"Hey! Don't MESS with the KING!"

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Photo by Andree in Vermont

Display by ---Michael---

Heads or Tails? Ashamed or hungry?

(photo credit: National Geographic)

(contributor: Gail Slaughter)

You can participate! Click: Heads or Tails

"Been there, done that..."

Spam Francisco

Silicone Valley

YouReeka

Lost Aimlessness

Nude Whoreleans

Last Stages

Myammer

Punksa-Ptomaine

Potsburned, Panstillmaimya

No'm, Alaska

Tooraunch, Oh Canada

BlondeDumb, Minglin

Toorich, Switchedherplan

The Rancher and the Dude

A Rancher was a-leanin' on a fence when a big ol' Lexus roared up in a cloud o' dust an' stopped. Out jumped a guy in a suit with a "lectronical sumpthin" in his han'. This Dude came up ta th' Rancher an' pointed out over th' field:

"Sir," he said, "I've got a proposition for you."

The Rancher chewed and spat. "Oh?" he said.

"Yessiree," the young man replied. "I'll make a bet with you."

The Rancher squinted. "Bet?" he said.

"Yessir!" said the tenderfoot. "I have in my hand the latest technology. Something every farmer and rancher in this valley wants and needs!"

The Rancher chewed and spat again. "Oh?" he said.

"YES!" exclaimed the eager hotshot. "It's a technological marvel, and if it doesn't do what I claim, I'll give you a thousand dollars in cash. But if it does, you'll just owe me one gallon of milk from one of your cows out there. Does that sound like a good bet to you?"

The Rancher looked the feller in the eye. "Sure," he said.

"I'll bet you I can count all the cows in your field and give you an exact number in less than ten seconds, without moving from the spot we're standing. OK?"

The Rancher scratched his head. "Sure," he finally agreed. "It's a bet."

With that the young whippersnapper whipped out his cell phone, uplinked through a mainserver, interrogated the latest satellite data, downloaded the result, pressed a button to perform an onboard calculation, and saw a figure appear on his cell phone screen.

"You sir," smiled the young salesman, "have exactly 373 cows!"

The Rancher chewed and frowned and scratched and spat.

"Son," he drawled, "at first I thought you was with the Gover-ment. You barged in here with somethin' I don't need, uninvited-like, put out money like it was water tryin' to prove you was on my side, took a foolish gamble, weren't able to do squat without yer damn fool technology, tried to tell me somethin' I already knew, and winded up gettin' screwed on the whole proposition."

The young man groaned. "But wasn't I right?"

The Rancher shook his head. "No, son," he said. "Them's my sheep."

"In Circles Veritas"

"A Piece of Pi...".

(by J. Harnsforth Pumbley)

"Oh, Give me, let me taste the fruit

Which renders into Pi:

No number of the flavors there
Which so deceive the eye...

You cannot separate the truth
From what is plain to see;

All reasoning is circular
Between sweet Pi and me."

"Catcrash On Information Highway---Film at Eleven"

March 17th at Ted's Firehouse Pub

The Orangeman's Lament

I'd like to be part of St. Paddy's Day action

But my own Irish blood makes a very small fraction.
And that bit of blood may be viewed as a blotch,
For my great-great grandpa was an Orangeman (Scotch).
And did I say Scotch? Well, I never drink,
Which wipes out all claims to be Irish, I think.
Still, I'll wear my green jeans with my green sweater over,
Play my cassettes of the Chieftains and Rovers,
Eat some corned beef on a slice of green bread,
Stop saying "Wow," say "Begorra" instead.
There are folks who may say that me shamrock's a sham
But for one day a year, it 'tis Irish I am.

ERIN GO BRAUGH
Erin go braugh!
Never go braless
Unless you're an Erin whose figure is flawless!

(Material composed by Gail Slaughter)

(Illustration work by Michael Serafin)
(Special thanks to Mary Stebbins Taitt)

Witless Wednesday: Snow Swimming!

Verifuni Dafinations

Gail Slaughter sent these in:

INTAXICATION: Tax refund euphoria (until you realize it was your money to start with).
REINTARNATION: When you die and come back as a hillbilly.
BOZONE: The substance around idiots which prevents the penetration of bright ideas.
FOREPLOY: Strategy for picking up a partner in a bar.
CASHTRATION: Buying a house and being rendered financially impotent. Indefinitely.
GIRAFFITI: Vandalism, spray-painted very, very high.
SARCHASM: The gulf between sarcastic wit and the goof who just doesn't get it.
INOCULATTE: To take coffee intravenously.
HIPATITIS: Being terminally cool.
OSTEOPORNOSIS: A degenerate's disease. (Think about it awhile: you'll get it)
KARMAGEDDON: It's like, you know, like all these dudes are sending out all these negative vibes, man, right? And then like the earth explodes!
DECAFALON: Getting through the day without that afternoon coffee break.
GLIBIDO: All talk, no action.
DOPELER EFFECT: Stupid ideas seeming smarter if they come at you fast enough.
ARACHNOLEPTIC FIT: What you throw when you catch a spider web in the face.
BEELZEBUG: That satanic mosquito that gets in your tent and won't be cast out.
CATERPALLOR: The color you turn when you find HALF a worm in your apple.
IGNORANUS: A person both stupid and a real pain in your rear!

