Attention: people in white coats

A bear walks into a bar…

Okay, hold it right there…

I don’t know about you, but it’s been quite a while since a bear last walked into a bar in my town. Some blame it on the liberals, those communist bastards who have scared all the bears into writing existential novels or acting in low budget art movies. Others blame it on conservatives, those nazi bastards, who have rounded up bears, forced them into tutus and six months of ballet lessons, down payment non-refundable.

Some people say it’s the fault of global warming which is the fault of man, while others argue over exactly which man, his known associates, street address, cell number, etc. Others say it has nothing to do with global warming, which makes no sense. Global warming is why bears go into bars in the first place – for the air conditioning and the cold beer.

Some blame the sudden drop in bear-bar sightings on the rise of craft beers which bears find a little too bitter. They’ve seen too many times what happens when a bear chugs an IPA. It always comes out their noses.

Over on the subcontinent, however, in places like Mumbai, it’s not any odder that an Indian sloth bear should be in an Indian bar in the first place than he should order an India Pale Ale. Interesting but unprovable fact: India’s Sloth Bears can run faster than humans, but they are also very tame-able, and often trained as performing pets (see “tutus” above). They can even do some lap dancing (as long as the word some is clearly defined beforehand.)

Why is it, in these reports, we hear only about oddball patrons who walk into a bar (i.e., a rabbi, a priest and a wallabee-wannabee walk into a bar; a zombie, a whale and an ordained banjo player, walk into a bar, etc.) Don’t weirdos ever go anywhere else? (Wine spillings? Hard boiled egg peelings? The Medical Examiner’s Gift Shop? Wal-Mart?)

Also, the idea of seeing a bear in a bar isn’t as thrilling as it used to be. Think of your friends or even family members who have had a bear sit down next to them in a bar. How many times have they forgotten to bring it up at home at the dinner table when the sergeant major asks “What’s new out there in the real world today?”

Maybe you’ve been out there yourself and answered “Yeah, I did see a sloth bear guzzling a wheat beer at lunch, but, you know, it was a sloth bear. Other than that, just the same old crap, a normal day of eroding manners, sanity crises, lying liars lying like rugs and the odd hatchet thrown at the odd hatchet-deserver.”

Most recently, while in a bar, drinking a beer, I was surprised to see a bear suddenly sitting on the bar stool beside me. The surprise changed to boredom as he started doing bird impressions in between his burps (although the more I think about it, the more I wonder: It’s quite possible that his burps were also his bird impressions.)

“Shouldn’t you be hibernating somewhere?” I asked.

The bear looked my way and said “Are you talking to me?”

“No,” I said, “I’m talking to the bear sitting next to you.”

He looked to the stool on his right, which was empty. He looked to the seat on his left, which also was empty. Except for me, of course.

“So,” he said, “either you are the bear sitting next to me, or I am the bear sitting next to you.”

“Hey, pal,” said the bartender “you’re talkin’ to yourself again.”

In perfect unison, we responded “Are you talking to me?”

Five minutes later, a large white van pulled up and men in white coats and nets got out and walked into the bar.

So. Will someone please explain to all the white-coat people out there that you can’t fit a bear into a butterfly net?

©Patrick A. McGuire and A Hint of Light 2013-2020, all rights reserved.

 

Posted in Absurd and/or zany, funny, Mockery and derision, News You Can Use (Sort of) | Tagged , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

Our Dictator

Q. I’ve heard some people say that our dictator is a narcissist. What does that mean?
A. A narcissist is a mixed bag of nuts. Telltale signs include: an inflated sense of being the biggest liar in the world; an ability to lie about everything and to lie about lying about everything, even while appearing to be an obvious liar; an inability to tell the difference between the truth and a talking ferret; a sense that the world revolves around them and who the hell are you?; an insatiable need for admiration, attention and tummy rubs. Narcissists often fail in their personal relationships, because of their complete lack of giving a crap about anyone but themselves.

