True Facts about Sloths.

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Bitches in Bookshops.

Do you enjoy rap covers about reading? Do you have four minutes and twenty-eight seconds?





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Ding Dong, Gaddafi's Gone!

Dear Muammar Gaddafi,

BANG YOU'RE DEAD! Hahahahaha!

Thanks,
The Editors at Standardkink
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Just a Little Wrong.

So this is a couple of weeks late, and possibly insensitive, but I still keep chuckling about it.

A day or two after Steve Jobs died my dad got home from work and said to my mother, “Honey, I think that Bill Gates died today.”

Come on, that’s hilarious!

I love and admire and respect my father very much, but he has a knack for getting the pop culture stuff a little wrong. One of the other winners was the time he said, “I watched a whole episode of that Rupaul’s Drag Race because I thought it was about drag racing. But it wasn’t.”

That’s not the all-time, best-in-show winner though. My dad doesn’t sleep much, so tends to stay up late working on his laptop with the TV on in the background. He enjoys a good western, as most of our fathers do, and so one night – while looking for something to have on the TV in the background – he came across what looked to be a western he’d never seen. It did not take long however before he discovered that Brokeback Mountain is NOT a western. He is still a little shocked about that one.



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SpongeBob Square Pants in China.

Thanks Mr. William B. esquire for showing me this.

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Trapped in a Chilean Mine.

Now that everyone is safely out of that Chilean mine, we can go ahead and start making jokes about it.

How many Chilean Miners does it take to screw in a light bulb . . .?

I don’t actually have a punch line for that yet.

Or, how many Chilean Miners can you fit in a Volkswagen?

Yeah, don’t have a punch line for that yet either.

What I do have are the lyrics to Chapter 1 of R. Kelly’s magnum opus “Trapped in The Closet” with all 'closet' references changed to 'Chilean mine' references.

It doesn’t quite work, not yet anyway, but I will keep tinkering.


Trapped in [a Chilean Mine]

(CHAPTER 1)


Seven o’clock in the morning
And the rays from the sun wakes me
I’m stretchin’ and yawnin’
In a bed that don’t belong to me
And a voice yells, “Good morning, darlin”, from the bathroom
Then she comes out and kisses me
And to my surprise, she ain’t you

Now I’ve got this dumb look on my face
Like, what have I done?
How could I be so stupid to be have laid here til the morning sun?
Must have Lost the track of time
Oh, what was on my mind?
From the club, went to her home
Didn’t plan to stay that long

Here I am, quickly tryin’ to put on my clothes
Searching for my car keys
Tryin’ to get on up out the door
Then she streched her hands in front of it
Said, “You can’t go this way”
Looked at her, like she was crazy
Said, “Woman move out my way”
Said, “I got a wife at home”
She said, “Please don’t go out there”
“Lady, I’ve got to get home”
She said, her husband was comin’ up the stairs

“Shh, shh, quiet
Hurry up and get in the [Chilean Mine]”
She said, “Don’t you make a sound
Or some shit is going down”
I said, “Why don’t I just go out the window?”
“Yes, except for one thing, we on the 5th floor [below Chile]”
“Shit think, shit think, shit quick, put me in the [Chilean Mine]”
And now I’m in this darkest [Chilean Mine], tryin’ to figure out
Just how I’m gonna get my crazy ass up out this [Chilean Mine]

Then he walks in and yells, “I’m home”
She says, “Honey, I’m in the [area above the Chilean Mine]”
He walks in there with a smile on his face
Sayin’, “Honey, I’ve been missin’ you”
She hops all over him
And says, “I’ve cooked and ran your bath water”
I’m tellin’ you now, this girl’s so good that she deserves an Oscar

throws her in the bed
And start to snatchin’ her clothes off
I’m in the [Chilean Mine], like man, what the fuck is going on?
You’re not gonna believe it
But things get deeper as the story goes on
Next thing you know, a call comes through on my cell phone
I tried my best to quickly put it on vibrate
But from the way he act, I could tell it was too late
He hopped up and said, “There’s a mystery going on [in this Chilean Mine]
And I’m gonna solve it”
And I’m like, “God please, don’t let this man open this [Chilean Mine] ”

