There's a guy out there tonight who is in trouble with the law because his cows are licking the neighbor's house. Yep. Licking a house. Licked off a window and a gutter, and probably left a lot of icky cow spit on the siding.
You just never know what the day will bring, do ya?
Showing posts with label Humor. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Humor. Show all posts
Tuesday, December 08, 2009
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Your Laugh for the Day
I've just run across a New York Times article featuring The Ukulele Orchestra of Great Britain (No Tiptoeing Through the Tulips), which has apparently been around for a few years now. However did I miss a thing like that?
The article says that the group makes people smile. I can vouch for that. When you've finished this one, you want to click on the related videos for The Good, The Bad, and the Ugly and Smells Like Teen Spirit. Seriously.
Friday, August 28, 2009
The Cat on the Mat
The life of a catContented and fat
A fur bearing beanbag
Adorning a doormat
No errands to do
No worrying, too
Surrounded by people
Who live to serve you
Every day spent
Doing just as you choose
Chasing computer mice
Chewing on shoes
An enjoyable dinner
Topped off by a snooze
Ah yes, I could dig it
A life as a cat
When reincarnated
I want to be that
Sunday, August 09, 2009
Monday, December 29, 2008
The Kitchen of Mrs. Moreau
This just in from the AP: Do It Yourself DNA Amateurs Trying Genetic Engineering At Home.
There's a snapshot of a woman in jeans and a T-shirt, sitting in her spare room, puttering with equipment that includes a box of baggies, Tupperware, and a roll of toilet paper. Here's the caption:
"Meredith L. Patterson, a computer programmer by day, conducts an experiment in the dining room of her San Francisco apartment on Thursday, Dec. 18, 2008. Patterson is among a new breed of techno rebels who want to put genetic engineering tools in the hands of anyone with a smart idea. Using homemade lab equipment and the wealth of scientific knowledge available online, these hobbyists are trying to create new life forms through genetic engineering - a field long dominated by Ph.D.s toiling in university and corporate laboratories."
And you thought scrapbooking was cool.
Mr. Moreau: "Honey, I'm home."
Mrs. Moreau: "Hi--Wait! Don't step there."
Mr. Moreau, left foot frozen in midair, eyeing the floor in panic: "They got loose, didn't they. I knew it, I knew it... "
Mrs. Moreau: "Oh stop. It's just grape jelly."
Mrs. Moreau carefully lifts a test tube with barbecue tongs and heats it with a hair dryer. The contents begin to glow a faint blue.
Mr. Moreau, suspicious, stepping away from the jelly: "What are you working on?"
Mrs. Moreau: "It's a surprise."
Mr. Moreau groans, "That's the biofluorescent plaque-eating toothpaste bug, isn't it." Silence. "Isn't it!"
Mrs. Moreau, eyes fixed on her work: "Maybe."
Mr. Moreau: "Good God, woman, it ate the kids' teeth into points! They look like little sharks!"
Mrs. Moreau: "Relax. It's just baby teeth. They'll grow new ones. And on the plus side, the bullies at school are afraid of them now."
Mr. Moreau, slumping into a kitchen chair: "You have to quit this, Edna. You're going to kill us all."
Mrs. Moreau: "Nonsense. It's perfectly safe."
Mr. Moreau: "Who says that, Edna, who?"
Mrs. Moreau: "Scientists. Many scientists. And when I get this right, we'll be rich."
Mr. Moreau, brightening: "Oh. Well then. Carry on."
There's a snapshot of a woman in jeans and a T-shirt, sitting in her spare room, puttering with equipment that includes a box of baggies, Tupperware, and a roll of toilet paper. Here's the caption:
"Meredith L. Patterson, a computer programmer by day, conducts an experiment in the dining room of her San Francisco apartment on Thursday, Dec. 18, 2008. Patterson is among a new breed of techno rebels who want to put genetic engineering tools in the hands of anyone with a smart idea. Using homemade lab equipment and the wealth of scientific knowledge available online, these hobbyists are trying to create new life forms through genetic engineering - a field long dominated by Ph.D.s toiling in university and corporate laboratories."
