Thursday, February 11, 2010

Still here.

Still in the house not doing much. Waiting for the snow to melt just so we can go outside. It will be nice to just step out on my porch again. Oh the little things.

Thursday, January 28, 2010

Homer Simpson, house, pickles, chain

Homer Simpson: King of the half-assed plan.

"But Marge, the winner gets to be the President's 'Food Contest Czar! You know it's been a lifetime dream of mine to rule over things!"

"Your dream was to survive being swallowed by a whale, and you did that on our cruise to the Bahamas last year!"

"It is what it is, Marge."

"Well, they are low in calories. It might even be a diet...OK, Homie."

Homer was determined to become the Springfield Pickle-Eating Champion. For two weeks he ate nothing but an endless chain of pickles.

"Hmmmmmmm. Pickles." (Slobbering)

The contest was a breeze. Born without the voice that says things like, "Danger" and "Don't be an idiot," Homer cruised past the other contestants, most of whom were either homeless and/or crazy.

Mayor Quimby congratulated Homer. "I, errr, present this pickle trophy to Homer Simpson. Your, errr, service to the town of Springfield is remarkable. I've been authorized by President Obama to pronounce you...National Food-Contest Czar!"

The Simpsons were jetted to the White House. The President greeted Homer in the Oval Office.

"Homer, your achievement is remarkable. Your story, inspiring."

"Great. Now what should I rule first? Alabama? Mexico?"

Wednesday, January 27, 2010

Tom Cruise, Heaven, crutches, crab

Carl never had a chance.

It seemed the Gods (well, the Crab Gods - they call them "Crods") had it out for him from the day he was spawned. For starters, he was born with tiny freaking claws, making it damn near impossible to wave down a mate. Plus, he never learned how to walk sideways, but only rapidly forwards and back, which the other crabs thought was incredibly effeminate. In one of their meaner moments, they elected to call him "Tom Cruise." When he was just a wee crabette, his family was kidnapped by the Gorton's Fisherman. Once, while engaging in one of his effete little "cruises," he came upon a pile of Popsicle sticks. What he meant to do was chop up those damn sticks and release a little tension. What actually happened was that two of the sticks became lodged behind his mini-claws and wouldn't come out.

So they called him "Crutches."

The moment that the crabs had exhausted their "crutch" jokes, Carl's claws became infected and he died terribly.

To top it off, the Crods didn't let him go to Heaven (Crevean,) just for the Crell of it.

Moral o' Story: Crabs deserve to be boiled.

Saturday, January 23, 2010

Carrot Top, ER, Jell-O, fire

The year is 2012. A certain ex-Alaskan governor has just been elected President, and the world is angry. America is on fire - literally. We need a hero. We need...Carrot Top.

The Top was at his local ER again. Funny - guns plus puns don't always work out the way you'd expect. The world tells the Top that crazy times call for crazy measures - and huge freaking freckled muscles.

"Don't worry, world. I'm on it."

The world felt better.

The Top quickly tweeted his orders. (http://twitter.com/realcarrottop)

"Everybody's pissed. Everyone likes Jello. If you're eating Jello, you're not setting crap on fire. I call it 'Gelatins not skeletons.' Get Cosby to hand 'em out.

The world agreed.

Dr. Cosby sprang into action. "Wabba zabba, Jello!" he yelled.

The rioters quieted themselves to ponder on the positive. Like Jello. And The Cosby Show.

2016 - Carrot Top for President?

Friday, January 22, 2010

Hitler, zoo, Skittles, whistle

It's sad but true. Even the ultra-evil get the blues once in a while.

"Jeez, Goebbels, doing all this terrible stuff day in and day out is making me a little depressed," Hitler admitted to his partner-in-heinousness.

"Hitlerrrr, have you been skipping your meth injections again?"

"No," he sulked.

"Ah, cheer up, dawg. What you need is a ROAD TRIP!"

"But to where, mein homeboy?"

"Two words, baby. PETTING ZOO!"

Good old Goebbels. He could cheer up the rottenest of tyrants. So off they goose-stepped to the Riesiges Arschloch Nazi Petting Zoo.

"Seeing so many good white Aryan animals is starving mein belly, Goebbels."

"Try this, Hitler."

"What is it?"

"It's a Skittle. They are from America."

"Schei├če, Goebbels! There are no white ones!" Hitler was soooo mad right now.

So he beat Goebbels real good with his murder-whistle, consequently breaking it to bits.

Thursday, January 21, 2010

High-Concept Frustration

Everybody's a writer. Everybody thinks that they have the next great American novel. And hey, maybe you do. But while you're finishing up crossing the t's and dotting the i's on that bad boy, here's a little challenge to my fellow literati.

The challenge: Use four damn frustratingly unassociated words to construct a two-hundred-words-or-less story, poem, scene, joke...whatever. Just keep it to 200 words. Just write it in the Comments box (I had trouble with a cut-and-paste, resulting in a rewriting job.) To start, I'll choose the words. Later, the most voted-for writer will choose the next four damn words. We'll do one challenge a week and close the voting for each after a month. Follow me?

The four words necessary words are:
1. Famous person: living or dead, real or fictional (Full name counts as one word.)
2. Place (on the toilet, Heaven, whatever.)
3. Object (toothbrush, monkey fur, etc.)
4. A second object.

Person, place and two objects - that's it. The words should be as ridiculously disconnected from one another as possible. Here's an example:

Hitler, a petting zoo, Skittles (please don't sue, Mars Inc.!) and a broken whistle.

Hmmmmm....too many damn words.

Hitler, zoo, Skittles, whistle.

There. Hell, that could be pretty damn good. Let the first challenge begin. And since it's the first, let's keep it open indefinitely!

Legal disclaimer about submissions: I don't have a clue what I'm doing, I just get goofy ideas and make stuff up. I'm not a lawyer. If blogger.com says don't do it - don't do it. If they don't care, I sure as hell don't. Also, it would be cool to put the best writings into a great ebook or bathroom reader someday (don't worry, the winners will get their credit.) There - butt saved.