Q. What is the difference between a benevolent despot and a dictator?
A. Benevolent Despots are authoritarian leaders with no limits on their power to grab a second, third or even all of the Crème Brulee, but who wisely use their power to benefit ordinary schlubs who aren’t technically allowed to know that Creme Brulee exists. The benefit, by the way, is a coupon good for one Crème Brulee, redeemable at any Benevolent Guillotine Center. (Offer void where laughed at.)

Q. But what if the Benevolent Despot isn’t wise?
A. Ah! As the French would say: sometimes ze toenail, she is tough, no?

Q. How does a dictator differ?
A. The dictator has the power to do or eat anything, anyone, anytime, anywhere, anyhow and you can’t do anything about it. Nanny nanny boo boo. Get them all out of here. Now! (Mic drop/throw.)

Q. Is there a cure for narcissism?
A. Since narcissism is officially listed as a cluster B personality disorder, the only cure would be the same one we use to cure hams.

Q. Wait. There’s a cure for ham?
A.Yes. You inject the ham with salt, sugar, sodium nitrate, sodium erythorbate, sodium phosphate, potassium chloride, water and/or flavorings.

Q. What do you mean by flavorings?
A. Two all beef patties, special sauce, lettuce, cheese, pickles, onions on a sesame seed bun. Yumbo riddy!

Q. Is our dictator smart enough to understand racism? Or is he dumb enough to be a racist?
A. No. Wait. Yes. Uh, lemme think. Better call his lawyer and see if he’s still incoherent. (The lawyer, not the narcissist…But wait. They’re both narcissists

Q. Why does he feel the need to lie about everything?
A. It’s like asking why some people fart all the time. They’re afraid they’re not being heard. With some dictators, the truth is too quiet and not at all obvious. By lying, on the other hand, everything is big. Grandiose. Which is why a dictator abhors an SBD. They leave people guessing and pointing fingers or slapping their hand over their head. A dictator fears people won’t think he’s a really Big Guy unless he honks like an elephant so no one needs to ask “Who dealt it?”

Q. Is our dictator a happy man?
A. Only when someone is lying on the floor with his foot on their neck.

Q. What’s with his so-called base? So many people support him no matter what he does.
A. Go back to the concept of cluster. People are like a cluster of grapes. They don’t like to be plucked alone. And remember, It takes a village to kiss an ass that big.

Q. What does he want?
A. Everything for him and no soup for you.

©Patrick A. McGuire and A Hint of Light 2013-2020, all rights reserved.

Posted in Mockery and derision | 7 Comments

Rawt Ro

Owner: What do you want? Can’t you see I’m thinking?
Ownee: Here I am, standing at attention, my head cocked at an adorable angle, awaiting your command. By the way, if you happen to have an old, unused treat hanging around, I know a guy who can get rid of it for you.

Owner: Why don’t you go lay down? Have a nap?
Ownee: Just a small treat would be fine. Or two small treats. They’re small, after all.

Owner: Where’s your ball?
Ownee: Ball? I know that word.

Owner: Is that it, over there?
Ownee: Yes, I’m right here. Ready to help. By the way, you wouldn’t happen to be sitting on any old treats would you? Don’t get me wrong, old treats are fine. Sitting on them is also fine, even if they are crushed. Are they crushed? That would be fine.

Owner: Over there. Look where I’m pointing.
Ownee: Funny, but I never noticed before. When I squint my eyes, that thing on the end of your hand looks like a sausage.

Owner: Follow my finger. Over there. Under the table with the big lamp. See it?
Ownee: So, just to be clear, do we – I mean you, of course, heh, heh — have any sausage in the house? By the way, outside the house would be fine.

Owner: If I can see it – and I’m looking right at it — you can see it. Look where I’m pointing.
Ownee: I guess I’ll just come right out and say it. I would like a sausage. I really would.

Owner: No, stop licking my finger. Stop. Do you want your ball or not?
Ownee: Definitely not a sausage.

Owner: Okay. Just this once. I shouldn’t have to do this. Now, do you see where I went and found your ball? It was right where I pointed. Right there in plain sight.
Ownee: I’ve been looking all over for that ball. I think. Maybe not. What is a ball anyway? I do know this: it’s not a sausage.

