Posts Tagged ‘humor’

Here in the callipygian offices of The Curmudgeon, we are appreciative of the female form, all shapes and sizes, and not limited to only desiring one body type. There is much beauty to be seen, if you’d only look with an open mind.

Sumlee Anderson: You've got to admit, that looks mighty interesting!

There are some men however that have a predictilation toward a large posterior, which is fine with me, whatever makes your thermometer rise. But there is now another dangerous trend just now developing. The trend I speak of is Booty Pop Underwear. This is panties that make women appear to have a larger behind than they actually have. The purpose of said panties is arguably to attract men, just like the miracle bra before them.

This is blatant false advertising. Should you find yourselves in a romantic situation, the thing that attracted the man to you in the first place turns out to be an illusion. This can be compared to a man who stuffs his underwear with a pair of socks. The woman think he has a big deli dill pickle and he turns out to have nothing more than a little sweet gherkin. You would not be pleased at the hocus pocus, would you ladies? I think not, so why do you insist on doing the same to men (or maybe to make other women jealous.) I don’t even want to get started on breast enlargements, but at least they’re actually there, real or not. Your new big bottom won’t be, in the same way that your miracle bra’d chest isn’t really there.

Of course the bottom line (Ha! I said bottom) is I don’t really care. It’s kind of funny, both men’s desire for an extra-large bottom and the women that pretend to have them. It wasn’t all that long ago that a big bottom was an object of ridicule. I don’t mind them either. Sometime, I rather like them. There’s just more, you know, and more is a good thing.

I like big butts and I cannot lie,

A big butt can make me cry,

You can do push up and sit ups,

But please don’t loose that butt

Or something like that.

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Here in the athletic offices of The Curmudgeon, many of the office staff are engaged in sports.  It is unlikely that anyone is good enough to compete professionally, including yours truly, Crusty.  But now an event comes in which even I might compete.

The event takes place in Swaton England.   This is the sixth time the event has taken place and includes athletes from many countries, meticulously trained, of incredible strength and agility, their bodies fine-honed to perfection, the very essence of superhuman musculature, intelligence, and virility.  England and Germany are expected to draw the most attention, their fierce rivalry stretching back to World War II.  The competition?  Egg throwing.  That’s right.  Tossing the little white orbs that come from chickens and taste delicious.

Other teams represent the Dutch, Americans, and Welsh persons.  The most extreme competition involve a medieval siege machine resembling a catapult called a trebechet.  Teams launch their eggs at a human target 390ft (120m) away at speeds of 100mph (161kph).  The human target is himself an accomplished athlete, superior to other humans, Joel Hicks, the world gravy wrestling champion.  He won his title in Lancashire by overcoming his opponent in a 200-litre vat of chicken gravy.

  • The egg throwing event involves a two-person team throwing a raw egg between them as far as possible without breaking it.
  • The static egg relay involves 11-person teams passing a dozen raw eggs from person to person along a 100m route.
  • The egg target throwing event involves a human target and points are awarded for distance and accuracy.
  • The eggs shot from the trebuchet can travel at speeds of 100mph (161kph) and points are awarded for hitting a human target.

Safety is taken very seriously.  Competitors wear eye protection and an orange cape.  It’s not all just serious competition.  Proceeds go to Leukemia Research, Lincolnshire Air Ambulance and other charities.

(Some information for this story came from BBC news.)

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Image created by Reilly Creative (reillycreative.com)

Here in the tolerant offices of The Curmudgeon, we get our share of letters from persons who appear to be nuts.  But sometimes, looking past the obvious reveals a diamond of insight and brilliance.  We recently received such a letter in response to our post,“Killer” Squirrel Traps Couple in House, located directly below this one, and reprint it here along with our reply.

Dear Mr Curmudgeon,

I think it’s such a shame that such a cute looking animal can have such a nasty side and a poor reputation. What an awful waste of visual cuteness.

Maybe someone somewhere could set up an internet course for squirrels on how they can improve their behavior. There are courses for everything online these days, so why not give squirrels a chance to turn themselves around. Or does that sound nuts?

