Category Archives: humor

A Trip into Absurdity

So one ofthe things I’ve been working on, in between ranting and raving about the state of the country, is this idiotic and silly piece of writing. Names have been changed to protect the incredibly guilty. It’s a work in progress, so I may post more as I come up with it.

A Yet-Untitled Piece of Insanity
Copyright (c) 2016 by the blonde, All rights reserved. May not be quoted or published elsewhere without this author’s express, written permission.

         Once upon a time there existed a fantastical and balmy land known to the Universe at large as Preposterous Patria. To those who lived within its asinine borders, it was an area known simply as “SillyLand”. The longer title was held in reserve for special events, such as visiting foreign dignitaries, the launching of a new ship, and the local high school’s prom tickets. None of those things matters on this day.

For on this day, throughout the land, it was announced that Her Royal Highness, Princess Asya Scarlette, was to graduate from the general Institution of the Inane and was moving up to the Southern Royal Academy for the Further Instruction of Royal Etiquette and Education. While this is truly important day in any princess’s life, it is not the point of our story.

Far to the North, the Princess’ mother, First Princess of the Blood, Her Royal Highness Lillith Victoria, was beginning a great sojourn south to see her daughter graduate. Alongside her was Her Grace the Grand Duchesse of Somnolence, Gabriella Michaela Reseda, best friend to Princess Lilith and fairy godmother to Princess Asya. That is where our true story begins.

“You’re sure you have everything?” Prince Elymas the Kindhearted asked. Prince Elymas was not just a prince; he was also the realm’s primary sorcerer and magician who also fancied himself a world-renowned traveler. Often in search of new death-defying magics and spells, he travelled far more than the Princess Lilith and thus was concerned about her and the Duchesse and their wandering so far afield on their own.

“Relax, milord,” replied Princess Lilith. “For we have all we could want. Gifts for Princess Asya the Sassy, gifts for my parents, her guardians, a well-kept and nourished steed with great focus, a knowledgeable magicked guide, and miniature musicians for entertainment. We shall be fine.”

“Don’t forget, we also have the speaking devices that were specially spelled so that we may all keep in contact throughout the duration of the journey,” the Duchesse added.

“I suppose,” said Prince Elymas. He sighed, looking a bit forlorn. “Come here, my princess, so that I may take my leave of you properly.” Prince Elymas, although he tried to keep a reputation of being a stern and formidable sorcerer, was really a marshmallow. Kissing the princess thoroughly, he also hugged the Duchesse, whom he oft treated as a younger sister. Always the gentleman, he opened the coach doors, kissed the princess again, and waved them off.

“How long do you think it will be before he contacts us through the speaking device?” Princess Lilith asked with a slight edge to her voice, a combination of loving annoyance and humor.

The Duchesse giggled. “He shall at least wait until we are at the end of the road. You have the directions for the first part of the journey?”

“Of course, courtesy of Prince Elymas the Kindhearted. We shall follow the Great Road south for several miles, and cross over the Lenape River and continue the southern route along the inner shore until reaching the home of Princess Asya and her guardians. Should we stray from our path, we will count on the good advice of Sir Julio the Navigational Knight. Before we get really started though, let us fill the coach with fuel and stock our own baskets with victuals so that we will not have to stop and answer to the whims of our stomachs too soon into our drive.”

“Sounds good to me.”

Before long, the Princess and the Duchesse were well on their way. Separately, they were both accomplished voyagers and couldn’t understand why their respective families were worried about this particular trip. The Duchesse’s father, Solomon, His Grace the Grand Duke, was highly protective of the young, headstrong Duchesse and the troubles she was wont to get into. He understood that there was no arguing with the Duchesse once she got an idea in her head, and it was worse when she and HRH the Princess were together. They had already managed to get themselves banned from the neighboring kingdom for an unfortunate incident at that kingdom’s Summer Beach Concert Ball, something involving an over-abundance of sangria and a local squire’s son. Still, he would try. His Grace the Grand Duke and his daughter were very much alike. It gave her mother, the Her Grace the Dowager Duchesse, many headaches. HRH Prince Elymas was more inclined to worry, knowing more of the details of the escapades that ladies got themselves involved in.

