Category: Humor

I’m working on a joke about fencing and a good meal where the punchline is “Parry/repast.”

Please plan to laugh politely when I come up with the appropriate setup.

I was all going to post a tweet that said:

I just read one of my favorite author’s books. I am so glad I burglarized his house.

But I thought the better of it.

In the 21st century, that sort of joke might get your house searched.

Instead, I’ll post it here with the context of the joke so to lower the chances it will trigger law enforcement automatic social media scrapers to 40%.

So my beautiful, athletic, and culinary wife said in the course of the conversation, “Obviously, I can cook.”

To which I reparted, much like William Powell, I thought: “That’s what Comte said.”

And she didn’t get it.

Of course she did not. As I am twenty-some years beyond my intro to Sociology course, I confused Auguste Comte, founder of sociology and positivism, with Cesare Lombroso, founder of anthropological criminology, whose doctrines implied that criminality is inherited and that you can tell a criminal by the way he looks.

Hence, “That’s what Comte said,” makes no sense, but “That’s what Lombroso said,” now that’s quality sociologist humor. Because she said “Obviously, I am a good cook,” as though one could tell by the spacing of her eyes or the curve of her cheeks that she was a good cook.

I mean, it’s not as though she’s Cunégonde because:

1. She is not ugly.
2. She does not do pastries very often.

As though cracking jokes about Italian criminologists and French sociologists weren’t enough, I have to go bringing the works of Voltaire into it.

Truly, I have a dizzying sense of humor.

I’m just getting started!

If Paul Rodgers and Yngwie Malmsteen formed a supergroup, they could call it Rodgers and Malmsteen. I’d by an album on the name alone.

I live in the country, and I hate this time of year.

Late January.

Parents who have gotten their children hippopotamuses for Christmas start thinking that maybe, maybe they want to park their cars in their garages again or maybe they’re tired of the zoolomasseuse bills, but they start bringing them out in the country and leaving them alongside the highway.

People, hippopotamuses are not native to the Ozarks, and they have not evolved to survive on the local flora.

I just shake my head when I see one lying beside the road, and it makes for dangerous driving if they topple into the roadway.

Freeing the hippopotamus that your child wheedled you into for Christmas is not humane. It is not right. Think before you buy based on one silly little holiday ditty.

Thank you, that is all.

It’s been long enough since October that my consumer goods’ packages are finally returning to their normal colors.

You always hear them going on and on about how good antioxidants are.

You ever hear them even mention the pro-oxidant side?

Why is that?

I know, sometimes crime scenes you leave behind are a little dull. Why not jazz it up with an aphorism?

Come on, make it fun for your profiler. What does it mean? What does it matter?

….the fiscal cliff everyone was talking about was the fiscal Cliff Clavin?

Discuss.

It’s even funnier to me because I’m on Avery‘s mailing list since I downloaded a Microsoft Word template for one of their shipping label projects back when I was mailing my book around the country.

So I get less risque requests for me to visit that company’s Web site in that email box from time to time.

Hey, I have an idea to close the Federal budget deficit:

Let’s steal wi-fi from Canada!

Let’s face it, those Loonie-worshippers don’t have enough people to use all that bandwidth, and the United States is right next door.

I’m pretty sure theirs is the SSID of DonCherryIsGod.

Paul Ryan, you’re welcome to use this.

A Web site that tells you how to say, “Oh my God, there’s an axe in my head!” in many different languages.

Frankly, that’s something you probably need in an iPhone app so you have it handy when you’re on the go.

We’ve got a band geek. She’s on a band trip somewhere. She’s in her hotel room, leaning over her balcony, looking down on the strange city, thinking about the parade tomorrow and not sure she’s going to be able to eat much tonight she’s so nervous. She’s thinking about the parade, and she’s got part of her band uniform draped over her shoulder. Wistful, sexy, with a hint of John Philip Sousa.

Message: Band chicks are hot.
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