D e s e r t E x p o s u r e
May 2008
Desert Diary
Page: 2
Annals of inebriation, part II. . . Before you pour yourself another, take a lesson from this tale submitted by Jess Hossinaround in Arenas Valley:
"Two men were sitting next to each other at a bar. After awhile, one guy looks at the other and says, 'I can't help but think, from listening to you, that you're from Ireland.'
"The other guy responds proudly, 'Yes, that I am!'
"The first guy says, 'So am I! And where about from Ireland might you be?'
"The other guy answers, 'I'm from Dublin, I am.'
"The first guy responds, 'So am I!'
"'Sure and begorah. And what street did you live on in Dublin?'
"The other guy says, 'A lovely little area it was. I lived on McCleary Street in the old central part of town.'
"The first guy says, 'Faith, and it's a small world. So did I! So did I! And to what school would you have been going?'
"The other guy answers, 'Well now, I went to St. Mary's, of course.'
"The first guy gets really excited and says, 'And so did I. Tell me, what year did you graduate?'
"The other guy answers, 'Well, now, let's see. I graduated in 1964.'
"The first guy exclaims, 'The good Lord must be smiling down upon us! I can hardly believe our good luck at winding up in the same bar tonight. Can you believe it? I graduated from St. Mary's in 1964 my own self!'
"About this time, Vicky walks into the bar, sits down and orders a beer. Brian, the bartender, walks over to Vicky, shaking his head, and mutters, 'It's going to be a long night tonight.'
"Vicky asks, 'Why do you say that, Brian?'
"'The Murphy twins are drunk again.'"
Arms race in the gender wars. . . Kicking the battle of the sexes up a notch, Ramblin' Man shares this saga of how not to celebrate your anniversary:
"Last weekend I saw something at Larry's Pistol & Pawn Shop that sparked my interest. The occasion was our 15th anniversary and I was looking for a little something extra for my wife Julie. What I came across was a 100,000-volt, pocket/purse-sized taser. The effects of the taser were supposed to be short-lived, with no long-term adverse affect on your assailant, allowing adequate time to retreat to safety.
"Long story short, I bought the device and brought it home. I loaded two AAA batteries in the darn thing and pushed the button. Nothing! I was disappointed. I learned, however, that if I pushed the button AND pressed it against a metal surface at the same time, I'd get the blue arc of electricity darting back and forth between the prongs. AWESOME! Unfortunately, I have yet to explain to Julie what that burn spot is on the front of her microwave.
"Okay, so I was home alone with this new toy, thinking to myself that it couldn't be all that bad with only two triple-A batteries, right? There I sat in my recliner, my cat Gracie looking on intently (trusting little soul) while I was reading the directions and thinking that I really needed to try this thing out on a flesh-and-blood, moving target. I must admit I thought about zapping Gracie (for a fraction of a second) and thought better of it. She is such a sweet cat. But, if I was going to give this thing to my wife to protect herself against a mugger, I did want some assurance that it would work as advertised. Am I wrong?
"So, there I sat in a pair of shorts and a tank top with my reading glasses perched delicately on the bridge of my nose, directions in one hand and taser in the other. The directions said that a one-second burst would shock and disorient your assailant; a two-second burst was supposed to cause muscle spasms and a major loss of bodily control; a three-second burst would purportedly make your assailant flop on the ground like a fish out of water. Any burst longer than three seconds would be wasting the batteries.
"All the while I'm looking at this little device measuring about five inches long, less than three-quarters of an inch in circumference, pretty cute really, thinking to myself, 'No possible way!' I'm sitting there alone (except for Gracie, looking on with her head cocked to one side as to say, 'Don't do it, idiot!'), reasoning that a one-second burst from such a tiny little thing couldn't hurt all that bad. I decided to give myself a one-second burst just for heck of it.
"I touched the prongs to my naked thigh, pushed the button, and . . . HOLY MOTHER OF GOD . . . WEAPONS OF MASS DESTRUCTION!
"I'm pretty sure Jesse Ventura ran in through the side door, picked me up in the recliner, then body-slammed us both on the carpet, over and over and over again. I vaguely recall waking up on my side in the fetal position, with tears in my eyes, body soaking wet, both nipples on fire, testicles nowhere to be found, with my left arm tucked under my body in the oddest position, and tingling in my legs. The cat was making meowing sounds I had never heard before, clinging to a picture frame hanging above the fireplace, obviously in an attempt to avoid getting slammed by my body flopping all over the living room.
"If you ever feel compelled to 'mug' yourself with a taser, one note of caution: There is no such thing as a one-second burst when you zap yourself! You will not let go of that thing until it is dislodged from your hand by a violent thrashing-about on the floor.
"A minute or so later (I can't be sure, as time was a relative thing at that point), I collected my wits (what little I had left), sat up and surveyed the landscape. My bent reading glasses were on the mantel of the fireplace. The recliner was upside-down and about eight feet or so from where it originally was. My triceps, right thigh and both nipples were still twitching. My face felt like it had been shot up with Novocain, and my bottom lip weighed 88 pounds. I had no control over the drooling. Apparently I messed on myself, but was too numb to know for sure because my sense of smell was gone. I saw a faint smoke cloud above my head, which I believe came from my hair. I'm still looking for my testicles and I'm offering a significant reward for their safe return!
"PS — My wife loved the gift, and now regularly threatens me with it."
Heaven can wait. . . Finally, this month's tale of the afterlife (yes, heaven seems to be a common theme in humor) comes our way courtesy of Ned Ludd:
"Three guys die together in an accident and go to heaven. When they get there, St. Peter says, 'We have only one rule here in heaven: Don't step on the ducks!'
"So they enter heaven, and sure enough, there are ducks all over the place. It is almost impossible not to step on a duck, and although they try their best to avoid them, the first guy accidentally steps on one.
"Along comes St. Peter with the ugliest woman he has ever seen. St. Peter chains them together and says, 'Your punishment for stepping on a duck is to spend eternity chained to the ugly woman!'
"The next day, the second guy accidentally steps on a duck, and along comes St. Peter, who doesn't miss a thing, and with him is another extremely ugly woman. He chains them together with the same admonishment as for the first guy.
"The third guy has observed all this and, not wanting to be chained for all eternity to an ugly woman, is very, VERY careful where he steps. He manages to go months without stepping on any ducks, but one day St. Peter comes up to him with the most gorgeous woman he has ever laid eyes on: a very tall, tan, curvaceous, sexy blonde. St. Peter chains them together without saying a word.
"The guy remarks, 'I wonder what I did to deserve being chained to you for all of eternity?'
"She says, 'I don't know about you, but I stepped on a duck!'"
Send your puns, jokes, heartwarming anecdotes and cosmic ponderings to: Desert Diary, PO Box 191, Silver City, NM 88062, fax 534-4134, email diary@desertexposure.com Remember, the best submission each month gets a highly collectible Desert Exposure coffee mug.