How do I love thee? Hmmm …. let me get back to you on that

Romantic-CoupleIf I say “The Washington Post,” you might think — big newspaper, watchdog on Washington, D.C., “All the President’s Men.” But how about … funny?

Right. Me neither.

But that changed when I read some of the entries sent to the paper during a poetry contest it held recently. Submissions had to be a two-line poem and consist of the most romantic first line (please refer to above picture), followed by the least romantic second line (please refer to below picture).

Fighting-Couple-630x420Some funny stuff. Here’s a few of them.

“My darling, my lover, my beautiful wife
Marrying you has screwed up my life.”

waking up screaming

“I see your face when I’m dreaming.
That’s why I always wake up screaming.”

“Kind, intelligent, loving and hot.
This describes everything you’re not.”

“Love may be beautiful, love may be bliss,
but I only slept with you ’cause I was pissed.”

Is it me, or do all of these sound like they were written by men? Oops, seems I spoke too soon.woman_likes brother

“I thought that I could love no other …
… that is until I met your brother.”

“What inspired this amorous rhyme?
Two parts vodka, one part lime.”

“Roses are red, violets are blue, sugar is sweet and so are you.
But the roses are wilting, the violets are dead, the sugar bowl’s empty … and so is your head.”

You know, some real thought went into many of the submissions here. Malicious ones? Perhaps. Potential circumstantial evidence? Possibly. But still, it’s the thoughts that count, right?


“I want to feel your sweet embrace,
but don’t take the paper bag off of your face.”

unhappy dog couple

“I love your smile, your face and your eyes.
Damn, I’m good at telling lies.”

Yes, yes. Gratuitous use of yet another bulldog picture – guilty. But at least they fit the mood here. Sort of.

And finally, last but not least, viciously speaking …

“My feelings for you no words can tell,
except for maybe “Go to Hell.”

Sheesh. Can you just feel the love oozing all over here? Why it’s so strong, it’s almost … poisonous.


Life: Time to dumb it down

mad_scientistI never had much use for science when I was in school. At the time I thought it was because I was too dumb. Now I know better.

Science is stupid. And worse, it’s making our lives more stupid every day. Why? Because they do stupid studies that come up with stupid conclusions. And a lot of people stupidly believe them because they’re living with the stupid impression that science is all about being smart.

And that’s really stupid.

Take, for instance, a group of scientists in the U.K., “leading experts on food safety,” who decided to find out how clean and sanitary is the average backyard grill in the Land of Brits. They released their findings over there on Friday, just in time for the start of the Memorial Day holiday weekend over here. The headline on the story posted on one U.S. news website,, sums it up pretty well.

“Happy Memorial Day: Your BBQ grill may have more germs than a toilet seat.”

I knew there was more than one reason to wage war on that country.

Let me introduce you to the Three Bringers of Your Apocalypse: Sam Onella. E. Coli and Les Teria.

Allow me introduce the Three Bringers of Your Apocalypse: From left, Sam Onella, E. Coli and Les Teria.

Seems the average home BBQ grilling surface is a magnet for harmful bacteria like salmonella, e-coli and listeria. Because most of our backyard grills aren’t kept clean enough to … well, to eat off of.

Interesting. Now, wait just a minute. Before you, me, and every barbecuing person in this country runs out into the streets and falls on our long-handled meat forks, let’s recall one little-bitty, silly thing that seems to be missing in this whole conversation here.

I see cavemen. I see meat. I see dirt. Whoa now - I DON'T see any Handi-Wipes! How the hell did we ever freakin' evolve!?!

I see cavemen. I see cavemen cooking meat. I see dirt. Whoa now – I DON’T see any Handi-Wipes! How the hell did we ever freakin’ evolve!?!


Fire is enlightening. Fire is even somewhat pretty. But fire also is hot. Fire burns things. Like houses, paper, trees. Why, fire’s even been known to burn people’s beating hearts … with a hunka-hunka burning love. Oh, and also quite a few hamburgs and hot dogs too.