Dear Esteemed Mr. Witto,

A shame indeed, because squirrels can be awfully cute.  I don’t think you’re nuts, and if you are, remember that some of the greatest minds in history were considered nuts.  Pasteur and his germ theory of disease, the Wright brothers and their flying machine, and myself and my theory that the first part of the second part equals the last part of the fourth part.  “Ridiculous!” they said.  “Indecipherable!” they wailed.  And now, Mr. Witto, your theory that squirrels can be rehabilitated with an Internet course on Squirrel Behavior Modification.

We all – you and me and other great minds – have been tagged with simple-minded analogies such as they/they’ve/they’re elevator doesn’t go all the way to the top floor; not the sharpest knife in the drawer; are not playing with a full deck: 1 slice short of a loaf; a sandwich short of a picnic; got only one oar in the water; a brick short of a load;  gone off their rocker; have a screw loose; goofy in the head, and labels like crazy, wacko, whack job, loony, insane, bonkers, lulu head, cuckoo, crackers, loopy, dunder head, nut job, nut case, nutty, and just plain nuts.

Another example – which I believe you are familiar with, Mr. Witto – was the recent notion that a site could be assembled with the wittiest minds of our generation from all over the world who are available for hire to those seeking the services of witty writers.  “It can’t be done,” and “impossible,” the naysayers said, and yet just such a site has been created.  If someone were to go to The Wittery and post their job, they would find these talented, funny individuals vying for the honor of performing these jobs, and one might even find myself there, though I go under a different name, a Christopher something or other, I forget.  They could read profiles of these writers and their samples, or visit the Wittery blog for a hearty laugh.

And now comes your brilliant idea to offer squirrels an Internet course for Behavior Modification.  I can picture it in my advanced mind and see it broken down into several courses designed to save the squirrel from mass loathing, shooting, hunting, skinning, and even being eaten by those so inclined to eat the disgusting little beasts.  The classes, as I initially envision them, would be broken down thusly.

1. Bird Seed Ain’t Squirrel Food: Stay Out of That Feeder
Explores the detrimental effect of squirrels breaking into bird feeders to stuff their greedy mouths.
2. Chewing Through Wood and Plastic Harms Squirrel Teeth
How chewing through items breaks buck teeth and leads to tooth decay.
3. Attics Are Horrible Places to Live
Attics are haunted and frightening and ghosts will eat your babies.
4. Trash Bins are Poison
Squirrels will suffer deformity if they venture into trash bins.
5. Chewing Through Wires: The Shocking Truth
Dangers of electrocution and fires.
6. Cartoon Behavior 101
Squirrels will study cartoons from Disney and Warner Bros. depicting cutesy, furry, loveable creatures and how to emulate this behavior.

As you can see, Mr. Witto, I have put no small amount of thought into your idea.  I think I’ll start the Internet course myself.  I can hear the tippy tapping of little squirrel paws typing away on their keyboards, and I hear the ringing of bells – the bells of the cash register as I rake in millions.  Naturally, you’ll receive full credit and a generous portion of the profits.

So thank you, Sir.  Together, we’ll create a new generation of squirrels, that are lovable, cute, and loved by men, women, and children everywhere.

With much gratitude and admiration,


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Dog with halo

Pic from gabrielsangels.com

Here in the dog lovin’ offices of The Curmudgeon, writing about dogs is not uncommon.  We’ve written about hero dogs, abused dogs, well, lots of stuff about man’s best friend.  So we were tummy-tickled when the following news item came over the wire:  In Danvers, Mass, Calvary Episcopal Church will begin offering a mass for dogs.

It’s about time.  Now your heathen dog can be saved.  In fact, that’s the whole point.  The “Perfect Pet Paws Ministry” will give canine critters and their owners improved odds of getting into heaven.  That’s good, cause if my dog ain’t goin’, I ain’t showin’.  Reminds me of the “Do Dogs Get Into Heaven” church sign debate   I proved in that article that the whole thing was faked, but so darn funny it was worth publishing.  Now the Episcopalians have put it their two cents:  Dogs can go to heaven, but they gotta pray first.

