Posts Tagged ‘Humor’

A Reasonable Conversation with a Nice Polar Bear.

April 28, 2010

I went to the zoo the other day and started chatting with one of the polar bears, like I usually do on Tuesday afternoons.

“There are two kinds of people in the world,” I said.

“How convenient.”

“There are those of us that talk with polar bears at the zoo, and those that do not.”

“You mean the crazy and the sane?”

“Careful with the pejoratives,” I said. “If it wasn’t for those of us that talk to polar bears, your days would be so much less interesting.”

“Okay,” she said, “fair enough.”

“And besides, just because some of us are crazy, doesen’t make as all crazy,” I said. “I mean you’ve got you’re Polar Bear fetishists and whatever…”

“Oh Yeah.”

“And, I mean, you’ve got the guys who are just, like, really out there,” I said.

“Them too.”

“But they’d talk to anything,” I said. “To them you’re no different than like a shoe or a wall. They’d be talking regardless of whether or not they thought anybody was actually listening.”

“Yeah,” she said, “Glenn Beck was just up here a little while ago. Talk about crazy.”

“Exactly,” I said, “That dude’s nuts.”

A Chance Meeting: David Koresh

April 27, 2010

Savior? No. Crazy? You bet'cha.

I was walking down the street a few days ago, paying little attention to where I was going when I bumped into someone. As I looked up I noticed that the stranger looked an awful lot like David Koresh. “You look just like David Koresh,” I said, feeling super clever.   

“The one and only,” Koresh said in a weirdly calm voice. “Come with me my son and I will tell you my tale.” I agreed on the condition that we stay in well populated areas with lots of fire exits. He then told me one of the strangest stories I’ve ever heard. I mean I’ve said some weird shit in my day but wow. The stuff that came out of this guy’s mouth was SUPER crazy. He told me about this theory he has on how hotdogs are the perfect embodiment of the soul’s struggle to be released from its mortal coil. That’s why they explode in the microwave.

We grabbed a drink later on while he told me about why the sun has issues with its mother. I ordered a beer and he ordered wine.

“Couldn’t you have just gotten water?” I laughed. He didn’t seem amused at my miracle humor. He started talking about his new-found fondness for the word “Otter.”

“It is slippery in my mouth,” he said, “like the meat of the animal it represents.” I told him I was going to need a stronger drink.

A Several Small Animals Anecdote: Marmot Soup.

March 26, 2010

SSA Loves You

I was cooking the other day when someone asked me for a taste. “Man,” they said, “what did you put in this?”

Love, motherfucker,” I said, “don’t you know I lived in Asheville, North Carolina. There’s so much peace and understanding floating around down there you don’t know who to hug first.”

 “It’s just that I’ve never tasted anything like this.”

“Clearly,” I said, “You’ve never tasted marmot.”

“What?”

“That’s marmot soup.” I said.

“Whatever, man.”

“You know what the secret is to a good marmot soup?” I asked.

“Shut up dude.”

“It is love my son. Love.” I said. Then I turned off the burner, kissed their forehead and skipped joyfully away. “Enjoy the Marmot!” I shouted.

And NOW Several Small Animals Besmirches the Name of a Founding Father in — Thomas Jefferson: Psycho Killer, Rapist.

February 19, 2010

Terror of Monticello

Born to a prominent Virginia family in April of 1743, Thomas Jefferson was raised with every advantage available to a young man in colonial America. It is difficult to say, then, exactly where things began to go wrong.

From a late memoir we learn that the death of Jefferson’s father had a profound effect on his early life. Only fourteen at the time of his father’s death, Jefferson began to slip into a dark world of fantasy. The following statements come from a report by Jefferson’s counselor at William and Mary, made when Jefferson was just 16 years old:

Jefferson: “My mother told me when she worked on death row and they took that dude into hanging and his head popped off and went down them 13 stairs and rolled over by her, it scared the shit out of her. (chuckles) you know, and I said ‘wow, that sure is a far out trip moms.’”   

Counselor: “Come off it Thomas, your mother never worked at a–.”

Jefferson: “The head popped off, yeah. She was living in the Blue Moon Café and she hit a dude in the head with one of them bottles of uh, Jim Beam Whiskey. She tried to hustle a few dollars on the corner, but there wasn’t no money…”

Counselor: “WHOA! There is no way that’s true Thomas. You shouldn’t s–”

Jefferson: “Are you so white and pure? (pauses)  So, when she jammed this whiskey bottle upside that clown’s head, he went down and she took his bread. ”

During college Jefferson became a member of a secret society known as the F.H.C. Society. Though little is known about his position within this organization, it has been proposed that it was during this time that Jefferson gained his taste for control and dominance. When asked by a reporter about his time within the secret society then President Jefferson had this to say:

“I used to have to lay down and get my ass whipped till I couldn’t walk. No one fault, make strong, good pain, understand pain. Not bad. Pain’s not bad, it’s good. It teaches you things. It teaches you things. Like when you put your hand in the fire, OW! You know not to do that again. Yeah I understand that.”

Perhaps nothing sums up the strange and troubled existence of Thomas Jefferson better than this exchange as recorded in My Remarkable Journey by Larry King:

“We were out on the porch one day in late March when Thomas looks at me and says,

‘You know what I like Lar?’ He always called me Lar.

‘No,’ I said, ‘what do you like Tom?’

‘Killin’,’ he said, ‘killin’ and a-rapin’.’”   

On Space Monkeys. Part Two.