He walks in the bathroom
And looks behind the door
She says, “Baby, come back to bed”
He says, “Bitch say no more”
He pulls back the shower curtain
While she’s biting her nails
Then he walks back to [area above the Chilean Mine]
Right now, I’m sweating like hell
Checks under the bed
Then under the dresser
He looks at the [Chilean Mine]
I pull out my [pick ax]
He walks up to the [Chilean Mine]
He goes up to the [Chilean Mine]
Now he’s at the [Chilean Mine]
Damn he’s opening the [Chilean Mine] . . .



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Minims.

If you enjoy things that are funny, please check out this link for a little book called Minims (the opposite of a maxim).

The author is the wonderfully deranged Tom Weller who wrote one of my favorite fake science books. That book, BTW, is called Science Made Stupid.
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The Plan.

This is a very short and funny story that I have no right at all to post on this blog. Also, I wish I had written it.



The Plan
by Jack Handey

The plan isn’t foolproof. For it to work, certain things must happen:

—The door to the vault must have accidentally been left open by the cleaning woman.

—The guard must bend over to tie his shoes and somehow he gets all the shoelaces tied together. He can’t get them apart, so he takes out his gun and shoots all his bullets at the knot. But he misses. Then he just lies down on the floor and goes to sleep.

—Most of the customers in the bank must happen to be wearing Nixon masks, so when we come in wearing our Nixon masks it doesn’t alarm anyone.

—There must be an empty parking space right out in front. If it has a meter, there must be time left on it, because our outfits don’t have pockets for change.

—The monkeys must grab the bags of money and not just shriek and go running all over the place, like they did in the practice run.

—The security cameras must be the early, old-timey kind that don’t actually take pictures.

—When the big clock in the lobby strikes two, everyone must stop and stare at it for at least ten minutes.

—The bank alarm must have mistakenly been set to “Quiet.” Or “Ebb tide.”

—The gold bars must be made out of a lighter kind of gold that’s just as valuable but easier to carry.

—If somebody runs out of the bank and yells, “Help! The bank is being robbed!,” he must be a neighborhood crazy person who people just laugh at.

—If the police come, they don’t notice that the historical mural on the wall is actually us, holding still.

—The bank’s lost-and-found department must have a gun that fires a suction cup with a wire attached to it. Also a chainsaw and a hang glider.

—When we spray the lobby with knockout gas, for some reason the gas doesn’t work on us.

—After the suction cup is stuck to the ceiling, it must hold long enough for Leon to pull himself up the wire while carrying the bags of money, the gold bars, and the hang glider. When he reaches the ceiling, he must be able to cut through it with the chainsaw and climb out.

—Any fingerprints we leave must be erased by the monkeys.

—Once on the roof, Leon must be able to hold on to the hang glider with one hand and the money and the gold bars with the other and launch himself off the roof. Then glide the twenty miles to the rendezvous point.

—When we exit the bank, there must be a parade going by, so our getaway car, which is decorated to look like a float, can blend right in.

—During the parade, our car must not win a prize for best float, because then we’ll have to have our picture taken with the award.

—At the rendezvous point, there must be an empty parking space with a meter that takes hundred-dollar bills.

—The robbery is blamed on the monkeys.


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I borrowed this from The New Yorker (because I’m pretentious like that).

The Onion Makes Me Cry.

Hey do you enjoy laughing at things that are funny? Do you enjoy laughing until you cry all over yourself?

Then check out this article from The Onion:

Scientology Losing Ground To New Fictionology.

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Fun With Fotos.

See, it is funny because this picture makes it look like Mahmoud Ahmadinejad’s head is on Violet’s body!

It’s not, she’s just reading a magazine.
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Skeptical Hippo!

I’m not sure why I find this so god damn funny, but I really, really do.


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Knock knock . . .

So here is a super fantastic joke that I came up with last night in bed. I didn’t have a pen in my nightstand, so I actually emailed it to myself from my phone, just so that I wouldn’t forget it.

