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 , , , , , , | 2 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

Armed diphthongs

Q. I said to my friend “What up dog?” But he didn’t answer me. I said “Dog, what up?” and he said “No comment.” I said “What the firetruck, Dog…” He said “You asked me a rhetorical question and legally I’m not required to answer those.” He gave me his lawyer’s card.

A.  Ah, your friend Dog was referring to the grammatical construct known as a rhetorical question.

Q. Say who? Look, the Dog I know, he wouldn’t know grammar from a hammer. No wait, make that a ball-peen hammer. Give him credit, he knows a regular hammer when it hits him.

A. Actually, your friend is wrong about not being required to answer a rhetorical question. It’s the reverse. The person who asks the question doesn’t expect an answer.

Q. Is the question “What is a rhetorical question?” a rhetorical question?

A.  When you ask a rhetorical question, a listener simply ponders the obvious truth of what you said. Your question  about a rhetorical question makes a listener ponder calling for rhetorical security–usually moonlighting diphthongs.

Q. What if I’m giving a speech to a bunch of stock brokers and I ask ‘How many debentures can fit on the head of a pin?’ But nobody says anything. Is that a rhetorical question?

A. Nobody knows how many debentures can fit on the head of a pin. Now, if you ask how many debentures can fit in a breadbox, you’ll hear people shouting “Twenty seven-and-a-half, duhhhh!” By the way are you a stockbroker?

Q. Do I look like a stock broker?

A.  You know, that’s almost a rhetorical question. And normally, it would expect no answer. But, because it’s you and I see armed diphthongs heading this way, I will say no, you don’t look like a stock broker.

Q. But why ask a question and not expect an answer?

A. To make a larger point. It’s like the questions in the song “Where have all the flowers gone?”

Q.  Wait. In my former career as a lawn mowing dude, someone once asked me that question. I wish I’d known it was a rhetorical question.

A.   Why? What was your answer?

Q.  I said I put them in one of the black lawn-trim bags with the dandelions.

A.  You cut down someone’s flowers?

Q.  Um. Sort of. I thought they were man-eating plants. That was probably just the Purple Dotter kicking in. I mean, it was fast. Got ’em with the whipper snipper. They sure didn’t suffer. Can’t say the same for me. Blue Dots? Sure. Purple? Never again. Unless that’s all they got. If you’re smelling me.

A. Gosh look at the time. I have to get to a lunch appointment in Samarra.

Q. Love to join you but I’m having a colonoscopy later and I’m fasting. Can I take a rain check?

A. Doesn’t look like it’s raining.

Q.  Not at the moment but there’s a 70% chance according to my app.

A.  Have you ever considered sticking your head up your app?

Q. Wait, I know this one. It’s because my head is three-dimensional and my app is pretty much non-denominational.

A.  Have you ever considered having that head examined?

Q. You mean for ticks?

A.  No, for your hat size. I’m pretty sure it’s odd.

FYI: Here are the 10 Most Frequently Asked Rhetorical Questions. Study them. There will be a test. 

  1. Does neatness count?
  2. This is the thanks I get?
  3. Hey, is that Joe’s arm?
  4. Why aren’t I rich?
  5. Hey, is that Joe’s leg?
  6. Why me?
  7. Doesn’t that torso look like Joe’s torso?
  8. Why not me?
  9. Hey, isn’t that Joe’s head?
  10. Hey Joe, what up, dog?

©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

Fun with legumes

Q. Big debate in the used-car sales director’s office. Isn’t nothingness the exact opposite of being?
A. I get that question a lot. Just the other day a guy in a hardware store asked me if I knew where they kept the nõthingness.

Q. What did you say?
A. I told him it was in aisle 19, but nǭt to bother. I was just over there and they were all out.

Q. All out of nothingness?
A. Nðthing but empty shelves. I even asked one of the clerks there when they expected to restock. Know what he said?

Q. Aren’t I supposed to ask the questions and then you give me the answer?
A. Just take a guess.

Q. Sounds like a trick question. So I’m guessing he didn’t say anything.
A. Wrong. He said nōthing.

Q. Same thing.
A. A lot of people say that. So I always ask them if they think the West Coast offense and the Erhardt-Perkins offensive system are the same.

Q. Um…
A. I rest my case. And now, I’m due for my break, so if you’ll excuse–

Q. Just out of curiosity, if I went to that hardware store, would I find any being?
A. You mean as in “To bean or nőt to bean?”

Q. No. As in being. Not bean.
A. I do believe they are the same thing. But hold on, let me double check. Dum de Dum de Du… Ah. Yes, they are the same.

Q. Did you just hum Dum de Dum de Dum?
A. I did. It gooses my brain.

Q. Okay, so I’m referring to the word being, as in the title of the massively thick and obviously boring book “Being and Nothingness” by Camus. It’s right there on Bob, the sales director’s book shelf, next to the Chilton guide to the 1987 Mercury Thermometer.
A. I’m familiar with “Bean and Nöthingness,” but I’m pretty sure Camus’s last name – Camus — does nȱt rhyme with moo.

Q. Just to be clear, let me double check with my own brain gooser. Inagadda davida baby. Ah. His answering machine says Camus — rhyming with shampoo — is out of the office until the twelfth of then.
A. Ooblah dee ooblah da ooblah donut. Aha. I thought so. The philosopher known as Camus—as in Famous Amos Camus—wrote not only “Bean and Nóthingness,” but also “Musical Fruit.”

Q. Don’t forget, being is one of those multi-vitamin words that can be used as a noun, an adjective or a conjunction.
A. Or a legume

Q. Look, the word being that I’m referring to has two syllables. Be and ing. The be part means to exist. As in “I be,” or “He beez.” The ing part depends on if you’re going to go on existing or not.
A. Funny story. Without the an, bean would just be be. In the old Proto-Germanic tongue which was heavily saturated with garlic and beer, bean comes from the word ungō.

Q. Did you say Mungo? As in Mungo Jerry?
A. Forget him. He’s got women, he’s got women on his mind. In the summertime, of course. Ungō, on the other hand, simply means to un go, as in stop. Many people who ungō the bean go to the hardware store for nØthingness.

Q. I’m just trying to tell you that be is like a cinnamon for am. Like the song “I am, I said.”
A. To nô one there¿

Q. And no one heard at all, not even the chair.
A. But how would one ever know what a chair heard or didn’t? Unless we’re talking about a talking chair.

A. Wow. I hate to say it, but the only piece of furniture I know of that can both hear and talk is a bean bag. And now, if you’ll excuse me, I think I hear my bean bag calling.

©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, The human comedy | Tagged , , , , , , , | 6 Comments