Carve these on the tombstones of your deceased friends or relatives as funny April Fool’s prank! HAHA!
1.) HE PERISHED IN A CORN MAZE.
2.) DID NOT USE AN OVEN MITT.
3.) THEM DOGS FINALLY GOT HER.
4.) SORE LOSER.
5.) CAUGHT PEEPIN’
6.) TOO MUCH PUDDING.
7.) THAT’S WHAT SHE SAID!
8.) LIFE GAVE ME LEMONS.
9.) BUZZARDS LOVE ME.
10.) JES CHILLIN’
Her older sister handed her the letter. It had remained unopened for nearly twenty years, and all that time she’d been unaware of its existence. Her mother had passed away when she was eight, a long, drawn out terrible battle with an illness she hadn’t said by name since. Her sister, ten years older, had been given the letter with the strictest instructions to keep it safe and secret until her younger sister turned twenty-eight. Today was her birthday. She held the slightly yellowed envelope in her shaking hand, and thought about her mother, the beautiful vibrant woman she had watched wither slowly into a lifeless husk before passing on. She had missed her terribly for as long as she had been gone, and to think that she held right here in her hand a message from beyond the grave was like turning on a warm light in a long dark room. Her fingers trembled as she carefully tore open the envelope, and removed the single sheet of delicate paper. As she unfolded it, her eyes blurred with tears at the sight of her mother’s handwriting. She blinked twice and saw there was but a single sentence on the page: “Hey there, do they have flying cars now?”
One day I’ll live in a cabin?
probably by myself
with a pet injured bird I nursed back to health
I call him, “The Professional”
and I wear the same sweater until
one day I wake up and it’s in tatters on my bed
Oh well
these are things that happen
when I’m left up to myself.
I once pulled off a back-alley hand transplant using a pan flute and the sprocket of an abandoned bicycle.
I saved the lives of three gravely injured bobsledders with a small jar of sorghum and a bundle of wishes.
I cured a soon-to-be-contagion-level virus by setting an unmanned rickshaw ablaze and rolling it into a Sizzler restaurant.
After barely surviving a collision with a frenzied river hog I performed CPR on my barrel-chested companion using only my right foot and a discarded wine bottle.
I killed a turtle with another turtle and brought them both back to life with the help of a donkey.
Sometimes I get so dang pissed about it all that I wanna yell and scream! I just twist my hands up on my head and say, “Patches!” Usually it makes me feel a little less cranky. Some of the things that make me mad are: dropping my skittles, hangdog looks from folks, bumbling clerks, and RYAN SLATTERY!!!!
Ryan Slattery stuck his finger in my ear when it was wet with spit! He also called me “JuneBug” in front of the whole crowd at the rink when we were skating! I’d hate his guts if I didn’t love him so much. The first time I saw him he was making eyes at Kevin Reynolds. I was waiting on them at Chili’s (and NO, I don’t mean passing the time until they showed up, I worked there!!) and they kept telling me they needed more ice just to keep me moving. I worked my ass off that day! Anyway, when they left I watched Ryan get into his Bronco and I said, “Someday that kid is gonna want ME.” My boss Sherry goes, “What did you say?” I replied, “Keep movin’, Trenchmouse,” and she fired me on the spot (we’re still friends though!). Long story short I find out from the “grapevine” that Kevin Reynolds is Ryan’s cousin and that’s when I knew I was golden. By golden I mean “so fine.” The time was right to make it happen for me and Ryan Slattery. It all went down at the rink where we like to skate to this day. Happy Wheels is kind of a rough joint. It’s owned by Graham Chase, the leader of The Whites. They’re a motorcycle gang, and when they want to skate they take over Happy Wheels and boy does it get crowded! Sometimes it’s fun like when they have the tickling contests, but other times I’m intimidated by their finesse. Anyway, it was a night like this when I planned to corner Ryan and give him the whatfor on it all, you know, my feelings and whatnot. Needless to say, I wasn’t having a very good evening. I was getting angry!! First this gosh-awful bumbling clerk gave me the wrong pair of skates that were so ugly and tan and suede that no one was gonna give me the time of day, then some beastly chambermaid sidles up to me during the Sadie Hawkins skate and breathes her foul Dipsy-Doodle breath all over me asking me to skate (Dipsy-Doodles are a corn chip made by Wise, yuchh!) and when I said, “no thank you,” I had to suffer the most grotesque of hangdog looks from milady forcing me to tug too hard on my bag of Skittles exploding the package and sending the colored candies plummeting to the rink floor where they tripped up several strapping young lads of the large-beard variety. As thanks for this tiny rink faux pas the boys treated me to a favorite activity of theirs, “boob hatching.” It’s where they rip off your shirt and spit on your chest. So now I’m shirtless and covered with spit, wearing ugly skates, and minus a bunch of delicious candies, and who should walk up? RYAN! He gives me the once over, swipes some spit from my chest with his finger and sticks it in my ear! Then he looks at the large group of motorcycle men surrounding me, points at me with his slimy digit and yells, “Hey JuneBug!!” I was so gosh darn angry I put my hands right up to my head without even thinking about it and began to twist and turn them and yell, “Patches!!” at the top of my lungs. Well wouldn’t you know it Big John Ross had a camera, and now that moment is preserved forever. Yippee. All in all the evening wasn’t a total loss. After I finished crying, Graham Chase lent me a Happy Wheels T-shirt to wear, and later Ryan, the man himself, bought me a corndog and told me I was a good sport. He even said that maybe sometime we could go skeet shooting with his stepfather, Richard. I sure hope so. Maybe he’s not such a rascal after all. I sure hope not. I HATE GETTING ANGRY ABOUT STUFF!!