Owner: Geezy weezy it’s covered with slobber.
Ownee: I love the smell of slobber in the morning.

Owner: Okay, here it goes. I’m just gonna toss it down the hall. Go play and leave me alone.
Ownee: Finally, some action.

Owner: Hey. What are you doing? Did you just roll your ball under the couch?
Ownee: What a great game. I hide the ball under the couch. Then I make like I’m trying to crawl under to get it. But I can’t reach it. So I whimper.

Owner: Stop trying to crawl under the couch. You’ll never make it. You’re too fat.
Ownee: A carefully timed whimper always gets him out of his chair and into the game.

Owner: No, dear, I didn’t say you were fat. I was talking to the hairbag.
Ownee: Yes! I knew it! He’s lifting up one end of the couch. There’s my ball. Odd. His face looks like the color of raw hamburger.

Owner: I know he can’t talk back, dear. Or wont.
Ownee: Speaking of which, I wouldn’t mind a hamburger. And can I get fries with that?

©Patrick A. McGuire and A Hint of Light 2013-2020, all rights reserved.

Posted in Absurd and/or zany, Dogs I Have Known, Mockery and derision, The human comedy | Tagged , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

Stoned, as it were

Q. It’s been said ‘You can’t get blood from a stone.’ Why?
A. You mean why do people say that? Or why can’t you get blood from a stone?

Q. Um…
A. Take your time. Actually, it’s my time. But I’m a large person.

Q. Um…The first one.
A. Okay. People say you can’t get blood from a stone because you can’t get blood from a stone.

Q. Um…I meant the second one.
A. Why can’t you get blood from a stone?

Q. I don’t know. I’m asking you.
A. Heh, Heh. So. The reason you can’t get blood from a stone is that stones don’t contain any blood. They contain stone, which uses up all the space inside the stone. No room for blood, no room for cookies or milk. No room for debate.

Q. Then why would someone say to me, in a haughty and patronizing tone “You can’t get blood from a stone.” I mean it’s not like I asked him to give me blood from his stone. I’m not stupid.
A. And yet, here you are.

Q. I meant not completely stupid.
A. What exactly did you ask Mr. Haughty Tone?

Q. I asked him a hypothetical question. I said “Let’s pretend you are a stone. Will you donate blood to the blood drive?”
A. Hold on. If he’s going to pretend he’s a stone will he also pretend he’s a talking stone?”

Q. Er, um…
A. You see, there’s a big danger these days in over-pretending. If you’re not careful you could fake your self right out of your life. You’d end up completely detached from reality. Possibly even president.

Q. But what if I’m already president?
A. Then you might as well pretend to be a talking stone. Although, you’ll probably want to pretend you’re a talking boulder.

Q. So what kinds of things would a talking boulder pretend to talk about?
A. You know, if you think about it, pretending you’re a talking stone or a boulder is a pretty hollow existence — your inner stoniness notwithstanding.

Q. I’ve never heard the word notwithstanding used in a sentence before.
A. It’s easy when you’re pretending to know what you’re talking about.

Q. You know what word I’ve always wanted to use in a sentence?
A. Antidisestablishmentarianism?

Q. Marmalade.
A. It’s not a word that comes up in everyday conversation.

Q. Can you guess why?
A. I’m contractually forbidden to guess at anything. If word got out that that I’m not an authoritative answer-giver and just a common guesser, I’m out of a job. Besides, I think we’re way off topic.

Q. But isn’t thinking the same as guessing?
A. I think not.

Q. Are you sure?
A. I have a degree in thinking. So, as I said, I think not.

Q. Do you ever just think and not just think not?
A. When I think not, I remove my thinking cap and turn on my not-thinking light.1

Q. And then what do you think about?
A. I’m contractually forbidden to think when not wearing my thinking cap.

Q. But suppose you couldn’t find your thinking cap? Could you start thinking “Hmm. Where did I leave my thinking cap?”
A. I’m contractually obliged to keep my thinking cap Velcroed to my pants when thinking not.

