Archive for the ‘Funny?’ Category

Buck found these guys on YouTube, so I’ve got to give him all the credit. Rhett and Link, they make commercials for small businesses and local cable. We think they’re hilarious and will definitely go far. I have a feeling Bound and Gags is gonna love ’em, but knowing him he’s probably been hip to them since the start. Here’s my personal favorite, “The Buffet Song”.  Thank you, Buck! (Buck says he feels like their Mel, that’s how big a fan he is.)

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Can’t Get Enough Jesus

In reference to my post on Licking, someone sent this to Buck, who then sent it to me. I was pretty disgusted with myself after that post, when I hadn’t immediately recognized Jesus on the licking T-shirt. After all, when was the last time John Turturro ever looked this hot? Or cool, rather. Anyway, it also kind of ties in with my Swap-Bot post this week about cover music. This is a great cover because, again, when was the last time an Eagles song ever sounded this good? When the Gipsy Kings covered them, that’s when. From everybody’s favorite movie, The Big Lebowski …

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Funny Guy

We’re still working with our deadline, which I know is a terribly boring excuse for not posting, but it’s true. But I’m posting this video in the meantime. It was sent to us by our friend Billy B., and although I’m not a fan of political humor (or political anything) I did love this video because the boy is about 15, give or take a year, and having had two sons who were that age in the not so distant past, I find this age endearing, and this kid is a very funny guy and obviously a fan of Saturday Night Live (which is what he’s lip-syncing to). It takes him a little time to really warm up,  so stick with him and give him a chance. (It runs about 3 minutes total.)


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Barbara! Your INSISTENCE on calling Jesus’s arrows’ crosses has left me no choice but to assume it is the work of the devil in the guise of poor screen resolution. Not to mention what it’s made me do to Buck up there. Those arrows on Jesus’s hands in the previous post are not regional crosses, although I do admit that idea intrigued me as it would open the door to Cape Cod Jesus’s clam shells, New York Jesus’s Big Apples, and so on.  But the Catalog Jesus is wearing arrows, and arrows and crosses are not the same thing. Witness the photo below:

On the left is a CROSS. On the right is an ARROW exactly like what Jesus wears when he’s posing in catalogs. Now, again:

On the left is a cross, on the right is an ARROW. A Jesus Arrow. Thank Jesus you’ve ordered the catalog. I really hope you’ve asked them to overnight it.

To anyone who just started reading this cross/arrow discrepancy, please check the previous post. And Barbara, I am perfectly willing to hear any additional evidence to support your argument should it come in the form of photos of Craig proving your point (point as in arrows).


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Here’s Buck, motorcycle enthusiast. I’ve never inserted my opinion on this, and now I don’t have an opinion on it.

     Buck has seven motorcycles and he rides them all the time. I have no say in this and, frankly, because in a healthy relationship you really have to pick your battles — give and take and all that —  this is one battle I never even took up. Buck loves motorcycles, he’s not stupid about them, and I stay out of it. Probably some readers will wonder how I can stay out of something that could potentially effect me just as much as it effects him. But were he to say to me, “No, I will not tolerate a dog, much less three or four,” I would die a little inside. Because that’s part of who I am, I’m a goofball for dogs. He’s a goofball for motorcycles. So think of it that way, consider something you love and are passionate about, and how you would feel if your partner took it away. That’s why I stay out of it.

     So Buck rode his Honda into the city on Wednesday and before I go on, let me say that he’s fine, he’s okay. But he got hit by a car . A car driven by somebody who apparently did not see him. This is a huge danger for a motorcyclist,  being invisible to cars. It’s as though a driver won’t even see a motorcyclist, or if they do see you, they assume there are different laws for motorcyclists and they never have the right of way. I don’t know what the problem is, but it’s a problem.

     Anyway. Buck got hit by a car and, in his typical pig-headed way, refused to let the bike fall to the ground. This is a perfect example of why we in our family believe Buck is capable of just about anything. How many people could be riding along on a motorcycle, get wacked by a car, and keep the bike upright?

     So he fought to keep the bike upright, wrenching his back in the process. The bike was damaged from the impact with the car, and the driver of the car sped away completely unaware (or uninterested, which is more like it, and rather typical here). Buck was pretty shaken up, and the bike was no longer rideable but it hadn’t fallen to the ground, which was what Buck really cared about.

     Cut to three hours later. Red Sox Nation is alive and well in El Paso, Texas. I’m sitting in front of the TV waiting for Game 1 of the World Series to start. I’ve got my talismans all lined up, my incense burning, my knitting in my lap (I’m knitting a pair of red socks, my version of a prayer shawl) and Buck comes in the door. Having been driven home by a friend, he limps directly over to the liquor cabinet and pours himself a shot of tequila, and calls into the living room to say, “I got hit by a car.”

     Some people say that when I’m freaking out, I most resemble a chicken. And because I flap my wings and run around in a circle, I probably do. I did this then, went into my crazed-chicken mode, forgetting about the Red Sox, The World Series, my dignity, etc. “And what I need you to do,” Buck said, pouring a second shot and watching me squawk and flap , “is go to Wal-Mart and get me some Prilosec. I’m all out, and I can’t eat anything till I take some. I’m starving.”

