Friday, December 30, 2016

Fifty Shades of Grey Hair #50

This has been a sad year for us.
     So many people we have known and loved have gone the way of the Dodo. That's the problem with living to an elderly age. Friends and family go, as the Munchkins are fond of saying, where the goblins go.
     I say all that because the pastor of our church has recently gone to his great reward, so we must find a new church to go to. This is not as easily done as said, you know. There was one church in particular we were interested in joining, but...
     "We have a special requirement for new parishioners," the pastor informed us. "You must abstain from having sex for two weeks."
     Heck, we're old, so we agreed.
     "It shouldn't be too hard," I told Christian.
     "That's what she said," Christian told me back, so we left and came back at the end of two weeks.
     "Well," the pastor asked us, "were you able to abstain from sex for the two weeks?"
     "No Pastor," Christian replied sadly, "we were not able to go without sex for the two weeks."
     The pastor was shocked.
     "What happened?" he wanted to know.
     You know, for a pastor he sure does concern himself with the sex lives of others a lot.
     "You see," Christian explained, "as my wife Ana was reaching for something from the top shelf, she dropped it. And when she bent over to pick it up, well, two weeks is two weeks. I was so overcome with lust I took her the way Grant took Richmond right then and there."
     The pastor shook his head in disbelief.
     "You understand, of course, that this means you will not be welcome in our church," he told us.
     "Yeah, well," I admitted, "we're not welcome at the grocery store anymore either."
 
 
American Chimpanzee
JimDuchene.BlogSpot.com
RaisingMyFather.BlogSpot.com
@JimDuchene
 

Monday, December 26, 2016

It's A Wonderful Legacy

Somewhere... in the cosmos...
 
"You sent for me, sir?
"Yes, Clarence. A man down on Earth needs our help."
"Splendid! Maybe then, sir, maybe then I'll get my wings?"

     It was Christmas Eve and President Obama was sitting in the Oval Office brooding. Come the new year, he would be out and a new president would be sworn in, but there was so much left to do.
     So much left to do.
     Like every president who served before him, he worried about his legacy these last few days in public office. Was he too hard on Israel? Too easy on radical Islam? Should he have secured the border and fixed the ailing economy? Was it wise to bring potential terrorists possibly disguised as political refugees into the country?
     Well, it was too late now. History would judge him by the results of his efforts, not by the nobility of his intentions.
     "Oh, my," a voice said. "Aren't we sad."
     Obama jumped.
     "Who are you?" he yelped. "How did you get in here?"
     Obama knew his words were weak, but they were all he had.
     "I'm Clarence," the little man said. "Your guardian angel."
     "Oh..." Obama said, getting his self-assurance back, "my guardian angel. Why didn't you say so? HELP! HELP! SECURITY!"
     "Your secret service cannot hear you."
     "Are they frozen in time?"
     "No, they're busy watching Little Lupe videos. She reminds them of the good times they used to have at the Hotel Caribe in Cartegena, Columbia."
     Obama shrugged in defeat. He knew it was true.
     "Well, what do you want? What do you want from the most powerful man in the world?"
     "Just a few moments of your time. Come," the rumpled man said. "Come with me to the future."
      Obama thought for a second, remembering a conservation he once had with string-theory physicist Dr. Michio Kaku, and then asked, "Is it really our future or just one of many possible futures?"
     Clarence closed his eyes, and then spoke sagely.
     "Always in motion, is the future," he said. "Difficult to see."
     Obama lifted a skeptical eyebrow.
     "You're quoting Yoda?"
     "Quote Star Wars, I must. Ye-esss, hee-hee-hee-hee-hee-hee."

