This Cup's For You

Guys, Imagine This Scenario:
She finally agrees to go out with you. You pick her up at her house. You meet her parents. You agree to have her home by eleven. You take her to the double feature at the drive-in.*

*For those younger than the baby boomer generation, some explanation might be in order.

Yes, guys used to ask the girls for a date. Yes, guys picked the girls up at their houses. Yes, guys actually had to meet the girls' parents. Alas, it's true, the girls had curfews. Drive-ins were outdoor movie theaters where you actually [sic] watched the movies in your car! That's right, you actually could see two movies for the price of one admission. (They also gave you a cartoon, a news reel, and sometimes a serialized cliffhanger feature.)

Okay, the stage is set to continue with the intended scenario.

She moves close to you. You fake a cough which gives you the opportunity to slip your arm around her shoulder. She moves closer. (You're careful to avoid her hair which is stiff from hairspray, lest you scratch your eye.) If you're lucky, she doesn't push your hand away from her breast when you finally work up the nerve to inch your hand down from her shoulder to cop a feel. (If she does push your hand away, you have to apologize and claim it was an accident.)

She cuddles closer. It's time to try for that kiss. If you're lucky, she knows about French kissing. She probably practiced this with a close girl friend. (No, they are not lesbians, and the thought never crosses your mind. They were still in the closet back then and besides, most of us didn't know what the word meant.)

Where were we? Ah yes, that kiss. Oh boy. She does know about French kissing, but you don't. What the heck, you just follow the leader. Unfortunately, you forgot about your chewing gum and it ends up in her mouth! Whew, she's a good sport and laughs it off. Say, this kissing thing is neat. You want to do it some more. Wow. She likes it too!

At his point in time you've both forgotten about the Drive-in Movie Credo. Simply put, the credo dictates that you memorize the name of the movies and who starred in them. (Chances are you're both going to be grilled by her parents when you take her home, especially if you are five minutes or more late for the curfew deadline.)

The kisses are more frequent and longer. You are beginning to wonder if you should try for second base. You decide to go for it. You suggest that it would be more comfortable if the two of you moved into the back seat.*

*Another note for you pre-baby boomers:
The cars were larger than today. They had large roomy back seats. You could actually lie down in them!

She agrees! The two of you move to the back seat and pick up where you left off. It isn't long before it's getting hot and heavy. You've managed to get your hands beneath that tight sweater. You slowly move your hand up her abdomen. You're actually touching her bra! You try to slip your finger beneath the bottom of it, but it's too tight. Hot damn! She guides your hand onto her breast! (Your buddies aren't going to believe you!)*

*Getting "lucky" back in the 50s and early 60s was rare for most of us guys, although a lot of guys claimed they did do it anyway.

Your fingers reach and touch her cleavage. You're now at an impasse because it's an impossible angle with your arm beneath the tight sweater for you try to reach down and inside the bra.

Then you remember from the pictures in the Montgomery Ward and Sears & Roebuck catalogs that bras have clasps on the back. You slowly slide your hands around her ribcage and onto her back. You inch your hands up and finally reach the back strap. You begin to fiddle with clasp. You can't get it undone. You then realize that there are four of them!

It would have been so much easier if you could say to her, "Honey, can you please remove your bra?" Of course, you couldn't! You would have blown the whole moment. The party would have been over! You wouldn't even get a goodnight kiss at her front door.

NEWS FLASH!
Guys (you non-baby boomers too) it just might become acceptable to ask a woman to remove her bra, and she will do it willingly, anytime and anyplace - in private or in public. It's true! In fact, she probably will do so without you even asking! Get this, the woman can even be a total stranger!

"The hell you say," you guys are probably thinking. "The hell I will," you gals are saying.

Guys and Gals, Imagine This Scenario:
The request, maybe even a direct order, would be acceptable in the event of heavy smoke from a raging fire, a dust storm, a terrorist attack with biological or gas weapons, or perhaps a swine flu outbreak.

This will all be possible thanks to Dr. Elena Bodnar (see image), who was the winner of this year's Ig Nobel Prize. The Ig Nobel Prize is given by "Annals of Improbable Research" magazine for achievements that 'first make people laugh and then make them think.'

Her invention? The bra-mask -- a brassiere that in an emergency can be turned into a pair of protective face masks.

To use the bra-mask, the wearer unsnaps the brassiere from under her shirt, which breaks it in two. Because each cup has hooks on its side, the strap is wrapped around the head and hooked to the cup, which goes over the mouth. Bodnar said an experienced user can don the mask in mere seconds.

Bodnar is now pursuing commercialization of her bra-mask. She hopes all women will eventually have one.

But what about the men?

As Bodnar noted in her Oct.1 acceptance speech at Harvard University, "Isn't it wonderful that women have two breasts, not just one? We can save not only our own lives, but also a man of our choice next to us."

So gals if I were to come up to you and ask ( or order ) you to remove your bra, don't scream and call me a pervert or a pig. Just take it off and don't ask questions!

Remember, I'll be trying to save both of our lives!

(Of course, there will have to be some drills or practice runs from time to time.)

Wink! Wink!

The script below the "NEWS FLASH" header contains excepts from a story by Erika Slife and appeared in the Chicago Tribune.

№ 1829

Between a Blog and a Hard Place

To those blogflies among you who have stepped into the spider's parlor expecting the next installment of The Quill and the Quire, I apologize for leaving you disappointed.

Circumstances, such as they are and beyond my control have prevented me from committing Part 34 of the story from my hand-written lines in a notebook to the keyboard and finally to the screen.

I am reminded of an interview of the late Jackie Gleason. When asked about the origin of the characters he portrayed in his humorous skits, Mr. Gleason spoke fondly of his favorite persona - the Poor Soul. Paraphrasing that interview given over forty years ago, he said of the character:

He was typical of the everyday person, neither poor nor rich. All he wanted was to get through life without complications, but life kept getting in his way.

Sometimes, all of us epitomize that poor soul. I will not elaborate, bearing in mind that what we say (and write) can and will be used against us in a court of law. In any event ....

The story is winding down and is near conclusion. The next installment will appear here in this space on Monday, 11/2.

I hope everyone has a great weekend. Remember, Saturday night is Halloween. Watch out for those little hobgoblins and ghosts that come trick-or-treating at your door.

I trust your Halloween will not be like the one Henry Tate experienced in my most recent short story,
A Bit of Candy.

Oh yes, don't forget to turn back your clocks on Saturday night (or Sunday morning as I am wont to do), I wouldn't want you to miss that extra hour of sleep.

№ 1828

A Bit of Candy - 2

He was to Halloween as Ebenezer Scrooge was to Christmas. Henry Tate hated Halloween. This Halloween was no different. When one figure costumed in eerie raiment befitting the night refused to take no for an answer, Henry began to hear those things that go bump in the night. It was all for the want of a bit of candy!

