Creative Solutions

A reminder that sometimes the best answer requires us to think outside the box:

Tomato Garden

 An old Italian lived alone in New Jersey .  He wanted to plant his annual tomato garden, but it was very difficult work, as the ground was hard. His only son, Vincent, who used to help him, was in prison. The old man wrote a letter to his son and described his predicament:  

       Dear  Vincent,

      I am feeling pretty sad, because it looks like I won’t be able to plant  my tomato garden     this year. I’m just getting too old to be digging up a garden plot. I know if you were here my troubles would be over. I know you would be happy to dig the plot for me, like in the old days.

      Love, Papa 

       A few days later he received a letter from his son. 

       Dear Pop,

      Don’t dig up that garden. That’s where the bodies are buried.

      Love, Vinnie 

 At 4 a.m. the next morning, FBI agents and local police arrived and dug up the entire area without finding any bodies. They apologized to the old man and left. That same day the old man received another letter from his son.

       Dear Pop,

      Go ahead and plant the tomatoes now. That’s the best I could do under the circumstances.

      Love you,  Vinnie

 

2008 Campaign Buttons

With the election coming up, it’s time to show your pride in your chosen candidate. Do it with one of these clever election year buttons:

Strange Things I’ve Done to my Penis

Let me start out saying that if you know me in real life, stop now. You probably don’t want to read further. But if you already stomached my narrative on the horrors of being a man at the doctors office, you’ll be fine.

If you made it this far, I’ll continue by saying that I could just as easily write about “Strange things Ive done to my finger” or “weird happenings with my feet” but that would be boring, which is something I try not to be.

From time to time, I have visited tanning beds. I did it in high school to have a nice color for prom. Throughout college and my early career years, I would get a few sessions in before taking a beach trip to get a nice base tan in an attempt to save myself from a sunburn while on vacation. And this month, I’m taking advantage of a month of tanning that was offered by my new gym. Typically speaking, though, I gave up tanning a long time ago. Having the Vinyl Village pool means that I usually get a little sun before any trips, and having the roof open on the car keeps me slightly tanned year round.

I never was, and never will be, one of those people who tans so much that they turn orange. I saw such a creature this past weekend at a fundraiser. The poor thing must have slept in a sunbed every night…she was literally the color of a basketball, and had almost the same texture. I have also never been one for naked tanning, or clever little “press on tattoos” that leave a pasty white image of a Playboy bunny or something equally tacky on the netherregions. I simply hop into the tanning bed with whatever underwear I have on and leave it at that.

Now, before I learned the supportive benefits of boxer briefs, a nice trunk, or a classic tighty whitie, I pretty much stuck to boxers. And that’s what I had on one day when I got into the tanning bed. I’d already had several sessions, so had a good base, and was up to the point where I tanned for about 10 or 12 minutes a session.  So I got down to my boxers, slapped on those goofy looking glasses, and got in.

All seemed well until later that night. My penis was very tender…the slightest bit of friction from walking or moving about was terribly uncomfortable. And it itched slightly. When I got into the shower I noticed the cause–I’d sunburned my dick! The baggy boxers I had been wearing had apparently gaped open at the fly just enough to expose a lemon-shaped wedge of pasty white shaft skin. Well, at least it had been pasty white. Now it was bright red. The shower water hitting me burned. Rubbing against clothes caused almost nauseating pain for at least two days. And then it itched like crazy. A week later, it peeled! And for weeks I had what appeared to be a lemon-shaped liver spot midway up my wang.

But that isn’t all my poor weiner has had to endure. Skip ahead a few years. My roommate in college got a new computer and for the first time, we had the internet in our home. She and I were surfing ebay one night, trying to find something that we actually needed, though I can’t recall what it was.