The Joke:
How many pragmatists does it take to screw in a light bulb?
The Answer:
One, screwing in a light bulb is not that hard.
HA!

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I Should Have Thought Of This Movie.

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Ferrari Snow Day.

Stephen Colbert was just talking about the song “Birthday Sex” and he said that all you need to ensure a hit song is a title that combines two things we already like.

He suggested: Ferrari Snow Day.

I think that that's funny.
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Improvement in Telegraphy

Below is a short story I wrote for one of my classes. I’m actually really happy with it. Enjoy!




Improvement in Telegraphy
By James Bezerra

Alexander Graham Bell invented the telephone to impress a girl.

Her eyes were blue and her voice was sing-song-y like a nursery rhythm. Her name was Hester. She was the daughter of his benefactor Gardiner Greene Hubbard, however, so too was Bell’s wife Mabel. Hester was her sister.

Mabel was deaf, her hearing had left her after a childhood bout with Scarlet Fever. Bell, whose life had been so devoted to the plight of the deaf, was ashamed to admit to himself that he loved Hester because of the way she spoke, so pretty, so perfect. Mabel spoke so little and so poorly.

They made love, Bell and Hester, just once. They were discovered! A misshapen shriek left Mabel’s mouth when she found them together. Gardiner Greene Hubbard shipped his youngest daughter off to France and the two men never spoke of the incident. But for Bell it was torture. He was anguished. He locked himself in his workshop. He longed only to hear her sweet voice again.

Yet Bell was not the only man who loved Hester Hubbard, nor was he the only inventor in Gardiner Greene Hubbard’s employ. The young Elisha Gray had also cherished and adored her and when he learned that Hester was gone, and why, he was enraged. His long, stern face twisted into a mask of hatred, “Damn you Alexander Graham Bell!” he shouted, fist in the air, “Damn you to Hell!”

Gray learned from the jilted Mabel that Bell had devoted himself to the completion of his ‘harmonic telegraph’ so that he could hear Hester’s voice from across the sea. Seeing the perfection of such a romantic gesture, Gray committed to finishing his own ‘liquid transmitter’ prototype, which functioned on entirely different principles but would accomplish the same end as Bell’s device.

Bell learned of Gray’s competition and the two men engaged in a race of invention. At times Bell could even feel Gray’s hot breath on the back of his neck.

On the crisp, snowy morning of February 14th 1876, Bell was in his workshop, his brow was sweaty. His arms were heavy with exhaustion as he snapped into place the acoustic reed, completing his device. “Thomas!” he shouted to his assistant Thomas A. Watson, “I have just invented the telephone!”

Then, to Bell’s amazement, it rang.

He picked it up and held it carefully to his ear. Unsure of the appropriate etiquette, he answered, “Ahoy?”

Gray’s voice crackled down the line, “Fuck you Alexander Graham Bell!” Then Gray hung up.

In a panic, Bell gathered his notes and the device. He dashed out the door, his knees high in the air as he ran. A trail of papers streamed behind him like a cloud.
Halfway to the Patent Office he spotted Gray rounding a corner, clutching his own invention. They came even, both of them running down the center of the street, dashing past carriages and horses.

“She doesn’t love you!” Bell shouted.

“She will when she finds out I invented the god damn telephone for her!” Gray yelled back.

They rounded the last corner; the U.S. Patent Office loomed at the end of the block. The men were both puffing; lungs were burning, legs were cramping, pain-in-the-name-of-love was all around and then Bell did the thing that he would spend the rest of his life denying, he said, “You’re right. She loves you.”

“What?”

But when Gray turned his head to look at his nemesis, the back of Bell’s hand was already swooping around in a wide arc. Bell slapped him across the face and Gray stumbled, still running full-speed, and his foot caught an uneven cobblestone, he was wrenched sideways and he hit the ground with an awful wet thwack! and he slid for several bloody feet.

Alexander Graham Bell never looked back. He ran straight through the doors of the Patent Office. He slammed the device down on the desk and said to the clerk, “Hurry up, I have to make a call.”





I ‘borrowed’ the telephone photo from this person on
Flickr