Friday, April 15, 2016

Can I be honest with you? Don't go changing to try and please me. I want you to be the you that you are being today, and I mean that like a friend, Torn Slatterns and Nugget Ranchers

(Otherwise known as: "Betty, my drawers is fallin' down." Sung to the tune of, "Drop-Kick Me Jesus Through the Goal Posts of Life")

U2’s Bono told a senate panel we should use comedians to fight ISIS. Like Jerry Seinfeld: 

“So what’s the deal with suicide vests? It’s too hot in the middle east for vests. They should use suicide Bermuda shorts.” 

Historians are saying there were similarities between last night’s Clinton-Sanders debate and the Lincoln-Douglass debates. And not just because Bernie Sanders was at both.

It has been one day and Kobe Bryant is having problems adjusting to retirement. He was having dinner with his family, family-style, and he couldn’t pass the peas. 

The backlash against North Carolina’s anti-LGBT law is getting serious. To further punish North Carolina, Justin Bieber is threatening to hold a concert there. 

According to a new poll, Trader Joe’s is no longer America’s favorite grocery store. And people say we white people don’t have real problems. 

U2’s Bono told a senate panel we should use comedians to fight ISIS. For example, if you  attack them with Bill Cosby, all the women will surrender.

If they send the typical needy comedians, it would be, “OK, besides that you’re going to cut off my head, what did you think of my act?”

The stand-up comedians I know wet themselves when a drunk stands up to go to the bathroom. 

U2’s Bono told a senate panel we should use comedians to fight ISIS. “Bad news terrorists, it’s not 72 virgins you get in heaven, it’s 72 sturgeons. Yeah, they give you fish. Hello? Is this mic on?”

 “Hi there. Where are you from? Die Infidel? Not familiar with that city, Die Infidel. Is that in Germany?”

“So what’s the difference between a suicide vest and a Bill Cosby sweater? With the Cosby sweater, you die of shame. Thank you. I’ll be here until Ramadan.” 

Russian president, Vladimir Putin, answered caller’s questions on a TV show. Typical questions like, “What is your favorite sport?” “How tall are you?” “When will you unchain me from this wall?” 

First the Internet named an English ship Boaty McBoatface. Now there is an Australian racehorse named Horsey McHorseface. Prince Charles is not happy. Horsey McHorseface is his nickname for his wife, Camilla Parker Bowles. 


Some people have a way with words and some people lugubrious.
(Apologies S.M.) 

No, seriously, I am not kidding. What is with the blue pool-cue chalk around Trump’s eyes? Anyone? Bueller? 

There have to be four cities more famous for the blues than St. Louis. Chicago, Memphis, New Orleans and Austin. So why is their hockey team named the Blues? 

It is like the shop that specialized in circumcisions that had a giant clock in the window. When asked why, the nurse said, "What should we have in the window?" 

They have to name the team something. The St. Louis Dicks is not an option. 

If potty humor isn’t funny, why did god make farts sound so hilarious? Yeah. There. I said it. Deal. 

Wisdom is not to the wise what fiefdom is to the fife. Live it. Be it. Nanahanahanahanhahanah. 

Whole lot of whacka-do, whacka-do, whacka-do goin’ on. Give a bow-shimmy one-time. 

Given the A.J.S. model of the primary proliferation, our W.C.S. is a juxtaposed nuance based on sales and amalgratism. So our tampander is limited only by the lupinary bitosamine of the nearest cantagonist. More or less given a 60-40 compensation on our substantive actuary diagram.

(What I heard at 90% of business meetings) 

Muskrat Suzie, Muskrat Sam, Do the jitterbug at a Muskrat Land,  And they shimmy, Sam is so skinny. 

Think about that for a while. Really chew on it. 

I’ve given it a lot of thought, and Fletch was right. “Moon River” is the only appropriate song to sing while getting a prostate exam. I tried singing “Whole Lotta Love” and it did not go over well at all with the pretty woman doctor. (But I did get her digits . . . bam, see what I did there?)

To be utterly candid, it is more than a feeling. ’Til I see my Marianne walkin’ away. I see my Marianne walkin' away. 

Women have arms. Men have arms. Women's arms do not turn me on. Women have feet. Men have feet. Feet make me sick. 

So why do women’s legs and butts drive us men - me - utterly bat-poop, Three Stooges-face-slapping, nyuck-nyuck insane? 

Let's play a quick round of "Funny. Not Funny."

Apples? Not funny. Bananas? Funny.

Monkeys? Funny. Leopards? Not funny.

Dinner Rolls? Not funny. Biscuits? Humor.

Grapes? Not funny. Prunes? Truly funny.  

Cakes? Not funny. Pies? Hilarious.

Dogs? Funny. Cats? Not funny.

Bicycles? Not funny. Wagons? Funny. 

Panties? Funny. Bras? Funny too. 

Tea? Not funny. Coffee. Pretty amusing.

Suitcase? Not funny. Steamer Trunk? A comedy staple dating back to the Marx Brothers and Charlie Chaplin.  

Kale? Seriously not funny. Cabbage? Hysterical. 

Lemons? Funny. Limes? Not funny. 

Baseball? Funny. Football? Not funny. 

Eggs? Funny. Bacon? Tasty as all hell, but not funny. 

Bloody nose? Not funny. Black eye? Funny. 

Saxophone? Not funny. Tuba. Always a laugh. 

The number 25? Not funny. The number 33 when pronounced with a thick Brooklyn accent? (Toy-tee Tree) High degree of comedy.


"And that has been today's rousing and fun game of, "Funny. Not Funny."   

(CSI Chord)