A Streak Of No-Funny
My friend Tony and I share in the misery of rheumatoid arthritis, degenerative joint disease and a shared place of employment in our past. He has been trying different medications to ease the pain and asked what I took to get relief from the suffering. When I told him I take baloney sandwiches there was absolute silence. Even the crickets tilted their heads and remained quiet.
Talking about an NFL player that has six fingers on his hand, I shared a thought that if I had eight fingers I could hold a banana and peel it at the same time one handed. I enjoyed that one by myself too.
Last night at the Phillies game, a woman was sitting in front of me that had some nasty fake fingernails all painted and pointy, toenails that hung over her flip flops, about 7 pounds of make-up, bleached and streaked hair all puffed out, wearing an obvious girdle not up to the task, big ole push up bra that had signs of stress cracks, rings on every digit and fraudulent gold around her neck, knock off designer clothes made from donkey-hair fibers, butt fat injected lips and a scotch-tape face lift drinking a Bud-Light. The only thing natural about her was the ugly. I kept quiet for fear of not getting any laffs at something so obvious funny, and/or getting beat up and bitten at the game.
The exterminator came by this afternoon to administer his death juice in the house to prevent a bug takeover as part of a regular maintenance service. I asked if he had anything for me since I had ants in my pants and I needed to dance. He looked at me with a stone face while Helen shook her head and said no one thinks I'm funny.
Could I be losing my stuff?
Talking about an NFL player that has six fingers on his hand, I shared a thought that if I had eight fingers I could hold a banana and peel it at the same time one handed. I enjoyed that one by myself too.
Last night at the Phillies game, a woman was sitting in front of me that had some nasty fake fingernails all painted and pointy, toenails that hung over her flip flops, about 7 pounds of make-up, bleached and streaked hair all puffed out, wearing an obvious girdle not up to the task, big ole push up bra that had signs of stress cracks, rings on every digit and fraudulent gold around her neck, knock off designer clothes made from donkey-hair fibers, butt fat injected lips and a scotch-tape face lift drinking a Bud-Light. The only thing natural about her was the ugly. I kept quiet for fear of not getting any laffs at something so obvious funny, and/or getting beat up and bitten at the game.
The exterminator came by this afternoon to administer his death juice in the house to prevent a bug takeover as part of a regular maintenance service. I asked if he had anything for me since I had ants in my pants and I needed to dance. He looked at me with a stone face while Helen shook her head and said no one thinks I'm funny.
Could I be losing my stuff?
posted by RJK at
7:29 PM
3 Comments:
"When I told him I take baloney sandwiches there was absolute silence."
Hahahaha! You're not losing your stuff - you just had unappreciative audiences. The bologna sandwich comment made me laugh out loud, as did the mental picture of Tony eating bologna; I don't think he'd eat it on a bet. :-)
Also, it's interesting how the funny works. Tony often says stuff to me that someone else might think is funny, but from me he gets the cocked -eyebrow-face.
. . . ants in my pants and I needed to dance.
LOL, I am still laughing while I'm typing.
How could Helen NOT laugh at that?
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