Monday, September 30, 2013

ObamaCare 4 Dummies (Like You)

When President Obama calls, I jump. It's the least I can do for the man who once saved my life in 'Nam. Sometimes I jump even when it's his Attorney General who calls. When the AG calls, I know BO is the man behind the curtain.
     "This is Eric Holder. I'm calling for President Obama, at his request."
     I don't know why the AG was trying to sound so formal. The last time I saw him was when Johnny Ola took me and some loser named Fredo to see the future AG's special nightclub act in Cuba. After seeing Eric's act, I immediately got on the red phone and called the President.
     "Hey, 'Bama," I told him, "have I got an attorney general for you."
     To Eric Holder, whom I was currently pretending to be listening to on the phone, I said: "Yes, I understand. I'm listening."
     "You owe the President a service. He has no doubt that you will repay him. That you will be happy to have this opportunity. In one hour, not before, perhaps later, he will be at your humor blog office to ask for your help. Be there to greet him. Don't have any people who work for you there. Send them home. If you have any objections to this, speak now and I'll inform the President. He has other friends who can do him this service."
     That sure was a lot of words, I told myself. To Eric Holder, whom I was currently trying not to fall asleep on, I said: "How can you think I would refuse the President? Of course I'll do anything he wishes. I haven't forgotten my debt. I'll go to my humor blog offices immediately, at once."
     I chuckled to myself. I was already there. Alone.
     "Thank you," he told me, as sincerely-sounding as he could muster. "The President never doubted you. The question was mine. Oblige him tonight and you can always come to me in any trouble, you'll earn my personal friendship."
     Thanks, but no thanks. I've already seen his "personal friendship" extended once already. In Cuba. I didn't especially care to see it in action again. To Eric Holder, whom I was currently amusing myself by wondering if that was him in the old Barney Miller TV show, I said: "The President himself is coming to me tonight?"
     "Yes," he said in his weren't-you-listening? voice.
     "Then he's completely recovered from his dealings with Putin, thank God," I said. It was a statement, but my voice made it a question.
     There was a pause at the other end of the phone, then Holder's voice said very quietly, "Yes." Putin was apparently a touchy subject.
     There was a click and the phone went dead.
     Well, there was nothing for me to do but wait, so that's what I did. Wait. Waiting's what I do best. It's a trick I learned in 'Nam, and it's gotten me out of many a jam. Why, I remember one time when...
     There was a knock at the door. Obama was never much for doorbells. Any kind of new technology he treated with contempt.
     Myself, I was a bit irritated. He got here so quick, he hadn't left me any time to reminisce. But I opened the door and put on a happy face. It was the least I could do for the man who could sic the IRS on me.
     He walked in and got straight to the point.
     "Well, old friend," he told me, "are you ready to do me this service?"
     I couldn't help but think to myself that, by the sound of him, he's been hanging around Eric Holder too long. To the President, whom I was currently trying not to laugh out loud at, I said: "What do you wish me to do?"
     "I want you to use all your powers, and all your skill, as you love me. I do not wish America to see it as it is."
     He walked purposefully to my office desk and threw down two thousand pages of confusion.
     "See how Congress has massacred my health care act," he thundered in pain and anguish.
     What he wanted me to do was to explain ObamaCare to the American people. He wanted me to explain it in this, my Nobel Prize-winning humor blog. And he wanted me to keep it as simple as I could without drooling.
     "You'll be explaining it to the American people," he stressed. "Use as many one-syllable words as possible. Like I do, in my speeches."
     "You've got it, boss," I assured him.
     He seemed pleased.
     "Thanks, Jim," he told me, and started walking to the door. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got to go. I have a big job tonight shutting down the U.S. government and blaming it on the Republicans."
     I knew all about this. At twelve midnight all non-essential government employees and agencies were going to be shuttered "for the good of the American people."
     I couldn't help but ask.
     "Is it true that all military personnel are going to receive IOUs instead of their paychecks?"
     "It's true," he admitted. "I'm hoping it won't come to that, but it's true."
     "I guess in an act of solidarity you and all the members of Congress will also be receiving IOUs instead of your paychecks?"
     He looked me right in the eye...
     ...and laughed and laughed and laughed. 
to be continued
American Chimpanzee

Friday, September 27, 2013

Dear John: Special "Breaking Bad" Edition

Hard Core Advise From
Hard Core's Hardest Core... John Leslie!

