Random Funnies

It's been a busy week, and I've run out of stories for the moment, so I'm resorting to semi-drastic measures. I've got some random sillies for you today, and I'm not going to post anything Friday.

Runnin'

I had to scale down the pic, which makes the circled text unreadable. But here's what it says:

Virginia's Marquis Weeks caps off his 100-yard kickoff return for the touchdown. "That was just instinct. Kind of like running from the cops," said the senior tailback.

Darwin Award Rejects



Quick but awesome.

A Cash Cushion

A few mornings ago I saw my favorite poly-eyebrow'ed financial advisor, talking about how to protect your money during these interesting economic times. Specifically, she mentioned "Building a Cash Cushion."

I tried to get more details, but then she raised an eyebrow at me and I spilled my coffee down my shorts. Those unpredictable wigglers of hers freak me out.

Despite the jolt, my imagination was already in high gear. "Build a Cash Cushion"... is it just me, or does that sound like she's telling me to jam money in my mattress? I don't know if I like the idea of sleeping on the First Bank of Jeff.

Maybe she wants me to stuff greenbacks into bean-bag chairs. I dunno... if I took out my life savings in One's, maybe. Pennies... now, I'm sure I could load up a squishy chair with pennies. I don't know how squishy it would be after I was done, though.

I haven't decided if a Cash Cushion sounds more desirable than a Hedge Fund. I know the potential for Hedge Fund growth is significant, but I wonder about how pesticides would affect my retirement dollars. I'd like my money to be indoors and climate controlled, at least.

Then again, maybe all she's really saying is, "People, just stop spending stupid money and be prepared for emergencies."

Naw, it couldn't be *that*.

Win Some, Lose Some

When Big Dawg and I start trading deadpan one-liners, he usually ends up winning. For example:

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Big Dawg has a De-Motivational "Teamwork" poster in his cubical. But the thumbtacks keep coming out.

I suggested that he put a real motivational poster in its place. I figured it would be appropriate to see a poster proclaiming "Stability" that was folded over and only held up by one tack.

"No," he reasoned, "because then there'd be thumbtacks on the floor."

"The only people who would step on them would be outsiders who don't know about them," I pointed out.

Big Dawg looked at me with absolutely no hostility whatsoever. "You'd be the first one to step on a tack, and you know it."

My jaw dropped open, but no words came out. Big Dawg continued, "In fact, you'd step on one, fall over, and get another one in your eye."

I considered this for a moment, and realized I couldn't argue. Advantage, Big Dawg!

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But it doesn't always work out in his favor. Sometimes, I get the last word. Like this:

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Big Dawg and I were talking about a former co-worker who was a sniper in the military. Hoo-Rah chimed in, saying, "I guarantee, most of those stories weren't his."

All of us non-military types listened, fascinated, as Hoo-Rah (former marine) explained how it worked. Apparently, many military stories are cultivated, perfected, and shared. "As one Sargent told me," he concluded, "it's not what you've done, it's the stories you tell."

Big Dawg, grinning, said something about stories being transplanted from one setting to another. Hoo-Rah nodded in agreement. It was Jeff-time.

I held my hands out in front of me dramatically, as if I was typing on a keyboard. "This one time, in Call Of Duty 2..." I blinked nervously and moved my hands as if I was holding a rifle. "I mean... in Afghanistan..."

When the laughter died down a little, Big Dawg stuttered, "I got nuthin'. I'm out." He went back to his desk, giggling. Advantage Jeff!

============

It's rare that Big Dawg can't top my spontaneous one-liners. Time to sit back, savor my victory, and pull the thumbtacks out of my toes.

Practical Dentistry

I've been thinking about teeth lately. Not by choice. I'm starting to develop a bit of a toothache, and I don't have a established doctor/patient relationship with any dentist.

See, 3 or 4 years ago, the dentist I had been using regularly lost many fingers in a hunting accident (so much for career #1). I should have picked another right away, but I worried that I might inflict digit-ripping doom on him, too.