February 17, 2010

Perhaps I’ve gotten ahead of myself. Space monkeys are so rarely found outside of this town these days that the non-resident may ask, “What is a space monkey?” A fine question. Space monkeys are – no surprise here – monkeys who have been used in space programs and, more commonly due to the lack of living primate space veterans, the descendents of monkeys who have been used in space programs. Not all of the monkeys that were flown into space survived, indeed most of them didn’t, but a few of those who did managed to breed afterward. The results were shocking. Space monkeys who had traveled in space, when they mated with regular earth monkeys, produced highly intelligent babies. Actually, when the first of these monkey babies were born, the doctors on duty thought that they were mal-formed. A hyper-intelligent space monkey for whatever reason is larger than a regular monkey but has only the strength of a fairly athletic human of about the same size. In addition to this, the doctors were quite concerned with the more common occurrence of sleep apnea in the new breed of space monkey descendents. This, they attribute to their ability to speak. This strange ability is made even stranger when you learn that they are usually proficient in several languages. It is unclear whether this is related more to an attempt by the monkey community to overcome “dumb monkey” stereotypes or more to an innate knack for language. There is certainly a lot we still don’t know about the science behind the origins of these strange creatures but unfortunately due to the strength of their civil liberties union all testing has long since ceased.

The handful of true space veterans in town live with their children as they lack the intelligence granted their offspring. It seems unusual until you realize that plenty of us humans live with similar arrangements. The children keep their parents in much the same way one would keep a pet, except the normal owner-pet bond is of an abnormally profound depth. If you’ve never had the chance to eat dinner with a second-generation space monkey and their parents you’ve missed out on a truly strange evening. I have had the weird pleasure of attending one of these dinners, and let me tell you, I have never once in my life before or since been as thoroughly uncomfortable as I was at that table. The evening began when the space monkeys let their parents out of their Kennel. It was a well stocked and generously sized kennel, of course, but when you’re keeping monkeys –even if they’re your parents – you’re gonna have to keep them in a cage some of the time. Space monkeys may lack taste and class, but they’re no slobs. They can’t have semi-domesticated monkeys tearing the place apart even if they are mom and dad. But for special occasions – holidays, dinner with guests and the like – the parents are let loose to mingle with the rest of the guests. I’ve heard of other parties, larger gatherings, where other space monkeys come over and bring their parents as well. Imagine if you will, a room with six or seven humanoid monkeys calmly discussing politics while twelve to fourteen wild monkeys destroy the place around them. I’ve never actually witnessed one of these evenings but my more curious half wants badly to see it once before the last of the original space monkeys die out.

NOW: Several Small Animals Besmirches the Name of a Founding Father in — “Alexander Hamilton: Sex Addict, Baby Killer”

January 25, 2010

Alexander Hamilton was born in the sleepy island community of St Croix on January 11, 1757.  From the time he was a young boy Hamilton, or “Ham Killa Killa” as he became known in his teenage years, showed a keen predilection for learning and discipline. It is unclear but has been suggested by a few scholars that this discipline fetish may have led to the accumulation of a number of ball gags, whips, vice grips and leather evening-wear rumored to have been found in a trunk by a bed in his summer home near Virginia Beach.

As an adult during the war for independence, Hamilton took on responsibilities under President George Washington, becoming the equivalent of his chief of staff. It is during this period that Hamilton first began to experiment with marijuana.  This, of course, led to his infamous use of harder drugs. In a late memoir written only weeks before his death Hamilton writes:

“I thought, All right, if I can’t stop, I’m going to take this thing as far as I can. I wasn’t going to dabble and mope about. Let’s get on a horse and drive this fucking circus completely out of town

I decided to turn up the volume. Let’s stop sleeping, let’s stop eating and just fucking party. I was smoking about a pound and a half of cocaine a month toward the end. That’s a lot. It was hard-core—cleaner than crack because you cook it yourself—but so what?”

It was during his stint as this nation’s first Secretary of the Treasury that the drug abuse and sexual addictions started to take a seriously dark turn. As Hamilton writes in the Federalist Papers:

“I was doing a lot of amyl at the time, and that tends to get the sex thing going. Amyl and Heineken: the Amsterdam combination. Jesus, what a nightmare. You can stay hard, but you’re shooting blanks after a while. Then it becomes about approaching the number. We said 10 each and you’re on eight, and you’re going, I need some fucking pasta or steak or something. Fuck it: Heineken, amyl—that’s my dinner. Then you get to nine. We didn’t want to leave there saying, ‘We got 17 but we aimed for 20.’ It was ridiculous.”

It was during one of these wild trips to Amsterdam with Vice President Aaron Burr that Hamilton’s untamed impulses turned murderous.  Noted Hamilton scholar Dean Webster Collins wrote in his revealing 1974 book, Axe to Grind: Alexander ‘Killa Killa’ Hamilton and the Demons That Destroyed Him:

Upon seeing Burr’s young daughter’s face, Hamilton was filled with an irrational but uncontrollable rage. He grasped the young child’s throat and before anything could be done the child fell lifeless upon the floor. Hamilton stared blankly upon the body before him and then, suddenly, as if breaking from a daze famously asked, ‘Dear lord, what have I done?’” 

This act led to the well known duel that ended Hamilton’s troubled life. It has been stated many times that had Hamilton’s nerves been in better shape he may have fared better in the deadly contest. The drugs, it is said, had ruined the once great man’s coordination, rendering him an easy target for the sober and straight-laced Burr.

Perhaps the most tragic element to this story, though, was that at the time of the duel Hamilton had been preparing for what many of his inner circle claimed would be the greatest comeback tour in the history of the pop world. It is unfortunate not only that he was robbed of this opportunity but that we, as a people, have been robbed of the gift these performances would have bestowed upon our young nation. Rest in Peace Killa.