It was these details the ladies were laughing over when the Princess Lilith commented on a slight unfamiliarity in the highway.

“This area is most unusual. Duchesse, could you please check the magicked guide?”

The Duchesse fumbled around through the mountains of miniature musicians, refreshments, wraps, and gifts until she found Sir Julio, the Navigational Knight. A young knight who had been cursed by a cantankerous witch with a horrific case of PMS, he was doomed to live his life in a mere two-inch tall metal box, a sort of tortured genie. Instead of granting wishes, he used his innate sense of direction and hired out to guide travelers all throughout Preposterous Patria. “Sir Julio, what say you?” asked the Duchesse, holding him up so he could peer out the window.

“Sweet Princess, I fear you have missed a turn over the Great River Bridge. This means you must now travel through the Five Cantons of the Excessively Vast Crimson Achene. It may be perilous. Good luck.” The good Sir Julio ducked back into his box.

“The Five Cantons? Is he crazy? We’ll be lucky if we don’t get a halberd through our windscreen, or caltrops under our wheels. Listen, you cantankerous canker blossom, how did we manage to miss the turn to begin with? You’re the Navigational Knight aboard this coach. Aren’t you supposed to tell us these things?” Princess Lilith, a bit pink around the edges, demanded.

Sir Julio blew a raspberry in her direction. “There was construction, just as there always is in this gods-forsaken city. Now don’t expect any help from me for a while.”

Duchesse Gabriella stared at the Knight’s box, wide-eyed with incredulity. “Well, engage softly with me in coitus with a sharp series of jointed metal rings.”

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Wacky Wednesday

A bit of musical humor to lighten your evening:

C, E-flat and G go into a bar. The bartender says, “Sorry, we don’t serve minors,” and E-flat leaves. C and G have an open fifth between them. After a few drinks, the fifth is diminished and G is out flat. F comes in and tries to augment the situation, but is not sharp enough. D comes into the bar and heads straight for the bathroom saying, “Excuse me, I’ll just be a second.”
A comes into the bar, but the bartender is not convinced that this relative of C is not a minor and sends him out. Then the bartender notices a B-flat hiding at the end of the bar and shouts, “Get out now. You’re the seventh minor I’ve found in this bar tonight.”
Next night, E-flat, not easily deflated, comes into the bar in a 3-piece suit with nicely shined shoes. The bartender says: “You’re looking pretty sharp tonight. Come on in. This could be a major development.” Sure enough, E-flat takes off his suit and everything else and stands there au naturel.
Eventually, C, who had passed out under the bar the night before, begins to sober up and realizes in horror that he’s under a rest. So, C goes to trial, is convicted of contributing to the diminution of a minor and sentenced to 10 years of DS without Coda at an up scale correctional facility. The conviction is overturned on appeal, however, and C is found innocent of any wrongdoing, even accidental, and that all accusations to the contrary are bassless.
The bartender decides, however, that since he’s only had tenor so patrons, the soprano out in the bathroom and everything has become alto much treble, he needs a rest and closes the bar.

music meeting

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Stop! Don’t open. That door!

There’s a lot of lousy things going on in the world today. A laundry list of them. (Note to self, do laundry.) As I am very, very sick of turning on the TV and the radio and the interwebs and hearing about suicides, looting, race-baiting, rape, and the crucifixion of children, I’m going to my happy place.

Now is a good time to warn all of you that my happy place involves killing zombies. Lots and lots of zombies.