     So I grab my pocketbook and the keys, run outside at top speed and fling myself up and into the truck and take off. Like a lunatic. I get to Wal-Mart and it’s packed. PACKED. Millions and millions of shoppers flooded the aisles and everybody is looking at me and parting like the Red Sea. Which is weird, because I’m generally invisible here in Texas. Tiny little abolitas in wheelchair carts nailed the gas (or whatever) to get out of my way, parents ushered their dozens of children to the side of the aisle, a young man grabbed his girlfriend and pulled her into the donut display, an old man shuffling alongside of me suddenly stopped and insisted I pass. They’re all getting out of my way and staring at me, and I don’t even care. I just want the Prilosec.

     But then, once I had the Prilosec in my hands, I suddenly realized, You know what? He’s okay. He’s fine. I bet he’d like some fudgesicles, some peanuts, and any other goodies I can put in his hands as I remove the tequila bottle he’s undoubtedly clutching.

     So I grab some crap and stuff it into a basket, and I stop some Wal-Mart employee in the aisle and I start questioning him about their stock. But he has this horrified look on his face while I’m talking to him, and I thought it was because I was so distraught that my accent must be the problem, I was too shook up to bother enunciating like a newscaster. What I said was this: 

(Tip: When reading this in your head, do not make the mistake that so many do when imitating a New England accent and that’s pausing or dragging out the words. We do not pause or linger over words, we just breeze right through the sentence at what is probably a break-neck speed compared to the rest of the country, and that in itself may be part of the problem.) 

I said, “Does Wal-Maht only carry stuff with sugah? ‘Cuz ovah in tha freezah all y’got right now ah the fudgesicles with sugah. My husband will eat those, he likes ’em okaaaay, but he prefers the kind without sugah. He’s not diabetic, he just likes ’em.”

And the guy looks down at his feet. Seeming to not understand a word I just said, he  walks away!

     So I just grab the fudgesicles with sugar and dash over to take my place as number 17 in the Fast Checkout line. Standing and standing, waiting and waiting, surrounded by people still giving me weird looks. I start thinking about my roots, and how maybe they’re looking at me because I’m so overdue for a hairdressing appointment. But there are people around me whose roots look worse than mine, with over-processed hair and some with no hair at all. And then it hits me. Holy shit, I’m on display in the middle of Wal-Mart wearing my Motherfucker shirt.

     Now. I’m not the complete A-hole that everyone thinks I am. Sure, I believe that swears are just words and too many people make too big a deal out of them, I don’t fully trust anyone who makes a practice of never swearing no matter what, and one of my favorite books is English As A Second F*cking Language by Sterling Johnson.  But I’m cognizant that this is strictly my opinion and I don’t force it on people or go out of my way to shock them. I don’t swear around children (under 16) other than my own, and I don’t wear this shirt, or any of my other hilariously offensive apparel in public (such as Bound and Gags’ Nahfuket T-shirt with the map of Nantucket on it). The shirt pictured, the one I had on in Wal-Mart, is something I wear around the house because it makes Buck smirk, kind of underscores the fact that living in Texas we have no friends to drop by unexpectedly, and it’s a direct quote from Lindsey Lohan, who mumbled this when she was stumbling drunk and the paparazzi asked her if she was okay. Plus, I’m not an A-hole, but I am a jerk, so what can I say?

     Whatever. The point is that I would never have worn this to Wal-Mart had I not run thoughtlessly out of the house like a lunatic. That’s my post for a Saturday blog and I’m sticking to it.

     Buck, by the way, really is fine. Here he is wearing two bathrobes (because the temperature has dipped here in El Paso) marveling at the power of static cling in regards to packing material.



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This was made by a talented illustration, film and television student at Savannah College of Art & Design who goes by the name “moviemker” on YouTube. I really liked it. To me, it’s what might have happened if  M. Night Shyamalan had directed Mary Poppins. (You’ll need your sound on.)

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Do Not Lick This

Licking Windows

     When did LICKING become so prevalent? It is, you know. It’s very popular right now. No longer just a compulsion hidden by people with OCD (One of my favorite authors, humorist David Sedaris, has written about the compulsive and debilitating “light socket licking” problems he suffered as a child), it has been brought out of the closet, apparently. People are licking windows, picket fences, paper in the copy machine.  If you doubt me, check out the NO LICKING signs posted at Passive Aggressive Notes. I’ve provided a link at the bottom, or just click it in my Blogroll and go the October 8 entry.

     When I Googled this weirdness, I found a T-shirt with a picture of a guy named Jesus licking a bowling ball. What on earth does that mean?!  If you want one of these you can get it at Busted Tees.  And if you do want one, please tell me what it means asap. At Cafe Press, you can get a less-cryptic T-shirt that proclaims simply: I Lick Windows. That one is a little more straight forward.

     I’ve gotta bounce now, there’s a car for sale across the street and I wanna lick the door handles  before somebody buys it. 


Links:   Photos of the “Do Not Lick” signs posted at Passive Aggressive Notes 

Busted Tees bowling ball T-shirt, I Lick Windows T-shirt at Cafe Press, David Sedaris,


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