Saturday, December 31, 2011
On the eve of New Year's... uh, Eve, I'd like to take a moment to warn friends and family about a potential problem: Yes, Karaoke may be hazardous to one's health. "You mean my tonsils?" If you'll allow me, let me explain... Maybe you have, maybe you haven't -- probably you haven't: Has anybody heard about the brawl that broke out over an innocent round of Karaoke? Yes, that really happened. People got hurt, bodies went flying everywhere... all because of a simple song. (No, I don't think it was a Willie Nelson tune.) Playing the role of good Samaritan, I welcome this opportunity to warn all prospective karaoke singers as to what may happen if singing efforts are not up to snuff. Simply put, you may get punched in the face by your harshest critics. Pow! Bam! Slam! "I've fallen and I can't get up!" Isn't that sad? Isn't that cruel? My fellow Americans, is this what our great country's come to? Here we -- uh, they are, trying to entertain, and instead of happy times, aspiring singers are being attacked on stage. "Booooo! Hisssss!" -- and that's just for starters! Violence is taking over this great country of ours over the dumbest things. (By the way, does anybody know if the Pacquiao-Mayweather fight is ever going to take place?) Political pundits tell me there's talk of adding an amendment to our great Constitution: "All Karaoke singers are created equal." Yes, anything to promote equality and curb the violence. Please, please, all you wannabe singers out there, be careful. Especially tonight. Have a safe and happy New Year, everybody, and whatever you do, don't sing off-key...
Thursday, December 22, 2011
Some people have way too much time on their hands -- or mouths. Did you all hear about that New Yorker who ate a light bulb in record time? Huh? Who has time for that? What must his parents think...? "Five years of college for this?!" Maybe Mr. All-You-Can-Eat" should dedicate his time to something more constructive -- like setting the table, helping the homeless, or working on that Honey-Do-List he's tried to avoid (not speaking from experience, okay?). "When are you gonna pull those weeds?" Think about it, who has time to practice eating light bulbs? "Can I have a taste?" Here's something else to consider: what type of bulb does a person sit down to eat? Halogen? Incandescent? Strobe?! "Excuse me, what's that sticking out of your belly?" I'd like to see this guy get past airport security... "Step aside, sir... we'll have to check for filaments." Ouch... Why, I bet Thomas Edison's rolling over in his grave. "I never thought I'd have to add salt to any of my inventions..." Now, just as I'm trying to digest this very disturbing light bulb news, I read about a woman who had a pen lodged in her tummy for 25 years! What?! (I don't even want to consider how it got there.) Hello? Does anybody believe in nutritious diets anymore?!
Saturday, December 17, 2011
They sure don't make thieves like they used to. Look, I don't condone their actions, but today's thieves just don't realize the time and preparation that it takes to execute a successful robbery (Call my agent if you have issues with what you're about to read). Exhibit A: a couple of 'smart' guys thought they'd pulled off the greatest train robbery in recent memory. "Yeah, we scored!" Okay, but then they discovered their loot -- a train full of corn. Corn! A sea of corn, as far as the eyes can see. "I've never seen so many ears!" I can just hear those dorks: "I thought you said 'Coin!'" No, not coin -- corn! The train was packed with corn, folks. Talk about not being prepared. These guys didn't do their homework -- now look at the results. "What are we going to do with all this corn?" Good question. "Want to make some tortillas?" Oh, they'll have to do better than that; otherwise, they'll have a house full of corn for the next ten years. "Honey, when are you going to clean out the garage?" There must be something they can do with all that corn, right? "How 'bout corn on the cob? Corn bread? Corn casserole? Enough already! "Scalloped corn? Baked corn? Corn pudding?" Unbelievable... That's what those lawless lunatics get for being so dumb. "You didn't want to listen to me. You didn't want to rob a bank instead." If nothing else, those guys should stop complaining and try to stay positive. "Man, I gotta see a doctor. These corns are killing me." Not exactly what I had in mind...
Sunday, December 11, 2011
I feel bad for telephone booths. Really bad. They're going the way of the dinosaur. We hardly see them anymore. "Hey, where'd all you guys go?" Aficionados of the glass-encased booths can thank cell phones for that. "Thank you -- not!" Just about everybody has a cell phone these days. "What's a phone booth, Daddy...?" Come to think of it, the lack of phone booths really complicate matters for one of America's favorite superheroes. That's right, our very own Superman. Stop what you're doing and consider his dilemma for a brief moment: Superman gets a call to an emergency, right? Guess what he has to worry about first: "Hey, I can't find a place to change!" Did you hear that? -- he doesn't have a place to change! All the phone booths are gone! "What am I supposed to do, undress in broad daylight?!" Poor guy... Should Superman go knocking door-to-door in hopes of finding a place to put on his cape? Ding dong: "Excuse me, ma'am? May I borrow your bathroom for just a minute? -- I need to put on my tights." Huh? The big guy will be lucky not to get arrested. "Help! There's a perv on my property!" By the time he's finished explaining, Superman will be late for the next emergency. Before you know it, the masses will lose faith in him. They'll turn elsewhere. "Quick -- somebody call The Incredibles!" As you can see, it's not so easy finding a place to slip into a superhero's outfit. Next time you're walking around the neighborhood, I challenge you to knock on a neighbor's door, smile, and ask: "Hi. May I come in your house and change? -- I couldn't find any bushes. Nor a phone booth."
Wednesday, November 30, 2011
I was saddened to hear about a recent robbery at a Southern California convenience store. "Your onion-laced potato chips or your life!" This was no ordinary heist, folks. Far from it. Not only did a couple of scoundrels steal money and take goodies without paying, one did so in disguise -- dressed up as Gumby! Yes, that Gumby! MY Gumby. That cute little green guy that brought joy and happiness to so many kiddies' lives -- mine included. What's this world coming to? Is there no shame? What that guy did was sacrilegious. "Thou shall not steal -- especially when dressed in green, with a slightly askew head." I'm surprised his accomplice didn't gallop in as Pokey. (I'm told the real Pokey was grazing on Kentucky bluegrass, minding his own business). Frankly, folks, I'm flummoxed. Next thing you'll know, someone dressed like a famous Orange County mouse will be jacking cars. How sad... But getting back to Gumby, wonderful childhood memories were ripped right out of me when I heard about that Gumby impersonator. Thanks to him, I have recurring nightmares of a panic-stricken Gumby running away from flashing police sirens. "Stop! -- or we'll roll you into a big ball of clay!" Oh Gumby... he was my friend, my confidant. I worshiped Gumby, I shared with him my innermost thoughts, all my secrets (okay, maybe not all my secrets). I swear, I'm suing that convenience store crook for emotional duress. "You bad guy, you! You're gonna pay for this, including all my therapy sessions!-- and they ain't cheap!"
Friday, November 25, 2011
Dear friends, family, and yet-to-be-friends, did any of you read about the guy who found a winning lotto ticket in the trash? I did. And it makes me wonder about what else he found. "Where are my latex gloves when I need them..." See, when I go digging through trash -- I try not to make it a habit -- I tend to find squiggly, wiggly things that appear to be alive... "Kids, we're going fishing today!" (don't knock it, it's quality time) While I'm on the subject of trash, it sure would be nice if the kids took it out once in awhile. "Quick! -- I hear the garbage truck!" My kids are fully capable of helping, from what I can tell. "In a minute, Dad..." Ah, that elusive minute... "I'm tired, Dad." Yeah, from resting too much. And then there's: "I would, Dad, but child-labor laws prevent me from doing so." (great, a future lawyer in the family) Beside fish bait, something else I discover in our trash bin are clothes. My clothes. Clothes I still plan to wear. I won't point my finger at anyone specifically -- my wife -- but I don't think it's very nice, to dump my favorite clothes like a bag of half-eaten leftovers. "Hey, that's my good-luck shirt!" And please, don't go saying that I haven't worn my "I Love AOL" Tee for the past ten years. That's irrelevant. And so are the holes. "I only wear certain articles of clothing on a special occasions, okay?" That reminds me, I may just have to sneak a peek in my neighbor's trash bin. He wears pants about about my size. "That's gross." Hey, easy on the criticism. It sure beats going to the mall during the holidays. Live and let live is what I say -- and leave my clothes alone! By the way, "Has anyone seen my 'World Champion Dodgers' sweatshirt?" What's so funny? It's only 23-years-old...
