funny

Compassion for Twitterpated Individual Couch Jump Velocity

Last Saturday I asked my wife and daughter to help me with a poem by giving me words I would have to use in four stanzas. This week my granddaughter got to throw in two of her own, so this week we’ll have six. Here goes.

Not many are aware of the Couch Olympics.
It’s a byproduct of the TV age, and development
of living room gymnasts.

Many twitterpated fans stay up
all night to view the athletes.
Their dewy eyes stay locked on
their heroes while they compete.

The sport involves lots of sophisticated movements,
using cushions to assist jumps. As you might guess,
participants accumulate more than a few lumps.

The individual rounds begin
with manipulation of the Lazy Boy Chair.
A deft pull of the foot stool
can send one high up in the air.

You would think velocity limited
within the confines of a living room,
but speeds have been measured
almost enough for a sonic boom.

Once, a veteran jumper flew so far
the couch couldn’t catch him.
Thankfully he was rescued by an onlooker,
overcome with compassion.

Random Peaches Phlebotomist Pie

Today’s post could not be more appropriate for a Saturday night. I asked my wife and daughter to donate four words to find a home in four stanzas. Let’s see if this poem makes any sense.

Ladies and Gentlemen
whether often or seldom
if your tastes run
particular
or if they are random
you’re sure to admire
this certain dessert
but please wear a bib
to protect that nice shirt.

You can evenly distribute
as if in a chart
and add plenty of sugar
in case they’re too tart
Let the math prof judge size
cause that’s how she teaches
while the students’ mouths water
over this dish full of peaches.

Phlebotomists know to keep it sweet
so that folks won’t pass out
they come up with treats
and carefully portion
for folks with big eyes
who might take too much
of that awesome fruit pie.

Time Lines cont.

Past, Present and Future get back together for their weekly lunch.

Present makes the mistake of calling roll. “Past!”
Past: “Present!”
Present: “Very funny.”
Past: “Well, what was I supposed to say?”
Present: “You could have just said, ‘Here.'”
Past: “In just what way would that have been fun, Ekhart Tolle? Besides, you’re the one who is always preaching about being here now.”
Present: “Alright, let’s just move on.”
Past: “I was born ready. By the by, where’s Future?”
Present: “Late, of course. He doesn’t respect anyone else’s schedule. We need to clue him in to the fact that there is no such thing as ‘fashionably late.'”
Past: “And he’s all about fashion. What’s wrong with the clothes of yesteryear?”
Present: “There’s nothing wrong with yesterday’s styles, as long as you wash them occasionally.”
Past: “We can’t always be spring fresh, like you. Oh look, there’s Mr. Tomorrow, now!”
Future: “Don’t start. Let’s order, I have an appointment with a skin specialist after lunch.”
Present: “You’re so vain! Why can’t you just accept yourself as you are?”
Future: “He who fails to plan, plans to fail.”
Past: “Did he say that last week?”
Present: “Probably. Does anyone see the waiter? Oh, there he is!”
The waiter approaches the table. His face is a little red. At the top of his forehead, a line of perspiration has begun to form.
Past: “Oh, good. Wait, is that the same water you brought earlier?”
Present: “Leave it alone, Past.”
Past: “The cubes are smaller.”
Future: “Come back in a bit with some fresh water. My friend is a little… (Future makes a circling motion around his ear with his right-index finger). The waiter quickly nods in affirmation.

to be continued…

Good to Me

That elaborate story about your depth of vision…

just an excuse to take my hand

forgetting your coat so I could keep you

warm

You’re so

good

to me

Telling me I’m funny

then wisely rolling

your eyes

when I convince myself

I am too

Pretending you’re asleep so I can

wake

you up

Comparing my skills to the best of Daytona’s

pits

you graciously let me

fill your car

Who has it better than I do?

Why…

no one!

For every Valentine box of twenty

chocolates

you let me eat eighteen

I share the best view of

your

flowers

You kindly allow me to greet

home invaders

for my side of the bed faces

the door.

Clearly no one has it as well as this man

the one staring

back

as I

shave

but should I grin too

widely

you’ll be sure to say

behave!

Love Note to my Pickup

This note is for the men
(and women)
who secretly love their truck.
It ain’t a Jerry Springer or Oprah kinda love.
No, it’s a love that’s pure and natural as America’s great outdoors
and I get all misty when I consider it and glance above.

