Singin’ the Fortune Cookie Blues

Fortune Cookie Fortunes Rejected by the Fortune Cookie Factory for Being Too Negative

Save room for poison!

If you always see the glass as half empty, you’re probably a lush

Time was on your side but it switched over to the other team

Everything you’ve ever done in your entire life has been a disaster including the way you comb your bangs

The journey of a thousand miles begins with a single schlep

 If intelligence were luggage, you’d be that little cylindrical container that holds your toothbrush

 If at first you don’t succeed . . . well, better just get used to it

You need to learn to prioritize – stop spending so much time crying over spilt milk and start spending more time crying over the fact that you’re a big fat loser

Don’t jump! . . . On second thought never put off for tomorrow what you can do today

Your wildest dreams will come true–oh sorry!  I thought you were someone else

 

Until next time . . . I love you

Big Bucks Barbie

Hello Dear Readers!  For those of you who just woke up from a coma, congratulations!  You’re just in time for Christmas!!  Don’t worry if you haven’t got your shopping done yet.  I haven’t either and I haven’t even been in a coma.  So while I’m out shopping, here’s a little Christmas shopping story about the year my daughter wanted a My Size Barbie!  

Big Bucks Barbie

One year my daughter asked Santa for a “My Size Barbie.”  A “My Size Barbie” is a Barbie doll that has been fed huge amounts of hormones at the factory causing her to become the size of Daryl Hannah.

Picture of My Size Barbie in a Blue Dress   Daryl Hanna on Red Carpet

To ensure that “My Size Barbie” would be in stock, I went to the toy store early.   I approached the Barbie aisle and was about to ask where I might find The Big One, when I tripped over a humongous box containing “My Size Barbie” nearly breaking “My Size Arm.”

The adrenalin rush I experienced from the fall enabled me to heft the package containing The Incredible Babs onto my cart, but not being Arnold Schwartzenegger (or even Maria Shriver), I wasn’t strong enough to maneuver the box so that I could see the price tag.

I inched my Barbie-burdened cart to the checkout stand where it took four of us to hoist The Big Gal onto the scanner, and I mentally noted that perhaps some low-fat Barbie cuisine would make an apropos stocking stuffer.

Being an alert consumer, I had estimated the price at around $40, $50 or maybe even $60.

“Do you know how much this is?” I asked the clerk.

“I’ll let you know in a sec, hon,” she said as she fired up the jaws of life to help her run Buxom Barb over the scanner.

As I waited for the price to appear, I recalled a Christmas of long ago when I had received a Barbie Dream House.  My mother had lovingly assembled it all by herself.  It had taken her the better part of the Kennedy administration.

Barbie's first dream house
Assembles in four years

That had been my favorite Christmas and I owed it all to my mother and to my Barbie.  How ironic that this Christmas I would be giving my daughter The Mother of All Barbies.

“Excuse me ma’am? The “My Size Barbie’ is $128.  Did you still want it?”

One-hundred and twenty-eight dollars!  Suddenly everything began to move in slow motion.  I could feel myself turning white . . . then red . . . then green . . . like an aluminum Christmas tree on a rotating stand.

I looked at the clerk, then back at the 20 or so people waiting in line behind me.  They were all staring at me and sighing a lot.  Maybe they were thinking that I shouldn’t let my daughter down for a few lousy bucks and that I should forget the expense because, after all, it was Christmas.  Finally, a gentleman from the back of the line offer his advice:

“Move it lady!”

Then the clerk from the neighboring checkout stand shouted over, ” My niece has one of those and they can  wear the same clothes!” And then, just to bring it on home, she added, “I think she comes with an entire wardrobe!”

The clerk and I quickly tried to figure out how many outfits were included, but that information was on the opposite side of the box and somebody else was using the forklift.

In the end, I paid with a check so big it would have made “My Size Barbie” proud.  And as the crane lowered The Ultimate Barbie onto the roof of my car, I knew in my heart I had made the right decision.

“A little to the left!”
When Christmas morning came, my little girl would open her very special present, and the wonder and joy that is Christmas would be captured again for one brief, shining moment.

I say brief because the day after Christmas, I made “My Size Barbie” go out and get a job.

Until next time . . . I love you

Whatnot Wednesday: Baby Eating

Biff Sock Pow over at his blog Biff Sock Pow has added a new challenge for us.  Go to his blog and check him out (but only if you like to laugh).  It’s called Whatnot Wednesday.  The rules are simple (ish).  Here they are:

How To Play Whatnot Wednesday

  1. Write a blog post entitled “Whatnot Wednesday” (it can be about anything)
  2. Add these guidelines to the bottom of your post
  3. Add a link to this post in your post
  4. Add the tag #WhatnotWednesday to your post
  5. Post your post
  6. In the comments below in my post, leave a link to your Whatnot Wednesday blog post
  7. See how many bullet points you an end with the word “post”
  8. Most of all …. HAVE FUN!