     The rumpled man hobbled over to one section of the office and opened the false wall, a hidden exit in case of emergencies. Obama thought he was the only one who knew about its existence, but apparently not. Beyond the opening it was blurry, hazy. A mist billowed off the ground about three feet. Obama wasn't sure if he should go any further.
     "Barry!" came a barking at the door proper. It was his wife, Michelle. "I know you're in there, Barry! Quit crying and come to bed!"
     "Hey! Wait for me!" Clarence cried out, as the president ran past him into the unknown.
     Obama stood there, on the other side. On the other side of what? he thought to himself. Obama looked around. All he could see were shifting images, moving past and melding into each other. It was a visual whirlpool of displaced perceptions, all of it swirling around him. He was at a focal point, but a focal point of what, exactly?
     "Of time," Clarence explained, finally catching up. "Einstein once said that time was created so everything wouldn't happen at once. Well, this is where everything happens at once."
     "I understand," Obama said, not understanding.
     "Follow me," the little man said, walking in one direction.
     "Okay," Obama agreed, walking in the other.
     "NO! This way!"
     "I am going that way."
     "No, you're not."
     "Yes, I am."
     Frustrated, Clarence followed the president. Ultimately, it led them to one of their destinations. It could have been one of the bombed out European cities during World War Two, or it could have been Ground Zero on 9-11, but it was Israel of the future. Crumbling buildings. rubble on the streets, the smell of death and sewage in the air.
     "Where are we?" Obama wanted to know.
     "Tel Aviv," Clarence told him. "The Palestinians were finally true to Iran's President Amanindajon's vow to destroy Israel."
     "It can't be," the president said, on the verge of an actual emotion.
     "But it is," Clarence told him. "Follow me."
     "Okay," Obama said, and again moved in the opposite direction.
     Clarence sighed, and then ran to catch up. they found themselves in another bombed-out husk of a building. The dead littered the floor. The living cried and screamed for help.
     "Where are we now?" Obama asked, but deep down he didn't really want to know.
     "Do you really want to know?" Clarence asked, as if reading his mind.
     "Not really," Obama told him. "Didn't you read the previous paragraph?"
     "Besides," Clarence continued, "I believe in your heart you know where we are. Still, I'll tell you anyway. It's America. One of your sanctuary cities. with your lax immigration policies, open borders, and influx of tens of thousands of refugees from countries sworn to destroy America, this is the result. You can't embrace a belief system that wants to kill you. Now, please, follow me."
     This time Obama followed, and he saw an America with doctors on street corners holding up "Will Heal For Food" signs. There were Planned Parenthood offices advertising, "Abortions! Two For The Price Of One!" Hospitals were forced to perform free gender-reassignment surgeries.
     He saw a vast global government running the world, their IRS agents dressed like Nazi OSS officers, and our American soldiers reduced to sweeping the streets of foreign cities, chanting, "A clean street is a safe street."
     Cities were in bankruptcy from supporting the homeless, the jobless, the American citizenship-less. Walmarts were closed, churches shuttered, and unemployment and welfare offices full. It was a society where only the bodyguards of politicians and celebrities were allowed to have guns. Obama saw people lined up to become Democrats, because without the "mark" of the liberal they couldn't conduct business.
     "There, Mr. President," Obama's guardian angel spoke, "there's your future. What do you think of your legacy now?"
     Obama wiped away a tear.
     "It's wonderful," he said.
 

 
American Chimpanzee
jimduchene.BlogSpot.com
RaisingMyFather.BlogSpot.com
@JimDuchene
as published in Desert Exposure Magazine
 

Saturday, December 24, 2016

Fifty Shades of Grey Hair: Merry Christmas!

Well, how rude!
     I was in the mood to cook my dear husband an authentic Christmas dinner from scratch, just like in the early days of our marriage, so I went to the butcher shop to pick a fresh Christmas goose.
     "Howdy, ma'am," the butcher greeted me. "Happy holidays."
     "And a happy holiday to you, too," I answered holidayedly. "Are your geese fresh?"
     "You bet they are," the butcher assured me, and pointed me in their direction.
     I made my way over to them, but, wanting to make sure I got the freshest one, I lifted the drumstick of the first bird I came to and took a good sniff.
     "Pee-yew!" I said, holding my nose. No wonder they're called "fowl."
     Well, that might have just been a bad first choice, so I lifted the drumstick of the second goose in line and once again took a good sniff.
     "Pee-yew!" I said.
     "Hey, lady!" the butcher interrupted. "Do you think you could pass that test?"
 
 
American Chimpanzee
JimDuchene.BlogSpot.com
RaisingMyFather.BlogSpot.com
@JimDuchene
 

Wednesday, December 21, 2016

America's The Problem

In a world where the Taliban throws acid in the faces of young girls and women to keep them from going to school or getting an education, it's refreshing to read a newspaper article about Muslim women in the United States learning how to defend themselves against Americans.
     When a press-hog like the then-15-year-old Muslim schoolgirl Malala Yousafzai grabs all the headlines for having the good fortune of being shot in the head (for being an education advocate in the Muslim country of Pakistan), let's all remember she survived what should have been a fatal gunshot. Besides, she didn't choose to be shot. In fact, given the choice, I'm sure she would have chosen not to have been shot.
     What kind of hero is that?
     Even the Nobel Prize committee, while nominating her for their Peace Prize, didn't feel she deserved to win. Instead they gave it to President Obama for... for...
     Well, I really don't know what for, but whatever it was, I'm sure he deserved it.
     Here's an excerpt of that newspaper article by Max Nesterak of Minnesota Public Radio (with additional commentary added by me).
 
     ST. PAUL, MINNESOTA--With the number of hate crimes targeting Muslims on the rise in the U.S., some Muslim-Americans are responding by taking self-defense courses.

Cemse Allak was a pregnant 35-year-old Muslim woman in Turkey. She was stoned to death by her brother and 4 other relatives. She remained semi-conscious for 7 months with her skull crushed, but her unborn baby died 6 weeks after the attack. It was alleged that she committed adultery, but it was more likely that she was raped.
Her brother said it didn't matter either way.
 
     Nausheena Hussain organized a self-defense class last weekend in Findley, Minnesota, because she wanted her fell0w Muslim women to be prepared for the worst.
    
In the country of Turkey, 16-year-old Naile Erdas was shot to death by a group consisting of her father, mother, brother, and two uncles all because she had the bad judgement to get pregnant after being raped.
 
     "Given the sort of negative national rhetoric around Muslims we've been seeing across the nation...
 