I discovered Resident Evil 2 when I was a sophomore in high school through a boyfriend, and in turn, I introduced it to my brothers. There isn’t a lot that a 16-year-old girl and two boys ages 13 and 10 can agree upon, but for the three of us, it was Resident Evil and the extremely unusual  and rather bloody crime fighting adventures of Chris, Jill, Claire, Leon, Ada, and the rest of the gang as they battled the evil Umbrella Corporation. Alright, maybe “crime fighting” is stretching things a bit, but Chris and Jill were RPD special ops, Leon was a cop, and the second game took place in a police station. Close enough.

I don’t know what it was about those games. We watched each other play like we might watch a movie – offering advice, shouting out warnings, and always ready with a clever insult when someone did something stupid, whether that be the character or the one controlling him. And oh, did we screw up. Or, better, tried to make each other screw up. Like the time I neglected to mention that licker that was going to burst through the two-way mirror, and I’m pretty sure the story about how I missed Birkin during the final battle with one of my precious rocket-launcher shots (you only get two) when I had the game set to “auto-aim” will be told at my funeral.

Then again, so too will we recall my brother frantically pointing at the gate and stammering “Use the bent-pin-door-opener-thingie!”

“The lock pick?”

“Yeah, the lock pick.”

Ah, the good old days. Today, it’s rare to get my brothers and me in the same room for more than five minutes at a time; our lives pull us in so many different directions. I’ll always look back with fondness though at the appreciation for a perfect headshot, the achievement of shaving a few seconds off a record time, the beating of the extra game with ‘Hunk” or “Tofu” (yes, that’s exactly what it sounds like. You race through the game as a giant block of tofu.)

Or when someone is in desperate need of a smile, you just look at them and say, “You were almost a Jill sandwich.”

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A Movie, a Centipede, and a Police Officer

… all walk into a bar…

I know, it does seem like the beginning of a joke. In retrospect, nearly a year later, the whole thing was funny. In honor of me having the entire house to myself for a few hours and the fact that I’m going on vacation for the next three weeks as of Thursday with very limited internet (unless I haul myself to a Starbucks or something. TBD.), I figured if I wasn’t going to be posting again until nearly September I could at least leave you with something amusing, and poke a great deal of fun at myself in the process.

The following tale is the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.

 

It isn’t often I get the house to myself in the evening, less often that I even desire it that way, because frankly, I don’t like being home alone. My cat isn’t exactly intimidating toward strangers; he is more the type demand attention than drive them away from the house. With this in mind, my plan was to order take-out (or take-in, as the case may be) and sack out on the couch with Netflix. All was going well until I got to the Netflix part and out of the corner of my eye I saw something skitter across the floor of the living room.

My glasses were exactly where they should be. That is, I don’t usually wear them at home unless I’m actively watching television, as I generally *know* where things are placed and my eyesight isn’t THAT bad. So they were on the table, next to the book I’d been reading while noshing down on boneless wings, bread sticks and diet coke. (Healthy, I know.) I couldn’t tell the size of the critter, or even if it was vegetable, animal, or mineral, though considering that it was moving, it was pretty safe rule out vegetable and mineral. I figured for mouse. We haven’t had many mice since we’ve had the cat, but at fifteen years old, he’s slowed down quite a bit and it was perfectly possible that one had slipped by him. I got up to check.

Was I ever glad I was wearing flip-flops.

It was not a mouse. I would have been definitely ok with a mouse. I actually like mice. This was smaller than a mouse, and had many more legs. Dozens more legs. In fact, the very name of this horrible being translates to “one hundred feet” and it sure as sugar looked like it. There was a bloody centipede making its way under my living room rug.

I did what any normal 29-year old woman would do. I screamed bloody murder. The monster was having a hard time getting under the padding of the rug, so I took a quick picture of it (because that’s what any sane person does when confronted by something that terrifies her, and I didn’t think anyone would believe me otherwise) before stomping madly on it. Fortunately, I killed it. As sure as I heard it go “Gak”, I killed it. I peeled back the rug’s padding to be sure. Yup! Dead. Then I fired off this text message to my mother, along with the picture:

“Do you know what that is? It’s the back-end of a giant (expletive deleted) millipede or centipede or whatever that I just killed IN OUR LIVINGROOM!”