To read Part 1 Click here.

Henry wasted no time in dismissing his admiration for the diminutive brat's Halloween costume. He pointed a menacing finger at the kid and snarled, "Go bother someone else. Get off my property!"

Unfazed the little 'Grim Reaper' remained fixed where he stood and repeated the refrain du jour, "Trick or treat."

Angered even more by the kid's defiance Henry sneered, "Look, I said beat it. Get your ass in gear before I grab you by the scruff of your neck and throw you off my property."

The figure turned and said, "You're a mean old man. You can't spare a bit of candy? You deserve what you're going to get!"

"Hey!" he shouted, "Don't you dare go pulling any of your stupid tricks on me or my house!"

The figure raised his arm and a realistic skeletal looking hand appeared from the loose sleeves of the robe. A pallid finger pointed in his direction and the graveled voice uttered, "It looks like Mother Nature already played a trick on you."

Tate lowered his head and peered past his stomach. He grimaced at the sight of his pecker still dangling free of his boxers. He tucked himself inside of his shorts and growled, "A smart ass, eh?"

He looked up, but the damned kid was gone. He scanned the yard without seeing any sign of him. For good measure he shouted, "You better not be hiding on my property and I better not lay my eyes on you ever again. You hear me? God help me, I'll call the cops!"

Back inside he moved from room to room dousing every light in the house. It was with reluctance, but he even turned off the television. He collapsed into the recliner, determined to sit there in the dark for a couple of hours. With all of the lights out in the house, the mooching little bastards would walk on by thinking no one was home.

Ding-dong! He almost jumped out of his skin at the ingratiating chime. "You gotta be shitting me!" he cried.

Ding-dong! He lurched to his feet. "Can't you take NO for an answer?" he roared. As if he wasn't agitated enough he stubbed his toe against the TV stand on his way to the door. Hopping on one foot and spewing obscenities he landed on something small on the floor. His foot slid out from under him and he landed hard on his ass. He ran his hand across the carpet and felt several small smooth objects. He shook his head in disgust. His god damned pills! He'd slipped on the pills.

Ding-dong! He groveled on the floor until he was able to pull himself to his feet by grabbing hold of the doorknob. "Just you wait until I get my hands on you!" he screeched at the unseen caller.

He charged through the open door, his flight carrying him to the middle of the yard. He stood there, alone. Not really giving a damn one way or the other, he hoped that no one had seen his foolish dash out into the night. Head hung low, he lumbered back to the house.

Ding-dong! He was about to shut the door when the chime pealed. He spun around and yelled, "You son of a ..." His jaw dropped. There was no one there!

With renewed but frustrated vigor he reached for the doorbell mechanism on the wall above his recliner. Securing a firm grasp on it he tore it from the wall, leaving it dangling there by a single wire. He stood there for a moment, his hands on his hips admiring his handiwork. The friggin' bell would bother him no more!

Ding-dong! He thrust his hands to the side of his head and covered his ears. He refused to turn around. He knew there would be no one there.

Then there was that voice. "Trick or treat!"

He spun around to see a small costumed figure standing in the doorway. It was same little kid dressed as the Grim Reaper. He'd come back. He had the audacity to come back to his house and stand there with an open bag expecting candy. Seething with anger Henry grabbed the chime above his head and yanked it free of the wire. "I warned you, you little shit. I'll give you something you'll remember!" he said flinging the chime at him.

The chime landed with a clatter in the yard. Bewildered, Henry couldn't believe he'd missed the little prick. He inched his way to the threshold only to discover no one was there. A nervous titter escaped his lips and he muttered, "I must be seeing things. Maybe my pills and the beer together are messing with my mind."

He was about to close the door when something caught his eye on the floor by his foot. He stooped to picked it up. It was a piece of wrapped candy. "Where did this come from?" he mused.

Turning on the lamp next to his chair he stared curiously at the bit of candy in his hand. It reminded him of another Halloween night ... a Halloween of the past ... a long time ago.

He was all of twelve, an awkward kid experiencing the early throes of puberty. He was standing in front of the mirror which hung on the back of the bathroom door. Clad in his Zorro costume he was trying to strike poses just like the masked swashbuckling hero he'd seen on the television. His imaginary sword sliced a large letter "Z" on the fat belly of Sgt. Garcia.

Funny, he thought, he couldn't remember much about the trick-or-treating foray that night. He could recall neither the names of the friends he'd hooked up with nor what costumes they'd been wearing. Try as he might, he couldn't even remember reciting that magical phrase, "Trick of treat."

Although he'd been suppressing it for all those years, his return home was replaying in vivid detail in his mind's eye. He tried to force the imagery from his head. He didn't want to see, or to remember the subsequent events of that night. He had no desire to relive the tragedy of that night.

Zorro walked into the house carrying the bag of loot he'd taken from all the evil commandante's in his neighborhood. He must have collected five pounds of confectionery treasure. He'd raced upstairs to stash his foils in his secret lair only to be met by the towering figure of his old man.

Clinching his fist about the piece of candy, Henry stared unblinking up at the ceiling. He'd been hating Halloween for so long, he couldn't until that moment remember why. The son of a bitch had tried to take his candy!

Grabbing for the bag he'd shouted at him, "Son, you're not going to eat all that candy."

His father tugging in one direction and he in the guise of Zorro the other, the bag had suddenly ripped apart. He'd watched in horror as candy bars, apples and home-made cookies took flight in a seemingly slow motion shower onto the stairs and the floor below.

"Now look what you've done, you little bastard!" he'd screamed at him. His outburst had next been followed by a stinging backhand blow to the side of his face. Moving past him on the stairs he'd added, "I want this mess cleaned up right now. When you're done, leave every bit of it on the kitchen table and then get your ass off to bed!"

Had what had happened next been an innocent act of self defense, or had he extended his foot with deliberate malice? Henry doubted if he'd ever know for certain.

He'd watched in stunned fascination as his old man had tumbled down the stairs. When he'd finally come to a rest at the foot of the staircase he'd resembled a broken doll, his head twisted in an impossible position.

The tragic drama had not ended there. His mother, who'd been busy washing dishes in the kitchen had come running when she'd heard the noise. She'd knelt by the lifeless body of her husband crying and screaming. When she'd looked up to see him standing at the top of the stairs she'd screeched accusingly, "What have you done? Why?"

One moment she was wailing, but in the next she was clutching at her chest and struggling to breathe. Frozen where he stood, not comprehending what had been happening, Henry had watched as his mother had collapsed face down across the dead man's body.

Manipulating it with his thumb, he toyed with the piece of candy in his palm. He was trembling from the recall of a past that he hadn't wanted to ever remember.