We came across an auction for one of those penis enlarging “pumps”. The current price was around $2. Jokingly, J, the roomie, put a bid in on it. Now, since she and I were both new to eBay, we had no idea that what we had just bid on was a dutch auction. (Meaning that there are several of the item up for bids, and there’s a good chance all who bid will end up with one.) But that’s what we had done. Bid two dollars on an instrument guaranteed to add inches to your manhood. A few days later, we got the dreaded email :”Congratulations! The auction has ended and you are the winner of the Long Dong Vacuum Schlong” (or whatever it was called). Not wanting to harm our fresh eBay reputation, we ponied up the two dollars and just paid for the damned thing. Within a week, the pump arrived at our door step. It looked like a combination between a test tube on steroids and a blood pressure cuff. We had a laugh, and it got tossed into my closet.

A few weeks later, I went to bed, and for whatever reason, my mind turned to the device in the closet.

“What the heck?” I figured, “Let’s see if this thing works.” So I squeezed through the rubber gasket at the end, and pumped up the little valve. A few moments later, I was the proud owner of a penis that, while not appreciably larger, was a bit more girthy. But it looked like someone was choking it. It was reddish purple, and the pump was not at all comfortable. Fun over, I released the valve and pulled at the pump.

Only, it wouldn’t move. A few painful yanks, and it hadn’t budged. I walked around my room, giant plastic object hanging from my johnson, and found some lotion–hoping that would provide just enough lubricant to extract myself from the pump.

Half a bottle later, I was still stuck and starting to panic. My mind raced. I thought of ugly lesbians, naked old women, and read a passage or two from the Bible, all in an attempt to wither my weinie. None of it worked.

“I could find a hammer to break the plastic!” I thought. It didn’t occur to me that I would also break my wang. The only thing that swayed me from that solution was the realization that the hammer was in the kitchen, two floors beneath me, and I would have to walk past J to get to it. There was no way in hell I was going to explain the predicament to her.

I wrapped myself, and the giant mass  of plastic and rubber at my groin, in a robe and waddled down the hall to my study. Finding a pair of scissors, I reasoned that I could cut the rubber gasket away to free myself. Then I realized there was nothing but skin on the other side and one false move and I’d have to join a support group founded by John Wayne Bobbitt.

By this point, some amount of time had passed and I was having a major panic attack. I was beginning to think the only way I was getting out of that pump was to go to the hospital and have it removed.

“How will I explain that bill to my parents when they get it?”

“What if I get pulled over by the police on the way to the hospital?”

“How can I even face them at the hospital? This is some urban legend shit right here!”

Too mortified to even think of having to share what I was going through with anyone, I decided to try once more to get it off. The throbbing had subsided some, and I figured that either my dick had fallen asleep or it had shrank a bit and the pressure had relieved itself somewhat. I put on a slathering of lotion and pulled hard at the base of the pump. Miraculously, it flew off and landed on the carpet a few feet away.

My unit was dark red, veins bulging as if they might burst any moment. I was so relieved that a visit to the hospital had been averted that I didn’t even care. Over the next few days, a nasty bruise developed at the base of my penis. Dark purple, then fading away over the next few weeks to varying shades of green and yellow. I guess that’s what I got for wondering if the pump worked…

 

Congo Residents Fear Penis Thefts

You just can’t make up news this weird…

“KINSHASA (Reuters) - Police in Congo have arrested 13 suspected sorcerers accused of using black magic to steal or shrink men’s penises after a wave of panic and attempted lynchings triggered by the alleged witchcraft.

Reports of so-called penis snatching are not uncommon in West Africa, where belief in traditional religions and witchcraft remains widespread, and where ritual killings to obtain blood or body parts still occur.

Rumours of penis theft began circulating last week in Kinshasa, Democratic Republic of Congo’s sprawling capital of some 8 million inhabitants. They quickly dominated radio call-in shows, with listeners advised to beware of fellow passengers in communal taxis wearing gold rings.

Purported victims, 14 of whom were also detained by police, claimed that sorcerers simply touched them to make their genitals shrink or disappear, in what some residents said was an attempt to extort cash with the promise of a cure.

“You just have to be accused of that, and people come after you. We’ve had a number of attempted lynchings. … You see them covered in marks after being beaten,” Kinshasa’s police chief, Jean-Dieudonne Oleko, told Reuters on Tuesday.

