From the minutes of the Resident Council of my Old Folks' Home:
"Residents have a concern about other residents pushing residents in wheelchairs. It was discussed if they can or not. It was noted it depends on the situation." In other words, yesno.
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This lady is on a bus behind two Italian guys, and she overhears one say to the other:
"Emma come first. Den I come. Den two asses come together. I come once-a-more. Two asses, they come together again. I come again and pee twice. Then I come one lasta time."
The lady says, "Please don't discuss your sex life in public."
He says, "Hey, calma down, lady. Who talkin' 'bout sexa? I'm just tellin' my friend how to spell Mississippi."
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You know about "coprolalia"? It's what afflicts victims of Tourette Syndrome. These people occasionally burst into loud fits of swearing "damn-hell-piss-shit" and the like. One treatment is an injection of botulinin toxin in the vocal cords, which tones down the volume of the outburst. That's the same stuff as Botox, so I guess if you got any wrinkles in your vocal cords it will smooth them right out. And the toned-down swearer can only say "damn-hell-piss-shit."
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Well, I think I'm all set with my next book. I have sent it to J.K. Rowling because I know she'll want to write a review. But see what you think:
"Johnny Reb and the Half-Breed Prince"
Call me Ishmaelstrom. I am the narrator of this tale. I'm going to let you in on something:
On Page 1 Johnny Reb gets some action in the local red light district. On Page 586 the Half-Breed Prince, an Indian named Sometimes Standing Bull, is killed, which pretty much kisses off the story. Everything in between is pretty sappy."
Finis.
(Let me know if you think 586 pages is too many.)
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My favorite word today is quiver. N., of lard butts. Def.: The flab hanging from the upper arm of fat old people that wobbles uncontrollably when they gesture.
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(* The title of this piece has nothing to do with anything. I get pretty bummed out writing titles.)
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Tuesday, August 02, 2005
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