The mass will offer communion for the humans, and doggie treats for the pooches.  Even the misbehaving dogs who for disciplinary purposes won’t be allowed in the mass can have their owners submit a paper requesting a special prayer to be said for their soul.  Owners can request prayers for any type of pet, so even evil cats have a chance at salvation.  And the dogs will actually have a say in the mass, since barking won’t be banned.  So, if the dogs really get into it, they can shout out things like, “Praise the Lord!” and “Amen!”  Though presumably they’ll cry out in doggie language.

My guess is the dog mass will be packed, because it will be hysterical, and the people will come. The church will rake in the holy dough in their collections baskets.  Heck, it could even get me back into a church, at least a couple of times, to view the spectacle.

I have just one question about the whole affair:

When the collection basket is being passed, what will the dogs leave as an offering?

(Information from: The Salem News http://www.salemnews.com/ )

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A 40 year-old inmate at Mississippi State Prison secretly dug his way out of his cell using an 8-ton Cat backhoe, prison officials said Tuesday.  The inmate, Roscoe Lee James Obidiah “Bucky” Robinson is thought to have tunneled his way out slowly over a period of 10 years.  The escape was discovered by prison officials during a routine bed check.

“We just can’t figure out where he’s been hiding that sucker.  I mean, a backhoe is pretty darn big,” said prison spokesperson John Diddleheimer.  “He might have been keeping it under his mattress and we just thought it was lumpy.”

The large hole was discovered at 6:00 AM, and led down three floors and through the back wall of the prison.  The wall was reinforced concrete 2 feet thick and thought to be escape proof.  The backhoe was found nearby.  Bloodhounds, search teams, and helicopters were dispatched but failed to locate the felon.

“It’s like he just disappeared…like a regular David Copperfield.”  Copperfield is a famous magician best known for making the Statue of Liberty and the country of Persia disappear.

Further investigation revealed Robinson had checked out the book, “How to be a Hypnotist,” on several occasions from the prison library, and one theory suggests he “hypnotized” guards whenever they entered his cell.  Further infuriating officials was speculation about where Robinson got the backhoe in the first place.

“The only thing I can think of is his girlfriend smuggled it to him inside a cake,” Diddleheimer said.  “She was kind of burly, like she could hold her own in a bar fight.”

Mississippi State Prison is no stranger to daring escapes and controversy.  In 2007, 11 inmates walked out of prison dressed as the football team the Miami Dolphins, and in 2009 several inmates drove out on minibikes and miniature cars dressed as circus clowns.

Robinson was serving 15 to 20 years for illegal possession of a dictionary, a felony in Mississippi.

“We’re reviewing and tightening our security measures so this type of thing can’t happen again,” spokesperson Diddleheimer said.  “Furthermore, guards will be warned to be on the lookout for not only backhoes, but for dump trucks and Zamboni’s too.”

In an unrelated story, the Mississippi Municipal airport located next to the prison reported a missing 747 jumbo jet.

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Photo by Elmra on flickr

Here in the pole-dancing offices of The Curmudgeon, most of us enjoyed high-school and found it a stimulating experience.  But not as stimulating as some Canadian students whose teacher lap danced on another teacher during a school assembly.

Never willing to let a good thing go, a phone-video of the event was posted on-line, and that’s how the stuffed shirts found out about it and suspended the teachers without pay.  What?  They didn’t get raises?
The incident took place at Churchill High School in Winnipeg, where apparently they don’t appreciate extra-curricular learning and valuable job training.

The students were laughing at first, but that amusement soon turned to shock and awe.

“At first we were laughing and then it was like, ‘Oh that’s a little too far,'” The Globe and Mail quoted a 14-year-old Freshman as saying.  The poor thing.  Not ready for life after high school at all.

The school trustee, Mike Babinsky, a party pooper,  was outraged at the teacher’s behavior.  Aw, he was sooooo jealous.  It could have been him in that chair.  He was asked why he was so jealous and angry:

“He is sticking his head into her crotch, into her private area,” Babinsky told The Globe and Mail on Tuesday. “I don’t know if they’re making contact, but it’s way too close.”  He did not go on to say, “I’ll fix him…being with my woman like that.  That was my lap dance!”

