Thursday, April 9, 2015
Here’s one: what did the farmer say to his neighbour farmer yesterday morning? He said good morning, neighbour. Oh another? What did the elephant do to cool off? It sprayed itself with water, just like a regular elephant would. Making you laugh I see. Well in that case you’ll love this one: When is the right time to throw out your garbage? When the bin is full. Yeah yeah. These are fun. I could keep going all day. What did the basket ball team do again last night? They lost. Two apples roll down a hill. One is red. One is green. The green apple bumps into the red apple. And the red apple says to the green apple, “What do you think I am a typewriter?” That one’s my favourite. Classic typewriter jokes. Hope you didn’t find these too hard to understand. I know how difficult intellectual jokes can be for the average mind. If it makes you feel any better, I didn’t get the typewriter one at first either. Obviously now I do though. Obviously now I do.
Thursday, April 9, 2015
I’m gonna take just a few minutes of your time… Like, three, yeah, five minutes. If I make you laugh, you gotta give me ten dollars, okay? Okay. A mushroom walks into a and sidles up to this super hot redhead. He sits down beside her. He’s like, “Babe, can I buy you a drink?” She rolls her eyes and is like, “Um, NO.” He order a shot of tequila and says, “Why? I’m a FUN GUY!” Like, get it? Like, FUNGHI?! Like, mushroom?! Why aren’t you laughing? That’s my best one, lady, I don’t know what you thought I was gonna say, I mean… Are you one of those intellectuals that only really laugh at, like, clever jokes, like the kind in The New Yorker? Not my fucking brand.
Sunday November 2, 2014
Tongue Twisters at Americanfolklore.net
Casey was trying to write a bunch of rhymes about penguins for her 5th grade poetry assignment. She was having a hard time because nothing really easy rhymes with “penguin”. She didn’t even know why she chose penguins in the first place. She could have picked anything, like leaves, or malls, or berries. She thought that maybe because she did her first major school project on penguins, she’d have some more luck. Only her mom did it all for her cause Casey didn’t know how to research anything yet. She wondered if she could use some of the information from the bulletin board her mom made and turn it into a poem. So far she had “dressed in tuxedos and loving the sky, penguins are classy but don’t know how to fly.” Casey had already crumpled up six sheets of paper cause the other rhymes were a bit lame. She wanted to ask her mom what she thought but that would make two whole projects on penguins that Casey hadn’t done on her own.
Friday April 24, 2014 at
An e-mail about grappa
Well I’m in a place in my life right now where all I want to do is tell other people how I got here. You know, there’s a history and origin story within each of us, and I’m just at that hippy dippy stage where I want to share it. I also have more urges to pet strangers’ dogs, which is very unlike me so I know I’m going through some sort of transformation. If you asked me anything, I’d probably find a way to bring up the summer I spent in Berlin, or the Pilates class I took while I was in Amsterdam, or the amazing little girl in Africa I filmed wearing her brother’s prized soccer jersey. I’d also tell you that I brought her brother that jersey, and that I made their lives better just by being in it. It would be inflated and I would be doing it purely for my ego, but that’s just the life check point I’m at, you know? It’s so weird, I spent all this time trying to be who I was for others, and now I’m being who I am for me. And I take a lot of selfies because, hey, I’m worth it. And I post them on the internet just because I think people should see the process of life, right? That some days are better than others, but that doesn’t mean the bad ones are any less worth documenting. Those are the days I inscribe onto my heart and put a tacky frame around it when company is over just to prove that I am, in fact, as lame as the mural in my front foyer that says “Live, Love, Laugh.”
Monday, August 12, 2013
Heidi was drying her toenails with a blow-dryer because she wanted to be ready for when Donald picked her up. She was debating whether or not she should even go out with Donald…because his name was just so goddamn lame. Was he a car salesman? Donald. Was he an accountant? Donald. Was he a mama’s boy? Donald. Ugh. She couldn’t get over it. If he hadn’t made her laugh so hard that fettuccine alfredo shot out of her nose the first time they met, she wouldn’t even have considered him. Donald. Ugh. Was sweet. And he had a nice head of hair. And he probably wouldn’t be opposed to being called Don, Heidi had just never asked about it yet. He suggested the board-game cafe, and she also only agreed to that because it was effing freezing out, and she swore to herself that she wouldn’t waste a patio-season night being indoors. She always felt those kind of places were winter-friendly only. And if they weren’t, it would just be a bunch of lame-os. Heidi was hoping Donald was not as lame as his name.