And you thought scrapbooking was cool.
Mr. Moreau: "Honey, I'm home."
Mrs. Moreau: "Hi--Wait! Don't step there."
Mr. Moreau, left foot frozen in midair, eyeing the floor in panic: "They got loose, didn't they. I knew it, I knew it... "
Mrs. Moreau: "Oh stop. It's just grape jelly."
Mrs. Moreau carefully lifts a test tube with barbecue tongs and heats it with a hair dryer. The contents begin to glow a faint blue.
Mr. Moreau, suspicious, stepping away from the jelly: "What are you working on?"
Mrs. Moreau: "It's a surprise."
Mr. Moreau groans, "That's the biofluorescent plaque-eating toothpaste bug, isn't it." Silence. "Isn't it!"
Mrs. Moreau, eyes fixed on her work: "Maybe."
Mr. Moreau: "Good God, woman, it ate the kids' teeth into points! They look like little sharks!"
Mrs. Moreau: "Relax. It's just baby teeth. They'll grow new ones. And on the plus side, the bullies at school are afraid of them now."
Mr. Moreau, slumping into a kitchen chair: "You have to quit this, Edna. You're going to kill us all."
Mrs. Moreau: "Nonsense. It's perfectly safe."
Mr. Moreau: "Who says that, Edna, who?"
Mrs. Moreau: "Scientists. Many scientists. And when I get this right, we'll be rich."
Mr. Moreau, brightening: "Oh. Well then. Carry on."
Sunday, December 07, 2008
Best. Toy. Ever.
I've been avoiding the news lately, mostly because I dislike heart palpitations. They scare me and they make me cranky, much like the news itself.
The price I pay is missing stuff like this: Toy Hall of Fame Inducts the Stick.
Now that is funny, as in snorting-coffee-out-your-nose and laughing-until-you-pee. There's even a photo of the beaming curator holding the stick, proudly housed within another classic, The Cardboard Box. (I am so in the wrong job.)
Once I caught my breath, though, I began to remember my childhood, way back at the dawn of time, and the fun we used to have with the good ol' stick.
A neighbor had a row of trees that dropped loads of long, willowy, flexible switches. They became jockey whips, transforming our bikes into race horses. They were magic wands, and instruments of tickle torture; pointers for the teacher when we played school; probes for investigating the contents of mud puddles.
Best of all, they were forbidden. Parents assured us we'd put out an eye with them. They told us, in dire tones, the story of then-famous Andy Divine, a gravel-voiced actor who ruined his throat by running with a stick and falling on it. We could end up like Andy, croaking our way through life -- and blind to boot.
In reality, the stick was the least of our perils. We raced our bikes down the middle of the street, and nobody wore helmets. We rode them behind the DDT truck, in the cloud it made when it sprayed the alleyways to kill flies. We tunneled into sandbanks down by the river, with no thought of cave-ins. We fished in a chemical soup of a river. We trusted and obeyed adults, even strangers, just because they were adults. A broken thermometer was an occassion for fun with mercury. Cars didn't even have seat belts. Nobody gave any of that a thought. But sticks? Lethal. Certain death.
Now here we are in 2008, and the stick is vindicated. Exalted, even.
So now I know what to get for all the kids on my Christmas list. Yes, kids, Santa is bringing switches this year. And this is officially A Good Thing.
The price I pay is missing stuff like this: Toy Hall of Fame Inducts the Stick.
Now that is funny, as in snorting-coffee-out-your-nose and laughing-until-you-pee. There's even a photo of the beaming curator holding the stick, proudly housed within another classic, The Cardboard Box. (I am so in the wrong job.)
Once I caught my breath, though, I began to remember my childhood, way back at the dawn of time, and the fun we used to have with the good ol' stick.
