Ads Gone Wild, O Heavenly Dog, Blonde Fun & Extra Commandments
Plus email from Maine, gender wars and a funeral surprise.
Annals of commerce. . . As much as we depend on our advertisers to make Desert Diary possible every month, we realize that some ads are simply, well, silly. And since "silly" is our middle name (or at least it was until Mom talked Dad out of it), we of course enthusiastically invite your sightings of ads that are silly, oxymoronic or just plain funny. We begin with this submission from J. Dubya, who swears these are actual ads:
"Free Yorkshire terrier. 8 years old. Hateful little dog.
"Free puppies: 1/2 cocker spaniel, 1/2 sneaky neighbor's dog.
"Free puppies: Part German shepherd, part stupid dog.
"German shepherd 85 lbs. Neutered. Speaks German. Free.
"Found: Dirty white dog. Looks like a rat, been out awhile. Better be reward.
"1 man, 7 woman hot tub—$850/offer
"Snow blower for sale—only used on snowy days.
"Cows, calves never bred—also 1 gay bull for sale.
"Full-sized mattress. 20 yr. warranty. Like new. Slight urine smell.
"Nordic track $300. Hardly used. Call Chubby.
"Georgia peaches. California grown—89 cents lb.
"Nice parachute: Never opened—used once.
"Tired of working for only $9.75 per hour? We offer profit sharing and flexible hours. Starting $7-$9 per hour.
"Exercise equipment: Queen-size mattress & box springs—$175.
"Joining nudist colony! Must sell washer & dryer—$300.
"Alzheimer's Center Prepares for an Affair to Remember.
"Open house: Body shapers toning salon. Free coffee & donuts.
"For sale by owner: Complete set of Encyclopedia Britannica. 45 volumes. Excellent condition. $1,000 or best offer. No longer needed. Got married last weekend. Wife knows everything."
Losing the battle of the sexes. . . And in the spirit of that final item (ahem), we continue our reporting of the gender wars with this yarn passed along by Aironot:
"Several men are in the locker room of a golf club. A cell phone on the bench rings and a man engages the hands-free speaker function and begins to talk. Everyone else in the room stops to listen.
"Man: 'Hello?'
"Woman's voice: 'Honey, it's me. Are you at the club?'
"Man: 'Yes.'
"Woman: 'I am at the mall now and found this beautiful leather coat. It's only $1,000. Is it okay if I buy it?'
"Man: 'Sure, go ahead if you like it that much.'
"Woman: 'I also stopped by the Mercedes dealership and saw the new models. I saw one that I really liked.'
"Man: 'How much?'
"Woman: '$60,000.'
"Man: 'OK, but for that price, I want it with all the options.'
"Woman: 'Great! Oh, and one more thing—the house we wanted last year is back on the market. They're asking $950,000.'
"Man: 'Well, then go ahead and give them an offer, but just offer $900,000.'
"Woman: 'OK. I'll see you later. I love you!'
"Man: 'Bye, I love you too.'
"The man hangs up. The other men in the locker room are looking at him in astonishment. Then the man asks, 'Anyone know who this phone belongs to?'"
Send your dispatches from the front lines of the battle of the sexes—or just your funny stories—to Desert Diary, PO Box 191, Silver City, NM 88062, fax 534-4134, email diary@desertexposure.com.
Until we meet again. . . Desert Diary departs from our usual policy of identifying our contributors strictly by "handles" to share this farewell missive from longtime local musician Kim Young, who emailed us this summer from Bath, Maine, much too far from the Land of Enchantment:
"It was the night before my scheduled departure.
"I had packed all I thought I would need in my 2001 Chevy Lumina. My two cats, nine-year-old daughter, worldly goods, important papers, my AAA card and enough cash (hopefully) for the trip and to start fresh. I was 'getting outta Dodge,' as the saying goes, to return to the place of my heritage, my Maine.
"The morning was a cool, fresh January Pinos Altos morning. I had said my goodbyes, at which I am really no good. The family business, the Bullard Street Bazaar, had been sold; I had finished all of my scheduled performances at the Buckhorn and other musical venues. I was ready! A door closed, a new one opening.
"The trip was smooth. The first day found us in San Antonio visiting the Alamo, touring the Riverwalk downtown and resting up for the next day's travels. 665 miles down the road on I-10 and we were in New Orleans, on to Savannah, Ga., the next day, up 95 to Richmond, Va., Brunswick, NJ, and on to Portland, Maine.
"It was Feb. 1. I was not in 55 degrees in P.A. anymore. There was no gentle fluffy snowfall I loved in Silver City. There were, however, Northeaster blizzards and the snowiest winter on record since 1979! It only took moving back to the state and being here for these few months to make me realize, again, the reasons I wanted to leave Maine those four years ago!