Somehow, he had survived the next six years in an orphanage which had been maintained by the Catholic church. Somehow, he had managed to go to college and had graduated with a degree. Somehow, he had become a successful businessman. He sighed with despair, accepting the fact that somehow, he'd been reduced to a lonely wretched old man.

Ding-dong! Rehearsing some choice obscene verbiage, he bolted to the door. He wasn't surprised in the least to see the little Grim Reaper standing before him. "Trick or treat," the small figure said.

Henry raised his eyebrows in surprise, for the little person spoke now with a voice that sounded like that of a young child and not with the gravelly utterances of earlier. He dismissed the change in tone and quipped, "You ... again?"

"Trick or treat," the costumed figure repeated.

Mellowed somewhat by the resurrected memories of moments before, Henry reigned in his anger and calmly addressed the kid, "Let me guess, you're expecting me to give you some candy, right? Well, let me tell you how it's going to be." He held up the piece of candy for the young visitor to see and began to remove the wrapping about it.

Pinched between his thumb and index finger he waved the candy in front of the Reaper. He then raised it to his lips, opened his mouth and dropped it onto his tongue. He stooped down and smacked his lips, "Kid, that was only candy I had. You know what that means?"

He stood erect and raised his voice, "It means I ain't got no more fuckin' candy! Now get your mooching little ass the hell off my property!"

Flashing red and blue lights cast an eerie glow upon the unkempt yard. A police officer was escorting the ambulance crew into the house. He addressed them saying, "I'm no doctor, but I'm guessing it was a heart attack."

Another officer was kneeling in front of the child who'd placed the 9-1-1 call. He was impressed by the realistic costume the kid was wearing. "That sure is one scary costume. What are you supposed to be?"

"Don't you know anything? I'm the Grim Reaper," he replied in a sweet innocent whimper to the policeman.

Inside the house the EMT said to the officer, "The cause of death was not a heart attack." He stretched the elastic surgical glove onto his hand and removed a tongue depressor from his bag. Probing the mouth of the deceased he stated, "At first I thought he might have swallowed his tongue, but that wasn't it at all."

The officer's eyes widened as the EMT dislodged something from the man's throat. He picked up the object and holding it aloft announced, "I'm afraid Mr. Tate choked to death on ... a bit of candy!"

Unnoticed, the diminutive cloaked figure slipped through the gate and approached a group of curious bystanders who'd been milling about.

He raised his bag and pleaded with a strange gravelly voice, "Trick or treat!"


The End
№ 1827

A Bit of Candy

He was to Halloween as Ebenezer Scrooge was to Christmas. Henry Tate hated Halloween. This Halloween was no different. When one figure costumed in eerie raiment befitting the night refused to take no for an answer, Henry began to hear those things that go bump in the night. It was all for the want of a bit of candy!

He was a bitter, disillusioned man. All he expected out of life was for life to leave him the hell alone. Much to his chagrin, however, life always seemed to come knocking at his door.

He often imagined himself as Daniel Defoe's Robinson Crusoe, alone on a deserted island. Of course if Friday had shown up, he would have shot the son of a bitch!

Tate wasn't always this way, a mean spirited man. No, Henry was once a successful businessman and a respected member of the community. That was before the Infernal Revenue Service came knocking. According to their sniveling pencil pushing auditor, he had neither paid nor filed taxes in ten years.

In the end they had seized all of his assets; his business, his bank accounts, and his cars, especially his prized Bentley. They had left him with little more than the clothes on his back and the run-down bungalow in which he lived.

Although he couldn't prove it, he'd known for some time that his lawyer and accountant had been in cahoots and had been bilking him clean. The attorney had messed with the wrong man. It just so happened that for the past three years he'd been fucking the lawyer's wife.

As easy as it had been to bed her, it had been easier still to convince her of the nest egg her husband had been hiding away. The ensuing divorce and scandal had all but ruined the barrister's practice. After the dust had settled, Henry figured it was time for him and the woman to live together rich and happily thereafter.

It had been a crushing blow when she rejected him claiming she couldn't live with a failed businessman and a pauper. Seeing his money slipping away again had been too much for him. He promptly punched the bitch in the face.

By the time he was released from jail on the assault and battery charges, the woman had hooked up with the shyster accountant and the two of them had migrated to some Caribbean resort.

Henry Tate stared with disdain at the calendar. A pall of gloom colored his rugose countenance. "October the thirty-first!" he said followed by some choice guttural vulgarities. He hated Halloween. He hated it with a passion.

The arthritis in his knees creaking in protest, he rose from his chair and strode to the window. He peered through the slats of the old venetian blinds that had long been bent out of shape over the years whenever he looked outside. The sun was low in the sky, well into its descent beyond the horizon. It would be dark soon.

Next door, his neighbor was making a god-awful racket with his damned leaf blower. The jerk was always out there doing one thing or another to his yard. Henry knew the asshole kept his lawn up just to make his overgrown property look worse than it was.

Just the day before when Henry had ventured outside to check the mailbox, the prick had expressed his opinion about the state of his property. "Hey, Tate," he shouted from his front porch, "I'm going to nominate you for the neighborhood's best Halloween theme decorations. You've nailed the haunted house effect to a tee."

Henry's perfunctory flip of the bird might have been redundant with his vocalized "Fuck you," but it gave him satisfaction nonetheless. Crude perhaps, but he was rewarded by his neighbor's retreat behind his slamming door.

Reaching beneath the elastic band of his boxers he scratched his ass and turned away from the window. He shuffled into the kitchen, sidled past the old car battery that had been there for some time and opened the refrigerator.

He contemplated the loosely wrapped bologna but returned it to the shelf. He couldn't remember if he'd bought olive loaf at the deli or if the green spots upon the processed meat might be a penicillin culture. His fingers groped around in the unlit recesses at the back of the cold chamber searching for the last remaining bottle of fiber supplement.

"Yes!" he exclaimed in triumph. He lofted the sixteen-ounce bottle of Carlings upwards to the ceiling and uttered, "Barley and hops - fiber of the gods."

Whereas his retrieval of the bottle of beer had required little waste of energy, his search through the cluttered silverware drawer for the church key severely tested his patience. Not to be denied access to the cold amber liquid, he positioned the rim of the bottle cap against the edge of the counter and deftly brought to bear the heel of his hand. He heard the bottle cap hit and bounce somewhere on the kitchen floor, possibly landing near others of its kind.

Empty, the bottle slipped from his fingers and fell to the floor next to the recliner. Still groggy from the short nap Henry forced his hand between the seat cushion and the arm of the chair in search of the remote control.

His attention was drawn to screen of the TV set. A sheepish grin stretched his lips into the closest facsimile of a smile he was able to muster. The man in the commercial was promoting one of those products designed for men with erectile dysfunction.

