Friday, March 26, 2010
"Can I help you?" the young man asked. He was so wise. How could he not be?
"WHERE'S YOUR PROSTATE PILLS?!" she shouted, not necessarily because she was mad, but because she was just old.
'Why, let me show you," replied the young man as he came out of the checkout area to locate the prostate pills.
"I NEED SOME PROSTATE PILLS!" she shouted.
"Honey, stop embarassing me," said her husband, the ever wise, ever-drunk Johnny. He had been so faithful to her all of these years, so loyal, so tender.
"Here are the prostate pills right here," said the young man, pointing to a particular product on the shelf.
"I NEED YOUR PROSTATE PILLS!" Martha yelled again.
"Um..." said the young man. "Right here?" He pointed again at the product, labeled in huge letters across the front "PROSTAMAX."
"ARE THEY GLUTEN FREE?!' she asked.
"Yes," said the young man. "Completely gluten free. Not a trace of gluten. You can rest assured that they are completely devoid of any gluten."
"I CAN'T HAVE ANY GLUTEN!" she yelled.
"Yes honey," said Johnny. "I think he understands that."
"HOW COULD HE UNDERSTAND ANYTHING? HE'S JUST A STUPID KID!" she shouted, oblivious to the young man's feelings. He bowed his head in shame. Tears began to well up in his eyes.
"Grandmammy, what's a 'Super Horny Goat Weed'?" asked Chucky, pointing to a particular product on the shelf.
"CHUCKY, DON'T TOUCH ANYTHING!" yelled Martha.
"Martha, I don't understand why you need this product. You don't even have a prostate," said Johnny.
"I CAN'T HAVE ANY GLUTEN!" she yelled at the top of her lungs.
They walked back up the checkout counter, where the young man stood patiently and lovingly waiting. "Will this be all for you today?" he asked, as there was a sparkle in his eye. "Yeah, that'll do it," replied Johnny.
"Oh, by the way, it's Senior Day today!" said the young man, so loving and so caring of them as customers. "You save three dollars on this product!"
Yay, thought Johnny. Privileges because I'm old. What a joke.
"GIMME SOME OATS 'N CREAM," shouted Martha, eyeing the yogurt flavors on the wall.
"We don't have Oats 'N Cream today, maam," replied the young man. Martha didn't say another word.
As soon as the transaction was completed, and Johnny had forked over 60 dollars, Martha, without warning, tore open the "PROSTAMAX" supplement and dumped the whole box in her mouth.
"Whoa!" said the young man, wide-eyed. "That's a lot of prostate pills!'
"HONEY! NO!" cried Johnny, as Martha swallowed the pills. Every last one of them. "What have you done Martha? What...have...you...done???" He looked more alarmed than ever.
Suddenly, the young man broke out laughing. Evilly laughing. This young man, who only minutes before had personified love, innocence, youth, and exceptional customer service, now only personified the very epitome of evil himself: Satan.
"Wha...what are you laughing about?" asked Johnny.
"I LIED!" yelled the young man. "I lied! Those pills were NOT gluten free! Now your wife will suffer a slow painful death, the kind of painful death that comes with eating gluten! Ha ha ha!"
Then he just kinda stood there and didn't really do anything. It was pretty awkward.
20 minutes later, Martha had some vomiting issues, some stomach cramps, a pounding headache, and a funny tingling in her left earlobe, but she ended up being just fine. In fact, that night, they ate a cake.
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Johnny was out mowing his lawn.
It was a hot summer day. The sun was shining, it was hot, and it was most definitely summer. A typical hot, summer day. Believe it or not!
“JOHNNY!” cried Johnny’s wife from the patio, in her shrill womanly voice.
“UH, YEAH!” he replied. Distracted by his wife, he accidentally ran over a sprinkler head, hidden in the grass. There was a lot of noise, not pretty noise, that other writers would love to describe to you in a really lovely poetic descriptive fashion. You can go ask them if you want.
“EH, GARBAGE!!!” Johnny shouted in awesome fury as he turned the mower off.
Johnny’s neighbor, Jimbo, peeked over the fence.
“A HEH HEH HEH!” he laughed.
A man, wielding a briefcase and wearing a nice suit, came walking up the sidewalk. “HELLO THERE! I’M A BUSINESSMAN!” he said, coming towards Johnny. “HAVE YOU ANY NEED OF BUSINESS?”
“Why, yes. I do,” said Johnny, sticking out his hand to shake the businessman’s hand.