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
And I thought all my cousins outside the U.S. resided in Mexico... That's not exactly true. You see, one of my primos surely made the mistake of asking Mapquest for directions. "You were supposed to stop when you got to Rosarito!" Instead, this poor guy ended up in Africa. Let me explain: Just the other day I received an e-mail from Nigeria. Yes, that Nigeria! (I'd always thought I only knew people from Niagara.) I stumbled upon some spam that was just a click away from the recycle bin. What did I do? Why, I did the smart thing -- I opened the e-mail. Good thing I did, because a frantic, long-lost cousin was trying desperately to contact me from the African nation. Why? -- he had incredible news for me! Yay! His sincere, heart-felt e-mail explained that $10-million belonged to me -- and he had it all at his fingertips! Can you believe that? I mean, what are the odds that a bunch of loot would be in my name at some far away bank? "Ooooh! You're so lucky!" That, I am. And here's the best part: I don't even have to go to Africa to collect my dough. Nope! I just have to send this cousin $98.00 and he'll make sure to forward me my millions. Isn't that sweet of him? -- I don't have to spend one dime on food or travel! For a shade under $100.00 I can have $10-mil all to myself! It's almost too good to be true! The moral of the story, boys and girls? Good, honest people still exist in this world. I mean, my cousin could've kept the millions all to himself. He didn't have to reach out to me. But nooooo, not my favorite cousin. As a show of gratitude, I'm going to send him $98.00 every month until my big pay day arrives (the money's being delivered via elephant). It's the least I can do, right?
Sunday, November 6, 2011
You should be glad you're not me. Really glad. You see, I'm in the middle of a big scare. That's right -- a shoe scare. Simply put, I can't find my shoe. My new shoe... It's really disappointing -- and costly, too. "Shoe, where are you? I miss you." Did my new shoe vanish into thin air? Should I distribute MISSING SHOE fliers? Then again, there's always the chance I purchased one shoe and simply forgot (another reason to save your receipts). Just to be safe, I continue to look for my shoe (a right shoe, should anyone care to join in the search). The more I think about it, I'm almost certain I purchased two shoes. I usually do. Unless I went with one to try something new -- or to protest Wall Street. It's so sad to see my left shoe sitting in a corner, all alone... I can only imagine what it's thinking: "Hey, where's my other half? I can't function without my sole mate..." Yes, it's truly sad... So, what do I do? I weigh my options: 1.) I can give up the search and hook up with another pair of shoes, or 2.) I can adapt and walk/hop around on one foot. There's nothing to be ashamed of: "I got hurt playing rugby and now I can't wear a shoe on that foot." But that would be lying. I'm not a good liar. "You lost your shoe, didn't you? What a dork." Uh... I can always practice my lying: "Why do I wear only one shoe, you ask? It's something I picked up in the foothills of Europe." Then again, maybe I can come up with something more believable, more creative: "I'm training for the Hop Scotch Olympics." Yes, I can go with that explanation -- if I choose to lie. In the meantime, "I miss you, new shoe. I hardly got to know ya, much less wear ya..."
Sunday, October 30, 2011
Playing family board games has sure changed from when I was a kid. Case in point: a woman recently stabbed her boyfriend with a knife... over a game of Monopoly. "Park Place is mine! All mine! All mine!" Sheesh... Not only that, the stabber was a grandma.... "They sure don't make grandmas like they used to." Aren't grandmas supposed to bake cookies and spoil their grandchildren (even the annoying ones)? While her grandson slept, this woman went ballistic on her unsuspecting boyfriend (what I'd like to know is, where was Grandpa?). "The Free Parking space belongs to me!" Faster than you can say 'Park Place,' The poor guy ended up at the hospital, not knowing what hit -- uh, stabbed him. "We've got a bleeder!" Is that unbelievable or what? Come on, people, get some perspective. I mean, board games are supposed to give families a chance to bond, not a chance to post bail. These games should bring laughter to one's household, not lacerations. And to be fair, it's not just the ladies that go into crazy mode when they play board games. Awhile back, some man went to the slammer for assaulting his lady when she refused to give him Monopoly's Boardwalk. Oh, and then another guy choked his wife over a game of 'Yahtzee.' Are you serious, people? Can we play a simple game of Candyland without worrying if game tokens will be turned into lethal weapons? Looking back, I can definitely say that the makers of Rock 'Em Sock 'Em Robots were ahead of their time... Pow!
Saturday, October 22, 2011
I hear that one of John Lennon's teeth is going up for auction soon. Well, I have greater news: I'm willing to auction off one of my teeth at a much better price -- a baby tooth, no less. Let's be honest, now's not the best time to spend huge dollars on strangers' teeth. "You want how much for Lennon's tooth?! -- I'm taking my business elsewhere!" And well you should, come do business with me. Heck, I'll even consider payment plans. Again, why spend ridiculous money on a coffee-stained, tobacco-clouded adult tooth, when you can get my baby tusk at a much better rate. Am I right or am I right? And think about this: I have a huge advantage over John Lennon -- I'm still alive! You can ask me, yes ME, whatever you want about my tooth prior to purchase. "Yes, I sucked my thumb 'til the age of twelve." Here's an added bonus: I was a cute baby. I have witnesses -- beside my mother -- and pictures to prove it, okay? "But won't your mom get mad?" Hey, I'll take my chances, all for the good of mankind -- and his sacred pocketbook. Beside, my mom's got several of my baby teeth stored away for safekeeping. "You can't put a price on these milky pearls." Granted, my dad's grossed out by the whole idea, but my mother's always had the foresight to save my baby teeth... "My boy's gonna win an Oscar someday!" If nothing else, baby teeth are a great ice breaker at parties. You don't know how many friends my mom's made this way: "Have you seen my writer son's baby teeth?" (Aren't mom's great?) And if that's not enough, my sweet mother's got other personal items of mine, too: "You have to come over -- I'll show you my darling boy's fingernails from First Grade. Oh, and I also saved his -- " Okay Mommy, let's stop while we're ahead...
Sunday, October 16, 2011
For those of you who worry about my well-being, I'm going to be just fine during the NBA lockout. "You look kinda cross-eyed..." I'm going to be perfectly fine... "Are you sure you're okay?" Of course I'm sure... I think... The first two weeks of the upcoming NBA season have already been wiped out due to labor strife between greedy players and owners... "Cancel the whole season -- I dare ya!" Well, I'm here to say that I'm moving on with my life... I will survive... (with apologies to Gloria Gaynor)... Why worry about something I can't control, right? "Get outta town, you selfish owners and players!" I've already promised myself -- and my manicurist -- that I won't bite my nails during the NBA work stoppage. And no, I'm not going to pick up any other nervous habits during this idle time either (example: I'm proud of the fact that I'm only consuming about 10-12 cups of coffee each day). Look at the bright side: no NBA allows us hoop fans to do other things. I know I'll use the extra time wisely... Why, I'll... I'll -- I'll help around the house... Yeah -- and I'll watch every 'I Love Lucy' episode for the one-hundredth time... Okay, ya got me -- I'm lying through my teeth! "Can I curl into the fetal position and cry?" I miss pro basketball soooooo much... I miss it tremendously. What ever shall I do?! "Hey, you wanna gather around the television and watch some WNBA?" Uh... I don't miss basketball that much...
