The Week In Tweets: Special A Herpes-Free Christmas Edition!

Fake News Reports!
  

Buckingham Palace Reports That Prince Philip, The Duke Of Edinburgh, Has Been Admitted To The Hospital Over A "Pre-Existing" Condition!

That's okay, Philip, herpes is nothing to be embarrassed about.

  

Adam Driver Walked Out Of An NPR Interview When Terry Gross Played A Clip Of Him In His Latest Movie!

"I don't like to look at myself," the Star Wars actor explained.

Now you know how the rest of us feel.
  
Aging Thespian Robert De Niro Says President Trump Should Get Hit In The Face With A Bag Of Excrement "Because He Needs To Be Humiliated."
Getting old is no fun, kids.
  
Miley Cyrus Shares A Touching Holiday Message For Her Fans Who Are Feeling Lonely This Festive Season!
"I'LL have sex with you. The line starts behind the dumpster."
  
Christmas Mass Has Been Cancelled At Notre Dame de Paris For The First And Only Time Since 1803!
"It's not because of the fire that burnt down the cathedral," spokespriest Father Guido Sarducci explained. "It's just that no one goes to mass any more."
  
England's Queen Elizabeth To Acknowledge A "Bumpy" 2019 In Her Special Christmas Message To Her Loyal Subjects!
Before she starts, can someone please remove any sharp objects within her reach?
  
The Head Of The Catholic Church Lead Midnight Mass On Christmas Eve At Saint Peter's Basilica In The Vatican!
"Notre Dame's a joke," he spat derisively when he was done.
  
'Twas the night before Christmas
Nancy Pelosi was soused
Her impeachment went nowhere
And still stuck in the house
  
Is Die Hard A Christmas Movie?
No one cares.
  
Six Word Horror Story:
Santa descended the chimney.
In pieces.
  
I re-gifted my mother-in-law the Christmas gift she got me last year.
She gave me nothing and that's what I gave her back.

  
  

American Chimpanzee

JimDuchene.BlogSpot.com

RaisingMyFather.BlogSpot.com

@JimDuchene

  

The Week In Tweets: Special Impeachable Me Edition!

Donald Trump Is So Smart

  

...no one's ever had to tell him the saying "If at first you don't succeed..."!

  

...he can lead a horse to water AND make it drink!

  

...he never says "Who's your daddy?"
He KNOWS the answer.

  

...he's never had to read a book!

He only has to hold the book in his John Henry-sized hands to absorb its contents.

  

...speaking of books, he CAN judge a book by its cover!

  

...he once stared ignorance in the face, and ignorance backed down!

  

...when he goes to Las Vegas he doesn't count cards, he counts his winnings!

  

...when you look up the word "smart" in the dictionary you'll find a photograph of Albert Einstein...
...POINTING at a picture of Donald Trump!

  

...he's not politically correct!

He's just correct.

  

...when Descartes said "I think, therefore I am," he meant "I think, therefore I am...
...not as smart as Trump"!

  

  

American Chimpanzee

JimDuchene.BlogSpot.com

RaisingMyFather.BlogSpot.com

@JimDuchene

  

*a tip of the hat to Ian Spector*

  

The Week In Tweets: Special Stable Genius Edition!

Donald Trump Is So Smart

  

...he's counted from one to infinity SEVENTEEN times!

  

...he can beat you in a game of Connect Four with his first move!

  

...he's got only one pair of chromosomes and they're BOTH smarter than you are!

  

...when he left college his brain stayed behind to get an MBA!

  

...when he leaves office America will no longer be a democracy, it will be a Trumpocracy!

  

...if he had been alive two thousand years ago, Baby Jesus wouldn't have needed THREE Wisemen!

  

...scientists have concluded that the energy emitted by a Black Hole is roughly one-tenth of his brain power!

  

...he can play Russian roulette with a loaded gun and win!

  

...he doesn't have to play God!

Playing is for children.

  

...that you can fool so e of the people all of the time and all of the people some of the time but you can never fool Donald Trump!