Grill, meet fire. Fire, meet grill. Bacteria? Meet your destruction.

Grill, meet fire. Fire, meet grill. Bacteria? Meet your destruction.

But before it ever puts a sear on a steak, I’ll bet it burns up every single bad ol’ bacteria that might be hanging on to that grilling surface as it burns and brings up the temperature to the necessary sizzling point – hot enough to grill those hunksa-hunksa barbecue food items.

But what if they don’t all die? The bacteria, I mean. What if a few get through and into your disgestive innards?

I’ve already thought of that, got it figured out. And I’m not even one of those smart scientists. Remember, I flunked science.

A bottle a day keeps the bacteria away.

A bottle a day keeps the bacteria away.

Beer – cold, sparkling, refreshing … and alcoholically antiseptic.

No ifs, ands or butts about it

blog_this_tramp_stamp_tattooJust read that some French university professor conducted a little experiment on a beach. He sent out onto the sand a group of scantly-clad good-looking women. They were bait – cast out to try to catch the red-blooded, carnivorous sucker fish, a.k.a. man. They landed a few.

He then reeled the babes back in, but before throwing them back out there he slapped on some “tramp stamp” temporary tattoos.

Eureka – feeding frenzy. To find the reason behind it (I suppose pun intended), he asked the men why they’d approached the lovely ladies. After all, they went nearly unnoticed during the earlier trip along the shore. What gives?

Yup, ’twas the tramp stamps. Most of the men said the tats sent them a subliminal message – oh lookee-here, some females who’ll probably let me talk to them, maybe even have sex with me on the first date. After all, they are … um, tramps, right?

I said most of them thought that, not all. The others? Who knows. Maybe they thought they were stamps. Hey, I said the sucker fish was carnivorous. Not intelligent.

Behold, the power and attraction of the tramp stamp. Just ink under the skin, just above the posterior. Something so trivial, seemingly inconsequential, pretty dumb actually. But who I am to say? The professor did his research, I’ve no evidence to back up my claim, to refute him.

So I must do my own investigation. But it’s too damn cold today to go to the beach. So, I shall Bing this thing and let the Internet do my data collection for me. OK, all of you tramp stamps out there, show me your best stuff, convince me you have some power …

Now, help me out here. I'm supposed to see this cow pulling up your rear and start thinking of ... what again? Sorry, I'm feeling it yet.

Now, help me out here. I’m supposed to see this cow pulling up your rear and start thinking of … what again?

So ... what was it you say happened to all of your other boyfriends again?

So … what was it you said happened to all of your old boyfriends?

Thanks so much for the warning ... I'll be on my way now.

Thanks for the warning … I’ll be on my way now.

Woo-boy - okie-dokie, please tell me I'm just taking this out of context ...

Woo-boy. Okie-dokie – please tell me I’m just taking this out of context …

Um, I see this and one word comes to mind. No, not sex. Brevity.

Um, one word comes to mind. No, it’s not sexy. Brevity.

Oh, I get it. Star Wars ... C-3PO ... May the Ass be with you? No.

Oh, I get it. Star Wars … R2-D2 … May this Ass be with you? Lemme think. No.

Well, there you have it. I’m convinced the professor’s findings, and many men’s brains, are full of shit. But if you’re not yet, just give it time. How so? Remember – only time will tell …

tramp-stamp-forever 18I rest my case.

FYI: I lost, so you lost

powerball-lotteryI didn’t win the big money in the $590 million-or-more Powerball lottery drawing last night.

Hell, I didn’t win the semi-big money, the middling money or the smallest this-covers-me-for-one-of-my-tickets money. I got zip, nada, zero, nothing, squat.

Oh, and since I was a loser, just thought you’d all like to know you’re losers too.

Because I planned on giving a million to every single one of my readers and followers here, whether you’ve liked me or not. I could afford it and could have used the charity tax breaks too.

Just so you know.

