Ant Farmer's Almanac

Hike-Ew

Too few M&Ms
And too much trail in this mix
Gonna be short hike

Owl looks familiar
And that tree. And those. Have we
Passed this way before?

Thighs ache, breathing hard
Hope next clearing big enough
For rescue chopper

Taco truck with beer
Parked at top of peak might make
This almost worth it

Easier going down
You say? Not reassuring.
Also not even true

Winter hiking ode:
Cocoa at lodge afterwards
Not reward enough

Summit views awesome
Untouched nature to horizon, beyond.
And we’re NOT lost, right?

One more joke re:
Tree, forest, fall, sound and I’m
A dead man, I’m told

 

Uncontrollable Urge to Attend Outdoor Events Featuring Jazz Trio Most Common Side-Effect of Prescription Drugs Advertised on TV

A recent study reports the most common side effect of prescription drugs advertised on television is users' compulsion to show up at outdoor venues or events at which a smooth jazz trio is playing.

"It was eerie," says Nancy L, who is on a round of medications successfully treating her IBS, "I was out running some errands and suddenly I found myself at a garden party with a young woman singer backed up by an older guy on guitar and another playing standup bass. I don't remember how I got there. It was like I'd been hypnotized or something," adding, "I guess it's a small price to pay but, I really don't like jazz."

The study, conducted by the The Underhill Institute, reviewed hundreds of cases, finding consistently similar incidents, regardless of the drug being taken or whatever condition the drug was intended to address.

"Any and all gastrointestinal issues, psoriasis, insomnia, COPD, rheumatoid arthritis," says the Institute's spokesman Dr. Sterling Cooper, "Doesn't matter. You name it, you take something for it, bam, you're outside listening to a smooth jazz ensemble. Typically one of them is wearing a straw porkpie hat."

The notable exception, according to the study's findings, is that men using heavily advertised prescription meds for erectile dysfunction are more likely to form or join a rock-and-roll garage band composed of others guys in their late fifties.

 

Yelp Reviews of Rick’s Café Americain After Rick Left

¶¶
Went in looking for Letters of Transit but just got pestered by some creep trying to sell me cheap jewelry.

¶
Nothing here for a Yank hankering for a taste of home. Why is it even “Rick’s Café Americain” when everybody there is a foreigner, from the Russian bartender to the French croupier to the Hungarian(?) waiter? 

¶¶¶
Good piano player although his repertoire tends toward the melancholy, occasionally interrupted by spontaneous crowd singalongs of “La Marseillaise”.    

¶
Blue Parrot across the street serves better tapas and stronger drinks.

¶¶¶¶
Went to Casablanca for the waters; was disappointed until I found this delightful spot. First-rate goulash and authentic vodka.

¶
Attractive young women do better at the roulette wheel than any man of any age except for the local police. Not sure this place is entirely on the up-and-up.

¶¶
Everybody here wants to be someplace else.

 

 

New River Cruise Offers “Authentic Viking Experience” with Vacationers Sacking Coastal Villages and Torching Thatched Roof Cottages

"Pillage Package" includes: room (double occupancy), torch, broadsword, one meal/day, Continental Breakfast, horned helmet, choice of complimentary wine tasting/spa visit. Airfare not included.

 

Study Suggests Need for Further Research

Researchers, however, insist findings indicate that no more study is called for. 

Martians Attack Our Town

A Mercurial Theater of Thin Air Production
Starring Orson Welles as The Stage Manager
(Transcript of recently discovered audiotape of the only rehearsal for an unproduced collaboration between Orson Welles and Thornton Wilder, suppressed for decades by the Wilder estate)

STAGE MANAGER (Welles)

Enters stage right and stands near the wings. Wearing a bow tie, tweed jacket and corduroy trousers, he pulls a pipe from his pocket, puts it in his mouth, pulls a match from another pocket and begins to light the pipe. He suddenly stops and addresses someone offstage

Why am I lighting a pipe with nothing in it? Am I supposed to have a pipe already full of tobacco just sitting in my pocket? Who does that? What? I don’t actually light the pipe? Just start to then begin talking instead? Alright, that makes more sense but, wouldn’t it be better if I began filling the pipe before not lighting it? I mean. . . okay have it your way. Still, I’ve lost all credibility before I’ve even said a word, at least with anyone in the audience who’s ever smoked a pipe. . . I mean, there’s suspension of disbelief and there’s rank stupidity. . .