(source: Washington Post, Mensa Invitational)

Can you pick the winner that year?
Give your best guessed guest guess in a comment!

Meet Our California Correspondent

This lovely lady is Gail Slaughter, our western scout and photographer based in Eureka, California. Gail likes snapping pictures (you'll see her work often in EinP) but the thing she probably "digs" the most are her goldmines of jokes. (Click on her name in the Labels anywhere in the blog for a history of her stuff).

If you click on the word "California" in the title above you can read more about Gail and things she sends in. "Kitty", as she is also known, has bran-new twin granddaughters, and two cats, Elphaba and Hybrow. She goes by the handle "Leaflady". (But I'll just call her "Squiggy.")

"F" is for FAG (the sort you smoke)

Yes, I smoke. I am a pariah. Everyone hates me. I must go outdoors in the cold. My landlord forbids it. No employer will have me smoking on their property. My cat stares at me in disgust. My friends fear for my life. My Doctor wants to disown me.

It is a filthy, filthy, filthy habit, they all tell me. I point to legends such as Yul Brenner, John Wayne, Katherine Hepburn, Roger Miller, David Niven, on and on, and they yell

"SEE! the Weed got ALL of them!"

I sigh, and roll one more smoke.

(Thanks be to Gail Slaughter for this old ad!)

"Eh? Canada?"

(Originally posted Tuesday, December 13, 2005)

VANCOUVER WINTER OLYMPICS:

Visitor Questions

Now that Vancouver will host the 2010 Winter Olympics, people around the world have started asking questions. Stupid questions. And a stupid question deserves a stupid answer:

Question: I have never seen it warm on Canadian TV, so how do the plants grow?
Answer: We import all plants fully grown and sit around and watch them die.

Question: Will I be able to see Polar Bears in the street?
Answer: That depends. How heavily do you drink?

Question: I want to hike from Vancouver to Toronto--can I follow the railroad tracks?
Answer: No problemo. It's only four thousand miles. Take a lunch.

Question: Is it safe to run around in the bushes in Canada?
Answer: So it's true what they say about Swedes.

Question: It is imperative that I find the places to contact for a stuffed Beaver.
Answer: Sorry. Not touching that one.

Question: Are there cash machines in Canada? Send me a list of them in Toronto, Vancouver, Edmonton and Halifax.
Answer: So what did your last slave die of?

Question: Can you give me some information about hippo racing in Canada?
Answer: "A-fri-ca" is the big triangle south of Europe. "Ca-na-da" is that big country to your North. (No, just joshing. The hippo racing is every Tuesday night. Come naked.)

Question: Which direction is North in Canada?
Answer: Just face South and then do a 180. Contact us when you get here and we'll send the rest of the directions.

Question: Can I bring cutlery into Canada?
Answer: What for? Use your fingers like civilized people!

Question: Can you send me the Vienna Boys' Choir schedule?
Answer: "Aus-tri-a" is that quaint little country bordering Germany, which is... oh, forget it. (The Vienna Boys do three numbers every Tuesday right after the hippo races. Come naked.)

Question: I have developed a new product---it's the Fountain of Youth. Can I sell it in Canada?

Answer: Sure! Just put up a sign: "35% off Drugs". Those Americans'll just MOB you.

Question: Can you tell me the regions in British Columbia where the female population is smaller than the male population?
Answer: Yes. The region running East and West and South to North. How big are YOUR women?

Question: Are there "supermarkets" in Toronto, and is milk available all year round?
Answer: No, we are a peaceful civilization of vegans, fruit-lovers, and hunter-gatherers. Milk is illegal.

Question: I have a question about a famous animal of Canada, but I forget its name. It's a kind of big horse, with horns.
Answer: Oh, we know what you mean. The Moose! Moose are very Canadian indeed. Like our famous Mounties, they are very tall, and very violent, eating the brains of anyone trespassing on their territory. Do not approach either a Moose or a Mountie. If one charges you, run. But be prepared for such an encounter beforehand. You can scare them off by spraying yourself with human urine. To be safest, turn your shorts around backward. And pray.

(From the archives of Leslie in Canada...thanks, Les!)