  

  

American Chimpanzee

JimDuchene.BlogSpot.com

RaisingMyFather.BlogSpot.com

@JimDuchene

  

*a tip of the hat to Ian Spector*

  

The Week In Tweets: Special Lack-Of-Ability Edition!

In any conversation with my boss, he goes blah, blah, blah about nothing I care about, and, when he's done, I just agree.

  

Taking a nap.

Or, as I like to call it, pressing life's "Pause" button.

  

I only ask you about your day so I can tell you about mine.
  
There are NO limits to what you can do.
Lack of ability?
That'll stop you every time.
  
I set up a camera in my house to see if my maid was stealing from me.
You know what?
She STOLE it!

  
Fake News Report!
Did you know it was Ozzy Osbourne's birthday yesterday?
Neither did Ozzy Osbourne.
  
This Just In!
Paul McCartney & Rihanna Run Into Each Other While On A Plane!
Sadly, neither one knew who the other one was.
  
Fake News Reports!
Richard E. Grant Hefts A Heaping Helping Of Hurrahs On The New Star Wars Movie!
That would mean more if I knew who Richard E. Grant was.
  
Fake News Reports!
Penguin Random House, the publisher of Barack & Michelle Obama, pledge to donate 300,000 children's books in addition to the one million they've already given.
Why not donate some money?
"The Obama's took it all," a spokesman admitted.
  
My wife says I' no worse than any other husband.
Hmm... I wonder just how many OTHER husbands she's had.

  

American Chimpanzee

JimDuchene.BlogSpot.com

RaisingMyFather.BlogSpot.com

@JimDuchene

  

Hermanos

as featured in Desert Exposure Magazine

    

“Only love can break your heart.”

--Neil Young

  

I had bad news for my father

     His younger brother, whom I wrote about back in 2015, had lost his battle with cancer.

     I went into my father’s bedroom. He was awake, just looking at the ceiling.

     “Aren’t you going to get out of bed?” I asked.

     “Can’t,” he said. “I’m dead.”

     “What makes you think you’re dead?”

     “Because I woke up and nothing hurts.”

     That reminded me of how I first heard my uncle was sick. I was sitting by my father in the den, me on my laptop and him watching TV.

     “What're you doing?” he wanted to know.

     "Research,” I told him. “On Google."

     "What's a google?"

     "Well,” I explained, “Google is a search engine. You ask it a question, and it gives you the answer."

     "I don't believe it."

     "It's true."

     "Any question?"

     "Any question," I assured him.

     "You know, my brother’s sick,” he told me.

     “He is?” I yelped. That was news to me.

     “Yeah,” my father replied. “Ask Google how he is."

     Later, when my uncle ended up in the hospital, I offered to take my father to see him.

     "What for?" my father said. "He's sick, not dead."

     "He's not doing well," I told him.

     “You think he's not doing well," my father complained. "What about me? I haven't gone to the bathroom in a week."

     My father finally relented when my wife interceded.

     "You never know," she wisely nagged.

     "All I know is my laxative’s not working," my father grumbled.

     When we got to the hospital, my uncle was asleep, so my father sat in the chair next to him and began helping himself to some peanuts that were there. My uncle woke up just as my father finished the entire bowl.

     "Sorry, hermano,” my father laughed, “but I ate all your peanuts."

     "That's okay," his brother answered. "I don't like them once I've sucked all the chocolate off."

     My uncle was happy to see us, but he looked frail. There was a plate of uneaten food nearby. I’m surprised my father didn’t help himself to that.

     "How are you feeling?" my father asked, concern in his voice.

     "Not too good," his baby brother admitted, lifting a weak hand.

     "You think you don't feel good," my father told him, "I haven't been able to go to the bathroom for a week."

     "At least I don't have that problem," my uncle perked up. "I'm regular, like clockwork. Every morning, at exactly 8am, I empty my bowels."

     "Yeah," my father joked, "but you don't get out of bed until 10."

     Then my father reached over, took his brother’s wrist, and pretended to take his pulse.

     "Either you're dead," he told him, "or my watch has stopped."