Today’s Theme:  Baby Eating and Whatnot

Welcome Dear Readers! Well it seems the time has finally come to talk about baby eating, a topic that some of you may find a tad offensive. However, for those of you brave enough to continue reading past this point, let’s dig in and talk about baby eating, shall we?

Cue the first slide:

Disaster-Being-eaten-Lion-eating-baby
NO! WAIT! Don’t eat my baby!  At least let me run home and get the ketchup first!

Is it just me, or does this woman look like she’s not really trying very hard to save her baby?  I mean, she could just reach over and pry the baby out of the lion’s mouth.  Maybe she could even get the lion to open his mouth on his own with a few “here kitty kitty’s.” But no.  Instead she looks like she’s about to say, “Wait here while I run home and get the rest of my children. I’ll be back in two shakes of a lambs tail and I’ll even bring the lamb for dessert.”

Cue the next slide:

Medieval-Mythology-Saturn-eating-babies
Excuse me honey, sorry to bother you while you’re . . . uh . . .  whatnot–ing, but can I have some money? The traveling baby-spice salesman is here.

Okay, here’s a mother who will clearly never make mother of the year.  She seems far more concerned with the fact that the window washer is squeegeeing the underside of her husband’s calf than with the fact that one of her babies is playing with a fire-breathing dragon while another one is being eaten whole by a farmer on his lunch break.

And don’t you get the feeling that the man at the gate just sold her a case of Big Daddy Magellan’s Medieval Mesquite Baby Seasoning Salt?

And the next slide please:

Mythology-Demon-Demon-eating-people1
These aren’t really babies he’s eating, but in keeping with our baby-eating theme, let’s just pretend they are, shall we?

Okay, here’s a baby eater that can’t even keep up!  He’s got babies coming out of his ears!  Clearly this baby eater has it all, wings, a full head (and body) of hair and a bellybutton that looks like Mickey Mouse. And even though he’s feasting on a baby, he still has rather kind eyes, don’t you think?

In fact, I have a feeling he’d make a better mother than the other mothers pictured above.  Maybe that why people babies  are lining up to be eaten by him — probably figuring that since they’re going to be eaten anyway — they might as well be eaten by a kind sort of monster — at least one who has a belly button shaped like Mickey Mouse.

Linda Vernon Humor Baby Eating
“Hey! Getting my leg bitten off isn’t even making me cry. Well that’s refreshingly unexpected!”

Whoa!  Here’s a baby eater that can clearly pack it away (and probably never gain a pound!).  He’s got no qualms about chowing down on a baby two-thirds his size. I just hope his eyes don’t prove to be bigger than his stomach and I just hope his stomach is able to handle an entire baby in one bite.

Nobody would eat a baby like this today.  The potential for choking is far to great! We can only assume that this man is competing in some sort of Medieval  baby-eating contest for which the prize is an all you can eat baby buffet.  Let’s just hope he’s got a big supply of Big Daddy Magellan’s Medieval Mesquite Baby Seasoning Salt on hand cause he’s gonna need it!

And that concludes this week’s Wednesday Whatnot post.  

 

 

R.I.P. Taffy May

When I was a little girl, the pot of gold at the end of my rainbow was a horse.

I really only voiced the question of my getting a horse to my parents a couple of times, knowing full well that the answer would be no, and, as a matter of pride,  I’d ultimately have to run away from home or, at the very least, stage a run away as in the following true scenario:

“Look at this Janey,” my father remarked to my mother, “I found Linda’s pajamas in this little 45-record case in the bushes just outside her window when I was mowing the lawn.”

Oh I was going to run away alright . . . eventually.

Ok, fine . . . if I wasn’t going to get a horse, at least I could try for a kitten.  This is how I went about it.  Step 1:  Convince my parents that I was head over heals in love with cats.  So I colored umpteen pictures of kittens and scotch taped them to my circa 1959 pink wall.  Step 2 wasn’t even needed because Step 1 worked like a charm.  Next thing I knew I was picking out my very own gray, long-haired kitten from a batch of 5 or 6.

In my excitement, I failed to notice that this particular kitten had issues.  It suffered from the world’s lowest kitty IQ.   Maybe that’s why the name I chose, Taffy May, seemed to fit her so well.

Taffy May was the perfect cat for a little girl to bond with.  Being nearly brain-dead, she allowed me to pick her up and carry her around without protest.  She slept with me all night under the covers which I thought was because she loved me so —  but more likely she just couldn’t figure a way out.

I loved stupid little Taffy May with all the passion of my nine-year-old heart and soul.  She failed to grow to full size due to the fact that while she was checking to see if there were any predators around to eat her cat food, the dog would wolf  it down.

She had one batch of kittens – if three can be considered a batch.  But being the little dummy that she was, she managed to lie on all three of them during the night and  in the morning the only one left breathing was my beloved, Taffy May.

