And on the seventh day, God made a list of everything completed during the previous six days, and checked them off the list one by one.
And She saw that it was very good.
The Plumber's Gambit & four other idiotic ways to cheat at chess
So you want to be a chess grandmaster without years of boring study and practice? No problem. These idiotic shortcuts will confound your opponents and send them fleeing in disgust. Checkmate!
The Plumber’s Gambit Show up two hours late for the match, carrying a heavy bag of tools. Turn your back on your opponent and crouch over the bag, exposing six inches of prime real estate above your drooping beltline.
The Sicilian Defense Drop an oily, smelly package of newspaper next to the chessboard. Open it to reveal a slab of dead fish.
The Pearl Harbor Attack Pick up one of your more powerful pieces (the tall ones). Shout “Banzai!” and slam it into your opponent’s side of the board.
The Small World Insanity Twist In a low voice, sing over and over, “It’s a small world after all, it’s a small world after all, it’s a small world after all, it’s a small small world.”
The Ozzy Oddity Grab your king, bite its head off, and scream the lyrics of “War Pigs.”
Rated H for hokey
It’s the 1850s gold rush on the western frontier. Dirt farmer Hosea (subtle reference to the Biblical Hosea) asks God to send him a wife. Dirt farming must be really profitable: Hosea lives in a spacious open-plan wooden farmhouse with a huge matching barn. His free-range sheep never get lost or eaten by wolves. Even his garden thrives without a fence to keep out hungry critters. God must be all-in on Hosea.
So it comes as a nasty shock when God points out Hosea’s future wife, a prostitute named Angel (subtle reference to an angel). She’s in such high demand that Madam Duchess raffles off her services to horny gold prospectors.
Hosea: Howdy, ma’am. I want to buy a session with Angel.
Duchess: Why should I sell you a session for $5 when I can get $70 with the raffle?
Hosea: I’ll pay you $10.
Hosea: Howdy, miss. I’m just a humble dirt farmer sent by God to rescue you.
Angel: If you’re just a humble dirt farmer, how come your clothes are so clean?
Hosea: I’m far from perfect. You should see my underwear.
Spoiler alert! Well, on second thought, you knew this was coming: Hosea takes sullen, cynical Angel back to his dirt farm.
Angel: All right, let’s get this over with. (She flops onto the bed.)
Hosea: Oh, no, miss. I’m sleeping in the barn.
Angel: Are you gay?
Over time, with Hosea’s patient coaxing, Angel realizes the joys of slopping the pigs, mucking the horse stalls, and harvesting the dirt.
Angel: Oh, how I love being a farm wife!
You may snicker at finicky cats or recoil from somebody’s pet snake. But snakes or cats – yes, even Siamese cats – or even alligators make better pets than sugar gliders.
Sugar gliders are exotic pocket pets that look like the product of a one-night stand between a racoon and a flying squirrel. Among their charming habits:
So there you have it. If you ever want to wreak serious revenge on someone, urge them to get a sugar glider – "the best pet ever!"
For more pet lovers' guilty pleasures, check out my 99-cent Kindle book "For Pets' Sake" on Amazon: click here.
Can This Marriage Be Saved? "He's so needy, it's driving me nuts!"
Her turn “Friends told us a mixed marriage is tough, but I can deal with dog hair, dog breath, and the occasional rawhide chew hidden in the comforter. Our real problem is his extreme neediness.
“I’ve got a high-powered career. When I get home from work, I need time to decompress. For once, I’d like to sit on the sofa and sip a glass of chardonnay without a 90-pound dog on my lap.
“He also has this habit of licking off all my makeup. I get irritated and scold him, and then he whines and I feel guilty. Lately I’ve actually considered putting him in doggy day care for a while, but then there’d be no one guarding the house when I’m away. ”
His turn “Woof! Woof! Woof! Woof-woof-woof!”
The counselor’s turn “During our sessions, it became clear to me that the wife was the alpha dog in this marriage, and that they both liked it that way.
“However, even a pack leader needs a little ‘alone’ time once in a while. We did some role-playing to help them communicate.
“I instructed her not to nag him when he intrudes on her space. Instead, she should give a low growl and nip his flank. He caught on immediately and retreated under the counseling couch.