Prompted by the subliminal reference to the male penis, he patted himself on the crotch. The action caused the appendage to slip out through the opening in his boxer shorts. He looked down upon the wrinkled flaccid organ which over the years had seen its duties reduced to nothing more than plumbing.

Of course there would be no response forthcoming, but he spoke to it nonetheless. "What do think, old buddy, should I buy some of that stuff for you?" Disgruntled he shook his head and growled, "Bah! What's the use? Both of us are old, retired and unemployed."

Startled by the sudden chime of the door bell, he twisted his head to look at the clock on the wall. "Damn!" he snarled. "Six o'clock. So, now it begins, eh?"

He limped over to the door and shouted at the visitor on the other side. "Go away. I ain't got no candy! Scram!"

He stood there for a moment and when he was satisfied that the little bastard had given up he turned his back to the door. He took only one step when the bell resounded again. "Another one?" he moaned.

He threw open the door and with a raised fist shouted, "God damn it. Go ... uh ..." There was no one there. He scratched his head and peered to the right and to the left of the entrance. There was no sign of anyone.

He slammed the door and muttered a few choice obscenities. He glanced at the empty bottle on the floor by his chair and cursed himself and snorted, "Damn it, I should have gotten off my lazy ass and and gone out for some more beer."

Ding-dong! went the doorbell. "Jesus H," he mumbled. Again he opened the door and again there was no one to be seen. "Leave me the fuck alone!" he shouted out into the evening air.

This time he stood by the closed door with his hand on the knob ready to throw it open and catch the little wise-ass red-handed before he could disappear. Ding-dong! He tore open the door and thrust his hands forward to grab his tormentor. His hands grabbed nothing but air. "Son of a bitch!" he yelped.

He slammed the door in disgust. He was pissed off to no end. He snapped his fingers as an idea formulated in his angry mind. He walked over to the hall closet and retrieving a hammer and a screw driver he snickered, "I'm going to put an end to this shit ... right now!"

Driving the blade of the screw driver beneath the doorbell fixture with the hammer he gloated to himself. "The bastards won't be able to ring the bell if there isn't one," he thought aloud. With it pried away from the door frame he yanked on the fixture and tore it away.

Back inside the house he leaned against the door and let out a sigh of relief. After tossing the doorbell in the direction of and missing the trashcan he returned the tools to the closet.

Settling into his recliner he began to struggle to catch his breath. Beads of perspiration were running down his brow. He knew he was out of shape, but that task of removing the doorbell shouldn't have left him so exhausted. He glanced over at the end table where the bottle of pills that been prescribed for his high blood pressure rested. Had he taken the pill today? He couldn't remember.

Grabbing the plastic bottle, he removed the lid and peered inside. He tilted it and gently tapped the side of the container until a single tablet slid into his palm. Ding-dong!

The bottle was sent flying across the room, its contents scattering over the old matted carpet. He stared dumbfounded at the door. "Impossible," he muttered. "Im-fuckin'-possible!"

Enraged he charged the door, bound and determined to nab the son of a bitchin' pest. Expecting no one to be there he was caught off guard by the small figure standing there.

Irritated as he was, he was taken aback by the kid's costume. This one had gone to great lengths to come up with such a realistic and grotesque outfit. He surmised that the kid, a little over three feet tall, was supposed to be the Grim Reaper. Dressed in black, a grayish skull-masked face looked up at him beneath a loose cowl.

Uncharacteristic of a child, the gravelly low voice declared, "Trick or Treat!"

( The conclusion ... Part 2 )

№ 1826

Vis Comica

A man walks into a bar. He sees a good looking, smartly dressed woman perched on a bar stool.

He walks up behind her and says: "Hi there good looking, how's it going?"

She turns around, faces him, looks him straight in the eye and says: "Listen, I'll screw anybody, anytime, anywhere, your place, my place, it doesn't matter. I've been doing it ever since I got out of college. I just flat out love it."

He says, "No kidding?, I'm a lawyer too! What firm are you with?"

-----------------------------------------------------

Ray, an old retired sailor, puts on his old uniform and heads for the docks once more, for old times sake.

He engages a prostitute and takes her up to a room.

He's soon going at it as well as he can for a guy his age, but needing some reassurance, he asks, "How am I doing??"

The prostitute replies, "Well Ray, old sailor, you're doing about three knots."

"Three knots?" he asks. "What's that supposed to mean?'"

She says, "You're knot hard, you're knot in, and you're knot getting your money back."

-----------------------------------------------------

A guy walks into a bar and sees a dog lying in the corner licking his balls.

He turns to the bartender and says, "Boy, I wish I could do that."

The bartender replies, "You'd better try petting him first."
-----------------------------------------------------
Two guys are drinking in a bar.

One says: "Did you know that Moose have sex 10 to 15 times a night?

"Aw bugger...," says his friend, "and I just joined the VFW!" * ¹

-----------------------------------------------------
The Pope was finishing his sermon. He ended it with the Latin phrase, "'Tuti homini' - Blessed be mankind."

A women's rights group approached the pope the next day. They noticed that the pope had blessed all of mankind, but not womankind.

So the next day, after his sermon, the pope concluded by saying, "'Tuti homini, et tuti femini' - Blessed be mankind and womankind."

The next day, a gay-rights group approached the pope. They said that they noticed that he had blessed mankind and womankind, and asked if he could also bless those who are gay.

The pope said, "Sure."

The next day, the pope concluded his sermon with, "'Tuti homini, et tuti femini, et tuti fruiti.'" * ²

-----------------------------------------------------* ¹ & * ² - Stolen from Phils Phun

(The first three cartoons above were "borrowed" from the site of Jason Love ; the following is snippet from his stand-up comedy routine. )

PETA, the animal rights people, recently asked Ben and Jerry's to replace the cow's milk with human breast milk. Gross, I know ... You should see what they're doing with Cherry Garcia.

Human breast milk ... I guess it makes sense for Pamela Anderson to be their spokesperson. She's leading the way! PETA almost didn't work with Pamela because earlier in her career -- and I don't know if you know this -- she was responsible for the choking of a lot of chickens.

№ 1825

Disturbin' the Turban

"There is now a $5 million dollar bounty on Osama bin Laden. Which marks the first time in history there has ever been a bounty on a guy's head who wears Bounty on his head." - Jay Leno

So, our government wants to end the war on terrorism?
(Might I make a suggestion?)

Divorce: Muslim Style
Mohammed heard one of his wives was leaving him, so he rushed home where he found her on the carpet in front of the tent with her belongings; he sat beside her and said, “I heard you were planning to leave me?”

She replied, “Yes, I heard your other wives saying you were a pedophile!”

Mohammed thinks for a minute or so and then responds, “that's a mighty big word for a 6 year old."

Meenah & Neenah
Two moslem sisters, Meenah and Neenah, have just arrived in the USA. On arrival they spot a hot dog vendor. Meenah says to Neenah, “Look, people in this country eat dogs.”

