Archive for the ‘Humor’ Category

Florky wandered around Harvard Square, observing the strange costumflorkyes of the humans swarming around him. For a thrilling moment, he thought he saw his cousin crossing Mt. Auburn Street, but it turned out to be just a human in a Kepler suit….

Gift for teachers, writers, lovers of all that is literate, and all who recoil at the sight of a misplaced modifier.

Gifts for friends, family, people you love, people you like, and people you know who are just a little bit weird.


New mugs on zazzle:

love & neurosis mug available on zazzle

Love stays fresh when neuroses mesh.

Sucking lemons mug

Love & neurosis mug 


sucking lemons mug available on zazzle

When life gives you lemons … suck.


Just started a store on Zazzle — they have t-shirts, mugs and a lot of other fun stuff.

Here’s my first product:


sucking lemons funny t-shirt

When life gives you lemons … suck.

I broke my wrist last February (same night as the Superbowl); slipped on the ice.

As I lay on the sidewalk, my grocery bag on its side with most of the contents spilled out, I tried to move my wrist, and was pretty sure it was broken. I evaluated my options. I knew my BFF/roommate was home; maybe I should just call him and have him pick me up off the ground and take me to the hospital. But then my groceries might go bad.

I decided to try to make it home. Clutching the bag with my good arm, my other dangling by my side like a broken chicken wing, I walked the couple of blocks back to my place. When I walked in, my roommate was relaxing on the couch, watching the game. “I think you have to take me to the emergency room,” I said.

He looked at my dangling arm and obligingly got up, turned off the T.V., and took the grocery bag from my hand. “Could you put the perishables in the fridge?” I asked. He opened the refrigerator and tossed the bag inside, and we left for the hospital.

Sitting in the emergency room, I faced my first challenge when I had to pee. Would I be able to unzip my pants? How could I pull my jeans back up over my hips with one hand (not always easy even with two hands)?

Having made it over that hurdle, I was examined, x-rayed and splinted, with a cast to come. I was told I had broken my radius and ulna, which sounded vaguely sexual. Apparently the ulna wasn’t something to worry about, even though a piece of it could actually break off, permanently adrift inside my body. Hopefully it won’t wander into my brain or intestines — the two organs you least want to be poked with something sharp.

Breaking a limb is pretty overwhelming, particularly when you don’t have a spouse or partner to help with all that daily-living stuff you never realized you needed two arms for, like flossing. Although I’m not sure flossing someone’s teeth other than their own would be something a person you’re sleeping with would be willing to do anyway, unless you’re sleeping with a dentist — or maybe someone with a tooth fetish.

In the shower with my wrist immobilized, I realized I could only shave one armpit. After some rather elaborate contortions, I managed to slice off a few hairs, but since it was still winter and no one but me would see my armpit, hairy or otherwise, I decided it wasn’t worth the effort.

And speaking of armpits, when you have a broken wrist, your armpit is your fallback — for everything from carrying laundry to opening a jar (though regrettably inadequate for childproof caps).

I was soon referred to an occupational therapist, who I hoped would give me tips on hooking my bra. Alas, I had to figure this one out on my own (again with the assistance of my armpit). He did, however, give me exercises that eventually helped me to use both hands again to navigate my underwear.

And in case you ever need them, here are one-handed bra-hooking instructions:

  • Grasp bra firmly by one cup with your good hand
  • Swing the hook part around your waist so it’s in the frontbra
  • Lift your boobs up with the crook of your arm, so you can see what you’re doing
  • Hold the eyes (the things the hooks go into) under your arm
  • Push the hooks and the eyes together with your elbow, attempting to keep the material straight so both hooks fasten instead of just one, necessitating an expletive or two while starting the process all over again
  • Hope for the best
  • When eventually successful, use elbow to push bra around so the cups are in the front
  • Pull straps onto shoulders with your good hand
  • Either:
    • Resign yourself to doing this every day for at least a month
    • Start going braless


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



I’m currently working on the second comedy thriller in the Silver & D.J. series, Dying Upside Down:

Michael is found hanging upside down in a sex harness wearing nothing but pink lace panties, strangled by the matching bra stuffed down his throat.

Stay tuned for more!

Here’s the first one: Explode

My comedy thriller Explode, about a woman who blows to bits while drinking her morning coffee, is now available on Amazon Kindle — you can find it here. If you like it, please leave a review!