Dear John,
     My wife of 50 years told me that a longtime friend has called her twice trying to have phone sex. I EXPLODED!
     She told me not to say anything because it would ruin our friendship with this couple. I called him on the phone and confronted him anyway and told him he disrespected my wife, me, his wife, women in general, and all of humanity in particular. He did not deny what he had done. Instead he asked me what I was wearing.
     Frankly, I don't blame him too much. I had sex with his wife of fifty years about five years ago, and she was pretty lame. Still, as far as I'm concerned, he totally crossed Obama's red line, and I consider our friendship over.
     My wife, however, continues to take his phone calls.
     What do you think?

Dear Mad,
You've all been married FIFTY years? That would put everybody at about seventy-years-old. Jeez, that's gross!

Dear John,
     I have been with my husband for 19 years, and never had any serious issues with our marriage until four years ago. That's when I discovered that my husband was having an affair. He's been lying to me about it for nearly three years, telling me his work schedule changed. We sought marriage counseling, but he wouldn't go back after the first session.
     He knows that I know that he knows that I have all of the details of his relationship with this woman. He says he's trying to work on our marriage, but I am not sure he's sincere. I thought I could trust him, but he broke my heart.
     I have processed all of the disappointments and believe I can move on, but my  husband says he wants to save our marriage. I don't want to set myself up to be hurt again.
     What should I do?

Dear Hurt,
I'm sorry, but I don't see what the problem is.

Dear John,
     My father admitted to having an affair a few years ago. At the time, my mother was very upset and threatened to leave, but somehow he talked her into staying. However, he is still seeing this woman. They talk on the phone for hours, and he visits her house frequently, leaving my mother alone for extended periods of time. I constantly tell her and tell her and tell her about what my dad does, but she just turns her head and tries to change the subject.
     When I ask her why my dad and his whore are still in contact, she doesn't answer. So I'll ask her again. And again and again and again. But it's no use. My father, on the other hand, seems to think he isn't doing anything wrong.
     Normally, I wouldn't get involved (Oh, who am I kidding. Of course I would!), but I'm worried about my mother's health, which wasn't great to begin with, and seems to get worse every time I tell her about dad's latest shenanigans.
     Is there anything I can do in this situation?

Dear Worried,
Yeah, you can keep your pie-hold shut.

Confidential to Miley Cyrus
While I enjoyed your performance on MTV's recent VMA's, it's unfortunate that Robin Thicke took fashion advice from Beetlejuice.

Confidential to Breaking Bad Fans
It was all a dream.

American Chimpanzee

Monday, September 23, 2013

Your Email Is OUR Email

The city of El Paso has found itself in a legal tug-of-war with Stephanie Townsend Allala, a local (don't hold it against her) attorney who is trying to force current and former city officials to make public emails from their personal internet accounts, which reminds me of an old joke:

Why doesn't the Mafia like Jehovah Witnesses?
Because they don't like ANY witnesses!

     It amazes me that politicians in this day and age continue to leave evidence of their incredible lack of judgement and occasional criminal activity. Nixon with his White House tapes, Clinton with Monica Lewinski's blue dress, and Anthony Weiner with pictures of his, um, wiener.
     State Attorney General Greg Abbott has already ruled that these emails, as they are related to city business (up to and including the controversial Downtown baseball stadium), were written using electronic mail, a type of future technology, and, therefore, aren't subject to the laws in our present timeline, that is, unless they are. Either way, he'll have to check with the Time Police, and get back to us.
     City Attorney Sylvia Borunda Firth is arguing that El Paso can't force these current and former city officials to hand over their personal emails because it has no legal right to any emails stored on personal account servers.
     I have one word to say about that: Delete Button. Okay, that's two words, but city Rep. Cortney Niland, former city Rep. Susie Byrd, and City Manager Joyce Wilson would have been well-advised to have used theirs (see Nixon's White House tapes).
     Allala had also planned on deposing former city Rep. Steve Ortega, but no notice was issued for his statements, since, like Anthony Weiner, he is currently busy planning his next run for public office.
     Personally, I got tired of all this jibber-jabber, and decided to take a look at these emails myself, so I requested them from the NSA's spy software through the Freedom of Information Act. At first, the NSA tried to set up a firewall to block my access to the information they stole fair and square, and even tried to claim national security, but, once they realized I was talking about El Paso, they couldn't shovel the stuff over fast enough.
     What follows are excerpts of only the most pertinent emails.
Are you mad at me?
Are you mad at me?
You sound mad at me.
I am not mad at you.
I'm just not talking to you.
Because I'm mad at you.

Justin Bieber's become such a little jerk.
He's still cute, though. I mean, for a jerk.
I prefer One Direction. Those guys are dreamy.
Yeah... dreamy.
Can you believe all Niland and Byrd talk about is Justin Bieber and One Direction?
I can't talk right now. I'm busy.
Doing what?
Watching Miley Cyrus' new video.
When will you be done?
The next time I see her on the wrecking ball.