Turns from scowling offstage to address audience

Grover’s Corners. Nice Little town . . . 

Turns to face offstage right again

Couldn’t it be a cigar? That would be better for me. . . No? Alright, alright, the script, yes, yes, yes, I heard you.

Addressing audience again

Grover’s Corners. Nice Little town, know what I mean? Over there’s the church, there’s the steeple, look inside, there’s all the . . . 

Turns to face offstage right again

What? Of course I’ve read it. I glanced at it just before coming out here. Do you mind? Let me get on with it.

Addressing audience again

It’s a pleasant enough village, albeit unremarkable in every way, except for the large, fiery meteors falling from the sky over Main Street, landing on the town hall and post office as well as over on the wrong side of the tracks where the Italians, Poles and Irish live, crushing the only decent bakery in town. . . oh, the cannoli!

There’s panic everywhere. The meteors aren’t meteors! They’re spaceships! A hatch is opening and a creature is emerging, a Martian! Ladies and gentlemen, words cannot begin to describe the scene before me . . . 

Turns to face offstage right again

So, now I’m supposed to describe something I’ve just said is indescribable and do it without using words? With what, then? Shadow puppets? Mime? Also, do they have to be Martians? That’s such a cliche. Why not Venusians, Plutonians, Neptunites? They’re made up, they can be from wherever we like.

You’re damn right I’m lighting a cigar. . . Well, If they can be Martians this cigar can be a pipe. Can we move this along? I’ve got a frozen peas commercial to record in an hour. 

 

400-Year-Old Shark Tells All

A Greenland Shark, estimated to be nearly 400 years old, has been discovered in the Arctic Ocean. Wandering the seven seas since the 1620s, it is the oldest living vertebrate on the planet. We caught up with him recently for an interview (edited for length and content).

Q: What’s it like being 400 years old?

A: Eh, it’s not so bad. Though, sometimes I'll be in the Gulf Stream and forget why I went there. 

Q: We understand you knew Moby Dick. 

A: What a putz.

Q: You didn’t like him?

A: Not as much as his brothers, Moby Tom and Moby Harry. Nobody remembers them but very nice. Not that smart, maybe, but sweethearts, the both of them. As for Dick, after that book, the fame went to his head. Sure, it was a terrible burden, one whale having to be the metaphor for all of nature, and on top of already being albino. That’s a lot of pressure. But, oy, he never stopped talking about it. It was always with the, ‘Hey, I sank a boat’ and ‘I ate Captain Arab…’

Q: Ahab.

A: Whatever. After a while nobody wanted to migrate with him. He sang solo, if you know what I mean.  

Q: I’m not sure that I do but, let’s move on… 

A: Last I heard he got dynamited on a beach in Oregon.

Q: What’s the secret to living so long?

A: Seafood. Fresh seafood. I stay in the colder Scandinavian waters for all the fish — millions of ‘em. That and the socialized medicine. I’m also a para-vegetarian, I eat only fish that eat only plants. Kidding! I’ll eat anything that moves slower than me. But, freshness, the fresher the better, that’s the key. And not getting eaten by whales. 

Q: Whales don’t eat sharks.

A: That’s what they want you to think.

Q: Have you ever eaten a human?

A: I may have taken a nibble here and there back in the day. But as part of a steady diet, no. It’s just not worth it in the end. You folks don’t taste half as good as you think you do. Plus, snack on one surfer and the next thing you know everybody with a boat is chasing you around and you wind up stuffed and mounted on somebody’s wall. 

Q: Do you like being referred to as the “Keith Richards of Sharks”?

A: Keef’s still alive? Wow. Who’d’ve thought. I haven’t really followed the Stones much since “Exile on Main Street,” they really lost me with their detour into disco.

Q: Do you resent being portrayed in popular culture as malevolent killing machines?

A: It’s a little unfair, maybe. I would characterize us as “eating machines” because, yeah, we’re always on the hunt for food, who isn’t? I’m not saying that a very hungry and cranky shark hasn’t occasionally done something a little crazy, maybe but, hey, nobody’s perfect, right? Funny, but we’re only thought of as evil when we eat one of you.  

Q: What do you think of Jaws, Shark Week and Sharknado?