Once upon a time — that is to say, when wizards freely roamed the earth and no one had ever heard of COVID-19 — there lived a handsome and sexy, but vain and emotionally immature prince named Harry.

One day when Prince Harry was strutting through the woods, admiring himself in the hand mirror he always carried for solely that purposthe wizarde, he came upon an elderly guy with a long beard and a tall pointy cap on his head — a wizard, of course — stooped over peering at the ground. Prince Harry, absorbed in admiring his reflection, looked down at him, shrugged, and began to walk past him.

“Excuse me, young man,” the wizard said.

The prince ignored him.

“I said, excuse me!” the wizard shouted.

“What do you want? I’m busy,” Prince Harry said irritably.

“Do you think you could tie my shoe? My arthritis seems to be acting up.”

“No way!” Prince Harry responded indignantly.

“Please help me,” the wizard said piteously.

“Okay, you asked for it,” the prince said.

The prince bent down and tied the wizard’s shoe.

“There, it’s tied.”

“Thank you,” the wizard said. “I am eternally grateful to you.”

The wizard took a step forward and fell. Prince Harry had tied his shoelaces together.

On his back like a turtle, the wizard moved his feet this way and that, trying in vain to pull them apart. The prince snickered and cavorted gleefully like a child.

“Prince Harry, you are a vain and selfish man,” the wizard said from the ground.

Prince Harry stopped laughing. “How did you know my name?” he asked uneasily.

Still on his back with his legs in the air, the wizard replied, “I am a wizard. I know everything. Except how to tie my shoes. I hereby cast a spell on you that will make you as ugly on the outside as you are on the inside.”

The wizard tossed some glittery stuff at the prince, who flailed his arms wildly and fell to the earth, dropping his mirror, which miraculously did not break. He picked it up and scrambled to his feet.

The prince raised the mirror to his face and screamed. There was a lock of curly black hair hanging from his nose to his waist, from which a cluster of large green leaves protruded.

“Oh God, no!” Prince Harry cried in horror. “I have a forest growing out of my nose!” He ran frantically around in circles with his hands to his face until he stopped, having stupidly given himself vertigo, and collapsed on the ground.

“Who will ever love me now? Who?” the prince moaned.

The wizard replied, “Good question. If you ever find a woman who loves you with a forest growing out of your nose, the spell will be broken. Good luck, and don’t forget to water.” And with that, the wizard disappeared.

A year passed. The prince’s nose hair had continued to grow until it was down to his knees, and more leaves protruded from it. He was also bald. He developed the habit of grasping the end of the nose hair and twirling it around the top of his head, applying tape to his head with a tape dispenser he always kept in his pocket.

One day as he was standing in his garden taping his head, he heard a woman singing the theme song from “Hair.” Prince Harry tiptoed stealthily in the direction of the singing and came across a dismayingly beautiful woman named, a bit too obviously, Beauty. She had a red rose in her dainty hand. She turned to look upon him and screamed bloody murder.

Prince Harry grabbed her arm. “What are you doing in my garden, stealing my roses?” he roared.

Beauty recoiled from him.

“Yes, I’m hideous, aren’t I?” said Prince Harry. “Can’t stand to look at me, can you?”

happy woman“Well, you do have a forest growing out of your nose,” Beauty pointed out.

“Do you know who I am?” Prince Harry said huffily.

“Prince Combover?”

Prince Harry sighed and let go of her arm. “Never mind. Just call me Beast Harry.” His eyes narrowed. “Since you were trespassing, you are to stay here until you fall in love with me and agree to marry me.”

Beauty snorted. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

Beauty put her hands on her hips. “You cannot keep me here against my will, Harry Beast,” she said.

“It’s Beast Harry!!!” the prince bellowed.


“I can do anything I want to,” Prince Harry pouted.

“No, you can’t,” Beauty said.

The prince scrunched up his brows in thought. “I’ll give you two million dollars and chocolate every day,” he offered.


Beauty shook Prince Harry’s hand, and they walked off together into the forest.

A month passed. Beauty roamed the immense castle grounds, power-walked down the lush forest paths, ate chocolate bars the size of Florida, and schmoozed daily with Prince Harry. The prince’s nose hair was now down to his ankles, with an abundance of leaves sprouting from its depths. He had taken to carrying a huge watering can around with him as if it contained Gatorade, frequently pouring water over his head to keep it green.