In the country of Syria, 16-year-old Zahra al-Azzo was stabbed 5 times in the head and back for lacking the foresight to not get kidnapped and raped. This punish-the-rape-victim thing in Muslim countries sure does seem to be a recurring theme, doesn't it?
 
...we wanted to make sure we could prepare the women just in case something were to happen," said Hussain, executive director of RISE (Reviving the Islamic Sisterhood for Empowerment.).
 
In Iraq, two female teens were doused with boiling water and shot to death by their father, all because he suspected they were having sex.
Well, as it turned out this Iraqi Sherlock bin Laden was wrong. A medical examination that was conducted before they were buried showed that they were still both virgins.
Oh, well. Mistakes happen.
 
     The Saturday class at Al-Amal School class was taught by Brooklyn Park police Sgt. Toni Weinbeck,
 
An eloping. Saira Bano, 19, was shot to death by her brother. Apparently, he didn't care for the fact that she had married a non-Muslim.
In the Muslim countries, when you say, "till death do you part," it means "till death do you part."
Especially if you're a woman.
 
who demonstrated basic self-defense strategies like punching, elbowing and kicking.
 
Shawbo Abdul-Razaq, 20, who was shot to death by her father for talking on the phone to someone who may or may not have been a boy.
The father couldn't say for sure.
 
She described simple safety precautions like being aware of your surroundings and staying in well-lit areas.
 
In Libya, three girls--15, 17, and 18--had their throats slit by their father because they brought dishonor to their family by being raped by Gaddafi loyalists.
Somehow, I get the idea that in Muslim countries they've got it backward when it comes to who's the victim and who's the guilty party when it comes to rape.
 
Many of the group of about 20 women who attended the class
 
In Pakistan, Anvushah, a 15-year-old girl, was beaten and had acid poured over her face and body by her mother and father for talking to an unknown boy.
I guess her parents must have split the torturing/murdering duties, with the father probably beating his daughter, and her mother in charge of helping him pour the acid on her.

said they have already had experiences that make them feel unsafe.
 
A video in 2012 made the rounds on the internet of a girl in Afghanistan sitting alone on a hillside, wearing a gray shawl, and patiently waiting to be executed by men with guns standing around her.
 
Hussain says she plans to organize more self-defense trainings because
 
In Egypt, 10-year-old Jessica Boulous was shot while she was leaving her Bible Study. She was murdered for being Christian.
 
so many women showed interest in the class.
 
In Pakistan when a mother and her two daughters--15 and 16--were shot to death by their stepson/stepbrother and his four friends, because of a family video that showed the two young girls enjoying the rain on the lawn in the privacy of their bungalow.
 
     Oh, sure, Max... AMERICA's the problem.


American Chimpanzee
JimDuchene.BlogSpot.com
RaisingMyFather.BlogSpot.com
@JimDuchene
 

Thursday, December 1, 2016

Rudolph the Red-Faced Reindeer

I got home from work last year and saw my little girl watching the holiday classic Rudolph, the Red-Nosed Reindeer.
     TWO days BEFORE Thanksgiving!
     I grimaced.
     I'm not saying that particular Christmas special is bad (which it is), I'm just saying the only thing worse was listening to Miley Cyrus sing Nirvana's Smells Like Teen Spirit. And the only thing worse than that is watching her dance to it. Don't believe me? Check it out for yourself on YouTube. Anyway...
     I sat down and watched it with her. Why? Because that's what Dads who love their little girls do. As my mind wandered and my eyes glazed over, once again I was reminded of that time, not so long ago, I met a brave little pig.
     I drove down to a farm on Highway 28, because I had heard farmers tended to have attractive daughters with liberal ideas about hospitality, but, instead of a daughter, this farmer had a pig. The pig was missing three of its legs, one of its two eyes, both ears, its tail, and part of its snout.
     "What happened to your pig, Farmer Brown?" I asked the old coot.
     "Well," the farmer says to me, "one night the pig wakes me and the missus up, 'cause there was a gas leak (and I'm not talkin' 'bout my missus). We barely got out of the house when all that gas exploded, creatin' a fire. 'Oh my god! The baby!' I yelled, and the pig runs into the burning house and saves the baby. From all the excitement, my missus falls to the ground. Heart attack! I don't know what to do, but the pig does. He jumps up high and lands square on her chest. Her poor ol' ticker starts right back up again, good as new. That little pig saved all our lives that night."
     "And his injuries were caused by the fire?" I asked.
     "Nah, that weren't it," Farmer Brown explained. "You see, with a pig that brave... you don't want to eat him all at once."
     I think about that pig every time I hear the Christmas song Rudolph, the Red-Nosed Reindeer. Oh, sure, the song starts out happily enough. There's Rudolph. He has a shiny nose. Big deal, right?
     Well, it is a big deal. Apparently, it's a big deal to all the other reindeers. They laugh at poor Rudolph. They call him names. They shun him. And all Rudolph wants most in the world is to be accepted by his peers and to play their stupid little reindeer games with them.
     That, and maybe some green chile from Hatch.
     And what about the adult reindeers? The ones who should know better? Did they step in and stop the bullying? No, they didn't. They weren't part of the solution, they were part of the problem.
     Even Santa Claus, who, as the fat cat in charge of the whole North Pole operation, decided to ignore the problem. If he didn't acknowledge the bullying by the reindeers--both old and young--then it didn't exist.
     Finally, a greater power interceded. No, I'm not talking about Governor Susana Martinez. I'm talking about a blizzard so huge Kim Kardashian would barely be able to hide it behind her, ahem, talent. Christmas, it seemed, would have to be cancelled.
     Santa, in probably the first kind words he ever spoke to Rudolph, finally acknowledges his "special" reindeer, and asks him to guide his sleigh that night for what is essentially a suicide mission.
     Like a Japanese kamikaze pilot from World War II, Rudolph agrees, and Christmas is saved. Santa collects his bonus, and Rudolph... well, then and only then do all the reindeers love him. You know what I think about that?
     Too little. Too late.
     In the first place, Santa lives in the north Pole. He's been doing this Christmas thing for centuries. You would think he'd have a plan B for what happens when the snow starts to fall, which is EVERY DAY. Secondly, well, there is no secondly. I just wanted to use the phrase "in the first place" to make my point seem more important than it was.
     If I were Rudolph, and Santa Claus came groveling up to me after years of neglect and abuse--POW!--right in the kisser. I would have treated him like the punching-bag he's shaped like. You can take your sleigh and your toys and all your non-glowing-nosed reindeers, fat man, and stick them where the sun don't shine! 
     The song is bad enough. Watching the TV claymation version of it is even worse. An elf is brow-beaten just because his true calling is dentistry? Those elves would rather walk around with rotten teeth and bad breath? And Santa apparently values production on the toy assembly-line over the health and welfare of his loyal workers? Where are the Teamsters when you need them? Plus, I was always bothered by the Misfit Toys. An island filled with irregular, but otherwise perfectly fine toys. Santa couldn't have handed them out to my in-laws? He preferred for them to go to waste?
     No, I've never cared for the song Rudolph, the Red-Nosed Reindeer, and I care for the TV special even less. Especially two days before Thanksgiving.
     My little girl loves it, though.
     Go figure.
 
