Tag Archives: humor

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My college pal Amy took this picture the other day …

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But it’s actually a trick license plate.  (It only says “Hysteria” when you’re near.)

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Don’t mess with Memphis?

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It’s moments like this that the lady will say, “This is the Memphis in me,” or “The Memphis came out.”

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Tell me these do not look like coffins.

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I thought Dracula had arrived in Roanoke — which would be weird, because there’s no place for The Demeter to dock.

Either that or my lifelong descent into madness had finally yielded its first visual hallucinations.

Turns out these thick metal implements were left there by an excavating company.  They’re just smallish plow blades for pushing aside snow, seen from the rear.  (They are open on the other side.)

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“Accident Allison,” by Eric Robert Nolan

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Accident Allison, what the heck?!
Again you nearly broke your neck?!
Looking for your wayward cat,
did you trip and then fall flat?

Accident Allison, what the hell?!
Your puppy pulled and then you fell?
Did you bonk your pretty noodle
chasing after Ulley Poodle?

Accident Allison, Jeezum Crow!
Did you stub your middle toe?
Did it meet the metal rake
while you raced a garden snake?

Accident Allison, what’s the news?
Is your bottom slightly bruised?
Did you fall backwards on your tush
while charming frogs beneath a bush?

Accident Allison, Holy Smoke!!
Your back-left foot is nearly broke?!
Was your latest peccadillo
dancing with an armadillo?

You’ll never be a train conductor,
ballet coach or ski instructor.
Such dreams are best subordinated —
you’re too uncoordinated.

Your fortunes are deplorable
but charms are unignorable:
ingenious, wise and beautiful,
good-natured and adorable!

Illustration by artist Hugo von Hofsten from Dogs and Puppies, Barse & Hopkins, 1908.

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Today’s portmanteau:

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Snow + ordeal = Snowrdeal.

 

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I’ll take “batting out of his league” for a thousand, Alex.

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I am Tyler Nolan.

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The first rule of Slight Club is that you’re not invited.

See what I did there?

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I swear I am not making this up.

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Irony is when you exit the dry cleaner and a HUGE flock of birds IMMEDIATELY takes flight and poop-bombs you like you were Dresden — which could NECESSITATE A SUBSEQUENT DRY CLEANING.  (I actually do need to throw my jacket in the washer now.)

This is collusion.  That lady feeds the birds with a portion of her profits.  I’ll bet there are rows of feeders on the roof.

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1408?

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Is this the haunted Nail Salon & Spa?  It’s even named for NYC, which is where Stephen King’s dooming eponymous hotel room tormented poor Mike Enslin.

That’s some synchronicity worthy of The Dark Tower.  FOLLOW THE PATH OF THE BEAM.

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“Clever girl.”

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You KNOW how I love puns and portmanteaus, etc., etc.

Someone just called me “Nolandsman” and I am over the moon.