They say a Freudian slip is when you say one thing, but really meant a mother.
You want to be an eBay superstar? Just follow my lead. Over the past year I’ve made twenty-two very profitable sales of my team of homing pigeons.
A man strides out of Starbucks one morning, smiling broadly at the world. “Wow!” says a passerby, “What happened to you? Win the lottery?”
The man shakes his head, still grinning like a maniac, “I’ve just been mugged.”
(Image credit: Javier González)
— Who’s there?
Big interrupting cow.
— Big interrupting…
(The MOOO needs to be delivered while the other person is still asking big interrupting cow who – this is fun to watch kids try to get the timing right!)
An update on the unfortunate employee at the upholstery plant who accidentally fell into the machinery. He is now fully recovered.
A friend and I hit Kansas City one evening. We’d booked into the Raphael, which was an indulgence on my part, but was a pretty classy joint, right across from the Plaza. We spotted a bar opening off the lobby and went in for a nightcap after a day on the road.
- It was really nice. Dim light, a piano player, bar staff in formal clothes. Instead of my usual beer, I ordered a martini, and sat there sipping it, basking in the glow.
- The piano player was quite an entertainer. Believe it or not, he had a pet monkey, and he talked to it and it did tricks as part of the act. Sat on his shoulder, reached down and tinkled a few keys, waved to the audience.
- The musician took requests and was rattling out some good tunes. “Piano Man!” someone asked, and he gave us a great version, rolling his eyes and voice in over-the-top Billy Joel.
- The monkey hammed it up for a while and then went visiting, jumping up on tables, begging for pretzels and nuts. It came to us, squatted over my drink, and then to my astonishment and horror dangled its testicles into the glass.
- “Get away out of it, yer filthy little bastard!” I snarled, and it scampered back to its master.
- I followed, fuming, and the piano man looked up at me as his monkey sought refuge on his shoulder.
- “Do you know your monkey dunked his nuts in my martini?”
- “Uh no,” he replied, “but if you hum a few bars I’ll pick it up.”
Dad: Challenge me. I’ve been committing to memory every song that contains a person’s name. Give me any name and I’ll tell you a song that has that person’s name in it.
Sue: Um, Sue?
Dad: A Boy Named Sue by Johnny Cash
Sam: Pick me!
Dad: Telegram Sam by T Rex
Alfonso: What about my name, smarty-pants?
Dad: “Happy birthday to you,
Happy birthday to you,
Happy birthday, dear Alfonso…”
Did you ever think it odd that the game Monopoly is only made by one company?
This last year has been a bad one. So many deaths of famous people. So many great names.
Not to mention attending family funerals. That always gets me down.
So I’ve been thinking of my own mortality quite a bit recently. I want a funeral and a will that will reassure my family that I’ve thought of them and provided for one last adventure.
I’ve set aside enough for a family trip down Route 66, where they can bond, remember, and scatter my remains along the old road.
And, after the long trip from Chicago to LA, there’s some money earmarked for a day at Disneyland, where the last remnants of whatever’s left of me can be cast over the happiest kingdom of them all!
What’s that? No, I don’t want to be cremated.
When my girlfriend said she was leaving me because of my obsession with The Monkees, I thought she was joking.
And then I saw her face.