Friday, July 29, 2011

I Love Harry Potter

Yeah, I know they’re kids’ books.  I don’t take them too seriously.  How can you take a book seriously where a doctor uses chocolate as a medical treatment?

Yeah, the Christ imagery is heavy handed.  The part with Harry dying and coming back to life to save the world is to subtlety what a brick is to a window.  More like a window made of Jell-O.  Thin Jell-O.

Yeah, the way the magical society works doesn’t make a lot of sense.  How can you have an economy when people can conjure almost everything they want from thin air?  Shouldn’t all wizards be disgustingly rich?  Why would wizards want to live amongst muggles whom they despise and fear?

Yeah, I know all that, but the books are fun.  JK Rowling writes well (with the exception of her need to describe how each character says each sentence, he said snarkily).  They’re a joy to read. 

Really, I just have the one problem with the books: Hedwig.

Harry buys a snowy owl in the first book and she becomes a regular character, with her own personality.  She also delivers the mail, which is damn cool.  Then, of course, she dies.

Oh, yes, it’s time once again for another installment of the DBIM.

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows
Severity: 1 (one death, sad death, mitigating factors)
Genre: Novel
Date: 2007
Description: Hedwig is in her cage while Harry is running from an attack.  A stray curse hits and kills her.
Mitigating Factors: Killing Hedwig increased the sense of isolation and despair necessary for the novel.  There’s a pretty high death toll in the book.
Aggravating Factors: None.
See, not so bad, right?  Then, however, we get into the movies.  I’ve been holding off on writing this entry until I saw the last movie, just in case the director threw in a few more bird deaths.  Luckily, he did not.

Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban
Severity: 4 (two deaths, played for laughs, feather explosion/feather burp)
Date: 2004
Description: The whomping willow, a moving tree, swats a bird flying towards it, probably killing it.  Later, a bird is shown flying into the tree; there is a scream and a shower of feathers.
Mitigating Factors: None.
Aggravating Factors: Played for laughs.
Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince
Severity: 3 (several deaths, played for laughs, one mitigating factor)
Date: 2009
Description: Mad at Ron, Hermione summons birds and shoots them at him.  They explode on impact right above his head.
Mitigating Factors: Might not have been real birds.
Aggravating Factors: Played for Laughs.
Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Part 1
Severity: 1 (one death, sad death, mitigating factors)
Date: 2010
Description: Hedwig, seeing Harry under attack, flies at his pursuers, and is killed.\
Mitigating Factors: She died heroically.  Harry is pretty upset.
Aggravating Factors: None.

Thursday, July 28, 2011


I should explain that I’ve been a fan of his for years.  I figured my friends would think it was weird, morbid, maybe antisocial, so I never told anyone.  Let’s face it, though, I thought he was cool.

I sent him an email earlier today, sitting in a Starbucks, trying to figure out what to write next.  I had always wanted to write a novel or movie with him in it, and I thought I should really meet him in person at least once to get a sense for what he’s like.  At least I should get his permission before writing.  I didn’t want to offend him.  Still, he’s so famous and popular that I didn’t think he’d get back to me, but it seems he answers all his email himself.

“Sure, come on over,” he wrote.

“Now?” I emailed back.

He sent back a smiley.  He used one of those smileys like I always do with the number “8” instead of a “:” for eyes, but I think it represented eyelessness, not glasses.

As I was walking out to my car, I noticed someone sitting at the bus stop, smoking.  He caught my eye because it looked an awful lot like him and, when I turned to stare, I realized it really was him.  Shocked, I walked over and sat down.

“Hey,” I said, as nervous as you would expect me to be.

“Hey,” he said, taking a draw from his cigarette.  The smoke curled out of his nose in a disturbing way.

“How did you email me?  I thought you were at home.”

He held up his right hand.  He had an iPhone gripped in those long, bony fingers of his.

“What you want, kid?” he said.

I’m in my forties.  Nobody calls me kid.  I guess, as old as he is, everyone seems young.  I swallowed and took a deep breath.