Poor Babinsky.  He’s a cuckold and embarrassed about it.  One student was quoted as saying the “whole school was rattled” after that.  I’ll bet.  All those hormones rattling around in their pubescent bodies, and suddenly an idea comes along.  I wonder if enrollment in the school’s dance program has increased?

I’ll say one thing.  If this happened at more schools, attendance would be way up.  Top of the stripper’s pole.

I just hope the teacher’s got enough money stuffed into their gym pants to hold them over during the suspension.

(Information for this story came from the Globe, the Mail, and FOX News.)

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Phil being petted by females. I wonder if PETA would let me have Phil's job?

Here in the affable offices of The Curmudgeon, we enjoy an amusing anecdote, a charming custom, and all things homespun.  We are in fact, highly agreeable co-workers – as far as co-workers go – and yet there are some employees I would like to change for animatronics, since they appear to be slightly mechanical anyway.  I think PETA would agree with me, probably because of the cruelty and suffering I force upon them, like actually working for their pay.

In fact, PETA has many things they would like to substitute animatronics for, but this time they’ve really gone off their rocker.  Gemma Vaughn, PETA’s Animal Entertainment Specialist, fired off a letter to the Punxsutawney Groundhog Club asking them to retire the two groundhogs, Punxsutawney Phil and his understudy, Staten Island Chuck, and replace them with animatronics.  Oh, PETA, now you’ve gone too far.  I would love to be in a PETA staff meeting:  “Who should we go after now?”  “I know.  Ant farms!”

In their own words, PETA said the treatment of the groundhogs was “cruel,”  and pointed out that Phil was “forced to be on display year round at the local library and is denied the ability to prepare for and enter yearly hibernation.”  Um…yeah, but they don’t have to hibernate, instead living in forced opulence and comfort.  PETA added that “Tradition is no excuse for cruelty.”  Yeah.  I’ll think about that the next time I have to go to a wedding.

Not accustomed to dealing with controversy, Punxsutawney Groundhog Club called the request “crazy,” and blundered the following statement:  “Phil is probably treated better than the average child in Pennsylvania.  He’s got air conditioning in the summer, his pen is heated in winter … He has everything but a TV in there. What more do you want?”  Holy Moley!  Are you saying the average child in Pennsylvania doesn’t have air conditioning, heat, or perhaps the biggest cruelty of all, television?  Okay, I’m sure he didn’t mean that.  They at least have television, right?

But perhaps the groundhogs agree with PETA.   Last year, Phil made several escape attempts from his home at the Punxsutawney Library, and Staten Island Chuck bit N.Y. Mayor Michael Bloomberg during a Groundhog Day celebration.  Bloomberg wasn’t hurt, but he did refer to Chuck as a terrorist rodent.  But these episodes aren’t that big of a deal.  The average child in Pennsylvania also makes several escape attempts every year, and over of the kids bite their parents.

I have made my own prediction.  I walked out of my house today and saw my shadow.

I predict 6 more weeks of this particular PETA nonsense.

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"Eat me!" Photo by law_keven / flickr

Here in the spic and span offices of The Curmudgeon, we write about people who are “washed up,” “washed out,” and “washed over,” but never have we written about Lobsters that have been washed ashore.  That’s right.  Free lobster.

It happened in St. John, New Brunswick, in a small seaside Canadian town.  A storm in the Atlantic caused the crusty crustaceans to wash ashore and word spread quickly:  “There’s free lobster, eh?”  To lobster lovers, it was a perfect storm, and the people came quickly to fill up on this bounty from the sea.  All those lobsters laying there on the beach, saying in their little lobster voices, “Eat me, eat me,” and “How’s a lobster roll sound?” and “Want some tail, sailor?”

