I've only ever written one standard format joke. I'm pretty proud of it though and here it is (read it aloud for best results)...
Hi. My name is Clark and this is my blog. My intent is to entertain and I'd like this to be more than "Clark And What Pisses Him Off" (although there will definitely be some of that) so I'll be posting some short humorous fiction as well. I hope you like it. WARNING: Sometimes I will cuss. And I will also embellish facts (ie: lie) in the interest of making things funnier than they really are. Just so you know.
I'm writing a book. More accurately, I'm taking the "best of" from this site and putting it all together into a book.It will be titled "A Ridiculously Inconsistent Treasury" and will be out very soon, hopefully by Christmas (for obviou$ rea$on$). Part of the reason I was hesitant to make a formal announcement is because it isn't finished yet and I live in a place that is littered with strip malls that have had sun-faded "COMING SOON!" signs hanging in empty storefront windows since the '90s. But in this case, while there's still work to be done, it's finished enough to look like a book. Let's put it this way; if we were building a car, it would be street legal right now. But we want to put a nice paint job, some cup holders and a stereo system in it before you take it for a ride.
|Put on a suit, a porkpie hat and some |
shades and you can be a Blues Brother! Or...
|Keep the suit, ditch the hat and you can be a Reservoir Dog! Or...|
|Carry around a personal massager (while |
wearing a suit) and you can be a Man In Black! Or...
|Wear a suit, swap the "massager" for a "gat" |
and you can be John Travolta in Pulp Fiction!
|Put on a suit and a band-aid and you can be |
Mayhem from the Allstate commercials!
|Put on a suit and a cap from your favorite |
NBA team and you can be a First-round draft choice!
|Put on a suit and an American flag lapel pin and |
you can be your favorite presidential candidate! Or...
|Put on a suit, an American flag lapel pin and act like a jackass and |
you can be a parody of your least favorite presidential candidate!
|Put on a suit, be terrible and give yourself a juicy |
contract extension and you can be an ineffectual and
ethically challenged college administrator!
|Put on a suit, staple a dead pelican to |
your head and you can be an asshole!
|"See, I prefer to look at the rape |
as half-full, rather than half-empty."
The key here is to have the right perspective. Look at the big picture here, ladies.
|Big Bird's job is in jeopardy.|
|If you find yourself with a glut of female|
job applicants, a good way to catalog
them all is to sort them into binders.
|Military tactics and weapons are|
drastically different than they
were 95 years ago.
|"What are you telling me, pumpkin? You're a fruit, not a vegetable?|
Ha ha ha! Stupid pumpkin; everybody already knows that."
ME, 9th GRADE HONORS ENGLISH STUDENT AT BENTON HARBOR HIGH SCHOOL: "Excuse me, Mr. Garrison. I have a question; Pip's ambition to improve himself motivates his best and worst behavior, so is Dickens saying..."Okay, that was weird. Weird enough to have almost completely derailed the point of this blog post and maybe weird enough to merit one of its own. My point is, even though I still don't know what the hell that was all about (What exactly is wrong with French toast? Is it bad to smell like French toast? I like the way French toast smells. I wish I smelled like French toast right now!), my relationships with teachers have always been poor. Granted, I was a screw-around-in-the-back-of-the-classroom kind of kid ("disruptive", "doesn't pay attention") but I rarely felt engaged. When I did try to absorb knowledge into my wee sponge of a brain, I was told I smelled like fancy breakfast.
Mr. GARRISON, NOT THE ONE FROM 'SOUTH PARK', BUT MY 9th GRADE HONORS ENGLISH TEACHER (AND ALSO HEAD OF THE LOCAL TEACHERS UNION AT THE TIME) AT BENTON HARBOR HIGH SCHOOL: "Ugh. You smell like French toast."