     Based on this incriminating correspondence, Wilson, Byrd, Ortega, and Niland were arrested on federal racketeering charges.
American Chimpanzee

Friday, September 20, 2013

Dear John: Special Jack Daniels Edition!

Hard Core Advise From
Hard Core's Hardest Core... John Leslie!

Dear John,
     Last year, my husband and I attended my cousin's annual summer barbecue. After we arrived, I looked for a place to tie up our dog in the backyard and noticed a few dead rats. They appeared to have been there for some time. I made mention of this to my cousin's husband, but he made no attempt to remove them even though they were only a few steps away from the barbecue pit. That was pretty gross.
     I tied my dog several feet away from the dead rats. Later, when we returned home, our dog started scratching. This continued for several days until we noticed his fur falling out. I believe he contracted mange from the dead rats.
     We've been invited to their "last nice weather barbecue," but I am reluctant to go. My husband says we should go regardless, but I feel that if they don't care to get rid of the dead rats in their backyard, they should expect to entertain guests there. And also, the guest bathroom is always gross when we visit.
     What do you think?
     --Grossed Out

Dear Grossed Out,
You know what else is gross? Taking your mangy dog to a family barbecue.

Dear John,
     I laughed at the letter from "Wondering," whose sister gets all bent out of shape when she receives a letter addressed to "Aunt Emily" instead of "Mrs. Emily Jones."
     Right now, I'm holding a letter addressed to "Grandma Sue," and I really don't care. Really, I don't. I really don't care how it's addressed, just as long as they write to me.
     --Grandma Grateful

Dear Grandma,
I really don't care, either. I mean, about your opinion.

Dear John,
     We are full-time residents on a lake and owners of a pool. We are continually astonished at the behavior of some people who visit only during the summer. I'd like to address this to them for next year:
     When visiting your lake home, do not assume that you have an open invitation to be at our pool just because you are in the same complex.
     Do not come over to swim uninvited. At the very least, call to ask whether it is OK, and when you do come over, do not stay for hours and hours. Sometimes we would like to use our pool by ourselves with only our family.
     Do not come to the our pool when we are not at home. If you are at the pool, and we leave the house, take that as your cue to pack up and leave.
     Out pool is an extension of our living space. Imagine how you would feel if you came home to find people inside your house, watching your TV, and eating your food.
     We are social people and like to entertain, but we would appreciate some common courtesy.

Dear Invaded,
You know, I have the same problem with Ron Jeremy and my refrigerator.

Confidential to Hanging Out With An Old Friend
Personally, I like hanging out with an old high school friend of mine, too... Jack Daniels.
American Chimpanzee

Wednesday, September 18, 2013

Hor-scope (9-18-13)

Today's Birthday (9-18-13):
Pamela Anderson, Paris Hilton, Kim Kardashian, Miley Cyrus.
Special Birthday Message:
Nothing can stop you now!
Except, maybe, that STD.

(March 21-April 19):
If you want that raise, TODAY would be a good day to sleep with your boss.

(April 20-May 20):
Don't worry about that rash on your como-se-llama.
It's probably nothing.

(May 21-June 20):
The stars are in agreement!
Better hurry and get that abortion!

(June 21-July 22):
If he believes you when you tell him you love him, he'll believe you when you tell him he's the father.

(July 23-August 22):
Don't worry about failing your class.
Your professor is a horndog.

(August 23-September 22):
don't, Don't, DON'T release your sex tape on the internet.
You'll make WAY more money through blackmail.

(September 23-October 22):
That person you've had your eye on?
He might play hard to get, so be sure to put out.

(October 23-November 21):
The Bad News?
You'll have to talk him out of using protection if you want to trap him by getting pregnant.
The Good News?
It's not that hard to do.

(November 22-December 21):
What does he mean when he says, "Why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free?"
He means YOUR the cow.

(December 22-January 19):
There's a big decision you have to make.
Why not sleep with as many men as you can until you make it?

(January 20-February 18):
Your spouse has come up with a solution to your constant cheating.
It's called d-i-v-o-r-c-e.

(February 19-March 20):
The stars want you to sleep with the writer of this humor blog.
Don't blame me, that's what they want.

Riddle Me This: A man only has one.
With what a woman has, she can have as many as she wants.
What is it?
Confidential to Caught In The Act
It's more believable if you cup your crotch protectively, pretend to cry, and say: "Daddy, he hurt me."