“Odd!” says Neenah, “but if we shall live in America, we might as well do as the Americans do.”

Nodding, they walk towards the hot dog vendor.

“Two dogs, please,” says Neenah.

The vendor wraps two hot dogs and hands them over the counter. Excited, the sisters hurry over to a bench and begin to unwrap their ‘dogs’. Meenah is the first to open hers. She stares at it for a moment and begins to blush with joy. Then she leans over to Neenah and whispers cautiously, “What part did you get?”

The Afterlife
After his death, Osama bin Laden was allowed a short visit Heaven.

There he was greeted by George Washington, who proceeded to slap him across the face and yell at him, "How dare you try to destroy the nation I helped conceive!"

Patrick Henry approached and punched Osama in the nose and shouted, "You wanted to end our liberties but you failed."

James Madison entered, kicked Osama in the groin and said, "This is why I allowed our government to provide for the common defense!"

Thomas Jefferson came in and proceeded to beat Osama many times with a long cane and said, "It was evil men like you that provided me the inspiration to pen the Declaration of Independence!".

These beatings and thrashings continued as John Rudolph, James Monroe and 66 other early Americans came in and unleashed their anger on the Muslim terrorist leader.

As Osama lay bleeding and writhing in unbearable pain an Angel appeared.

Bin Laden wept in pain and said to the Angel, "This is not what you promised me."

The Angel replied, "I told you there would be 72 Virginians waiting for you in Heaven. What did you think I said?"

Some Riddles
Q: How is Bin Laden like Fred Flintstone?

A: Both look out their windows and see Rubble.

Q: What is the Taliban's national bird?

A: Duck!

Q: How do you play Taliban bingo?

A: B-52...F-16...B-1...

Q: Why does the Afghanistan Navy have glass bottom boats?

A: So they can see their Air Force.

Q: What do Osama Bin Laden and General Custer have in common?

A: They both want to know where those Tomahawks are coming from!

and last but not least...

Q: Why aren't there any Wal-Marts in Afghanistan?

A: Because there's a Target on every corner!

Taliban Renamed Towns ...
Now that American B-52's are reorganizing Afghanistan's landscape, US intelligence has discovered that the Taliban have renamed some of their towns to confuse us.

These new names include:

1. Wherz-Myroof
2. Mykamel-Izded
3. Oshit-Disisabad
4. Waddi-El-Izgowinon
5. Pleez-Ztopdishit
6. Kizz-Yerass-Goodbi
7. Ikantstan-Disnomore
8. Wha-Tafuk-Wazi-Tinkin
9. Myturbin-Izburnin
10. Imma-Dedshmuck

Failed Taliban Recruiting Posters:
1. "Be Allah you can be"
2. "Aim Low"
3. "An Army of None"
4. "The Few....................................."
5. "Martyrs have more fun"
6. "Vigins....we got Virgins!!"
7. "Free Camoflage Turbans....sign up today!"
8. "Uncle oSAMa wants you"
---------------------------------
One Texas Soldier
A large group of Taliban soldiers are moving down a road when they hear a voice call from behind a sand-dune. "One Texas soldier is better than ten Taliban".

The Taliban commander quickly sends 10 of his best soldiers over the dune whereupon a gun-battle breaks out and continues for a few minutes, then silence.

The voice then calls out "One Texan is better than one hundred Taliban".

Furious, the Taliban commander sends his next best 100 troops over the dune and instantly a huge gunfight commences. After 10 minutes of battle, again silence.

The Texan voice calls out again "One Texan is better than one thousand Taliban".

The enraged Taliban Commander musters one thousand fighters and sends them across the dune. Cannon, rocket and machine gun fire ring out as a huge battle is fought. Then silence.

Eventually one wounded Taliban fighter crawls back over the dune and with his dying words tells his commander, "Don't send any more men, its a trap. There's actually two of them."

№ 1823

Costumes: Politically Incorrect

˙pɐǝɥ ɹnoʎ uo ƃuıpuɐʇs ǝɹɐ noʎ `sıɥʇ pɐǝɹ noʎ ɟı

...Or your monitor is upside down!


A Perfect Costume
President Barack Obama and his wife Michelle were going to a Halloween party in a couple of days.

So Barack tells his wife to go to the store and get costumes for them to wear.

When he comes home that night he goes into the bedroom and there laid out on the bed is a Superman costume.

The President yells at his wife, "What are you doing? Have you ever heard of a black Superman? Take this back and get me something else I can wear."

The next day Michelle, not too happy, returns the costume and gets a replacement.

He comes home from work goes to the bedroom, and there, laid out on the bed, is a Batman costume.

He again yells at the First Lady, "What are you doing? Have you ever heard of a black Batman? Take this back and get me something I can wear to the costume party!"

The next morning his irate wife goes shopping.

When he comes home again from work, there laid out on the bed are three items: one is a set of three white buttons, the second is a thick white belt, and the third item is 2 x 4.

Barack yells at Michelle, "What the hell are these for?"

She yells back, "Take your clothes off. You can put the three white buttons on the front of you and go as a domino. If you don't like that one, you can put the white belt on and go as an Oreo. And if you don't like THAT one, you can stick the 2 x 4 up your ass and go as a fudge sicle."


A black boy and his sister were out trick or treating.

They go to the first house and ring the bell, the door soon opens.

The owner asks "What are you two dressed as?"

The black boy says, "We're dressed as Jack and Jill."

"You can't be Jack and Jill, they are white.” the owner replied.

The children got their candy, thought about what they could say they were dressed as and went to the next house.

They rang the bell; the owner opened the door and asked them the same question the previous homeowner had asked.

The little girl replied, "We are dressed as Hansel and Gretel."

The owner told them they could not dress as Hansel and Gretel, since they were not white, like Hansel and Gretel.

The children thought long and hard about their dilemma as they moved to the next house.

The little boy came up with an idea and told his sister to take off her clothes. He did the same.

Naked, they walked up to the door and rang the bell.

As the owner opened the door, the little boy piped up "We're dressed as Hershey bars, one with nuts, one without nuts."

№ 1821

More Halloween Screams

COMPLAINTS OF MODERN DAY VAMPIRES

* Grunge look makes it tough to tell living from the undead.

* NutraSweet or not, fat-free blood tastes like crap.

* Hard to get a decent puncture with latex on your fangs.

* Three Words: Daylight Savings Time

* Can't enjoy a meal at Burger King without some redneck yelling, "Look Ma! It's Elvis!"

* After 45 years of Communist rule, it's impossible to find clean, uncontaminated Transylvanian soil for bottom of coffin.

* After 100 years of trying, still can't score with Elvira.

* No bat is safe with Ozzy Ozbourne around.

* With all those crucifix-wearing Madonna clones, junior highs are suddenly off-limits.