Because

A truck will carry
two who marry
a bed fulla stuff
for their first place
an xtra cab for their lab
a gun and ammo
for the game-animal race

vittles from the store
in case you miss that boar
a bale of hay
for the day
you have a field full of critters
who want to eat it…

a raccoon in a cage
who thought your garbage all the rage

a fridge full of food
invite your folks
don’t be rude

a bed of sand
for the land
your children play in

a bunch of flowers
for her bower
tea and crumpets
for the muppets
if they stop over

all the stuff to build a house
for all the other stuff
and your spouse
a play set for the kiddies
you grow in the back yard

stuff to take to the dump
or extra stuff to store
more stuff where that stuff was
again
from the
store

a barrel of oil
to change your own
a big antennae
when you can’t use your phone

4-wheel-drive
to get to the top
just scratchin’ the surface
I know it’s a lot

In conclusion…
a truck is a serious relationship
not one for the player
or insincere
just keep her gassed and serviced
and be civil
you don’t really have to call her
dear

The Blame for my Hair

I fault the mirror for my hair.
I’m blaming the messenger for that mop up there.
The style I recall wasn’t messy at all,
but arranged with adroitness and care.

How could this villain reflect
a style clearly not well met?
It looks like my cat half cleaned my pate
and now that I’m saddled with this dubious fate,
I might as well retreat to bed.

Going through the “change”

A friend has three children, two older girls, and a son, who is 13. She was joking yesterday that she wondered when her son’s voice was going to change because he gets mad when she confuses his voice with that of one of the girls. I’m not certain I reassured her when I said, “I think I was 35. I know that sounds bad, but I was really bummed because they threw me out of the boys choir just when I was starting to get solos.”

My First Big Laugh

I love to make people laugh. That’s something that strikes me as being a little strange when I consider my personality. I really think of myself as a bit of an introvert, although that might surprise some people who know me. However, there are a handful of times that I remember especially well when I consider getting big laughs. Of those times, the first ranks near the top.

I was around six I think, and the whole family, including my parents, two brothers, and my sister were eating dinner together. Mom was a pretty good cook, and took pride in putting out a well balanced meal. This particular evening one of the vegetables on the table was squash. I had never seen it before, but since I already had experience with vegetables I didn’t like, I figured anything new only deserved suspicion until proven innocent. Seeing that I had been given something plantlike to eat, I proceeded to give it the evil eye. Looking up from my plate, I looked at my mom and asked, “What is this?” She said, “That’s squash.” In response, I exclaimed, “Squashed something!” It brought the house down, the house at that time being my family. I’m sure it struck me at the time that turning words and their meaning around in surprising and fun ways can make people laugh, almost in spite of themselves. Ever since that first taste of success, I’ve been looking for ways to make it happen again. I don’t know who is having more fun, myself or the people laughing.

Forever in Green Jeans

The other day I came home with two bags. One bag held a couple bottles of green fabric dye, the other one had four pairs of white jeans. Lori looked up from reading as I walked through the door.
“Whatcha got?”
“White jeans and green fabric dye.”
“Very funny. No, really.”
“Really. Here, see for yourself.”
“Okay, now for the obvious question…”
“Why?”
“Yes, for heaven’s sake.”
“I had a moment of inspiration when I woke up this morning.”
Her face cinched up like it does when she suddenly gets a migraine.
“You woke up inspired to dye white jeans green?”
“Yes.”
“You know, someone has already coined ‘The Green Revolution.'”
“This is about leveling the playing field. Blue jeans have held the high ground for too long.”
“You’re piling up metaphors.”
“If you don’t use ’em you lose ’em.”
“Joel, stop it. Seriously.”
“Here’s the thing. Blue jeans are everywhere. In addition to the actual blue jeans, which you can buy in every size, style, and price range, there are a zillion products made from them. You can get blue jean trucks, blue jean sheets, blue jean perfume… The list goes on and on.”
“And you think you can do the same thing for green jeans?”
“I do.”
“Alright, don’t for a minute think I’m taking this seriously, but since I know how you get, I’ll humor you.”
“Alright.”
“Have you thought out your campaign?”
“Down to the ant’s toenails.”
“That’s not a saying.”
“It is now.”
She bowed her head and appeared to be praying. I think I heard her say something like, “Give me strength.”
“Why didn’t you just buy some green jeans.”
“Too hard to find. A company in Israel has some, but shipping charges would kill me. White jeans were difficult enough. After I get these babies dyed, I’m going to hire a professional photographer and get started on the first ad campaign.”
“What about a national spokesperson?”
“Mr. Green jeans.”
“That’s dumb.”
“Why?”
“Well, first off, the only people who remember him are your age and older.”
“I resent that.”
“Have you considered the fact that he’s dead?”
“With today’s technology, it’s barely an issue. Anyway, if that doesn’t work, I’ll get Neil Diamond to change the lyrics to his song.”
“I’m washing my hands of it. Go die your jeans.”
“It’s spelled dye.”
“I stand by the way I’m spelling it.”