“He also learned that face-licking is a turnoff for her. Now, when feeling needy, he rolls on his back in an endearing submissive dog posture, which prompts her to scratch his belly.”
Snowflakes, in solidarity
With Canadian truckers,
Clog my driveway
After endless marching
Through cruel and barren desert
An oasis appears: Friday
Junior lives in our basement
Though he's almost old enough
To draw Social Security
(More about Junior: click here.)
An apology to haiku purists: yes, tradition calls for a five/seven/five syllable format. I'm just not very good with math.
Many of my friends hang cutesy signs in their houses. The signs say things like “Live, Laugh, Love” or “Make today a great day.” It’s stressing me out. Do I need to follow these rules even after I leave their homes?
Those aren’t the Ten Commandments, sweetheart. Some people simply don’t like bare walls, but they do like ordering others around.
We must all take a stand against bossy signs. Memorize these alternatives to help you keep things in perspective when someone’s sign is hounding you.
For instance, instead of “You can never have too much happy,” think “You can easily have too much hokey.”
Welcome, please remove your shoes, thank you * Ugh, take your shoes off, you derelict
Live, Laugh, Love * Lie, Lurch, Leave
Always be humble and kind * Always be kind of hyper
This is our happy place * This is our battleground
Life is too short to drink bad wine * What kind of cheap wine did you bring?
Life isn’t about waiting for the storm to pass, it’s about learning to dance in the rain * Life isn’t about standing outside in the rain, it’s about going indoors to watch Netflix
Blessed * Stressed
The best is yet to come * The bubble is about to burst
I love you to the moon and back * I love you to the end of the driveway
Family gathers here * Pet hair gathers here
Relax * Revenge
Let your faith be bigger than your fear * Let your gut be bigger than your beer
A dream is a wish your heart makes * A poop is the squish your dog makes
Grateful * Forgetful
Make today a great day * Get this day over with
We cannot direct the wind, but we can adjust our sails * We cannot sail a boat, but we can rent a JetSki
It is what it is * What the heck is it?
[Excerpted from Smartass Answers to Dumbass Questions, available for just $3.99 Kindle / $7.99 paperback at Amazon: click here.]
The royals may be a dysfunctional family, but there aren't that many of them. How do they manage to soak up obscene amounts of taxpayer money?
They own many lavish households, including Buckingham Palace in London, Balmoral Castle in Scotland, a lake cottage up north in Hayward, Wisconsin, and a condo in Playa del Carmen, Mexico, which is pretty much of a dump but they keep it anyway for sentimental reasons.
Each residence requires specialized staff. In Balmoral there’s the Washer of the Wellies, who hoses down the queen’s boots after she goes mucking about on muddy pathways. Buckingham Palace’s Royal Roller keeps all 642 bathrooms supplied with Windsor-crested toilet paper. Someone has to keep track of their priceless china and silverware, then order more after a state dinner, because invariably some pieces get “borrowed” by ambassadors from certain nations we won’t mention.
Members of the royal family also maintain extensive wardrobes. It wouldn’t do for the queen to be seen in a bright blue chemise in Warsaw on Tuesday and the same chemise in Johannesburg on Wednesday. Even when closer to home, she changes clothes several times daily: a tapa-cloth wrap for breakfast with the delegation from Papua New Guinea, a fluffy frock for touring a denture-manufacturing facility in the posh part of Birmingham, and a glittering gown for a gala honoring The Poor Old Sods Who Lost Their Family Inheritance When We Got Kicked Out of India. Once a dress is worn in public, the queen must never wear it again – so local women queue up at charity shops every Thursday hoping for the bargain of a lifetime when the queen’s discarded dresses get dropped off.
As for the Windsor men, the Royal Medal-Maker constantly invents new categories to keep them from feeling useless. Each requires expensive precious metals and stones. Prince Philip’s medal for the Royal Order of the Garter Snake has green emerald eyes and a 14-karat-gold tongue. Prince Charles has nine medals, including one commissioned by the queen “on the occasion of hanging in there 53 years waiting for me to die so you could ascend to the throne.”
