Archive for the ‘Humor’ Category

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  • The older I get, the more a turtleneck makes me look like a turtle.
  • Age is inversely proportional to my patience with idiots who still don’t believe in global warming.
  • Women can grow nose hair too.
  • Shrinkage applies to bladders as well as other body parts.
  • Regardless of how much we exercise, eventually our legs look better below the knee.
  • Acting my age doesn’t have to mean knitting afghans.
  • At a certain point, being called “ma’am” is no longer insulting.
  • It’s okay if my supervisor could chronologically be my granddaughter.
  • I don’t have to wear industrial underwear like my mother did.
  • This, too, shall pass – hopefully before I do.

The elevator pitch is your little summary, 30–60 seconds, that you spew on people about who you are professionally. Of course, you don’t want to spew it on unsuspecting guests at your cousin’s barbecue when they’re only trying to relax and scarf down a few chicken wings (especially without a mask). Spewing is okay when:

  • you’re asked “So tell me about yourself” at an informational or actual job interview
  • you’re at a formal networking event which requires you to stand up and talk about yourself for one minute
  • you’re having a chat with someone about work stuff, and the conversation goes into detail beyond the initial, “So what do you do?”

That’s it. Any other situation is not okay to spew in. Especially in an actual elevator.

So what does your spew actually consist of? It includes four components:

  • I am – this is just your name. Simple enough. At least, I hope so. If not, you’re really in trouble.
  • I do your job title or “tagline” describing what you do in ten words or less.  For example, if your field is pharmaceutical sales, your tagline could be, “I sell drugs.” Good conversation starter.
  • I help How do your skills help an employer fulfill their wildest fantasies? “I help small companies increase their customer base; I’ve been working in the field for over ten years.” That’s the idea, though you don’t have to actually use the word “help.” Really, it’s okay.
  • I need Of course, you would never actually say, “I need …” The idea is to convey what you’re looking for, while tooting your own horn. “I’m looking for an opportunity to use my blah–blah skills in a big drug company, so I can get all the drugs I want.” Just kidding on that last part.

So write and practice your spew so that it doesn’t sound like you’ve written and practiced it, and only spew when asked. And if you’re spewing indoors, wear a mask.

Happy schmoozing.

Holidays are here
Santa has heartburn, big time
Too many cookies

Holiday snowflakes
Ice clings to silver flagpoles
A boy’s tongue is stuck

Santa Claus legend
He brings gifts to many homes
Put your mask on, Claus

Lights are dangling low
Cat short-circuits the wires
Oops — the house goes dark

Decorate the tree
Tinsel, lights, star on the top
Why big shiny balls?

Hanukkah Harry
Joins in lighting the candles
From six feet away

A virtual feast
Making cookies remotely
Imagine the taste

Biggest wish this year
The gift that keeps on giving
A vaccine for all

Pumpkinface Once upon a time in the village of Winkletoes, there lived an evil orange troll named Pumpkinface who thundered through the countryside spewing puke-green ooze on the villagers. The ooze turned the villagers into warty toads, who were then joined by a band of other warty toads who’d been hiding under the slimy rocks in the swamp at Winkletoes’ edge.

As the warty toads swarmed the village, their ooze spread farther and farther, until it threatened to overtake all of Winkletoes.

The not-yet-oozed villagers attempted to protect themselves with giant umbrellas, with some success — until the toads stole all the remaining umbrellas in the village and hid them in the swamp. “Make Winkletoes Puke-Green Again,” they chanted.

“But Winkletoes wasn’t puke-green before,” the villagers protested. The toads threw poison pellets at them in response. Pumpkinface stalked back and forth on the steel balcony of his castle and watched the chaos he’d created with a satisfied smirk.

All seemed lost — until the Good Warlock Levelhead and his partner, the Good Witch Marmalade, flew into Winkletoes on their electric brooms. “What the f*** is going on here?” they demanded.

Levelhead and Marmalade soon understood the gravity of the situation, and got to work. They sprinkled rainbow dust on the toads and turned them back into humans, who chased Pumpkinface out of his castle, picked him up and tossed him on the lawn, and barricaded the doors.

Marmalade strode over to where Pumpkinface lay sprawled. “You are a festering boil on the ass of this village,” she declared. All the villagers cheered.

“Am not. I’m perfect, and everyone loves me,” Pumpkinface pouted.

Marmalade laughed and flew off in a wave of rainbow sparkles.

Pumpkinface slunk away and burrowed down in a dank underground lair far from Winkletoes, never to be heard from again.


It’s almost that time — and Santa still has a lot of stuff to do before heading out Christmas Eve:

  1. Add a new list category: naughty — nice — atrociously evil
    and stupid political figuresweird santa
  2. Get those Odor-Eaters for his boots
  3. Remember that smartphone, so he can text Mrs. Claus from the road
  4. Practice his creepy laugh to freak out the reindeer
  5. Update his list of houses without chimneys
  6. Pack the Lactaid
  7. Program the GPS for “everywhere”
  8. Remember the reindeer poop bags
  9. Make sure his insurance is up-to-date in case he crashes
  10. Buy a carton of Sharpies for the White House


There’s a support group for just about everything. People who eat too much, people who love too much, people who binge on too much 90s TV, single parents, parents who have turned into their parents, parents who secretly wish they weren’t parents.