Saturday, October 8, 2011
Hi! -- Bye! Not so fast... I recently heard about this guy who robbed the same bank -- for the third time! "We haven't seen you for awhile... Ooh, is that a new semi-automatic weapon you have there? It's nice..." How exactly does a bad guy rob the same bank three straight times? "Mr. Robber, how would you like your money today? -- large bills or small?" I mean, come on, I've heard of making your customers feel welcome, but this is beyond the call of duty. "How's the family...? And your sciatic nerve, is it doing any better?" Why, I bet the guy helps himself to coffee over in the break room while his moneybags are getting filled... "Guys, you're kinda low on sugar..." (I'm lucky if I get a grunt or a nod when I go into my local branch) I can only imagine, the robber sitting there, with his legs crossed: "Take your time, guys, I've got time to kill..." (not exactly what you want to hear during a bank robbery) I wonder if the tellers ever close for lunch when the robber approaches. I seriously doubt it. "I can help you over here, sir!" See what I mean? Here I am, Mr. Nice Guy, and I'm lucky NOT to get a dirty look when I ask for a crisp ten-dollar bill... "I guess... I'll have to go to the vault..." What's next, is the culprit going to be named Robber of the Month? -- have his portrait displayed proudly on the wall? I can already see it: "For Outstanding Effort and Contributions In Local Bank Heists" It's not fair, it's just not. As a long-time bank customer, I'd like a little attention, a little respect: "Yoohoo! Can somebody help me over here...? Hello...? This pen doesn't work... Hello...?"
Thursday, September 29, 2011
Sorry, but traveling abroad is not at the top of my to-do list. Far from it. "We'll have to do a cavity search, sir." Enough said, right? Wait til you hear about the bonehead moves by supposed doctors in far-off countries. I mean, did you catch the one about the patient in Brazil who was pronounced dead by her physician? -- just one problem: she was still alive. Yes, the poor woman was mistakenly bagged in a cold storage drawer at the morgue! (I've heard of bag ladies, but this is too much.) I'm not making this up, guys. Her daughter was called in the middle of the night to identify the body: "Uh, why's she blinking? -- My mother's blinking!" Can you imagine the horror, being stuck in a freezer for all those many hours? "Can I have the last popsicle?!" In my humble opinion, this woman really got the cold shoulder. But wait, I have more for all you globetrotters out there: Back in July, a South African man woke up only to find himself locked in a morgue's refrigerator, too! -- yes, same thing! The poor guy played the unenviable role of Mr. Freeze for twenty-one stinking hours! "Hey, somebody help me! -- It's freezing in here! -- Can I at least have a sweater!" (I appreciate cool weather as much as the next guy, but that's way out of line.) What I'd like to know is where'd these so-called doctors studied medicine... "Why, I completed med school on-line." Okay, that explains it...
Friday, September 23, 2011
"What happened to our house?!" My mom still can't believe another family lives in her property -- that was sold over 20 years ago. "What's with all those bushes? -- we didn't have a tree out front!" My parents took such great care of their first casita... I had a chance to visit my old neighborhood recently, so I drove by the house where I grew up, where I became moi. (Yes, we were one of the first Latino families to hit the lily white neighborhood back then... "Run for your lives -- Mexicans!") I decided to stop and take a picture (maybe I shouldn't have shown it to Mom) and so many memories came flooding back: Like the time a couple of vicious German Shepherds jumped me as I headed to school. "Somebody help me! -- these beasts are gonna swallow me whole!" (okay they were Chihuahuas) I took a peek out back where a basketball rim used to hang... "I'm gonna grow really tall and play in the NBA and make millions and -- !" Yeah, right... Around the corner I saw the convenience store where I was frisked by a clerk who had nothing better to do one day... "Let me check your pockets, kid!" (I looked like a criminal even back then, I guess). I think back to how my mommy walked me to school every morning... "I can walk by myself, honest." Finally, she let me walk that last long block on my own (I was a junior in high school -- or was I a senior?). I remember all those kiddie birthday parties my parents threw for my sister and me... (they quickly turned into "big people" blowouts) I can still see my first ever car in the driveway... "A Chevy Nova, Dad? -- really?! And then there's the backyard avocado tree that fed us guacamole all those many years... "It needs salt -- and more cilantro." No doubt about it, you can certainly go home again, at least for a visit... "I don't know why we ever sold that house -- our house!" Oh, Mom...
Saturday, September 17, 2011
Awhile back, I may have mentioned that I'd never want to be a dog. Well, I was barking up the wrong tree. "I take it all back, my canine friends. Can you ever forgive me?" See, I recently took a sec to view one of those rich wives reality shows (I swear, I usually don't watch anything so vapid, so trashy -- honest!) and what did I see? -- a pooch getting carried around in a sequined purse on Rodeo Drive... "Hey, I can do that!" I swear, it's like watching some Egyptian pharaoh getting fed grapes... "Grapes in my belly!" Simply put, life doesn't get better than that, guys. "Where do I sign up?!" Put a ribbon in my hair, feed me fancy dog biscuits that taste like snails -- I don't mind. (as long as I'm included in the will) I'll even wear a cute little sweater -- one that reads 'Precious.' And you won't ever, ever hear me complain if I'm put in one of those over-sized handbags either... "Wow! It's like a condo in here!" (there's enough space to fit a satellite dish in some of those lady purses) I can already see it, my lady master and me shopping all day long, getting our nails -- and paws --done, riding home in a shiny new Rolls... "La vida rica." I'll be willing to sit there and listen to Plastic Woman's tales of reductions here, enhancements there -- and every subject in between... "I need more jewelry!" Yes, being the toy dog for some filthy rich family's the best thing that could ever happen. "I'll be treated like one of the kids! -- even better!"
Saturday, September 10, 2011
Did you hear about the guy who found $150,000 in his backyard? Lucky son of a gun... I bet that guy was just sitting there, watching his weeds grow when he made his discovery. Why, all I ever find in my backyard are chewed up bottle caps and a bunch of gopher holes... "Hey Ma, I just found us one them there bucktooth critters -- we're havin' us a barbeque!" With my luck, I'd probably find a missing body before I found money... "Officer, I swear -- those gotta be chicken bones." About the only valuables that I come into contact with are my dog's personal treasures. "No! -- these are brand new shoes!" Heck, when I go to my backyard, the only shiny thing I get a glimpse of is my dopey neighbor's bald head -- yeah, the one that's too cheap to go halves on a fresh new fence. "What if we go with chickenwire?" The big lug, he doesn't even trim the gigantic palm trees that sway ominously overhead. "Don't they remind you of Hawaii?" Ha! "They remind me that you're coconuts!" But I digress... Getting back to the dude who found that money, talk about fortunate. "Finders keepers..." How could one person find all that bread? "He didn't even have to scratch off anything!" What cracks me up is the guy claims he turned the money over to authorities. Yeah, right. "ALL of it? -- really?" I don't believe him. I'm sorry, I just don't. I know what I'd be thinking if I found me a wad of dough: "I'll stuff a few bills into my pocket -- no one will know." There aren't any cameras around... Beside, I can always go to confession, right? -- contribute a little extra to the poor box... "You're forgiven, my son..." Nice...
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
I had to call a plumber for help recently and it got me to wondering what a tough job it must be to actually look like a plumber. I mean, they all have to have that similar look, right? You know the one: "Excuse me, Mr. Plumber, how do you get your jeans to fall below the hips like that?" (I hope it's okay to ask such questions) From what I understand, it's in the union contract that plumbers have to reveal just enough of their backsides to become full fledged members of their profession. ( Hence the shocked look on many housewives' faces...) It's my understanding that plumbers get their pants from a jeans designer in Dusseldorf -- or is it Downtown Disney? -- who makes sure all of his jeans reveal a... uh... fault line. Another interesting tidbit is that most plumbers use their backsides for ID pictures these days since their faces are hardly seen anyway... "Crack a big smile for me, okay?" Since I have nothing better to do, I wonder if there are special classes to train plumbers to lean over just the right way. "Don't forget to bend your knees." Then again, maybe plumbers do pilates so their bodies can contort in all sorts of ways to get that maximum 'plumber's look.' "Say, how do you do that?" Whatever the case, I'm intrigued by the effort it takes to look like an honest-to-goodness plumber (Not that I'd ever want to dress up like one). "Hey, where'd you get those steel-toe shoes? -- they're kinda cute." Now that I think about it, there are some attractive perks that go with the job -- like working with some very exotic animals... "Do me a favor, reach over and get me that monkey wrench, will ya?"