A: “Jaws” I saw as a tragedy; poor bastard shark finds a plentiful feeding area — they were practically throwing themselves at him — and then the food fights back. Worthy of Rod Serling or O. Henry. I could have used some more back-story but maybe that's just me. Shark Week, I gotta admit I just don’t get it; hours of watching someone else eat. What’s that about? “Sharknado”? I couldn’t make it through even the first one. The special effects were just so terrible. 

Q: What are your plans for the future?

A: Well, I really have no concept of time. I swim,  I eat, I swim some more. That’s about it. Life doesn’t have to be all that complicated.

Holden Caufield’s Book Report on Hemingway’s The Old Man and the Sea

Found in Holden Caufield’s dorm room after he was expelled and went home to Manhattan.

So, I guess you want to know about all this fisherman stuff.

Ernest Hemingway’s newest book is about an old Cuban fisherman, Santiago, who hasn’t caught any fish for 84 days. Everybody’s saying he’s a loser and even his assistant has been told to ditch him.

He goes out in his crummy boat to fish anyway. He hooks a marlin, at least he thinks it’s a marlin, Hemingway allows some doubt and, if you think about it, if Santiago doesn’t even know what kind of fish it is, he is kind of a loser. When I went to the aquarium with my little sister Pheobe, even she could tell the difference between a lot of the fish and she’s just a kid. Anyway, whatever kind of fish it is, it’s big enough that it pulls the boat around for two days. At first, Santiago feels admiration for the fish, then sorry for it, then he kills it. Then sharks come and he kills them. But not all of them. The sharks he doesn’t kill eat most of the probably-a-marlin and Santiago rows back home with what’s left of it. Some tourists don’t know what kind of fish it is either. Other fishermen understand what Santiago accomplished, even if it was all for nothing, and Santiago falls asleep and dreams of lions on a beach in Africa.

The story is probably an allegory or a metaphor or something. I don’t know. Maybe it symbolizes man’s struggle with nature and how, even when you win, you still lose, but I don’t really think that and it would seem kind of phony, since that’s what everybody says about Moby Dick and why would Hemingway bother writing another symbolic fish story when it’s already been done and everybody’s been forced to read it like a thousand times? 

I think maybe it’s Hemingway’s gripe about how when he writes something he’s doing it alone and isn’t even sure it’s worth doing or what it is. Then, when he’s done with it, what’s left isn’t quite what he expected. Other writers may appreciate it, even if they don’t think it’s any good, but most people don’t really get it, even if they say it’s so grand because he’s a great writer and anything he does is supposed be grand, but they don’t really know.

I don’t really get the part about lions on the beach. Maybe Hemingway was tired of writing it and just started thinking about what else he’d rather be doing or wondering if there even are lions on beaches in Africa and how they got there. Maybe he should write a book about that.

Anyway, I liked it and at least it was shorter than Moby Dick. They’ll probably make some phony movie out of it and ruin it with some way-too-handsome Hollywood movie star playing Santiago, all made up to look like an old Cuban fisherman, even though he isn’t.

 

 

 

Facebook Jail Tattoos

OK Boomer!

OK Boomer!
The New Musical Sensation Dividing the Generations
(To the tune of "Oklahoma!", with apologies to Rodgers & Hammerstein, their descendants, estates and lawyers)

OK Boomer, we are getting offa your damn lawn
And with rising seas and burning trees
Pretty soon we'll all of us be gone
OK Boomer, you have wrecked all that you leave behind
The economy, society,
And you vote as if you’ve lost your mind.

We know. You had all the best bands
But they're dead now, so just go pound sand!
And when we say
Shut up and go away!
We really mean it you Boomers
OK Boomers, oy vey!

OK Boomers, is there something wrong with all your brains?
The world's gone bust, you've lost our trust,
Was it chemtrails coming out of planes?
OK Boomers, we are cancel'ing you right here and now
For the mess you've made, we're throwing shade
And you respond by, what, having a cow?

We know. You had all the best bands
But they're dead now, so just go pound sand!
And when we say
Shut up and go away!
We really mean it you Boomers
OK Boomers, oy vey!

 

 

Cyclist Irritated by Stoplights and Pedestrians Getting in Way of His Attempt to Save the Planet

Rosencrantz & Guildenstern Meet the Wolfman

Between Rosencrantz & Guildenstern’s debut as a duo in Shakespeare’s Hamlet and their star turn in Tom Stoppard’s Rosencrantz & Guildenstern Are Dead, the pair appeared in a wide variety of genres as supporting players or, as here, with top billing.