     We had a good laugh over that one because we were all big Groucho Marx fans. The Marx Brothers made some of the only movies my father and I have been able to bond over.

     Sadly, my uncle didn’t stay cheered for long.

     "It's not good news," he told us.

     "What is it?" my father asked, but he already knew.

     "Cancer," my uncle said.

     My father nodded his head in sympathy.

     "Do you think there’s anything I can do?" my uncle asked.

     "Well," my father said, "I could take you to TRC for some therapeutic mud baths."

      The town of Truth Or Consequences is known for its natural mineral springs. A lot of people go there for a dip in its hot, healing waters.

     "Do you think that would help?" my uncle asked.

     "Probably not," my father admitted, "but it'll get you used to lying in the dirt."

     My father must have regretted his bad joke, because he quickly said, "You know, I'm pretty sick myself."

     That was news to me. I go with him to all of his doctor appointments and he’s always given a clean bill of health. For his age, that is.

     "You're not sick," I corrected him.

     "Yes, I am," he corrected me back.

     "No, you're not."

     “Yes, I am.”

     My poor uncle laid there looking at us arguing like two kindergarteners. His head swiveling back and forth as if he were watching a ping-pong tournament.

     "Well, I'd better be sick," my father growled, “because I'd hate to be well and feel this crappy."

     That’s when my uncle’s oncologist came in.

     “How am I doing, doc?” my uncle asked.

     "You'll live to make many more payments to me," his doctor said.

     Everybody's a comedian.

     When the oncologist left, a male nurse came in to take some blood. My uncle's eyes grew wide at the sight of the syringe.

     "Hey!" he yelped. "What's this all about?"

     "Don’t tell me you’re afraid of a little prick," my father teased his brother, referring to the procedure.

     "Not him,” my uncle snorted, misunderstanding. “The NEEDLE!”

     Meanwhile, in the present, my wife and I were wondering how we were going to break the bad news to my father when he finally joined us in the kitchen.

     “Don’t bother,” he lamented. “I already know.”

     I don’t know how he knew, but he did.

     My father is not one to cry, but I could see his eyes were red.

     "Why do people have to die and ruin my day?" he said.

  

George Duchene

March 1, 1932 - October 10, 2019

georgeduchene.com

  

Getting Old Is Hard To Do

sing to the tune of Neil Sedaka's Breaking Up Is Hard To Do

Can’t doo-doo

Ow owie ouch ow ow

Grumble grumble ow owie ouch ow ow

Grumble grumble ow owie ouch ow ow

Getting old is hard to do

  

It takes so long for me to pee

I start at two and I end at three

Forget to zip when I'm through

'Cause getting old is hard to do

  

Transgendered men, it hurts to think

How'd it feel chopping off my dink

Either way, my sex life's through

'Cause getting old is hard to do

  

They say that getting old is hard to do

Feet hurt bad

My hair's thinning, too

Limp dick that will only bend

If I weren't so old I could be filling my wife's hole again

  

I beg of you, just let me die

When I bend my knees I start to cry

My insides all turning to goo

'Cause getting old is hard to do

  

They say that getting old is hard to do

Eyesight's gone

My hearing is, too

Will this constipation end?

Instead of empty growls I should be emptying out my bowels again

  

I beg of you to put me down

Leave me in the bath so I can drown

My life was great, but now it's poo

'Cause getting old is hard to do

  

Ow owie ouch ow ow

Grumble grumble ow owie ouch ow ow

Grumble grumble ow owie ouch ow ow

Grumble grumble ow owie ouch ow ow

Grumble grumble ow owie ouch ow ow

  

  

American Chimpanzee

JimDuchene.BlogSpot.com

RaisingMyFather.BlogSpot.com

@JimDuchene

   

"Trust Us"