 
American Chimpanzee
JimDuchene.BlogSpot.com
RaisingMyFather.BlogSpot.com
@JimDuchene
 
  as featured in Desert Exposure Magazine
desertexposure.com
 

Sunday, November 27, 2016

Fifty Shades of Religious Celibacy

A new priest arrived at the Vatican and was put in charge of the elderly priests who had spent their entire lives copying the Bible. He couldn't help but notices that they were copying by hand copies of the Bible that had already been copied by hand, and reasoned that this had probably gone on since the time of Christ.
      He immediately requested an audience with Pope Francis, and, when it was granted, he told the Vicar of Christ, "Forgive me, Holy Father, but copying other copies by hand allows many chances for error. How do we know we aren't copying somebody else's
mistakes?"
     
The head of the Roman Catholic Church considered what he was told, and answered, "You make a good point, my son. I will take one of these new copies down to my personal office and study it against the original document."
      And he did exactly that.

     As the hours passed, and it got late in the evening, the new priest began to worry, so he went in search of the Bishop of Rome. As he approached the entrance to the Pope's office, he heard someone crying.
     "Pontiff?" he called softly, but there was no answer. Only a weeping that grew louder the closer he got.

     Finally, as he cautiously entered the office, he found Pope Francis blubbering into his arms, both the new copy and the original ancient text scattered in front of him.
     Alarmed, the new priest cried out, "Your Holiness, what's wrong?"
     Pope Francis wiped the bitter tears from his eyes.

     "The word, " he sobbed, "is celebrate."
 
 
American Chimpanzee
JimDuchene.BlogSpot.com
RaisingMyFather.BlogSpot.com
@JimDuchene
  