Police arrested the accused sorcerers and their victims in an effort to avoid the sort of bloodshed seen in Ghana a decade ago, when 12 suspected penis snatchers were beaten to death by angry mobs. The 27 men have since been released.

“I’m tempted to say it’s one huge joke,” Oleko said.

“But when you try to tell the victims that their penises are still there, they tell you that it’s become tiny or that they’ve become impotent. To that I tell them, ‘How do you know if you haven’t gone home and tried it’,” he said. 

Some Kinshasa residents accuse a separatist sect from nearby Bas-Congo province of being behind the witchcraft in revenge for a recent government crackdown on its members.

“It’s real. Just yesterday here, there was a man who was a victim. We saw. What was left was tiny,” said 29-year-old Alain Kalala, who sells phone credits near a Kinshasa police station.”

A simple touch can make a penis shrink or disappear? I hear Clay Aiken has that same effect on men…

 

The upside I suppose is that guys who weren’t exactly blessed now have an excuse…”Sorry honey,it used to be huge, but then that damned Congo sorcerer shook hands with me…”

Thoughts for Today

The older we get, the fewer things seem worth waiting in line for.

Birds of a feather flock together and crap on your car. 

When I’m feeling down, I like to whistle. It makes the neighbor’s dog run to the end of his chain and gag himself. 

A penny saved is a government oversight.

The real art of conversation is not only to say the right thing at the right time, but also to leave unsaid the wrong thing at the tempting moment. 

The older you get, the tougher it is to lose weight, because by then your body and your fat have gotten to be really good friends. 

The easiest way to find something lost around the house is to buy a replacement   .

He who hesitates is probably right.

Did you ever notice: The Roman Numerals for f orty (40) are ‘ XL.’

If you think there is good in everybody, you haven’t met everybody. 

If you can smile when things go wrong , you have someone in mind to blame. 

The sole purpose of a child’s middle name is so he can tell when he’s really in trouble.

There’s always a lot to be thankful for if you take time to look for it. For example I am sitting here thinking how nice it is that wrinkles don’t hurt   .

Did you ever notice: When you put the 2 words ‘The’ and ‘IRS’ together it spells ‘Theirs.’ 

Aging: Eventually you will reach a point when you stop lying about your age and start bragging about it.

The older we get, the fewer things seem worth waiting in line for.

Some people try to turn back their odometers. Not me, I want people to know ‘why’ I look this way.  I’ve traveled a long way and some of the roads weren’t paved.

When you are dissatisfied and would like to go back to youth, think of Algebra.

You know you are getting old when everything either dries up or leaks.

One of the many things no one tells you about aging is that it is such a nice change from being young.

Ah, being young is beautiful, but being old is comfortable.

First you forget names, then you forget faces. Then you forget to pull up your zipper.  It’s worse when you forget to pull it down.

Long ago when men cursed and beat the ground with sticks, it was called witchcraft - Today, it’s called golf

Roseanne’s Hoo-Hoo Renew

“Comedian Roseanne Barr talked to Craig Ferguson Wednesday night and claimed to have had vaginal rejuvenation. Talking about how she’s single, Roseanne told the “Late, Late Show” host, “I went and had vaginal rejuvenation surgery. No, I did! And now I have a va-junior. And I’m not afraid to use it.”

True or just part of her stand-up routine? It’s unclear. But, she still knows how to shock and make an audience laugh.”

Well alrighty then. I didn’t even know you could have your hoo-hoo rejuvenated. (Then again, I didn’t know that you could, or would even think to want, to have your asshole bleached pink–but an aesthetician friend reports having clients requesting just that.)

Curious as to what a Hoo-Hoo Renew entailed, I visited the website of the Laser Vaginal Rejuvenation Institute of Los Angeles. (Lord knows there have got to be no end of worn out hoo hoo in LA). According to them…”Laser Vaginal Rejuvenation® (LVR®) will effectively enhance the vaginal muscle tone, strength, and control. It will effectively decrease the internal and external vaginal diameters as well as build up and strengthen the perineal body (the area immediately outside the vagina and above the anus). Sexual gratification for the female is directly related to the amount of frictional forces generated. We can accomplish this with LVR®.”

