Here are some random thoughts for the weekend. You think about them and then come Monday, write me and say, “OK, I've thought about it, and I still don't get it. These are jokes?"
1. Is it my imagination or does the new vacuum-sealed Star Jones look an awful lot like a Skeksy from “The Dark Crystal”?
2. If I were mayor of New York, I would replace the city’s subways with a series of log flumes, under the theory that you can’t mug someone if you’re having too much fun.
3. I've learned that I am a moron, armed with a mouth.
4. Is there any family more benighted than that of Sir Thomas Crapper, not so much inventor of the commode but it’s chief promoter? One day you have a name no more distinguishable than that of the Smiths or Jones’ down the street. And then, the next, daddy comes home with a pile of money and a caveat. And now every time you write a check the cashier with the hairlip can’t help but snicker when she sees you write your name.
And it goes on like that for generation after generation eating away at the fabric of the Crapper family, like some scatological Snopes trilogy.
Today’s lesson: Or at least that’s what I think about when I take a shit. How about you?
