Tag Archives: Humor

Gold, Diamonds, Riches

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Gold, Diamonds, Riches

Walter: What happened?
Curly: It was no picnic but those guys are work animals. Well everything looks pretty much under control.
Walter: It does?

This post is an open solicitation to investors. This is your opportunity to get in on the ground floor, nay the underground floor of our gold and diamond mine. We’re talking real riches here folks. This is not a scam! Years ago, when Dave was still little, we believe that he flushed Anne’s wedding ring down the toilet. It is probably still down there. This is the explanation for my claims of gold, diamonds and riches. If we are really lucky, it will reappear this week and in a symbolic way help defray the cost of this big dig. 😉

Curly: Well not to the layman’s eyes of course.
Walter: They completely ripped up my house!
Curly: They sure as hell did didn’t they? They really ripped the guts out of it. They’re work animals I tell you. Look at those holes huh? Then you’ve got your gravel piles, your sand piles, your scrap piles. Animals!
Walter: Animals.

The preceding photograph represents the dream of possible wealth, while the subsequent photo shows the current reality of our basement. Four men showed up on Monday morning. With shovels and jack hammers in hand they went to work. Except for a few small sections, they have dug up our ancient sewer line. I expect that they will finish the interior digging today. There is still the exterior excavation yet to go, and then they’ll start laying the new PVC pipe. There will be a point when all of the old sewer line has been torn out and the new line laid. That is when the county inspector will show up to give his blessing. Then they will fill-in the trenches and then restore the concrete flooring.

Curly: Well I like a good conversation as much as any but I’ve got to run. Hasta Pronto if you know what I mean.
Walter: You’re leaving?
Curly: Well I ain’t moving in.

Our Grand Canyon

Dialogue between characters Walter (homeowner) and Curly (contractor), from the movie, The Money Pit.

Our neighbors, Art and Caroline came over to survey the damage. They are both architects and have done a lot with their own home. They had heard the noise all day and were curious to see the results, but not curious by half as their two children, Ethan and Gracie. These kids were jumping back and forth over the various trenches and having a grand time.

More Swifties

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Her Swiftyness

From Wiki:

A Tom Swifty is a phrase in which a quoted sentence is linked by a pun to the manner in which it is attributed. The name comes from the Tom Swift series of books, similar in many ways to the better-known Hardy Boys and Nancy Drew series. A stylistic idiosyncrasy of some books in this series was that the author, went to great trouble to avoid repetition of the unadorned word “said”; elegant variation used a different quotative verb, or modifying adverbial words or phrases. Since many adverbs end in “ly” this kind of pun was originally called a Tom Swiftly, the archetypal example being “We must hurry,” said Tom Swiftly. At some point, this kind of humor was called a Tom Swifty, and that name is now more prevalent though incorrect.

From Anne:

  • “Look, the prisoner is escaping down the wall!” he said condescendingly.
  • “A penny for your thoughts” she said sentimentally.
  • Three statisticians got together. “I think I’ve mowed my lawn more times than anyone else”, said the first. Well, I think you’re just average, the second one said meanly. The third one, a Dr. Ian, said, “You count from one end, and you the other, and we’ll meet in the center, he said measuredly.
  • “The recycling bin is right here”, Mark said pointedly.
  • A cross-pollination between Art and Science: That Greek column is Ionic, said Hydrogen positively.
  • “Look at the strong base”, said Ammonia. “You lye!”, said Vinegar, sourly.
  • The Case of the Rock Hounds: “Sedimentary, My Dear Watson, the clues have clearly been laid down piece by piece over long periods of time, he said era-ly. Shale I go over them for you? You seem muddled.” “You needn’t treat me like an igneous fool”, Watson replied explosively. “Granite, that under pressure, I seem to lose my marbles, and change into something else, if I may use a metaphor…um it’s, it’s”, he stuttured dyslexically. “All right, all right”, Sherlock said, gneissly. “Look over here, I’m sure this is talc”, he said softly. “Well it’s hardly a diamond is it”, said Watson.
  • “Could you please direct me to the men’s room?”, he asked gently.

Anne related many of these Swifties, while we were riding in the park today. We didn’t get off to a very fast start this morning and while on the bike quickly fell behind the faster riders in the park. The temperature began to rise speedily, but we fleetly finished our ride. All the while that we were riding, Anne kept formulating and spouting Swifties.

