Tag Archives: humor

Random Rabbit Returns!

Hey, my neighborhood’s home-crashing hare is back!  I call him Random Rabbit because he has no burrow — he just randomly selects backyards to occupy.  He was my guest for a while, but then he ambled across the street and inhabited another backyard.  (I think he was annoyed by my picture-taking.)  I think he just crashes random residences like a big, weird, puffy white houseguest.  (Think Kato Kaelin.)

Roanoke’s ecosystem puzzles me.  This is a slow, truly torpid prey animal who seems to have little healthy apprehension about other animals.  He’s doing just fine, though.  A nearby pit bull usually just gives him a wary stare … maybe dogs and cats are afraid of him because he’s so huge?  This picture doesn’t do him justice — he’s the biggest rabbit I’ve ever seen.  He’s probably about the size of General Woundwort from “Watership Down.”

[Update, 6/5/17:] Okay now all my friends are telling me he is very likely an abandoned pet.  So I might start feeding him.  My pals are recommending “dandelions, lemon balm, and carrot tops.”

I myself am just relieved that other people can see him.  I was harboring a pet hypothesis that he was my equivalent of “Frank” from “Donnie Darko.”  (He’s almost as big.)

 

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I PROMISE I’ll stop with the covfefe jokes tonight!!

And I know it’s poor form to publish a blog post containing only memes.  (That’s what social media is for.)  But these two were just too good not to share with as wide an audience as possible.

This blog WAS supposed to be about writing, when I started it once upon an idealistic time.  And typos are an occupational hazard for writers, so I figure it’s okay.

Anyway, I cannot take credit for creating these … I found them on Facebook.

 

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“NOW IS THE WINTER OF OUR DISCOVFEFE.”

*Covfefe dooon’t like it …
ROCK the Casbah, ROCK the Casbah!
Covfefe dooon’t like it …
ROCK the Casbah, ROCK the Casbah!

*In best doctor voice: “Okay, now turn your head and covfefe.”

*”Covfefe at me, Bro!!!”

 

Okay, I will stop making these jokes tonight.

I was chatting with Dennis Villelmi today, and I told him the entire situation is stupid on so many levels. The president is stupid for tweeting “covfefe;” WE are stupid for finding it so funny, as though we were a group of junior high school students; the press sounds at least a little stupid for asking about an obvious typo’s “meaning;” Trump’s supporters are stupid for buying into the idea that it was a message in Arabic; Sean Spicer is stupid for trying to pretend that it was … a coded message? To a “small number of people?”

At the same time he’s trying to avoid the implication that Trump or his people are passing information to the Russians?

 

 

Damn, this is one good cup of covfefe.

Trumps’ presidency is such a disaster that, at this point, our only hope may be to launch a team of plucky oil drillers into space.

Every time I mention “Armageddon” (1998), someone makes a joke about its Morgantastic, Freemaniffic contemporary, “Deep Impact.”  I tell people it is on my list of things to watch, but I still haven’t even seen “Predestination” (2014), “The Fifth Element” (1997) or a single episode of “Breaking Bad” (2008 – 2013).

 

 

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Schotchik ochkov!!!

We won the Cold War; Russia won the American presidency.  So … we’re 1:1, then?

Asking for a friend.

 

“No,” Say We All.

I KNOW I shouldn’t worry about things I can’t control, but there’s a rumor aboard the Galactica that Dr. Baltar’s building a Nolan detector.

 

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Vintage 1980’s Fidget Spinners!

When I was a kid, fidget spinners were called “ninja throwing stars,” and they could only be obtained by the ads in the back of “Ninja Magazine.”

AND WE WERE THANKFUL FOR WHAT WE HAD.

Unless, of course, you were the kind of kid whose mother forbade him to ever touch one.  Dammit.  (She also took away the crossbow I’d made from scratch.)

Let me qualify the first sentence above — only the uninitiated actually called them “ninja throwing stars.”  Genuine ninjas, like me and my friends, knew that they were properly called “shuriken.”  My friends and I were serious students of ninjutsu in the early 80’s, and we had the magazines to prove it.  Our Ninja Clan was called “The Night Stalkers.”  (We actually started out as “The Night Crawlers,” until one of us realized that was what fishermen called earthworms.)

[DISCLAIMER: If any real ninjas are reading this, please do not assassinate me.  Also, various sites on the Internet contain misinformation suggesting that historical ninjas did not actually wear those black outfits — they’d wear ordinary period clothing, so that they could only figuratively “blend in with their surroundings” and avoid detection by samurai.  I didn’t write that nonsense, I’m just passing it along to you.]

 

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So I’m starting a new trend — the Spicer Selfie Challenge.

Let’s take this viral.

Just take a selfie hiding in the bushes.

And try to look reeeeeeeeaally pissed — as though your boss had the mind of a five-year-old, and it was your job to present his “positions” to the world on television.

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“Turning and turning in the widening gyre,/ Sean Spicer cannot find the teleprompter …”

“Turning and turning in the widening gyre,
Sean Spicer cannot find the teleprompter;
Things fall apart; the White House cannot hold;
Pure incompetence is loosed upon the world,
The bungling tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of sanity is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the amateurs
Are full of Trumpian intensity.”

— William Butler Jørgen (Jørgen Laursen)

 

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(They’re generally more congenial anyway.)

When I want an intelligent answer on a national security question, do I trust Sean Spicer?

I’d rather trust the Spice Girls.