Posts Tagged ‘comedy’

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?

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.