Anne’s Swiftyness

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Sequoia Lizard

[The following is a guest post from my spovely louse, Anne.] “I drank too much coffee last night”, she complained bitterly. Since sleep did not come swiftly, I spent the time thinking about Swifties. Supposedly, they were invented by Tom Swift of Gulliver’s Travel fame. (check Wikipedia, she added parenthetically.) It’s been a Hard Day’s Night, she said with beetled brow, but here comes the sun. “St. Louis is the Gateway to the West”, she said archly. Kansas City demurred royally, adding, “It’s chiefly the gateway from the East.”

Then there were the (worldly) series of baseball puns. Carl and Jay may enjoy these, but only relatively. As the game starts, by the dawn’s early light, a Key ritual is when the ump sweeps the plate. The catcher plainly overheard the ump say, “My, how homely you are with all this dust.” Firstly, there was a dribbler down the line. “Safe!” the ump said fairly, while the first baseman glared at him foully. Secondly, the replay cameras minutely examined the 4-3 double play. Thirdly, there was a stand-up triple. Shortly, after that a pop-up fly was caught. After three innings, the pitcher started to throw balls. (What was he throwing before, she strikingly pondered?) The catcher came out, the infield came in, the ump came in, and fourthly, the manager came out. “Candlesticks are always nice”, the manager added presently. Bullishly, he penned a note, and took the pitcher out. “Go forth and pitch no more” he growled in relief as the pitcher slumped d-ejectedly. While this was going on out on the mound, the home crowd grew restless. “Who’s on first?” Abbot said comically. “What?” Costello replied straight away. I don’t know, but I think the interlude played famously. At the bottom of the fifth, Jack Daniels was out. In the sixth, Robert Redford hit a home run, naturally. In the seventh inning the left fielder gamely caught everything sent his way and liberally hit the ball past his opponents. In the penultimate inning however the center fielder was moderately inactive, as the batters shunned his position. “There is no crying in baseball!” we wailed bi-partisanly. The brazen hussies, Ichiro’s Bleacheros, cheerily said “and rightly so” as the walk-off home run soared into bleachers beyond first base. The Seattle fans, briskly fueled by all that coffee, walked home as well. (Or busily waited for the bus.)

Okay, I’m done. Except for one bike swiftie, before we ride our bikes swiftly into the park. “Your tire is flat” he said unairingly. [Congratulations, to the Mariners for being on the winning end of a no-hitter.] 😉

Single Black Sock Seeks Same

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Single Socks

According to Hallmark’s National (fill-in-the-blank) Day calendar, in addition to being National Butterscotch Brownie Day, tomorrow is also a memorial day. [Before I go any further, do brownies really need more than one national recognition day?] Yes, I know that Memorial Day does not occur until the last Monday in May. Tomorrow is not THE Memorial Day, but rather National Lost Sock Memorial Day. According to Hallmark, socks have a tendency to lose their mates, resulting in whole drawers full of “sad singles”. Do you think that this memorial day is really just a sock puppet for selling more romantic cards?

Missing socks are a recurring theme as of late. Last month, I tinfoil hat hypothesised several conspiracy theories about disappearing socks, under the blog post, Sock Nest Monster. As crazy as those theories may sound, it doesn’t seem to matter how hard you try to keep track of them, one will get sucked into the vortex that opens up in the spin cycle.

Maybe though, thoughts of alien abductions is barking up the wrong tree. Maybe socks are like people. After a few years or a few laundry cycles, which ever comes first, a member of a seemingly inseparable couple just splits. Couples therapy is difficult enough, even when you can get both halves in the same room. It is impossible, when one-half has disappeared and can’t be located. Part of the problem with losing socks, is the just not knowing. Is it something that I did? Is it nestled warmly in some sleeve? Did it get sucked down the drain?

There is something forlorn about the jilted sock, the survivor of the twosome. This is especially true, when a venerable pair comes up short. Frequently, the remaining half looks a bit threadbare and worn. One is tempted to pitch the bird in the hand, but rather than risk a Romeo and Juliet ending, it inevitably gets tossed into the sock drawer. Eventually they’ll get reunited, whether in this world or the next.

To combat this syndrome sock manufacturers have provided and consumers have responded favorably to multi-pair sock-packs of identical socks. This strategy only postpones the inevitable day of reckoning. One-by-one like the characters in Agatha Christy’s “Ten Little Indians”, this identical gene pool is whittled down. Maybe you don’t notice the diminution until say, packing for a trip. Maybe after you are left with a third wheel. Eventually, there will be only one.