"After the third coldest spring on record for 100 years (a great complement to that 100 inches of snow), I am ready for a climate break! The old timers here are talking at the general store, huddling around the pot-belly stove, franticly rubbing hands together and sipping their hot toddies. They are talking of the unusual severity of the season. We are now coming out of 26 days of rain! Yes, this IS the Maine I left and remember. THESE are the reasons I wanted to move to the 'four gentle seasons' of Silver City, NM, which, in my mind's memory, feels like paradise to me now!
"At this point one may ask, 'Then why did you leave paradise?'
"A very good question, and in time and a little soul-searching, I will have an answer, but for now, I am cold, disgusted and I swear, I am going to hold my breath until I magically reappear on Bullard Street, or at the Buckhorn, guitar in hand, singing an Ana Egge song about Fierro, NM, or Wally Lawder's song 'High Desert Home. '
"For, in fact, I was at home.
"Home in Silver.
"I just didn't fully realize it .
"Sometimes you really don't know what you have left until you are gone.
"So, lift a glass, offer a toast for the speedy, warm return of Kim Young."
That clinking sound you can hear all the way in Maine is all of us toasting your sooner-rather-than-later trip home, Kim. The monsoon season's been a disappointment so far, but the smell of roasting green chiles is beginning to perfume the air. Hurry back!
The joke's on us. . . We continue to solicit your favorite jokes. As a reminder, we pass along this submission from Jamrim, a distant correspondent who is not, we believe, the "young minister" herein:
"As a young minister, I was asked by a funeral director to hold a graveside service for a derelict man who had died while traveling through the area with no family or friends. The funeral was held way back in the country. This man would be the first to be lay to rest at this cemetery. As I was not familiar with the backwoods area, I became lost. Being the typical man, I didn't stop for directions.
"But I finally arrived, an hour late. I saw the crew and backhoe, but the hearse was nowhere in sight. The workmen were eating lunch. I apologized to the workers (who looked puzzled) for my tardiness. I stepped to the side of the open grave, to find the vault lid already in place. I assured the workers I would not hold them long, but this was the proper thing to do.
"As the workers gathered around, still eating their lunch. I poured out my heart and soul. As I preached, the workers began to say, 'Amen! Praise the Lord and Glory!' I preached and I preached, as I'd never preached before. I went from Genesis all the way to Revelation. I preached for two hours and 45 minutes. At last, I closed in prayer and it was finished.
"As I was walking to my car, I felt that I had done my duty and would leave with a renewed sense of purpose and dedication, in spite of my tardiness.
"As I was opening the door and taking off my coat, however, I overheard one of the workers saying to another, 'I've been putting in septic tanks for 20 years, and I ain't never seen anything like this before.'"
Go ahead, make us laugh! Share your favorite jokes by sending to Desert Diary, PO Box 191, Silver City, NM 88062, fax 534-4134 or email diary@desertexposure.com.
Our pets, ourselves. . . In what could easily become a category all its own—just try "Googling" this on the Internet and you'll see what we mean—we pass along the following, which arrived via Gigi:
"Dogs' questions to God:
"Dear God: Why do humans smell the flowers, but seldom, if ever, smell one another?
"Dear God: When we get to heaven, can we sit on your couch? Or is it still the same old story?
"Dear God: Why are there cars named after the jaguar, the cougar, the mustang, the colt, the stingray and the rabbit, but not ONE named for a dog? How often do you see a cougar riding around? We do love a nice ride! Would it be so hard to rename the 'Chrysler Eagle' the 'Chrysler Beagle'?
"Dear God: If a dog barks his head off in the forest and no human hears him, is he still a bad dog?
"Dear God: We dogs can understand human verbal instructions, hand signals, whistles, horns, clickers, beepers, scent IDs, electromagnetic energy fields and Frisbee flight paths. What do humans understand?
"Dear God: More meatballs, less spaghetti, please.
"Dear God: Are there mailmen in Heaven? If there are, will I have to apologize?
"Dear God: Let me give you a list of just some of the things I must remember in order to be a good dog:
"1. I will not eat the cats' food before they eat it or after they throw it up.
"2. I will not roll on dead seagulls, fish, crabs, etc., just because I like the way they smell.
"3. I will not munch on "leftovers" in the kitty litter box, although they are tasty.
"4. The diaper pail is not a cookie jar.
"5. The sofa is not a 'face towel.' Neither are Mom and Dad's laps.
"6. The garbage collector is not stealing our stuff.
"7. My head does not belong in the refrigerator.
