Saturday, April 30, 2011

Let's Outlaw School Speed Zones

I'm going to say something controversial, but, remember, I'm warning you in advance.  I don't want to hear from you about how mad I made you, or how stupid you think I am.  Send your complaints to Bill Clinton.  He feels your pain.
We Need To Get Rid Of School Speed Zones!
     Now hold it, hold it.  Stay with me.  I'm not suggesting you let Richard Gere baby-sit your pet gerbil.  What I am suggesting is these days kids seem to have lost their natural instinct for self-preservation.  Every time I drop my darling daughter off at a high school I won't name (although I will admit it's also the name of my favorite Electric Light Orchestra album) I notice that male fashion seems to be frozen in the 90's.  With pants hanging way too low, baseball caps worn every which way but forward, and urban fashion that was dated when Grandmaster Flash released the first rap single.
     The 40's had zoot suiters.  The 50's had greasers.  The 60's had hippies.  The 70's had disco.  The 80's had new wave.  The 90's had grunge and hippity hop, and it's been that way ever since.  Kids used to be a force for change.  Now they're the standard bearer for the status quo.
     I could live with a stagnant pop culture, but school zones are zombie-fying our children in other ways as well.  As I'm dropping my darling daughter off I notice students walking across the street and not paying any attention to the big metal things that could kill them.  While you might argue that this would improve our gene pool, I might argue back that you're exactly right.  They step onto a busy street with only an assumption that the traffic is going to stop for them.
     They live their lives not noticing.  Not noticing traffic when they're walking.  Not noticing pedestrians or other vehicles when they are driving.  Not noticing trains coming down the railroad tracks they are walking on.  Not even noticing the opposite sex.  Teenage boys today just don't seem to girl-watch the way we used to back when girl-watching was pretty much our only option.  Ray-Bans were extra dark for a reason.  In the 70's we were all for the women's movement, as long as said women were moving directly in front of us while wearing tight jeans or short skirts.
     Whenever I read a heartbreaking news story of a young person being run over and killed I think to myself:  school zones.  I'm sure the last emotion running through their still developing brains was surprise.  Surprise that the car wasn't stopping for them. 
     I asked my darling daughter:  "Do these kids always walk around like that?"
     "What kids, dad?" she asked me back.

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American Chimpanzee

An Illegal Driveway

It was purely by accident that I witnessed the alleged assault of Socorro's alleged City Rep. Jesse Gandara's alleged hand by an alleged Sheriff's Office detective.  I use the word "alleged" because it seems the trendy thing to do these days.  I was walking my dog near Vineyard and Muscat roads and paused for a few seconds in front of Gandara's home when a car with three Sheriff's detectives screeched to a halt in front of me.
     "Honest, officers," I told them as they aggressively jumped out of their car.  "I'm gonna pick it up, I swear!"  But they ignored me.  Instead they quickly began conducting their crucial invwestigation of the City Rep.'s driveway.  First they advised the driveway of its right to remain silent, and then they went to work measuring it, or at least they would have, but they couldn't decide from where to begin measuring.  Like I said, there were three of them.  The one who seemed in charge had an interesting bowl-cut hairstyle that accentuated his hard features.  He wanted to measure from the street.  The second detective had a wild tumbleweed of red hair growing out from the sides of his head.  He wanted to measure from the sidewalk.  The last detective's head was fashionably bald.  He wanted to measure from the edge of the sidewalk closest to the house.  This resulted in much arguing, with the head detective constantly hitting the other two on their heads and poking them in their eyes with his two fingers.
     It was at this point that Jesse came out of his house with a digital camera.  Here's a transcript of what was said:
     Gandara:  "Hey!  What are you doing?"
     Head Detective:  "Hey!  What are you doing?"
     "I asked you first!"
     "I asked you first!"
     "Stop it!"
     "Stop what?"
     "Stop repeating everything I say!"
     "Stop repeating everything I say!"
     "I said stop it, you meanie!"
     "I know you are, but what am I?"
     "You better shut up, stupidhead!"
     "Nanny nanny boo boo!"
     "I'm rubber, you're glue.  Everything you say bounces off me and sticks to you!"
     "No, it doesn't!"
     "Yes, it does!"
     "No, it doesn't!"
     "Yes, it does!"
     The hand injury occurred when Gandara double-dog dared the detective in charge to pull his finger.  This incident is being investigated by the Socorro Police Department.  Sheriff Wiles has said that he was concerned about the fairness of the investigation.
     "You know those law-enforcement types," he observed.