Perhaps it was Karma (I know there was a car involved) the day Taffy May shuffled (or rolled) off this mortal world.  I was on my way home from school without a care in the world.  When I rounded the corner, there stood our across-the-street neighbor, Mr. Huey, holding a lifeless Taffy May up by the tail.

I don’t know how many times Taffy May had been run over, but judging from the fact that she was literally as flat as a pancake, it would be safe to assume more than once.  I screamed and ran into the house where I was inconsolable well into the night.  I never got another cat of my very own, out of respect for Taffy May, who will always have a place in my heart . . . about two feet wide and one and one-half inches deep.

Until next time . . . I love you

Some Common Sense Tips

Hello Dear Readers.  I thought it might be helpful to post a short list  of common sense tips that my brain, Peanuts, just thought of.

Don’t worry about your spleen.  Nobody ever said on their death-bed, “I wish I would have worried about my spleen.”

 "Let's see, 101 signs your spleen might be malfunctioning . . ."
“Let’s see . . . 101 signs your spleen might be malfunctioning . . . oh I need to read these! “

If someone in your family is set on becoming a human cannonball, keep a mirror and a helmet handy so you can show them how stupid they will look to others.

Slit your car tires every night before you go to bed so that when you wake up in the morning there won’t be any flat tire surprises.

Did you remember to slit the tires?No, it's your turn, I did it last night!
Did you remember to slit the tires?
No, it’s your turn, I did it last night!

Never allow anyone to act out the poem Lizzie Borden Took an Ax on family fun night unless you are absolutely certain the ax is inaccessible and there’s no liquor in the house.

Always test out your  “experimental arsenic cookies” on the hamster first, and be sure he’s actually dead before going to all the trouble of serving them to in-laws.

"Maury? . . . Maury? Can you hear me Maury?"

“Maury? . . . Maury? Can you hear me Maury?”

Always keep a copy of Robert Rules of Order on you at all times to avoid the embarrassment of walking up to take the witness stand in a crowded courtroom when it’s not your turn.

Never engage in a conversation with a chatty robot before you know the location of their off switch.  (The same holds true for husbands.)

"Yes. it. is. a. nice. day. There. have been 17823 days. very. similar. to. a. day. like. today. in. the. past. 100. years. starting. with. a. Thursday. on. April. 17. 1912. and. then. again. on . . . "
“Yes. it. is. a. nice. day. There. have. been. 17823. days. very. similar. to. a. day. like. today. in. the. past. 1400. years. starting. with. a. Thursday. on. April. 17. 1035. and. then. on. . . “

Just make it a policy to never operate on friends. Period. End of story.

Listen Marge, it's not that I don't want to take out your spleen, it's just that you're a friend of mine and I have this policy . . . sorry . . . .
Listen Marge, it’s not that I don’t want to remove your spleen, it’s just that you’re a friend of mine and I have this policy . . . sorry but period end of story.

Until next time . . . I love you

The Bible According to Gregory: Fred and The Bears

Welcome Dear Readers to this Sunday’s edition of the Bible According to Gregory.  Let’s listen in and see what Gregory learned in Sunday school this morning, shall we?

Gregory of the Bible According to Gregory Linda Vernon Humor

Fred and The Bears

As you may remember from last week’s bible lesson, Gregory was learning about Elisha (pronounced Fred).

Fred  had just inherited the All in One Miracle Cloak from his idol, Elijah, who thew it to him from  the whirlwind God had sent for Elijah to take him up to heaven.

Biblical Fig Juice Stains

The cloak did wonders for Fred’s self-esteem.  It gave him the power to perform miracles,  it brought out the hazel in his eyes, and it even dimmed the shine of his very bald head!

img635

Horrible Artist’s rendering of what Fred might have looked like.

But the men of Jericho thought Fred’s story about Elijah being whisked off up to heaven in a whirlwind was a bit sketchy.

Jericho Man:  Hi Fred. nice cloak.   Say, have you seen Elijah anywhere?

Fred:  Uh, Elijah . . . uh . . . well,  he’s on a permanent vacation.

Jericho Man:  Oh how nice!  Where?

Fred:  Heaven.

Jericho Man:  You mean he died?

Fred:  Not exactly.  The Lord picked him up in a Whirlwind and took him to heaven while he was still alive.

Jericho Man:  I’m sorry, but I have trouble believing that because the Lord doesn’t travel in a whirlwind, he travels in a cloud.

Fred:  Are you implying I don’t know the difference between a cloud and a whirlwind?

Jericho Man:  Okay I’m bored.   Hey listen, Fred, since you’re the new miracle guy in town, would you mind doing something about the source of our drinking water.  It tastes like Shiite.

Fred:  Not a problem, I can fix that.  Bring me a new jar and put salt in it.

Jericho man:  But won’t that just mask the flavor?

