Thursday, May 28, 2009

Jokes Only a Four Year Old Gets

I’ve been looking at my statistics and am trying to increase my readership from its all-time high of two. I considered a number of options, but the only one that seemed to guarantee success was to stop writing altogether. Then I realized I needed to simply appeal to a new demographic.

So, I’ve gone to my nearly-five-year-old for some great humor. Here goes:

I’ve got peanut butter, ON MY BANANA!

You eat pizza with your eyes and
it goes into your brain!

You’ve got poop on your HEAD!

Yep, I can just see my statistics jumping already.

Saturday, May 16, 2009

Men: Ready to Serve

Men try to protect their families. It’s just what we do. We’re constantly watching for danger: thugs with guns, wild packs of dogs, kidnappers looking for spare children. It’s ingrained into our nature. We must be ready to defend our families.

There is one danger, however, that we all prepare for more than any other. It’s not a situation that's likely to happen, but we’re ready for it, nonetheless.

Imagine this:

You’re in the hospital, lying in bed. Machines surround you, beeping and whirring. They keep you alive but, even in your weakened state, you can tell that they can only keep you going for so long. Your children are at your bedside, clutching your arm (the one with the fewest tubes running out of it) and weeping silently.

On the other side of the room is your husband. He’s at the door -- thoughtfully watching for thugs, dogs, and kidnappers. You know he’d do anything for you, but you worry it's too much to ask of him. Still, it has to be done, not just to save your life, but for the sake of your children.

Painfully, you reach up with your free hand and pull off the oxygen mask.

“You have to do it,” you say, your voice a hoarse whisper.

He shakes his head.

“There must be another way.”

“There isn’t any time,” you say, trying your best not to cough up blood. “It doesn’t matter how many doctors we see, the treatment is always the same.”

He comes and kneels at your side, taking your hand. Tears fill his eyes and he looks away so you won’t see him wipe them off.

“I won’t do it,” he says again, pleading. “It’s wrong. I couldn’t do that to you.” At that moment, a young blonde nurse enters.

“The room is ready,” she says. “Have you made your decision?”

“Think of the children,” you manage to gasp before having to put the mask back on.

Your husband looks into your eyes and finally lowers his head, nodding. Relief floods through you and your children run to hug him.

“What do I have to do?” he asks the nurse.

“We’ve assembled a several dozen lingerie models, actresses, and porn starlets,” she says. “You have to have sex with them all, day and night, until your wife gets better.”

”How long?” he asks as he turns to leave.

“As long as you can, “ she says, following him, slowly unbuttoning her blouse.

After he’s gone, you close your eyes and thank the heavens that you have a husband willing and able to save you in your darkest hour. You remember, however, all men prepare themselves for such emergencies and resolve to thank him when he’s done, years later.

So remember, the next time you see your husband staring off into the distance when you’re asking his feelings on the last “Desperate Housewives” or how to accessorize with cornflower blue. It’s not that he’s ignoring you. He’s imagining himself with other women; preparing himself mentally for the day he may have to save your life.

Saturday, May 9, 2009

You Had to Be There

A long while back I went to a restaurant in San Francisco called Entros. If you weren’t lucky enough to get in to Entros while it was around, they billed themselves as the “intelligent amusement park.”

While you were waiting for (or after you had finished) your meal, there were a variety of activities you could do. You could make candles, participate in a game show, use winches to drop Barbie dolls into volcanoes, or any number of constantly changing games. Entros was great fun when I visited it in Seattle, but they had obviously overextended themselves when they opened a San Francisco branch. When we visited, there was almost nobody there and it (and the original restaurant) shut down soon after.

While waiting for guests to serve a number of the waiters/game hosts were playing with a large ball that looked like a human eye. As they threw it back and forth, one of them slipped and the ball crashed into a table, sending glassware shattering to the ground. Seeing a rare opportunity, I walked up and said:

“It’s all fun and games until someone loses an eye.”

It’s a beautiful thing when life gives you an opening like that.