Rosencrantz & Guildenstern Meet the Wolfman

Scene 1

A dense forest. Rosencrantz steps into a clearing from stage left. 

ROSENCRANTZ

Where are we?

GUILDENSTERN

From offstage

A forest. Can you see it?

ROSENCRANTZ

No. Too many trees. Follow my voice.

GUILDENSTERN

Follow it where?

ROSENCRANTZ

To where I am.

GUILDENSTERN

Where are you?

ROSENCRANTZ

In the forest.

GUILDENSTERN

Stumbles onto center stage from trees, rear

Ah, you're not in the forest at all! You're in this clearing! No wonder I couldn't find you.

ROSENCRANTZ

Swats Guildenstern with his hat

Stay closer, you idiot, these woods are fraught with danger.

GUILDENSTERN

I thought we were in a forest?

ROSENCRANTZ

Forest, woods; what's the difference? 

GUILDENSTERN

Places fingers at temples and recites

A wood is an area covered in trees, larger than a grove. A forest is also an area covered in trees, but larger than a wood. Originally, 'forest' meant a royal hunting ground, which is why they are usually larger than 'woods'; woods can be just a few trees, whereas a forest is usually much denser, both in trees and vegetation.

ROSENCRANTZ

Swats Guildenstern with his hat again, harder this time. Guildenstern falls over backwards, 

Thou'st art both fool and savant but not in equal measure. 

He looks up from the prone Guildenstern toward offstage right

Forsooth, a gypsy woman approaches!

GUILDENSTERN

Still on the ground

A raven-haired seductress or a soothsaying crone?

ROSENCRANTZ

Crone.

GUILDENSTERN

Too bad. I could really go for a raven-haired seductress about now.

GYPSY

Enters right, wizened crone with knobby walking stick, hooded cape and a couple of overflowing shopping bags

Beware! Beware! The sign of the wolf!

ROSENCRANTZ

All we saw were "No Trespassing" and "Castle for Sale" signs.

GYPSY

Silence!

GUILDENSTERN

Says nothing

GYPSY

That's better. Now, where was I? 

ROSENCRANTZ

Sign of the wolf.

GYPSY

Right, right... 

Reverts to spooky soothsaying voice

You are in grave danger...

ROSENCRANTZ

What? Is Hamlet about?

GYPSY

Tonight will come the full moon, when even a man who is pure of heart and says his prayers by night may become a wolf when the wolfsbane blooms and the autumn moon is bright...

GUILDENSTERN

Wait, I know this one, something about Nantucket...

GYPSY

And that wolf will come hither, or perhaps yon... Heed my words! Withdraw these woods! Flee this forest! Beware! Beware! 

That'll be 3 Kopeks.

ROSENCRANTZ

I've only got a five. Can you make change?

GYPSY

Sure.

She bites the fiver Rosencrantz gives her, then opens her cape to reveal a coin changer on her belt, clicks out two Kopeks and hands them to Rosencrantz

You need a receipt?

ROSENCRANTZ

No, we're good.

Gypsy exits

ROSENCRANTZ

The gypsy's words are a puzzlement.

GUILDENSTERN

T'is true; 3 Kopeks and she didn't say "sooth" even once!

ROSENCRANTZ

Swats Guildenstern with his hat

On what proof does she found her claim of wolves about? We've been in these woods for hours and have seen no evidence.

GUILDENSTERN

You're standing in it.

ROSENCRANTZ

Jumps up and looks at the bottom of his boot

Ack! T'is ill fortune and bad luck. This'll never come off!

GUILDENSTERN

Waving hand in front of his face and moving to other side of Rosencrantz

Ay, t'is also an ill wind.

ROSENCRANTZ

Sitting on log, scraping at boot bottom with a stick

Night approaches. Wolves or no, we must seek shelter.

GUILDENSTERN

And refreshment.

ROSENCRANTZ

Ay. . . that "Castle For Sale" sign, did it say how far and in what direction?

GUILDENSTERN

As before, puts his fingertips on his temples and recites as if reading the memory

"For Sale, Talbot Manor, 6 rms, Hardwood floors. Brick privvy (2-holer!). Solid medieval workmanship inside and out. Designer kitchen. Moat. Peek-a-boo view of full moons and approaching villagers. Fixer. 6,000 Guilders OBO. Open House today only, Noon to Dusk. Refreshments & merrymaking. Head due east, 3 furlongs short of a league; ask for Larry."