But the one support group that doesn’t exist is one for getting older. And I’m not talking about senior groups that take bus trips to Atlantic City. Or 50-plus yoga-goddess circles. I mean groups where people talk about the stuff that people don’t want to talk about — like how aging is a constant readjustment of self-image.

aging grapesPart of aging is looking at yourself in the mirror and saying, “What’s this? Never seen that before.” Weird things appear on your body. Stuff shifts around. There are creaking sounds. Sudden pains inexplicably come and go. You become invisible to the male eye. You have to accept the fact that you’re inching closer to death, and that you can’t shop at the Gap anymore.

If all that doesn’t warrant a support group, I don’t know what does.

Not that aging doesn’t have its compensations. There’s the wisdom bit; learning from all the dumb things you did when you were young enough to get away with almost anything (“yeah, I won’t ever do that again!”). Plus, you can walk past a construction site without being leered at. And if you have grandkids, you get to spoil them with all the crap their parents won’t let them have. And eventually, people will think you’re cute and offer you a seat on the train. Well, maybe.


Check out Explode, a comedy thriller/mystery novel. Spontaneous human combustion, or murder?

A little-known holiday secret is that Santa’s reindeer were not the original crew. The first group was fired. Here are some haiku to tell their story:

Stinker the reindeer

Had hygiene issues, it’s true
Hold your nose tonight

Cramper was fired next
Could only work once a month
Christmas Eve or notSanta's not pleased

Klutzer really triedreindeer splat
But tripped over his own hooves
Kept crashing the sleigh

Shmutzen loved carpets
Had lint all over his fur
Gave Claus sneezing fits

Wobbler drank a lot
Couldn’t fly in a straight line
It was a problem

Puker, poor Puker
For quite obvious reasons
Didn’t last too long

Stupid was confused
Why work on a holiday?
They tried to explain

Svitzen splattered sweat
All over everybody
The sleigh smelled like mold

Last of all, Foodolph
Beat Santa to the cookies
Every single time

Check out Explode, a comedy thriller/mystery novel. Spontaneous human combustion, or murder?

The toupee was invented in 1592, when bald Prince Combover slid across the floor and injured himself while attempting a headstand. At this crucial turning point in history, men decided (apparently oblivious to many people’s attraction to elongated foreheads) that even bad hair was better than no hair.

The first toupee was made out of pig whiskers. However, this was not only excruciatingly uncomfortable, but had the unfortunate consequence of causing the men who wore these hairpieces to squeal at inopportune moments.

Cat hair was the next material to be attempted, but this was abandoned after the wearers coughed up hairballs on the carpet. After the cat hairpieces lost their popularity, hairmakers graduated to dog hair. Regrettably, not only did the wearers develop a flea problem, but also a disconcerting penchant for fire hydrants.

From dog hair, toupee-makers resorted to synthetic materials such as polyethylene, which they shaped with scissors and fitted onto the scalp. However, this material was quite flammable, and men’s heads frequently ignited when they attempted to light a cigarette.

The next attempt was with polyester fibers similar to those used in carpets, which were also shaped with scissors — hence the term, “cutting a rug.” Dust mites made these hairpieces unbearably itchy, and the rug shampoo used to clean them caused any real hair underneath to turn green and fall out.

Hair artists, as wig makers preferred to be called, then went through several other materials, including dyed plant leaves. Not only did these hairpieces look ridiculous, but the men wearing them developed a fear of cats, as they would often pounce on the men’s heads and eat the leaves.

Subsequently, the practice of using real human hair was developed by a funeral director. Alarmingly, the wearers of these toupees often took on the characteristics of what later became known through popular films as the “living dead,” much to the consternation of their loved ones.

At this point, bald men began the horrifying practice of flinging their side hairs across their scalps, as if they were fooling anybody. Unfortunately, this practice is still used now and then, for some unfathomable reason.

Toupees are now nearly obsolete, since most men embrace their baldness at this point in history. For the ones who don’t, current technology exists that allows them to sprout hair like chia seeds. You can still occasionally catch a glimpse of a hairpiece from times gone by that may compel you to ask the wearer, “Is that your real hair, or did an otter die on your head?”


Check out Explode, a comedy thriller/mystery novel. Spontaneous human combustion, or murder?

Does anyone else find the whole concept of The Parent Trap profoundly disturbing?? Maybe it’s because I lost my father when I was eight, but I find the whole idea kind of warped. parent-trapYou’ve got two parents who each not only abandon one of their children, but keep two sisters — twins, yet — separated without telling them that the other one even exists.

I’d like to write an alternate version of the story entitled The Parent Trap — the Dark Side. Separated in infancy serial-killerand left without conscious knowledge of their loss, the twins develop severe attachment disorders and become serial killers.

I could see it as an SNL episode.

Actually, writing alternate versions of films could be interesting. How about Saving Private Ryan as a romantic comedy? Or Godfather II — The Musical.

Or how about incongruent screen couples: Vanessa Redgrave and Pauly Shore. Or Emma Thompson and Sylvester Stallone. Judi Dench and Billy Crystal. These are the things I think about when I can’t sleep at two in the morning.