In fifth grade our teacher asked everyone, one by one, if they had a nickname. She got to me, Richard, and I told her my family calls me Little Dick, which got a few chuckles.
I told her they call my dad Big Dick.
My teacher says, oh, so your dad’s name is Richard too.
No, his name is Carl.
They say that the North end of our county is all cowboys and Christians.
That means there’s a bunch of churches and a bunch of guns.
Church might be the safest place in town.... if it weren’t so dangerous.
OR:
Church could be the safest place in town…..or the most dangerous.
OR???
The bullwhip was the first human-made object to break the sound barrier.
And the last sound ever heard ….by the massa Adams.
We ate at a real fancy restaurant last week and I had Elk for the first time.
If you’ve never had Elk,
It tastes a lot like barbecued Rotarian.
At my age the easiest thing i do is not take a shower.
I feel like an idiot at Walmart, wandering up and down the aisles, following the list and finding the bathroom.
A bar I can find, but a barcode at self checkout?? Sheesh
As hard as all that that is, it’s a lot easier than when I leave and cant find the house…of the door dash customer.
My wife and I saw Willie Nelson in concert the other night. We had great seats and the show was fantastic! I could see every one of his 93 years in his wrinkles.
(Sadly) I’m pretty sure it’s the last time I’ll see him on stage.
Until he’s 94
Of course, he played “Roll Me Up and Smoke Me When I Die”.
Every time I hear that song I think about Willie …rotating on a rotisserie
I spend way to much time looking at my phone and I know it’s bad for me, so last week I decided to go cold turkey and turn mine off.
Let me tell ya, I’ve never felt so peaceful, calm and relaxed …..as in that 12 minutes.
I realized how old I am when we were watching the World Cup.
The camera zooms in on celebrities and I go Who’s that?….camera zoom Who’s that? I have no idea who these people are. My wife, gets excited, points, and shouts that’s Norm McDonald, thrilled that she’s more hip than me, look, Norm McDonald!
I didn’t correct her. Even I know ...he doesn’t like soccer.
Elder abuse is on the rise for three main reasons: More old people, they’re an easy target and… pickleball.
Pickleball is just legal elder abuse. My wife was at the doctor with me for a black eye and he saw bruises and lacerations so he asked who did this? I said, well doc, I did it. My wife’s just an easy target.
Showing understanding and empathy he suggested she start using…. a two handed backhand.
But if it continues, try an injunction.
I got some good feedback on this one and for some reason it just keeps poking me. I've done some different punches. Referencing the numbers I used, could you give me your thoughts/ideas? I've left the setup alone, but feel free to help improve that as well. Thanks!
I knew pickleball was popular when I saw it in an ad for Cialis.
So I joined in with the rest of the old people and I’m glad I did.
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Eric Oncins, a professional pickleball player, went viral at a tournament when he blew on a ball in the air to make it clear the net.
Now there’s a new rule: “Players cannot blow the ball over the net”.
It’s still ok to blow the ref.
But it’s unsportsmanlike conduct….unless you pay him.
I play pickleball in a pretty conservative town. I may have trouble hitting a solid backhand, but with one blindfolded swing ….I could hit a cowboy, a homophobe, or a Christian.
If I did hit em… I’d get to meet Charlie Kirk.
My wife and I pulled into camp site #23 along the gorgeous Russian River in California. When we checked in, the host was smoking a big ol’ cigar and by the face wrinkles I could tell smoking had been a life long passion of hers. She would have looked a tad better if she combed her hair …and shaved her mustache.
We could see the river from our campsite, looking straight through the missing windows of what was once an Oldsmobile Cutlass. The campground is best described as a junk yard with assigned parking.
You probably already guessed that I want to discuss a societal problem we have today that people are afraid to talk about, linguistic appropriation.
In the shower room, next to the well tended cannabis garden, was a sign that read: “Please have THE common courtesy for all guests….then in capital letters : NO COITUS IN THE SHOWERS”.
I have multiple issues with the “No Coitus” sign, but chief among them is the fact that certain words cannot, in our diverse and advanced society, be used in some situations. It’s just not culturally acceptable.
In the junkyard where we were camped you can’t say “No Coitus”. You just can’t. In this socio-economic, linguistic situation, the sign could say No Screwing, No Knocking Boots or just plain No Fucking! Coitus?? Fuck no…..or no Fuck. Not only will most folks just laugh at it (while they’re coitusing in the shower), but most wont even know what it means. They’ve never seen The Big Bang Theory, nope….Duck Dynasty. You cannot change who you are by using linguistic appropriation, you’re just a word larcenist and it’s disgusting. You’re born the way you’re born.