American Chimpanzee

Monday, September 16, 2013

Hmmm... Vaginas

I was looking through one of my wife's women magazines, because, if there's one thing I learned from Clint Eastwood in the movie Heartbreak Ridge, it's that I should know my--for lack of a better word--enemy.
     Sun Tzu, a Chinese general for the King of Wu, put it this way over two and a half thousand years ago:

     If you know your enemy and know yourself, you need not fear the result of a hundred battles.

     I know myself like I know the back of my hand (Hey, I never noticed that spot before.), but women (in general) and my wife (in particular) continue to be a mystery to me, and THAT'S why (when nobody's looking) I'll occasionally open up one of my wife's magazines and see what the competition is up to.
     Except for Cosmopolitan.
     I find that magazine essentially worthless when it comes to supplying its readership with accurate and helpful information, but, for any lawyers who are reading this, that's just my opinion. Let me give you an example...
     It seems that every other article in Cosmo are about tips on how a woman can drive her man wild in bed. They offer tricks and techniques and tactics, but, truthfully--between me and you--a man doesn't need all those tricks and techniques and tactics. Ladies, all you need to do to drive your man wild in bed is...
     ...say yes.
     As comedian Ron White humorously pointed out, she doesn't need to flick her man's frenulum. All she needs to do is show up.
     But I digress...
     I was looking through one of my wife's women magazines, and I found an advertisement for a Vaginal Cream.
     Hmmm, I thought to myself. Vaginas.
     The tag line for the product was:

After menopause, intercourse can be painful.
But it doesn't have to be.

And underneath a picture of a pretty flower, it said:

Discover a prescription that can help:
P------- (conjugated estrogens) Vaginal Cream.

     While "painful intercourse" might be a problem for some women after menopause, I found it amusing (in a scary way) that the cure is WAY worse than the, for lack of a better word, disease.
     Here are some of the warnings and safety information the advertisement offered:
     If a woman uses estrogen alone, she may increase her chances of getting cancer of the uterus.
     If a woman uses this particular Vaginal Cream and her vagina starts to bleed unusually, as opposed to bleeding usually, then she should report it.
     Report it? To whom? FBI? NSA? TMZ? The advertisement doesn't say.
     A woman should not use estrogens, with or without progestins (whatever they are), to prevent heart disease, heart attacks, strokes or dementia. However, if a woman does use estrogens. with or without progestins, it might increase her risk of getting dementia. In other words, she's damned if she does and she's damned if she doesn't.
     If a woman uses estrogen alone, it might increase her chances of having a stroke or getting single or multiple blood clots, but if she uses estrogen with progestins, that might just cause her to have a heart attack, a stroke, get breast cancer, blood clots, maybe none of the above, maybe all of the above, or maybe only some of the above.
     The advertisement also warns that a woman shouldn't use their product if she has unusual vaginal bleeding, has or has had cancer, has had a stroke or a heart attack, has a bleeding disorder, is allergic to any or all of its ingredients, or even if she just thinks she's pregnant. So let me understand this, if you have any or all of these problems you shouldn't use this product, but if you don't have any or all of these problems... you STILL shouldn't use it, because this product might just give them to you.
     And we haven't even gotten to this product's common side effects, which are: headaches, pelvic pains, breast pains, vaginal bleeding, and vaginitis.
     I don't even know what vaginitis is.
     But I do know this, the purpose of this cream--this Vaginal Cream--is to make sex for the woman more pleasurable. Can someone please tell me how headaches, pelvic and breast pains, vaginal bleeding, and vaginitis put a woman in the mood for sex? Sometimes all that has to happen to break the mood for my wife is for the air conditioner to come on.
     A doctor once told me that you don't want to have a woman's reproduction system before the age of fifty, and you don't want to have a man's reproductive system after the age of fifty.
     I don't think I'd want to have a woman's reproductive system, for lack of a better word...