"8. I will not bite the officer's hand when he reaches in for Mom's driver's license and registration.
"9. I will not play tug-of-war with Dad's underwear when he's on the toilet.
"10. Sticking my nose into someone's crotch is an unacceptable way of saying 'hello.'
"11. I don't need to suddenly stand straight up when I'm under the coffee table.
"12. I must shake the rainwater out of my fur before entering the house—not after.
"13. I will not throw up in the car.
"14. I will not come in from outside and immediately drag my butt.
"15. I will not sit in the middle of the living room and lick my crotch when we have company.
"16. The cat is not a 'squeaky toy,' so when I play with him and he makes that noise, it's usually not a good thing.
"And, finally, my last question:
"Dear God: When I get to Heaven, may I have my testicles back?"
Blonde ambition. . . The blonde jokes just keep coming, and we just can't help sharing them. In the interest of equal-opportunity offending, however, please note that we have changed the hair color in the second of these jokes submitted by Toni in the Vet's Office. You, dear reader, may feel free to substitute hair color or ethnicity of your choice in either or both:
"An auto mechanic received a repair order from a blonde women that read: 'Check for clunking sound when going around corners.' Taking the car out for a test drive, he made a right turn, and a moment later he heard a 'clunk.' He then made a left turn and again heard a 'clunk.'
"Back at the shop, he opened the car's trunk, and soon discovered the problem.
"He promptly he returned the repair order to the service manager with the notation, 'Removed bowling ball from trunk.'"
"A girl was visiting her BRUNETTE friend, who had acquired two new dogs. She asked, 'What are their names?'
"The BRUNETTE replied, 'That one is Rolex, and that one is Timex.'
"Her friend said, 'Whoever heard of someone naming dogs like that?'
"'Helllooo?" said the BRUNETTE. 'They're watch dogs!'"
Pondering the imponderables. . . You thought there were just 10 Commandments, right? Well, according to Writer Bill, we missed a bunch:
"More Commandments:
"Thou shalt not compose limericks at a funeral.
"Thou shalt not teleport within sight of technologically inferior species.
"Thou shalt not brandish an Uzi while driving behind an old person.
"Thou shalt not teach a ferret to yodel.
"Thou shalt not have misplaced priorities.
"Thou shalt not align thyself with the dark side of the Force.
"Thou shalt not buy stuff made in sweat shops unless it's really trendy and just to die for.
"Thou shalt not talk to Elvis at the dinner table.
"Thou shalt not drive thy old clothes to Goodwill in the Jag.
"Thou shalt not max out the plastic.
"Thou shalt not order anchovies on half the pizza.
"Thou shalt not practice bagpipes in an avalanche zone.
"Thou shalt not quote Virgil or Ovid to justify leasing a Beemer.
"Thou shalt not knowingly eat tofu.
"Thou shalt not drink pasteurized beer.
"Thou shalt not claim that the check is in the mail when it is not.
"Thou shalt not give Spandex to anyone who sweats excessively.
"Thou shalt not put people on hold unless they appear to be salesmen.
"Thou shalt not ask if it fires six bullets, or only five.
"Thou shalt not be perky.
"Thou shalt not deliberately buy the brands of tuna that include extra dolphin.
"Thou shalt not surf the Net in thy underwear.
"Thou shalt not hum the theme from 'Masterpiece Theater' during a Monster Truck Pull.
"Thou shalt not juggle goldfish in the subway after midnight.
"Thou shalt not blame it on extraterrestrials.
"Thou shalt not describe dead people as 'metabolically challenged.'
"Thou shalt not make offerings unto the false gods of perfect hair, increased lung capacity or one percent body fat.
"Thou shalt not bio-engineer close friends or family members.
"Thou shalt not feed red meat to a lawyer.
"Thou shalt not search for hidden messages in music played backward.
"Thou shalt not leave the lid half-screwed-on.
"Thou shalt not seek to rise above thy station in the food chain.
"Thou shalt not derive financial gain from road kill.
"Thou shalt not miss the birth of one of thy children to watch 'The Simpsons.'
"Thou shalt not say 'taupe,' 'platinum,' 'silver,' 'charcoal,' 'brushed aluminum,' 'pewter,' 'pear,' or 'oyster shell' when thou meanest 'gray.'"
What wouldst thou command if it were up to thou? C'mon down from the mountain and tell the world. Send your suggested commandments, favorite jokes, rants, reminiscences, anecdotes (heart-warming and otherwise) and such to: Desert Diary, PO Box 191, Silver City, NM 88062, fax 534-4134, email diary@desertexposure.com. Remember, the best submission each month earns a piece of spiffy Desert Exposure gear like that shown here!
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September 2005