"You just wasted a year of your life. This is irredeemable, hopeless, bad writing. "

 - Big shot producer after reading Angelo Pizzo's screenplay for "Hoosiers." 

Got my Fantasy Football team names narrowed down to Kardashian Think Tank, Trump’s Updo and J-Law’s Nude Pics Gave Me “Winter’s Bone.”

As I was a big fan of the Joan Rivers, this is in all respect of her magnificent irreverence and self-depricating humor.

Top Things Joan Rivers Might Put On Her Grave Marker

It could be worse, I could be opening for Carrot Top

You can’t see it, but this dress is to die for

Can you believe it? Johnny Carson still isn’t speaking to me.

Oh, grow up. (I’m talking to the grass)

They were wrong, I do wish I had more work done

Death is really quiet, but the sex is about the same

Edgar, love of my life, it's me, Joan. Edgar? Come back here, Edgar. 

Vice President, Joe Biden, vows to send the Syrian terrorists, ISIS, to the gates of hell. So we are going to put them in a stuck elevator with Joe Biden. 

In sad news, comedy legend, Joan Rivers, passed at 81. I can almost hear Joan say; 

“Oh, isn’t that super, I get to follow Robin Williams.”

“Dancing with the Stars” has announced its new lineup. Now, I don’t want to say they are running out of stars, but one guy is the actor who plays Screech in the recreation of “Saved by the Bell.”

Past Olympian and current virgin, Lolo Jones, is in "DWTS." Good luck trying to dance while keeping your legs together. 

Since you asked:

Think I had a joke on Fallon. My joke was;

“A survey reveals 50% of workers admit to going to work hung-over. That makes the other 50% liars.”

On Fallon it changed to 49% to 51% but otherwise it was word for word. Oh well. 

So yes, I do play the Hashtag game. This week it is #WorstFirstDay.

My entry was;

“My friends convinced me the first day of 6^th grade was a costume party. It wasn’t. Spent the day in a Superman costume.”

That is true, but it wasn’t me, we did it to our good friend and world’s most gullible human ever, Rob Crowe.

One day Rob and I were having lunch together at his house, and while we were enjoying our bologna, mayonnaise and Wonder Bread sandwiches, an idea popped in my head:

“Hey, Rob, did you know that mayonnaise is made out of chicken puss?”

Rob immediately spit out the sandwich and did not touch mayonnaise for over a year. From that point on we learned that, although a great and smart guy - Rob would go on to be a New York district attorney- Rob believed anything. 

So three of Rob’s best friends, Bill Schultz, the late and great Steve Lewis and yours truly, decided to convince Rob the first day of 6^th grade was a costume party. Not only was it a costume party, but there was a big prize in each class for the best costume. (Rob was extremely competitive) 

Steve even had someone print out memos on Skokie School letterhead for the four of us to give to our parents reminding us, on the first day of school, it was strongly suggested we wear a costume. 

So Bill got dressed up as Batman, I was Daniel Boone, Steve was Frankenstein and Rob, bless his heart, had gone out with his mom and bought an expensive Superman costume. Not the cheap cotton, pajama-like baggy kind that came in an orange and black box at the toy store, oh no, this was the real stretchy and blue-tights kind one had to go and get at the downtown Evanston costume store. 

Shiny calf-length red boots and long flowing red cape with the giant yellow "S" included. 

Rob lived within walking distance to Skokie school, so we knew if he walked to school, he would see the other kids not dressed up and the jig would be up.

Bill Schultz let his Mom in on the prank, so she agreed to pick us up in her car over a full half an hour early and drop us off. Bless her beautiful, big Irish heart.

We, Bill, Steve and I, told Mrs. Schultz to drop us off in front of the school because we had forms to turn in at the office. So we hopped out, ran into the bathroom and changed out of our costumes. (Our regular clothes were underneath) Mrs. Schultz then dropped Rob off in back of our class room. (Our classrooms at Skokie all had a back door) Like I said, we were about a half an hour early so we were sure to be the first ones there.

Then the three amigo instigators, me, Bill and Steve, stood outside in the hall spying on Rob through the door window. Rob was sitting alone in the class resplendent in his super tight Superman costume. He kept adjusting his long bright red cape so it would flow over the back of his chair. He could not have been prouder. We could not have laughed harder. 

As kids started to file in sans costumes, the look on Rob’s face grew more and more incredulous – and then redder and redder.

