Sunday, March 25, 2012

See You April 1st

  Okay, that's it for now.  I'm going to take the next few days off to recharge my batteries (I know what you're thinking: "What do you mean, 'Recharge your batteries???  You've given us nothing but hideous reposts all frikkin' month!!!'").

  I know, I know, but I hope you at least somewhat enjoyed the late winter reruns.  Especially since you're in for 26 (well, actually, 25) brand new posts.  I've spared no expense in coming up with some great ideas. Well, I haven't spent a dime.  Because you can't put a price on brainpower.  And Blogger doesn't pay me.

  So, between now and the 1st, I'm going to make sure all is ready for the 2012 A-Z Challenge.

  And my underwear is pressed.  Because, really, you can never underestimate the power of starched drawers.

  I hope it will be worth your wait.

  See you on April Fool's Day!

Friday, March 23, 2012

April 21st-Brought To You By the Letter 'U'

The Underwear Wars

"Let's follow that guy who looks like Christian Bale. He might know where we could find our pants.
Seriously, though, who invited Gary Coleman? And isn't he dead?"

   Come, listen, my children, from everywhere
to the epic battles of underwear.
  Commenced first over briefs, called tighty-whiteys,that were liked by men, both the weak and the mighty.

  But, soon, a young woman began to fret;
she wondered why she wasn’t pregnant yet.
  For, you see, the problem lay in the fit
of briefs which pulled the sack near where he’d sit.

  Thus cooked, the sperm all had no place to hide.
Victims of body temperature, boiled and died.
  No happy eggs and no mother-to-be
Just a man and his wife and their color TV
(NOTE: Hey, it rhymed.  Sue me.)

  A doctor’s care being her last resort,
she bought him some boxers, just like gym shorts.
  She told him their loose, casual fit
will keep his “boys” far from where he sits.

  With them cooled, his swimmers will be able
to find a place at the “Mommy Table.”
  But, he whined and he moaned, “I hate that big hole.
  It’s a big inconvenient ‘Whack-A-Mole’.”

  So, to shut up her husband and give her relief,
she then thought to buy him some boxer briefs.
  Not quite as snug as the white linen sacks
they gave him the comfort that boxers lacked.

  Excited over this underwear kind
The wife hustled home, but only to find.
  Her man, at the doorway, happily bare
He grinned.  No shirt, no pants, no underwear.

  “Honey,” he said, “I’ve got a great plan
that I’m happy to say you’ll understand.
  “For, just like Kramer or Marlon Brando,
No undies for me.  I’m going commando.”

Epilogue:  In a coma, the wife is not expected to live.  Her living will stipulates that her eggs be harvested for the local in-vitro fertilization clinic.

(NOTE:  Okay, so I’m no Shakespeare.  But, I couldn’t think of anything else that rhymed with ‘commando’)

Thursday, March 22, 2012

How May I Help You?

April 8th-Brought To You By the Letter 'H'

How May I Help You?

As I've written in a previous post, I've longed to work for a company which shall remain nameless (both to avoid being sued and to prevent an angry mob from lobbing hurtful insults my way). But, it sells a lot of stuff made in China (including American flags).

Anyway, I have a vest from said un-said superstore that I don't get a whole lot of chances to wear (especially when I go to K-Mart).  However, today I tried it out on the neighbors.

The door was open, so I thought I'd take a peek to see if I could offer any assistance. How was I to know I lived next door to nudists?

As it was time to spruce up the yard, the neighbors threw a rake at me after telling me to get the hell out of their foyer.

After a little raking, I decided to have a look at their truck. Somehow, I didn't think I was looking in the right place for the spare tire.

I TOLD them they should lock their garage.  And to keep the Bug Spray away from the Pudding Pops (come to think of it, why are pudding pops on a shelf in the garage?)

Never underestimate the power of a friendly greeting.  And the strength of locked doors.

I wonder if they meant it when they said they were selling their house.