ROSENCRANTZ

Ugh, "fixer". Still, we can arrive near to sundown if we make haste. 

GUILDENSTERN

I hope there's some mead left.

They exeunt

Scene II

Interior: Talbot Manor House; stone walls, a large fireplace decorated with a family crest and crossed swords, a hefty round wooden table at center stage and directly above it, a hefty irownwork chandelier with candles that barely illuminate the room, in short, spooky. 

Rosencrantz & Guildenstern enter, left, through the arched entryway, pushing open a heavy wooden door that creaks loudly as it moves. They turn and shush each other loudly as door continues to swing open, then stops with a loud smack as it hits the wall. R&G then pull off their hats and start swatting each other with them.

LARRY TALBOT

Enters from right; he's in early stages of transforming into a werewolf—spiky pompadour, torn clothing, no shoes

Oh, you shouldn't be here. It's too late for you now. 

ROSENCRANTZ

Has somebody already put it an offer?

GUILDENSTERN

Is all of the mead gone?

LARRY TALBOT

Oh, cruel fate! Deliver me from my destiny! Why, oh, why do you do this to me!

ROSENCRANTZ

So, there's no offer?

GUILDENSTERN

Or mead?

LARRY TALBOT

The hour approaches—the hour of the wolf!

ROSENCRANTZ

The gypsy woman mentioned that.

LARRY TALBOT

Raven-haired seductress or soothsaying crone?

ROSENCRANTZ

Crone, I fear.

LARRY TALBOT

Walking stick, coin changer?

GUILDENSTERN

The same.

LARRY TALBOT

You must leave at once before the sun . . .

The light coming in from the still-open front door fades as the sun sets, leaving the arched doorway a dark hole, and the only light in the room now from the chandelier. 

Oh, the vexation . . .

ROSENCRANTZ

Peering at buffet table

I'm not seeing any of that but, oooh, canapes!

As the light fades, Talbot transforms fully into the Wolfman. While this is happening Rosencrantz is too busy sampling from the buffet table to notice; Guildenstern, however. sees the changes and keeps tapping on Rosencrantz’s shoulder but is too terrified to speak

GUILDENSTERN

Nyagh, nyagh, nyagh…

ROSENCRANTZ

Ay, these comestibles are most savory…

GUILDENSTERN

Hiyagh…

ROSENCRANTZ

There’s enough here for both of us, get your own…

Rosencrantz turns around to see the Wolfman now fully werewolf and realizes the danger. Rosencrantz & Guildenstern hop onto the table which rotates like a lazy Susan, so they're running in place as the Wolfman grabs at them but can't get onto the table 

ROSENCRANTZ

Bad dog!

GUILDENSTERN

Down boy! 

ROSENCRANTZ

Sit! Heel! 

GUILDENSTERN

Roll over!

As Wolfman starts to get onto the tabletop with them Rosencrantz & Guildenstern jump onto the chandelier, sitting on its outer ring while dodging him and swinging their legs to keep him at bay. Amid this commotion, flickers of torchlight and sounds of a crowd come from outside

ANGRY MOB

Voices shouting 

"The beast's in there!" 

"Get him!" 

"Don't let him escape this time!" 

ROSENCRANTZ

Zounds and gadzooks! It’s a mob of angry peasants!

GUILDENTSTERN

Looks at drumstick he’s still holding.

They must be out for revenge!

ROSENCRANTZ

Not “pheasants”. . . oh, nevermind. 

Has an idea

Give me that drumstick!

GUILDENSTERN 

But I'm still hungry!

ROSENCRANTZ

Swats Guildenstern with his hat and grabs the drumstick, then dangles it in from of the Wolfman, who reacts excitedly

Go get it boy, go get it! Fetch!

Rosencrantz flings the drumstick out open front door; Wolfman, now acting like a dog, leaps off the table and out the door after it, then, seeing the mob just outside . . .

WOLFMAN

Ruh roh.

ROSENCRANTZ

That was close!

Wolfman runs back in

GUILDENSTERN

And it's getting closer!

ROSENCRANTZ

Ngah-ngah-ngah!

GUILDENSTERN

Heep-heep-heep-heep!