“Sherry, can you find my black socks with the extra padding!” Steve yelled from the midst of his changing room. Paneled with natural wood and filled with light, this overhang of the boathouse was rarely used for its purpose but this was one of the rare days when Steve actually changed in it. He looked out on to the water and at little Ronald beating desperately to make it to shore. A long sigh escaped him. Three years old and the child still couldn’t swim. Almost a month of lessons, three times a week, had done no good. Sometimes he didn’t even remember what he had already been taught. So in desperation Steve had taken to throwing him in the water and leaving the area. It wasn’t easy, but nothing successful ever was. Steve had learned this from his days of rigorous training in the field of kites. God forbid he should have the child take that up anytime soon. The shadow of failure loomed too close already. “Sherry, damn-it! I’m in a hurry!” The woman was a lousy maid, but he kept her on out of pity. After all, they were married. He pulled his trousers up and looked in the mirror to make sure his uniform was straight. Lately it looked like he had taken to sleeping in it. A quick glance outside revealed that the child had indeed struggled to the shore and was lying facedown in the mud. Steve smiled at the small victory as he pulled a lime off the tree in the window to give to the boy on the way out. Where were those socks? He was starting to think he would have to do everything on his own, even use the toilet. What was the world coming to? Maybe the boy would actually learn to fly a kite someday. He tried not to get his hopes up, but couldn’t help it. He was a hopeful person.
The “Pre-First Dance Dance” between the catering boss and the drummer of the Klezmer band in the porta-john out back.
The dunking of the groom into a vat of MET-Rx meal replacement to assure a “potent consummation.”
Sitting on the toilet all night with a case of the “Electric Slides” after a communal gnawing of the hambone.
The running of the “When’s YOUR Special Day Going To Be?” gauntlet by you and your embarrassed date.
The milking of the “monogamy goat.”
The interruption of the reception by the “Father of the Bride Flute Solo.”
Having to wear the neon green cummerbund with the words “SPRING BREAK WEDDING” printed across it.
The donning of the awkward, weighty “consummation cape.”
The “Goof’em Up Pot Shots” the wedding photographer takes without your knowledge using his “Loo Cam.”
The cutting of the Kate (<Bride’s emo niece)
The year-long-growing of the bushy “I DO” beard, by the bride.
The wedding party’s joyful hoisting of the bride’s grandfather above their head for a sprightly jig. Motorized wheelchair and all.
The threatening of the DJ with immediate termination if he doesn’t stop loudly singing the Bee Gees “I Started A Joke.”
The passing and the sniffing of the 100-year-old “Honeymoon Wig.”
The Grandma versus Grandma Greco-Roman wrestling.
If you are between 20 and 65 and reasonably healthy, this test provides a life-insurance-company’s-eye view of the future.
Start with the number 72.
GENDER
If you are a male, subtract 3.
-
If you are a female, add 4.
-
If you are a male desperately seeking a female subtract 9.
-
LIFESTYLE
If you live in an urban area with a
population over 2,000,000, subtract 2.
-
If you live in a town under 10,000,
or on a farm, add 2.
-
If you live in a duck blind on your
ex-in-law’s land, subtract 9.
-
If you work behind a desk, subtract 3.
-
If your work requires consistently
demanding physical labor, add 3.
-
If you’ve ever worked at a business
with the word “Subs” in the title,
subtract 6.
-
If you exercise strenuously
(tennis, running, swimming, etc.)
5 times a week for at least half
an hour, add 2.
-
If you are forced into couple’s
figure-skating lessons by your wife
or girlfriend subtract 1.
-
If making Smores is your idea of
a “heavy workout” subtract 12.
-
If you live a with a spouse or
lover, add 5.