"Love by the Dashboard Lights"

My Dearest Datsun:

You know and I know we've been through this before. I see that little "Service Engine Soon" light. Again. You're nagging me. But this time I've had it. You've pushed me just a little too far.

Know what? I'm ignoring it. Really! I'm serious this time. Look, it's not like we don't see each other every day. We spend quality time on weekends, weaving through traffic, ignoring yield signs, me flipping off pedestrians, you playing your CDs. And those have been good times, I'll admit that. But that was all before you started in with this nagging thing!

Seems like every time I turn a corner now, it's "Service Engine Soon. Service Engine Soon." On the way to get groceries... "Service Engine Soon." Slogging home from work... "Service Engine Soon." You just don't get it. I've been working slavishly just to pay for all those wax jobs, keep you in rubber, picking up the tab for your insurance, and this is the thanks I get? "Service Engine Soon?"

Okay, okay....I'm sorry. That outburst may have been a bit uncalled for. Still, I've put up with a lot over the years, you'll have to admit it. I've never complained when you've needed a jump, even though you're frigid when you do. Your gas gauge goes to zero like every week, but do I blow smoke about it? No. I open your flap, and I fill you up. But here's what gets me. I can never figure you out! I turn on your lights, you beep if I forget to turn them off. You make all sorts of noise if I don't fill your radiator, and then when I do, you get steamed. I tell you, I'm getting mixed turn signals.

Buckle up, check the oil. Door not secure, shift into neutral before starting, objects may be closer than they appear. Why all this bitching and moaning and ordering me around? I'm not some crash dummy. And now again with this "Service Engine Soon."

You know, in the old days, when we were first running around together, that little light was kinda cute. Winkin' and blinkin' there. Just for me to see, nobody else. It felt like you needed me. And I thought you did. I thought that little light was a sign of, well, a signal more like. A signal you were concerned we'd break down, wind up on some deserted road, without that Triple A card I got you when we first got together. Remember that? I still have it. Right in my wallet, next to my heart.

That light meant something, then. It meant that we would be together always, and that made you the coolest thing on four wheels. But then that day came. That little light came on and stayed on, like a sign from fate or that junkyard in the sky. It left me with no alternator. I had to get you help with your problems, whatever they were. We couldn't move on without that.

But when I did that, something snapped inside you as that greasy-handed butcher of a wrench-jockey prodded and poked. I saw that look in his eyes, counting stacks of my money in his imagination as he tried to sound so...optimistic about your recovery. And all the while those dirty fingernails were all over you, tweaking your components, seeking places my hands never went.

How do you think that made me feel, seeing another man's greasy wrench under your hood? I have eyes, you know. And I have paid the price for everything.

So, you know what? Listen. If we can't get any traction in this relationship, what good is spinning our wheels? I've made up my mind. I don't care if your muffler falls off, or your tranny goes to a million pieces, I'm not taking you to back to Him. Oh, I'll stick around, I'm not the kind to hit and run, but you can forget about that other guy, he's history. I'll clean your plugs myself. You're my car, dammit, not some floozy rental, and if I can't have you, no one will.

I'll be the only man behind your wheel, baby. Tomorrow, we'll go for a ride to work. Won't that be nice? We'll put that road behind us, you'll see. We'll work out all the bugs, and I'll get that repair manual you always wanted. We'll be riding high. And I'll get a piece of tape put on that light.


(thanks to Monkey Tale)
http://monfat48.blogspot.com/2008/02/wheres-love.html

"F" is for FUNNY!

Got a good "blond guy" joke? Want one? Click the title!

the trucker and the blonde

One day, while a blonde is out driving, she runs into a truck.
The truck driver makes her pull over and get out of the car.
He takes a piece of chalk and traces a circle on the pavement.
"Stand in that circle and don't move a muscle!" he growls.

Then, completely furious, he pulls a knife and slashes her tires!
The blonde sees this act of violence and starts laughing!

This makes the man really see red, so next he takes a tire iron and smashes her windshield. But the screwy blonde? she laughs even harder!

Now the trucker goes crazy! He breaks all her windows, and sets fire to the car!

But by now the blonde is laughing hysterically, out of control.

The truck driver cannot believe this woman. "What's so funny?!!" he demands.

The blonde giggles."While you weren't looking, I stepped out of the circle... three times!"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

a little personal complaint

When I'm hard at work like this, I get screwy. I find it hard to concentrate. I lose all sense of time and space. People around me all seem to lose their perspective. Why can't they see I'm a hardworking son-of-a-gun? I need elbow room! Well, they aren't going to get to ME! I'm going to forge ahead, damn the torpedoes! Somebody has to take the bull by the horns, or NOTHING will get done!