“I wanted to write this screenplay for a movie,” I said.  “Well, maybe a movie.  Maybe a novel.  I was never good at filling in all the pages for a novel.  So, probably a movie.”

He gave me a “you’re babbling” look and blew out a mouthful of smoke at me.  I got the impression he wanted to blow a smoke ring, but couldn’t without lips.  I took another breath, coughed a bit from the smoke, and started again.

“I wanted you to be in it,” I said.

He laughed.  It wasn’t a nice sound.

“You want me to wear makeup?”

“No, I don’t mean I want you to act in it,” I said.  “I just want to write about you.”

“Everybody writes about me,” he said.

A few drops of rain fell on the roof of the bus stop.  People on the street began to hurry on their way.  Nobody jumped under the roof with us.  Nobody even looked in our direction.

“What’s your movie about?” he said.

“There’s a guy and he dies,” I said.

“Good start.”

“And he ends up making a deal with you to be your helper.”

“I don’t need a helper,” he said and took another drag on his cigarette; instead of exhaling, he let the smoke trickle out his eye sockets.

“Well, the idea is that, what with there being a billion more people being added to the planet every decade, you’re overworked.”

He thought about that for a moment, then he nodded.

“So, kind of a message about overpopulation.  What am I like?”

I was about to answer with a joke when I noticed his scythe leaning against the back wall.  It was enormous and sharp.  I decided to be tactful.

“Kind of like a mentor,” I said.  “Thoughtful.  A little lonely and sad.”

He groaned.

“Again?” he said.  Terry Pratchett did that to death.”

He chuckled at his own joke.

“Like I give a rat’s ass about Father Christmas,” he muttered to himself and put his cigarette out on his knee bone.  “Look, kid.  I’ve been played by Brad Pitt as a hopeless romantic, been some pretty-boy blonde in Touched by an Angel, and even a big squid in that game you worked on.  Nobody ever gets me right.”

I was shocked he knew I helped on Soul Reaver.  My name wasn’t even in the credits.

“They made me bald and painted me white,” he said, and I assume he was talking about The Seventh Seal or maybe Bill and Ted’s Bogus Journey.  “They made me a big, smoky, cloud.  Nobody ever gets me right.  What makes you think you can?”

“Well, I’m here,” I said.

I think he smiled at me.  Hard to tell.

“So you are,” he said.  “So you are.”

He stood up.  In the black robe and hood, he looked more massive than a simple skeleton could possibly be.

“You want to know how to portray me?” he said; I nodded.  “I’m the ultimate bad guy.  I’m the one person everybody hates.  I’m evil.  I’m the greatest evil there ever was.  Know why?  Because you can’t execute me, you can’t shoot me, you can’t cut my head off.  Someday I’ll get you, no matter what you do.  Someday I’ll get the whole fucking universe.”

He picked up his scythe.

“That’s how you portray me,” he said, and made a strange gesture with his free hand as if he was thumbing for a lift.

“No,” I said, feeling courage I never thought I had.


“I’m sorry you see yourself that way,” I said. “You really are sad and lonely, but you’re not evil.  You aren’t really a good thing, but neither is gravity.  Maybe we hate it when we fall down, but we still need it. Without you, life wouldn’t even be possible.  Death isn’t evil.”

A bus pulled up.  I couldn’t see inside it because the windows were tinted.  The door opened next to where Death was standing.

“You want to test that?” he said, gesturing me into the bus; I shook my head.  “Didn’t think so.”

And he stepped on board.  The door closed, and the bus drove off, silently, as if the wheels didn’t even touch the ground.

