Dance with my inner silly jellybean

Steven Wright: Where do forest rangers go to get away from it all?

Good question, Mr Wright.

Dear Weather,

I’m not amused. We were promised Spring. It was made official. The days even got longer to back it up. And yet today we had flurrr…fluu…flur…FLURRIES! That’s snow. Please explain.

When it was announced that Spring offically arrived, we all cheered and said, “Yay!” When the weather network pronounced above average temperatures last week, we all threw our caps into the air and said, “Yay!” When the snow came down today, we all threw up our arms and said, “What the #@$*?!”

I’d like to exchange this crappy weather for Spring, please. No explantions needed. I will even look the other way and pretend this never happened.

Humbly yours,
Tristan

My right big toe sweats. And only this toe. At first I thought that there must have been a hole in the shoe I was wearing, but today, in another pair of shoes, this toe’s side of the sock was wet yet again. All the other toes toed the line and stayed dry but this one is the black sheep. Why? This is strange, non? Why does only one toe attract moisture and never any other toes? Each time I noticed this I happened to be only taking leisurely walks. There was no strenuous exercise to justify the sweating, and only on one toe, no less. How peculiar! This big toe looks just like its twin and isn’t under any undue stress. I give them a very stringent diet of white or black socks so that they don’t get too haughty for their own good. Each time I look, I only see this toe’s charming disposition looking back at me as if to say, “Who me?” Yes you. Why do you sweat?

I love you.
You complete me.
A taste of you and I’m on my way to bliss.
The first date gives me a shiver of joy.
The second makes my tastebuds dance the merangue.
The third – it’s just you and me;
We’re sailing in our own world.
If you were a man, Honey Date, we’d always be in sync,
Because you get me.
Each moment would be sweet.
We’d go hand in hand everywhere – across oceans, through time,
To the dentist.
Kisses, my love.
Mwah. Mwah.

Can one sneeze out of one’s ears? I think I just did. Cold – be gone! Outside into the winter storm where you belong with your kin. Out!

One morning, a man, while jogging on the beach, found a lamp in the sand. When he rubbed it, a very disgruntled genie flew out. “I’ll grant you one wish and one wish only. Make it quick!”, barked the genie.

The man thought about it for a moment and replied, “I’ve always wanted to go to Hawaii, but I’m afraid to fly. Build me a bridge from my house to Hawaii, so that I can drive there.”

The genie snapped back, “Do you realize the kind of infrastructure required for a bridge like that? It’s impossible! Make another wish.”

The man sat down on the sand and said, “I’ve been married and divorced 3 times, and each time my wives told me that I didn’t understand women.”

Turning to the genie, “My wish is to know everything there is to know about women. I want to know what they mean when they say, ‘I’m fine.’ And the correct answer to the question, ‘Do I look fat in this?’ And why they go to the washroom in pairs”, said the man.

The genie replied, “Would you like your bridge two lanes or one?”

I really, truly, definitely need this goal because I take life far too seriously…sometimes…errrmmm…a lot of times. THIS is how I knew that I was taking it far too seriously – I tried to glean life lessons from a silly book that has sarcastic monks and a fiendish yak running through it. I caught myself rereading lines about Buddhist teachings as if I were about to write an exam. When I realized what I was doing, I wanted to simultaneously laugh and kick my ass.

Where my jellybeans at?!!

...but even with the gift of tongues, I’m having trouble learning to speak hip-hop. Why is it that one can busta rhyme or busta move anywhere but you must busta cap in someone’s ass? Is “ho” always feminine, and “muthafucka” always masculine, while “bitch” can be either? How many peeps in a posse, and how much booty before baby got back, do you have to be all that to get all up in that, and do I need to be dope and phat to be da bomb or can I just be “stupid’?

Excerpt from Christopher Moore’s “Lamb – The Gospel According to Biff, Christ’s Childhood Pal”

I’m reading Christopher Moore’s “Lamb – The Gospel According to Biff, Christ’s Childhood Pal”. It’s very silly. His other book, “A Dirty Job”, was hilariously silly.

I saw the sun and that was enough to get me jumping with laughter. “Ha ha ha haaaa,” I said.