* No warm blood for miles around DC.

* Exhausted from all those Calvin Klein photo shoots.

* No small task beating F. Lee Bailey to a warm body.

* Buxom wenches of old have been replaced by aerobicized "hardbodies."

* Baboon heart makes everything taste gamey.

* Sick and tired of being mistaken for Keith Richards.


Most Tasteless Costume
A man shows up at a Halloween party.

He is naked, except for a pair of in-line skates on his feet.

When the host opens the door and sees him standing there, He says, "What are you supposed to be?"

The would be-guest answers, "I came as a pull toy!"


REASONS YOU WON'T WIN THE HALLOWEEN COSTUME CONTEST

- The Bride of Frankenstein had big, pointy hair and a small, round ass not the other way around.

- 'Cause you should know that wearing a white sheet in Atlanta could only lead to getting your ass whupped, Homeboy.

- Your "Naked Linda Tripp" costume is actually more nauseating than scary.

- Your "Yanni" costume got you beat up on the way to the party, four times.

- Your Dirk Diggler costume is merely embarrassing now that your "Diggler" is stuck in the car door.

- Your beret falls off every time you kneel.

- Yellow Homer Simpson makeup? Check. Can of Homer Simpson "Duff Beer?" Check. Homer Simpson pants? DOH!!!!

- No one can tell whether you came as Abe Vigoda or Marge Schott.

- This year's guest judge, Elizabeth Dole, has apparently never even *heard* of Marilyn Manson.

- Much to your surprise, three other people came dressed as Nikola Tesla, father of alternating current.

- The judges wrongly interpreted your "Liposuction By-product" costume as a "Bowl of Tapioca Pudding" costume.

- The only song you knew to go with the costume was "Mammy," and the judges at the NAACP party were not impressed.

- *Nobody* likes a farting clown.


Casper Takes a Beating
An extremely modest man was in the hospital for a series of tests, the last of which had left his bodily systems extremely upset.

Upon making several false alarm trips to the bathroom, he decided the latest episode was another and stayed put.

He suddenly filled his bed with diarrhea and was embarrassed beyond his ability to remain rational.

In a complete loss of composure he jumped out of bed, gathered up the bed sheets, and threw them out the hospital window.

A drunk was walking by the hospital when the sheets landed on him.

He started yelling, cursing, and swinging his arms violently trying to get the unknown things off, and ended up with the soiled sheets in a tangled pile at his feet.

As the drunk stood there, unsteady on his feet, staring down at the sheets, a hospital security guard, (barely containing his laughter), and who had watched the whole incident, walked up and asked, "What the heck is going on here?"

The drunk, still staring down replied: "I think I just beat the sh*t out of a ghost."

An English Vampire?
It's Halloween and everyone's out trick-or-treating. A bartender is working the late-night shift at the bar. He looks outside and sees everyone in crazy costumes. He sighs and picks up a glass and starts cleaning it.

At around midnight, a guy in a vampire costume walks in and sits at the bar. He says to the bartender "Hi. I'm a vampire and I'd like a cup of human blood please."

The bartender looks at him skeptically. "No you're not. You're just wearing a costume."

"No, no, really," he insists. "I'm a vampire and I'd like a cup of human blood please."

"Alright," the bartender says. He goes in the back and comes out with a cup of blood. He gives it to the vampire who drinks it right away.

"Thanks," he says, and leaves.

An hour later another vampire comes in and sits at the bar. He says "Hi, I'm a vampire and I'd like a cup of human blood please."

"Okay," the bartender says and goes in the back again. He comes out with another cup of blood. He gives it to the vampire who drinks it and leaves with a 'thanks'.

An hour later a third vampire comes in and sits at the bar. "Hi," he says to to the bartender. "I'm a vam..."

"I know, I know," the bartender interrupts. "You're a vampire and you want a cup of blood right?"

"Um, no," the vampire answers. "I AM a vampire, but I'd just like a glass of hot water please."

"Sure" the bartender says. He pours him a glass of hot water. As he gives it to the vampire he says "You know, there were two vampires that came in before you that wanted blood. How come you're just asking for water?"

Without answering the vampire reaches into his pocket and pulls out a used band-aid.

"Tea time."

№ 1820

We All Scream For Halloween

You might be a redneck if the jack-o-lantern on your front porch has more teeth than your spouse.

Funny Farm Masquerade
There was a costume party at a mental hospital; the theme of the party was "war".

The first person comes up onto the stage and says, "I'm an atomic bomb." He gets his applause and steps down.

The second person comes up and says, "I'm a hydrogen bomb." Again, there's applause and he steps down.

And then a naked little man comes up to the stage and says, "I'm dynamite."

Everybody runs away hysterically. When one of them is asked why, he says, "Didn't you see how short his fuse was?"

Werewolf PMS
The Wolf Man comes home one day from a long day at the office.

"How was work, dear?" his wife asks.

"Listen! I don't want to talk about work!" he shouts.

"Okay. Would you like to sit down and eat a nice home cooked meal?" she asks nicely.

"Listen!" he shouts again. "I'm not hungry! I don't wanna eat! Alright! Is that alright with you? Can I come home from work and just do my own thing without you forcing food down my throat? Huh?"

At this moment, the wolf man started growling, and throwing things around the apartment in a mad rage.

Looking out the window, his wife sees a full moon and says to herself, "Well, I guess it's that time of the month."

3 Vampires in a Bar
It was Halloween and three vampires went into a saloon and bellied up to the bar.

"What will you have?" the bartender asked.

"I’ll have a glass of blood," the first replied.

"I’ll have a glass of blood, too, please," said the second.

"I’ll have a glass of plasma," said the third.

"OK, let me get this straight," the bartender said. "That’ll be two bloods and a blood light?"

Fill 'ER Up
A guy goes to a costume shop and says, "I'm going to a costume party as Adam and I need a fig leaf."

The girl brings out a fig leaf. He says, "Not big enough."

She brings out a bigger one. He says, "Still not big enough."

She brings out a huge fig leaf. He says, "Still not big enough."

She says, "Listen, Ace, why don't you just throw it over your shoulder and go as a gasoline pump?"

Costume Dilemma
On the night of a Halloween costume party a couple were having trouble picking suitable outfits.

After a while the wife got mad and stormed out of the room.

Fifteen minutes later she came back completely naked except for a lemon between her legs.

The husband looked at her for a moment and then stormed out of the room himself.

A few minutes passed and then he returned with a potato around his penis.

The wife gave him a quizzical look and the husband said, "If you're going as a sour-puss, I'm going as a dictator."

They Had Him Pegged
There's this man with a bald head and a wooden leg who gets invited to a fancy Halloween dress party. He doesn't know what costume to wear to hide his head and his leg so he writes to a fancy dress company to explain the problem.