Wednesday, July 27, 2011

Common Parlance: Jell-O Sponge Cake

If you’ve never had Jell-O sponge cake before, you’ve never tasted absolute…  Well, disgustingness.  I mean, ew.  Jell-O sponge cake ranks up there with pimento cheese sandwiches as one of those dishes that people make in the Midwest because they don’t have access to food or, I’m guessing, antipsychotic drugs.
It's not just for rednecks!  It's for...  No, it IS just for rednecks.
To make it, you take this sponge cake, which is pretty nasty stuff to begin with, and poke holes in it.  Why?  I really don’t know.  Anyway, then you pour unsolidified Jell-O on top and stick it in the refrigerator to set.  Finally, and this is the unbelievable part, you eat it.
Yes, you can put fruit in it.  It makes better compost.
My first experience with Jell-O sponge cake was in a restaurant in the middle of nowhere Wisconsin.  Dinner came with Jell-O sponge cake.  The waitress explained what it was, but could not prepare me for the absolute horror of eating the first bite.  I assume the chef was hoping to get fired and into that cushy life on welfare the Republicans are all talking about these days.
I find putting cyanide in the layers makes the experience more enjoyable.
A year later, someone came to a potluck with Jell-O sponge cake as her contribution.  She was so excited to have found a new recipe.  Then we killed her.
We served this at her wake.
Jell-O sponge cake is synonymous in my book with any complicated task that is aiming for a bad result.  It should be in your book, too.

Tuesday, July 26, 2011

Bronze Horse

I was looking for something to do with my kids today and did a Google Maps search on museums.  There were a lot of false hits, such as the museum of mechanical toys that was really a group who fixed mechanical toys, and the train museum that was really an organization for train lovers (although they will let you drive a train!). 

I eventually decided to take them for a picnic at the Bronze Horse museum, which turned out to be a statue of a horse on a hill.  How did that get on Google maps!
I wonder who owns those buildings over there?
Oh, okay.

What was even more odd about it was that it was a bronze statue that was trying to look like a wooden statue.  In trying to figure that out, I spotted this plaque.

Ah, SGI. Nothing they did ever made any sense.
We had a nice picnic with friends in the shadow of the horse.  However, this song kept playing over and over in my head:

Bronze Horse, BRONZE HORSE!
Bronze Horse, BRONZE HORSE!
He sits above all Google,
The thoroughbred of tin.
He likes the picnic basket
That you just brought in!

Bonus points if you know where I got that from.

Monday, July 25, 2011

Stop Complaining!

I was on a plane this weekend from Boston to San Francisco and, as I often do when I fly long distances, I pondered this bit by the comedian Louis C.K.:

 Mr. K is right; we really take too much for granted.  Here are some other things I realized we take for granted:
The above image came up when I googled "Childbirth Horror."
Getting pregnant used to be a death sentence, as childbirth was the leading cause of women’s deaths.  When a husband said to his wife “I want to have lots of kids!” it used to mean “I want to kill lots of women with my progeny!”
"That's hot."
Cooking used to be dangerous, too.  Long skirts and open fires were a bad mix.  It’s a shame it took so long to invent miniskirts.  On the other hand, that might have caused more childbirth deaths (see above).
Of course, I have an excuse to post this picture.
Governments used to routinely kill their citizens, even the wealthy ones!  Now we only kill our citizens in pointless wars, or by keeping them in poverty until they commit crimes we can execute them for, or by making them watch Glenn Beck.

And, not to diminish the crimes at Abu Ghraib, but King Richard the Lionhearted was much worse to his prisoners.
I have nothing funny to say here.
You remember King Richard, right?  He’s the one Robin Hood fought so hard to keep in power.

Lionheart executed 2,700 Muslim prisoners, many of them women and children, because he thought they might become a burden.  Kinda makes you wish for John, doesn’t it?
Of course, he made a terrible lion.
Finally, say what you will about modern medicine, people used to die before the age of fifty.  Of course, what with the catching fire while cooking, wars, and abusive governments, maybe that was a blessing.

Friday, July 22, 2011

Cape Cod Trip Report 2011 Pt. 5

On this, my last blog post from Massachusetts, let me just say:


That is all.

