Something Something Something

I knew two fine people, Angie and Miss Zoot, each of whom is having another child, but after a lapse of several years. So I thought they probably need the advice rendered by this how-to picture. You are welcome, Moms. I live to serve.

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This happened sometime in the 1960's. I am too decrepit to go to the State Library and look it up. You can do it, if you want to.

We have a State Hospital for the mentally disadvantaged here in Salem, the capital of Oregon. There are several buildings out there in East Salem, some of which are connected by tunnels so the patients and staff don't have to cross busy streets.

Somehow, those tunnels became the scene of assignations between patients who were perhaps addled but had not lost their sex drive. Legislators learned of this and demanded a hearing. A state official defended the practice, calling it "tunnel therapy."

Hoo boy, we liberals thought that was funny. Naturally, the Republicans made them give it up. So, according to what my mother told me when I was little, I guess all the guys out there went blind and grew hair on the palm of their hands.

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A guy is lying in his bed, near death, when he perceives emanating from the kitchen the unmistakable smell of chocolate chip cookies, his favorite food of all time.

So, with difficulty, he works himself downstairs, feebly clutches the table and inches his hand toward what he feels is giving him new life -- a warm chocolate chip cookie. His wife smacks his hand with a spatula.

"Get the hell away from there!" she screams. "Those are for the funeral."

(This groaner comes courtesy of TanLucyPez.)

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A caller on a Portland radio station wanted everybody to know the German word for brassiere: "Stopemfumfloppin."

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My favorite word today is diet. N., why children don't starve. Def.: The thing that occurs when you observe a 3-year-old eating his boogers.