Monday, March 19, 2012

'X'-It's For More Than X-Rays, Xylophones, and Xebecs

April 24th-Brought To You By the Letter 'X'

NOTE:  The following is a tale of the newest member of the X-Men.  My favorite comic book characters growing up were Superman, Spiderman, and Little Lulu.  As I grew older, my childish proclivities (fancy word meaning ‘predisposition.’  You’re welcome.) shifted from “funny books” to the classics.  Like the underwear section of the Sears catalog or anything I found in Dad’s sock drawer.  In that time, though, I never read any X-Men books.  Don’t know why.  I just didn’t.  That being the case, my knowledge of all things “mutant” is limited to what I’ve gleaned from the X-Men movies (I did learn that Halle Berry is smokin’ hot).  So, the below may contain some inaccuracies.  Sure, I could have done research, but screw it, the A-Z Challenge is almost over.
    Sneezing in the sudden presence of light, especially sunlight, is a phenomenon known as sun sneezing or the photic sneeze reflex. Affecting anywhere between 10 to 35 percent of humans, it has prompted the following question:  what in the world is going on?
    There is no solid proof of what triggers this, but some hypothesize that it is caused by a gene affecting the center of the brain responsible for sneezing.  Even though this specific gene has not been identified, it can be inherited.
-Ferris Jabr and Michael Easter
9 Nov 2009    

NOTE:  And you thought I make all this crap up.  Well, okay, I make a lot of this crap up.  But, not this.

X-Men:  The Rise of Mucousa

  Professor Xavier (played by Jean Luc Picard), seeking the release of fresh air, wheeled from the front door of Hogwarts (yes, I know.  This is where Harry Potter goes to school.  I had to put something down).
"Okay, so I may not get as many chicks as Kirk.
But, can he bone his ship's doctor?
Ewww...maybe he can

Yuck. Talk about 'Bones.'"
  He coasted to a stop.  The weather was pleasant, he happily noted.  A soft breeze wafted through trees just beginning to shake off the torpor of winter.  The noonday sun, dazzlingly bright, poked from behind a soft cloud.  Not yet blazing with the heat of summer, its soothing warmth bathed his face.

 Refusing to surrender to blissful reverie, his mind shifted to the reason why he had come outside.

 The new student, Mucousa, while certainly sincere, was not exactly what the X-Men were looking for.

 “Looking for, professor,” Xavier harshly rebuked himself.  One must never end a sentence with a preposition.  It’s not a good habit to be saddled with.


 Oh, sure, he continued, sneezing by command was an impressive feat.  One which most people on Earth were not blessed with.

 Crap, the professor thought, there I go again with the frikkin' prepositions.

 As unique as this power was, he doubted its utility as a crimefighting tool.  Maybe he could give a foe a cold, but what good would that do when the incubation period for upper respiratory infections was measured in days?
"Psst...hey, Superman?
You put down newspaper for those
freaky ass bird people?"
  Bad enough we have the Athlete Footster, he thought, but a photic sneezer?  He decided to give the Justice League a call.  Maybe they could use him.  After all, they had that know-it-all, Aquaman.
  He heard a noise behind him.

  “So, what are you doing out here, Professor?” he heard the voice of Wolverine.

  Xavier turned and saw his burly friend, accompanied by Storm (as noted above, played by Halle Berry.  Hubba hubba).

  “I thought you wanted to get in on the Jenga tournament,” she said.
"I have white hair and no pupils.
But, I bet you weren't looking at my eyes."
  Before he could answer, they each heard, “Sadly, there will be no Jenga tonight.”
  They quickly turned.  Their hearts froze as they saw, descending from behind the branches of the nearest tree, the menacing form of their archenemy, Magneto (played by John Gielgud in the movie.  No, that’s not right.  Malcolm McDowell?  No, that doesn’t sound right, either.  Okay, the guy who played “Gandalf” with all those hobbits).
   “Gandalf!”  Xavier shouted.

  “No, you idiot! It's Magneto. Don't you recognize me from X-Men First Class, you bald, crippled moron?” Magneto barked.  

"Enough about the frikkin' ring already, Frodo.
I've got a new gig now."
  He raised his right hand and, immediately, the metal arms of the professor’s wheelchair folded inward (the professor’s normal chair being in the shop for its yearly inspection, he was given a cheap “loaner”).

  From off to the side came an enraged roar as Wolverine, deploying his fearsome claws, charged the villain.

  “My boy, you never learn,” Magneto said, raising his left arm.  Instantly, the metal coursing through Wolverine’s body was seized in a fierce magnetic grip (that it was magnetic is something I felt I didn’t need to explain.  The guy's name is Magneto, after all.).

   Paralyzed, Wolverine dropped to the ground.

  Turning his attention to Storm, Magneto hissed, “Don’t think I’ve forgotten you.  I’ll get you, my pretty.  And your little dog, too!”  (Oops, sorry.  Wrong movie.).

  Suddenly, the metal rails leading from the door rose, snakelike, from the ground.  Like a snake (yeah, snake. We get it), they quickly wrapped themselves around Storm’s smokin’ hot body.  Her arms pinned to her side, she was unable to use her powers of smokin’ hotness to control the forces of the weather.