Thursday, July 21, 2011

Cape Cod Trip Report 2011 Pt. 4

Taking a shower in the ancestral Kagle home here on Cape Cod is something of an extreme sport.  Unfortunately, you have to shower often here, as you often become covered in sweat, sand, rocks, salt, and bycatch:

1.      Turn the shower on.

2.      Wait for cold water to turn hot (20-30 minutes).

3.      Press in metal dongle (that looks suspiciously like a penis) to make water come out of shower head.

4.      When dongle pops out, press it again.

5.      Press dongle again.

6.      Hold dongle in until water comes half out of the faucet and half out of the shower in alternating bursts making a sound like a car going over the rumble strip before a toll booth.

7.      Realize there isn’t enough water pressure from the hot water heater and turn knob to cold.

8.      If you are shorter than 5’2”, stand under rain-shower head.  Otherwise, crouch under at a 50 degree angle.

9.      Bump into shower head.

10.  Press dongle again.  Realize you have to hold it in the whole time.

11.  Realize water isn’t going out through drain.  Fiddle with drain handle.  Realize it’s broken and that water only goes out while you hold the handle down.

12.  Put right thumb on dongle and hold it there.

13.  Put left foot on drain handle and hold it there.

14.  Bend under rain-shower head.

15.  Apply soap and shampoo with right hand.

16.  Rinse off.

17.  Listen to your back pop as you crawl out from under rain-shower head.

18.  Reach for towel.  Realize there is nothing there.

19.  Run naked and wet through house looking for a dry towel.

Seems difficult, but you have to shower 2-3 times a day here, so you get good at it after a few years.

Wednesday, July 20, 2011

Cape Cod Trip Report 2011 Pt. 3

One does not sleep in Cape Cod; one lies in bed.  Much like someone in Everest’s low oxygen zone, I can’t really sleep here.  I just wait with my eyes closed.

Children do not sleep until after midnight.  When you place a child at the far end of a king-sized bed, they are gravitationally attracted to jab their knees into your undefended back.  All night long, I sneak around to the far side of the bed to sleep for a few minutes before the knees return. 

I am covered by an oil made up of sweat, sunblock, bycatch, and deep-fried seafood.  This layer of slime makes me itch and think I am being attacked by mosquitoes all night long.  Of course, most summers I return home covered in bites, so they could be real.

It is amazing that even half the Pilgrims survived the first winter in the new world.  I would have killed off everyone in the colony one day after getting off the Mayflower.

Tuesday, July 19, 2011

Cape Cod Trip Report 2011 Pt. 2

My parents have this enormous blueberry bush growing in the back yard.  Every summer, the kids go out and pick blueberries.  Depending on the size of the crop, most of the berries get eaten before they make it back into the house.  This year’s crop is enormous, and I spent an hour picking them with my kids (they got the low ones, I got the high ones) until we had enough for a pie.  Some thoughts:

·         You have to keep a net over the bush, otherwise the birds eat them.  There are enough to share with the birds, but they land on the deck afterwards and take a blue dump on everything.

·         There is a microcosm of bugs living on fruit.  Watching the tray of blueberries I brought in, I found tiny spiders, translucent slugs that seemed to dance, and any number of indefinable critters.  I consider this bycatch. It may be a very protein-rich pie we end up with.

·         The blueberries are numerous and of varying ripeness.  How does a farm worker pick them with any speed?  Best I can guess is they shake the tree, but that would cause horrible waste as you’d get tons of unripe berries.

·         As pretty as a blueberry’s color is, the shape is ugly; it has that jagged circle at the bottom like a bear trap.  Look at this, for comparison:

See, much nicer.
This is a picture of (inedible) berries growing on the side of my parents’ house.  The ripe ones are a boring, uniform red.  The unripe ones, as you can see, are quite pretty.  I don’t know if the picture does them justice, but they’re red in the center and the outsides are still orange.  There are also these thin lines radiating along the sides, making it look like a glass basketball or maybe one of those pumpkin bombs the Green Goblin threw at people in the Spider-Man movies.

Monday, July 18, 2011

Cape Cod Trip Report 2011

I'm on vacation this week and don't have a lot of time to post.  Therefore, what I do write will be off topic (ie. not intentionally funny), of varying length, and comprised mostly of bycatch.  Hey, I'm in Massachusetts.  What else is there to work with, here?