Fred raised his I’m-the-new-miracle-guy-in-town-aren’t- I? eyebrow and the man ran off to fetch Fred a jar of salt.

Fred threw the salt into the Shiite water and everybody watched while he took a sip and pronounced that the water tasted as good as  Alhambra.  And everybody rejoiced by laughing at the way Fred pronounced Abraham.

Fred takes being called “baldy” badly.

After that Fred left Jericho to travel to Bethel as he had some early blankmas shopping he wanted to do. (This was way before Jesus was born.)

On the way there, he encountered a group of boys who started making fun of Fred’s bald head.

“Get out of here baldy!” they all shouted.

Which was the very worst thing you could call a person in biblical days not counting  Unleavened- Pizza- Crust – Face.

So Fred cursed the boys in the name of the Lord and two she-bears came out of the woods and tore the 42 boys to pieces which must have taken a while — long enough for Fred to get out his slab and chisel and chisel 42 hash marks.

Prologue:

After that, Fred traveled on to Mount Carmel, where he  bought everybody on his list a  box of carmels.

He came back by way of Samaria and gifted an extra box he accidentally bought  to a Samaritan who lived there and wished him Merry Blankmas!

And that’s why to this day, if someone buys an extra box of carmels and gives it to someone who lives in Sameria,  they are called a Good Samaritan.

And there you have it, Dear Readers, what Gregory learned in Sunday School.  Be sure to check back  next week to see what new and exciting thing Gregory learns in Sunday School.

Disaster-Being-eaten-Bear-eating-Viking1
“So you’re wearing that funny hat because 42 boys called you “Baldy”?
“Yeah.”
“You want I should maul them?”
“Yeah.”

Until next time . . . I love you

Baby Boomer Junk Mail

Hello Dear Readers!  Gosh it’s a beautiful day.  Okay let’s talk about death now.

Here’s something that came in the mail today from the Trident Society:

Trident Society Linda Vernon Humor
The Trident Society wants dibs on your “vessel”

Apparently the Trident Society isn’t really a Society at all.  It’s just a nice way of saying we’re a company that turns a profit cremating dead people.  I don’t think there’s regular meetings or anything.  It’s simply that they are asking for dibs on cremating you after you die, but they want you to pay them for it right now.

Apparently there are lots and lots and lots of wonderful  reasons why you need to  pre-purchase your funeral pyre.  Let’s take a closer look at what they are, shall we?

Trident Society Commentary Linda Vernon Humor

The first reason for being cremated is convenience.

If you pay for your cremation now, perhaps when you die, one of your  family members (whoever gets the shortest straw) can simply go to a Trident Society drive-thru window, pick up your ashes and set you on the book shelf until the next family reunion — where you will be lovingly lugged along and incorporated into the prayer before the potluck lunch is served.  Upside:  It’s convenient as all get out.  Downside:  Alive or dead, you’ll have to attend the next family reunion.

Cremation is much less expensive and has less impact on the environment!

Now how can anybody say no to cheap and easy?  It’s cheap AND it’s better for the environment.  Downside:  You had to pay for it yourself. Upside:  Hey!! Lookee you!  You’re recyclable!

It allows families to provide a dignified resting place to memorialize their loved one. 

What is the Trident Society trying to imply?  Are they trying to  imply that your current plan — to give great, great grandaddy, Trevor, the ol’ heave ho on your next Carnival Cruise — isn’t a dignified enough resting place?  Upside:  Oh yeah!  Downside:  Just watch you!

And finally, Dear Readers, if the above reasons aren’t enough to convince you that you need to pre-purchase your cremation, Trident Society is pulling out all the stops by allowing you to enter for a chance to WIN a FREE CREMATION!

Win a free cremation! Linda Vernon Humor

Sufferin’ Succotash!  Look how happy everybody is in the picture!  Well, there’s nothing like winning a FREE CREMATION to make everyone want to play a rousing game of Ring Around the Rosy!

Until next time . . . I love you

Biblical Wrestle Mania

Welcome Dear Readers to this Sunday’s edition of the Bible According to Gregory.  Let’s listen in and see what Gregory learned in Sunday school this morning, shall we?

Gregory of the Bible According to Gregory Linda Vernon Humor

Biblical Wrestle Mania: Almighty God vs. Jacob the Ladder

Jacob was a twin who was born holding onto his  brother’s heel. Why anybody even noticed this is odd because Jacob’s twin brother, Esau (pronounced Achoo) was born entirely red and covered with fur.  A fact that Jacob’s parents were happy about because it meant they would never have any trouble telling them apart.

The twins’ mother, Rebekah, liked  Jacob best because she was partial to children who didn’t shed; while their dad, Isaac, liked Achoo best because he preferred children who could double as a comforter in a pinch.

 Jacob was a napper

One day, on his way to visit his relatives, Jacob  saw a nice, big, fluffy stone (which in those days was called a pillow) and lay down to take nap.  He dreamed God’s angels were going up and down on an escalator (which in those days was called a ladder).