“JOHNNY!!!” cried his wife again.
“SHADDAP MARTHA!” yelled Johnny. “WE’VE GOT COMPANY!”
“It’s all right,” said the businessman. He was well groomed, well shaven. But in a way, he wasn’t. He had a cheery air about him. But in a way, he didn’t. He smelled like Cuban cigars. But he didn’t really. Johnny couldn’t quite put his finger on him. But he tried.
“Come here son,” said Johnny, sticking his index finger out to touch him. “Come here.”
“Sir,” said the businessman. “I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t put your finger on me.”
“Come here son,” said Johnny again, his finger inching closer to the man’s face.
“Sir, what are you doing?” asked the businessman, becoming quite alarmed. “What are you doing?! STOP! RIGHT NOW!”
“Come here son!” said Johnny, his voice becoming raspy and more vicious. His finger made contact with the businessman’s forehead, and immediately, the point of contact on the skin started to sizzle.
“WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO MY HEAD?” cried the businessman, as Johnny’s finger began to burn a hole into the man’s head. “OUCH! MY HEAD!”
“JOHNNY!!!” cried his wife again. She sounded like a vulture.
“SHADDAP MARTHA!” yelled Johnny. “I’M BURNING A HOLE IN THIS NICE MAN’S HEAD!”
“JOHNNY, THE TELEVISION SET WON’T WORK!” she cried again.
“OUCH, MY FREAKIN HEAD!” cried the businessman in agony. At some point, he left, disgusted, not only because of the repulsive disgusting hole in his head, but because he was just plain mad. It was just another bad day.
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Once upon a time, there was a little boy named Johnny. Johnny loved beer. He loved it so much that he drank it at every meal. By little boy, I mean “45-year-old man,” and by loved beer, I mean “loved it so much he was a crazy drunk alcoholic guy that always beat his wife.” By “beat his wife” I actually mean “beats his wife at video games.” What, you thought this was a story about physical abuse? Impossible! As you can deduce, his wife was terrible at video games. Not just some video games. ALL of them. Every one.
Finally, one day, she snapped.
“I CAN’T TAKE THIS ANYMORE!” she cried, throwing the paddle to the floor. Her drunken, yet loving husband, tried to console her.
“Honey,” he said.” It’s ok. Not everyone is good at Double Dragon: Rise of the Dragon Lord.”
“But I’m not good at ANY OF THEM!” she sobbed.
She was right.
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
Many a broken-hearted teenage girl has heard the old proverbial saying, “No boy is worth crying over, and the boy who is won’t make you cry.” No one knows where or who this statement came from, but it’s hailed as one of the most wise profound quotations of our modern era.
Well guess what? I DISAPPROVE.
Why? Let me show you! Because if NO boy is worth crying over (so stated in the first segment), then why is the “boy who won’t make you cry” worth crying over? It doesn’t make any sense. Obviously no boy is worth crying over, but the boy (who is worth crying over?) won’t make you cry. No! No no no! TEENAGERS, STOP HEEDING THE FLAWED ADVICE OF THIS STATEMENT. STOP. THIS QUOTATION CAME FROM SOMEONE WHO DIDN’T REALLY KNOW YOU, DIDN’T REALLY CARE ABOUT YOU, AND FROM SOMEONE THAT HAS NO IDEA WHAT YOU’RE GOING THROUGH!
I know what you’re going through! I know! Trust me! I have your best welfare in mind! You know I do! You KNOW I do! Teenagers, let’s reconcile our differences and be friends. How about it? Huh? Come on. You know you want to. Put down your drugs. Put down your video games. Put down your broken dreams and broken hearts, your shattered love and shattered knees, and be my friend. Laugh with me. Laugh at every joke I tell. EVERY ONE. Because every joke I tell is absolutely hilarious. Absolutely and unequivocally hilarious. So hilarious you will cry. And thus, the boy who IS worth crying over (me) WILL actually make you cry. With laughter. It’ll be great.
Here’s the joke of the day: My dentist got arrested last week for trying to pick up prostitutes! WAHAHAHA! Excuse me while I struggle to contain a bout of helpless laughter! Oh wait, that actually happened. What in the name of Sam Hill…?
UNTIL NEXT WEEK KIDS!
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
I used to find beer commercials hilarious, as many of us do, but then realized they're all exactly the same. The premise: Men are idiots, and prefer beer over women. I feel shamed that my gender is represented in such a distasteful way. Booo. Booo I say.