American Chimpanzee

Friday, September 13, 2013

An iPhone By Any Other Name

As someone who has seen the movie 2001: A Space Odyssey about a dozen times (and still falls asleep midway through it), I couldn't help but be impressed by this new miracle of modern technology called the iPhone 5.  Even George Jetson would be amazed, and you're talking about a guy who has a robot for a maid.
     I was there for the first presentation with Steve Jobs, and, once again, present on Tuesday (9-10-13) for the unveiling of the new iPhone 5 by Apple's CEO, Tim "I Know I'm Not Steve Jobs" Cook. 
     "The business has become so large," Tim "But I'm Trying My Best" Cook said. "We're going to replace it with not one, but TWO new designs. In other words, we're repackaging the same old crap and selling it to a loyal, but gullible, public."
     He was talking about Apple's unveiling of its two new iPhones, the expensive 5c and the over-priced 5s.
     Complimentary iPhones were handed out to us as bribes for good reviews and positive word-of-mouth. I received the state-of-the-art 5s, and, let me tell you, I was impressed.  You won't believe a fraction of what the new iPhone can do. 
     "Wow," I said, gently holding my new iPhone 5s in my hands.  "You're pretty sweet."
     "Thanks," it answered, with a soft, feminine voice.  "You're not so bad yourself."
     Before I could be surprised, the man standing next to me did his best impersonation of Mama Cass and started choking on a ham sandwich.  The iPhone 5s pushed me back.
     "Call 911," she commanded, and proceeded to perform the Heimlich maneuver.  Something flew out of the man's mouth.  He was able to breathe again.
     "Thank you," he told me, clearly confused about what had just transpired.  Before I could answer, however, Apple's Private Security Force, the PSF, pushed me roughly out of the way.  By the time I regained my composure, the man had disappeared. 
     I never saw him again.
     I looked around.  My iPhone 5s was gone too.  Just then, my old cell phone came alive in my jacket pocket with Play That Funky Music, White Boy by Wild Cherry.  Someone was calling me.  It was the iPhone 5s. 
     "Meet me in the alley," she whispered 
     So I snuck off from the presentation.  Tim "So Give Me A Chance" Cook eyed me suspiciously as I left.  She was already waiting for me outside.
     "You can't tell anybody about what you just saw," she told me.  "Go back to El Paso, Jim.  Go back to El Paso before Tim "And Don't Fire Me" Cook makes you disappear."
     "Freeze!" a PSF agent barked.  He had a glock in each hand.  With a swift kick the iPhone 5s knocked them both from his grasp.  The agent tried a quick jab, but she was faster, and smoothly blocked it.  She punched him in his solar plexus.  Hard.  He folded faster than Superman on laundry day.
     "Oh my God," I yelled out.  "He's going into cardiac arrest!"
     "Quick," she ordered, "place me on his chest."
     I did.  She acted like a defibrillator.  With a jolt of well-placed electricity she got his heart started again.
     "You've got to leave, Jim.  Now!"
     "I'll always love you," she said, tenderly.  And then she kissed me.  I could feel her salty tears on my lips.  "Please...  you've got to go."
     So I did. 
     I ran out of the alley. 
     When I was safely hidden across the street I looked back.  I could see other PSF agents taking my beloved iPhone 5s away in handcuffs.  A gun to her head.  The fallen agent already "disappeared."  I never saw her again, but, like I said... wouldn't believe it.

