I felt it was time to re-post these beautiful and poignant words.
I wrote this during a period of deep personal healing…but mostly, I was drunk.
Bemidji, Minnesota–The authorities had to intervene when a dispute between two local residents radically escalated.
“Would you look at this,” exclaimed Philbert J. Weedly of Bemidji, Minnesota, as he motioned toward the Toyota Prius parked in his driveway, “it’s completely buried.”
At some point during the night, Mr. Weedly’s vehicle had become covered in a mountain of blue feces.
“I don’t see why he’s blaming me,” fellow Bemidji native Paul Bunyan replied, “if you ask me, that giant pile of blue crap could have come from any number of places–a lot of people don’t care for Weedly.”
“Are you kidding me?” Mr. Weedly said in exasperation.
Mr. Bunyan continued defending himself, “I really don’t think it’s fair to blame me every time someone’s car, their house, or their mouthy know-it-all wife, who deserved it, gets covered in a giant pile of blue crap.”
“Are you kidding me?” Mr. Weedly said again.
The dispute began when Mr. Bunyan challenged Mr. Weedly for the presidency of the local chapter of the Minnesota Sierra Club and defeated him in the chapter’s election.
“I just felt it was time for a new chapter in my life,” Mr. Bunyan explained.
“We all know what happened,” Mr. Weedly said. “He’s a legend of American folklore. He’s Minnesota’s favorite son. His footsteps created the 10,000 lakes. It’s all just a big popularity contest.”
“I know Paul Bunyan seems like a strange choice for the presidency of a Sierra Club chapter,” Milton Shipley, a member of the Sierra Club chapter, admitted, “I mean, he is literally known for chopping down trees. He’s just so freaking huge; how do you say no to him?”
“My wife was extremely vocal in her opposition of his candidacy,” another member, who wanted to remain anonymous, told us, “but then she was involved in a rather unfortunate incident involving Babe, Mr. Bunyan’s big blue ox. I don’t want to go into too much detail,” he said pausing for a moment, “Let’s just say she was in the wrong place at the wrong time. I don’t know what he feeds that thing, but the stench was foul. It’s been six months, and my wife’s hair still attracts flies.”
“It s— on me,” his wife said tersely.
The authorities have issued warnings to both Mr. Weedly and Mr. Bunyan. They also asked Mr. Bunyan to try and control where his blue ox relieves itself, but they told him from a distance.
“Do you call this justice?” Mr. Weedly said in a final statement of resignation. “Are you kidding me?”
North East, Pennsylvania–The residents of the small village of North East, Pennsylvania received a dose of bad news upon discovering their sister city wasn’t what they believed it to be.
The village was ecstatic when it received a sister city request from Sydney, Australia. “We couldn’t believe our good fortune,” the mayor of North East said.
Upon traveling to Australia to accept the sister city request, officials from North East (the mayor and his life partner Bruce) discovered the request came not from the city of Sydney but from a guy named Sydney who lives in a shack at the bottom of a pit in the desert.
“The disappointment is bitter,” Bruce said of the development, “Sydney, Australia is a metropolis with renown architecture and a thriving art world; Sydney from Australia is a filthy foul-mouthed little man who lives in a pit and scratches his testicles far more than should be necessary.”
“I have genital chiggers,” Sydney explained, “they bite.”
The mayor and Bruce gave Sydney a case of the world-famous Welch’s grape jelly, produced right in North East from local concord grapes.
Sydney reciprocated with a half-full can of Foster’s beer that he poured back into the can from the dog bowl.
“Everything in Sydney’s shack is sticky,” the mayor commented, “absolutely everything.”
While Bruce has returned home from the disastrous trip, the mayor remains in Australia recovering from bites from a highly poisonous eastern brown snake and three types of poisonous spiders.
Sydney keeps poisonous spiders as pets; the snake was just bad luck.
“A kangaroo kicked me in the nuts,” Bruce said upon his return, “it was the best part of the trip.”
Erie, Pennsylvania–Officials from PennDOT have confirmed the explosions heard emanating from the Route 5 area of North East, Pennsylvania was, in fact, a road crew working on a stretch of the road between the towns of North East and Harborcreek.
The road crew was employing dynamite to blow a gaping hole in the road, remedying the fact that there wasn’t already a gaping hole in the road.
