D e s e r t E x p o s u r e
May 2008
Annals of Inebriation, Taser Tale and O Heavenly Duck!
Plus smart-aleck schoolteachers and good news about getting old.
The joke's on us. . . We begin with this yarn from the animal kingdom, courtesy of frequent correspondent Old Grumps:
"A small zoo in Louisiana obtained a very rare species of gorilla. Within a few weeks the gorilla, a female, became very difficult to handle. Upon examination, the veterinarian determined the problem. The gorilla was in heat. To make matters worse, there was no male gorilla available.
"Thinking about their problem, the zookeeper thought of Bobby Lee, a redneck part-time worker responsible for cleaning the animal cages. Bobby Lee, like most rednecks, had little sense but possessed ample stature to satisfy a female of any species. The zookeeper thought they might have a solution. Bobby Lee was approached with a proposition: Would he be willing to mate with the gorilla for $500?
"Bobby Lee showed some interest, but said he would have to think the matter over carefully. The following day, he announced that he would accept their offer, but only under five conditions:
"'First,' Bobby Lee said, 'I ain't gonna kiss her on the lips.' The zookeeper quickly agreed to this condition.
"'Second,' the redneck said, 'she must wear a "Dale Earnhardt Forever" T-shirt.' The zookeeper again readily agreed to this condition.
"'Third,' Bobby Lee said, 'you can't never tell no one about this.' The zookeeper again readily agreed to this condition.
"'Fourth,' Bobby Lee said, 'I want all the children raised Southern Baptist.' Once again it was agreed.
"'And last,' Bobby Lee said, 'I'll need another week to come up with the $500.'"
Annals of inebriation, part I. . . The moral of this story, sent our way by Ned Ludd, is that things aren't always what they seem:
"A man and his wife are awakened at 3 a.m. by a loud pounding on the door. The man gets up and goes to the door, where a drunken stranger, standing in the pouring rain, is asking for a push.
"'Not a chance,' says the husband. 'It is three in the morning!' He slams the door and returns to bed.
"'Who was that?' asks his wife.
"'Just some drunk guy asking for a push,' he answers.
"'Did you help him?' she asks.
"'No, I did not. It is three in the morning and it is pouring rain out there!'
"'Well, you have a short memory,' says his wife. 'Can't you remember about three months ago when we broke down, and those two guys helped us? I think you should help him, and you should be ashamed of yourself!'
"The man does as he is told, gets dressed, and goes out into the pounding rain. He calls out into the dark, 'Hello, are you still there?'
"'Yes,' comes back the answer.
"'Do you still need a push?' calls out the husband.
"'Yes, please!' comes the reply from the dark.
"'Where are you?' asks the husband.
"'Over here on the swing,' replies the drunk."
No more teachers' dirty looks. . . Correspondent Bert of the Burros swears that these are actual comments made on students' report cards by teachers in the New York City public school system. (He adds that the smart-aleck teachers were reprimanded.):
"Since my last report, your child has reached rock bottom and has started to dig.
"I would not allow this student to breed.
"Your child has delusions of adequacy.
"Your son is depriving a village somewhere of an idiot.
"Your son sets low personal standards, and then consistently fails to achieve them.
"The student has a 'full six-pack' but lacks the plastic thing to hold it all together.
"This child has been working with glue too much.
"When your daughter's IQ reaches 50, she should sell.
"The gates are down, the lights are flashing, but the train isn't coming.
"If this student were any more stupid, he'd have to be watered twice a week.
"It's impossible to believe the sperm that created this child beat out 1 million others.
"The wheel is turning, but the hamster is definitely dead."
Losing the battle of the sexes. . . This addition to our ongoing chronicle of the war between men and women comes via Toni in the Vet's Office:
"My wife and I went to the rodeo and one of the first exhibits we stopped at was the breeding bulls. We went up to the first pen and there was a sign attached that said, 'THIS BULL MATED 50 TIMES LAST YEAR.' My wife playfully nudged me in the ribs, smiled and said, 'He mated 50 times last year.'
"We walked to the second pen, which had a sign attached that said, 'THIS BULL MATED 150 TIMES LAST YEAR.' My wife gave me a healthy jab and said, 'WOW! That's more than twice a week! You could learn a lot from him.'
"We walked to the third pen and it had a sign attached that said, in capital letters, 'THIS BULL MATED 365 TIMES LAST YEAR.' My wife was so excited that her elbow nearly broke my ribs, and said, 'That's once a day.You could REALLY learn something from this one.'
"I looked at her and said, 'Go over and ask him if it was with the same old cow.'"
You're only as old as you feel. . . Those of us who recently celebrated a birthday are particularly indebted to Old Grumps (again) for sharing these thoughts on the brighter side of getting old:
"Kidnappers are not very interested in you.
"In a hostage situation you are likely to be released first.
"No one expects you to run — anywhere.
"People call at 9 p.m. and ask, 'Did I wake you?'
"People no longer view you as a hypochondriac.
"There is nothing left to learn the hard way.
"Things you buy now won't wear out.
"You can eat supper at 4 p.m.
"You can live without sex but not your glasses.
"You get into heated arguments a bout pension plans.
"You no longer think of speed limits as a challenge.
"You can quit trying to hold your stomach in, no matter who walks into the room.
"You sing along with elevator music.
"Your eyes won't get much worse.
"Your investment in health insurance is finally beginning to pay off.
"Your joints are more accurate meteorologists than the National Weather Service.
"Your secrets are safe with your friends, because they can't remember them either.
"Your supply of brain cells is finally down to manageable size."
Postcards from the edge. . . This month's reader photo comes all the way from Tangiers, Morocco, where Maria Sundt, left, and Ardene Rickman got themselves snapped holding a copy of their favorite publication. (We're pretty sure the Arabic words behind them say "The biggest little paper in the Southwest.")
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Going places? Take us with you on your next trip and send home a snapshot of yourself holding a copy of Desert Exposure. Send to Desert Diary, PO Box 191, Silver City, NM 88062, or by email to diary@desertexposure.com |
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.