American Chimpanzee

Wednesday, September 11, 2013

The 4-1-1 on 9-11's 12th

When President Obama--the man who once saved my life in 'Nam--calls, I jump.
     So when he called me to do some damage control concerning this morning's 12th Anniversary Celebration of the 9-11 terrorist attack in New York City, I said:  "Yes, Mr. President.  I'll take care of it."
     He was, of course, referring to the obvious faux paus of Mayor Bloomberg not inviting the surviving First Responders who heroically risked life and limb to save fellow Americans in the cowardly attack that brought down the World Trade Center.
     "I'd do it myself, like I did with bin Laden," he told me, "but I'll be at the golf course.  As-Salaam alaykum."
     "Aleichem sholem."
     So this column is for all you First Responders--police officers, firemen, and, yeah, you Don't Ask/Don't Tellers in the military, too--complaining that you weren't invited to the table with the grown-ups.  Everybody else can stop reading.  You can go find out on TMZ if Jennifer Anniston's been dumped yet.
     Everybody gone?
     Now, all of you First Responders listen up.  I only want to say this once, and, when I'm done, I'll deny ever having said it at all.  There's a reason you weren't invited to the party, and that reason is... we don't care about you! You guys are nothing but bad news and a sorrowful reminder of what happened that day.  Oh, sure, we like you to show up when the shite hits the fan.  Who else are we going to call?  George Soros?  Bernie Maddoff? Get real. So it's for the best that you stayed home and watched the festivities on TV like the rest of the marks on the midway.  You would have only distracted us from the true heroes of 9-11: the actors, actresses, and politicians who have bravely stood up to the greatest enemy our country has ever faced... The Tea Party.
     You didn't miss much.  The celebration was hosted by Matt Damon.  He gave a riveting speech about the selfishness of the American people, and why everybody should be paying more in taxes, and then he introduced Miley Cyrus, who premiered her new video, which, oddly enough, gave me a new appreciation for what you can do with a wrecking ball. Quick cuts to the audience showed Paris Hilton and Kim Kardashian nodding approvingly.
     Gloria Steinem spoke about a woman's God-given right to kill her unborn baby--or, as Ms. Steinem likes to call it, "fluffing pillows"--while it's still in the comfort and safety of its mother's womb.
     "I wish I were young again," she proudly declared, "so I, too, could get pregnant and murder my child! Just like the old days!"
     George Clooney, who managed to sneak away from his private villa in Italy and girlfriend du jour, forcefully told us that we should all be paying more in taxes.  And then he gave a moving tribute to the not-so-recently deceased Amy Winehouse, who would have turned 30 this month had she lived.
     "A true tragedy," Clooney said, looking heavenward "and a real American hero.  We'll always remember, we'll never forget." 
     Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie then joined their old friend, and frequent third-wheel in the bedroom, onstage, where they revealed that, to commemorate the 12th anniversary of 9-11, they had adopted each other in an expression of their love for one another, for their country, and for free publicity.
     Then it was President Obama's turn to shine.  Through the miracle of modern technology, he tweeted everyone in the country that, while we're honoring the victims of 9-11, we should never forget who the true enemy is: Sarah Palin.
     "And why aren't you guys paying higher taxes?"
    The Reverends Al Sharpton and Jesse Jackson then took the stage. After being made to give it back, Al Sharpton explained how 9-11 was all about Al Sharpton. Jesse Jackson then extorted "contributions" from those present. Those who didn't chip in their fair share were obviously racists.
     Then it was time for a true American patriot: Canadian Justin "I Like My Men Like I Like My Coffee, With A Big Dick" Bieber. He shuffled onstage wearing his too-big pants and his too-big baseball cap, and explained in a heartfelt explanatory explanation how he'll always remember where he was the day those Twin Towers came down... in his mother's womb. He then slapped his black bodyguards in the face because he could, picked a fight with an invalid in a wheelchair, pretended to be held back while watching his black bodyguards beat up that invalid in a wheelchair, and climaxed (heh, heh... climaxed) his impromptu performance by peeing in a mop bucket to the delighted squeals of all the leeches on his payroll. Forgetting to sing his latest hit Wannabe, he sped away in his Ferrari Notestostarona, running over 7 of his biggest fans in the process, who were then beaten up by his black bodyguards.
     The finale was a mass gay marriage.  The ceremony was performed by Mayor Bloomberg, who, oddly enough, is an ordained minister in The Church of Scientology.  A subdued Lady Gaga, dressed respectfully as the Twin Towers, supplied the wedding music/fashion show.
     When the thousands of gay and inter-species couples said "I do," Lady Gaga exploded, leaving only a pile of smoking rubble where she had just been standing.  A little black dog walked over and sniffed the smoldering debris, but, nope, she was as gone as Lindsay Lohan's career.
     So you see, First Responders, you weren't necessary.  But don't get us wrong, we weren't telling you not to show up... we were telling you to get lost!
     We'll call you if someone breaks a nail. 