  “And, now, my helpless friends,” Magneto thundered, “Degrassi is mine!!” (is that closer than 'Hogwarts'?). He then gave the patented bad guy laugh, most recently used by Dr. Evil.

  Suddenly, “Hey, guys, what’s going on?  I’ve got Jenga all set up.”

  Standing in the doorway was the new recruit, Mucousa.  Not nearly the image of a superhero, he actually looked more like a cross between any one of those guys on The Big Bang Theory and Wally Cox(except Wally Cox is dead, so maybe that’s a bad example).
Easy, girls.
He's single.
 And dead.
So that's where Chaz's tits went!

USELESS PIECE OF CRAP:  Did you know that Wally Cox was the voice of Underdog?  Yeah, how ‘bout that?  

 We continue...

 “Who is this puny, pusillanimous pipsqueak?” the redundant Magneto sneered.
 Seeing a chance, the Professor gasped, “Mucousa.  Sun.  Engage.”

 “I don’t know if we can take a fifth playe...ohhhhh!”  Mucousa protested, just before he took the Professor’s meaning.

 Suddenly assuming a stern look, he gazed sharply at the sun.  His eyes began to water and his face screwed up in what could have been misinterpreted as a “sex face.”

 But, the Professor knew better.  He knew what was coming.

 His eyes shut tightly and nose lifted slightly, Mucousa walked briskly (sorry, I love adverbs) to the contemptuous rogue (I love thesauruses).

 Starting to laugh, Magneto blurted, “What in the-“

 He never finished his sentence.  Mucousa let loose with a thunderous sneeze, drenching the purple-clad scoundrel with a torrent of...uh...mucous (geez, I would have thought that would have been obvious.  Given the name).

 Disgusted, distracted, and discombobulated (as I said.  Thesaurus), Magneto’s concentration was broken for a brief second.

 Long enough for Wolverine to pounce like a wolverine (ohh, I get it now).  With a savage roar, he swung his arm in a mighty arc.  His talons easily ripped through Magneto’s neck, severing the head from the body.
"Yeah, it's all fun and games
until you have an itchy rear end."

 The head thudded to the ground, its dead eyes staring at the robin’s egg blue sky and an “Oh, crap!” expression crossing its lifeless face.

 From behind him, Wolverine heard Storm, “Think that was a little dramatic, Logan?  I was just going to surround him with an electrical field.”

 Wolverine shrugged.  Storm complained.  In her skintight cat-suit.

 But, the Professor smiled.

 Six months later.....

 Wolverine dashed into the Superhero Dormitory (I don’t know what they call it.  Give me a break.  We’re almost done here.).

 He called to the newest X-Man, “Hey, Mucousa!  Suit up!  There’s an evil force eating Chicago.  They’re calling it ‘Oprah!’”

 Leaping to his feet, Mucousa jumped into his orthopedic shoes and snapped on his inhaler belt.

 His face grew dark.

 “Looks like someone’s going to come down with a head cold.”

The End?    

Sunday, March 18, 2012

Accidental Comedy Part V

    I know I told you I was just going to post reposts this month while I prepare for the A-Z Challenge, but  I just couldn't resist.

I wonder where the candy comes out?

Friday, March 16, 2012

Just a Quickie

April 12th-Brought To You By the Letter 'L'


Are the women all out of the room?  Are they gone.....?

As a public service, may I present the following "Mr. Misogyny's Guide to Ladies:"











I'll go out on a limb here and say...NOT!!!

Tuesday, March 13, 2012

The Unkindest Cut of All

April 22nd: Brought to You By the Letter "V'

"Do what? To my what?"

    Having children is a wonderful thing, especially if you’re a man. 
  All we have to do is get the ball rolling, so to speak (a euphemism if there ever was one), sometimes more than once if we’re lucky (or she's asleep).  Then, following a few weeks of pensive waiting (during which we get to keep the ball rolling-if you know what I mean), our wife/girlfriend/woman we met in a bar looks lovingly into our eyes (hopefully, not during the ballgame). 
  In a soft, trembling voice suffused with tender devotion, she whispers, “We’re going to have a baby.”

  Then, she throws up in the toilet.

I don't mean like this.
  The next nine months then become a non-stop hormonal rollercoaster ride.  Mixed with equal parts emotion and curiosity over whether she’ll eventually explode like one of those critters on Alien, we arrive at the magic time for our baby’s entry into the world of songbirds, sunshine, and Charlie Sheen.