I saw a man walking along the beach with two kids I assumed were his son and daughter.  He had a metal detector in one hand and was sweeping it back and forth as they walked along.  I secretly hoped he would find something as I watched and, a few feet away from where I was sitting, his detector beeped.

He checked the spot a few times and, as the machine beeped to his satisfaction, he began digging with a strange scoop that was covered with holes to let the sand out.  After every few scoops he checked the hole again with the detector to see if he had reached his fabulous wealth yet.  Finally, when the machine stopped beeping in the hole, he used it to find where it was hiding in the pile of sand.

He did more digging, and finally found something.  At first, I thought it was an enormous oyster, but (after the man washed it in the bay) it turned out to be a big, thin, triangular, grey-black rock.  The man held the rock under the detector a few times and discovered it caused the machine to beep.  It must have had some iron ore in it (or another ore or an oar or a boar...).

Handing the rock to his son, who turned it over in his hands like a rare treasure, the man and his children walked off again, sweeping the metal detector from side to side again.

Friday, July 15, 2011


The wedding march plays as DONNIE and CARL have their first kiss as a married couple.  Their adopted son, SKIPPER, who looks a lot like Carl, applauds wildly from the pews.

Donnie and Carl get into a sedan that has been decorated with cans, flowers, and the words JUST MARRIED in the back window.  Skipper crawls in the back seat.  Donnie waves from the driver’s seat at the guests who throw rice at their car.
The happy couple drive on, Skipper reading a map of the United States from the back seat.  A BLACK BOX sits on the dashboard.

Donnie, I’m so excited!  Now will you tell
me where we’re going on our honeymoon?
Donnie looks back at Skipper, who nods excitedly.
We’re going everywhere!  We’re going on
a trip through the whole country.

Carl reacts with joy and surprise, but then his face falls.
Donnie, that’s great, but what about
states where, you know-
Where we aren’t welcome?

Carl nods.
No problem!  I’ve got my GGPS.
Donnie pats the black box on the dashboard.
What’s a GGPS?
It’s a Gay Global Positioning
System.  Watch!
Donnie points to a sign that says: Now Entering New York
Entering the state of New York.  You
will be legally married in (pause) one
(pause) week!
Wow, that’s great!
Donnie, Carl, and Sonny are driving happily, moving their heads from side to side (in unison) as they listen to the radio.  A sign appears that says: Now Entering Pennsylvania.
You are no longer married!
They stop bobbing their heads and look uncomfortably around.
A sign appears that says: Welcome to Wisconsin.

They’re still all looking around uncomfortably.
Congratulations!  You’re
married again.
All three of them relax visibly.
The three of them have been joined by a burly POLICEMAN wearing his hat, and sunglasses and holding his baton menacingly.  Sonny is still bobbing his head in the back seat (next to the Policeman), but Carl and Donnie are nervous.  Carl turns back to say something to Sonny.

Don’t look at him,

A sign passes: Now Entering Iowa.
You are now allowed to be a
parent to your child.

The Policeman is gone and all three of them are bobbing their heads in unison again.
A sign passes: Welcome!  You’re in Oklahoma!
(hissing and smoking as it
tries to get it all out)
You are now in Oklahoma.  You aren’t
allowed to marry.  You aren’t allowed to
adopt children.  You can be discriminated
against in the workplace.  You can be
discriminated against in public.  If
you are beaten to death, it isn’t
considered a hate crime.  Your
property can be seized by-

The GGPS explodes.
The car, still decorated from the wedding, squeals to a halt.  Smoke pours from the tires as it backs up at full speed and out of sight.
Know your rights no matter where you are in
the country.  Get the Gay GPS today. 
(starts talking very fast as V.O.
spouts legalese)  Warning: Makers of
the GGPS are not responsible for laws that
change every five minutes due to
fickle legislatures or bigotry.  GGPS is
not responsible for sleazy police
officers who don’t enforce the law. 
Remember, people can still treat you like
crap even if what you are doing
is legal. (end legalese) 
Now only $29.95 at Costco!