 There’s even a before and after gallery located on their site, and I must say they do good work. I wonder how much a labia lift goes for?

Midnight in the Garden of White and Trashy

I was driving through, shall we say, an economically challenged neighborhood the other day and had to wonder what in hell the residents were thinking. Does being poor mean tossing out good taste? Does it carry with it some irrational urge to not only save everything but to put it all out in the yard? Every other house it seemed had junk piled around it, lawn furniture and other “goodies” front and center for all to see.

And when I say “junk” I mean “junk”. Old toilets. Piles of lumber. Car parts. Furniture that should long ago have been taken to the dump. And every now and then, evidence that someone had actually tried to make the place feel homey. A sprinkling of flowers….a few pieces of “lawn art”…a birdbath.

I don’t understand it. Do these folks reason with themselves “we’ll use that old toilet for something one day!”? or, “Ain’t  no point throwing away all that busted up lumber! It might come in handy!”. And why in hell would you have your lawn furniture sitting out there with it all? “Merle! Lets go sit out there and look at that pile of car fenders! Whatcha say?”

Then I realized…I grew up in just such a yard!! Well, maybe not quite that bad…but certainly one that stretched the limits of good taste. I blame it on my mom. It was her who put the picnic table, complete with floral umbrella, in the FRONT yard. It was her idea to put the Little Tykes play house on an axis with the front door. It was her who painted everything “redwood”, who decided that some sort of wooden hitching post was the perfect place to hang a pot of begonias. When we got a trampoline, where did it go? The FRONT yard!! Madness! And we weren’t even poor, so this phenomena can’t be laid solely at the feet of those living on meager incomes. (granted, mom and her husband had no clue how to manage money, or what it should be spent on, but they had plenty of it)

And since leaving home, mom has only made it worse. The poorer she gets, the more a spectacle her home becomes. At some point she found an old claw foot tub, and in a moment of shear genius decided it would make a lovely flower bed! It’s right underneath that redwood hitching post. She further decided that the beautiful maple tree in the front yard just wouldn’t be complete without two dozen potted plants sitting around it. (Why not just plant them in the ground??). And those two dozen potted plants are perfectly accented with a piece of driftwood and a large chunk of coal. Nearby, the satellite dish, long ago shut off, is complimented by more potted flowers! Sprinkled throughout are dollar store statues of angels and puppy dogs, a few plastic stones embossed with inspirational sayings, and the requisite “fat lady bending over”.

The flowers and bushes she has are all fine in and of themselves, but they are scattered about with no apparent thought given to their arrangement. The lack of planning makes it impossible to distinguish if something is a weed or a prized specimen.

While there is a perfectly good deck on the back of the house, overlooking a rear yard that is both private and complimented by beautiful flowering dogwood trees, Mom has decided that it is the FRONT yard where the rusty wrought iron patio set and collection of mismatched and faded plastic resin chairs belong.

Lest anyone be tempted to enter this stunning property, and abscond with any of the treasures within, bright “NO TRESPASSING” signs fend off intruders from every corner. (Another item that seems to be a favorite of the economically disadvantaged, as if trespassers are somehow drawn to such spectacles of bad taste). And should anyone wish to direct their motorcar down the gravel and asphalt driveway, they’ll first need to “open the gate” (also known as untying the chain, complete with “no trespassing” sign,  that stretches between two mildewed wooden posts). One must take their security seriously when they serve as Baroness of a White Trash estate!

Why Architectural Digest hasn’t come to photograph her beautiful gardens we may never know. It’s likely that they showed up, and confusing them for a bill collector, she set the dog loose. (Another requirement of a white trash estate seems to be a loud dog that is chained within view of the front door).

Overheard in The South

SOUTHERN SAYINGS
Well that just dills my pickle!

That’s about as useful as a trap door on a canoe!

You look about as happy as a tick on a fat dog.

I’m finer than frog hair split four ways.

If you don’t stop I’ll knock you in the head and tell God you died.

He couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket.He’s busier than a one-legged man at a butt kickin contest!