Mrs. CARTER: "You have to choose another elective. Since you took Drama as a sophomore, you can't take it again."Like most teachers I was used to, when Ms. Meeks (her last name was Crumedy at the time) gave passionate speeches, she was usually expressing her annoyance with us as a class. She was the first person I ever heard invoke the phrase "my last nerve", as in "you are standing on" or "you are working". But her class was the first place I was not only allowed, but encouraged, to be really creative and make people laugh. We almost never opened a textbook, spending our time making stuff up and then acting it out instead. I didn't have to try to get away with screwing around in the back of the class; I was required to screw around in the front of the class, and my grade depended on it. My first efforts were comedic monologues, basically shameless rip-offs from Chevy Chase's Saturday Night Live schtick of delivering deadpan dialogue combined with physical slapstick. I used to get pretty banged up doing that nonsense. I found out later that Chevy banged himself up pretty good in real life too. I may have been a plagarising little hack, but I was a committed plagarising little hack. More importantly, for the first time in my life I was getting positive feedback from peers in the form of laughter. Not the kind of laughter I'd get from acting up out on the playground or in the back of class. That behavior had resulted in bad grades and nasty notes home to mom and dad. And not the hilarity that ensues when the other kids won't let you have a seat on the bus or when a group of girls would look at you and laugh loudly among themselves. I'd been familiar with that stuff for years. No, this was something that not only positively influenced my grade but was also something I could manipulate and control. I fell in love with it almost immediately. This, along with encouragment from Ms. Meeks, gave me courage to try new and different things, including (eventually) my own all-original stuff. I haven't looked back (or ripped off Chevy Chase) since.
ME: "No, I didn't."
Mrs. CARTER: "Your transcript says you did."
ME: "That wasn't me."
Mrs. CARTER: "Oh. Well, okay then."
ME: "Hey, I'll say it! I'll say it!"Jerry Bishop didn't get the part. I did and ended up doing more shows under her direction through my stellar high school acting career, including the play that was presented during the following year's Black History Pageant, "Steal Away Home" by Aurand Harris. I played seven different white guys in that one (my friend Ron Leuty played another five; we should have won some kind of awards).
Ms. MEEKS: "Okay, Clark."
ME: "You want me to say it right now?"
Ms. MEEKS: "You'll get your chance, Clark."
ME: "Because I've probably already said it at least four or five times today. A few more times is really not a big deal."
Ms. MEEKS: "That's enough, Clark."
ME: "I'll say other bad words, too. All of 'em. Seriously, I do not mind. I mean, at all."
Ms. MEEKS: "Clark..."
ME: "Give me five minutes, I can probably come up with song lyrics!"
Ms. MEEKS: "Stop helping, Clark."
"Being my friend puts you in danger of being written about at some point."
|"Impudent child! How dare you make |
eye contact with The Tyra?"
|"Please...do not look at me. I have a functional digestive system for which I feel deep shame."|
|I Yam What I Yam!|
MODERATOR: Please detail your energy policy.Which illustrated the single toughest thing about trying not to be cynical: frequently being right.
CANDIDATE A: Energy. Now that is definitely something. But what I think the public really needs to know is that I am 100% against birth defects. I always have been and I always will be. You can examine my record from the very beginning and you will not find one single instance where I said that I was in favor of birth defects. That is indisputable truth!
CANDIDATE B: Wait a minute, Jim. I'm not in favor of birth defects either.
CANDIDATE A: Oh sure. NOW you say something.
"This was never a gimmick. I got to the major leagues on my own merit. I worked up through the ranks as a little kid and all the way up. I earned that spot seven years ago." -- Adam GreenbergI'm not disputing what he says. The thing is, there are literally hundreds of guys since 2005 who had shots at big league careers that just didn't work out for one reason or another who could say the same thing and thousands who came along before 2005 who could plead similar cases. He's not a victim of injustice, he's a victim of Shit Happens. He's not someone who got close, was denied and then toiled away to work his way back to where he was, he's someone who benefited from a public relations campaign. This isn't Rocky Balboa or Rudy Ruettiger or Jim Morris. This is a guy who had his shot and it just didn't work out. Sure, it stinks that things didn't turn out the way he planned because of circumstances beyond his control but who among us can't say the same thing? "I could have been _____ if not for _____."
|"Give me back my pen! (please)"|