And even after that, I would have had more than enough moolah left over to do a couple other nice-for-me/nice-for-you things.

national debtI was going to pay off all of my family’s and all of your families’ share of the national debt. Shucks, it’s only a little more than $100,000 each. Chump change. That’d be one monthly bill we all could rip up and throw away.

kim-jong-un-and-dennis-rodmanI’d buy a long-range ballistic missile, stuff Dennis Rodman into the warhead and fire it off at Kim Jong-Un and his cadre of yes-oh-great-leader generals. One kaboom and world peace would ensue.

bag of iceAnd finally, I’d buy a bag of ice for every single person on the planet and at the same time we’d all go outside and all-together-now wave them in the air for twenty minutes and … badda-bing, badda-boom … no more global warming.

Yeah, sure, what I nice guy I could have been. But I didn’t win. So now me, you, the country and the world have zip, nada, zero, nothing, squat.

And one last thing. To the winner of last night’s Powerball, who bought the ticket at that Publix supermarket in Florida, probably a 97-year-old retiree who’s really going to send for those mail-order kitchen curtains now and (why not?) the valances too, and who most likely will bequeath the rest to Clarence, your 12-year-old Maine coon-Persian-calico cat mix because he’s such a finicky eater, don’t you know … I hiss this:

I just hope you’re happy now.

There goes the neighborhood

mad faceI’m mad as hell and I’m not going to take it anymore …

… so I’m going to blow up my house! No, I’m going to blow up your house! No, not that either – I’m going to bulldoze a bunch of them!

A couple weeks ago, a 69-year-old man in Poland wakes up to find the house empty and a note left for him by his wife. Just want you to know that me and the kids have gone out for a picnic. See you later.

He gives her a call. One ringy-dingy, two ringy-dingy …

“He called me on the mobile phone and demanded that I got home, but when I refused he said he was going to get revenge. I did not take him seriously and then I returned home to find this,” she said, according to a news report.

Revenge? You mean like packing up a couple sandwiches, grabbing a bottle of wine and going on his own picnic? Not exactly. More like start a fire in the basement and throw in a couple of gas canisters for good measure and kablooey – there goes the house. And there goes the husband to the hospital with critical injuries as he didn’t get out before the explosion dropped the roof on him.

So there. See if you ever go on a picnic without me again.

And then there’s the guy living in the suburbs of Atlanta, Georgia, who complained to his next-door neighbor about his lawn.

You! Yeah, you. Your lawn ... mow it!

You! Yeah, you. Your lawn … mow it!

“Slapped me across the face and said, ‘Mow your grass,” the neighbor told the local TV station. “My grass was too tall for him.”

Maybe he was considering the property values or something. In any case, man-of-too-tall-grass decides to take the neighborly advice and fire up his mower. Unfortunately not quickly enough.

“He kicks my door, tells me I’ve got five seconds to come outside,” the man recalled. “I turn around and call 911. And while I’m on the phone he comes back with two gas cans in his hand. Walks up to my kitchen door again, takes a gas can, smashes it against the glass, breaks the first pane. Then he … grabs a brick, throws it through the window. And then he grabs a gas can and starts pouring it into the kitchen. And as he’s pouring he takes his lighter and lights it.”

The man grabbed his 3-year-old daughter and managed to get out before the flames not only consumed his house, but them with it. The neighbor managed to get away before the police came calling over at his place. He’s still being sought.

The guy was a “pretty good neighbor,” says the burned-out resident, that is until “he just went complete psycho.”

You don’t say. The jerk just TORCHED your house. And your lawn didn’t get mowed either. Anybody ever tell you that you have a real knack for understatement?

And speaking of psycho, there’s more than one way to get a message to your neighbors. You can come knocking. You can send a card. You can pick up the phone. Or you can climb up into your bulldozer and fire it up. Call it the “up-close-and-personally-into-your-front-door-approach.”

