The Pickle Slicer Joke

Jokes will keep us sane. Here’s one of my favorites:

Mr. Jones worked at the pickle factory for twenty years. He was on the assembly line, just a few feet from the pickle slicer.

One day he came home with his hands in his pockets, tears running down his face.

Mrs. Jones ran to him. “What happened?”

“I was fired today.”

“What?”

“For twenty years I worked on the assembly line, and each day I’ve had this terrible urge to put my finger in the pickle slicer. Today, I could resist no more, and I put my finger in the pickle slicer.”

“Oh no!” cried his wife. “That’s terrible…what happened to the pickle slicer?”

“They fired her too.”

doge in space card redux

The Feathered Princess

Here’s another fractured fairy tale. I think that this one with transfer over to bardic circles well…because it’s short 🙂

The Feathered Princess

Once there was a fisherman. He was small, and greedy, lecherous and generally unpleasant. His nets were torn and frayed, and he was too lazy to repair them. He was not a very good fisherman.

One day he was leaving his boat after a meager day’s catch, when he saw a fair maiden bathing. Being lecherous and generally unpleasant, he hid in the bushes to watch. And he noticed that on the lake’s shore was cloak made of feathers.

The fisherman knew the legends, and he knew that this fair maiden was actually a swan princess. If he could steal the cloak, she would have to marry him and he’d have all the riches he could ever want, and being greedy, that was a lot. He crept forward, very sneakily, for he was lecherous and used to creeping sneakily, and grabbed the feathered cloak.

“Ha ha!” He cried. “I have your feathered cloak, Swan Princess! Now you must marry me, and all of your riches will be mine!”

The maiden slowly left the lake and walked toward the fisherman. Her steps were small, but she walked with purpose, her flaxen hair falling behind her. She raised her arms in the air, as if to embrace the fisherman, and ran to him.

Here comes my wealthy, beautiful…and also wealthy princess, the fisherman thought as he rubbed his greedy palms together. Look at how eager she is for me to hold her.

The maiden stopped in front of him. She let her arms fall to her side.

“What do you have to say to your husband and lord?”

The maiden looked him in the eye…and hissed

“What?”

She leaned in until her face was inches from his. “HONK!”

“What?”

“HONK!” She snapped her head forward, breaking the fisherman’s nose. “HONK!” She headbutted him again, flapping her arms as she attacked.

The fisherman had made a terrible mistake, for it was not a Swan Princess, but a Goose…a horrible, horrible goose. “No! This isn’t how it’s supposed to happen. You’re supposed to be my bri–”

The goose maiden honked again, and her call brought a flock of geese to her aid. It was a flurry of honking and pecking as they savaged the fisherman, who was now crying for mercy and for his mother.

When the fisherman was finally a bleeding, crumpled mess, the geese lined up one by one. Each of them took a possession of his: the first took his net and threw it in a tree. The second took an oar from his boat and waddled away. The third took a boot that had come off of him and swam off. And they continued until everything he had was gone. Then the Goose Maiden took back her cloak, kicked him once, and pushed his boat out to the center of the lake.

For she was a Goose. A horrible, horrible, goose.

guinea pig card

The Shepherd Boy Dovid

This developed from a chat with a friend, and I decided to finish it for her. It’s very silly, but so am I…

Come gather round dear children, and heed the words I say
A tale of bravery and woe to make you cry “oy vey!”
For when the sky grew dark, and so many ran and hid,
There stood one boy against the wolves, a shepherd boy Dovid.

Dovid he was out one day, a-minding all the sheep,
He listened to them “baa” and he listened to them bleat.
He put his horn up to his mouth and played a tune he did,
For no one blew his horn quite like the shepherd boy Dovid

The sheep oh they did dance around, The chickens and cattle too
Goats swung each other by the beards, a 23 Skiddoo!
The dogs! The Cats! The bunnies! The Bats! They frolicked and they slid.
They loved to hear the music of the shepherd boy Dovid.

The villagers–boo– they did not like young Dovid and his tune.
He should be far more serious, not horning to the moon
Until one fateful day, when the troubles flipped its lid.
They learned their one true hero was the shepherd boy Dovid.

10 packs of wolves came from the west, all nasty fangs and fur,
they gnashed their teeth and how they howled, they “grrred” a fearsome “grrr”
The people they all ran away from both ends to the mid,
All except that horney boy, the shepherd boy Dovid.

The wolves prepared to feast upon the animals a-dancin’
They circled round the sheep, oh, no escape a-chancin’
The sheep all bleated: mistreated, left feeted, and scared from tail to nib
But the wolves were in for a surprise: the shepherd boy Dovid.

Dovid put the horn back to his lips and he began to blow
A tune no wolf had heard before nor one they’d ever know
For wolves are smart and wolves are fierce but wolves know no music,
especially not the tunes of the shepherd boy Dovid

The wolves big paws, they came with claws, and now began to dance
They wagged their tails and booped their snoots, a prelude to romance.
They twirled around the sheep and goats but did not bite or nip,
For they were too entranced by the shepherd boy Dovid

And all those wolves, they danced all night to the music of the horn,
and they were all a-fast asleep by the coming of the morn.
And Dovid led his sheepies home to where the sheepies lived
And not a sheep was lost because of the shepherd boy Dovid

The next day all the people returned and oh to their surprise
Their sheep, their chickens, their goats, their cows all staring with big eyes
The animals they had judged them all, they knew what they had did,
And not one of them was half as brave as the shepherd boy Dovid

Now no one ever complained again when Dovid played his horn,
And secretly they smiled, and they never were forlorn,
They learned that music is special, and worth a hefty bid,
And especially the music of the shepherd boy Dovid

doge in space card redux

 

 

The Fly on the Wall: Another Weirdass Fable

The following was inspired by a huge fly that got into Katie’s apartment last night and pissed me off with its flyness and flyosity.