A neighbor had a row of trees that dropped loads of long, willowy, flexible switches. They became jockey whips, transforming our bikes into race horses. They were magic wands, and instruments of tickle torture; pointers for the teacher when we played school; probes for investigating the contents of mud puddles.
Best of all, they were forbidden. Parents assured us we'd put out an eye with them. They told us, in dire tones, the story of then-famous Andy Divine, a gravel-voiced actor who ruined his throat by running with a stick and falling on it. We could end up like Andy, croaking our way through life -- and blind to boot.
In reality, the stick was the least of our perils. We raced our bikes down the middle of the street, and nobody wore helmets. We rode them behind the DDT truck, in the cloud it made when it sprayed the alleyways to kill flies. We tunneled into sandbanks down by the river, with no thought of cave-ins. We fished in a chemical soup of a river. We trusted and obeyed adults, even strangers, just because they were adults. A broken thermometer was an occassion for fun with mercury. Cars didn't even have seat belts. Nobody gave any of that a thought. But sticks? Lethal. Certain death.
Now here we are in 2008, and the stick is vindicated. Exalted, even.
So now I know what to get for all the kids on my Christmas list. Yes, kids, Santa is bringing switches this year. And this is officially A Good Thing.
Saturday, November 01, 2008
How To Get Great Medical Care
My sister sent this to me by email. Just sharing:
Two patients limp into two different medical clinics with the same complaint. Both have trouble walking and appear to require a hip replacement.
The first patient is examined within the hour, gets X-rays the same day, and has a time booked for surgery the following week.
The second sees his family doctor after waiting three weeks for an appointment, then waits eight weeks to see a specialist, then gets an X-ray that isn't reviewed for another week, and finally has his surgery scheduled for a month from then.
Why the different treatment for the two patients?
The first patient is a Golden Retriever.
The second is a senior citizen.
Next time I get sick, take me to a vet.
Two patients limp into two different medical clinics with the same complaint. Both have trouble walking and appear to require a hip replacement.
The first patient is examined within the hour, gets X-rays the same day, and has a time booked for surgery the following week.
The second sees his family doctor after waiting three weeks for an appointment, then waits eight weeks to see a specialist, then gets an X-ray that isn't reviewed for another week, and finally has his surgery scheduled for a month from then.
Why the different treatment for the two patients?
The first patient is a Golden Retriever.
The second is a senior citizen.
Next time I get sick, take me to a vet.
Tuesday, September 02, 2008
Ruby ' Tude Day
Tuesday tribe, meet Gatsby. Here he's trying to ignore the Food Lady's inexplicable and annoying invasion of his sunspot. He was doing pretty well, actually, until just about here. I was going for the red collar on a napping kitty. The evil-eye was gravy.
Check out all of this week's Ruby Tuesday entries over at theteach's place, Work of the Poet.
Saturday, August 16, 2008
Photo Hunt: Colorful
We saw this guy in front of a small-town art center in New York, and just had to pull over for a closer look. Could there be a more colorful moose? I thought the lantern was a nice touch.
Stop by at tnchick's place for lots more.
*Click photos to enlarge.
Monday, June 30, 2008
Thursday, May 08, 2008
May 9 is Lost Sock Memorial Day
In honor of the occasion, I have written you a poem:
Ode to a Lost Sock
Does anyone know
where the single socks go
when a pair of them go in the dryer?
Do they slip out to play
and wander away,
forgetting that they are attire?
Do they tire of their mate
and their tiresome fate,
every day in the dark of a shoe?
Do they follow the song
of a silky black thong
and cling to that siren like glue?
Are they captured by pirates,
or stolen by gnomes
who are jealous of our cozy toes?
Are they pilfered by mice
to make their nest nice?
Are there gangs of barefoot Eskimos?
There are those who say,
in a sinister way,
that a dryer's a portal in space;
that socks who fall through
(and they swear this is true)
warm the feet of an alien race.
Ah, does anyone
anyone anyone know,
someone who isn't a liar?
Does anyone know
where the single socks go
when a pair of them go in the dryer?