Tuesday, November 1, 2016

One Dollar, One Vote

This should be an especially happy Thanksgiving for me. I plan on spending it celebrating my winning the presidency of the United States of America.
     "What do you mean?" I can hear you saying. "We haven't seen you campaigning! We haven't seen you fund raising! We haven't even seen you on the debates! And why are we using so many exclamation points!"
     Please.
     That stuff's for the 99%.
     As for paying for my historic run for office, I'm self-funding.
     "How?" you ask.
     It was easy.
     I created a green energy car manufacturing company called Fisher Automotive, a beneficiary of President Obama's green energy loan guarantee program, which subsidized my company to the snap, crackle, pop of $529 million in green stimulus money. Sadly, no one liked my balloon-powered cars, they were too ahead of their time. For every prototype sold, my company wasted $660,000 in tax dollars and private investment. Then I outsourced manufacturing to Finland, laid off my American workforce, declared bankruptcy in 2013, and diverted all the money to my presidential campaign.
     See? Easy.
      Ever since I've thrown my hat into the political ring, I've had people (mainly my in-laws) ask, "So, what are you going to do for ME?"
      Hey, I didn't enter this race to line the pockets of greedy entitlement-mongers. I find that kind of pandering disgusting. No, I entered the race to line my own pockets, a time-honored tradition going back to the Biblical days of Adam, who, when requesting a mate, was told, "That will cost you one rib."
     I'm not spilling any beans telling you our electoral process is broken. The corruption in our political system goes as far and as deep as, well, a really cool metaphor expressing distance and depth that I can't seem to think of right now.
     "How do I fix it?" Obama--the man who once saved my life in 'Nam--recently asked me. Unfortunately, I considered his question to be a conflict of interest, so I didn't answer. You see, I was interested in being paid, and he was conflicted about paying me. Now that I think about it, he still owes me three ferrets and a cat since the time we orchestrated the fall of Saigon.
     My solution would solve two problems: 1) it solves the problem of paying down our twenty-trillion dollar debt, 2) it solves the problem of getting voters to the voting booth, 3) it solves the problem of a stagnating economy, and 4) it solves the problem of voter inequality between the rich and the poor.
     "Hey! That's FOUR solutions, not two."
     No, my friends. That's a preview of the Jim Duchene presidency, where I give you MORE than what I promise.
     What am I talking about?
     I'm talking about things like naming hurricanes after gangsta rappers, not sissy names, like they give them now. Hurricane Ghostface Killah! Now, that's a name that would scare people out of their homes and into safety.
     I'm talking about inventing a machine that converts a person's personal fat into electricity to power household appliances.
     I'm talking about charging one dollar per vote. The dollar of a poor man is of equal value to the dollar of a rich man, a rich man just has more of them.
     I'm also talking about changing where we vote from the same old boring libraries and schools to topless clubs and the mall.
     Personally, I've never been to a topless club, so I don't understand the appeal of paying to watch a woman not wear a hat, but, from what I understand, there are two kinds of men in the world: those on their way to a topless club and those on their way back.
     As for the mall, what woman doesn't like to go to the mall?
     While conservative media pundits have yet to endorse me, not one has come out against me. I'm proud of that fact. I'm also proud to have chosen Pat Paulson, himself a former presidential candidate, as my running mate. Being dead, however, he's playing hard to get.
     "Are you running as a Republican or a Democrat?"
     No, I'm running as an Only Party candidate. In fact, I've legally changed my name to "Vote Here" for the election. If there's one thing I've learned, it's all in the name. that's why I've named all my children, even the illegitimate ones, after the profession I want them to be, rather than common first names.
     Doctor Duchene.
     Attorney Duchene.
     Proctologist Duchene.
     See what I mean?
     The only thing Democrats and Republicans have ever gotten right is calling themselves a Party. Everybody loves a party.
     "What about the economy?"
     The economy is like peanut butter. If you feed it to a horse, he'll look like he's talking.
     "What? That doesn't even make sense!"
     THAT'S what I'm talking about! The economy doesn't make sense! It affects everybody, regardless of race, gender, or botulism.
     Not only do I want to make America great again, I'd like to take us back to the time of the Pilgrims. That's right, the Pilgrims. They had buckles on their belts, they had buckles on their shoes, they had buckles on their livestock. Puritans were so well off they could even afford to put buckles on their hats.
     Now that's well-off.
     You see, America has been down for so long very few of us can even afford to wear hats any more. Those who do, wear them backwards. A sad indictment of an educational system I am proud to have never graduated from.
     God Bless America.
     And the statute of limitations.
 
 
American Chimpanzee
JimDuchene.BlogSpot.com
RaisingMyFather.BlogSpot.com
@JimDuchene
as featured in Desert Exposure Magazine
   

Sunday, October 30, 2016

Fifty Shades of Charlie Brown

Linus was heartbroken.
     He had waited the entire night in his pumpkin patch, but the Great Pumpkin never showed up. All because Linus had, in a moment of weakness, shown doubt that the Great Pumpkin would appear to him that Halloween Eve.
     "Good grief!" he cried out, when he realized his mistake. "I said 'if''. I meant, 'when' he comes."
     But it was too late. He was doomed. One little slip like that could cause the Great Pumpkin to pass you by, and it appeared that was exactly what had happened.
     "Oh, Great Pumpkin," Linus cried out into the darkness, "where are you?"

     Wait a minute...
     You don't know who the Great Pumpkin is?
     Well...
     On Halloween night, the Great Pumpkin rises out of his pumpkin patch and flies through the air with his bag of toys for all the children. However, he visits only the pumpkin patches of the little children who believe in him and rewards those very same little girls and boys for that belief.
     Yeah, Charlie Brown's little sister Sally didn't believe it either.
     "You blockhead!" she yelled at the boy she once had a crush on. "You kept me up all night waiting for the Great Pumpkin, and all that came was a beagle! I didn't get a chance to go out for tricks or treats. And it was all your fault! I'll sue! What a fool I was! I could have had candy apples and gum and cookies and money and all sorts of things. But no! I had to listen to you, you blockhead. What a fool I was. Trick or treats come only once a year, and I missed it by sitting in a pumpkin patch with a blockhead."
     She then grabbed him and shook him violently.
     "YOU OWE ME RESTITUTION!" she yelled.
     After she had stormed off, Linus looked around.
     "He should have come here," he thought to himself. "He should have come here because I have the most sincere pumpkin patch and he respects sincerity."
     Dejectedly, Linus picked up the trick-or-treating pillowcase he brought with him to carry home his surplus of Halloween goodies from the Great Pumpkin, but, before he could leave, he hesitated. There was a rustling among the pumpkin vines. Something, or someone, was lurking there.
     Linus was confused. The figure didn't look like a pumpkin at all, much less a great one. In fact, it appeared to be a clown. A fat, creepy-looking clown.
     "Are... are you the Great Pumpkin?" he asked the looming presence before him.
     "No," the clown told him, his big red lips grinning. "I'm John Wayne Gacy."
 