Wolfman jumps up on table and climbs onto the chandelier with the terrified R&G; Wolfman makes a conspiratorial "shhhhh" gesture, then bares his teeth threateningly; R&G cringe and bite their lips, clinging to each other and the heavy chains holding up their perch. 

The angry mob, carrying the requisite torches and pitchforks, enters all at once, jamming the doorway before falling over each other into the room, Keystone Cops-style; they head for the table and start picking through the buffet table leftovers; they don't notice R&G and Wolfman above them. 

ANGRY MOB

Muttering

"Blast, no mead"

"Only dark meat left!" 

"Oooh, canapes!" 

As they scrounge, their pitchforks and torches come perilously closer and closer to R&G's butts; after several near misses, one torch finally ignites Guildenstern's kiester. It takes him a minute to notice, first sniffing the air then seeing the smoke then feeling the burn

GUILDENSTERN

WHA-oooooooooooooooiiiyyyyaaah!

He jumps up, standing precariously on the rim of the chandelier while Rosencrantz swats at Guildenstern's rear-end with his hat which, of course, catches fire, too.

ANGRY MOB

Looks up and sees R&G and the Wolfman

“There he is!”

“Get him!”

“He’s got friends! Get them, too!”

WOLFMAN

Rrrrrhhhhhhhnnnnnn.

Wolfman stands on rim of chandelier and growls and gestures menacingly; between his actions and Rosencrantz and Guildenstern putting out the fire on Guildenstern’s pantaloons, the chandelier begins swinging side to side

Rosencrantz begins to fall but catches the rim with his knees and is now hanging upside down in the pose of a trapeze catcher; Guildenstern slips, but Rosencrantz catches him, grabbing him by his ankles; they are now swinging widely back and forth and circling as the mob follows the swings of the chandelier and jabs at them with pitchforks, Guildenstern swings his arms around wildly and is knocking them over with his head as they sway, yelping each time he makes contact.

GUILDENSTERN

Oh! Ow! Ooh! Ooh! Ow! Oh!

The Wolfman hangs off the end of the chandelier opposite R&G and reaches down to flip the table over on top of the mob, pinning them underneath it near the front door.

The Wolfman leaps from the swinging chandelier and lands on the upturned table, using it as a ramp to jump out the door

ROSENCRANTZ

On the count of three, let go. Head for the woods, I'll meet you in the forest!

GUILDENSTERN

Right, I'll go to the forest and meet you in the woods!

ROSENCRANTZ

No, eh, nevermind. On the count of three. . .  one, two…

At the count of two, Guildenstern is thrown from the chandelier and through an archway to the right; sound of pots, pans and kitchen implements being banged around as well as a cat screeching.

When the chandelier swings back the other way, Rosencrantz lets go and is flung out the front door.

Guildenstern re-enters from right, spattered with food and wearing a saucepan on his head. He crosses left and heads out the front door, pausing only to grab a drumstick from the outstretched hand of one of the mob still under the table.

Framed by the doorway we see the Wolfman out front running fast; behind him are Rosencrantz and Guildenstern zigzagging back and forth until they bump into each other, then get up and run off in the same direction towards the woods, yowling the whole way.

ROSENCRANTZ

Nyahhh-ah-ah!

GUILDENSTERN

Heep-heep-heep-heep!

Cue music.

—fin—

 

Hail Mary, Full of Laces...

Maybe we should put the so-called Nuclear Football, the codes for launching a nuclear strike, inside an actual football.

A regulation NFL Wilson. 

Trump would never question it.

This way, if he ever gets in a mood to drop the Big One on somebody, he'll have to unlace that football first. And (this is important), tell him the protocol is that only he ("You alone must do it, sir!") is permitted to open it and nobody is allowed to help him or the deal is off. And no puncturing.

Then, while the president is busy prying and tugging at the laces, someone can go get Kelly or Mattis to come in and taser him.

I'd sleep better at night knowing a plan like this was in place. Hell, I'd sleep better just knowing that Kelly and Mattis were packing tasers.

Your Daily Misdirection

Blaming the Boy Scouts for Trump's speech is like blaming a kid whose birthday party clown shows up drunk and starts breaking stuff.

Frequently Asked Questions

Howya doin'?

What do you think?

WTF?

Did you see this?

What are you doing?

How long is that gonna take?

Seriously?

Are you even listening?

What are you, an idiot?

Huh?