American Chimpanzee

Monday, September 9, 2013

Men Are From Mars, Women Are Crazy

I was watching James Cameron's Titanic on TV the other night. My wife likes watching tragic love stories, while I like watching a naked Kate Winslet.
     "Well, there's your answer," I told my wife as the credits ran.
     "My answer?" she repeated. "My answer to what?"
     "To why men get paid more than women."
     Her eyes flared, and she hit me. You know, she hits pretty hard for a girl.
     I don't know why she hit me, and I don't think she knows why either. It was a reaction. A reaction reinforced by the knowledge that I wouldn't hit her back.
     If I called 911, and reported her for spousal abuse, after the police were done laughing at me, I'd be the one who'd get taken to jail. All she'd have to do is cry and tell them I was a meanie, and they'd have me in handcuffs faster than Rosie O'Donnell chasing a donut downhill.
     That's another reason men get paid more than women.
     What am I talking about? Well, I'll tell you just like I told my wife, only don't hit me.
     While it's true that women might do the same job as men, what they fail to understand is that there are extenuating circumstances that make it well and proper for that man to get paid more than her. In the case of Titanic, I'm referring to all those poor men who gave up their seats on the lifeboats to women and children. Women and children? Yeah, women and children first. Women and those stinkin' children. Uh, I mean yours, not mine. And when the time came for Kate Winslet to scoot over on that perfectly large piece of wood she was saving herself from drowning on, and help Leonardo DiCaprio up, so that he could be saved, too, she didn't. When she woke up after a nice refreshing nap, she discovered poor frozen Leo dead, but still clutching onto the board for what had been dear life. She dislodged him from that board, and he floated down into the ocean's depths, lost forever. Which was odd, if you think about it, because both ice and dead bodies float. Later, when the old Kate Winslet character dies, she finds herself transported to a heaven that looks an awful lot like the Titanic. It's filled with all the people who drowned, and there, at the top of the stairs, is Leonardo DiCaprio anxious to spend the rest of eternity with her.
     My wife was pouring saltwater from her eyes at this point.
     "It's so romantic," she sobbed.
     Myself, I thought little Leo should have been anxiously running in the opposite direction, because I couldn't help but wonder what happened to the old Kate Winslet's character's husband.
     "What husband?" you ask.
     Well, you do the math. She has a granddaughter with her on that boat, so obviously she must have gotten married, had children, and those children had children, too. I couldn't help but think that her poor husband--the one who married her, had children with her, had a life with her--was waiting in another part of Heaven for a wife who would never appear, because she's too busy whoring around for all eternity with a fabulously overrated actor.
     Furthermore, I don't know what significance the necklace she threw overboard had to her dead lover, because it was her rich fiancĂ© who gave it to her.
     So, you tell me, who do YOU think should get paid more. The men in this movie, or the fat cranky floozy?
     Besides, as a man I'm expected to pick up the check and pay for the date. If there's a last piece of pastry, I'm expected to give it up. That's right, the woman gets it. (I guess that explains Kate Winslet and her Body-By-Pillsbury.) I'm also expected to let myself get beaten up protecting a girl, any girl. I don't even need to know the girl. All I need to know is how to take a punch.
     You don't think the man who gets woken up to check downstairs, because of a noise she heard, and gets killed by who ever is robbing them, doesn't deserve a bigger paycheck? Pleeease. Not to mention that that same man, had he lived, would have worked for the rest of his life to support her and her kids.
     If a woman works, that's her money to shop with.
     It's well known that when Columbus sailed away to discover the new world, he did that to get away from his nagging wife and 8 crying kids. Cavemen were killed by the dinosaurs they hunted, while the women stayed behind and gossiped as they gathered nuts and berries. (By the way, do you know what a redneck's last words are? "Watch this!") Men walk on the outside of the sidewalk so that the woman doesn't get spattered by a passing car. Why, the cost for men in dry-cleaning alone...
     I remember watching an episode of The Sopranos, where a guy is standing on the street minding his own business.
     "Can you give me a ride home?" a girl, who had just been violently arguing with her psycho boyfriend a few seconds before, asked him.
     "What?" the guy said to her.
     "Whack!" the golf club swung by the girlfriend's still angry boyfriend said to his head.
     "Crack!" said the guy's skull to the business end of that golf club.
     Now, you tell me... who do YOU think the girl had sex with that night? I'm betting it wasn't the guy she asked for help.
     And that's why he deserves to get paid more than her.

American Chimpanzee

Saturday, September 7, 2013

Dear John: Special Ron Jeremy Edition!

Hard Core Advise From
Hard Core's Hardest Core... John Leslie!

Dear John,
     My 20 year-old son joined the Army when he was 18. At his first duty station, he caught his barracks roommate, whom he thought was his best friend, stealing from him. My son felt betrayed and began isolating himself from his peers.
     He recently had a permanent change of duty station, and I am concerned that even with this fresh start he is not making friends. He was always a fun-loving, sociable and adventurous teen with lots of friends. Now he locks himself in his barracks room at the end of each workday.
     I know he is lonely, but he is hiding it from his pears, most of whom are much older than he is and married with children, just like Al Bundy.
     He gets angry when I encourage him to reach out to people and would be very upset if I intervened. He lives on the opposite side of the country. I want to help him, but I don't know how.

Dear Worried,
Your son is what we in the industry like to call...
...a WUSSY!

Dear John,
     I love my husband, and he loves me. We have been married for 30 years. Our sex life has diminished. He would not believe me if I told him I think about sex all the time. He also listens impatiently. I wait for a time when he is not watching TV or doing a chore to talk with him, but it seems there is never a good time.
     What he and most men should remember is that for women conversation is foreplay. If I don't think you like me, why would I want to dress sexy for you? It seems pointless.
     My husband doesn't realize how much it appears that he dows not enjoy having me around. When I mentioned it, he looked at me like I was crazy. I think he doesn't like seeing the "old" me, but I am still me. My hair may be gray, and I have some wrinkles and bumps, but I exercise every day and watch what I eat. Mainly, I watch the food as it enters my mouth so I can eat it. My shape has changed over the years, but I am still fairly attractive.
     Guys, understand that we all get older. Your wife changes, but so do you. Please see her for the vibrant, sexy woman she is within. And if you love her, you must like her, too. that means being interested and enjoying her company.

Dear Sad,
They say beauty is skin deep, but, in your case, ugly goes all the way to the bone.