Happy Halloween, Everybody!
 
 
American Chimpanzee
JimDuchene.BlogSpot.com
RaisingMyFather.BlogSpot.com
@JimDuchene
 

Thursday, October 27, 2016

Hillary Clinton's Dream (Part Two)

Birkenstock Sandals in the Sand
by Hillary Rodham Clinton
 
One night I had a dream.
     I dreamt I was walking along the beach and God was tagging along.
     Across the sky flashed scenes from my life. For each scene I noticed there were two sets of footprints in the sand. One belonging to me and the other to the Lord.
    When the last scene of my life flashed before me, I looked back at the footprints. I couldn't help but noticed that a lot of the time there was only one set of footprints. Sad to say, but this was at the lowest and saddest times of my life, like when Bill would leave to judge the Miss Arkansas pageant or train the interns without me.
    This really chapped my hide, so I confronted God about it.

     "Lord," I told Him, "You promised me that once I decided to follow You, You'd never leave my side, but I've noticed that during the hardest times in my life there is only one set of footprints. Why, when I needed you most, do Your footprints just seem to sneak out the back door?"
     "Um..." God said, hemming and hawing and shuffling on His feet uncomfortably, "those are Bill's."
   
 
American Chimpanzee
JimDuchene.BlogSpot.com
RaisingMyFather.BlogSpot.com
@JimDuchene
 

Wednesday, October 26, 2016

Donald Trump's Other Favorite Pick-Up Lines

1) "My heart? I had that surgically removed years ago."
 
2) "Come with me outside so I can show you my tazer."
 
3) "What are you, a lesbian? You are? That's okay. My penis is so small it will be like you're making love to a woman anyway.
 
4) "One thing I would never do is force myself on somebody. That's what Rohypnol is for."
 
5) "You must be some kind of radiation, because I'm getting an abnormal growth in my pants."
 

6) "Me? No, I wouldn't hurt a fly. My bodyguards on the other hand..."
 
7) "But enough about me... Hey! Wake up!"
 
8) "You know, my mother never loved me."
 
9) "I hate women. You seem okay, though."
 
10) "You've heard of Clinton's Don't Ask/Don't Tell? Let me tell you about Donald Trump's Don't Ask/Don't Tell/And I Won't Have To Shoot You In The Head."
 
 
American Chimpanzee
JimDuchene.BlogSpot.com
RaisingMyFather.BlogSpot.com
@JimDuchene
 

Tuesday, October 25, 2016

Donald Trump's Favorite Pick-Up Lines

1) "You know what would look good on you? ME!"
  
2) "Sure that pick-up line is old, but so am I."
 

3) "Scream all you want. I've had this room sound-proofed."
 
4) "It would cost a lot to make you 'disappear,' but it would be worth it."
 
5) "I'm going to f*ck you in ways you can never imagine. Turn me down, and I'll start with your credit."
 
6) "It's okay that you're a pig. I'll be thinking about Sarah Palin anyway."
 
7)  "Don't worry about my bodyguards. They get paid not to see."

 
8) "Yeah, well, I'M Donald Trump! How about YOU buy ME a drink?"
 

9) "You ever seen a solid-gold dildo?"
 

10) "Your mouth says 'no,' but your lips say 'I want a lollipop.'"

 
 
American Chimpanzee
JimDuchene.BlogSpot.com
RaisingMyFather.BlogSpot.com
@JimDuchene
  

Monday, October 24, 2016

Fifty Shades of Vladimir Putin

It was an hour before dawn in the Grand Kremlin Palace in Moscow, the official residence of the Russian President. On his computer in his private office, while others were still deep in sleep, dreaming their communist dreams of stabbing each other in the back, Vladimir Putin was hard at work hacking into Hillary Clinton's campaign email account, much like he did with her unsecured private server when she was Secretary of State.
     "So, Comrade," the sultry voice of Anastasia Steelinski caressed the darkness, "it is true, you are rigging the American presidential election. I find that... incredibly sexy."
     "Madam Comrade," Putin said, coiled and ready to strike. You could say his blood turned cold, but that would be redundant.
     Then he got up from his chair and moved toward her, his arms and legs slithering through the shadows, like a snake discovering an unguarded clutch of eggs. When he stopped, he was so close to her their bodies were almost touching.
     "It is unfortunate that you are up so late at night," he continued. "You were not supposed to see this."
     Ana pressed her soft, warm body against that of the Russian President's. She looked teasingly into his reptilian eyes, her soft full lips pouting seductively.
     "Why, Vladimir," she purred, rubbing up against him, "is that a gun in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?"
     BANG!
     Sadly, it was a gun.