Jacob's Ladder

In the dream, God told Jacob he was going to give him lots wives and kids and animals and slaves, which made Jacob so happy he told God he would kick back ten percent of his profits to Him.

When Jacob woke up from his dream, he consecrated his nice, big, fluffy rock pillow to God by pouring some consecrating oil on it which he always carried with him for impromptu consecratings.

One night, Jacob decided to take his family camping at the God Campgrounds down by the Jabbok River.  So Jacob’s two wives, two concubines and his eleven children all crammed into the family ox cart.  Jacob also brought along all his cattle, donkeys,  sheep,  goats, and slaves.  Jacob was a notorious over-packer.

An Angel Picks a Fight

That night Jacob realized it was going to be way to noisy to sleep so he sent his family and his animals and his slaves across the Jabbok river.  Then he fluffed up his rock and was just drifting off when an angel wearing a wrestling outfit showed up.

Jacob:  May I help you?

Angel:   I came to wrestle you.

Jacob:  Wrestle me? I haven’t wrestled since high school.

Angel:  You never forget how.  It’s like riding a bike.

Jacob:  Okay, give me a sec while I change into my wrestling garb.

Angel:  Why did you bring your wrestling garb if you haven’t wrestled since high school?

Jacob: I like to be prepared, okay?  You got a problem with that?

Angel:  Well besides being three-sizes too small,  your wrestling garb has consecrating oil stains all over it.  I’m going to have to wrestle you to the ground just because you look so stupid.

Jacob:  Oh yeah wing boy?  Bring it!

Jacob then proceeded to get the angel in a half-nelson and started plucking out his feathers. The angel immediately cried uncle but when Jacob let go, the Angel sucker punched Jacob and dislocated Jacob’s hip.  (The blow would have shattered Jacob’s hip if Jacob wouldn’t have been such a big believer in calcium supplements.)

"One two cha cha cha"
“One two cha cha cha”
“What are you doing? We’re supposed to be wrestling.”
“What? I can’t even have fun with it?”

Angel:  Okay okay you win, Jacob.  You can stop plucking out my feathers now!

Jacob:  Not until you bless me!

Angel:  I can only bless you if I change your name to Israel first.

Jacob:  Why?

Angel:  Because that’s my favorite name, but I also like Karen.  Would you rather be Karen?

Jacob:  Fine.  Call me Ishmael.

Angel:  You mean Israel?

Jacob:  Whatever.

After the match, Jacob realized that the angel he had just wrestled with was God, and that Jacob had seen the face of God and yet he was still alive! So Jacob decided to name the place upon which he and God had wrestled,  Peniel — which means “Thank God for Calcium Supplements.”

"What are you doing, Karen?" "Stetching. And don't call me Karen."
“What are you doing, Karen?”
“Stretching. And don’t call me Karen.”

And there you have it, Dear Readers, what Gregory learned in Sunday school this week. Please check back next week to find out what Gregory learned in Sunday School.

Until next time . . . I love you

 

How to Be An Effective Parent Using Only the Word “Bingo”

How to be an Effective Parent Using Only the Word Bingo

Kid:   I want a new skateboard.

Parent:   Bingo!

Kid:  So can I have $80?

Parent:  Bingo!

Kid:  Do you want me to clean my room first or something?

Parent:  Bingo!

Kid:  Ok, I cleaned my room.  Can I have the money now?

Parent:  Bingo!

Kid:  Ok, you want me to get your purse?

Parent:  Bingo!

Kid:  So where’s the money?  Don’t you have $80?

Parent:  Bingo!

Kid:  Well, you should have said so in the first place because I wouldn’t have cleaned my room if I would have known you didn’t have any money.

Parent:  Bingo!

Crochet Your Way to Happiness!

Welcome Dear Readers! Here is a 1984 crocheting booklet that I was lucky enough to score at the thrift shop yesterday! YES! (Okay, nobody else wanted them, but still!)

Let’s Look Inside Annie’s Pattern Club Newsletter!

Humorous 80's commentary
Isn’t it  inexplicably wonderful?

Annie’s Pattern Club was (or possibly still is) a newsletter where mega-talented crocheters crocheted something original and then sent the pattern to Annie, and she would publish the cream-of-the-crop designs her newsletter.

And as you will see, never have so many people come up with so many crocheted solutions for so many things that were never a problem  in the first place.  Let’s look at a few, shall we?

Crocheted Football Mitts

Crocheted Football Mitts. Why didn't they ever "catch" on? Why?
“Gosh!  I don’t understand it.  Billy went to play football with the guys and he didn’t take his  Crocheted Football Mitts I made him.”
“Well that’s weird, maybe he didn’t want the rest of the players to feel bad because they don’t have a pair of Crocheted Football Mitts.”
“You know you’re probably right. I’ll get busy and crochet some mitts for the whole team!”
 