Rather than organizing them in a dresser drawer that substitutes for some sort of Club Med for mismatched singles, why not step outside of your hosiery comfort zone. Try wearing closely matching socks, or better yet, go bold, make a statement, with two wildly mismatched socks. So tomorrow, as you look over all the solo socks you’ve been hanging on to for all these years, pay your respects to the ones you’ve loved and lost, but also look at what remains. You can always say that you got dressed in the dark.

Slow Jammin’ the Day Away

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We had plans to bicycle in Illinois today, but weather interfered. So, we ended up planning some penitential cleaning instead. Before we started though, as part of the process of girding our loins to do battle, we web surfed the morning away. One gem that was found was President Barack Obama’s address at the White House Correspondents’ Dinner. This annual event, also dubbed the ‘Nerd Prom’, has a history of roasting Washington insiders. It is an event where politician rub shoulders with celebrities. Last night’s dinner was attended by the likes of Rick Santorum, Lindsay Lohan, Newt Gingrich and Kim Kardashian, to name a few. Maybe address is not the right word, how about stand-up routine? Whatever you call it, Obama kills, IMHO. Fox News of course, had a different spin, “Obama mocks scandals and Republicans”, but I don’t think that that was exactly a fair and balanced assessment.

  • Now, some have said I blame too many problems on my predecessor, but let’s not forget that’s a practice that was initiated by George W. Bush.
  • Four years ago, I was locked in a brutal primary battle with Hillary Clinton. Four years later, she won’t stop drunk-texting me from Cartagena.
  • I’d be remiss if I didn’t congratulate the Huffington Post on their Pulitzer Prize. […] There’s no one else out there linking to the kinds of hard-hitting journalism that HuffPo is linking to every single day.
  • What’s the difference between a hockey mom and a pit bull? A pit bull is delicious. A little soy sauce.
  • [On Romney] We also both have degrees from Harvard; I have one, he has two. What a snob.
  • And just to set the record straight, I really do enjoy attending these dinners. In fact, I had a lot more material prepared, but I have to get the Secret Service home in time for their new curfew.

I’ve included some of my favorite jokes and one-liners and above, a link to the entire speech. I wonder, will this entitle me to next year’s Pulitzer? It is long, but worth watching. A lot of the jokes are visual and hardly a political troupe goes unsung. Come November though, who will have the last laugh?

It never did rain. Chalk today up as a rest day. I cleaned, while Anne flung. I get in trouble, if we reverse these roles. Inspecting last night’s hail damage, Anne found a baker’s dozen dimples on the Prius. Oh well, they add character. Our friend John, suffered worse. His car windows were broken and on his house, “Half of my solar panels got kerplunked.” Downtown, a beer tent collapsed, killing one and injuring 100. It was a dark and stormy night.

I’m not so good at other things, but I do maintain my Litespeed to within a gnat’s ass of perfection. However, I have not replaced any of its decals. They and the titanium frame are all that’s left of the original equipment. Not even the badge is original. It fell off and a new one was sent at an email’s request. I could get new decals for free too, but these worn ones have character. Some Litespeed owners strip their decals. Either they don’t appreciate the unsightliness of a worn decal, or they hope removing the brand makes their bikes less theft worthy.

Penguin Bites Newt

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Newt and Penguin

The first documented case of a penguin biting an amphibian occurred last Friday. This was not one of the Pittsburgh Penguins, but rather a penguin at the Saint Louis Zoo, who appears to not be a Newt Gingrich supporter. The Republican presidential candidate was sporting a small bandage on his finger after getting nipped by a penguin during his tour of the zoo on Friday. Gingrich was in Saint Louis to speak during the National Rifle Association’s annual meeting. During his visit to the zoo, he was treated to a behind-the-scenes visit with two Magellanic penguins. A spokesman for Mr. Gingrich said, Newt loves animals, but sometimes love hurts. This spokesman later conceded that maybe eating lunch at the Oyster Bar beforehand, was not a good idea. The penguin claims he mistook Gingrich’s fishy oratory for actual fish. #OccupySTLzoo plans to organize a defense fund for ‘this heroic little bird’. Attorneys for this flightless bird are planning a stand your ice floe defense.