 
 
American Chimpanzee
JimDuchene.Blog.Spot.com
RaisingMyFather.BlogSpot.com
@JimDuchene
  

Thursday, October 20, 2016

Hillary Clinton's Dream (Part One)

Doc Martens in the Sand
 
One night Hillary Clinton had a dream.
     She dreamt she was walking along the beach with God.
     Across the sky flashed scenes from her life. For each scene she noticed two sets of footprints in the sand. One belonging to her and the other to the Lord.
    When the last scene of Hillary Clinton's life flashed before her, she looked back at the footprints. She noticed that many times along the path of her life there was only one set of footprints. She also noticed that this was at the lowest and saddest times of her life, like when she first heard the news about Monica Lewinski.
    This really bothered her and she questioned God about it.

     "Lord," she said, "You promised me that once I decided to follow You, You'd never leave me, but I have noticed that during the hardest times in my life there is only one set of footprints. I don't understand why, when I needed you most, you would leave me. Why don't you like me, God? What have I done?"
    "Aw, you're okay, Hillary," the Lord replied, "but your husband!"

   
 
American Chimpanzee
JimDuchene.BlogSpot.com
RaisingMyFather.BlogSpot.com
@JimDuchene
 

Wednesday, October 19, 2016

Still More Trump Tips

10) Pretend you're listening to her. She'll like that.

9) Go ahead and lie to her. A woman might not believe everything you say, but you won't know until you try.

8) Don't worry, crying is good for her.

7) If you've seen the movie Misery, then you know how to make her stay at home where she belongs.
 
6) Sincerity? Yeah, I can fake that.
 
5) Cattle prods make a terrific deal closer.
 
4) Don't worry about her family. They can be bought.
 
3) Making her dress like your mother is hot.
 
2) Making Sarah Palin dress like your mother is even hotter!
 
1) I've checked with my lawyers. If I win, I CAN give myself a presidential pardon.
 
 
American Chimpanzee
JimDuchene.BlogSpot.com
RaisingMyFather.BlogSpot.com
@JimDuchene
  

Tuesday, October 18, 2016

Even MORE Trump Tips

10) Repeat after me: "It's her word against MINE."

9) Always use a condom. No evidence, no case.

8) If you can't buy HER witnesses, buy your own.

7) Mmm... Sarah Palin.

6) I can do whatever I want, I'm rich.

5) Don't let her touch your hair.

4) I said, NOT THE HAIR!

3) These aren't the droids your looking for. Move along.

2) Try not to salivate so much when you kiss her. Take it from me, she won't like that.

1) When you take a DNA test, always take someone else's DNA.
 
 
American Chimpanzee
JimDuchene.BlogSpot.com
RaisingMyFather.BlogSpot.com
@JimDuchene
  

Friday, October 14, 2016

More Trump Tips

10) Personally, I've found women like to affectionately be called "Hey, you" or "What's your name again?".

9) Financially ruining her parents will make her think twice about leaving you, just as...
 
8) Ruining her reputation is sure to make her come crawling back.
 
7) I've never used Viagra. I don't even know what that is.

6) Don't pay your contract workers. It shows her you're just one of the guys.

5) In a gang-bang, always insist on going first.

4) First you pay her to OPEN her mouth, then you pay her to keep her mouth CLOSED.

3) When you're done having your filthy way with her, respectfully say, "You can let yourself out."

2) What if she doesn't want to leave? Tell me, what are you paying your security for?

1) Remember, bleach will get out those stubborn blood stains.
 
 
American Chimpanzee 
JimDuchene.BlogSpot.com
RaisingMyFather.BlogSpot.com
@JimDuchene
 

Thursday, October 13, 2016

Donald Trump's Top Ten Dating Tips

10) Grab them by the p*ssy. They like that.

9) "No" means yes.

8) Drop an "incentive" into their drink when they're not looking. What they don't know won't hurt them.

7) If they have small children, a veiled threat works wonders.

6) Pornography always gets them in the mood.

5) Interrupt them constantly.

4) Be sure to point out how abnormally large your fingers are, especially when they're not.

3) If she wants to go Downtown, tell her she has to go "downtown" first.

2) Don't skimp on your hidden recording equipment.

1) Need more advice? Talk to Bill Cosby.
 
 
  American Chimpanzee
JimDuchene.BlogSpot.com
RaisingMyFather.BlogSpot.com
@JimDuchene
 

Sunday, October 9, 2016

Donald Trump's Dream

Gucci Loafers in the Sand
by Donald J. Trump
 
One night, I had a dream.
     I dreamt I was walking along a very beautiful beach with the Lord. As we walked, scenes from my wonderful life flashed across the sky. I couldn't help but notice that for each scene there were two sets of footprints in the sand.
     One belonging to me and the other to God.
     When the last scene flashed before my eyes, I looked back at the footprints. That's when I saw that many times along the path of my life there was only one set of footprints. I also noticed that this happened at the lowest and saddest times of my life, like when I found out that it was wrong to date my daughter.
     This really bothered me, so I decided to ask Him about it.
     "God," I told Him, "I've had a pretty terrific life, but I've got to tell You, You've disappointed me. Rosie O'Donnell I can understand, but not You. You promised me that if I accepted You into my life, You would always walk by my side, but it seems to me that You haven't lived up to Your end of the deal. Even You can see that during the hardest times in my life there is only one set of footprints. Why would You, when I needed You most,  leave me?"
     And God replied, "Because, Donald... you're such a smuck!"
 