Church Puppet

Storybook Puppet
Need: Attention Getting Device to Keep Children Focused on Bible Stories.
Crocheted Solution: A church puppet, not to be confused the a church pulpit. (Although, a dust cozy for a church pulpit probably would have  made it into Annie’s Newsletter too.)  But what better way for little children to learn about the bible than through the crocheted lips of this memorable, but-not-in-a-good-way church puppet.  Oh sure it might give the little tikes nightmares, but they’ll certainly never forget the experience (no matter how hard they try).

Lil Guy Tie

Little Guy Tie
“Oh no Helen! I can’t find little Billy’s tie anywhere, and we’re going to be late for the formal occasion for which toddler formal attire  is required. What ever shall I do?”
“Don’t worry, Madge! While you were blabbing on and on just now, I knitted Little Billy a tie, a pair of football mitts and a church puppet.”
“Oh Helen I’m blown away!  Maybe you could crochet me something to wear to a formal occasion while you’re at it.”

What to wear to a formal occasion in the 80’s

Formal ocassion attire 80's style
“Here’s some formal attire I knitted for you while you were blowing your nose, Madge. I think it’s perfect for any formal gathering don’t you?”
“DO I! I’ll be the talk of the town wearing this outfit, Helen. Thank you!”
“You are so welcome, Midge!”
“Uh my name’s Madge.”
“Yeah whatever.  And remember, I’m only loaning you my hat!”

And there you have it Dear Readers!  Now get out there and crochet your hearts out!

Until next time . . . I love you

Let’s Poke Fun at Album Covers

Welcome Dear Readers!  Today, let’s do something we haven’t done in a while.  Let’s poke fun at albums covers!  Let’s start with this one:

William Holden the World of Suzie Wong

William Holden was a major movie star in the 50’s and 60’s and possibly even the 70’s.   I’m not much of a researcher as I prefer to make up my own facts to save time, but anyway my point is — William Holden can’t paint!

Notice how that outfit Suzie is wearing isn’t anything like the one Bill is painting?  (You don’t mind if I call him, Bill, do you?)  Also, Bill doesn’t look very committed to the task.  I have a feeling he’s holding a bottle of vodka in that hand we can’t see.  Don’t you think so, Bill? (You don’t mind if I call you Bill do you?)

I don’t know how William Holden died, but a long time ago, I remember seeing a sign in someone’s bathroom that said “William Holden Slipped Here.”  So I have a feeling his death was rather untoward.

Which is why we won’t go into it here, Bill,  as this is a humor blog, and, as such, steers clear of unpleasant topics unless it’s  laugh out loud funny like, say, the always popular topic of baby eating.  But I digest . . .

Oh and you can’t see it, Bill, but on the very top of this album in the  left right no left oh who cares corner,  it says this album was  recorded in “New Orthophonic” high fidelity.  Which I guess means it’s for people who have to wear shoes on their ears for medical reasons.  (Not really, I’m just making that up . . . at least I think I’m making it up . . .what do you think, Bill? )

Let’s move on to the super-cheery Clancy Brothers and Tommy Makem, shall we, Bill?

The Clancy Brothers

Okay, Bill, which one do you think is Tommy Makem?  They all look alike to me, Bill.  Do you think that maybe Tommy Makem is a Clancy half-brother?  Maybe he’s the brother nobody knew about until Tommy came a’knockin’ at the door one day with a big announcement?  A big announcement that . . . well  we won’t go into that unpleasantness here, Bill,  as this is supposed to be a humor blog and as such steers clear of topics about things like, say, the  illegitimate makin’ of  Tommy Makems.

Apparently, if one can believe the album blurb,  the Clancy Brothers are Irish. There’s no mention of what Tommy Makem is.  Who cares?  He’s really starting to get on The Clancy Brothers’  nerves anyway.  In fact, I think even though this album is called The First Hurrah!  I have a feeling it’s The Last Hurrah! for poor ol’  illegitimate half-brother, Tommy Makems, don’t you think Bill?

But, Bill,  let’s not worry about such things now, Let’s move on instead to An Hour of Tchaikovsky!

An Hour of Tchaikovsky

Okay, don’t look now, Bill, but this Tchaikovsky Groupie seems to have  her hand hopelessly stuck in her hairdo!  Naturally, she’s confused because she only used seven cans of  hairspray on her hair  —  when she usually applies 43! ( Apparently Tschaikovsky’s been getting into the hairspray cabinet again, what are we going to do with him, Bill?)

But not to worry, she is still managing to keep her composure.  How?  Well, thanks to the magic of eight gallons  of foundation and 3 pounds of eye shadow, three-quarters of a pound of lipstick and half a pound of potato salad.  No  wait . . . that was her lunch.

Okay, well as you can see, Bill, I’m starting to get confused. So I guess it’s just as well that we are  completely out of Album Cover, fun-poking time!  Gosh where does the time go? Where, Bill?  Where?

