Archive for March, 2008

What Do You Say to a Naked Governor?

Wednesday, March 12th, 2008

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It could have been worse, Elliot… it could have been a LOT worse. Right now you may be dying of embarrassment – but you’re not dying. New York Governors, in office or out, should NOT have extramarital sex -period. We should put that in the New York State Constitution. Why?

Well, if you ever run into Megan Marshak, you probably shouldn’t ask her where she was on January 26, 1979. The 27-year old Megan was naked in bed that day. No big deal except she happened to be lying under the also naked, 70-year old former Governor of New York, Nelson Rockefeller. Unfortunately, Nelson had just suffered a massive heart attack and was unconscious. Wow – talk about coitus interuptus! How awkward. And how do you get out from under a situation like that?

But Megan knew what to do. She did what any smart mistress would do at that moment – she called her girlfriend and tried to get Nelson dressed. Girlfriend ambled on over and they discussed the situation. At this point, Rockefeller was still technically alive although unconscious.

Now I’m not suggesting for a moment Megan, who was left a New York City townhouse worth millions plus $50,000 in cash in Nelson’s will, hesitated to immediately call for help – for any reason other than appearances. Right.

Finally, after at least an hour, Megan’s girlfriend called an ambulance. Rockefeller died on the way to the hospital. An official autopsy ruled the former Governor died of a massive heart attack. He was cremated about 18-hours after his coronary – counting the hour he was getting dressed.

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Packed Like Sardines…

Wednesday, March 12th, 2008

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I know you know why so many sardines are squished into a flat can: the fish are cheaper than the oil used to pack them. You knew that, right? Of course – but what kind of fish are sardines? Are there schools of sardines swimming around the oceans – especially in the Mediterranean next to Sardinia where they got their name?

Well, yes and no. You see, lots of fish can be sardines. There’s really no official species that qualifies – until it gets close to the can. Sardines can be herrings, round herrings, pilchards, sprats and many other kinds of fish. The only defining characteristic of sardines is size -they must be under 4-inches. That’s it.

I hate it when things are defined only by size.

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Don’t Be a Loafer

Tuesday, March 11th, 2008

Here’s the problem: how can you discipline prison inmates who, in effect, have nothing to lose by committing crimes against fellow prisoners and guards? Lifers and real long termers (25+ years and more) can’t serve more time in prison because, in reality, they’ll die there anyway. These guys really don’t mind solitary confinement and, legally, the state can’t use physical force nor psychological torture. So when these villains get out of line, really – what can the prison administration do?

 

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Meet the Loaf. The Prison Loaf is nutritionally sound and well balanced – and just about the most unappetizing food you can imagine. Often the loaf is what the rest of the inmates eat – maybe – except the food is thrown into a blender until it has the consistency of half-cooked oatmeal – and then it’s baked into the form of a brick. It’s said that wet cardboard has more taste.

The United States Supreme Court has ruled prisons cannot use the deprival of food as a punishment. So prisons have said in effect, “OK. We’ll give them food – just not up to the high gourmet standards of regular prison chow.” Prison officials say a few weeks or a month on the loaf almost always gets disagreeable inmates back in line. In fact, even the threat of the loaf is effective for inmate attitude adjustment.

I don’t know why – but I find this funny as hell. It’s like telling these big, scary killers, “Bad! No dinner for you. Go to your room!”

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Happy Birthday Barbie!

Sunday, March 9th, 2008

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Barbie’s 49 today and except for a little paunch and a few more lines, the babe STILL looks good. Of course she never had to shed baby fat, stumble through puberty, pull all-nighters, dribble drugs, have her first plastic period, get her heart stomped on a few times, cure hangovers, nor produce any little Barbies. Sure she got a little freaked marrying and then divorcing Ken – but what did she expect choosing the gayest guy this side of Provincetown? But Barbie’s life wasn’t all Fashion Queen plus three interchangeable wigs!

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Women: picture yourself coming into this world with measurements of 39-18-33. If you could walk without toppling, you could have your pick of any guy at school. But imagine his horror the first time in a back seat at a drive-in when he discovers you’re SERIOUSLY not anatomically correct! So what if you got bendable legs in 1965? Who’s going to bend them and what for?

Anyway, Happy Birthday, Barbie, may you have many more.