Thursday, July 14, 2011

Songs Guys Can’t Sing

I don’t like music.  Sure, it’s nice to have in the background of a movie to heighten the mood, but other than that I’d be happier with silence.  If music is playing while I’m trying to work, I can’t concentrate.  If I have nothing to do but listen to music, I get bored.  Worst of all, music gets stuck in my head very easily, driving me crazy for days until it finally goes away.

I accept that there are those of you who enjoy music and, strangely enough, singing out loud.  However, I would like to warn you against singing some songs in public.  Really, I just would like to warn the men.  For some reason, women can sing anything they want and not look like an idiot (with the exception of songs by Insane Clown Posse or Prussian Blue), whereas men have to be very selective.

Guys, don’t ever sing these songs out loud:

"Yes, we're sisters.  How can you tell?"
Sincerely by the McGuire Sisters
I took choir to fulfill a requirement in college (and because we were going on a tour to Disney World).  At one point the director split the boys and girls up and had us sing different songs.  The girls sang “Sincerely.”  I remember having serious reservations about the line:

“He doesn't want me,
But I'll never, never, never, never let him go.”

This line sounds disturbingly clingy coming from a woman.  Coming from a guy, it’s abusive and psychotic.

I can totally believe Taylor Swift was a loser in high school.
You Belong With Me by Taylor Swift
While this song isn’t particularly bad, there is one line you should worry about:

“Standing by and waiting at your back door.”

Let’s just say that could be taken a couple of different ways.

Just remember guys: lesbians=hot, gays=scary!

I Kissed a Girl by Katy Perry
Yeah, just don’t even go there.

Wednesday, July 13, 2011

Dirty Jokes

I’ve tried to write dirty jokes from time to time and this was the best I could come up with:

A man goes in to a urologist.
“What’s the problem with your penis?” the doctor asks.
“I don’t know.  I can’t make head or tail of it,” the man said.
“Was your wife frigid?”
“Let me put it this way: she was making a sundae and spilled some Magic Shell on her arm.  It hardened immediately.”
Situation: Man has a hot date with a woman who (stereotypically) likes having whipped cream licked off of her.  He’s lactose intolerant so he gets a tub of Cool Whip instead.
Sound effects: SCOOP.  SHLORP.
Loud scream.
I think I’ll stick to my ditch digging career.

Tuesday, July 12, 2011

The Pee Pee Song

When you have a child, you find yourself doing things you’d never do in other circumstances: cleaning poop off the floor, cleaning urine off the ceiling, cleaning vomit off the cat, and so on.  Of course, every parent expects to do some awful things, but what most don’t expect is the fake attitude.  If you show disgust at, for example, cleaning up poop, you can cause your child to become so afraid of pooping that they start compulsively cleaning everything up and eventually shoot at people from a book depository in Texas.
"If only Daddy had sung to me more!"

That’s right, any sign of anger or disgust will permanently damage your child.  Every little daily chore has to be made happy and cheerful.

I just finished with one chore: midnight pee breaks.  You see, kids are born with enormous thirsts and tiny bladders.  When you toilet train them, you start having a rash of wet beds unless you get up in the middle of the night to take the kid to pee.  Your child, deep in dream land, will not want to go and will kick, scream, and urinate on his half-sleeping father.
"I WANT to pee in my bed!"
The solution is The Pee Pee Song.  As you carefully scoop your child up, carry him or her to the toilet, and position all of his or her private bits the right way, sing the following ditty (all rights reserved):

It’s time to go pee.
It’s time to go pee.
Just you and me,
It’s time to go pee.
Fiddle dee dum,
And fiddle dee dee.
It’s time to go,
It’s time to go pee.
Let’s urinate.
We shouldn’t be late.
I can’t relate to…
What rhymes with urinate?
Now we are done.
Wasn’t that fun?
Daddy’s got to run.
Aaaaand now we aaaare dooooone!
Then, as you put your child back in bed, you will know you have protected your child from wetting his bed and being classified as anal retentive.
Dr. Freud says you are a good parent.