But in today’s world nothing is so simple.  I mean, there are governments and all, and nothing doesn’t go through them somehow some way.  “Hold on there, my hungry citizens, where is my cut?”  That’s right.  The government took exception  to this free delicacy.  Free?  Who has ever heard of such an absurd thing?  Where is our cut?  In fact, the Canadian federal Fisheries and Oceans ministry said the shellfish sackers were breaking the law which says lobster can only be taken in traps by licensed fishermen during open season.  Anyone caught, the ministry continued, collecting lobsters without us getting our cut…er…I mean, anyone caught could be fined $100,000.

Mayor Pierre Godin of the town Petit-Rocher dismissed the warning with a wave of his hand, as though shooing a pesky fly, said (hopefully in a French accent,) “Sacre Bleu!  About one zouzand peepole have enjoyed zee lobster, including moi.  We have been eating zee washed up seafood for centuries, mon dieu!

And here I thought the U.S. had a lock on this kind of government intrusion, and it really doesn’t come as a shock, and yet I was a little taken aback that the feds insisted on sticking their fingers in this tasty bisque.  It’s not like the good citizens were fishing out of season or stealing from traps.  This was a gift from mother nature.

And we all know it’s not nice to fool with Mother Nature.

(This story was first reported in New Brunswick Telegraph-Journal, January 6th, 2010.)

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Here in the hyperactive offices of The Curmudgeon, we’re rushing here, running there, general hustling and bustling, and that’s just getting to the coffee room.  Needless to say, accidents will happen, and on more than one occasion, a hospital visit has been a needed if distasteful necessity.  This is why I found a hospital sign in Elmhurst, Queens, honest, refreshing really, and just stating it like it is.

None of this arrogant “Gods of Medicine Reside Herein” for them, no superior Peoria General Healing Center West do they proclaim, instead choosing an advertising, catch-their-attention, we’re open for business approach.  Well, they didn’t make the decision.  Fate did.  And fate is sometimes one funny dude…or chick.

Some choice lights burnt out on their neon sign, morphing their “Elmurst” neon into “Im hurt.”  Noticed by a passerby who took this picture, it was brought to the attention of The Guy Who Publicly Deals With Colossal Screw-ups.   It was a surprise to him.  “We’re going to get this fixed?” he asked.  Um, we don’t know…that’s what we’re asking you.  “Oh,” he said, “Yes.  I mean, we’re going to get this fixed.  Removing the baboon heart on that botched liver transplant will have to wait.”  Okay, he didn’t say that last one, but he might have.

I think they should leave it.  It says what it is, does, and promises.  They could win some kind of advertising award.

“Ow!  My brain!  Im hurt.”  Clearly, the person who utters these words wants to go to Elmhurst Hospital.

Simple.  Just watch out for the baboon hearts.

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Here in the cushie offices at The Curmudgeon, we are familiar with comfortable things. Recliners chairs every everywhere. We don’t have recliner races in the hallways or anything, but I think we soon will. You probably will too. Of course there’s the matter of getting your recliner to go.  Fast.

I now call him King of Recliners. Who else but the King could take his La-Z-Boy motoring down a Minnesota street and get a DUI. Dennis LeRoy Anderson plead guilty to driving his motor vehicle while drunk. He was sentenced to 120 days in jail but got probation. This info courtesy of TMZ.

He did exactly what your not supposed to do. Got hammered in a bar on eight or nine beers and got in his vehicle. While flying down the street – capable of 20 mph – he crashed into a parked vehicle. The King wasn’t hurt, but he was drunk, ringing up a 0.29, three times the legal limit. That’s as drunk as “Otis,” as in Mayberry.

Hey, everybody makes mistakes. He has that baby really souped up, too. He installed a converted lawnmower engine. The chair has a stereo, a headlight, and cupholders. Now that’s an Easy Chair. I can see me now, racing down main street with Lawrence Welk blastin’ on the stereo (that was a joke. It would probably be Sublime).

I’m going to get started tomorrow. For an engine, I think the old Suzuki motorcycle will do the trick, and that whiny engine noise will be perfect for bugging the neighbors. It’s got to be a little more tricked out though, CD player, satellite TV, built-in cooler, and whatever else I can think of.

Call me Easy Glider

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