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Watermelons in March

Thursday, March 6th, 2008

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Kids always want things they can’t have. When I was a kid, I wanted to eat watermelon – every winter. Of course in summer, I could take it or leave it. Today you can buy watermelon any time of the year. Why? Because there’s greater consumer demand for it. Why? One reason is the National Watermelon Promotion Board.
I love their site: www.watermelon.org

Did you know?

• The largest watermelon ever recorded weighed 262 pounds.
• There are over 200 varieties grown in the United States.
• A watermelon is 92% …. (duh) water.

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• The Japanese have developed a square watermelon for better handling, shipping, and storage. Unfortunately, each melon costs about 10,000 yen – $82.US.

Would you like to grow a square watermelon? Go to: http://squarewatermelons.com/

Weather You Like It or Not

Wednesday, March 5th, 2008

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I don’t like it at all. I don’t like the bizarre maps nor isobars. I don’t like barometric pressures that are always rising or falling. I don’t like fronts when they dance across the screen in ‘time- enhanced’, color cartoons. I don’t like the dumb, 1st grade symbols that represent the sun, moon, and the stars. I don’t like doppler radar. I don’t like the hilarious, never-right, 7-day forecasts.

And It all happened again yesterday. A giant ice-sleet-and-snow (Oh My!) storm turned out to be about 1/4 of what was predicted. Yesterday morning, TV newscasters starting whipping the audience into a froth: “Lotsa big weather coming! No unnecessary travel! Bring your pets inside! Best place to be is in front of the TV! Watch for cancelations and delays! Stay tuned!” (Cut to videos of the Ice Storm of 1991 – 17 years ago!)

Programming is interrupted by weather crawls on the bottom of the screen and cutaways to the meteorologists. Kevin Williams or Glenn Johnson (really – isn’t this the same person in different clothes?) is jumping around in front of his maps – all grim – with his jacket off to show how hard he’s working to save us from mad weather

And then all the old people rush to Wegmans to stock up on essentials or just say prayers – and the kids start praying their school will be closed the next day and skip their homework. And all the elevator buzz is ‘Didja hear? Big storm tomorrow. They say blah, blah, blah!!”

In the last century when we were an agricultural society, weather reports made sense because farmers could plan their days accordingly. Today the weather is just a hyped, cheap-to- produce stepchild of local news. There’s less there than meets the eye.

I could do the friggin’ weather in about 10-seconds. Here goes:

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“The National Weather Service says there’s about a 50% chance of rain tomorrow. So flip a coin and bring your geeky umbrella or not – your choice. Back to you, Ginny.”

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Smart Cat.

Tuesday, March 4th, 2008

This is the 1st popular Cat story published in America in the early 1800’s. You’ll read why people who are owned by cats love it still.

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‘Big Timothy’ was a large male cat of 5-years. He was the McCords finest catcher of mice, rats, and vermin. The cat slept in the corner of a wooden stall in the barn and had his pick of two female cats.

On the sixth snowfall, an unexplained accident occurred and the cat’s hind leg was severely broken. Docter was called and bandaged it well. Because of his value to the farm, Big Timothy was moved into the house and nursed to health by small portions of chicken, pork, and cows’ milk.

After a few weeks, the cat was able to walk with stiff bandages although with a severe limp and drag of his back leg. The McCord’s children loved the injured animal and played with it constantly.

When six weeks had passed, the stiff bandages were made lighter. However, since the cat was becoming rotund – Docter suggested lessening the chicken, pork, and milk portions. After eight weeks, the cat could walk and play without a limp. It was then decided to return Timothy to the barn and his job as chief vermin catcher.

For a number of days, the cat tried to reenter the McCord’s home – but since there was nothing physically wrong with Timothy, it was assumed the cat was confused by his malady. Also, the cat seemed to lose interest in hunting the vermin that now thrived around him.

On his third day in the barn, the alarmed children related to their parents that Timothy was again severely limping and dragging his hind leg. Docter was called but could find no physical evidence of an injury. Sadly, it was determined that the cat’s limited brain capacity had gone back to where it considered itself as injured as before and was no longer useful as a vermin killer.

But since the children enjoyed Timothy’s playing and affection so much, he was allowed back into the house where he lived until his 14th year. Sadly, for the rest of his life, he walked with a severe limp, dragging his “broken” leg behind.

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Miracle Mockers

Sunday, March 2nd, 2008

They don’t make miracles like they used to. In Biblical times, miracles stunned people. The parting of the Red Sea, the fish&loaves multiplication-origination example, leper-curing on the spot and raising the dead were all crowd pleasers. Boffo, Jesus! Encore!