Neither, rain, nor snow, nor truck, nor home shall keep this bulldozer from its destructive rounds. (Keith Thorpe/Associated Press)

Neither rain, nor snow, nor truck, nor nearby homes shall keep this wacko man and his bulldozer from completing his destructive rounds. (Keith Thorpe/Associated Press)

According to a syndicated news report, a “highly agitated” Washington state man gave his neighbors a piece of his mind by bulldozing through four of their homes recently. The rampage, attributed to a property line dispute that had been “brewing for some time”, also brought down a 70-foot electricity pole, leaving thousands in the area without power for up to 12 hours.

The 51-year-old man “just went nuts,” said one neighbor, while another said she wasn’t very surprised, adding that when she heard the bulldozer start up, she knew the man was about to get feisty.

“We all said one of these days Barry is going to take that dang CAT and he’s going to start tearing up people’s property and that’s what he did,” she remarked to a TV reporter.

Three different homeowners, in three different parts of the world, all going berserk and taking it out on their own or the nearest home-sweet-homes.

There’s got to be a reason. A common denominator.

I’ve got it – global warming.

We’re carbonating our atmosphere, melting our icecaps … and deep-frying our brains.

Go potty, or get off the pot

potty seat sleepFirst, I want to say I had no problems being potty-trained as a kid. My mom just opened the door, let me and our St. Bernard out into the backyard and said, “Go potty.” When we were done, we came back to the door and she let us in. No problem.

Did have an issue wearing clothes to go to kindergarten, though. And caused a few incidents during recess, I’m afraid. But, as they say, one must live and learn. I lived, everyone else had to learn.

All this came to mind while I was reading an article today by Associated Press writer Leanne Italie on the coming of summer. Thanks to her story I’ve learned this season also is known as “tinkle time” for many parents of toddlers who have yet to shed their diapers and be formally introduced to the mysterious art of potty training.

“Toddler, meet toilet. Toilet, this is toddler. Please bond. Many thanks. Oh, and remember to leave the seat down. Otherwise Mama will kill you.”

Seems pretty straight-forward. But this is 2013, a.k.a. the modern age. Which means potty training is now … involved. No, not evolved. Involved. As Italie writes, “… like so many aspects of life with kids, potty training means gear, lots of gear.”

No, not lots of rears. Lot of gear … a.k.a. potty seats. As Italie also states, “something happened on the road to bathroom independence. The choices in potty seats and chairs proliferated and sprouted all manner of bells and whistles.”

Maybe it's just me, but I think this would be much more effective with Cookie Monster, not Elmo. "Coookies! Me want cooookies!" Seems a better fit to me.

Maybe it’s just me, but in my mind I gotta believe that this one would be much more effective with Cookie Monster, not Elmo. “Coookies! Me want cooookies!” Seems a better fit to me.

Potty seats. Bells and whistles. Sheesh. We’re talking about crap here. We’re talking about pee. We’re talking about neither being in your pants, neither being on the floor, neither being in the car seat or the restaurant booth. People, we’re talking evacuating here, not nuclear waste management.

But no, parenting in the modern age can’t be easy, can’t be straight-forward. It evidently has to be … ingenious.

Cute kid. Cute idea. Seems to be working too. Sure hope the child doesn't equate toilet with ladybugs and do this for life.

Cute kid. Cute idea. Seems to be working too. Sure hope the child doesn’t equate the toilet with ladybugs …

... or a duck ... if it looks like a duck, quacks like a duck, then when nature calls ...

… or a duck … if it looks like a duck, quacks like a duck, then when nature calls, squat on a duck …

... or a green bunny, frog, bunny-frog with handlebars, something. Kid only goes on this and he's got problems answering call of nature ... out in nature.

… or a green bunny … or frog … or bunny-frog with handlebars … something. Your toddler only goes on this and he’s got problems – YOU got problems if he hears the call of nature … out in nature.

People … just open the door, shoo them out, say “go potty,” and poop! – you’re done. Worked for me. Worked for my kid. It can work for you.

Oh. My. Freaking. Head. This isn't even funny.

Oh. My. Freaking. Head. This isn’t even funny.