 
  American Chimpanzee
JimDuchene.blogspot.com
RaisingMyFather.blogspot.com
@JimDuchene
 

Thursday, October 6, 2016

The Folly of Kim Jong-un

Well, it's official.
     I'm banned from North Korea.
     In a stunning move that shook the world, Kim Jong-un, North Korea's oval oppressor, has (I'm not kidding) outlawed sarcasm in his country. His main paranoia being that those who agree with or praise him are doing so ironically. "This is all America's fault," has now come to mean, "Nanny, nanny boo-boo."
      "I am repealing the First Amendment to our constitution," he announced.
     "That's the United States," Kim Jeng-a, his older brother, dared to correct him, and was then immediately riddled with bullets.
     "An obvious suicide," Kim commented, stepping over him on his way to a doughnut.
     In a way, I blame myself. Not many people know this, but Kim Jong-un and I went to the same prestigious school for dictators in Switzerland in the late 90s together, the Liebefeld Steinholzli School & Fish Market. It was located in Koniz, near Bern. I went there on a dancing scholarship.
     He really wasn't part of the group I hung out with, but somehow he always managed to find out where we were and would show up uninvited. It wasn't until later that we discovered he had tracking devices implanted in us. I'd rather not say where.
     From what I remember, he was good at math, but did poorly in his other classes, like Roller Skate Dancing and Advanced Pimple Popping 101. Still, we tried to make him feel like he was one of the gang.
     "Kim," I used to trash-talk him, "you're so short you could work as a bouncer at a roach motel."
      "Ah, good one, Mister Jim," Kim would exclaim, and then laugh a fraction of a second too long.
     He was socially awkward, which, I guess, is better than being awkwardly social. Normal social cues were just out of his reach, so, as a result, he would either laugh too long or too loud or at inappropriate times.
     "My dog just died."
     "Ha, ha, ha! Good one, Mister Jim."
     But all that is neither here nor there. Well, it might be here, but it's definitely not there. Unless there means here, in which case it would be both here AND there.
     What happened is that when Kim Jong-un had his father assassinated, er... I mean, when his father died of natural causes and Kim became North Korea's latest tyrant du jour, he quickly got sick and tired of all the backhanded compliments he kept receiving from the other despots of the world. Russian president Vladimir Putin was especially fond of "Putin" it to the young dictator.
     "Comrade, you are so smart it only takes you three hours to watch 60 Minutes."
      Chinese president, Sum Ting Wong, couldn't help but join in on the fun.
     "Yes, and you are very handsome as well. You are so handsome that you don't have to worry about birth control. Your face does just fine by itself."
      Impotent around the other mocking world leaders, Kim had no choice but to take it out on his loyal subjects, the only ones he had the power to bully.
     "Obviously, they have too good a life eating tree bark and drinking grass soup that they have become audacious and disrespectful," Kim told the closest of his advisors whom he hadn't ordered to be executed yet. Everywhere he went, his loving chattel showered him with compliments, but he was suspicious of them all.
     "Surely, behind their hungry smiles and sunken eyes, they must be hiding their true sarcastic feelings."
     "That's a nice haircut, Chairman."
     "Have him shot."
     "You look so thin, Supreme Leader."
     "He thinks I'm fat. Boil him in oil."
     "Hot oil, your excellency?"
     "Of course I mean hot oil! What other kind of oil can a person be boiled in? And, when you're done, feed yourself to the pigs for your stupidity."
     Even the elderly women, who had always found him so cute as a young child they couldn't help but pinch his chubby little cheeks, weren't above suspicion.
     "May I kiss your hand, Devine One?"
      "Of course you may." To his bodyguard he said: "Feed this wanton woman to the pigs, but do it gently. She IS my grandmother, after all."
     His oldest brother, the wise Kim Djang-o (the "D" is silent), who had been educated in America, spoke to him.
     "Kim?"
     "Yes, Kim?"
     "It is folly that you take away the people's capacity for sarcasm, and it will be your undoing. Listen to me, my brother, for I wish to save you from the sad fate our Muslim friends call the Gaddafi Shuffle. We are the poorest country on this humble planet, and yet you spend what money we have and what money we receive from other, greater countries on nuclear missiles that don't work and an Army we don't need. You can starve our people of food and their bodies may still work, but, if you starve their minds, they will wither away and die. Take care, lest they rise up as one, a mighty dragon seeking retribution. To think, to speak, to joke, to laugh... these are all gifts from the Gods, even sarcasm. They should be honored, not outlawed,"
      Kim Jong-un sat there, mainly because he was too heavy to stand. After a thoughtful pause, he spoke.
      "You have given me much to think about, my brother."
     To his bodyguard he said: "Are the pigs still hungry?"
 
 
American Chimpanzee
JimDuchene.BlogSpot.com
RaisingMyFather.BlogSpot.com
@JimDuchene
as featured in Desert Exposure Magazine