Monday, July 11, 2011

Search Terms

Every day or so, I check Google Analytics.  It’s not a very useful tool, but it tells you how many people visit your site (none).  It also tells you what terms they searched on to end up at your site.  I get some pretty odd search terms.  Here’s a sample:

tron letters
Dear Tron, 
How are you?  I am good today.  Can’t wait to see you again and absorb you into my being!
"Oooor not."

calendar that i can write on
Wait, you want a calendar that you can write on?  You’re mad!  MAD!

clever things to write on a calendar
How about: “9 am: go to work” or “5 pm: come home from work?”

funny event calendar
Oh, come on.  What’s with all the calendar stuff?

funny things to write in calandar
Okay, I’m running out of things to say.  Um…  There is an “e” in calendar.  Spelling isn’t just for the elite, you know.

funny things that you can draw on your fingers
Ah, good, another chance to make fun of Sarah Palin.
It says: "Make fun of people for saying I'm stupid."

what can write on bike
Well, anything you want, I suppose.  But I’d suggest using a Sharpie or it will just wash off.

june calendar 2011 that i can write on
Oh, come on.  Again with the calendars?!  And why do you want a calendar that only has June?  Is that another doomsday prediction?

i need a list of humorous new year's resolutions
Here’s one:
"I will stop looking on the internet for my life goals."

year calendar to write events in

what to write in front of my bike
How about: Help!  My Sharpie is stuck in the spokes and I can’t stop!!!

cast crutches
This is why people put the letters “W,” “T,”  and “F” together.

childrens books on diving
I didn’t write about diving.  I wrote about skydiving.  I have a book for children skydiving.  It’s just the word “DON’T” over and over again for one hundred pages.

did spartans boys have sex
Yes, they were forced to.  Kinda makes you wonder about all the high school teams named “The Spartans,” doesn’t it?
They spend a whole lot of time warming up in the locker room.

difference between nordic and norse
One ate smoked salmon and the other ate lox.

freecycle supetvillian
What’s a Supet Villian?  Is that like a Zhu Zhu Pet?
"I want to play WITH YOUR SOUL!"

how to have your kids write a vacation report
I’d suggest threats and intimidation.

how to write about a nice vacation?
If you can’t think of anything to say about a vacation then you didn’t enjoy it.  Next time, don’t go antiquing with your parents-in-law.  Do anything else.  Anything.

icanwritefunny skydiving fuck
I got nothing here.  That’s a pretty accurate description of my blog.

inappropriate funny kids
Yeah, we get a lot of butt and fart jokes at my house, too.  I blame the jokes on my wife and the farting on the cats.

I take it back, this is why we have “WTF?”

larry ellison technical writing
Yeah, I’d love to see him do some technical writing, too. 

How to activate Java Beans: 
Step One: Are you a young and sexy woman? 

Step Two: Are you single? 

Step Three: Would you like to meet the richest man in California?
Step Four: Come over to my yacht.

latest glen beck funnies
That’s pretty much anything he says.

most plausible x-men
None of them.  It’s a comic book.  If I had to choose, I’d go with Professor X, because his powers can easily be explained by saying everyone around him was on drugs.
"I sense you will share your doobie."

politician caught sending pictures of penis
I don’t have any pictures of Weiner’s wiener.  Sorry.  I can send you a few of mine, if that helps!

safeway cakes reviews
Those are pretty easy reviews to write, I bet: “Yuck!”

safeway baby shoes cake
Safeway put shoes in your cake?  Eh, doesn’t surprise me.

skydiving and urinating
Yeah, try not to do that.

what to say after skydiving
How about: “Sorry I urinated on you.”

what to write to a sick child
“Don’t cough on me, whelp!”

write about tiger + kids
I think that’s a pretty short story: 
“Once upon a time, there was a tiger.  He had a sad life, because he was caught in a zoo cage.  One day, a child fell into his cage around feeding time.  The two of them played happily together until the child was all gone.  Then a zookeeper shot the tiger.  The end.”
Shoot, someone else did that joke.