Are you ready to order?

Why, oh, Lord, why?

Can I ask you a question?

Climate Change Scientist Sends Infant Son to Distant Planet

NORKOPPING, SWEDEN (AFA Newswire) Dismayed by humanity's lack of action in the face of impending world-wide ecological cataclysm, Swedish envirobiologist and leading climate change scientist Dr. Björn Jarrell has constructed an escape-pod spacecraft for his infant son, Karl. 

"It's the only way," says Jarrell, "If mankind won't even try to save itself, I'm going to do what I can for my own family." 

Aimed at Wolf 1061c, one of three recently discovered earthlike planets orbiting a red dwarf star in the constellation Ophiuchus, the rocket will take several years to arrive at its destination. The boy will be in a state of suspended animation throughout the long journey.

Jarrell ruefully acknowledges he'd intended to build a ship large enough to also hold his wife and himself but there just isn't time and now this small-scale model meant for testing will have to do.

Although unsure of what Karl will find on his new world, Jarrell insists, "I like the boy's chances in outer space more than if he stays here," adding, "I just hope they never find out what a planet full of dipshits he came from."

 

Childrens' Letters to Salmon

© Daniel Abraham

Dear Salmon,

I hear that some of you are raised on farms. I live on a farm, too. It's mostly okay but I don't like getting up early to feed the chickens. I hate chickens. Do you have chickens on your farm?

--Spencer, Age 6 & 3/8, Ames, Iowa

Dear Salmon,

Would you rather get eaten by a person or by a bear? I won't even ask about sharks because nobody wants to get eaten by sharks.

--Jason, Age 7, Roscoe, New York

Dear Salman,

I saw a bunch of you at the fish ladder in Seattle on vacation. Your struggle to swim upstream and fulfill your destiny was inspirational and I'll remember it whenever I have to do something difficult. Also, whichever one of you I had for dinner that night was delicious. Thanks.

--Dolores, Age 6, Rototiller, New Jersey

Dear Salmon,

My uncle Gary has a singing Billy Bass in his basement rec-room. I asked him if they had singing salmon and he laughed and said, "Salmon can't carry a tune in a chum bucket," then he passed out on the couch. I don't want to believe him but Mom says he drinks like a fish, so I guess he knows best. Are you really tone-deaf or do you sometimes harmonize to whale songs?

--Ashley, Age 7, Truth or Consequences, New Mexico

Dear Salmon,

Do you ever get tired of always being wet? I like swimming a lot but as soon as I'm done I want to dry off. Is that why some of you are smoked?

--Your pal, Joey, age 7, Evanston, Illinois



Random Thoughts

Zen dilemna(s), or I've had either way too much coffee this morning or not nearly enough . . .

If you meet someone on the road who's just killed the buddha, should you call the cops?

If you meet the buddha on the road just as a chicken is crossing, do you have to kill both of them so there's no witnesses?

If you meet the buddha on the road and kill him, you can say he thought you were the buddha and claim self defense.

If you meet the buddha while off-roading, do you just run over him?

Every time Willie Nelson sings, "On the Road Again" the buddha dies inside a little.

If you meet the buddha in the road, and he realizes you're going to kill him and runs away, should you chase him down to kill him?

If you meet the buddha on the road and don't want to kill him, does giving him an atomic wedgie count for anything?

What if you meet the buddha on the road but he's a master of disguise and you don't recognize him? Are you in trouble or something?

If you're at gas station and the buddha comes in asking for directions, should you kill him right then and there or wait until he's back on the road?

If you meet the buddha on the road and he's already dead, is it okay to take his wallet?

 

 

Random Thought No. 97

Even More Recently Discovered Rejected Alternate Endings Hemingway Wrote for "A Farewell to Arms"

"Frankly, I don't give a damn."

"Goodnight, moon."

The knife came down, missing him by inches, 
and he took off.

"God bless us, everyone!"

"So long, and thanks for all the fish."

"There's no place like home!"

Po-tee-weet?

"Well, I'm back," he said.

"Go the F*** to sleep."

“Now vee may perhaps to begin. Yes?”

"Rosebud."

The scar had not pained Harry for nineteen years. 
All was well.

"Yes," I said, "Isn't it pretty to think so?"

zymosan: an insoluble largely poly-saccharide 
fraction of yeast cell walls.

And they all lived happily ever after.

 

Coming Soon!