Until next time . . . I love you

Sports Illustrated Brings Us 1963

Oh Dear Readers!  Look what crossed my path yesterday at the used bookstore!

Illustration of woman relaxing on a yatch in a two-piece Swim suit circa 1963
A Sports Illustrated Magazine from 1963!  Isn’t it wonderful? Let’s flip through it together, shall we?

Here’s 1963, Master’s Champion Jack Nicklaus  singing the praises of the MacGregor Woods with their exclusive penetrating impregnation method! Wow! Now that’s impressive!

Ad from Sports Illustrated 1963 Golf Ad
Golf in 1963 was sure a lot more interesting than it is now.

The ad goes on to explain that the exclusive penetrating impregnation method was the most talked about club feature in golf!  (Well, I should say so!)  “Because it let’s you use a wood with confidence in bad lies.”  Gosh I wonder if Tiger knows about this?

 

Hey! Who doesn’t want to live in a world where shirts were only $5.00 raise your hand!

Man in car driving away
Shh . . . don’t tell Mr.Sophisticated City Dweller who is wearing his Dacron Docoma Breeze shirt that the poor country bumpkins who just got off the  b.u.s. are laughing at him not with him.

Stuffed shirts didn’t come any less wrinkle-free than in 1963 thanks to Docoma Breeze shirts boasting Grip-Tab, Dress ‘n Play, Blake collars — which only cool city dwellers could afford at $5 a pop.  And if that didn’t make a man want to drive around Manhattan, mannequin-like, in a car three-sizes too small –1963 doesn’t know what did!

 

Don’t Worry Honey! Kent’s Micronite Filter makes cigarettes good for you!

Blah Blah
This Kent ad is the very first and the very last ad to utilize the phrase “refines away”.

Apparently back in 1963, the key to smoking fun was getting the cigarette to have the mildest taste of all!  Kent was hoping that smokers wouldn’t put 2 and 2 together and realize that the mildest taste of all would be not smoking any cigarettes at all.

 

Question!  What’s more fun than shooting guns with daddy?   Shooting guns with daddy in the house!  What else?

Father and Son unpacking Daisy BB Range
Run for cover,Sis! Look out Spot! Whoops sorry, Dear!

What better way for  fathers to bond with their sons and to teach their sons to grow up to be men than by shooting bb guns with them in the house?  Oh sure, a few of mother’s prized figureens may have to be sacrificed, and little Suzie’s buttox will probably never be the same — but it’s a small price to pay for teaching little boys what it really means to be a man — 1963 style!

Now then wasn’t that fun?  I hope you liked our little foray into the world of 1963, Dear Readers!

Until next time . . . I love you

Superman’s Other Weaknesses


FasSuperman's Other Weaknessest(er than a speeding bullet) Women

Mister Mxyzptlk’s killer Margaritas

Buzzing  high school girls at soccer practice

Metropolis Historic Home Tours

Jimmy Olsen’s rendition of Honey I Miss You

Crack Cocaine

X-ray-eying Scratchers

Jenga tournaments

Things that purr

1000-count Egyptian cotton leotards

Vintage phone booth hunting

Lois Lane’s Key Lime Pie

 

Until next time . . . I love you

The Edible Horror of 1959

Hello Dear Readers! 

Today we are going to put away our mirth, store our humor in the overhead storage compartment and put a lid on our collective jar of Hardy Har Hars — so that we may take a serious look at a trend from 1959 that is so disturbing, so bizarre, so downright twisted that, frankly,  we really don’t even want you to read the rest of the post . . . okay fine go ahead and read it . . . but you’ve been warned!

 

The Edible Horror of 1959

As you can see, this 1959 cook book is trying to pass itself off as an innocent Metropolitan Cook Book featuring foods that are not only delicious and nutritious, but also, foods that appear to have a wonderful outlook on life, a cheerful disposition and an enviable outgoing vivaciousness that would light up a room!

 

Looks innocent?  Look again!

But even though things seem innocuous enough on the surface what these pictures are actually depicting is the sick, brain-washed, utopian edible world of 1959 wherein innocent foods have been programmed into wanting to be eaten.

 

As evidence, let us take a look at this unsettling illustration:

Here we have meat that has been obviously drugged so that it can be paraded before the eyes of carnivores — by its very own offspring as they wave parsley in an attempt to draw attention to their very own parent’s deliciousness!  What in heaven’s name was going on in 1959?

 

And in another equally unsettling illustration we see this:

Here carrots, radishes and onions are happily waiting in line to be dipped into a boiling caldron of soup!  Notice the mindless smiles and the blank affectations in the eyes of indoctrinated vegetables as they so willingly and cheerfully give their lives to this 1959 Orwellian soup du jour!  Oh the vegumanity!