A few days later he receives a parcel with a note. "Dear Sir, please find enclosed a pirates outfit. The spotted handkerchief will cover your bald head and with your wooden leg you will be just right as a pirate."

The man thinks this is terrible because they have just emphasized his wooden leg and so he writes a really rude letter of complaint.

A week passes and he receives another parcel and a note which says, "Dear Sir, sorry about before, please find enclosed a monks habit. The long robe will cover your wooden leg and with your bald head, you will really look the part."

Now the man is really annoyed since they have gone from emphasizing his wooden leg to emphasizing his bald head and he writes the company a REALLY rude letter of complaint.

The next day he receives a small parcel and a note which reads, "Dear Sir, please find enclosed a jar of caramel. Pour the jar of caramel over your bald head, stick your wooden leg up your ass and go as a candied apple!"

№ 1819

Terror Error

A fleeing Taliban soldier, desperate for water, was plodding through the Afghanistan desert when he saw something far off in the distance.

Hoping to find water, he hurried toward the object, only to find a little old Jewish man at a small stand selling ties.

The Taliban asked, "Do you have water?"

The Jewish man replied, "I have no water. Would you like to buy a tie? They are only $5."

The Taliban shouted, "Idiot! I do not need an over-priced tie. I need water! I should kill you, but I must find water first!"

"Okay," said the old Jewish man. "It does not matter that you do not want to buy a tie and that you hate me. I will show you that I am bigger than that. If you continue over that hill to the east for about two miles you will find a lovely restaurant. It has all the ice cold water you need. Shalom."

Muttering, the Taliban staggered away over the hill.

Several hours later he staggered back, almost dead.

"Your frickin’ brother won't let me in without a tie!"


The president of Iran, Mahmoud Ahmadi Nejad, wakes up one morning and calls The U.S. President, Barack Obama, on the phone.

"Mr. Obama, I had the most wonderful dream! I came to your country and everyone had the most beautiful banners hanging from the roof of their houses, and each one read 'God is Allah, Allah is God' in bright gold letters!"

Obama responds, "That's awfully funny. I too had a very similar dream. I flew over Tehran and also noticed signs hanging from each building, with bright gold writing."

"Well, what did the signs say?," asked Iranian President.

Obama responds, "I don't know. I don't read Hebrew."

Southern Terrorist Advisory, Atlanta
The governors of Alabama, South Carolina, Arkansas, Georgia, and Mississippi announced today that they have made a disturbing discovery in their states.

Apparently, a small number of Al Qaeda terrorists have become romantically involved with local redneck girls. The result is not pretty and they now have the sad task of reporting the creation of a new sector of the human race: Islamabubbas.

So far, only a smattering of actual births have been reported, but Pat Robertson's Christian Coalition is hard at work trying to isolate and seal them off. To date, the Coalition has identified the following children:

Mohammed Billy Bob Abba Bubba
Mohammed Jethro Bin Thinkin Boudit
Mohammed Forrest Gumpa Bubba
Mohammed Rubba Dub Dubba Bubba
Bobbie Joe Bubba Amgood Atat
Betty Jean Hasbeena Badgurl
Linda Sue Bin There Dundat

Not surprisingly, the Coalition believes they all seem to have sprung from one couple:

Mohammed Whoozyadaddy and Yomamma Bin Lovin.

We were discussing the Middle East when my friend asked about the Kurds. "They want their own homeland," I explained. "But Iraq won't give up any land for it, and neither will Iran or Turkey."

"So what you're saying is," he concluded, "they won't let the Kurds have their way?"

Worldwide Survey
A worldwide survey was conducted by the UN. The only question asked was:"Would you please give your honest opinion about solutions to the food shortage in the rest of the world?"

The survey was a huge failure...

In Africa they didn't know what "food" meant. In Eastern Europe they didn't know what "honest" meant. In Western Europe they didn't know what "shortage" meant. In China they didn't know what "opinion" meant. In the Middle East they didn't know what "solution" meant. In South America they didn't know what "please" meant.

And in the USA they didn't know what "the rest of the world" meant.

№ 1816

Bawstin

( Boston skyline as seen from Bunker Hill Monument )

When traveling overseas to foreign lands and foreign cities, one of the first obstacles you are likely to encounter is the language barrier.

When traveling stateside, especially in the Northeast, you'll also encounter a language barrier. Actually, the barrier isn't so much one of language as it is of the regional dialect. This is especially true of the historic capital of Massachusetts.

If your vacation itinerary brings you to Boston (pronounced Baw-stin), you will be immediately be besieged with curious spellings and strange pronunciations.

The following was e-mailed to be by my brother-in-law, Don. I wished I'd had this when I first came to Boston forty plus years ago!

For those of you who have never been to "Bawstin", this is a good guideline. I hope you will consider coming to "Beantown" in the near future.

Information on Boston and the Surrounding Area:

There's no school on School Street; No court on Court Street; No dock on Dock Square; No water on Water Street.

Back Bay streets are in alphabetical "oddah": Arlington, Berkeley, Clarendon, Dartmouth, etc. So are South Boston streets: A, B, C, D, etc.

If the streets are named after trees (e.g. Walnut, Chestnut, Cedar), you're on Beacon Hill. If they're named after poets, you're in Wellesley.
Massachusetts Avenue is Mass Ave; Commonwealth Avenue is Comm Ave; Dorchester Avenue is Dot Ave.

South Boston is Southie.
The South End is the northwest of South Boston.
East Boston is Eastie.
The North End is east of the West End.
The West End is no more; (a guy named Rappaport got rid of it one night.)
Scollay Square is Government Center.
Roxbury is The Berry.
Jamaica Plain is J.P.

How to say these Massachusetts city names correctly:

(Say them wrong and be shunned)

Worcester : Wuhsta (or Wistah)
Gloucester : Glawsta
Woburn: Wooban
Dedham : Dead-um
Revere: Ra -vee-ah
Quincy: Quinzee
Tewksbury : Tooks berry
Leominster : Lemin-sta
Medford: Meffa
Peabody: Pee-ba-dee
Waltham : Walth-ham
Chatham: Chaddum
Samoset: Sam-oh-set or Sum-aw-set but nevah Summerset!

Definitions:

Frappes have ice cream, milkshakes don't.
If it is fizzy and flavored, it's tonic.
Soda is CLUB SODA.
"Pop" is DAD.
When we want Tonic WATER, we will ask for TONIC WATAH.
The smallest beer is a pint.
Scrod is whatever they tell you it is, usually fish. If you paid more than $7/pound you got scrod.
The underground train is not a subway. It's the "T", and it doesn't run all night (fah chrysakes, this ain't Noo Yawk).
Order the "cold tea" in China Town after 2:00 am you'll get a kettle full of beer.