Copyright May 2008
Sunday, April 13, 2008
Sunday, February 10, 2008
Things that make you go Hmmmm
A friend sent me this in email. Just sharing the smile.
Why do we press harder on a remote control when we know the batteries are dead?
Why do banks charge a fee on 'insufficient funds' when they know there is not enough money?
Why does someone believe you when you say there are four billion stars, but check when you say the paint is wet?
Why do they use sterilized needles for death by lethal injection?
Why doesn't Tarzan have a beard?
If Superman can stop bullets with his chest, why does he duck when you throw a revolver at him?
Why do Kamikaze pilots wear helmets?
Whose idea was it to put an 'S' in the word 'lisp'?
If people evolved from apes, why are there still apes?
Why is it that no matter what color bubble bath you use the bubbles are always white?
Why do people constantly return to the refrigerator with hopes that something new to eat will have materialized?
Why do people keep running over a string a dozen times with their vacuum cleaner, then reach down, pick it up, examine it, then put it down to give the vacuum one more chance?
Why is it that no plastic bag will open from the end on your first try?
Why is it that whenever you attempt to catch something that's falling off the table you always manage to knock something else over?
Why do we try to keep the house as warm in winter as it was in summer when we complained about the heat?
How do those dead bugs get into those enclosed light fixtures?
How come you never hear father-in-law jokes?
Why do we press harder on a remote control when we know the batteries are dead?
Why do banks charge a fee on 'insufficient funds' when they know there is not enough money?
Why does someone believe you when you say there are four billion stars, but check when you say the paint is wet?
Why do they use sterilized needles for death by lethal injection?
Why doesn't Tarzan have a beard?
If Superman can stop bullets with his chest, why does he duck when you throw a revolver at him?
Why do Kamikaze pilots wear helmets?
Whose idea was it to put an 'S' in the word 'lisp'?
If people evolved from apes, why are there still apes?
Why is it that no matter what color bubble bath you use the bubbles are always white?
Why do people constantly return to the refrigerator with hopes that something new to eat will have materialized?
Why do people keep running over a string a dozen times with their vacuum cleaner, then reach down, pick it up, examine it, then put it down to give the vacuum one more chance?
Why is it that no plastic bag will open from the end on your first try?
Why is it that whenever you attempt to catch something that's falling off the table you always manage to knock something else over?
Why do we try to keep the house as warm in winter as it was in summer when we complained about the heat?
How do those dead bugs get into those enclosed light fixtures?
How come you never hear father-in-law jokes?
Wednesday, January 09, 2008
Let there be ... oh, say, brownies
Just a quickie here, as I'm busy busy busy. Today, January 9, is Play God Day, and once I'm done with creating stuff I have a load of smiting to do. So praise me. NOW. Or else.
Sunday, December 30, 2007
Filet o' Frank?
This is from a midnight romp through BoingBoing. Somebody in Korea has hybridized carp that appear to have human faces. Because there just wasn't enough creepiness in the world without them.
It reminds me of the recent news story about the Russian fishermen who hauled in what appeared to them to be an alien. So they photographed it for a while before they ate it. Wonder if they had fries with that.
Thursday, November 01, 2007
All Saints Day
I am not a Catholic, but I like the idea of saints.
My first real awareness of them came shortly after we moved to this area. Catholic neighbors trying to sell their houses bury little statues of Saint Joseph in their yards, facing away from the house. When the house is sold, they dig him up and take him with them to the new home. They swear he gets the job done.
It would be nice to think that some kindly spirit or other was out there to talk to, and maybe to lend a hand. Somebody who was once one of us, and who understands that life on earth ain't easy. (Yes, yes, I know. Jesus. But as the incarnation of Yahweh, he was never exactly one of the boys, was he.)
I wouldn't mind having a pleasant, holy-ish spirit friend; a minor deity of sorts, one who wouldn't afflict me with boils or plagues or anything.