 

And it just keeps getting worse:

Here we have an apple throwing a pie in its OWN face in some sort of sick prelude to the eating of said pie.  Thank the good lord, cruel practices such as this do not go on in the present day.

And finally we must insist that all children be out of the room before scrolling down to this final example of 1959 edible horror:

Family cannibalism!

Here we see a strawberry about to take a big bite of sorbet made out of Sister Stawberry!  We witness Pear munching delightedly on Brother Pear Pudding and Apple enjoying applesauce made entirely of Mother and Father Apple!

These are images that will forever sully the once pristine synapses of our heretofore innocent brains.  I’m sorry Dear Readers to have to do this to you!  But you were warned!

If it’s any consolation

Until next time . . . I love you

Life on the Ark

Welcome Dear Readers to this Sunday’s edition of Gregory’s Bible Stories.

Today in Sunday School Gregory learned about Noah’s Ark  and couldn’t help imagining what it must have been like living on the Ark while waiting for the flood to subside.

 LInda Vernon humoous bible storiesLife on the Ark 

Noah:  Honey!  Come on!  You’re not still packing are you?  We’ve got to get going! The floodgates of the sky are opening!

Noah’s Wife, Betty:   I can’t get my bath robe to fit into this stupid suitcase!

Noah:  Here let me do it.

Betty:   Oh no you don’t!  You’ll  wrinkle  everything!

Noah:  Honey! I just packed two of every kind of animal into one measly ark.  I think I can pack a suitcase.

Betty:   Do you think we’ll have room for the trampoline?  I’d like to stay in shape, God only knows  how long we’ll be stuck on the ark.

Noah:  Sure you can bring the tambourine.  You know how much I love to sing.

Betty:   Not the tambourine, Noah, the trampoline.

Noah:  We have a trampoline?

Betty:  What’s the matter Noah?  You look upset.

Noah:  It’s God.  I just got all the animals packed in the Ark so they fit  nicely and now God has added seven pairs of each kind of ritually clean animal and seven pairs of each kind of bird to the list.

Betty:  You mean he didn’t mention it before now?

Noah:  Nope.

Betty:  Well maybe you could just hose off some of the ones you already have.

Noah:  Either way, I’m afraid there won’t be room for any trampolines this trip, honey.

After Noah had  finally figured out a way to pack everything into the ark, the  Lord shooed all the animals away from the  door and slammed  it shut.  (Part of a zebra’s tail was still sticking out but the Lord just ignored it since there was no way he was ever going to get that door shut again.)  Then the Lord gave the ark an almighty heave-ho and off they went!

Day 10 on the ark:

Ham:  Dad can’t we open a window or something?  The smell in here is gross!

Noah:  What’s that?  I thought I saw your lips moving, son, but I can’t hear you over all the squawking,  and the mooing and the bleating.

Betty:   I can’t stand all this sitting!  I just know I’m putting on weight.  What I wouldn’t give for that trampoline right now.

Noah:  What honey?  Did you say something about a  tambourine?

Shem:  I’m hungry! Hey I know! What’s say we  barbecue one of the animals!

Japheth:  Are we there yet?

Day 50 on the ark:

Everybody in unison Ninety- nine  potter vessels of  wine on the ark, 99 pottery vessels of wine, take one down and pass it around 98 pottery vessels of  wine on the ark . . .

Day 100 on the ark:

Shem:  Hey guess what everybody?   We have officially risen 25 feet above the tops of the mountains!

Ham:  How do you know that?

Shem:  I measured it with this 25-foot flood dipstick Dad let me bring.

Betty:   Noah!  How come you let  Shem bring a 25-foot water dipstick, but you wouldn’t let me bring one  lousy little trampoline?

Noah:  What’s that Betty?   I can’t hear you over all the snorting and the squealing and the bow-wowing.

Japheth:  Are we there yet?

Day 130 on the ark:

Shem:  Hey Dad a raven and a dove just got out and the raven didn’t come back but the dove did, and it had  an olive branch in its beak!

Noah:  You know what, Shem,  at this point Daddy doesn’t really give a rat’s behind.

Ham:  Ha ha!   Funny you should say that,  Dad, because there are several rats behind you right now!

Noah:  Hm . . . apparently some of us have been going forth and multiplying  early.

Day 150 on the ark:

Noah:  Ninety nine pottery vessels of—

Ham:   Hey Dad!  Last time I looked outside there wasn’t any water anywhere, just dry land as far as the eye could see.

Noah:  What?  When was this?

Ham:  About three months ago give or take.

Noah:  What?  Why didn’t you tell me?

Ham: I know how much you hate getting interrupted when you sing.

And a hardy laugh was had by all.

And there you have it, Dear Readers!  How Gregory imagines  life on the ark during the Great Flood.  Be sure and check back next week for the further adventures of Noah and the gang.

Until next time . . . I love you

Noah and Betty

Unloading the Ark

Noah makes some arks