A PennDOT official had been traveling along Route 5 when he realized there was a stretch of road nearly 50 yards long without any potholes. “I was driving along when I realized the familiar rumbling and shaking from traversing Pennsylvania roadways had stopped for several seconds…it was very disconcerting.”
The stretch of roadway fell far below PennDOT standards, requiring at least 39% of any 100-foot stretch of Pennsylvania roadway to contain potholes, debris, drunken hobos, or strategically placed orange cones that guide motorists into a pond.
Upon discovering the problem, PennDOT moved with the efficiency and swiftness for which it is renowned and dispatched a road crew within a year and a half.
“Sure, we could have put small holes throughout that stretch of road, but that’s a lot of work,” the foreman of the road crew said. “We decided to go with one big hole in the middle.”
“Blowing **** up is fun,” one of the crew members, Ron, “eight fingers,” Smith commented.
The section of Route 5 in question is now almost entirely impassable, bringing it into accordance with PennDOT standards.
PennDOT suggests if you find yourself traveling along this stretch of road, take care to follow the detour signs and orange cones–they lead you into a pond.
I’ve decided to start the new year out on a positive note. I want to set the tone for the next twelve months as we begin this fresh trip around the sun. (Sorry flat Earthers.)
I believe I’ve come up with the perfect way to christen the year 2023: a plan to destroy my worst enemy.
You may think that’s not starting the year out on a positive note–it’s positive for me!
My plan is nearly perfect; all I need are four honey badgers, a bucket of semi-rotted boysenberries, five sheets of 60-grain sandpaper, an ostrich egg, one pack of double-sided tape, a small number of dung balls gathered by Egyptian dung beetles, yak vomit–copious amounts, a calligraphy pen with parchment, a bongo antelope, and two double cheeseburgers with bacon.
You may think this list is long and ridiculous, but the two double cheeseburgers with bacon have nothing to do with the plan to destroy my worst enemy–formulating a plan to destroy your worst enemy really works up an appetite.
I have run into one small hitch with my plan: it seems bongo antelopes are hard to come by; some nonsense about them being endangered.
I tried the Buffalo zoo, but they don’t even have a bongo antelope…why even have a zoo!
The Bronx zoo does have a bongo antelope, but they were very noncommittal about letting me rent it.
When Trish at the Bronx zoo answers the phone and says: how may I help you–those are just empty words; she doesn’t really want to help you.
It was suggested to me that I substitute the bongo antelope with a deer, which are everywhere where I live in Jamestown, New York. There was one literally taking a crap in my backyard the other day.
I want you to read the following sentences and decide for yourself which one is better.
See what I mean?
A major factor in any plan to destroy your worst enemy is the ability to tell and retell the story in the most humorous and humiliating way possible.
I’m going to keep working on this problem because I am a responsible and mentally stable person, regardless of what Trish at the Bronx zoo thinks.
I will keep you posted on my progress.
It was a chance encounter with a woman wearing a button that read: DISARM THE TOY INDUSTRY, in angry block red letters.
It’s all a Government plot to prepare the Innocent for evil, Godless War! I know what they’re up to! Our committee is on to them, and we intend to expose this decadent Capitalistic evil!
She told him as she handed him a smudged pamphlet denouncing the U.S. as a citadel of warmongers, profit-greedy despoilers of the young and promoters of worldwide Capitalistic decadence, all through plastic popguns and Sears Roebuck fatigue suits for tots.
It was this encounter that led Jean Shepperd to recount his youthful almost maniacal desire for a Red-Ryder carbine-action range-model BB gun, and the lengths he went one Christmas in efforts to obtain one.
He then wrote the autobiographical essay, Duel in the Snow, or Red Ryder Nails the Cleveland Street Kid, which became the basis for A Christmas Story.
So thank you crazy lady for helping give us a classic.
It’s Christmastime again: the perfect opportunity to brighten the spirits of a loved one with the gift of the rutabaga.
What’s so special about the rutabaga you may ponder–what isn’t so special about the rutabaga is my response.
Addendum: Don’t make rutabaga ice cream–it sucks.
In what is being hailed as the technological breakthrough of the century, a group of Finnish scientists have created a new breed of radioactive reindeer.