Dear John,
     I read the letter from "Staying Classy," the woman who doesn't know how to respond when people comment on her large breasts.
     I am a short, fat, middle-aged bald man and was always teased about my large breasts until I started using the comeback: "Yeah, they're almost as big as my...!"
     Perhaps that would help classy.
     --Also Classy

Dear Also,
You know, there's a series of fetish videos that you would be perfect for. If you're interested, you should get in touch with Ron Jeremy.

Confidential to
Some men see things as they are and ask "Why." Some men see things that never were and ask "Why not?"
I just say, "Just show me the cash, bee-yotch!"
American Chimpanzee

Tuesday, September 3, 2013

Psychic Or Psycho?

There's an old Episode of The Twilight Zone, where the first of the two Dicks from Bewitched flips a quarter and the coin lands on its edge.
     As a kid, I tried endlessly to accomplish the same feat, because I believed it would give me what it gave him: the ability to read other people's minds. Did it? No, it was another one of my childhood disappointments. Along the lines of finding out the truth about Santa, the Tooth Fairy, and my parent's afternoon "naps."
     I had all but forgotten that classic TV episode... until last Friday. That's when, as I was getting ready for a date with a girl I had met on the internet, I flipped a quarter to help me decide which restaurant to take my date to. Heads would be a nice restaurant along the lines of the Olive Garden, and tails would be a world-famous restaurant along the lines of McDonald's.
     The coin landed on its edge.
     I took this to be a good sign. We'll eat Chinese. You can't get too full eating Chinese. Too full for what? I'd answer, but I'm trying to keep my humor blog G-rated.
     I left the quarter standing on its edge for luck, finished getting ready, and started on my way out. I walked over to my fish tank, and peered through the dirty, but still clear, glass. My little goldfish were swimming around energetically. They always get happy when they see me.
     "Aieee! Aieee!"
     What the...?
     I was hearing little screams inside my head. What the heck was going on? Was I going insane? If I was, this would probably be a plus on my date.
     "I'm hungry," another voice in my head said. It sounded like Droopy, the old cartoon dog I used to watch when I was a kid.
     I looked around, to see if I could pinpoint where these voices I was hearing were coming from. There was only my dog. He was laying in his bed, looking up at me. Our eyes met. His tail began to wag.
     "Is he gonna feed me? I think he's gonna feed me. I'm soooo hungry."
     I walked out of my apartment, kind of in a daze, and kind of creeped out by what just happened.
     "Jerk!" I heard a thought come at me from somewhere behind me.
     Once outside, I immediately felt better. I got in my car, and drove over to pick up my date. There was a lot of static coming from my car radio. Conflicting voices from different radio stations blending into one another.
     When she came to the door, she looked quite lovely.
     "You look very nice," I told her.
     "That's sweet," she answered. "Thank you." What does he mean by that? He thinks I'm fat! I knew I should have worn black. I knew I shouldn't have had that donut.
     I took a step back, and paused. It was all starting to sink in.
     "Um...," I asked her, cautiously, "do you like Chinese?"
     "I love Chinese." I hate Chinese.
     "Good," I told her, fumbling for words. "I thought we'd eat before the movie."
     "Good." What does he mean by that? Is he saying I look so fat I must be hungry, and he has to hurry up to fill the trough for his little piglet to eat? I'll show him. I'm going to see whatever's the most expensive item on the menu, and I'm going to order THAT.
     "You know," I said, purposely changing the subject, "you look just like your picture."
     "I do?"
     "You sure do."
     What does he mean by that? Is he saying I look fat in my picture, too?
     Surely, there must be something I can say to ease her hostility.
     "I thought I'd let you choose the movie," I tried.
     "Something with a lot of action. I love a good action movie." Why did Twilight have to end? I'd kill to see Les Miserables again.
     "How about Les Miserables?"
     "Well... if you insist." Why would he choose a musical? Is he being condescending to me because I'm a female. What straight man wants to see Les Miserables?
     She closed and locked her door, and we walked down to my car.
     I wonder if he's going to open my door for me? If he wants to get anywhere with me, he'd better be a gentleman.
     I opened my car door for her.
     What? He doesn't think I can open my own door? If he thinks being a gentleman is going to get him anywhere with me, he's got another thing coming.
     We drove the rest of the way to the restaurant in silence. Well... kind of.
     I wonder what my ex-boyfriend's doing? I really miss him. Is he even out of prison yet?
     I stopped in front of the restaurant.
     "Do you want to get us a table while I find a place to park?"
     "Of course." Jerk!
     I left.
     When I got home, I walked through the front door.
     "Aieee!"  said the fish.
     "Food?" said the dog.
     I walked over to where the quarter still stood on its edge. I picked it up, and put it in my pocket.
     Forget that.

American Chimpanzee