When the final bell rang, in popped Rob’s three closest and bestest buddies in the entire world, dressed in blue jeans, sneakers and crisply ironed button-down shirts. Rob went apoplectic. He was so upset, words did not come out in one piece;

“Wha? Ha? Bu, uh . .”

That was the hardest I had ever laughed in my life.

For two months afterwards, when Rob came to school in normal clothes, we yelled;

“Well, if it isn’t Clark Kent.”

Steve and I were the only two Rob fingered for the ruse, Bill looked like a choir boy and always got away with murder, so we, me and Steve, were sent to see the principal. Besides, if they punished Bill, they would have to punish Mrs. Schultz too. 

That trip to the principal was one of the first times I learned that, as long as you were funny, you did not get in nearly as much trouble. The principal could not stifle his chuckles as he tried in vain to reprimand us sternly. 

We didn't get any real punishment, just a half-assed; "How would you boys like it if it happened to you?" 

Rob eventually forgave us, but I don’t think I was invited over to Rob’s for lunch for a long time, though. Too bad, those chicken-puss sandwiches were good.

(My friend, who is an award-winning educator, read this story and told me, if we had done this prank today, the school would have no choice but to bring us up in front of the school board with charges of hazing and bullying to refute)

"I am fine right now, thank you. But I will let you know when I need something." 

Walter Payton Kaseberg, aka, Weasel Beezle, Wally Pipe-cleaners, Cornpone Wally, Snicker-doodle, Big Fred, Waller the baller. 


I'm out on the road late at night, I see my pretty Alice in every headlight. Alice. Dallas Alice, Torn Slatterns and Nugget Ranchers


A woman in Mexico turned 127 and is the oldest person ever. She is so old, she used to babysit for Larry King.

VP Joe Biden vowed the US will follow the terrorist group ISIS to the gates of hell. That’s right, we will take ISIS to an El Torrito when the mariachi band is playing.

The whole nude picture texting thing is upsetting to us slightly older folks. We didn’t have sexting when we were single. No, you had to see the person naked for the first time in person, and no matter how bad it was, you had to stay and be complimentary.

Researchers claim half of the Vikings in battle were women. This comes as a surprise to nobody who has witnessed a women’s shoe sale.

A Florida man was arrested for drunkenly groping a Taco Bell employee through the drive-in window. The state motto of Florida is: 

“Sometimes even we cannot believe the crap we pull.”

Since you asked:

Every now and then, we men get a glimpse into the deep chasm that divides men and women.

Now, I am not blowing smoke for the sake of covering my ass, but I believe women are generally better than men. Kinder, gentler, more compassionate, sensitive, cleaner, more loving. 

Better.

But we are different. Lord how we are different. Viva la difference.

This was brought home to me when I was at a grill/ pool party last weekend, and I heard several of the moms gushing about a new place called DryBar. My first reaction upon hearing the name DryBar was that some genius had opened a bar that specializes in dry martinis.

Hallelujah.

No, I was informed it was not, despite its name, a bar that served alcohol. In fact, it was a hair salon. A place with the name bar in it is not a bar? That seems illegally deceptive to me. Like opening a nail salon and calling it the T-Bone Grill.

Well, good, then DryBar is a place where both men and women get a haircut.

“Oh no. No men.”

No men? Isn’t that also illegal? Imagine if a barbershop did not allow women? That place would be sued faster than you can say Gloria Allred’s menopausal hot flash.

“And they don’t cut hair.”

Excuse me? A hair salon that doesn’t cut hair? Isn’t that like a movie theater that doesn’t show movies? Well, at least you can get your hair colored there.

“No, they don’t dye hair either.”

They don’t color hair?

“No, they just blow dry hair.”

This is a joke, right? They just blow dry your hair? Don’t most women own a hair dryer?

“Yes, but they blow it for you.”

And how much does this cost, for them to blow your hair?

“$40. But an updo is $80.”

And women go for this?

“It’s hard to get an appointment.”

That settles it. Next month, I am gathering investors and we are going to open a shop that brushes men’s teeth. No women. No flossing, no buffing, no whitening, no dental work of any kind, just brushing. For $50 a pop. $80 for a serious scrubbing. 

What am I going to call it? 

The Ribeye Saloon. The problem?

No man in his right mind would ever go there. More likely, picture three Liev Schreiber/Russell Crowe/Liam Neeson-types entering The Ribeye Saloon.

"We want ribeyes and whisky."

"Sorry, we just brush teeth."

Ambulances would be summoned.