But what do we get today? Jesus’s face on ANYTHING!

jesusgrilledcheese.jpg The Jesus Grilled Cheese Sandwich

jesus-pancake.jpgThe Jesus Pancake

jesustree2.jpgRochester’s Own Jesus Tree

showerjesus1.jpgThe Jesus Shower Curtain

jesus-glass.jpgThe Jesus Glass

 

jesus-croissant.jpgThe Jesus Croissant

jesus-bread.jpgThe Jesus Loaf of Bread

jesustortilla.jpgThe Jesus Tortilla

images1.jpegThe Jesus Pretzel

jesus-peanut.jpgThe Jesus Peanut

Jesus! It’s no wonder people don’t go to church anymore. All of these Jesus items are real items (you decide if it’s Jesus). Most have been on E-bay. You would think they were all made up by capitalistic crooks and undoubtedly some were. But most were discovered by hysterical religious zealots who fell to their knees, praying passionately, and weeping loudly.

How can you tell if something’s a real miracle? Well think of the reaction people would have if an ocean, with a gazillion trillion gallons of water, actually parted. Then think of the reaction of most people after viewing the “miracles” above. There’s a pretty good chance it’s NOT a real miracle if most of the crowd walks away, rolling their eyes and muttering, “Give me a friggin’ break………”

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Makes Scents To Me.

Sunday, March 2nd, 2008

An association of Home Security Dog Breeders got together and ranked the Best and Worst breeds of dogs to guard your home. Not surprisingly, the Rottweiler won First Place in the Best Dog category. The Worst Dog for your protection? The Bloodhound.

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Gentle, friendly, kind, and hospitable – it was jokingly suggested that a Bloodhound might even let a burglar in and, if it could, make the crook a cup of coffee. These are cheap shots by dweebs dumber than the dogs.

Any idiot knows Bloodhounds SOLVE crimes and have no interest at all in preventing them. Really, stopping crime would be a BAD THING for Bloodhounds. Whom would they trail? Whose scent would they sniff out leading police to capture the crook? How would they get their pictures in the paper with beaming cops?

In your home, Bloodhounds would rather just nap – they’re fine with the status quo. Breeders call that ‘’incompetence’. Bloodhounds call it ‘job security’.

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“I Suck WORSE than Jerry.”

Saturday, March 1st, 2008

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“Three years ago, The Jerry Springer Show was rated “the worst show on television” by a bunch of nerdy TV critics. Well, I took care of that. I stuffed my show with outrageous, shameless pieces of human trash – filled the audience with delinquent punks, felons and parole violators, and then drenched the whole thing in comedic hypocrisy. I even pretend to care about my pathetic guests! Now I’M number one. And compared to my show, Jerry Springer could be on prime time PBS.”

“You see, Jerry still has a little bit of taste left. Not much of course. He was, after all, the Sultan of Sleaze for over a decade. But these days, he mocks his own show and knows it’s so ridiculous, he can even have circus freaks crawling around the stage without compromising its quality. Jerry doesn’t pretend his show is anything more than what it is – an electronic joke fest with nitwits as stars.”

“The Gory Povitch show is different. I tell my guests – with a straight face, mind you, “I care about you”. “I feel your pain”. We don’t even have to coach the dopes anymore – they know exactly what’s expected of them.”

“Our most popular theme – by far- is ‘Who’s Your Daddy?’ When I’m sitting next to some underage, moronic hottie with four young guys each hoping the baby’s not his, the room is electric! I make a big point of opening the paternity result envelopes – one by one – and dramatically announcing, “Bum number 1 – you are NOT the father!” Then the dopey kid jumps off his chair, punches the air in victory, high-5’s everybody he can touch, and the bimbo starts to cry.”

“By the time, I say for the fourth time, ‘you are NOT the father!’, the tearful tramp jumps from her seat and starts “The Maury Schmuck Run” to the finish-line couch backstage. Of course, I jump up and run after her. While comforting the little whore, with a microphone conveniently overhead, I’m saying things like, “There, there. Don’t worry – we’ll help you find the father of your child.”

Of course what I’m really saying is,

“Good show, you little slut. I’m glad you balled half of Cleveland because that means more ‘Find the Father’ shows. The ratings love you! I love you! And now you’ll get another chance to humiliate yourself on national TV. Why don’t we go to my office and talk about it? Connie’s in California this week.”

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