Q. So let’s pretend your thinking cap is off and you’re thinking not. Someone says “Let’s pretend you are a stone and your thinking cap is on. Will you give marmalade to the local marmalade drive?”
A. First of all, stones don’t wear thinking caps. It’s not something a stone could even pretend to do, because a stone—even a pretend talking stone—would have no idea what a thinking cap was.

Q. And second of all?
A. You can’t get marmalade from a stone.

1Thinking Cap and light available now at Don’s Dollar store.

©Patrick A. McGuire and A Hint of Light 2013-2019, all rights reserved.

Posted in Absurd and/or zany, F.A.Q., Mockery and derision, News You Can Use (Sort of) | Tagged , , , , , , | 4 Comments

Pearls before dopes

Note: If reading these haiku1 aloud, try ending each with the word “Grasshopper.” Or not. (Presence of actual grasshopper not necessary.)

Pilgrim’s Lack of Progress

Once there was no hate
only love to soothe the souls
of those who had one

Make fun of banjo
if you must, but remember:
when you pick, God grins

When refreshing the
empty peanut dish of life
why not try mixed nuts?

When you tick Him off
God writes down your name and draws
a line right through it 

Subpoenaed by Congress?
Don’t worry, it’s just Congress;
sometimes they’re so cute 

When you tell a lie
it’s like butt-dialing Satan
who just loves butt heads 

He who loves the sound
of his own voice is a man
with hearing problems

Guy at Pearly Gates:
“I am who am, who am you?”
Don’t look good, do it?”

1 Say Hi Koo as in
“Hi Koo, Dude, howzit going?
You still with whozit?”

©Patrick A. McGuire and A Hint of Light 2013-2019, all rights reserved.

Posted in Absurd and/or zany, Mockery and derision | Tagged , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

Some serious stank

Q. Is hip-hop dead?
A. Did you say hip hop?

Q. No, I said hip-hop. The hyphen is silent, but it’s there. You can feel it. You can even dance to it. If you don’t feel it you will never get hip-hop.
A. You mean, like, getting down and/or getting funky?

Q. Do you even know what getting down means? Have you ever gotten down? Ever gotten funky? Have you ever put some stank into your groove?
A. Well, now. So. I’m gonna have to say that would be a negatory.

Q. Maybe I should go to that other answer-man down the street, the one at the card table in that driveway.
A. Oh, he doesn’t answer questions. He asks them.

Q. What kind of questions does he ask?
A. Stuff like Where am I? Who am I? Could you make me a peanut butter and pickle sandwich? Is this your card table?

Q. Look, I heard a rumor that hip-hop is dead and I just wanted somebody to tell me if it’s true.
A. If it helps, the last time I knew for sure that a style of music was dead was in February of 1964.

Q. I don’t see how could that possibly help. I mean, did they even have music back then?
A. Have you ever heard of the five-string banjo?

Q. Hey, man, no need to get nasty.
A. How about folk music?

Q. We were always told to get up and leave the room if anyone used the F word.
A. Before you leave, one more question. Have you ever heard of Chubby Checker?

Q. Can I go now? I have to see a man about a dog.
A. Folk music was huge in the late 1950s and well into the 1960’s. So huge that playing the five string banjo became as common and natural as wearing underwear. Almost everyone was doing it.

Q. What does that have to do with hip-hop?
A. Everybody wanted to cash in. Singers from every kind of musical discipline recorded their own special folk or country album. By everybody, I mean even people like Dean Martin, Harry Belafonte, Boris Badenov, Dwight D. Eisenhower, Pat Boone, Captain Kangaroo. Even Chubby Checker. The guy who invented the Twist. The guy who invented Limbo Rock (N.B. no hyphen.)

Q. Dwight who? This sounds like history. BORE-ing
A. And in February of 1964, Chubby Checker’s folk album hit the stores. Little known fact: It was the last celebrity folk album ever released. Because, at that very moment, folk music suffered a massive heart attack and went belly up.

Q. Everybody has to go sometime.
A. The autopsy said folk music died of too many people singing Kum-bay-ah my lord, kum-bay-ah. Now there was a song with some serious stank on it.

Q. I’m smelling you.
A. But it wasn’t just over-exposure that killed folk music. In fact, the straw that broke the camel’s back wasn’t a straw at all.