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The Aw, Nuts! Humor Blog

Downtown Parking (or the lack thereof)

I was driving around Downtown El Paso the other day looking for a parking space and had no change to feed those insatiable parking meters.  More than that, I feel when you want to spend your money you should be welcomed, not charged.  I understand the city needs revenue, but think of all those customers driving through Downtown on their way to The Outlet Mall.  Do you know why those people drive that far out of their way to spend their cash?  Free parking.  They'd rather lose half an hour of their lives than pay 25 cents for 20 minutes.
     Just the other day I took my family to see the newly renovated Mills Building.  It was beautiful.  At least we think it was from the quick glance we got as we drove past on our way to The Outlet Mall.  Afterward, we had a nice lunch at The Great American Land & Cattle Company further down I-10.  Their Top Sirloin cost $8.99, but their parking was free.
     My suggestion is this:  Eveybody's broke.  Now's the time to legalize, regulate, and tax marijuana and prostitution.  I don't cheat or do drugs, so let's make a profit from those who do.  I know, I know.  They say that with dope and hookers comes organized crime.  Do you know what I say about organized crime?  Vote them out of office!
     With prostitution legalized Downtown will be the place to shop, dine, and procreate.  I suggest we create a Red Light District by the Free Clinic.  As for the marijuana, we can also create a district much like the Haight-Ashbury neighborhood of San Francisco in the late 60's.  I'll even volunteer to be the city's first Love Czar or Secretary of Smoke.
     Maybe then we'll get some free parking.
     And, while I'm at it, I have a few additional ideas concerning Downtown El Paso.  Surrounding San Jacinto Plaza we should have the following:
     1)  A museum of horror.  It could be run by my ex-wives.
     2)  An optical illusion museum.  I'll even generously donate all of my ex-wedding pictures.  If you stand one way you'll see beautiful brides.  If you stand another they turn into La Llorona.
     3)  A museum of natural and supernatural oddities.  Did I mention the availability of my ex-wives?
     4)  Around the placita we build mini-sculptures of national monuments, much like the one's they have in Legoland of southern California.  If they can build their mini-monuments entirely from Legos, how hard can it be to slap together some cardboard and spit and make our own?  And...
     5)  How about we let those food trucks that keep getting kicked out of other parts of the city make it their home, just like they do in Austin?  I've never eaten food from a restaurant that can escape, but I'd go Downtown to give it a try.  I'll eat anything.  Or so my ex-wives say.
     And how do we pay for all this?  Hey, that's your problem.  Me?  I'm just the idea guy. Now, if you'll excuse me...
     I'm on my way to spend my money at The Outlet Mall.

El Paso!  It's On Your Way To Somewhere Else!