Years later (present day), I picked a guy. Called the office, set up an appointment. Since I'm a new patient, they sent me five (five!) forms to fill out. Medical history, insurance, inseam, they need to know it all. I'm not exactly sure how "date of first kiss" matters, but I went ahead and found the info for him. That was an embarrassing phone call.

One of the questions on one of the forms was, "Have you ever had an upsetting dental experience? If so, please describe." At first, I was worried that they were fishing for ideas. "Check it out! This one is terrified of ugly nurses! Call up Rotting Rachael, tell her we've got a gig for her!"

Then I realized the truth. The tiny line for this question was only enough for me to squeeze in 3 short words. It's not that they need new ideas, they just don't want to hear prospective patients whine too much.

"My last dentist smelled like the inside of a gym sock, all the time! He'd drip dandruff and sweat every time he leaned over me! I'm sure he tattooed WASH ME on the inside of my gum line, but I can't prove it. I hope *you* shower regularly."

The only way I could say all that would be to write "Stinky bad. You?" in the space provided. I left it blank instead.

The true irony of all this is in the appointment date. I now have a half-day off on Tuesday, Nov. 4th. Election day. After going through everything I did to get an absentee ballot, it turns out I could just go at mid-day and avoid the rush.

Typical Jeff-luck.

I Voted!

Absentee. I'm not going to wind up with one of those nifty stickers this time around, so I have to be all fakey-patriotic *somewhere*.

That's right, I got my absentee form (ow), got it notarized, and got the extra postage required to send it (I hope I remembered to actually fill it out). I limped for a week and endured the merciless mocking of Big Dawg, but now I don't have to stand in line on Election Tuesday.

If I find out there's no big line that Tuesday I'm gonna be disappointed.

There was a state question about whether or not you should be able to gamble for live animals. I voted yes, 'cause I can't imagine animals being able to hold a deck of cards by themselves.

There was another state question asking about changing our state mascot. I voted for Joe the Plumber on that one.

There were the customary questions about whether to retain judges. I opted instead to tag them and gently release them into the wild.

And of course, the big one. The 'pres, the leader of the free world, all that jazz. This one required very little thought. Once again, I selected Joe the Plumber.

Ah, Democracy.

Ignoring Your Dependants

My wife and I were at a hospital the other day (her mom had an outpatient procedure done). Our adventures were thankfully uneventful, but we did get to see somebody else's hilarious indifference.

An older lady came out of surgery in a wheelchair, pushed by a nurse. "My daughter went to get our car," she crowed. The nurse nodded and pushed her out into the parking lot.

Many minutes passed. The nurse wandered back into the waiting room and approached a likely-looking female. "Mrs. Oblivious?" she asked. The lady put down her book and looked up. "Yes?" "Your mother is waiting for you in the parking lot!"

Mrs. Oblivious raced outside at considerable speed while we roared with laughter. "Oh, don't worry, mom can drive herself home. The surgery wasn't *that* invasive!"

How liberating it must be to ignore our dependents' needs!

"Instead of cooking dinner for the kids, I'll just order a pizza for myself and watch NASCAR."

"I kennel'ed our dogs before we left for our family vacation back in '86. Maybe I should see if they are still there."

"I dropped Gramma off at Walgreens Tuesday. I was going to pick her up, but I ran off to Las Vegas and got married."

9 Toes And A Plumb

My dad told me this story. He and mom were watching the grandkids (my niece and two nephews) recently. Dad was working out on the back porch while Little Nephew (2) and Niece (6) were playing. Mom was inside with Older Nephew (8), playing Scrabble.

Dad had some scaffolding that was folded up on the back porch. Even with it all folded up, it was a couple of feet off the ground. Little Nephew thought this was the bestest toy ever. He'd climb up and jump off, climb up and jump off. Every couple of times he'd change things up by throwing something off into the yard.

Little Nephew found his grandpa's claw hammer. He gleefully tossed it toward grandpa's bare feet. That's when his advanced vocabulary lesson began.

Inside the house, Mom and Older Nephew heard Dad's extraordinary prose. Older Nephew looked up and said, "I wonder what Sister did this time."