“He’s ...GUILTY!”
    “Guilty of what?”
    “Oh, he’s guilty all right.”
    “Yes, but guilty of what?”
    “Guilty of those things he did.”
    “What things?”
    “Illegal things.”
    “What illegal things did he do?”
    “The things he’s guilty of.”
    “But WHAT things are he guilty of?”
    “Those things he did that we can’t tell you about. Those things that we can’t charge him with. And we have the evidence. Oh, trust us, we have the evidence.”
    “What evidence?”
    “The evidence we have.”
    “The evidence we can’t see?”
    “Yes, THAT evidence. Important evidence.”
    “So important that you can’t show it to us?”
    “Yes. TREASONOUS evidence.”
    “So treasonous that you’ll wait until after his second term before you’ll charge him with it?”
    “That’s right. And his SON, too.”
    “His son? What did his son do?”
    “You don't know what his son did?”
    “No.”
    “Well, I certainly can’t tell you. But you’ll find out. Oh, you’ll find out.”
    “In five years.”
    “Maybe five. Maybe ten. You’ll see. You’ll see.”
  
  

American Chimpanzee

JimDuchene.BlogSpot.com

RaisingMyFather.BlogSpot.com

@JimDuchene

  

Six. Word. Horror. Story.

Smiling, the clown locked the door.
  
Never said I was a woman.
  
Grandpa was tough... and tasted awful.
  
Yes, Virginia, there IS a Pennywise.
  
For sale. Baby shoes. Don't ask.
  
Halloween.
Look at all those treats.
  
I have my father's eyes.
Tasty.
  
I'm lost.
Who's that behind me?
  
Sex. Sex. Sex. Married. No sex.
  
Did I mention?
I have AIDS.
  
This meat tastes funny.
Where's grandma?
  
Is THAT a lump I feel?
  
The Secret Service read your tweets.
  
And that man was Jeffrey Dahmer.

Why do these dates have legs?
  
But mommy SAID she'd be back!
  
"I thought you were dead?"
"I am."
  
"I'm dead? Sweet Jesus!"
"Guess again."
  
Who left the black door open?
  
Is THAT a gun he's carrying?
  
Turns out, it WAS a gun.
  
Turns out, it WASN'T a nightmare.
  
For sale.
Chainsaw.
Only used once.
  
Yay! The weekend!
*blink*
Aieee! Monday!
  
Finally, he could pass for human.
  
"We should break up."
"I'm pregnant."
  
John Lennon to Paul, George, & Ringo:
"Me and Yoko got married, mates!"
  
"Is that a gun?"
BANG!
"Yes."
  
The starving dogs began to feast.
  
The setting sun never rose again.
  
My head hurt... and then exploded.
  
I want to marry your daughter.
  
The zombie ate my eyes first.
  
The morgue's dead began to rise.
  
Holy crap... Fox News was RIGHT!
  
Bloodstains are hard to hide.
  
My head hurt... and then exploded.
  
"Clown for hire"
--John Wayne Gacy
  
Trick-or-treaters... so darn tasty.
  
Don't worry. I'm a friendly clown.
  
You're lost? Gee, that's too bad.
  
Are your parents home? No? Good.
  
Trump Wins Re-Election By A LANDSLIDE!
  
Democrats WIN The 2020 Presidential Election!
  
...contents censored by the Chinese government...

  

  

American Chimpanzee

JimDuchene.BlogSpot.com

RaisingMyFather.BlogSpot.com

@JimDuchene

  

The Case of the Missing Keys

as featured in Desert Exposure Magazine

 
My elderly father, who lives with my wife and I, has his own set of keys to our house, so he comes and goes on his walks as he pleases. I used to try to look out for him, but no matter what I suggested, he’d do the opposite.

     "Pop," I'd tell him, "It's hot. Why don't you wait until it cools off?"

     "It's not hot," my father would say on his way out. On his way back in, he'd say, "Man, was it hot. I should have waited until it cooled off."

     "Pop, it’s cold."

     "Pop, it's raining."

     "Pop, it's getting dark."

     I retired from a job I really enjoyed to become a weatherman for my father.

     On this particular day, my father gets home feeling good. So good, in fact, that he decides to go on an afternoon walk. The problem is, he can't find his keys.

