it made him hungry for an ear.
Why is Tyson boxing again? You guessed it, he’s flat broke. Tyson is so broke, to make ends meet, he’s been polishing the coffin that Don King sleeps in during the day.
What’s the dealio, my frizzles, Torn Slatterns and Nugget Ranchers?
Sort of like that
Cardinal Bernard Law, who failed to stop sexually abusive priests, led a Mass for thousands mourning Pope John Paul II. Isn’t that like hiring Michael Jackson to entertain at a Chuckie Cheese?
That would explain it
In Nevada, a special education teacher was arrested for suspicion of flashing her breasts to students and possessing marijuana. This does, however, explain why the boys overwhelmingly voted her “Teacher of the Year.”
Hate to see that
At the Los Angeles Lakers 1985 championship reunion, Magic Johnson said his old team could beat the current Lakers despite their age; upon hearing this, Kobe Bryant had Magic traded to the Miami Heat.
When he heard about what Magic said, Kobe Bryant got so mad he almost fell of his room service waitress.
Yeah, right
Pfizer, the company that makes Viagra, reported that profits went down 6% last year. Pfizer nervously explained the reason that profits were down was that they were tired, anxious and had too much to drink.
Premise from Janice Hough
The Beverley Hills Teddy Bear Co. is producing a talking Jesus doll. I bought one, pulled the string, and the Jesus doll said; “Why the hell did they take so long to bury the Pope?”
Good news, bad news
A State Department official said that Bush nominated U.N. Ambassador, John Bolton, was “An 800 pound gorilla” who abused his power and bullied underlings. The bad news for Bolton is that this could kill his nomination. The good news is that Martha Stewart has now fallen madly in love with him.
Since you asked:
The worst thing is a snob, but a close second to a snob is a hypocrite, and the only thing besides a snob that is worse than a hypocrite is when it turns out you are, in fact, that very hypocrite.
When it comes to responding to e-mails, I am officially the biggest hypocrite on the planet. No matter how necessary the response, I can casually sit on an e-mail for weeks, only responding when I am good and ready, thank you. And I actually get peeved when somebody sends me a whining e-mail asking why I haven’t responded. I haven’t responded because I haven’t responded, OK? Sheesh. Back off, Slappy.
But, oh Lordy, no sooner than I let go of the mouse button to send an e-mail, I expect a response back but now and fast. One minute is too long to respond back. And then do I start sending the whiny e-mails complaining like a little bee-yatch that they haven’t sent me anything.
No lie, I will actually sit there hitting the send/recv button until I land a returned e-mail like a flopping trout from an Eastern Sierra icy stream.
Pathetic.
Send me an e-mail and I’ll prove it. But when I finally do respond? Oh, brother, you had better send it right back to me. Or there will be whining in your future. Oh, yes, my friend, there will be whining in your future.
(Polite golf-like applause)
lexkase@san.rr.com
Labrador update:
OK, we’ve known all along that Kasey is a smart dog. Very alert, very quick, very easy to train. Sure, she is a shameless food scrounge, but she is smart. Wrigley? Not so much. But get this: Wrigley may be a lot smarter than we give him credit.
What has the big Wrig, the diesel weasel, Wrigger the digger, the confused looking hound beast been up to? When I let him in each night after I feed him, if I’m sitting on the floor back against the couch watching the TiVo’d Cubs, as I was last night, Wrigley will casually stroll by and try - or succeed - at stepping right on my, well, crotch. It is his all-too-unsubtle way of reminding me he is still not happy about the unfortunate procedure I once put him through.
Let it go, Wrigley, the boys are as gone as the old west. Did you know that Mrs. Fields named a chocolate chip cookie after ol' Wrigley? Semi-sweet, no nuts.
Badabingbadabeepbaddaboopbadoop.
The Vatican has not called
I don’t mean to be a pessimist, but I think it’s important to be somewhat of a realist. So, I just have to face it, I don’t think they are going to pick me as the next Pope. No, I know what you’re going to say, it’s still early, and don’t give up, and I’d make a great Pope, other than not being Catholic and being married, but that is exactly why I think they should choose me.
Think about it. Last time they went with devoted, brilliant, Catholic, workaholic, sainted wonderful, nearly perfect man who was celibate. Now they should go in another direction, and it doesn’t go more in the other direction than me.
And I would pick a cool name like Pope Rope-a-Dope, or Pope Liquid Soap, or Pope "Ain’t no" Dope. That last one would be my Rapper Pope name.
But enough lobbying. If they pick me they pick me, if they don’t well, I will have to turn the dirty black beast Cherokee back into a Jeep from the converted Pope mobile. I sure hope that tailor will take back those robes and the big-ass hat I had made. That is one big-ass Pope hat, let me tell you . . .
It’s too bad. My yellow labs Kasey and Wrigley looked really cute in their big, pointy dog Pope hats.
Let’s just imagine, for a second, that, despite all odds, they picked the biggest jerk from your high class school as the Pope? Pope Judd Edwards. That would make the next reunion interesting.
“Oh, they named you a senior partner? Wow. Well they named me Pope, lawyer boy. Now run off and get your pontiff another scotch and soda. Capice?”
It would make it hard to hit on the ladies as Pope.
“Wow, Susie, you’ve been working out. Say, um, this party is dying. Let’s say I take you for a spin in the Pope Mobile. What? Oh, that. Listen, between you and me, that whole celibacy-thing is kind of a P.R. stance. Let’s just say, between you and me, well, when this basilica’s rockin’ don’t bother knocking. Susie? Hey, come back . . .”
It's official, I'm going to H E double hockey sticks.
posted by Alex at
12:29 PM
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