Monday, August 22, 2011
I'm so, so sorry to hear about the honeymooner that was recently attacked by a shark and later died. (You'd think enough people had learned from that Spielberg movie years ago. ) "Til death do us part..." -- that was awfully fast. Question: If the guy was on his honeymoon, (hint hint) what was he doing outdoors?! "Hey, let's go out and get some fresh air, honey." Yeah, look at the results. His poor widow didn't get the opportunity to file for divorce. "That's not fair -- I never got to hate him!" Reports say the well-meaning guy went out snorkeling. Well, after reading about this tragic event, guess who's NOT going snorkeling any time soon. Yeah -- me! I take it back: I will go snorkeling -- in my own bathtub. I should be safe there, right? If I want to get up close and personal with a bunch of exotic fish, I'll just visit the Aquarium of the Pacific -- or a local pet store. "I don't even have to get wet." No way am I going out into the ocean if I know some big, bad shark's in the mood to eat. "Hmmmm... I think I'll have Mexican today." Great, he'll probably want guacamole to go with it... Since I had nothing better to do, I did some in-depth research and was shocked to learn that shark attacks have climbed in recent years. We could probably blame that on the economy, too. "If people didn't have so much free time on their hands, they wouldn't bump into man-eating sharks." One thing's for sure, I don't ever want to take the blame for a shark's poor dental checkup. And I'll be the first to let him know it. "It's from all that junk food you eat, Mr. Shark. Aluminum cans, rusty car parts -- don't blame your gingivitis on me!"
Friday, August 12, 2011
The family and I recently went to an amusement park and stood and waited in long lines from morning 'til night. Tick-Tock, Tick-Tock... I still don't see the point. "What did I do to deserve this?" I mean, what godawful crime did I commit in another lifetime? When I think of all the productive things I could've done that day, something worthwhile, something meaningful for society... Instead of frittering the time away, maybe I could've come up with a polio vaccine... "Uh, that's been taken care of, sir." Okay, well, maybe I could've invented something that people fly in, that actually crosses vast oceans at record speeds, a sort of gigantic bird ... "Sorry, the Wright Brothers beat you to it." Oh well, back to the drawing board... Anyhow, I just don't see the thrill of standing in long lines for hours at a time for rides that last 30 seconds -- if that. "That's it?! I stood in line for this?! I hardly had time to blink!" To make matters worse, the "highlight" of the day was almost getting into a fight with some foreigner because she thought my family was cutting. "I dare ya to cuss me out in English, lady! I dare ya!" I'm sorry, but there's gotta be better reasons for standing in hundred degree weather... "You again? -- didn't I just see your face a minute ago?" Sure, you can always buy a "speed pass" to zip right up to the front of the line, but have you seen the prices? "You want me to pay how much?! -- so I can visit EVERY day of the year?!" Not a chance. Then again, maybe next time I can fake an injury and ask for a wheelchair, mosey on up to the head of the line. But I'm not a good liar. With my luck, security would see right through me, begin to question me... "It's a miracle! -- I can walk!" Maybe next time I'll just put a life-size cutout of myself in line. That way, the person behind me can just move it up and call me over when it's time to slip to the front. "Excuse me, fella, you wouldn't mind moving this life-like figure for me, would ya?" Yeah, I think that'll work... "Excuse me? -- you find that piece of cardboard more interesting than me?! -- You actually want to sit on the ride with it?!" Why, the nerve of some people...
Sunday, August 7, 2011
Sorry but I can't take any chances -- I'm not eating tainted turkey. And neither is any member of my beloved family (no, not even the in-laws). With the recent outbreak of salmonella, I'm in desperate search of good, sound turkey -- from somewhere out of state. "Uh, there's bad turkey in 26 states, sir." Doesn't matter -- I'll go international if I have to. "How do you say 'turkey' in Turkey?" I have various strategies planned out, too, in my quest for edible turkey: "Excuse me, Mr. Turkey, I don't mean to pry but... have you been tested for salmonella lately?" That's right, I'll start with the kind and considerate approach and hope that works: "Uh, Mr. Turkey, it would be an honor and a privilege to have you over for dinner." Now, if the "Mr.Nice Guy" move doesn't work, I'll have to turn to less subtle measures, something more direct... "Honey, where's my musket?" That's right -- I'll hunt down the damn bird myself if I have to! I have no other choice -- I need my turkey club sandwich, see?! Lots of protein and tryptophan for a good night's sleep. Beside, the kids have to eat something other than corn dogs once in awhile, right? "Daddy, aren't you supposed to thaw them first?" As head of the household, it's my duty and obligation to bring home the bacon -- in this case, turkey. "Hey, it's nothing personal, Mr. Turkey." Why, I'll do whatever's necessary to put the nervous bird at ease, in a so-called 'happy place': "Hon, where's my pilgrim's outfit? -- and you may want to put on an apron and bonnet yourself." Trust me, folks, I know what I'm doing. I'll go to the far reaches of the earth for my family... "Daddy, I'm craving a juicy snake sandwich..." Snake... uh... "How 'bout some cotton candy instead?"
Sunday, July 31, 2011
I hear a famous game show host recently injured himself while chasing down a burgler. My question is -- Why?! "That was a dumb move, Mister." Look, it's not that I'm afraid or anything but I wouldn't chase after some "bad guy." What for? I mean, I already get enough cardio at the gym, guys. Beside, what if I chased after a burglar and actually caught him -- then what? What if he's big, and mean and carries a concealed a weapon... "What ya gonna do about it, shorty?" Talk about awkward. "Never mind..." Imagine, a big crowd gathers, everybody expecting me to make a citizen's arrest. "I'm not a fighter, I'm a --" No, catching burglars is not the smartest thing... Okay, just for argument's sake, let's say I pin down a burglar. Fine. Am I supposed to take him to the police station myself? In my own car? "But I don't have a siren." What if this crook refuses to fasten his seat belt? "Click it or ticket, Mister." It could happen, right? I'd hate to get a ticket for something so preventable. "Officer, I was just about to drop off this felon at the pokey -- may I be excused?" No cop's going to care -- he's going to write me up, true or not true? And what's the first thing my insurance agent's going to do? (after he sings something about a 'good neighbor') "I told you not to let strangers ride in your car -- I'll have to raise your rates." Great, more money out of my pocket. That's what I get for trying to do the right thing. "Next time, steal all my worldly possessions. I don't care!" Wait, but not my baseball cards, and not my baby pictures, and not the cowboy boots I wore to Grad Night. Yeah, I better practice those Miranda Rights I learned on TV: "You have the right to steal most of my stuff..."
Saturday, July 23, 2011
I understand a famous golfer who goes by "Tiger" recently dumped his long-time caddy. Well, Tiger, I'm here to offer my services -- for the right price (My time's valuable, okay?). I'm quite capable of carrying around a golf bag -- on either shoulder -- without complaint (It's no different than lugging out the trash, right?). About the only drawback to being a caddy that I can think of is grass stains. "My wife's gonna kill me!" Yeah, I can do all that caddy stuff with my eyes closed. Why, I'll even dress up in those old-time goofy outfits if I have to. "Does this make me look stupid?" (my price just went up). About the only other negative to being on a golf course is that you have to be very quiet. "Shhhhhh..." Hardly a whisper. "What, no booing and cheering?" Apparently not. "We can't even sing to Queen's 'We are the Champions'?" Nope. "What about doing the Wave?" Nada. Heck, I'll just have to accept certain restrictions, but it'll be worth it. Now, I must admit I don't know all the rules of golf but I'll catch on. For example, there's this thing they call "bogie." From what I understand, it was originally intended to be "boogie." That's fine with me -- I love to dance! And yes, I'll take on a golf club as my dance partner if that's what good caddies do. "I want to be the best!" Anything to keep Tiger relaxed and focused on his golf game. "Go fetch that ball!" Now that, I may have trouble dealing with. "Ask me nicely." Especially if it means having to chase after a ball that lands in gator-infested waters. "You get it! -- you're the tiger!"