Once upon a time, there was a fly. He was not a sly fly, nor a cry fly. He was not my fly or your fly or anybody’s fly. He was Guy the Fly, just a simple fly in an unsimple world, a world where he could find no picnics to sample and faced all sorts of predators that wanted to predatize him with their predatory ways.

One day Guy was fleeing…no…flying…away from one of these predators when he saw with his hundred eyes a rectangular-shaped cave. It was cool in the cave, and Guy could see with his hundred eyes that there was raw chicken breast on a baking sheet in the kitchen. “What luck!” He buzzed. “I can eat a tiny bit of that chicken and there is nothing that will attack me. This is paradise!”

The cave closed shortly after Guy the Fly flew into it, but Guy was not perturbed. He had flown a long way before he saw the cave, and was not afraid of such odd occurrences. But when a giant, fleshy hand swatted at him, Guy went from unperturbed to very, very perturbed.

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The Canadian Burning of the White House (A totally true history…seriously)

Most Americans foolishly believe–as our lying teachers and textbooks have told us for 200 years–that it was the English that sailed from Chesapeake Bay and laid waste to Washington DC, burning the White House. Of course, this is a lie made by lying liars for their own agendas. The truth is far more sinister and involves our “polite” neighbors to the North: Canada.

In the Spring of 1814, after the glaciers receded from the Canadian wilderness, the Sovereign State of Canada launched a dastardly attack, cutting a swath of destruction from New York to all points south, ending with a deplorable burning of the sacred American Capitol. Here is the absolutely true story of the Candian assault on our land.

The Armored Moose Cavalry

Beginning in Montreal, the Canadian forces crossed the St. Lawrence River and marched south. At the head of the attack was Lt. Colonel Tim Horton, who led the feared Canadian Armored Moose Calvary. The moose were layered in steel, with spikes adorning their antlers. Their riders carried curved axes called “hockey sticks.” They trampled through the Adirondack Mountains of Northern New York. Wherever they stopped, they built a coffee shop named after their leader. Some stand even to this day, though under the name “Stewarts.”

TimHorton_03

Lt Col Horton in his dress uniform

Following the cavalry shock troops were massive cannons mounted on Zambonis fueled by something later called “Crown Royal.” Carried in special pouches, this mighty fuel allowed the Zambonis to travel great distances, gliding across the terrain as if they were on ice. Behind them were the Canadian riflemen, bedecked in their plaid, flannel uniforms, though the officers wore denim trousers and open denim jackets with a wolf shirt beneath.

Supporting their assault was perhaps the Canadians’ most vicious and barbaric weapon, the Canadian Geese Air Corps. These fierce creatures rained fetid death from above, from which there was no escape. When opposing troops saw their flying V pattern overhead, they ran, for no man can match the ferocity of a Canadian Goose.

The Canadians sacked Albany, then plowed south, skirting New York City and instead attacking the port of Newark. Oh, how the streets of Newark ran sticky with syrup that day. The barbarous Canadians celebrated their victory with a feast of sliced and fried potatoes smothered in gravy and cheese curds. They called this food  “cheese fries with gravy (note: translated from Olde Canadian).” It is still on the menu of most New Jersey diners, though I dare say that they don’t know its sinister origins (or do they?).

The Canadian March South

They continued south, and the American militias were helpless against them. They fled at the sight of the armored moose and geese assaults, and Horton’s hockey hackers cut them down. After bringing polite destruction down on Philadephia, Horton split his forces. One-third of Horton’s troops headed west, laying waste to Appalachia in Virginia and Kentucky. The most famous battle of their western campaign was the Bowling Green Massacre #neverforget.

The rest of Horton’s troops moved south toward the Capitol. The American troops stood ready, but with a fierce battle cry of “yeh hoser!” the armored moose cavalry charged. There was no stopping the massive beasts, and the moose were just as fearsome. The Zamboni artillery fired double-doubles upon the left flank of the American troops, scalding them and driving them to flight. President Madison and his wife Dolly fled the White House, Dolly taking the portrait of George Washington with her before the Canadians could desecrate it with slabs of Canadian Bacon.

And there, on the 24th of August, 1814, Lt. Col. Horton sacked Washington DC and burned the White House. They then celebrated with some Molsons and danced to Nickelback all night long.

Nickelback

Nickelback: the greatest of outrages

Aftermath

Eventually, there came peace, and Horton’s Hackers returned to the Great White North. But they left a legacy across America. You see, no Maple Tree ever grew in America before the Canadian assault, but one intrepid rifleman named Johnny Mapleseed planted acorns along the Canadian army’s path. Without this young man, there would be no American maple syrup.

The discarded bags for the Crown Royal were later discovered to be excellent dice pouches for 19th-century games such as “Cellars and Cholera.”

Canada later said that they were sorry for the burning, and especially for Nickelback.

doge in space card redux