A quick Internet search brought me to Catholic Online - Saints & Angels, where I discovered there are hundreds and hundreds of 'em. Wow. Who knew? There is even a list of Popular Saints, presumably the "cool kids' table" of the spirit world. I imagine they're pretty busy. And I doubt they'd be caught dead consorting with a backslid Presbyterian.
No, what I need is a small, thoughtful saint who might welcome a little attention. One with some extra time on his or her hands. Back to the Internet for a search on "obscure saints":
Topping the results list is Michael Kelly's Page of Misery: Saints, which is funny as hell but not to be clicked upon if you are easily offended. (Consider yourself warned. Do not email me.)
An entry or two down in Google is the delightful, quirky Saints in Paper Maché. The artist is Canadian Kate Hodgson. Of her collection she says, "Holy folk, who excelled in life or overcame great obstacles are heroes. I think they deserve a little more shelf space in our everyday lives." I can agree with that.
Among her subjects is Saint Zita, reputed to be a kind and generous soul who, refreshingly enough, was not too horribly abused in life and did not end up being tortured to death. She's a patron saint of homemakers, among other things. Hm. Zita might do. I'll let you know.
*Update, November 2: Indeterminacy says, "I wonder why a patron saint of the Internet hasn't been named yet, but I'm sure it will be done soon." which made me wonder, too. Well, the wait is over. Looks like the Vatican assigned the job to Saint Isidore of Seville. Now there's a useful saint.
My first real awareness of them came shortly after we moved to this area. Catholic neighbors trying to sell their houses bury little statues of Saint Joseph in their yards, facing away from the house. When the house is sold, they dig him up and take him with them to the new home. They swear he gets the job done.
It would be nice to think that some kindly spirit or other was out there to talk to, and maybe to lend a hand. Somebody who was once one of us, and who understands that life on earth ain't easy. (Yes, yes, I know. Jesus. But as the incarnation of Yahweh, he was never exactly one of the boys, was he.)
I wouldn't mind having a pleasant, holy-ish spirit friend; a minor deity of sorts, one who wouldn't afflict me with boils or plagues or anything.
A quick Internet search brought me to Catholic Online - Saints & Angels, where I discovered there are hundreds and hundreds of 'em. Wow. Who knew? There is even a list of Popular Saints, presumably the "cool kids' table" of the spirit world. I imagine they're pretty busy. And I doubt they'd be caught dead consorting with a backslid Presbyterian.
No, what I need is a small, thoughtful saint who might welcome a little attention. One with some extra time on his or her hands. Back to the Internet for a search on "obscure saints":
Topping the results list is Michael Kelly's Page of Misery: Saints, which is funny as hell but not to be clicked upon if you are easily offended. (Consider yourself warned. Do not email me.)
An entry or two down in Google is the delightful, quirky Saints in Paper Maché. The artist is Canadian Kate Hodgson. Of her collection she says, "Holy folk, who excelled in life or overcame great obstacles are heroes. I think they deserve a little more shelf space in our everyday lives." I can agree with that.
Among her subjects is Saint Zita, reputed to be a kind and generous soul who, refreshingly enough, was not too horribly abused in life and did not end up being tortured to death. She's a patron saint of homemakers, among other things. Hm. Zita might do. I'll let you know.
*Update, November 2: Indeterminacy says, "I wonder why a patron saint of the Internet hasn't been named yet, but I'm sure it will be done soon." which made me wonder, too. Well, the wait is over. Looks like the Vatican assigned the job to Saint Isidore of Seville. Now there's a useful saint.
Saturday, October 20, 2007
Take it away, Snowball
If you haven't seen this yet, you gotta. GOTTA, got it?
BTW, I'm having issues with Comcast again, so I may not be on much for a bit. Dang it.
BTW, I'm having issues with Comcast again, so I may not be on much for a bit. Dang it.