Q. Was the camel really a camel?
A. The very same week Chubby Checker stuck a fork in folk, John, Paul, George and Ringo landed at JFK.

Q.And they were?
A. You ignorant boob.

Q. Seriously, is that when Hip-hop came along?
A. No, that’s when Bob Dylan decided he didn’t want to work on Maggie’s Farm no more. Grand Wizard Theodore and Hip Hop were still way down a long and winding road.

Q. Is there any kind of Chubby Checker early warning factor today that will sound an alarm when hip hop’s demise is near?
A. Think Ozzy Osbourne. Or Ted Nugent. When they release a rap album, then hip hop — with or without the hyphen – will be toast in the wind.

 

©Patrick A. McGuire and A Hint of Light 2013-2019, all rights reserved.

Posted in Absurd and/or zany, F.A.Q., Mockery and derision, News You Can Use (Sort of) | Tagged , , , , , , | 3 Comments

First World Problem #782: Dave and the raisins

Q. Do you think Dave is the right person to be in charge of raisins?
A. What? Who is Dave?

Q. He’s the produce manager down at our supermarket. I thought you would have known that.
A. Do you know how many Daves there are in this world?

Q. Well, no, but if you boil it down to how many Daves run a produce department and who seem to be having trouble keeping raisins in stock…
A. Oh, that Dave.

Q. So you do know him?
A. No. That was sarcasm.

Q. And very hurtful, too. Did you know that sarcasm is like a knock-knock joke where nobody asks who’s there?
A. Knock knock.

Q. Who’s there?
A. No one is there.

Q. I don’t get it.
A. No, you don’t.

Q. Wow. So, getting back to Dave. I’ve been buying raisins for quite some time. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not one of those nut-ball raisin collectors. I actually buy the raisins to eat them.
A. I’m due a rest break in five minutes.

Q. Dave curates the raisins on the shelf next to the prunes and the trail mix and the dried frogs across from the deli. The raisins come in those roundish cylindrical boxes, like oatmeal or Durham’s Rock Hard Water Putty.
A. Did you say he curates dried frogs?

Q. Oops. I meant figs. The frogs are beyond curing, unfortunately — and Dave has tried a variety of cures, but you know how jumpy frogs get. Especially the dried ones. Not ready for prime-time ribbiting to say the least.
A. Could you try saying less than the least and move along?

Q. See, Dave is the main fruit and vegetable guy there. He knows everything from apples to zagnuts. Knows the right way to squeeze an avocado without making loud noises. He even knows the difference between bok choy and seedless tofu. He once survived an avalanche of those humongous jack fruit that he’d stacked in a very tall pyramid. Took them an hour to dig him out.
A. Have you ever heard the saying “Make a long story short?”

Q. So, to make a long story short, for the last 3 weeks Dave has been out of raisins. Cindy, from frozen foods, told me “I know it’s not my department but seven people have asked me this morning why there aren’t any raisins in the raisin area over by the pyramid display of frozen oxen. Be careful.” 
A. Is Dave, by any chance, related to you?

Q. No. But Dave is always friendly. And witty. The other day he said to me “How much wood could a woodchuck chuck if a wood chuck had a chain saw?” I said “I don’t know how to break this to you, Dave, but the woodchucks I know could never afford a chain saw. Their dental bills are too high.” 
A. Did you hear that? It sounded like a super volcano exploding on its way to destroying life as we know it. Can I get back to you? I need to get over to the end-of-the world FAQ desk.

Q. Okay. Don’t worry about me. I’m just a traveler on life’s (detour ahead) highway.  Just a singer in a (defunked) rock ‘n roll band.  Just trying to make a few dimes to buy some raisins that are never there. NEVER! I’ll survive…maybe. 
A. I knew you’d understand.  I also knew I was bullshitting myself as soon as I thought that.

Q. Whatever. Don’t take any wooden lava.

©Patrick A. McGuire and A Hint of Light 2013-2019, all rights reserved.

Posted in Absurd and/or zany, F.A.Q., News You Can Use (Sort of) | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 3 Comments