One day as they strolled in the garden, Beauty turned and stared into the prince’s eyes. “You know, Beast, I must say, even with a forest growing out of your nose you’re quite charming,” she said.

“Thanks,” he said. “So what’s the story? Are you in love with me yet?”

“Not that I’m aware, Beast, sorry,” Beauty said. “And I’ve been thinking that I’d like to visit my sisters in Milwaukee.”

“But you can’t leave me now!” the prince cried. “I’ll never see you again!”

“It’s just Milwaukee.”

“When people go to Milwaukee, they don’t come back.”

“I’ll come back,” Beauty assured him. “We’ll do lunch.”

“If you don’t come back in a week, I shall die,” Prince Harry proclaimed.

“Why a week?” she asked.

He shrugged. “Beats me.”

Beauty turned to go. “Goodbye, Beast.”

“Wait!” he cried.

He plucked a leaf from his nose hair and gave it to her.”When this leaf turns brown, I’ll be dying,” he said.

“Yeah, right.”

She trotted up to her room to pack.

Eight days later, after alternately giggling and bickering with her sisters for the past week, Beauty had pretty much reached her limit with the female bonding thing. She decided to pluck one of the moonstruck guys out of the line perpetually waiting outside her door, and soon found herself making out with him on the couch in her living quarters.

They tumbled to the floor, and Beauty suddenly noticed that the prince’s leaf she had tenderly placed on the coffee table was brown. She leaped to her feet.

“Harry Beast!” she cried.

“I just shaved this morning,” the guy said.

“I have to go!” Beauty shouted, and ran out.

The guy rubbed his chin and shrugged.

By the time Beauty got back to the castle, the prince was lying on the floor with dead leaves piled around him. Beauty ran over and crouched on her knees beside him, putting his head gently on her lap. The leaves surrounding his face crunched loudly.

“Oh, Harry Beast!” Beauty sobbed.

“Beast Harry,” he said weakly.


“You didn’t come back in a week,” Prince Harry said plaintively.

Beauty cleared her throat. “I was having such a good time with my, uh, sisters, that I lost track of time. Is it too late?”

“Not if you marry me,” he said.

“The combover thing’ll have to go,” Beauty said.


“I love you, Beast. Even with a forest growing out of your nose, I love you.” Beauty kissed him and sneezed. The prince lovingly wiped her shmutz from his face.

A white cloud descended on them, then lifted. They both coughed and waved the smoke away. Prince Harry’s nose forest was gone. Beauty gasped loudly.

“What happened to your forest?”

“It’s gone,” said Prince Harry. “You see, a wizard cast a spell on me because … well, never mind that. But now that you love me even with a forest growing out of my nose, the spell is lifted. My nose is hairless at last. Until I’m 70 or so, then it’ll come back on its own. But we won’t talk about that now.”

“I love you, Hairy Beast,” Beauty whispered.

“Prince Harry.”


They embraced.

And lived happily ever after. More or less.


The corpse lay sprawled on the floor of the supply room of the We’re It Advertising Agency, his legs splayed out between a pile of FedEx toadenvelopes and packages of toner. A limp, pale arm draped over the fax machine. His co-workers crowded in the doorway in freaked-out silence.

Lieutenant Bill Sawyer knelt beside the body and peered into the dead man’s face. Sawyer, late 30s, dark blond hair, looked like Clint Eastwood with dimples. His partner, Tony Purcell, tall and wiry, guarded the door. The dead man, Rory Corbett, was young — late 20s — and rather bland-looking, as if his features had been molded from a Ken doll from 1955, albeit one with bulging eyes and blue lips.

Sawyer bent close to get a look at Rory’s mouth. “Who found him?” he asked.

Rory’s co-workers looked at each other. A pretty Latina woman said loudly, “I did.” Everyone turned to look at her.

Suddenly a deep, throaty sound emerged from the dead man’s mouth. “Rrrriiidddiiit.”

Sawyer jumped, and his audience gasped in stereo.


“What the hell? Sawyer felt for a pulse, pried open the man’s eyelids, noted the blue-tinged lips. He was definitely dead, all right. A corpse doing frog impersonations? Sawyer pulled the man’s jaw down and pressed his protruding tongue against his bottom teeth with a wooden stick.
“Rrrriiidddiiiit.” Something leaped out of the dead man’s throat and landed on the Lieutenant’s face.