You might have noticed that the queen has a thing about hats. Some are inspired by Dr. Suess’s “The Cat in the Hat,” others by the Mad Hatter of “Alice in Wonderland,” and still others by Kentucky Derby hats seen on socialites who’ve had too many mint juleps. The queen’s hats are festooned with ribbons, feathers, pompoms, flowers made of folded Kleenex, scraps of vintage wallpaper, random pieces from old games of Clue, Stone Age arrowheads, marbles, and Silly Putty. None of these come cheap. The Royal Milliner sources her material from all over the world, and the moment a seller realizes that the Windsors are involved, the asking price (even for marbles) rises exponentially.
[Excerpted from Smartass Answers to Dumbass Questions, available at Amazon: click HERE.]
Can you suggest a quick and easy main dish for the holidays?
Can you suggest a difficult, strange and stressful main dish?
Yes! Heaven forbid you should settle for a traditional (borrrinngg!) family feast. Decades from now, your guests will still be talking about this weird main course.
Eternity Roast Turkey
Active time: 21 hours
Total time: 47 hours (includes three freak-out periods)
Serves: all dinner guests who become overnight guests while waiting for the meal to be served
Begin placing turkey pieces across three wire racks. Realize you have only one wire rack. Frantically phone neighbors and friends; drive across town and borrow two more.
Explain to guests that turkey is still eons away from doneness. Convert sleeper sofa to bed. Serve them eggnog spiked with absinthe.
Mix seasonings with brown sugar, using your fingers. Lick fingers frequently as a reward for running all over town to borrow wire racks. Sprinkle remaining sugar over the turkey pieces on wire racks. Place each rack over a cookie baking pan.
Attempt to refrigerate overnight. Realize there’s not enough room in the fridge. Place two racks in the freezer. Set alarm to wake you twice during the night to rotate all three racks of turkey.
Wake up in a panic at dawn when your alarm goes off for the third time.
Remove turkey from refrigerator / freezer. Let stand for one hour, someplace where the cat can’t get at it.
Pick cat hair off turkey pieces.
Pour toxic raw-turkey liquid from each cookie sheet down the drain.
Pat turkey with paper towel and murmur “Sorry about this.”
Stare at turnip and wonder what you were thinking, since you’ve always hated turnips. Shove turnip down garbage disposal. Realize the drain is clogged with turkey fat; scream for your spouse to fix it. Take a sedative and lie down for 30 minutes.
Realize you should have preheated oven to 350 degrees half an hour ago. Set oven at 700 degrees to compensate.
Brush melted butter over turkey pieces with a baking brush, craft-paint brush or lightly used toothbrush.
Awaken your overnight guests and announce that it’s cocktail hour. Serve leftover eggnog.
Roast turkey until a relatively clean finger inserted into the breast bone comes out with second-degree burns.
Sprinkle jimmies over all pieces of turkey so this main dish doubles as the dessert course.
And that’s all there is to it. Bon appetit!
Copyright (c) 2021 by Leah Carson
Excerpted from Smartass Answers to Dumbass Questions, available from Amazon for the incredibly cheap price of $3.99 for Kindle and $7.99 for paperback: HERE
America’s top musicologists recently discovered a rare case among blind musicians: one who is “not very good.”
“Frankly, we’re baffled,” said Dr. Largo Zhivago, editor-in-chief of Just Music & More. “This guy ticks all the boxes: born into poverty, playing soul music before he was toilet-trained, dropping out of kindergarten, busking for tips on street corners. And, of course, the blindness thing.”
For years, Dr. Zhivago had heard rumors of a “not very good” blind musician whose earnings never exceeded $10 per year. Then, finally, fellow street performers on the south side of Chicago forcibly expelled him from their block, claiming he was driving away business. The Chicago Tribune ran a brief story on the man, whose name has been withheld pending notification of his family.
“I finally heard him play last month. Man, he’s awful,” Zhivago said. “Off-key, poor sense of rhythm, lousy arrangements.
“Maybe if he was writing anything but barbershop quartet numbers, he’d have a chance,” Zhivago concluded.
I hope you weren't expecting anything profound.
If I ever need to plead insanity, this blog will provide valuable evidence.
Copyright (c) 2022 by Leah Carson, d/b/a Excellent Words, LLC