She was so tall if she fell down she would be halfway home.

He thinks the sun comes up just to hear him crow.

Don’t you piss on my leg and tell me it’s rainin’!

He was as mad as a mule chewing on bumblebees!

You’re lyin’ like a no-legged dog!

Excuses are like backsides. Everybody’s got one and they all stink.

That was faster than green grass through a goose.

She could make a preacher cuss!

Hell, she could even depress the devil.

You could start an argument in an empty house.

That coffee’s strong enough to float an iron wedge.

You look as happy as a dead pig in the sunshine.

He’d gripe with a ham under each arm.

Why are you smilin’ like a goat in a briarpatch?

Our preacher’s as full of wind as a corn-eating horse.

Each one of his sermons is better than the next!

He’s so windy he could blow up an onion sack.

He’s so useless if he had a third hand he would need another pocket to put it in!

She needs some fries to go with that shake.

That boy’s more slippery than snot on a glass doorknob.

Why don’t you just take a long walk off a short pier.

They’re off like a herd of turtles.

She’s resting in peace in the marble orchard.

Well, don’t you look prettier than a glob of butter melting on a stack of wheat cakes!

He’s about as handy as a back pocket on a shirt.

She’s so clumsy she could trip over a cordless phone!

He’s about as useful as a pogo stick in quicksand.

If brains were leather, he wouldn’t have enough to saddle a junebug.

Well, if that don’t put pepper in the gumbo!

Well, slap my head and call me silly!

Well tie me to a pig and roll me in the mud!

Well tie me to an anthill and fill my ears with jam!

He’s not particularly intelligent:

The engine’s runnin’ but nobody’s driving.

If his brains were dynamite, he couldn’t blow his nose

He’s so dumb, he could throw himself on the ground and miss.

He’s so dumb he couldn’t piss his name in the snow.

He’s a little strange…

That boy’s two bricks shy of a full load.

I think that boy’s about two sandwiches shy of a picnic.

I think he’s one fry short of a Happy Meal.

He’s acting crazier than a sprayed roach!

He’s so rich, he buys a new boat each time one gets wet.

You’ve got champagne taste with a beer pocketbook.

He’s tighter than a flea’s ass over a rain barrel.

He squeezes a quarter so tight the eagle screams.

He doesn’t have a pot to pee in or a window to throw it out.

It’s drier than happy hour at the Betty Ford clinic!

It’s cold enough to freeze the balls off a pool table!

It’s so dry the trees are bribing the dogs.

It’s hotter than two rabbits making babies in a sock!

He’s not particularly handsome….

He’s uglier than the east end of a horse headed west

He looks like something the dog’s been keepin’ him under the porch.

He is so ugly that my mother had to tie pork chops to his ears so the dog would play with him.”

She’s so ugly I’d hire her to haunt a house!

If I had a dog as ugly as him, I’d shave his butt and make him walk backwards.

Where I Come From, THIS is News…

 

I’m not sure whether to call this charming or sad. It was front page news in my hometown today that a TJ Maxx store had opened.  Which is worse? That it made the front page, or that over 200 people waited in the cold for the doors to open? I’m just not sure…(as always, names are removed to protect the clueless)

 “Well over 200 people waited in the cold and windy weather Sunday morning for the much-anticipated grand opening of a new T.J. Maxx store …“A female customer”, who lives not far from the shopping center, was one of the first customers in line waiting for the nation’s largest off-price retailer to open its doors.

“This is exciting,” she said. “This is the first time I’ve ever been to a T.J. Maxx store.”

The grand opening was set for 10 a.m., and she been waiting at the front of the store for about an hour when the T.J. Maxx store manager announced the doors would open a little early due to the cold and windy weather.”

A Message from Mom

 

So I don’t always have the best cell phone reception in my office. Which isn’t necessarily a bad thing. Apparently I missed a call from my mother this morning, because I just had a new voice mail from her that cracked me up.

 ”Hi handsome! It’s your mommy. I wanted to tell you that Madonna is on the cover of Vanity Fair this month, and I thought you’d want to go out and get yourself a copy.”

God bless her for trying.