The Finnish are often referred to as the technological juggernauts of the world.
“We are the technological juggernauts of the world,” one of the leading Finnish researchers, Johannes Korhonen, brashly stated at a recent press conference.
It seems the Finnish have developed a new breed of radioactive reindeer they claim will revolutionize the world.
The following is an interview with Dr. Korhonen.
Interviewer: Tell us, why radioactive reindeer?
Dr. Korhonen: Frankly, we just got sick of inducing cancer in lab rats, I mean, we’ve absolutely done that to death. So, we decided to move on to something bigger.
Interviewer: That’s a pretty big jump from lab rats to reindeer.
Dr. Korhonen: It is. At first, we tried it with badgers, but those things are freaking crazy. A bunch of them got loose, knocked over one of the researchers, chewed his ears off, and ran away with them.
Dr. Korhonen: Then they came back and taunted him.
Interviewer: That’s horrible.
Dr. Korhonen: Indeed. They’d already taken his ears–there was no need to say those horrible things about his mother.
Interviewer: The badgers can talk?
Dr. Korhonen: Of course not.
Interviewer: Then how did you know they were saying things about his mother?
Dr. Korhonen: It was in their smug body language.
Interviewer: Okay? I’m just curious, why do you consider this to be an advancement that will revolutionize the world?
Dr. Korhonen: Are you serious? We have practically developed a cure for not being radioactive.
Interviewer: Is not being radioactive a big problem?
Dr. Korhonen: Not anymore. Did you know that due to their glowing antlers, the incidents of reindeer being struck by motorists, have greatly decreased over the past year?
Interviewer: But what about the increase in incidents of Finnish motorists screaming, “what the hell is that?” and careening off the road?
Dr. Korhonen: One problem at a time. You know, it was the Finnish that invented Angry Birds.
Interviewer: I know, it was a very popular game.
Dr. Korhonen: Not the game. We have genetically altered flocks of ordinary birds and made them very aggressive and angry; they’ll crap on you just for the fun of it and then they’ll peck your eyes out.
Interviewer: And how could that possibly be useful?
Dr. Korhonen: Did I mention their crap is radioactive?
Interviewer: I‘m starting to think you’re just nuts.
Dr. Korhonen: When you’re the technological juggernauts of the world you don’t have to explain yourselves to dullard interviewers such as yourself.
The interview then ended abruptly when a pack of frenzied badgers poured into the room and attacked Dr. Korhonen. After several moments of wild chittering and gnashing of teeth, the badgers swarmed out of the room, leaving Dr. Korhonen in a bloody earless heap.
Moments later, they returned to room and mocked him. At least it seemed that way from their smug body language.
I’ve been experiencing a great deal of confusion of late.
If I’m being honest, my normal state of being is confusion, but it seems I’m more confused than normal.
I’m in need of some clarification. I need somebody to explain things to me.
It seems I can’t say anything anymore without it being construed as offensive.
All I said to her was, “if you were a banana slug, you’d have the prettiest slime trail,” and she got all in a huff as if that isn’t a huge compliment.
Anybody that knows anything about banana slugs, knows that it’s all about the slime trail.
If you’re a banana slug, you can be yellow and gooey and have great antennae, but if you don’t have a good slime trail, you’ve got nothing.
It’s practically common knowledge!
Had I said, “if you were a rat, you’d have the beadiest eyes,” I could understand it possibly being taken the wrong way.
Or had my comment been, “if you were a tick, you’d have the most bulbous blood sack,” maybe that could be misconstrued.
I mean, they’re both still compliments, but at least I could understand it.
What are you supposed to say?
I imagine I could have said something about her flaxen hair or her beautiful eyes or her lovely warm smile.
What a trite load of crap that is; does any woman want to hear that type of jibber-jabber?
I’m beginning to think I should just stop talking to women altogether.
I don’t know what the norm is for being blasted in the face with pepper spray, I’m guessing 3 to 4 times a week. I would definitely like to get down to that number.
Pepper spray really burns.
I’d also like to minimize the number of times I get kicked in the groin.
And if a person is already rolling around on the ground because you’ve just kicked them in the groin, there is absolutely no need to then blast them in the face with pepper spray…it’s just overkill.
I think I’ll just stop talking to people altogether–it’s the only way to be safe.