Tag: humor

Good Ship Enterprise

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The other day, I stopped at a table in the grocery store to buy cookies from an enthusiastic group of high schoolers raising money for this and that at their school. I asked, “How much?” gesturing at a half-dozen chocolate chip cookies in a plastic baggie tied with a jaunty bow.

“Everything goes for a donation, just pay what you want,” one of the table honchos said.

Clever, I thought. A huge jar sat smugly in the center of the table with a challenge on its fat little face. What value do you put on teen enterprise and industry? Don’t let’s be cheap, after all, these are kids not Keeblers!

I stuffed a $10 bill in the slot to a chorus of high-pitched thank yous and tossed the cookies into my purse.

Looking for my keys, I came across the cookies this morning. Wow, this is great, I thought. Homemade cookies that I didn’t have to make at home. I am having one now, and I have to tell you even if I hadn’t boosted the school’s GNP, they are worth every penny.

BTW, I actually put a fiver in the jar, he wasn’t that convincing.

The Helpers

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I love this microwave. After it reaches the time I’ve set, it buzzes politely and says,

Too bad all my appliances don’t give me affirmations every time I use them.  It could be revolutionary — the sly vacuum cleaner that says, “Great workout,” just before you put it away, the prim little toaster that says, “You light up my life,” or the George Foreman Grill that says, “Yo, have a nice day.”

The down side of this affirming microwave is it does get a little pushy. If I don’t take out whatever I put in to heat in a reasonable amount of time, it will buzz again with an impatient edge to its voice. Ignore it again, and it bleats louder. Finally I fling open the door and slam the cup on the counter.

Good grief, I think.

Anybody else thinking?

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What exactly does Mubarak not understand about, “It’s over.” Sure, I understand –he’s used to the gig and doesn’t have a whole lot of other marketable skills but still when a whole bunch —hundreds of thousands –of people mill around outside your window hollering, “Show us your shoes!”

 Ouch.

News reports have picked up the suggestion evidently floated by the Mubarak camp that  foreign interests are fueling the demonstrations. Well, don’t be looking this way. Although Show Me The Shoes is a fine and catchy line, we are partial to Show Me The Money or that old-school favorite, Wake Up and Smell the Coffee.  

Ahem, Big M, here’s a thought. If you hurry, you probably can make the entire talk show circuit over here.

You’ll be able to reveal how Loera, the next door neighbor lady, in the absence of your caring-but-way-too-busy parents, nurtured and coached you to stand tall against the boys down the street who for some reason kept stealing your shoes. Then a ghost writer memoir in the works, an endorsement or two, and an offer to launch a brand new reality show, Real Ousted Autocrats. 

You’re money, Mr. Mubarak. Go ahead, quit.

Guest Blogger

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In the end, I would like to write as fresh and honest as say — a third grader. And I have an example to show you thanks to my sister who forwarded this e-mail pass-along. You may have already seen it, if not, you’re in for a treat. I only wish I knew who deserves the credit. (If it is some adult, I don’t want to know.)

In January, a teacher asked her third graders to tell how they spent their holiday away from school. One child wrote:

We always used to spend the holidays with Grandma and Grandpa. They used to live in a big brick house, but Grandpa got retarded and they moved to Arizona .

Now they live in a tin box and have rocks painted green to look like grass. They ride around on their bicycles, and wear name tags, because they don’t know who they are anymore. They go to a building called a wreck center, but they must have got it fixed because it is all okay now, they do exercises there, but they don’t do them very well.There is a swimming pool too, but they all jump up and down in it with hats on.

At their gate, there is a doll house with a little old man sitting in it. He watches all day so nobody can escape. Sometimes they sneak out, and go cruising in their golf carts.

Nobody there cooks, they just eat out. And, they eat the same thing every night – early birds. Some of the people can’t get out past the man in the doll house. The ones who do get out, bring food back to the wrecked center for pot luck.

My Grandma says that Grandpa worked all his life to earn his retardment and, says I should work hard so I can be retarded someday too. When I earn my retardment, I want to be the man in the doll house. Then I will let people out, so they can visit their grandchildren.