     He walks into the kitchen and makes his way to the den, searching here and there, hither and yon, Siegfried and Roy. I’m watching him over the top of my newspaper. He's picking up pillows. He’s putting them back down. He's looking in front of things. He’s looking behind. On top of tables. And underneath.

     I pick up my coffee and take a sip. Pretending not to, he spies in my direction from the corner of his eyes. I take another sip. I'm not ignoring my father. It's just better to wait him out. That way he's more open to suggestions. Not much, mind you, but a little.

     I hear him mumble something about keys. Mumbling just loud enough for me to hear. He wants me to ask what he's doing. Instead, I continue reading. Finally, after ten minutes of what Mick Jagger can’t get--i.e. satisfaction--he goes back to his room. Thirty minutes after that, he walks back to the kitchen and tells me someone went into his room and took his keys.

     "Someone took your keys?"

     "Someone took my keys."

     No one goes into his room. Not even his dog.

     I don't want to ask any questions, because, to tell the truth, I just want to be left alone. Problems always come up when I'm trying to enjoy a good cup of coffee. Can't they come up after I'm done?

     Again he tells me someone has been in his room.

     "Who, pop?" I ask him.

     "What?"

     "Who went into your room?"

     This stops him for a moment.

     He pauses to think.

     And then he thinks a little more.

     After enough time goes by, I say, "Nobody goes into your room."

     "But my keys are missing."

     "Why do you think somebody took your keys?"

     "Because I can't find them," he tells me. "I always put them in the same spot, and they're not there."

     He insists someone’s been in his room.

     "Nobody goes into your room."

     "Somebody had to go into my room, because my keys are missing."

     "Well," I say, taking a different tact, "is there anything else missing from your room?"

     "I haven't looked for anything else."

     "The TV is still there, isn't it?"

     "Maybe," he says, carefully.

     "I've been here all morning. You have, too, in fact. I haven't seen anybody go into your room but you."

     "If someone wants to steal my keys, of course you’re not going to see them."

     His logic would impress Mr. Spock. 

     "Pop, nobody's been in your room."

     "Then why are my keys missing?"

     Just before my brain explodes, my wife joins us. When I tell her my father's keys are missing, she asks a very obvious question. So obvious, in fact, I'm ashamed to admit I didn't think of it myself.

     "Did you check the pants you wore on your walk this morning?" she says.

     My father is stunned.

     "Of course I checked them," he tells her, his eyes bugging out at the audacity of her question. "They're not there."

     "Are you sure?"

     It would seem that my wife is a very brave woman.

     "Somebody took them," he says, stubbornly.

     "Who do you think took your keys?"

     My father's ready with an answer this time.

     "The maid," he answers. "She took my keys."

     My wife doesn't want to add to his confusion. My father used his keys this morning. The last time our maid was here was four days ago.

     "Can I go into your room, dad, and look around?" my wife asks him.

     "What for?" my father snorts, his nostrils beginning to flare.

     To make a long story short, he agrees. My wife walks off with my father in the direction of his guesthouse. I'm still in the kitchen drinking my now cold cup of coffee.

     No sooner do they walk out than they walk back in, my wife giving me The Look. She makes it her own by raising one eyebrow. Nice trick, if you can do it. Apparently, I’m the only one with normal eyes.

     My father follows behind her laughing and shaking his head.

     "Hee-hee," he admits, smacking his lips nervously. "We found them."

     "Where were they?"

     I was honestly curious.

     "Uh, yeaaah…” he says, avoiding my wife’s eyes, “they were in the pants I wore this morning."

     My wife later told me that she went straight to his pants, which were crumpled on the floor, reached into the pocket...

"I’ve already told you, they're not there."

...and pulled out his missing keys.

     All's well that ends well, so I’m told.

     I can always reheat my coffee in the microwave.

     My wife has the Miss Marple-like satisfaction of a quick solution to the crime.

     And my father has his keys.

     "But I still don’t trust that maid," he jabs on his way out.

  

Find what you don’t even know you’re missing at JimDuchene.BlogSpot.com, RaisingMyFather.BlogSpot.com, or @JimDuchene.