It's not a water fountain; it's a bubblah.
It's not a trashcan; it's a barrel.
It's not a spucky, a hero or grinder,... it's a sub.
It's not a shopping cart; it's a carriage.
It's not a purse; it's a pockabook.
They're not franks; they're haht dahgs. ( Franks are money in Switzahland).

Police don't drive patrol units or black and whites, they drive a "crooza".
If you take the bus, your on the "looza crooza".
It's not a rubber band, it's an elastic.
It's not a traffic circle, it's a rotary.

The Sox = The Red Sox
The C's = The Celtics
The B's = The Bruins
The Pats =The Patriots

Things Not to Do

Don't pahk your cah in Hahvid Yahd .. they'll tow it to Meffa (Medford) or Summahville (Somerville) .
Don't sleep on the Common. (Boston Common)
Don't wear Orange in Southie on St. Patrick's Day.

Things You Should Know:

There are two State Houses, two city Halls, two courthouses, two Hancock buildings (one old, one new for each).

The colored lights on top the old Hancock tell the weatha':

"Solid blue, clear view...."
"Flashing blue, clouds due...."
"Solid red, rain ahead...."
"Flashing red, snow instead...." ( except in summer when flashing red means the Red Sox game was rained out)

Most people live here all their life and still don't know what the hell is going on with this one:

Route 128 South is the same as I-95 South. It's also I-93 North.

About Bostonians:

Bostonians... think that it's their God-given right to cut off someone in traffic.
Bostonians... think that there are only 25 letters in the alphabet (no R's, except in idea (prounouced i-dee-er) ).
Bostonians... think that three straight days of 90+ temperatures is a heat wave.
Bostonians...refer to six inches of snow as a "dusting."
Bostonians=.. always "bang a left" as soon as the light turns green, and on-coming traffic always expects it.
Bostonians... believe that using your turn signal is a sign of weakness.
Bostonians... think that 63-degree ocean water is warm.
Bostonians... think Rhode Island accents are annoying.

After studying the above and committing it to memory, you are ready to undertake the adventure of "tourist-ing" in Boston. If you are staying more than a week - you're on your own.

№ 1815

Dr. Obama's Medical Breakthrough

Old Technology For a New Generation

After being successfully tested on the Nobel Peace Prize committee,
the Obama Administration has reintroduced a 250-year-old
technological wonder to Washington, D.C.*
*-(Thanks, Earl.)

You might be wondering what sort of individual(s) would allow themselves to be subjected to such a nefarious device.

Hank Rutherford Hill
To many, Hank Hill needs no introduction. He is the paternal figure of the Hill family on the animated cartoon program, The King of the Hill. For thirteen plus years he was the manager of Strickland Propane and often professed that he sells propane and propane accessories.

When he learned that the program was in its final season of production, he began to wonder about his future and how he will support his wife Peggy and son Bobby.

The following is a transcript of an interview that Hank granted this blogger:

HANK: "I'll tell you what, President Obama's Smoke Enema has a bright future. I was happy to get in on the ground floor of this technology. I made a living selling propane and propane accessories, so I know something about gas. Now rectal gas might be comprised of methane, but gas is gas. If you don't believe me, just you try eating a bowl of my wife Peggy's chili and broccoli casserole."

HALE: "If the President's experiment with the smoke enema device fails, do have any other career opportunities?"

HANK: "Well, I do know something about plate tectonics."

HALE: "Interesting. Where did you study seismology?"

HANK: "Size-mology? I'm not talking about some fat lady trying on britches too small for her fat ass. I'm talking about one plate moving under another one."

HALE: "Like the Pacific plate?"

HANK: "There's no specific plate, son. One plate's the same as any other."

HALE: "True. Vulcanism affects all the plates."

HANK: "Vulcanism? I ain't talking about some pointy-eared character on Star Trek!"

HALE: "Right," (Beam me up, Scotty. There's no intelligent life down here.) "We were talking about plate tectonics, weren't we?"

HANK: "Well, one of us was."

HALE: "Yes. So, tell me, when did you become interested in plate tectonics?"

HANK: "Three times a day, everyday."

HALE: "Three times a day?"

HANK: "Yeah, three times. I don't know about you, but that's how many meals we have everyday at our house."

HALE: "Meals? Hmmmm. Meals have something to do with plate tectonics, how?"

HANK: "Now you're talking like Yoder on Star Wars? Son, you've been watching too much science friction."

HALE: "Uh, yeah. Let me rephrase the question. How did your meals make you interested in plate tectonics?"

HANK: "Easy. When ever I would hear Peggy sliding one plate off the others while she was setting the table, I knew we would be eating very soon."

HALE: "Ah, yes. Plate tectonics. Mr. Hill you certainly are a learned man."

HANK: "Learn-ed? It's good to see that you watch programs that are not science friction."

HALE: "Huh?"

HANK: "She played the mother on Little House on the Prairie. You know, the actress with a boy's first name - Michael Learned."

HALE: "Ah, of course!"

It was there that the interview came to an end. From the dining room I could hear the sound of the plates moving. A sound ... like that of an earthquake rumbled in Hank's stomach.

№ 1814

For Whom the Nobel Tolls

...It Tolls For He?
Sometimes one must scratch his or her head when an award is given. We ask ourselves what criteria came into play for that decision? A more beguiling question: Why was the winner even nominated in the first place?

Since when does a check mark on the box labeled "Mediocrity" rate Nobel consideration? Does failure to live up to campaign promises merit a positive vote? Did reneging on those promises push him over the top?

Ah, but if comparisons to a predecessor counted, then I'd say that the fix was in place! This Editorial cartoonist hit the nail on the head!

Perhaps his attempts to blindside the Olympic Committee to appease his home town of Chicago and Oprah impressed the Nobel Prize panel. Any action that would prevent Oprah from whining would have to be considered a peaceful one. Who knows, the Chicagoans just might vote for him in his run for reelection in 2012!

Kudos to this cartoonist for being spot on!

This cartoonist might be onto something also!

Sharing a beer with an arrogant black professor and a white cop was surely an act of peaceful racial relations. Despite the fact that it was a civil disorder and our President had no business sticking his nose in the affair, the Nobel Prize panel viewed a "happy hour" on the White House lawn as an exemplary message of peace to the world.

The next cartoonist took a different approach by comparing the significance of President Obama's award to Nobel Prize winners in other fields.

Given this perspective, it is most gratifying to see that he is in the company of greatness!

The cartoonist of the previous cartoon also reveals just what value this year's Nobel Prize for Peace might have.

Obama said that the one million dollar cash prize will be donated to charity. Will it be to one based out of Chicago? Perhaps it will be earmarked for a charitable organization to fund a bid for another Summer Olympic Games.

In conclusion, it would be fitting if he was to return the Prize to the "Fruit Loops" who awarded it to him in the first place.

№ 1812