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
I'll never forget one particular birthday gift back in the day: a classic Hippity Hop... It was the greatest gift ever. If memory serves me right, I was 15-years-old... Or was it 16? From the moment Hippity Hop and I met, we became inseparable. (Is it any wonder I didn't start dating 'til later in life?) We were the best of friends, so I figured why go out when I had a big round ball to keep me company... "BFF!" Yup, Hippity Hop was the ideal companion for me; he never talked back, I didn't have to feed him anything other than air... "How many pounds per square inch would you like, buddy?" Picture this: Hippity Hop and I bouncing around the neighborhood, without a worry in the world (truly a Rockwell moment). "Hop, Sammy, Hop!" Life was truly wonderful in those days. Mama would wave from the window as I hopped by, full of pride. "That's my baby!" Good ol' Hippity Hop, he's the one who encouraged me to consider bronco riding as a living (a urologist friend of the family quickly discouraged that notion). Then one day it finally happened: I discovered girls. Not wanting to offend Hippity Hop, I compromised. I showed up at my date's doorstep with Hippity Hop in tow. "What in the world is that?!" the girl screeched... Believe it or not, she got offended when I introduced Hippity Hop to her. "Hop on," I said invitingly. Don't ask me why but the girl refused to ride on Hippity Hop with me. What did she expect -- a car?! Years later, I got the last laugh when I rode by her house -- all Mr. Cool -- on my way to the prom... on my sleek mini moped. Oh yeah...
Thursday, July 7, 2011
There's a lot of pressure living in Southern California during the summer months. For one thing, you'd better have a nice tan or people are going to snicker and look at you funny... "Either he just came out of the hospital or he's starring in the next Twilight movie." Then, if you attempt to tan but come out looking like a lobster, hungry onlookers will try include you in their next seafood salad... "It tastes kinda salty." When you think about it, there are so many better things to do than trying to get a golden tan. Example: You can do volunteer work at a senior citizens home... "You want me to do what?!" Or you can help feed the hungry... "Can I go on break? -- my lunch is getting cold." Another option to consider is helping a child with his or her homework... "How many times do I have to tell you?! -- every sentence starts with a capital letter!" Not that it's ever happened to me, but if you decide to tan, don't forget to remove your sunglasses... "Dude, you look like a raccoon! -- I'm gonna hunt you down!" For those that suffer from claustrophobia, I discourage you from trying out those local tanning booths... "Help! Get me outta here!" Please, no need to panic... "I can 't breathe! I can't--" Some people are such attention seekers... Take it from me, tanning is an art form that's not meant for everybody... "Uh, you may want to take off your dress socks next time..." Good idea...
Thursday, June 30, 2011
I'm not the jealous type... usually. But then it happened. Some very reliable sources other than TMZ (my wife and kids) told me a neighborhood dog was recently serenaded with "Happy Birthday." What?! What makes that canine so special? Does he know any "Knock-Knock" jokes? Does he put food on the table? Right then and there, I was consumed with fits of jealousy. "Oh yeah, dog?! -- At least I don't have fleas! -- And I know how to use a knife and fork!" You see, my birthday's coming up and -- "Somebody sing to me! -- Anybody!" Sorry, I'm a bit sensitive this team of year. You see, it's been ages since anyone sang the birthday song to me and -- Wait a minute, if all it takes is a stupid pet trick... I can roll over, I'm willing to chase after an annoying cat or three. Heck, I'll even dress up in one of those dopey dog sweaters if I have to. "Does this make me look fat?" Why, I'll even take part in training sessions with that Dog Whisperer guy. "What happened to the singing?!" When I was a little boy, my parents always celebrated my birthday, capped off by the traditional birthday song. Boy, those were great times. And I'd like to relive those moments... every year. "Mommy, help me with my birthday candles." (Excuse me while I wipe away some tears.) Nothing wrong with craving the role of Birthday Boy, right? At any age. So, I don't think I'm being unreasonable to ask for a little a cappella alongside my cake and ice cream. "Hey you, Mister, come over here. How do you feel about singing to a grown man?"
Monday, June 27, 2011
After spending the day boat paddling at a local lake, I've come to a logical conclusion: It's time to invest in a yacht. Yes, I'll travel the Seven Seas and write about my many adventures. "Uh, we can't afford it, honey." Bull pucky. I'll borrow money from Frank McCourt if I have to. He's got lots of dough, right? "I'm sorry, you have me mistaken for Mark Cuban." Beside, where's it written that the kids have to eat everyday? The human body needs fluids way before it ever needs food, right? -- "Give 'em water!" I'm gonna get me a boat! I'm gonna get me a BIG boat! And I can't wait! I'll get me a captain's hat, a fishing pole a -- "You get sea sick." I do not, that was the rollercoaster. I'll write home to the family every week and try my best not to get stranded on a deserted island with a bunch of goofy characters... "Hi, my name's Gilligan, and this here's the Professor." Yes, my latest venture's going to work out well. And just in case I do get stuck on an island all by my lonesome, I'll try my best not to start talking to volleyballs either (I much prefer baseballs). "Why don't you answer me, you stupid sphere?! Talk to me!" Yachting is going to be so much fun. I'll hang out with rich people, sip champagne all day long. Why, I'll even talk with a fancy accent: "Oui! Oui! We're low on caviar." Once on my yacht, I'll be especially careful not to crash into any foreign objects either. "Uh, Captain, that was no ice cube we just struck." Huh? Where have I heard that one before?
Thursday, June 16, 2011
Now that I have a moment to think (don't get too used to it), I figure it must be rough being a racehorse; someone's riding your back all the time. "Alright already, I'm going as fast as I can!" It's like having a boss that's constantly on your tail. "Let me breathe, will ya?!" People don't dedicate enough time to consider the drawbacks of being a racehorse (they're too busy focusing on guys named Weiner). Imagine having to go through life hearing taunts like: "Hey you -- horse face!" That's just as cruel as: "Buddy, your choppers are the size of horse teeth!" Talk about mean and insensitive... I don't know about you guys, but being swarmed by flies must be pretty annoying, too. "Stop bugging -- you're worse than the paparazzi!" And what about having to wear those annoying blinders all the time: "I wasn't staring at that mare, honey -- I swear!" (The least someone could do is make a stylish designer pair.) Yeah, racehorses have it pretty tough, getting whipped all the time, having those long, goofy names... And good luck to those poor horses that break a leg. "Come on, Doc, can't you put a cast on it or somethin'?" Being expected to win every race is a lot of pressure for a horse. I mean, I wouldn't want to be in a position to disappoint anyone. Especially a guy named Guido. "Why's only my head on this bed?!" I don't know, there's gotta be some benefits to being a racehorse, right? Wait a minute, some of those four-legged critters are put out to stud, right? That doesn't sound like such a bad gig... "Hey, pretty lady, you come to this barn often?"
Wednesday, June 8, 2011
Why anyone wears contact lenses voluntarily is beyond my comprehension. "Why do you do this to yourself?" I guess there's that segment of the population that prefers looking like zombies with those fake colored lenses. "You look great." Liars!!! As far as I'm concerned, contacts fall under "cruel and unusual punishment." I should know. I've HAD to wear hard lenses for many, many years. "But why, Doc?" Well, after much research and countless interviews, I've come to the only logical conclusion: There's a conspiracy aimed against me by clandestine government forces. "I am not a spy!" Why else would I be getting tortured? "There's nothing to confess! I know nothing-- I swear!" (just ask my math teachers) Call me paranoid but I just know my optometrist is in on the scheme. "You've got the wrong guy!" Somehow, these sinister souls think I'm going to confess to stealing classified information every time I stick those needles for lenses into my poor little eyes. "Dry eye! Dry eye! It's like sandpaper!" And that's before allergy season. Holy moly, what a horrible way to start off the morning (other than tuning in to Rick Dees). You should see how I drive when I'm struggling with contacts. "Everybody outta the way!" Before I know it, flashing red lights fill my rear-view mirror. "Step out of the car, please." Awkward... "Officer, I can explain. Really." Thanks to contacts, my eyes are always red. (No wonder people are always snickering behind my back.) "My eyes appear bloodshot because of my contacts! Ya gotta believe me!" (What happened to "innocent 'til proven guilty"?) People are so quick to judge. "Why don't you wear glasses?" Are you crazy?-- at the risk of being called "four eyes?" No way! Next thing you know, I'd be accused of looking half-way intelligent. "Yup, you sure do have the wrong guy!"