The only place this sign would be appropriate is a spa shower at the Ritz Carlton, and on your way out there’s a guy in a suit handing you a hot towel. The Ritz Carlton would not, of course, put up a sign that says No Fucking in the Showers. They know their place.
Let me make it more simple. You can only say Coitus if you charge $800 a night. Period.
If you disagree, well, coitus off!
I knew pickleball was popular when I saw it in an ad for Cialis.
So I joined in with the rest of the old people and I’m glad I did.
I love having an erection, when I’m on the court.
OR
I love being on the court…with an erection.
OR
My wife loves that I have my erection....on the pickleball court.
At pickleball some retired cops were talking about the homicides they worked on.
I told ‘em I was at a homicide scene once. Good thing. Statistically, I’d be caught if I did it again.
Why is it taboo to do jokes about writing or performing stand up comedy. I get it if it isn't funny, but why in general do comedians (seems like universally) say don't do it? I searched the sub and couldn't find the topic.
My wife told me writing comedy is a waste of time. I said it was the same as the time she spends making jewelry.
She says (AO) "Maybe, but people like my jewelry."
All I have to test my comedy is this four or five minutes, once a week.
I told her it would be nice to have a group of people I could try new stuff on.
She didn’t even let me finish my sentence………….(AO) ”don’t include me”.
I said, I know, I know. I just mean some friends
My wife: (AO) You won’t have them for long.
It’s so cheap to start playing pickleball. I got two paddles and a couple balls for $39
Before pickleball I’d spend $75 just to watch people play with paddles & balls, you know, dudes on OnlyFans.
I get these nagging questions in my head that I rarely get answered, like how do you know who goes first when all of you arrive simultaneously at a four-way stop?
This story answers one of those questions.
I was bonding with my son, camping in the Eastern Sierras. My son grabbed a pork burrito off a food truck in Lone Pine, California (a pothole they call a town along Hwy 395). Then we headed out to the Alabama Hills, where they used to film old westerns in the amazing rock formations.
You know in the cartoons how The Road Runner’s feet spin when he’s running from Wyle Coyote?? His feet spinning like an egg beater, kicking up dust? My son became the Road Runner. I thought he’d seen a rattler, as he runs behind a rock yelling “Mayday, mayday, it’s gonna blow!”. Weirdly, I looked up at the sky, thinking: is a plane crashing?
Then I hear this blood curdling cry, HOLY SHIT! I ran around the rock, and my son groans “Dad, you gotta help me!” I feel like I’m Al Capone stepping into the Saint Valentines Day Massacre… machine gun bullets (AO) are spraying everywhere, bullets made of shit, and the Thompson sub-machine gun was my son’s ass. I mean ev -er -y- thing was riddled with crap (AO), my son’s entire backside, his shoes and a poor lizard (who in those last seconds thought, yep I’m going to hell ). I took a flesh wound on my right cheek.
I jumped back around the rock, sensing he was reloading, while he’s yelling “Don’t leave me dad….like you did when I was three!” I ran for toilet paper, but we were out. I grabbed up a couple t-shirts and rushed back to the scene of the crime. Detectives, CSI, true crime YouTubers …not needed. The disheveled, naked, shit stained wreck of the perpetrator was dead still in a half-crouched position, like the famous statue The Stinker. Wet bullets were dripping off his ass. No question he was guilty, it was a smoking bum. Of course, I took crime scene photos. My son was literally laughing his ass off.
I haven’t seen my son’s bum since he was a kid, but in that moment I wondered if he was mine biologically. Neither his mom nor me have a bush-like, hairy gorilla ass like that kid. He has so much ass hair it looked like he was getting rimmed by Kim Kardashian! We both cleaned up, buried the tshirt evidence, and left the scene of the crime.
It was a silent ride, with the faint lingering odor of the massacre, seeping from the two person Coleman tent that my son wrapped around himself.
As I drove, my mind couldn’t stop seeing the wheat field that is my son’s hairy ass, but I was stoked, I mean really stoked, because a long nagging question had been answered.
I now know exactly why at home …..we use so much damn toilet paper.
Just one bad ass burrito can bring so much joy.
Now, why do I have 27 gift cards and never use them? Ok, well, 9 of them because they’re out of business.
I have to remember to buy my son a new “Cage The Elephant” t-shirt.
(This is the opening to a larger story. Do you think its' a chuckle? Are you interested in what goes through my mind?)
I get nagging questions in my head that just won't leave, like how do you know who goes first when all of you arrive simultaneously at a four way stop?