Ever been so tired?

It's so late, and I'm so tired that I could eat a horse. Literally. I would just chew the damn thing with my mouth open. I wouldn't even use steak sauce. I'd eat the damn thing with a sprinkle of pepper. That's how exhausted I am. I would consume barely-seasoned equine meat.

Creating idioms (from scratch)

Do "expressions" "always" have to "make sense"? (You know, you can emphasize just about any word in that last sentence, and I'd be pretty happy about it.) Try:

• He was hairier than a sheepdog after Thanksgiving.
• Bob spends money faster than Chinese lesbians at a fireworks factory.
• I haven't heard anything that ridiculous since I started getting colonic irrigations down at the auto body shop.
• Suzie is dumber than a pair of pliers glued to a shoebox.
• I'm hungrier than the world's oldest Snickers bar.
• Watch out: Jimmy's angrier than a truck full of one-armed monkeys.
• Why buy the cat, when sausage is readily available?
• Woo-ee, this salsa is spicier than a Mexican stripper's asscrack!

Actually, I think I might use that last one.

Religion reform #1

It would have been pretty neat if instead of the Bible, the world's most popular and influential book was a Japanese graphic novel featuring a pan-sexual anthropomorphic blob named "Kaito" who was pink and blue and spoke only in rhyme.

Oh, and somehow instead of the Eucharist, we had something that involved cream soda and Viva puffs. Just off the top of my head here.

Everybody likes jokes

It occurred to me that I don't tell enough jokes. The reason is probably a combination of my not being able to memorize any existing jokes, and my refusal to create any new ones. Since I have not received any word from Garry Trudeau on the whereabouts of my MegaMemory kit, I will have to work on designing my own jests for use at parties, funerals and bar mitzvahs.

A nun walks into a bar, sits down at a stool and orders a bloody mary. The bartender pours her drink and slides it over to her. "I didn't know nuns were allowed to drink," he asked the nun.
"We're not," said the nun, and she ordered another. The bartender complied, and eyed her quizzically.

I guess that wasn't really a joke. Perhaps I will start simpler, with a knock-knock joke:

Knock knock
Who's There?
Who shot
Who shot who?
Who shot Jr? Motherfucker!

Well, that fucking sucked. I'm not sure what happened there. Comedy is tough. Perhaps instead, people could start sharing little nuggets of tragedy. People like drama too. We could tell one-liners like:

Did you know that the incidence of HIV/AIDS in young people is increasing dramatically each year?

My wife used to be an auto mechanic; that is, until she died.

What do you call a child who's parents have both died in a fiery blaze? An orphan with a long hard struggle ahead of him.

Yeah, I think I could get used to these. Tragedy is the new comedy.

Bawdy!

"Careful now sir," Mr. Lemon reported, "if she suspects that you're talking about her, you'll most certainly drive her to arousal."

"Agreed," was the reply of the president, "her panties'll shoot down her legs like a rainsoaked flag against a window. And no one needs to see that."

"Yes, sir." Mr. Lemon sighed. "But please, such language, you must --"

"Aw, shut that cock trap of yours, Lemon," the President bellowed. "You're acting like I ain't ever been to an event like this before."

"Yes, sir. But in fairness, you really haven't --"

"There you go again, flapping that damn cocktrap of yours. Listen Lemon... hey, where did that slut get to anyhow?"

Mr. Lemon sighed long and hard.

"Son of a bitch," the President mused out loud, "I wonder if she's in the bathroom pleasuring herself..."

"Mr. President," Lemon started, "please, I --" but the president again uninterrupted him, waxing philosophical.

"Well, I'll be. That diplomat from Georgia is a God-damned whore. I like her."

Offensive haiku

The japs, chinks, and gooks
Can't drive worth shit; but at least
They ain't niggers. Damn.

I know they called it
Rape; but come on now, that slut
Was asking for it.

Yesterday was tough:
I got an abortion, AND
Missed the bus back home.

Faint recollection.
Mind hurts, memory is faint.
Ass is sore as hell.

Maternal longings,
Plus lycra workout pants means:
I can't be blamed, dude.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!
I was just gonna move! Damn
This parking Ticket!

Jews and Arabs should
Learn to get along, because
Who else can stand them?

Lipgloss, pigtails, and
Mother's perfume. "Little girl,
You need a ride home?"

A feeble attempt at narrative

OK. This time I'm going to do it. Here we go. What I need here is a story, which a main character, who does stuff, perhaps sets a goal, has trouble reaching that goal but ultimately succeeds. That's all I gotta do here. Let's try to not to fuck it up.

Billy's Story.

Billy was a young lad who lived at home with his parents. Because he was seven. He went to school like all the other boys and girls, except he hated school. He hated the teachers, he hated math class, he was not exactly a fan of gym either. He felt recess was OK, but nothing to phone home about. He definitely liked lunch. Maybe school wasn't so bad.

One day on his way home from school, he found a shiny quarter. He was excited because for a seven year old, that was a lot of money. I mean, seriously. That would buy him some candy or something.

It took him a long time to get home and when he got there his mother was waiting for him and she was angry.

"What took you so long to get home, Simon?" She said, because that was his name. He had no response but feebly held up his quarter.

"Look what I found!" But mother was not impressed. She snatched the quarter away. "Give me that." She thrust a "Here, go to Howard's Grocery and get everything on that list. And don't waste your time or buy anything we don't need!" She handed him 2 dollars and sent him on his way.

The walk to the store was long, and difficult and Simon only had little legs that didn't move him very far. After about ten minutes, he realised that he was not even halfway there. He was bored so he poked his head into one of his favourite stores. It was the comic book store. He liked this store very much. He was a big fan of comics, and wanted to stay longer but he knew that his task was to get to the store and buy the things for mother as soon as possible. He continued on his way.

As we walked further his legs started to ache and he sat down on a bench on the sidewalk. A man with an accordion walked up to him. He looked dishevelled but friendly. "Would you like to see a magic trick?"

"Sure!" Said Simon enthusiastically.
"OK, but it's one dollar!" the man replied.

Simon knew he shouldn't give the man his money so he said, "no". "Look man, all I gotta do is get to the store, and get this shit. Stop hassling me."

He continued on his way....

And here is where I realise this story is completely bullshit.

...Simon kept walking to the store but he tripped over a rock along the way. It hurt him pretty bad and he stayed on the ground for a long time. He never woke up.

The End.