“Aaaaaaaarrrggghhhhhh!” Sawyer sputtered, his hands wildly flailing at the croaking object, which flew across the room, hit the wall behind him with a “splat” and dropped onto a pile of post-its. Two of the women and three of the men huddled in the doorway shrieked.

It was a toad, all right. A tree toad, bright green and scaly, with a post-it stuck to one 4-toed foot. “Rrriiiddddiiiit.” The frog hopped around the room distractedly, apparently in shock. Sawyer tried to grab it, but it eluded him. Purcell joined him in pursuit. The Latina woman attempted to grab the creature as it leaped past her.

“No, it’s evidence! Don’t touch it without gloves!” Sawyer shouted at her. She burst into tears. “Sorry,” Sawyer said as he finally managed to capture it, though it nearly slid out of his hand. “Anyone have a paper bag?” he asked.

The woman was still sobbing. “I can’t believe he’s dead,” she sniffed. Sawyer and Purcell both turned to look at her, then at each other.

Someone produced a bag that smelled vaguely of tartar sauce, and Sawyer tossed the creature inside. “Rrriiidddiiit.”

“Where are you taking it?” the sobbing woman asked.

“To the lab to dust it for fingerprints,” Sawyer said.


“You never know,” he said.

The coroner’s office arrived and carted away the body, taped the dead man’s silhouette to the rug and slapped police tape on the door. Purcell took everyone’s basic information, and then Sawyer said, “Everyone needs to stay until we’ve talked with you all in more detail.”

He turned to Purcell and motioned to a nearby conference room.

“You can all wait in there with Detective Purcell.” Sawyer looked at a slightly-built man with graying hair. “Why don’t you come with me,” he said. He still carried the paper bag in his hand. “Who are you?”

“La Beef,” the man said in a soft voice. Purcell herded the rest of them to the conference room and shut the door.

Sawyer led the man to a nearby office and motioned him to sit. He settled behind the spacious wooden desk and tossed the toad-bag onto it. It moved slightly. “Have a seat, Mr. La Beef.”

The man sat, his back unusually straight.

“Mr. La Beef, where were you when Rory was found?”

“I was out of the building. I’d just come back from a sales meeting, and I was in the parking lot when I heard Carmelita scream.”

“Was anyone else in the parking lot?”

“I didn’t see anyone,” La Beef said.

“Any reason you know that anyone would want to kill Rory?”

“None whatsoever, Lieutenant. He was a great guy.” He cleared his throat. “Unless it was Mike.”

“Who’s Mike?”

“Mike Washington. He was just passed up for promotion; Rory got it instead.”

“Did he seem angry about that?”

“Kind of.”

“Anything else you can tell me, Mr. La Beef?”

“Don’t think so,” La Beef said.

“All right. You can go for now. And please send in Mr. Washington, if you would.”

A sturdily-built man in his early forties appeared.

“Mr. Washington, come in. Have a seat,” Sawyer said.

Washington sat. He appeared ill-at-ease.

“Nervous, Mr. Washington?” Sawyer said serenely.

Washington wiped his sweaty hands on the arms of the chair. “No, why do you say that?”

Sawyer looked at Washington’s hands, then back up at his face.


Washington jumped in the chair. He looked away for a moment, then back at Sawyer. “Look man, I know you’ll probably think I had a reason to be pissed off at him because he got the promotion I was up for, so let me just say right now that I didn’t kill him. I mean, do I think I should have gotten that promotion? Yeah, I do. Especially when he was banging Carmelita in the supply room on company time. But I wouldn’t kill someone for that.”

“What was that about Carmelita?”

“It’s common knowledge,” Washington said.

Sawyer narrowed his eyes at him. “Of course, you’ll probably get the promotion, now that he’s dead,” he mused.

“Damn, I didn’t even think of that,” Washington said.


“Really. Anyway, it’s not the best way to get promoted, is it?”

“I wouldn’t say so,” Sawyer said.

“Can I go now?”

“Not yet. Where were you when he was found?”

“I was in the men’s room.”

“Was anyone in there with you?” Sawyer asked.

“I’m not in the habit of pissing in a pack,” Washington said.

“So you were alone in there?”


“All right,” Sawyer said.

Washington stood up and turned to leave.

