Archives for September 2013

The anatomy of the most offensive joke ever told.

chickroadLast night, two women asked me to tell them my favorite joke. The operative word there is “my,” as I was not requested to tell the joke they would find the funniest. In fact, I prefaced the joke with, “Well, you’re not going to find it very funny. In fact, you may find it offensive.” They insisted. I told the joke. My male companions snickered. The women were aghast. I did not get laid.

Let’s take a moment to study the joke in question. (Beware, you may be offended, which is your right as is mine to tell the joke.) Mind you, I did not create the joke. Not sure from whom, where, or when I first heard it, but, here goes…

A guy walks up to the pharmacist and says, “I’d like a pack of condoms for my thirteen-year-old daughter.”

The pharmacist responds, “Wait a minute. Your thirteen-year-old daughter is sexually active?”

The father answers, “Nah, she pretty much just lies there like her mother.”

(Insert cricket sounds, forehead slap, or coffee spit here.)

Reasons I find the joke funny:

  1. The double entendre of “sexually active” is brilliant.
  2. Yes, I have been with women (not thirteen-year-olds, mind you) who have pretty much just lain there. I might add that they were neither dead or drugged, just bored by my sexual skills.
  3. I don’t have children, nor a wife, and I don’t get any closer to either when I deploy this joke.
  4. I was never involved on either end of a molestation. A baseball coach once slapped my butt as I rounded third after hitting a home run, but I kind of liked it.
  5. The reaction it gets from people–good or bad–is consistently substantial.

Reasons some people find the joke offensive:

  1. It suggests that incest is taking place. Of course, it could also be interpreted as the father is just being a wise ass to the pharmacist.
  2. It hits too close to home for women who experienced some form of sexual boredom or molestation.
  3. People rarely admit to going through the motions sexually.
  4. Like me, they hate condoms.
  5. Concern that by laughing, it will give the impression they condone such activity.

How the joke could be altered to be less offensive:

  1. The girl could be eighteen.
  2. She could be his stepdaughter.
  3. The father could be with his gay lover, speaking about her mother, and referring to how she had to lie still while being artificially inseminated.
  4. It could start, “A dog walks up to a pharmacist …,” which makes more sense because pet incest is somehow acceptable.
  5. He could ask for tampons instead of condoms, then punch the pharmacist after the “sexually active” suggestion.

I guess another way to deal with this would be to replace that joke in my arsenal with something less-offensive.

Why did the chicken cross the road? Because she wasn’t chicken.

Your guide for online posts, and whom they will annoy.

stop postingOh, how I long for the day when Facebook, Twitter, and Pinterest go the way of Myspace and Napster. Yes, my testicles seem to contain a substance that makes me more susceptible to anger than, say, the substance in ovaries.

For example, I was greeted on Facebook this morning with a post containing a picture of a lovely, buxom young woman with the caption, “She said yes.” Whereas most women undoubtedly saw the post, sighed, and smiled, all I could do is type sarcastic comments, and delete them before pressing enter. I had my usual seven hours of sleep, and I was in a pleasant mood.

Sample comments from ole grumpy me:

  1. Was the question, “Would you bounce if you fell on your tits?”
  2. Was the question, “How would you like a shiny new ring, and someone to nag for the next seven years or so?”
  3. How drunk was she?
  4. How drunk were you?
  5. Wow, guess I should stop sleeping with her.
  6. Were you holding a gun or jewelry?
  7. Ha ha ha, yeah, sure she did. I can find pictures of a pretty woman, and post them too. Here: Sandra Bullock just said yes.
  8. That’s funny, the guy she posted on her page isn’t you.

Scrolling down a bit, I find pictures of cute kids. Cuteness is subjective. Maybe I don’t find a toddler standing on the table in a restaurant to be cute. Maybe I find that gross. Maybe it’s because I have no offspring, and, if I did, I’d have enough sense to hire a babysitter, instead of having my child walk pee pee shoes over a public eating surface.

Next, I find pictures of people on vacation. Lovely, but why must your legs, toes, and beer be in the photo? I believe you–you’re on vacation, and you can have alcohol during the day because you’re not working today. Yippie! Don’t need evidence. Don’t care that much, actually. How nice–you shaved/tanned your legs. Still unimpressive. Next time, stand up, walk where there are few (or topless) people, keep your back to the sun, point and tap, post, then tag yourself.

Now, my favorite posts: the political and religious ones. Nobody but you cares who you like or dislike and why. That’s because nobody will be convinced to like or dislike something just because you like or dislike it. Bash Obama, bash the Tea Party, bash the Cowboys, and nobody cares. Praise Jesus, Buddha, your yoga instructor, or your mom, and nobody cares. Guess what? I hate warm wine, and I love fried pepperoni. See that? You don’t care.