Monday, May 30, 2011
Sorry, but I don't use the self-checkout line at the supermarket anymore. I just don't and won't. And here's why: I end up needing help anyway! "How do I work this darn thing?!" Call me dumb (I rather you didn't) but I don't know how to use those fancy thingamajig scanners. "Somebody help me, please! Anybody!" I've tried, believe me, but I just can't get the hang of it. "How do I ring up these squash?!-- and what about this cow tongue?!" I remember vividly the first time I approached the do-it-yourself machine: "Good morning," I said. "Good morning to you, too," I said right back as I turned to face myself (you have to be quick on your feet). People looked at me like I was some sort of nut. Like I was some sort of lunatic. I didn't like that, people looking at me all weird. (Maybe it was the name tag and apron I put on as I struggled with the celery sticks.) Another thing I didn't like was having to round up all those carts in the parking lot. "Hey, this is a lot of work, here!" The last time I attempted to use the self-checkout, I got really frustrated with some fruit. "I'm supposed to scan each grape in the bunch, right?" Call me old fashioned but I think we all need a little human interaction every once in awhile. I think it's healthy to want to have a friendly face smiling at me as I pay for my groceries. "Would you like to donate a dollar to I.Q. research, sir?" Boy, I sure wish this cashier would just go away... "Leave me alone!"
Sunday, May 22, 2011
I'm thinking of surprising my wife and kids with a camping trip this summer. "Hey guys, let's do something different." Why not? I can be the outdoorsy type when I want to be. Heck, I mow the lawn all the time. "Don't forget your allergy pill!" Yeah, I can be the second coming of Johnny Appleseed and Daniel Boone without a hitch. "Hey, who took my Coonskin cap?!" Yeah, I've slept outdoors dozens of times, sometimes by choice. "-- And stay out!" (It's awfully nice of the dog to leave a spot for me.) From what I understand, bears have moved out of state, so what's there to be afraid of? "Spider...! Spider...!" Also, air conditioning is now available at all national parks, right? "Leave the temperature at 75..." Yeah, I feel like "roughin' it" for a few days, living off the land. "This is how the pioneers lived, kids." Yeah, I'm pretty sure my wife and daughter will have a good time, too. "Waddya mean there's no five-star hotel?!" I can't wait to go camping, it's going to be a blast... I'll take the boys fishing with me, go possum hunting... "Dad, what about my Xbox?!" Yeah, we're going to have the best time of our lives... "Sweetheart, where's the bedet?" Who needs a crowded tourist spot like Hawaii when we have the great outdoors at our fingertips... "Don't forget the bug repellant?" Wait a minute, are you telling me there's bugs out there? "Big as a house." The kind that bite every nook and cranny of the human anatomy?! "Uh... guys, why don't we go to Disneyland instead...?"
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
I'm really proud of myself. No, not for saving someone from a burning building, or anything like that. No, I'm actually really proud of myself for a successful visit to the dentist a few days ago. "No cavities. No bleeding gums. " Yay! And, no, I wasn't scared. Not one bit. "Why are you so pale, sir?" But now that I've had time to reflect, why didn't I get a sticker?-- or a balloon? "Sir, are you shaking?" I don't get it; I was a model patient. "Go ask the dentist." I didn't bite, I didn't gag, I didn't even cry (well, at least not that I recall). You know, I'm starting to smell age discrimination. "You're gonna hear from my lawyers!" Nowhere in that dental office did I see an age limit on prizes. Nowhere. I'll have to file a protest on my next visit. "Maybe you should complain AFTER the dentist sees you." In the meantime, I'll continue to practice good dental hygiene everywhere I go. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. President." (I still say the Secret Service overreacted on my recent visit to the White House.) "The guy's got a weapon!" No, actually it was my electric toothbrush... "Uh, sorry about that, Mister..."
Sunday, May 8, 2011
Why do people in America take sports so seriously. "Why?" Case in point: Lakers fans during playoff losses. I mean, they go absolutely berserk with every Kobe turnover and every blown layup by Derek Fisher. Amazing... Let me tell you, I've always taken pride in staying calm, cool, and collected when rooting for our local teams. "How do you do it?" I'll be happy to answer that. See, for as long as I can remember, I've had an uncanny ability to stay calm while watching tight ball games. It's as if I'm in a trance. Win or lose. "Are you awake?" In fact, people from all corners of the world have come to study my yoga-like manner during Laker games. "You should try it, " I suggested to actor Jack Nicholson as we quietly shared popcorn during a Lakers' loss to Boston in the '08 Finals. While I'm on the subject, something that really cracks me up is when loco fans yell at the television. Why? "It's not like the players can hear you." That's mind boggling as far as I'm concerned. I simply can't relate to such Neanderthal behavior... "Why-are-you-yelling-at-me? I-am-just-a-flat-screen-TV." Remember, electronic devices have feelings, too. Beside that, I've been told that many sports fanatics spew venomous language when their teams lose. "Chill out, guys." There's more to life than just sports, no? Then again, I've heard of people (who shall remain nameless) who've snuck radios into church to hear ballgames. During mass! (good luck explaining that one to Saint Pete) Can you believe that? "That's unbelievable." Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go find a knife for my steak dinner... For some strange reason, it appears that my wife put away all sharp objects... I wonder why...
Sunday, May 1, 2011
So I find out a high school buddy's been living in Alaska for years. I don't know how he does it. I mean, who likes dressing like Chewbacca, right? Also, having to stress that the house may turn into a giant puddle on any given day isn't cool... "Honey, our family room just melted..." And what about having to go hunting for your own food? No thanks. "I'll take mine with plenty of preservatives, please." Nothing against the people of Alaska but... What I want to know is, who lives there, beside my buddy and Sarah Palin? At least the lines at the local shopping center aren't long... "Price check on men's polka dotted long johns!" And what must the locals do with all that fish? "One large salmon shake comin' right up!" Can you imagine? And I don't know about riding a dog sled to work, either-- "Mush!" I mean, I can barely handle riding in a breezy convertible, let alone a vehicle that I have to stand on-- and fill up with unleaded dog biscuits! "Down, boy!" I don't know, my buddy's trying to convince me to go for a visit, but why? "E-mail me some pictures, instead." What if I got lost in the snow or something...With my luck, I'd run out of food, and then what? "Great, now I have to eat my own thumb." Another thing to consider is the lack of neighbors for miles at a time. "Can ANYBODY hear me?!" And who do Alaskans "borrow" their cable signal from? No thanks, I'll stay here in sunny California. Beside, I wouldn't want to send my lungs into shock: "What is this, fresh air?-- Get me outta' here!"