Speaking as a fellow older brother, that line nearly killed me. Of *course* it's always the younger sister's fault! ;)

For the record, Dad's foot will (should?) be OK. He's got one toe that's pretty black and plump, though.

Orchestra

My wife and I went to a Tulsa Symphony Orchestra concert last weekend. We sat way up in the nosebleed balcony, because the Orchestra sounds just as good from there. And because I'm cheap.

We walked in and hit the stairs. We were behind a hubby-wife-kiddo trio, all of whom were speaking Russian. The guy STANK of cigarette smoke. The stench was so strong I expected to see at least three lit Joe Camels and a stogie. I was shocked that smoke alarms weren't going off. He left a vapor trail that the space shuttle would have been proud of.

We reached the "upper" level (still below the Mezzanine and the Balcony). They wandered off toward an usher, tickets in hand. We went on to the next flight of stairs, grateful to not be sucking their fumes.

Many stairs later, we reached the balcony. Most of the lazy (or sane, depending on your point of view) people in attendance took the elevators to get up that far. The door opened, and the Russian smog farm stepped out! What fun!

We fell into step behind them again. They approached the user in front of us, while I fearfully looked at our tickets. I could hear the user; "OK, your seats are right center ("Dang!"), row E ("DANG!"), near the aisle, seats 10-13." I whimpered... our seats were next to them.

Thankfully, the stink did eventually subside a bit. They were a very nice family, they just made my eyes water.

The guest Pianist for the night was Alexander Ghindin. He's also a Russian, but we weren't close enough to tell if he emitted vapors. After a wonderful Prokofiev concerto, he asked the conductor if he could do an encore. He played The Stars And Stripes Forever.

This is not an easy piece to play solo. It was fantastic. Early on, the crowd started to shout and clap along in rhythm. Unfortunately, the crowd was far too white to keep up a steady rhythm, so the clapping died away.

I searched youtube for a video of Ghindin playing the song but came up short. What I did find is a 'vid of the Boston Pops, and several low-quality 'vids of various pianists. I finally picked the one with the best audio.



I know, I know... good audio, non-existent video. Sorry about the guy with the liver spots.

Little Kiddo Football

Saturday some little football kids came to Owasso. They hooked up with some of our local football kids. Then they aimlessly ran into each other for an hour or so.

My sister's family came with them. My niece (6) is a cheerleader for the team. She and her cheer-pals were adorable.

The football kids were cute too, but I didn't pay much attention to them. I was busy playing "Rocks" with my littlest nephew (2) and keeping my older nephew (8) from playing "Rocks with brother's head".

Most of the crowd was respectful and supportive, but there was one lady with some serious competitive fire in her. Early on I heard her shout, "C'mon, *HIT* somebody!" She sounded pretty mad about it. Later, a kid stayed on the turf a little too long for her liking. "Get *UP*! You're fine!"

I made it a point to stay away from her. She would have made a chew toy outta me.

Yo, Joe!

Stop me if you've heard this one. A plumber approaches Senator Obama on the campaign trail. He expresses concerns and opinions. Suddenly, he's not only famous, but he's become a shining beacon of all that is right and good... for both parties? Wow... talk about 'spin.

Hooray for Joe the Plumber the Mascot!

I love that he's famous with such an ordinary name - like Larry the Cable Guy (there's hope for me yet!). He's famous without having actually done anything - like Paris Hilton. And what does he do with his new fame? He declines to endorse a candidate.

Way to seize the moment there, Joe.

I like to substitute nouns and ponder how the new Joe would vote. For example:

Joe the Pirate: He'd probably take the candidate least likely to stop his random plundering. Ralph Nadar seems pretty non-threatening!

Joe the Short-Order Cook: Time is money... he'd take Obama because it's one letter less than McCain and in the time it took to explain, table four's chicken sammich is going cold. Order up!

Joe the Las Vegas Magician: He'd pick McCain, no question about it. He's heavily influenced by visions of Sarah Palin as his lovely assistant.