I don’t fucking know. What should we be posting? Recipes, maybe? I’m always open to humor. Post a joke, or a silly dog picture, and I’ll chuckle. Nice job. You’ve brightened my day. I’ll take a quote–even Dr. Seuss. That works. Selling something? Sure. What you got? Maybe you’re looking to hire someone, or get hired. OK. Might know someone. Hey, I’m always up for a nice boob. Post a boob. There ya go. Thumbs fucking up.

What are we going to do with Miley’s tongue?

tonguePop’s latest media hog is sweet little Miley Cyrus. She has been floating around my monitor all day. She’s gone from “cute” to “has potential” to “totally fucking annoying.” Wish I were in one of those marketing meetings for the Miley brand where a group of idiots decide to combine Gene Simmons’ tongue, Madonna’s naughtiness, Cher’s fishnets, and Bieber’s haircut to create the next pop sensation. It might have been wise to include voice lessons, but what do I know? All the while (let’s hope), Billy Ray must be slapping his forehead, wondering how badly this will end.

So, Miley, since you and your marketing minions have decided your tongue needs to gain more exposure than Grumpy Cat, please allow me to offer suggestions for what to do with it.

  1. (Skipping the obvious sexual things.)
  2. I have a few envelopes circa 1980, which I could use help sealing.
  3. Cleaning Starbucks counters.
  4. Lubricating jet engines.
  5. Extracting embedded Pop-Tarts crumbs from my computer keyboard.
  6. Testing Syrian exports for toxic substances.
  7. Doggie baths.
  8. Sidewalk chalk cleanup.
  9. Haunted hayride prop.
  10. Assistance with tire leak detection.

Beyond those, I don’t have any use for her and her icky sticky tongue.

 

Everything you ever wanted to know about men, but were afraid to ask.

When about mensugary sweetness straddles a bar stool next to me, I often break the ice with, “How’s your love life?” Note that I’m careful to do some reconnaissance before deploying that line, and having it answered by an angry husband. People rarely admit to having a shitty relationship. It’s a flaw–a sign of poor decision-making skills. But I know better, so I pry further. Eventually, I get the answer I expect.

“I just don’t understand men.”

“Ah, well, I’m here to help. What would you like to know?”

“Can a man ever be loyal?”

“Which man?”

“Any man.”

“Certainly. Your question, though, is better expressed as, ‘Can a man remain loyal as long as I’m interested in him.'”

“No. Most guys can’t resist other women, even when all is fine with their current relationships.”

“Sure, we can. It all depends on how sexually exhausted you keep us.”

“Sex, sex, sex. Is that really all men think about all day?”

“Yep.”

*sigh*

“Sometimes we think about sports, beer, cars, and food, but mostly sex in any combination therewith. Come on, admit it. You think about sex, too … and shopping.”

“Sure, but not all the time.”

“We can’t help it. If I see partial boob, I want to see the rest. If I see the entire boob, I want to touch it. If I touch a boob, I want to kiss it, and the one next to it. And, so on.”

“Sad.”

“Sad? Really? Think about it. If you were to pop a boob out of that lovely top, and my reaction was, ‘Nice gland. Barkeep, may I have a Greyhound,’ you’d be devastated.”

“I wouldn’t do that.”

“Me neither.”

“What would you do?”

“A happy dance. I perfected it Christmas of sixty-six when I received my first Big Wheel.”

“What’s a Big Wheel?”

“That’s not important. Look, if a fit gentleman exposed a bit of his chiseled abdomen, you’d want to see more.”

“Yes, but not necessarily his penis … yet. And, if he did expose himself, I wouldn’t want to touch it … probably wouldn’t. I certainly wouldn’t want to kiss it. I mean, after we dated a while, maybe. But, not right away.”

“Ah, well you bring up an interesting topic. May I ask you a question about women?”

“I don’t think I got a straight answer from you about men, but go ahead.”

“How is a guy supposed to know what to do during a blow job?”

“Jesus.”

“I try to avoid controversial topics at the bar. No religion or politics from me. No, siree.”

“Fine. OK. How about, just sit back and enjoy it? What do you usually think about?”

“I’m glad you asked. First, I think, YAY! Then, I consider whether this blow job is intended as warmup–penis inflation, so to speak–or, am I supposed to ejaculate?”

“My god.”

“It’s a potentially hazardous situation, my dear. Not that my ejaculate is toxic. I mean, if she wants me to finish, but I don’t think she does, I’ll spend most of the time creating mental diversions. If she doesn’t want to finish, but I do, I’ll see the disappointment in her glazed face.”

“Lovely. So, next time, why don’t you ask?”

“Awkward, but I’ll try. See? Being a man is so difficult. If you’re on the receiving end of oral pleasure, you can come all you want. No need to distract yourself. You have it easy.”