“Mr. Washington.”

Washington sighed. “I know, don’t leave town,” he said.

“I was going to ask you if you can think of anyone who might have wanted Rory dead.”

“Not offhand, no.” He moved toward the door, then stopped. “Unless it was La Beef.”

“Why La Beef?”

“He was doing a presentation to a client a couple of weeks ago, and he screwed it up when Rory made some kind of noise or something. He didn’t do it on purpose, but La Beef lost the client. He seemed pretty pissed off. He’s been really nice to Rory since then, though, and he’s generally a pretty easygoing guy.”

“Well, stick around, I may want to talk with you again. In the meantime, send in Carmelita, if you would.”

“Sure thing.”

A few minutes later, Carmelita appeared.

“Hello, Carmelita,” Sawyer said. “Have a seat.”

She sat.

“So, how well did you know Mr. Corbett?”

“Rrrriiidddiiit.” The bag leaped into the air and hopped around on the desk.

Carmelita burst into tears again. “I’m sorry,” she said. She calmed herself somewhat. “We were screwing. I mean, it was mostly sex, but I’m still sorry he’s dead.” She pulled some Kleenex out of her handbag. “It was really good sex,” she sniffed.

“Okay,” Sawyer said. “Uh, what were you doing before you found him?”

“I was eating,” she replied. Sawyer raised an eyebrow. “Lunch,” she said.

“Why were you going to the supply room?” he asked.

“I needed some paper clips,” she said. He looked at her silently. Carmelita turned and gazed out the window. “All right,” she said. “We sometimes did it in there. I was going to meet him.”

“Rrrriiiidddiiit.” The bag continued to hop around on the desk.

Sawyer ignored it. “Did anyone see you going in there?” he asked.

“I don’t think so,” she said. “We did our best to be discreet.”

“Yeah, not sure you did too well with that,” he said. “What about it, Carmelita? Did you stuff the frog down his throat? Was it a sex-asphyxiation thing?”

Carmelita’s eyes widened. “What??? No!!” she shouted. “No, no, no!”

“You know what I’m talking about, though, don’t you? Have you done something like that with him before? Maybe, trying to make things more exciting, go to the edge?”

“We did it in the supply room in the middle of the workday, when anyone could have come in to refill their tape dispenser. That was on the edge enough, don’t you think?”

“For some people,” he said.

“I didn’t kill Rory, Lieutenant,” she said decisively. “Maybe it was Mike Washington. He was just passed up for the promotion Rory got last week.”

“Rrriiidddiiit.” The bag leaped in front of her face. She blinked.

Sawyer sat and tried to stare her down. She stared back unflinchingly. Finally, he sighed.

“All right, you can go now,” he said. “But we may want to talk with you again, so don’t go anywhere.”

She rose and left the room, slamming the door behind her.

Sawyer talked with the rest of Rory’s co-workers, but no one had anything else particularly revealing to say. He walked down to the conference room and motioned to Purcell. They walked into the office and closed the door. Sawyer briefed him on the interviews.

“So, it could easily be one of those three,” Purcell said. “Unless it was someone else and we missed something. Or someone who came in off the street and did it, but that’s unlikely, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, the building’s pretty secure, and someone would have noticed a stranger in the office,” Sawyer said.

“So, Carmelita. She could have been pissed at him for something. Maybe he was cheating on her, or maybe like you said, it was a sex thing.”

“But a frog?”

Purcell shrugged. “People do some pretty weird shit, man,” he said.

“What about La Beef? He was pissed off at Rory for causing him to mess up, at least at the time. Made some kind of noise, was it? He said he wasn’t mad, but who knows.”

“I’m leaning toward Washington myself,” Purcell said. “Pretty clear motive, if you ask me. Passed up for promotion, then his competitor dies, he maybe gets his job. What do you think?”

Sawyer stared at him. “Oh my God,” he said.


“Made some kind of noise. Rory. Messed up La Beef’s presentation because he made some kind of noise. What kind of noise? Cleared his throat, maybe? Coughed? Why do you clear your throat?”


“And what is another way of saying that?”

Purcell stared at him. The light dawned. “He had a frog in his throat,” they said in unison.

“I’m so smart I can’t stand myself sometimes,” Sawyer said.

“Me neither.”

The bag bounced over their heads. “Rrrriiiidddiiit.”