Saturday, April 23, 2011
I feel kind of guilty not taking Prince William's call awhile back: "Tell him I'm on the throne." (he caught me at a bad time, okay?) I have this sneaky suspicion that Willie wanted to hire me as the wedding planner for the Royal Wedding. I usually don't do such things, but I'm sure I would've done a great job, given the chance. (somebody probably told him I do a great British accent, though it sounds more like Cheech Marin's when I don't practice.) One thing's for sure: I would've saved the Royal Family quite a few bucks on the upcoming shindig. Don't believe me? "I don't believe you." Well, first off, I know where to find great cakes at a great price-- Sam's Club! "You'll need to renew your membersip, sir." That's right, and that's just for starters. The wedding dress, why spend so much in this economy? I would've hooked 'em up for much less. I know this seamstress in East L.A., she makes these great quinceañera dresses... For dinner, I would've called this great caterer, he makes the best tacos de cabeza... (Hey, it's a notch above England's "Toad-in-the-Hole" and "Bubble and Squeak.") I also have connections to a great photographer (He takes great pictures at the local DMV, and fantastic mug shots of naughty celebrities). Yeah, I'm kinda feeling bad that I ignored the Prince's call. I'll have to make it up to him next time I visit England. "Cheerio!" Maybe we can have a "guys' night out" with Harry Potter and his boys. Or perhaps we can participate in a polo match or something. I mean, what's so hard about chasing after a ball while riding a horse, right? Anybody can do it. "Excuse me, Willie, where's the ignition on this thing...?"
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
I need to dispel one rumor immediately, before it spreads like wildfire: I was NOT Natalie Portman's body double in "Black Swan." As you may have heard, there's controversy on just how much ballet the actress actually performed for the movie camera. Some claim that another person did most of the dancing in that fine film (I'm still waiting for an explosion and some car chases). Well, I'm here to take my name OUT of the mix. "Wasn't me." First off, I don't look good in a tutu (not that I've ever worn one). Secondly, I can barely understand all those fancy ballet terms. For example, you say "Ront de jambe," I say "Jamba Juice." Or what about "A la Seconde"-- I immediately think Second Hand Store. What did I tell you, ballet and I just don't mix. Sorry to disappoint but it's the truth. "I don't do ballet." To my legion of followers I ask, "Do I look like a swan?" Of course not. If anything, I look like a miniature version of Big Bird (especially when I put on that yellow raincoat my mommy bought me years ago). So please, next time you watch the film, please refrain from jumping out of your seat and yelling, "It's him! Penché! Penché! To that I say, "Wash that mouth with soap!"
Saturday, April 9, 2011
As I sit here, about to order lunch, a thought comes to mind. It must be tough being a vampire. First of all, their hours are lousy. "Sorry guys, I'm working graveyard. Again." Vampires simply have no time for socializing. They sleep during the day, work all night. "Blah blah, I've got business to attend to." That's a bummer. To be a vampire means no fun in the sun. No boogie boarding, no laying out to catch some rays. "I always wanted to be a pool boy." That really sucks (literally). Yeah, vampires have it rough. "Why can't I be like everyone else?" Poor guys, they can never find a car wash open at night. "All I see is burger joints." Vampires have to wash their cars themselves. "Blah, it's cold out here!" Having said that, the first thing I'd do if I was a vampire, I'd get those fangs extracted. "Doc, is it going to be bloody? I prefer it that way." Those poor vampires face so much teasing, it's not even funny. "Hey guy, them choppers make you look like a walrus." (How vampires pose for the family portrait with teeth like that, I'll never know.) If that's not enough, vampires have to lug around a heavy cape, too. "I suffer from curvature of the spine." And what about that tired flipped up collar look. You think the ladies find that attractive? "That is so 80's..." Personally, I'd get really grumpy if I had to survive on a bloody diet. "Too much hemoglobin! Not enough platelets!" You know, all this talk is actually getting me hungry. "Waiter, I'm ready to order now... I'll have a big, fat juicy steak. And make sure it's rare."
Monday, April 4, 2011
Okay, so here's my two cents worth: My sense of direction isn't the greatest. But it's not terrible, either. "Get a navigational system," one know-it-all once piped in. Nope. Never. I've got too much pride... while continuing to get "diverted." I refuse to say that I get "lost." You want "lost?"-- go see Christopher Columbus. Now that's one guy who refused to ask for directions. "Boss, I think you missed a continent back there." And what's with "Do not enter." What are they talking about? I don't see a door! "Knock. Knock." And what's with so many red "Wrong Way" signs? (you'd think sign makers would be more creative and come up with something new) I really believe that I'd get better at finding places if given a chance... "Go West!" I'm told. Okay. (That's where the Sun rises, no?) Just to prove my point, I should moonlight as a taxi driver. "I don't do One Way streets." Maybe not. "How about a limo driver?" Nah, then I'd have to parallel park that big ol' thing. Now that I think about it, that's what's wrong with our society these days: people don't have time to get lost anymore. "Enjoy the sights, granny." Hey, get this, there was this one time when my wife got really mad at me for missing a couple of exits. I mean, really, really mad. She called me every word in Webster's Dictionary. (good thing she didn't find the thesaurus) I still can't figure what the big deal was. I mean, what was her rush? "Can't you see I'm in labor?!" (expectant mothers can be so touchy...)
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
Not that I believe in reincarnation but... in my next life I'd like to be a prize fighter. "Your new flyweight champion of the world...!" (I don't like to brag but back in high school I was quite the tough guy... "Stop beating on 10-year-olds!") Of course, my trainer would have to be open to certain conditions. Like NOT getting up at the crack of dawn for morning workouts. See, I don't go anywhere without first enjoying a hearty breakfast... "Two eggs-- make that, chorizo con huevo. Orange juice-- no pulp." After that, I'd need two or three hours to digest my food... "I can't believe I ate the whole thing..." For my morning run, I wouldn't wear a hood. Those things make me look like, quite frankly, a hoodlum. And forget about those long boxer shorts. For some weird reason, they make me look ... short (nothing farther from the truth). As far as getting punched in the face, I'd have to think about that, too (leather gloves to the mug tend to hurt). "What's my plastic surgeon gonna say?!" Becoming a boxer would mean I'd have to get some tattoos, too. Something to distract my opponents before stepping into the ring with me. Perhaps "Mom." Or maybe Snookie's philosophy on life etched across my back... So many things to consider... "Don't forget your appointment at the tanning booth." Yes, a fighter always wants to look his best for his fans... "Uh, you may want to wax next time, too..." Oh, come on, now... "You are wearing something underneath that boxer's robe, right?..." Oops...
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
As I take a breather from writing, I have a chance to think about garage sales. Much to my chagrin, they're never for sale. Talk about false advertisement... "But I want this 3-car garage... I want it! I want it! I want it!" Still, you do find great deals at these venues (I'm just about done with this year's Christmas shopping.). You never know what you might find at bargain prices. That includes valuable jewelry, artifacts, and half-eaten snacks once bitten by famous actors and celebrities. "This granola bar was chewed on by all of the Kardashian sisters." I really recommend garage sales. It's a great way to make new friends and get decorating tips as you sneak inside to use their bathrooms. "Don't sell that plunger!" If you time it right, the homeowner will be distracted to the point of selling you items at a great discount, too. "I'll give you 20 bucks for that." (How do you think my daughter's getting her first car?) Personally, I don't know why people sell their personal belongings (You never know when 8-track tape players will reappear). Unless they're shoes. You should see my wife's closet (she's claimed sole ownership). Call it the Great Wall of High Heels. In that case, I'm totally in favor of selling such items. "What about your baseball cards?" Except my baseball cards. "Stay away from my Sammy Sosa rookie cards!" They're the best investment I ever made... right next to the deal with that Madoff guy...
Saturday, March 19, 2011
I don't want to sound ungrateful but... I'll take my chances. If the situation ever presents itself, please don't get me a balloon bouquet. Chances are, I'd be given the wrong one: 'It's a girl!"-- No, I'm a boy, okay?! I've always been a boy, from all indications... Here's another thing, I don't weigh all that much and... I'm afraid I'd float away holding onto a bunch of balloons. "Somebody get me down from here!" Nice, a human piñata. With my luck, someone would find a creative way of ending my predicament. "Jethro, is that there one of them vultures in the sky?" Great... "No, Pa, we're being invaded by Martians-- and I'm gonna shoot 'em down for ya!" Imagine what would happen if I went into a no-fly zone: "Uh... why's that fighter jet headed right towards me?" Not only do I NOT want to be someone's target practice, nor dodge F-15's, I don't like heights, either (that's why I don't walk on my tippy toes.) And I respect people's privacy, too. I'd be weirded out about peeking down into backyards: "Hey, use some discretion down there!" If I wanted to hang out in the sky, I would've majored in Blimps." "You sure are a skinny blimp, mister." No doubt about it, I'm going to make sure to keep my feet firmly on the ground. That's where Man was born to be... "Uh... guys, I think I stepped on something..." Then again...