“Aw, poor fella.”

Man, you are eye candy.

man waking upBy now, most of us have seen the viral video of a man waking up from sedation, nibbling a cracker, and muttering various complimentary lines to his wife while she videos. (It’s here.) She’s awfully flattered by it, as are the millions of women who watch and go, “Awwwww!”

Well, if it’s something women like, I figure I should head to the streets and try it. Don’t mind if I skip over the whole hernia surgery thing. I’ll just have a tall gin, soda, and lemon to simulate the sedation.

Woman #1:

  • Line: “Did the doctor send you?”
  • Reaction: “What doctor? Jesus, you’re drunk, aren’t you? Where are your keys?”
  • Conclusion: Only use “doctor” in a hospital. Next time, modify the line to match the arena. In church, “Did Jesus send you?” At the gym, “Did Jane Fonda send you?” At Starbucks, “Did Juan Valdez send you?”

Woman #2:

  • Line: “Man, you are eye candy.”
  • Reaction: “Thank you, and welcome to the eighties, Falco.”
  • Conclusion: Perhaps a bit outdated, indeed. Candy is reserved for Candy Crush. Better to refer to a woman as Boner Propellant.

Woman #3:

  • Line: “You may be the prettiest woman I have ever seen.”
  • Reaction: “Oh, is that intended to be a panty-peeler? Give it up, Pops.”
  • Conclusion: Women prefer absolutes. “You are …” would have been much more effective.

Woman #4:

  • Line: “Are you a model?”
  • Reaction: “Are you a comedian? I look like a fucking model to you? Really?”
  • Conclusion: It wasn’t a woman. Long-haired surfer dudes don’t want to be models.

Woman #5:

  • Line: “You’re my wife?”
  • Reaction: “Yes, I’m your wife. I need to pay your tab. Give me five-hundred dollars.”
  • Conclusion: Women don’t want that title unless it comes with diamonds and a credit line.

Woman #6:

  • Line: “Holy shit. Dang. Man. Have we kissed yet?”
  • Reaction: “No, and we’re not going to, you creeper.”
  • Conclusion: Always better to oil the pistons before starting the engine. Wine first, then kiss.

Woman #7:

  • Line: “It’s hard, baby, it’s hard. Do we call each other baby?”
  • Reaction: “Stand down, soldier.”
  • Conclusion: Better to specify exactly what is hard, and if it’s your penis, better to tuck and ignore it.

Woman #8:

  • Line: “Oh my god, I hit the jackpot!”
  • Reaction: “Yes, you won the go-home-and-screw-your-fist prize.”
  • Conclusion: Only use this line at a convenience store, unless the clerk is armed.

Woman #9:

  • Line:”Whoa, your teeth are perfect. Turn around.”
  • Reaction: A swift kick to the groin.
  • Conclusion: Wear a cup.

The bottom line is, only deploy lines like these if you are actually married to the person on the receiving end.

Pranks are funny, until you’re caught.

tp on cameraIt is wise to be careful when posting updates to Facebook. I understand that some people want to share updates immediately to get attention, alert friends, or archive the memory. But, this over-connected world of ours leaves us exposed to jokers.

I recently made the mistake of announcing that I was leaving town. What I did not announce was that I recently had security cameras installed at my house. The former gave two female friends mischievous thoughts after a few too many adult beverages. The latter captured the deed, and saved this old man from coming home to a not-so-fine mess.

Sure, I’ve performed a few pranks–even was caught, occasionally. It’s the same progression for adults as it was for me as a child.

  1. You’re caught.
  2. Denial.
  3. Insistence and demand for remedy.
  4. Denial.
  5. Warning about the possession of evidence.
  6. Denial.
  7. The presentation of evidence.
  8. Lie.
  9. Threats to make the evidence public.
  10. Excuses (usually involves alcohol).
  11. Refusal to accept excuse.
  12. Sadness, panic, delay.
  13. Final warning.
  14. Admission along with attempt to make light of it.
  15. Anger, and demand for remedy within a time limit.
  16. More sadness, guilt, shame, inconvenience, remedy.
  17. Smugness and less trust.
  18. Embarrassment and (let’s hope) additional consideration before next prank.

That was the path the evil-doers followed as I sat poolside, watching the security video on my smart phone of them toilet-papering my entrance. I watched and sent warning texts. They finally relented, gathered the necessary cleaning products (ladders, brooms, and a tall person), and returned to my house to clean the mess. Yes, I got to watch that live on my phone, between sips of frosty cold Coors Light.

Now, I’m well aware that my next prank will likely be thwarted, because that’s how Nature keeps things in balance. Still, I’m going to fucking gloat over this small victory, as there can never be too many celebrations in one’s life.