Category: Nonsense

This idea sounds good to me. I look forward to flying into Douchebag International.

The $2.3 trillion spending bill repeals criminal penalties for using Smokey Bear’s likeness without government permission.

Your tax dollars at work.

Fair warning: You are still forbidden to impersonate all other Smokeys, like:

Smokey “Chen-OO-kah” Robinson

or this Smokey:

or this Smokey:

or of course, Smokey Stover

TRIVIA: It was the Smokey Stover cartoons in the 1930s that created the term “foo fighters”

The surreal nonsense of the Smokey Stover strips was still appearing weekly in the Sunday comics when I was a kid, and I always found the strip bizarrely entertaining, even though all the inside jokes were lost on me.

“Iowa Democratic Party officials sense that there may be a problem with their new “app” when it declares that the winner of the state’s caucuses, with 43 million delegates, is Walter Mondale, followed by the Houston Astros”

“We’re trying to think of something nice to say about 2020. Okay, here goes: Nobody got killed by the murder hornets. As far as we know. That’s pretty much it.”

Isn’t it always the last place you look?

“Despite the Last Supper having taken place in Roman-occupied Jerusalem, 40-year-old amateur archaeologist and longtime enthusiast of grail lore Barrie-Jon Bower believes that the grail in fact lies buried in a secret crypt beneath a river in the West London suburb of Hounslow.”

I had my money on Poughkeepsie, NY, right behind the Market Street Sunoco. According to the legends of the Wappinger tribe, that’s just where it was buried by Joseph of Arimathea’s ne’er-do-well brother, Chuck of Arimathea, the first non-native to sail to America, a century and a half before Columbus. Although many of the early explorers were worshiped by the natives as gods, Chuck was so obviously inept that he was actually scorned as an inferior and had to conclude his life as a humble tradesman, selling and repairing used moccasins.

“For the past four years, I have worked tirelessly to keep our schools free from education. It deeply saddens me to think that all of my hard work will go to waste.”

And he has one big-ass house.

“It was raining poop” declared one Cleveland denizen, apparently without that much surprise because, hey, it’s Cleveland.

God bless mother nature, she’s a single woman too
She took off to heaven and she did what she had to do
She taught every angel, she inspired every bird
So that each and every person could find a perfect turd
Oh, it’s rainin’ poop
Hallelujah.

… and says, “Can I get some service here.”

Clerk says, “Sir, you can stay, but your unsightly friend has to leave.”

Guy says, “It says at the door I can bring a service animal.”

Clerk says, “I was talking to the camel.”

(Rimshot)

In Nevada, “a CAMEL walks into a Bath and Body Works with its owner.”

I guess it was Hump Day.

Huh? I thought Dan Quayle was retired.

Background: I was living in Norway when the beloved king died in January of 1991. I forget his name, but probably Olav. All Norwegians are required to be named Olav or Tor at birth, based on the same European law that requires all Finns to be named Pertti or Jakko, all Irishmen to be named Sean or Patrick, and all Austrians to be named Franz, without exception.

Anyway, because it was the time of the Gulf War, Bush the Elder needed to send somebody inessential to represent the USA, so Dan Quayle was dispatched to the funeral ceremonies. Perfect choice. As I recall, Quayle’s middle name was actually Inessential. Although he was somehow a hair’s-breadth from the presidency, his level of incompetence would have been seat-filler at the Oscar ceremonies.

The problem in Norway was that Quayle was inessential for a very good reason – he was dumb as a box of rocks. He attended the funeral in a tan summer suit and street shoes.

In Oslo.

In January.

To a state funeral.

Within a few minutes in Oslo, his pants were covered with slush and he looked like a little kid who went out to play in the snow in his big boy pants, but without his boots. Plus there was the whole wacky move of wearing tan to a funeral. Talk about time for Bugs Bunny to appear and declare “what a maroon.” And that is how Norwegians probably picture Americans to this day.

(For a few weeks afterwards, we American expats were all pretending to be Canadian. It’s easy to do. Just say “oat” instead of “out,” “a boat” instead of “about,” make every sentence into a question ending with “eh?” – and apologize for everything.)

In a figurative sense, perhaps they all are, but this one is literally full of crap.

To be fair, the little nipper probably homed right in on the only job Harry is qualified for.