  Hopefully, in preparation for induced labor (so a perfectly good weekend isn’t messed up), the woman settles in for the blessed event.  Followed by several hours of screaming bloody murder at the evildoer who did this to her.
  Just so you don’t think we men have it easy, don’t forget:  while you’re trying to force a bowling ball through a garden hose (I know that’s not original!), we’re struggling just as strenuously.  You think it’s easy to watch television with all that racket going on?
A Gift from God. 
Damn well better not be from God. 
  Soon enough, we’re given a gift from God (although the deity wasn’t in the room).  Mother and father tenderly hold their precious bundle, bathed in the warmth which comes from the knowledge that they are a solid family unit (hee...hee...hee. I said 'unit').
"Whatever you do, don't hook me up with
70s porn star mustache guy.
He totally skeeves me out.
And I have low standards."
  Only later that night does Dad mark on the calendar when he can start the ball rolling again.
  Luckily for me, Mrs. Penwasser presented me with two beautiful children (beautiful because they don’t look like me).  I have a son who is the model of the man I wish I was and a daughter who is everything I wasn’t in high school: popular.

    With that in mind, we both decided not to press our luck.  Odds were that a third child would look like me, act like me, and use my jokes.

    That, along with a state law that forbade me from further reproduction, compelled us to seek methods of permanent sterilization.

"Lemme take care of this first.
Then I'll get right on those fallopian tubes."
    We considered having my wife’s tubes tied.  But, since that conjured up a vision of a rodeo where a chaps-wearing doctor would wrassle my wife to the operating table, we didn’t want to try that.

    I also considered radiation to fry my “boys.”  But, since taping a cell phone to my crotch was impractical and sticking my junk in front of the microwave delayed dinner, we decided on a vasectomy.

    Since this decision was made while I was still in the Navy, there was no worry about how we were going to be able to pull this off (an unfortunate phrase, that).  The local Navy hospital was more than capable of performing the procedure (NOTE: No way was I going to have this done on a ship.  A MOVING ship.).
  So, after talking a couple of the guys into joining me (the hospital was having a special.  Bring a friend and get 10% off a car wash), I decided to close the “Be Fruitful and Multiply” store.
  The three of us were ushered into what looked like a MASH operating room.  After a couple of questions, like “Have you eaten in the past 12 hours?”, “Are you sure you want to do this?”, “Have you shaved this morning?” (I stuck out my chin and asked, “Sure, but what does that have to do with it?”), we were instructed to disrobe from the waist down and cover ourselves with a white sheet.
  Frankly, I wanted to go all nude, but my friends chickened out.  I think they were jealous.

Know what they say 
about big noses?

  Anyway, the three of us laid (or is that ‘lied’) down on the table, sheets draped across our laps, our “privates” (wait a minute, we were in the Navy-we didn’t have “privates.”  Okay, “seamen.”  There, that’s better.”) poking through holes.  I swear, we looked like a row of ghosts wearing Jimmy Durante masks.
Cher. Yeah. I tapped that.
Now I'm dead. 

That kinda sucks.
But, have you seen Chastity lately?
  Assisted by a dour-looking corpsman, the doctor (whose Sonny Bono mustache drooped so low he was able to suck on it.  Ewwww.) stood in front of us.  He reassured us that the procedure would be painless.  Especially, he laughed, for him.
    Yeah, I know.  Laugh clown, laugh.

    There would be, he cautioned, a small “stick and a kick.”

  Starting with me, he injected my laddies (the “stick”) to numb them.  This was immediately followed by a substantial “kick.”  Visions of playground bullies at Saint Stanislaus immediately swam into focus as I struggled to breathe.  Before I had the chance to lie that I was okay, though, the parts surrounding my fun factory lost all feeling.  I gave the mustache-sucker a thumbs up. 

  So, it went with the rest of us.  In no time, the genital assembly line (thanks, Henry Ford!) was closing up shop.  Gingerly putting our trousers back on, we cracked jokes about unloaded guns and laughed about whether we should show our scars at the next family reunion.

    Still, we were happy that we were finally taken off the playing field, in a matter of speaking.  Instead of being put out to stud, we knew that the limited editions of “us” was finally at an end. 

    As we got our parking validated and received our car wash vouchers, we took comfort that our lives would be spared from future unplanned, unforeseen “Uh-ohs.”

    Even more, we were thrilled that we would be able to “get the ball rolling” in only a couple weeks.

    Unless SportsCenter was on.