Oh, it will take sacrifice, I know that. But as God is my Witness, I shall PREVAIL!

the true definition of curiosity

Gail Slaughter sent me this picture, but we don't know who took it... she sent it because my friend and companion Smokey looks just like this intrepid warrior... and Gail was the one who helped rescue him and bring him to me... thank you, Gail, from both of us!

"Just tell it like it is..."

This is based on an actual job application that a 75 year old senior citizen submitted to Walmart:

NAME:.............. Kenneth Way (Grumpy Old Bastard)

SEX:................. Not lately, but I'm looking.

DESIRED POSITION: President or Vice President. (Seriously, whatever's available. If I was in any position to be picky, I wouldn't be applying here in the first place!)

DESIRED SALARY: $185,000 a year. But make an offer... we can haggle.

LAST POSITION HELD: Prime Target for middle management hostility.

PREVIOUS SALARY: A lot less than I'm worth.

MOST NOTABLE ACHIEVEMENT: My incredible collection of stolen pens.

REASON FOR LEAVING: Was advised of more suitable opportunities elsewhere.

HOURS AVAILABLE : Anytime I'm not playing polo.

PREFERRED HOURS: 1:30-3:30 p.m on alternate Tuesdays.

DO YOU HAVE ANY SPECIAL SKILLS?: Yes, but they're better suited to a more intimate environment.

MAY WE CONTACT YOUR CURRENT EMPLOYER?: If I had one, would I be here?

DO YOU HAVE ANY LIMITATIONS THAT WOULD PROHIBIT YOU FROM LIFTING UP TO 50 lbs: Fifty pounds of what?

DO YOU HAVE A CAR?: I think the more appropriate question here would be "Do you have a car that runs?"

ANY SPECIAL AWARDS OR RECOGNITION?: I may already be a winner of the Publisher's Clearing House Sweepstakes, so they tell me.

WHERE DO YOU SEE YOURSELF IN FIVE YEARS?: Living in the Bahamas with a fabulously wealthy, dumb sexy blonde supermodel, who thinks I'm the greatest thing since sliced bread. (Actually, I'd like to be doing that now.)

NEAREST RELATIVE:............... 7 miles down route 317.

DO YOU CERTIFY THAT THE ABOVE IS TRUE AND COMPLETE: Oh yes, absolutely. In fact, ask anybody...I'm certifiable as they get!

"One Little Wave"

As the story goes, President Bush decides to invite the Pope to visit Washington and make an address to a Joint Session of Congress. Everybody who is anybody is there. Senators, Congressmen, Supreme Court, all the wise rulers of our great Country, gathered in one great assembly. This is quite unprecendented, and is televised around the world.

Mr. Bush hasn't been doing too awful well in the polls for awhile, but this is his chance to shine, so he gets an idea. He takes His Holiness aside for a moment. "Popie," he says genially, "this is quite a shindig, ain't it?" The old Vicar merely smiles and nods politely, but George W. goes on.

"Ya know," he says, "you're a real big cheese over there at the Vatican. I seen a hunnerd thousand people come out just to see ya wavin' from that balcony thing. Must give ya thrills an' chills when they do that stuff, right?" Again His Holiness agrees. "Yes," he replies, "it is most gratifying, but one must be humble about these things. I merely represent the Church and all its tradition. It has little to do with me. I would think that with you this must also hold true."

The President guffaws. "Oh, come on, now. You don't think when people cheer me it's because they love their Gov'mint, do ya? They love me! Well, not all of 'em, we got a democracy. Half the people hate ya and the other half don't. Watch this!"

With that, the President steps out on the stage and the applause begins. The Democrats are on one side, Republicans on the other, politely clapping. The President looks back over his shoulder at the Pope. "Now watch!" he says, and waves one hand over his head as a signal. Suddenly the Republican side of the hall springs to life, whoopin' and hollerin' and carryin' on like the roof is gonna come down. The President grins at the Pope as the riot settles down. "And all with just a wave of my hand!" he brags. "Half the place goes nuts!"

His Holiness the Pope, not wanting to condone this openly blatant behavior, considers the proper reply. "Mr. President," he says quietly, "that was, indeed, very impressive. You have great command. But did you know, just one wave of my hand will make EVERY person in this crowd ecstatic with joy? And this joy will not be some momentary passing display, as we heard earlier, but will go deep in their hearts, and all the people of the world will be witness, and on through all time, they will remember this day and rejoice."

The President snorts in doubt. "One little wave of your hand. And all the people, rejoicing forever. Now that trick I gotta see!"

And so the Pope slugs him.

Some Things Never Change

....... Gail Slaughter sent this in... good ol' Grannie's never fooled!
(Click picture to view larger)