Ok, maybe I wasn’t as calm as I’d thought. Still, I had won the day. Now I could sit back, choose a movie, and become one with the couch. This lasted a total of maybe ten minutes when another of the little things came across the floor and under the couch.

This time, there was no was I was getting off the couch. I texted my mother again, who was away on vacation, as though she’d be able to solve it from four hours away: “If the house is gone when you get back, it’s because I burned it down to ensure the thing and any relatives are dead, ’cause another (expletive deleted) just went under the couch.”

Even from hours away, moms will be moms: “Move the couch and chair and vacuum the rug.”

While this may have been a thinly veiled ploy to get me to clean up the livingroom, I rolled up my pj pants, put my flip-flops back on, took out the rocking chair, and did just that. I moved the armchair and vacuumed the rug under and behind it, moved the end table and did the same. I carried the decorative tree into the hall and hauled half the couch into the middle of the room and started vacuuming behind there. Still no centipede, but I figured it dove under the rug like its ill-fated companion on the other side. There were some blankets folded up on the floor. I went to shake them out, just in case…

…why is it “just in case” never ends well for anyone? The monstrous, hideous creature falls out. I jump and scream and drop the blanket, into which it promptly dives back in. (To make this even more mentally interesting, if it needs to be, it’s a leopard print Snuggie – you know, one of those blankets with sleeves.) I have a vacuum in one hand and I’m stomping pretty much aimlessly on the floor, because although I want desperately to kill the thing, I don’t know where it is and I don’t want to kill it IN the blanket.

At that precise moment, a police officer walks through my front door, looks at me and says, “What the hell?”

I wish to the gods that was the punchline to a joke, but it isn’t.

“There’s a centipede in the blanket,” I explained. “Do you seriously think I’d be vacuuming at 9:00 at night for any other reason?”

“I didn’t think you ever vacuumed at all,” he replied, taking out his flashlight.  “In the 26 years that I have known you, which is to say, my entire life, I think I can count on one hand the number of times I have seen you vacuum behind that couch. Shake the blanket out and get him.”

As soon as I did, the centipede fell out and was ground into paste on the hardwood floor. My brother the cop, having done his duty as an officer of the law and seen this terrible criminal -who went around terrorizing innocent women- brought to justice, make himself a sandwich and enjoyed his dinner break.

So much for my night in.

 

 

thankful spiders

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Thursday Night Funnies*

*Subject to change (literally) as soon as I think of something more witty. There aren’t a lot of synonyms for “joke” or “humor” that begin with “th” or “n”, oddly enough.

 

Anyway, in honor of my dear old Dad, who, as I previously mentioned was Head Bedtime Story Teller, and often times shied away from the likes of the Little Golden Books and Dr. Seuss in honor of E. A. Poe and Sherlock Holmes; I present the joke that has, on more than one occasion, been rated the funniest joke of modern times:

Sherlock and Dr. Watson Go Camping

Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson decided to take a camping trip. After dinner, a bottle of wine, and some conversation, they settle in to sleep.

Some hours later, Holmes awoke and nudged his faithful friend. “Watson, look up at the sky and tell me what you see.”

Watson replied, “I see millions of stars.”

“And what does that tell you?” asked Holmes.

“Well, astronomically, it tells me there are millions of galaxies and potentially billions of planets. Astrologically, I observe that Saturn is in Leo. Horologically, I deduce that the time is approximately a quarter past three. Theologically, I can see that God is all-powerful and we are small and insignificant. Meteorologically, the skies are clear and it will be a beautiful day tomorrow.” He paused. “What does it tell you, Holmes?”

Holmes sighed. “Watson, you idiot. Somebody stole our tent.”

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