Fifty Shades of Satire

The Royal Wedding

I was invited to the royal wedding between Prince William and Kate Middleton, but I couldn't make it.  I had jury duty that day.
     Prince Charles was upset, but he's been upset with me ever since he found out that I knew Lady Di before she was a lady.
     "Tell me the truth, now, Sir Jim," he once asked me.  "Did you ever sleep with Princess Diana?"
     "Not a wink," I answered.
     Years later, after his divorce, he called to ask me to perform the marriage ceremony in his then-upcoming nuptials to Camilla Bowles, but I refused for religious reasons.  I don't believe in inter-species marriages.
     "Jim, you were right.  I never should have married Diana."
     "I never said you shouldn't marry her.  What I said was: 'Why buy the cow...' "
     As a personal favor to him I kept the Queen Mum out of everybody's way during the festivities that followed.  Her stories tend to be long and tedious.  She's used to people having to pretend to be interested.  Unfortunately for her, I'm not one of those people.
     "Did I ever tell you how," she rambled, "during World War Two after each time we were bombed by the Germans I would go for a walk to reassure my subjects?"
     "Yeah, but only fourteen times," I yawned.  "Tell me again."
     And she did!  Royalty never gets the hint.  I excused myself.
     "I have to see a man about a horse," I told her.
     "Why, I never!"
     "And with that face, you never will."  I turned and bumped right into her husband, the Duke of Earl.
     "Who are you?"
     "I'm her husband."
     "Why aren't you king?"
     "Well, that's a long story," he said, taking a deep breath in preparation for the exhalation of many boring words.
     "Then I don't want to hear it," I said, and exited stage left.
     But I digress...
     Prince William was disappointed that I wouldn't be there to throw him one of my legendary bachelor parties.  His younger brother, Prince Bob, too.  They had heard about the one I threw for his father in Las Vegas.  We ended up stealing Mike Tyson's pet tiger that night.  Maybe you saw the movie.  I took a few of Iron Mike's pigeons, too.  They were delicious. 
     It was while we were in Vegas that we met the Runaway Bride, Jennifer Wilbanks.  She was celebrating her own personal bachelorette party that night by throwing back tequila shots, falling down a lot, and laughing hysterically for no obvious reason. 
     "Hey, Jennifer," I shouted over the music, "do you know where Prince Charles is going to spend his honeymoon?"
     Everybody got a big kick out of that one.  Especially Prince Charles.
     "I don't get it," Jennifer said, and then passed out.
     By the end of our night of debauchery her eyes were permanently bugged out.  They never went back to normal.
     "This is too much.  Even for me, dude," Charlie Sheen said, disgustedly, and left.
     But, once again, I digress...
     Prince Charles made a final attempt to get me to go to his son's wedding.
     "Don't forget, someday I'll be Queen."
     "You mean King."
     "That, too."
     I sent a crock-pot, and my apologies.

El Paso!  Where You Never Have To Put Up With The B.S. Of European Royalty...Ever!

American Chimpanzee

The White House Easter Egg Hunt

It was an honor to be invited to the White House's annual Easter egg hunt.
     Once there my kids immediately began running and jumping across the beautiful lawn.  We were ready for a good time.  I walked over to grab myself something to drink and ran into my old friend, Barack Obama.  The man who once saved my life in 'Nam.
     "Jim," he greeted me.  "I'm glad you made it.  Can I get you something?  Bartender, water for both of us."
     Water?  That's it?  I couldn't believe it.  Disbelief became shock when I saw the bartender fill our glasses from a waterhose.
     "Don't blame me," Obama said.  "Blame the economy.  Eveybody's cutting back."
     I could smell something delicious in the air, so all was forgiven.  I didn't know what they were grilling, but I sure wanted some.  That is, until I saw what it was.
     "Baloney?"  I complained to the President.  "You're serving baloney?"
     "Don't blame me.  Blame George Bush.  He left us nothing but debts and deficits.  I'm trying hard to turn things around, but no matter how much money I borrow or spend I can't get our fiscal house in order."
     Fortunately, it was time for the egg hunt.  The kids lined up excitedly at the starting line.  As the President happily began his count down, his wife, Michelle, cut him off.
     "I'll do it," she informed him.
     I looked around.  I could see that some of the eggs would be more easily found than others.  Aw, who am I kidding?  They were all out in the open.  This was because the White House wanted an even playing field.  They didn't want one child to have an advantage over another by virtue of their ability or intellect.
     "Look, dad!  I found an egg!" my daughter yelled.  She opened it.  "Hey, it's empty!"
     "Of course it is," Obama told her.  "They're all empty.  Don't blame me.  Blame the Tea Party.  God forbid we should spend any money on filling the Easter eggs with candy or toys."
     By this time I was growing pretty discouraged with the whole affair.  I looked over to where the children should have been taking pictures with the Easter Bunny.  Only there was no Easter Bunny.  Just a cardboard cutout of President Obama with bunny ears taped to his head.  Not one child wanted to go near it.  They had to be coerced or bribed.  Just like Congress.
     The celebration, if you could call it that, finally started winding down.  Obama shook hands with each of us as we left, and his wife handed out Easter baskets to the kids.
     They were empty, too.
     "Don't blame me," Obama apologized.  "Blame the Republicans.  After the last budget deal there's barely enough money to get me to my next fund raiser."

Does The Easter Bunny Really Exist?  Find Out In El Paso!

Fifty Shades of Funny