Posts Tagged ‘humor’


Is there a high school year book there from Paul Ryan’s class?
If so, maybe you could look something up for me? I think he was listed in there as Lyin’ Ryan, see I had this dream the other night, and I am sure I recall that he has this huge phobia from all the way back in Junior High. All the kids began calling him Lyin’ Ryan, as he was always making up stuff about his dad being really tough, and how his sister knew all these cool tricks, and how he got this bum to show an old lady his willie for a smoke…stuff like that. Well he couldn’t stand the heat, and if anybody would challenge him, he would break out in a sweat and pee his pants. That’s when the nick name came about, it sounded something like, “Lyin’ Ryan, stop your cryin, we all know your pants need dry’n”. Well anyway, look it up, because it was just a dream you know, and I don’t want to smear anyone unnecessarily.

Thanks, Jd


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Me:   Pinch me if I’m dreaming, but you don’t seem to be

        doing so many Big World Events, Like in the Bible.

God: Hummm…

Me:  You know, like parting the sea or huge plagues and

        the like. Exciting stuff like the Great Flood and Tower of

        Babel type retribution events.

God: Well yes….

Me:  See, I know many examples of whole nations gone

        awry, vast groups of people who seem to defie the life

        style which were exampled in your teachings.

God: That’s so…. would you pass the marmalade?

Me:   Well I thought you might be thinking about doing one

        of those great apocalyptic deals again, to show your disgust.

God: Well I just can’t do floods again. That thing in

        New Orleans, not my fault, you really can’t save a sinner

        once you have drowned em.  Pause. . . . .

        Your coffee is cold…there it’s hot again.

        Pause. . . . . Ahh, an image on toast?

Me:   That didn’t impress anyone. The face on Mars had

        great potential, something like that…

God: I’ll take it up with the Big Events Committee,

        run it up the pole, K?

Me:   Right, sounds good. Oh yeah, those pajamas were a gift…

God: I know.. I’ll drop them in the mail. Thanks for breakfast,

         be seein’ ya!

Me:   Say “Hi” to your mom for me. . . .

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days retreat
Amid the Sheets
My   frosty   feet’s
A Warming greets

I trod a Winter street
The icy ground replete
Socks  can not  compete
I  bear  not,  ill  conceits
Within my chamber suite
When  lacking  body  heat
Disrobed  the bed  entreats
Pull  back the cover’s  pleat
Jump in like trained athlete
Between  those  fiber  sheets
Then  thrust  my chilly  feet
A warmth my toes do greet
For down I shan’t compete
Pray,  why  do  you

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The unobservant,
Redefined by the disrespectful,
Of appeasements to the ill-advised,
Remorseful over the disinterred,
Coalesced due to the unexplained, and
Mindfully unperturbed by the non-abducted
Per-left behind survivalist of the Columbine.
Twerped, into accepting our illusionary,
Practicality in regard to your poly-analyzed,
And thoroughly redirected non-tutorial Post-aspirationisms of the socially redacted. …Or, so it seems to me,
Pretty good coffee, EH?

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I need a place to keep my brains
When I snooze or take my naps
The things I see and hear drains
My electrified synapses 

Wish I could sleep like my old cat
But all I ever find there
Is faces shocked from budgets fat
With credit card disaster

A landscape strewn with homes foreclosed
And unemployment mounting
How can I sleep amid such woes
My nighttime rest is haunting

There are some times like these we know
When people shed the trap
Of bondage from financial woe
And rose above this crap

But now the sights inside my brain
Won’t sit in places dusky
Unless I find how to contain
The thoughts of Dostoevsky

Till then I have to beat this rap
I only need some sleep now
Instead my Lily-livered cap
Is pulled below my eyebrow

So here’s the sleep that I have lost
My brains are one cool cat
Maybe I can avoid the cost
‘Neath Dostoevsky’s hat

US copyright protected

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Pull back your harsh encounter
Bring not your evil pursed lips into my face
Hold fast that icy breath
You vast devouring scourge

Today I have turned my back
On your evil continence
Long have I relished the day
Upon which
Your evil
Would cease to pester my quiet foot
My naked face and weary eye

Today I embrace the hot
Pulsing, glaring fire of the tiny universe
Of my great ancestors, and swear
I am still here!
You have not killed me yet!
You bitter wind!
You frozen ground!
You white dragon of death!

Today I shed my outer layers
To lavish all my extremities
In the grand healing rays of Rah!
Sun god!
Giver of life!
Master of all that grows
And brings sweet smells
Of birth and regeneration

Now I shall dig and plant
Build and store
From the bounty of this great planet
And gird my measly existence against
One more intolerable winter


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I’ll sling blade for you if you’ll take my long days journey into night. Just don’t let the boys from Brazil, cross my thin blue line while they paint your wagon hoping you can meet the parents, Laura.But, I know they’ll do the right thing when they get to my big fat Greek wedding on that endless summer day. What a splash, so long as there’s not a mighty wind that April in Paris.So don’t do the China syndrome when you discover that you’re the last of the Mohicans. Ever since I got you out of that animal house and planted you with a French kiss, we have had this fatal attraction, life on the edge, affair to remember.

But it’s not going to be like mission impossible 2 keep the father of the bride from all the cries and whispers knowing our dirty little secrete, on moon light bay.After the year of living dangerously, Oliver, it’s time to make an exodus from the endless summer and admit that life is beautiful and we are just eighteen and anxious. So here’s to the brothers Otoole and the 80,000, usual suspects that made the wedding party, the shining, melody for the lovers.Now as a member of the wedding and one who’s in harms way, let me ask, guess who’s coming to dinner? all work U.S. Copyright protected

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