Saturday, March 12, 2011
Psssst... maybe no one else has noticed but... gas prices have gone up! It's ridiculous; gas is about as pricey as courtside Lakers seats. And I'm ready to teach those greedy oil companies a lesson. That's right, I'm going to ride my bike instead of having to fill up every couple of days. "That'll be $500.00, sir." I'm really mad and I'm not going to take it anymore. I'm going to ride my bike everywhere I go. To work, to social functions-- everywhere! "We're so glad you made it to our wedding... even in bicycle shorts." Yeah, about the only drawback to riding a bike is having to wear that silly looking helmet. "You want me to remove my helmet during the National Anthem?-- but I have helmet hair. My head's currently shaped like a slice of pizza." Speaking of bikes, that takes me back to a very traumatic childhood experience (no, I didn't fall off my bike and land on my head, thus explaining my writing). Two times I had to walk home crying, telling my parents that my bike had been stolen, by a gang of bike robbers. "There must've been 20 of them!" But my dad could see right through me. I knew that he knew that I hadn't locked my bike properly. "I knew it!" And that was the end of my bike riding career. And now that I think about it, my bikes were stolen right about the time that E.T. came to a theater near you. Yeah, now that I think about it, that bike in the movie looked a lot like mine. Huh? I'm starting to wonder... "Hey, you bug-eyed alien, that's my bike! Get down from there! Give me back my bike!" Yup, I'll have to call Spielberg: "Yes, Steven, I believe you owe me royalties... Retroactive to my first pimple..."
Sunday, March 6, 2011
No offense to my dog Rocky, but... I'm glad I'm not him, nor any other dog, for that matter. I mean, I wouldn't want to be kept on a leash: "You're... cho... cho... choking me, lady!" And I wouldn't want to be forced to exercise, either: "Why do I have to run?-- I'm not the one with a 42-inch waist." Being a dog's gotta be tough, especially a show dog: "I don't want to wear berets!-- and I don't like poofy hair!" Imagine all those people staring at you, just waiting for you to mess up: "If I wanted to do tricks, I'd join the circus!" Word is the food's not so great, either: "Why can't I have carne asada?" And another thing, how degrading to have to raise a hind leg all the time: "Great, I think I pulled a hamstring." Being a dog just can't be fun, especially if you have to guard the house against dangerous intruders: "You cheapskate, get an alarm system instead." And how rude is it to walk around with your tongue hanging all the time: "Aren't there laws against this?" Yes, being a member of the canine family certainly has its limitations. Like vocabulary: "Woof!" Just think of having to go through life with only one-syllable words at your disposal. Two if you're lucky: "Woof! Woof!" And how sad is it to be in the doghouse every day of your life? "This house isn't big enough for the two of us." Poor dogs, having to go through life getting sniffed at from all angles: "Watch it, buddy-- haven't you heard of personal space?"
Thursday, March 3, 2011
So I'm minding my own business the other day (that's a rarity), when some lady next to me starts talking away on her whatever-color-it-is "tooth." (or was she just talking to herself?) She wasn't speaking Spanish because I didn't hear: "Tacos al carbón." And I'm pretty sure her language of choice wasn't English either because I didn't decipher: "Charlie Sheen for Governor." Whatever she was saying, that woman was talking about me. I just know it. I'll never forget that look on her face. "Creep." It's like she knew some deep, dark secret about me... Impossible. I've led a pure, innocent life. For the most part... Okay, there was this one time... I uh... cut off the power in church. During mass. "Dear Lord, give a guy a break!" I never did confess that little misdeed... until now. There, I said it, okay? I didn't mean to-- I was just a little kid! (Everyone's entitled to one mistake, no?) You have no idea what it's been like all these years, the guilt, the anguish. My conscience has not let me rest. "God will get you for that." I've been saddled with this angst for so long, no wonder I can't write. Tossing and turning, night after night, year after year. "It was an accident!" Forgive me Father for I have sinned... Whew! I feel better already... It's amazing what confessing will do for a guy's soul... I just wonder if I should mention that fib I said long ago... about that hole in the wall, how it got there. "Oooh! I'm gonna tell Dad!" My sister still hasn't forgiven me...
Saturday, February 26, 2011
I recently added protein bars to my workout regiment. Even protein shakes. "How many egg whites?!-- I'm not throwing away the yolks." (High cholesterol's gotten such a bad rap) ... "But why so much protein?" I'm glad you asked: A collection of pens and notebooks can get pretty heavy, see? I gotta bulk up, put on some muscle. "Wow! You're stronger than a locomotive!" Great, now I'll have to be a super hero, too. "I don't look good in capes (Tights are another story)-- and boots get me tired." Oh well, just part of the job, I guess... "Please, oh please, get my cat down from that tall building!" I'll fly you to the nearest pet store instead. "How's your new cat?" If it's my civic duty to be a super hero, then that's what I'll have to be. Writing assignments will have to wait... Good thing I'm not afraid of heights. Really. "Whatever you do, don't look down..." Too late: "Why is the sky spinning?" Maybe I'll carry some paper bags with me after all... Just in case...
Monday, February 21, 2011
I need a mouse. If not, I won't be able to write for hours on end. Then I'll never finish my current project. "Maybe you have attention deficit." I do NOT have attention defi-- Care for some coffee? Look, I need a mouse. No, not as a writing partner-- I've tried those already. I need the kind of mouse that'll help out my wrist. See, if I type too long without the help of the peripheral device, my wrist gets overworked on the laptop. It gets stiff, exhausted, if you will (if you will WHAT?!)... Next thing you know, I'll find myself in an Emergency Room. "My wrist has a boo-boo, Doc." I don't have the time, nor the stomach, to end up in ER (Why's it so depressing in there?). "My wrist is killing me! Somebody help me!" Not only will my writing be affected, so will my shooting stroke. See, I figure to be in one of those celebrity basketball games any day now (you don't actually have to be a celebrity, do you?). "You want me to play?-- I have a sore wrist!" If I'm less than 110%, I don't play well. I'm used to having a limp wrist, er, flexible wrist. (For my jumpshot.) That's it, I'm going to buy a mouse... Wait a minute, what if they just mopped the floors at the local store? "Slippery when wet." Great, all I need is to break my femur. That's a really long bone. In the leg. The right leg. And the left.
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
Okay, so my mind is clear and I'm ready to write the Great American Screenplay when my daughter poses a interesting question to me: "Daddy, will you teach me to drive?" Huh? (It took smelling salts to revive me). "How 'bout a Barbie doll instead?-- an ice cream cone!" She's still in 3rd grade, right? "Waddya mean you're in high school?!-- Since when?! Nobody told me!" (No wonder she hasn't invited me to "Donuts with Daddy" lately) I'll have to check her birth certificate. Beside, teens aren't allowed to drive 'til they turn 35... (I'm sure I read that somewhere.) "Daddy... please!" Why she doesn't prefer a skateboard, I'll never know... Or those shoes with wheels on them. Good thing I came up with an alternative: "Take the subway instead." (Okay, so we live in Los Angeles.) I prefer to build the subway myself rather than have her drive. Look, it's not that I don't trust my daughter, but... "I don't trust my daughter." She's not ready to take on such a responsibility (She once let her goldfish die!). Think about it, she doesn't even know how to change the timing belt on a car, and she wants to drive?! Please. "Not 'til you rebuild an engine, young lady." Okay, okay, I'll a make a deal with her: I'll teach my only daughter to drive under one condition: "As long as our insurance doesn't go up, I'll let you drive." That sounds fair, right? "Daddy!"