What do you think about these other random Joe's? How would they vote?

Joe the Butler
Joe the Florist
Joe the Shoe Salesman
Joe the French Maid
Joe the Barbarian

Bedtime!

From an email forward I got recently;

Ocho

Back in the day, my great-grandmother graduated from Oklahoma A&M, the school that later become Oklahoma State University. My grandpa, dad, and mom all graduated from OSU. That makes me a fourth generation OSU grad.

In honor of the OSU football team being ranked #8 nationally (and with apologies to David Letterman), I present:

Eight Great Things About Being Eighth!

1) Football team members can finally start to steal a few chicks away from the chess club.

2) Not having to think about politics for a few minutes.

3) As a thank-you to the fans, each seat in the stadium will be made of chocolate and sprinkled with dollar coins.

4) OSU alumni will participate in a special community poll... the selected public official will be purchased by T. Boone Pickens and then re-sold for scrap.

5) Free orange cheeze whiz for everybody!

6) Later this week, Garth Brooks will host a Barry Switzer Slap-A-Thon.

7) This is just rumor, mind you, but they say Kansas might be paved and domesticated so that we can use it as a water park.

8) A new Capital One commercial will feature Pistol Pete mooning Lee Corso.

Go Pokes!

Jelly-Legs

Details Matter.

I was at work on Monday with a stack of Library books and an application for an absentee ballot. Both are on Denver Ave. The Library is between the 300 and 400 blocks, and the address for the Tulsa Election Board is 555. Right across the street, and both are less than 3 blocks from where I work. What can go wrong?

I dropped off the library books and then stared to walk south. Seeing no "Tulsa Election Board" sign, I paused to look at the address on the form. 555... North Denver. The library is on South Denver.

10 city blocks is a long way to walk. Even better, I decided to see just how fast I could walk the distance. Why? Because I'm a moron. *Even* better, once I got about halfway and started to cramp up, I actually told myself, "No pain no gain!" and forced myself to walk faster. Why? Because I am brainless diddly-faced half-flat bendy-straw with delusions of competency.

Thankfully, there was a cool breeze. However, once I got inside the election board building, I went from "winded and warm" to "damp and limp" in about 2 seconds time. I looked down, and I could literally see my shirt going soggy.

I wobbled over to the front desk to turn in my absentee form, and the poor lady yelped. I looked like a drowning victim.

But it's all good. I won't have to fight crowds on election day. Also, all I had to do was semi-permanent damage to my calves, and I saved the price of one stamp!

Of course, once my actual ballot is mailed to me, I'll have to wander the downtown streets again to find somebody to notarize it.

*sigh*

Eyebrows

Most mornings when I get up, I turn on the TV. I generally either leave it on SportsCenter or CNN Headline News. I'm more than half-asleep in the morning, so I hardly ever pay attention to either.

Just about every morning, CNN Headline News has a lady on named Jennifer Westhoven. She pops in to give the business / finance reports. She also has 4 eyebrows. Check it out:

OK, so I understand that some ladies are more attractive (or at least, they think they are) when their eyebrows are plucked and preened and elevated. But... ladies, when you create elevated eyebrows, don't you generally also remove the natural ones? She kinda looks like a Mr. Potato Head with too many plastic eye accessories jammed on.

Sometimes she gets very animated about what she's discussing, which leads to this:

When she hoists up those caterpillars of hers, it generally invades my semi-conscious mind with the force of a 1/4 cup of coffee. I blink and jump back and bump into things. It's very effective.

And now for something completely (?) different... I have recently added a widget to my Google homepage called "The Daily Puppy"... it's a cute little pic of a puppy every day.

This pic of "Remy the mixed breed" reminded me of somebody. Aside from cropping and resizing, I have NOT modified this picture in any way.

The eyebrows on this mongrel are just... wow. That's a Westhoven dog if I've ever seen one.

It was a full day later that I noticed another glorious detail. Check out the little dark spot just under Remy's nose. Is that a Hitler moustache?

Hail, Scooby!