Sunday, September 30, 2007
Sunday snippets
Well, a whole week has come and gone, and not one entry got posted. Herewith, the things I could have written about, had I not been distracted by something shiny:
Masonry. I'm still searching for the meaning of the pin mentioned in the last entry, Talisman. I can't find another like it anywhere on websites selling Masonic jewelry. There are 33 seed pearls, probably for the 33 degrees in Masonry. The inverted horns may refer to Seshat, Egyptian goddess of wisdom, writing, architecture and mathematics. She was the divine measurer and scribe, assisting the Pharaoh in temple building, so it may be some kind of pin for the scribe's office. Or, it could be a Shriner symbol. There actually is a pin made to be worn by female relatives of Masons when they travel, but that is the blue slipper pin. So the mystery continues.
Paris Hilton. She is going to Rwanda to call attention to the suffering there? Give me a freaking break. Hey Paris, here's a clue: The rest of us already heard about it. How about taking the money you'd spend on your entourage for this trip and just giving it to aid workers on the ground, who can actually use it to help people? Better yet, send them what you spend on handbags in a month. That should pretty much fix the whole place.
'The Office' season premier. I used to love the show. But putting a live cat in a freezer to die in pain and terror is not funny in any way, shape or form. I don't know why cruelty to cats is so often considered humorous. Would the writers have put a dog in the freezer? A child, perhaps? I don't think so. And I won't be tuning in again any time soon.
Ewwwwwww. There is a murderous amoeba living in lakes and streams that gets up your nose and attacks your brain, "where it feeds until you die." Six deaths so far this year.
Glasses. I need new ones. Because it turns out that the plants I've been secretly watering at work are fake.
And that's all, folks.
Masonry. I'm still searching for the meaning of the pin mentioned in the last entry, Talisman. I can't find another like it anywhere on websites selling Masonic jewelry. There are 33 seed pearls, probably for the 33 degrees in Masonry. The inverted horns may refer to Seshat, Egyptian goddess of wisdom, writing, architecture and mathematics. She was the divine measurer and scribe, assisting the Pharaoh in temple building, so it may be some kind of pin for the scribe's office. Or, it could be a Shriner symbol. There actually is a pin made to be worn by female relatives of Masons when they travel, but that is the blue slipper pin. So the mystery continues.
Paris Hilton. She is going to Rwanda to call attention to the suffering there? Give me a freaking break. Hey Paris, here's a clue: The rest of us already heard about it. How about taking the money you'd spend on your entourage for this trip and just giving it to aid workers on the ground, who can actually use it to help people? Better yet, send them what you spend on handbags in a month. That should pretty much fix the whole place.
'The Office' season premier. I used to love the show. But putting a live cat in a freezer to die in pain and terror is not funny in any way, shape or form. I don't know why cruelty to cats is so often considered humorous. Would the writers have put a dog in the freezer? A child, perhaps? I don't think so. And I won't be tuning in again any time soon.
Ewwwwwww. There is a murderous amoeba living in lakes and streams that gets up your nose and attacks your brain, "where it feeds until you die." Six deaths so far this year.
Glasses. I need new ones. Because it turns out that the plants I've been secretly watering at work are fake.
And that's all, folks.
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
Shiver me timbers
Avast, ye land lubbers! It's September 19, International Talk Like a Pirate Day!
Why a day fer struttin' yer pirattitude, ye might well be askin'? Well, me hearties, whyever not? Was there somethin' better than swearin', swaggerin', and swiggin' rum on yer agenda fer today? Aye, lads, I thought not.
Celebrate yer inner Cap'n Jack by seein' how long ya can keep it up before yer shipmates hangs ye from the yard arm or yer barnacle of a boss fires yer scurvy self. Extra dubloons to any son o' the sea or lass of the lee who be wearin' an eyepatch ter the office this day. Arr.
Monday, September 17, 2007
Fight for Kisses
Check out Wilkinson Sword's new ad campaign for razors that shave Dad's skin "as soft as a baby's." The video is a hoot, and you can even download a game from the website if you're so inclined. Just thought I'd pass it along.
Click image to see the tats.
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