-
If you’re a male over 35, and you’re
still living with your “buds,” in a
“Poon Palace,” subtract 20.
PSYCHE
Sleep 6 to 8 hours a night? Add 3.
-
Cry yourself to sleep in the tub
each evening? Subtract 4.
-
Are you intense, aggressive, easily
angered? Subtract 3.
-
Are you easygoing, relaxed, a
follower? Add 3.
-
Do you carve obscenities into your
leg with a paperclip while sitting at
your desk? Subtract 17.
-
Are you happy? Add 1.
-
Unhappy? Subtract 1.
-
Weeping as you read this? Subtract 3.
-
Have you had a speeding ticket in
the last year? Subtract 1.
-
Have given or received oral pleasure in
the cab of a cement mixer? Add 4.
-
Shared a thermos of wine with a hitchhiker
of indeterminate gender? Subtract 7.
-
SUCCESS
Earn over $75,000 a year? Add 1.
-
Still sneaking change from your
Mom’s purse, even though you no
longer live with her? Subtract 9.
-
If you finished college add 1.
-
If you have a graduate or
professional degree, add 2.
-
If you’ve purchased motivational
products advertised in the
wee hours of the morning, subtract 6.
-
If you ever poured out your troubles
to a statue in the park, subtract 12.
-
If you’re over 65 and still working,
add 3.
-
If you’re over 85 and a greeter at
Wal-Mart, subtract 4.
HEREDITY
If any of your grandparents lived to 85,
add 2.
-
If all 4 grandparents lived to 80,
Add 6.
-
If all four grandparents are over 80,
and currently living with you, subtract 14.
-
If either parent died of a stroke
or heart attack before the age of
50, subtract 4.
-
If either parent has nicknamed
him or herself “Corky” and lives in
a homemade flying saucer, subtract 9.
HEALTH
Do you smoke more than two packs a day?
Subtract 8.
-
Do you smoke one pack a day? Subtract 6.
-
Do you smoke a pipe and have a Captain’s
beard? Subtract 12.
-
Do you drink more than three alcoholic
drinks a day? Subtract 1.
-
Do you habitually set yourself on fire doing
“flaming bastard” shots? Subtract 4.
-
Are you underweight by 15 lb. or more?
Subtract 6.
-
Are you overweight by 50 lb. or more?
Subtract 8.
-
Have you taken to wearing body paint because
it’s the only thing you’ll fit into? Subtract 12.
-
Men over 40, if you have annual check-ups, add 2.
-
Woman, if you get regular mammograms, add 2.
-
If your doctor’s office is located on the subway platform, or in a treehouse, subtract 7.
-
Tally your score, and whatever number you are left with is the number of minutes you’ve wasted doing pointless math.
To life!!!!
Woody Harrelson is my bunkmate at camp. It’s strange to bunk with a major star. At first I was uncomfortable, I didn’t really know how to relate to him, what he expected from me, but soon enough I found out that he was there to enjoy camp, just like I was! Now we get along great, for the most part. He’s grumpy in the morning sometimes, but then again I can get cranky if I don’t get a nap between snacks and activities. Woody is funny. Sometimes when he is shaving his head he will leave a ring of cream around it and pretend he forgot. He calls it a “barber’s halo,” and spins around like he’s flying. Other times, while brushing his teeth, he’ll let the toothpaste drip all around his mouth and come at me saying, “Jerrrreemmmyy I’m dyyyinnngg…!” like he’s got the rabies or something. It used to make me cry at first, but now I laugh a lot at his antics. He’s got a friend named Carl who stops by very late at night to give him gifts of sandwiches. At least that’s what I think they are because of all the sandwich bags laying around our cabin. Carl’s nice, but very quiet. I think it’s because of his allergies. Overall I have enjoyed my time at camp, and with Woody. He made me a great belt for my birthday which was last Thursday. I turned nine and everyone wished me a happy day and threw rocks at me and we had cake for dinner in the mess. The belt is a bit big but Woody says I’ll “grow into it if [I’m] worth a crap, Ha Ha.” He says he might come back next year. If so, I think I will too! If Mom lets me.
So Long,
Jeremy
“Go see John. John is a riot.” Grandma would say that every time my brother choked on a fruit pit. We would crowd in the doorway and watch John heaving up and down in front of the toilet in an uncontrollable dance. My oldest brother Jessup would, eventually, strike him on the back with a piece of timber fencing, and the pit would shoot into the toilet like a tree-born rocket. John would stand bent over his namesake, one hand on one knee, catching his breath, and grandma would make the rounds passing out cake on small squares of cream-colored wallpaper. Eventually the commotion would die down, John would gather his cake, and we’d all thirteen of us head to the parlor for rounds of “hangman” and “sodapop squirrel.” Those sure were fun times.
