Author: Sysadmin

Lucky 8

“Soul” by yours truly

“You’re the soul of discretion.”

“Please, I consider myself a soul of discretion, not ‘the.’ And I wish you wouldn’t call me a–hole. It is really offensive, and, you know, the best offense is a good defense. So watch out.”

“Of Age” by yours truly

“Paging Dr. Quack. Paging Dr. Quack.” “He’s speaking to Dr. Rage; he got out of  his cage.” “Dr. Rage needs to come of age.” “Yeah, gotta turn the page.” “Yes, by this stage…”

“Sleeping Around” by yours truly

Hey, who does a guy have to sleep with around here to sleep with a gal like you?

Heard at a militant lesbian protest:

“No more Mr. Bills! No more Mr. Bills!”

“Return Policy” by yours truly

“They return the compliment.”

“But you need a receipt to do that here, and they haven’t presented one. This isn’t just Cinnabon.”

“She returns the compliment.”

“Fine. She needs no receipt. Let me repeat. No receipt needed from her. I can assure you.”

“Flash” by yours truly

“Hey, C—-. I’m a repeater/reporter. Here’s a newsflash: you’re stupid and ugly. Oh, you already knew. Sorry. Now I am blue. Don’t take me away just because you think I am gay. Role the tape; C— likes rape. He should go to Russia because his brain is mush-a. LH Oswald and will soon be bald.”

“Lucky 7” by yours truly

“Mr. B—-, we’ve surmised your wife is possessive. Be careful. The genitive case is an ambiguous case, as most of us know well. What the hell?

“A Crying Shame/Fate 8” by yours truly

“My sex doll tells me I’m no dummy. Others say so, but not she.” “Where is it from?” “Well, it says, ‘Made in Thailand by Hand.’ Understand? Don’t reprimand or you’ll be canned. Scanned as in the movie Scanners and for only showing bad manners.”

“Total Solar Eclipse” by yours truly

“You’re delusional!” “Shun all! Shun all! But go to mall. Don’t appall or deflower wall (and don’t make anyone contusion-al or illusion-al). F— you all. No, not all. Think small. More fun. Just  one. Screen the sun. Pun, pun, pun. You know you owe so to work go. Don’t be a mo. Just drink your joe. Ho ho ho. And fall abbot. Do cost elle, oh.”

“Innumeracy” by yours truly

“How many of us are there on this bed?”

“I, 2, 7.”

“New in heaven.”

“But your bread won’t leaven.”

“How many on the bed?”

“None. One, two, seven!”

“One may want to get even and make seven dead.”

“Put a bullet through the head.”

“Seven is a lucky number.”

“This Land is…” by yours truly

This land is Thailand;

This land ain’t your land,

So don’t f— with us,

Unless you have luck with us,

And it’s consensual.

“Everything’s eventual.”

 

“Pun Therapy” by yours truly

“How are you today?” “Puntastic.”

“What would you like to do now?” “Pun-ch a mime.”

“How would you describe the weather?” “Pun-ishing.”

“What is your favorite music?” “Pun-k.”

“When was your last real romance?” “In pun-ever.”

“What’s your favorite visual art?” “Pun-tilism.”

“What’s your favorite type of magazine?” “Pun-ography.

“How about polygamy?” “There can be only pun.”

“What about your retirement?” “It will be okay. I have a pun-sion.”

“Where do you live?” “In a great big house. Also a pun-sion.”

“How would you describe someone who avoids striking blows?” “A pun(ch)-shun.”

“Where do we go from here?” “Not to put too fine a pun on it, but we are done.”

“In Control Here” by yours truly

“Control yourself!” “Oh, no. Not again. You are not an elf, and even if you were, you would not be mine. Maybe your wife’s. She sounds possessive. Not mine for ven diagrams are yours.  And I don’t date whores. My classmates are bores. They give me snores. And once again, the proper grammar is ‘your elf.’ You seem to be slurring your words. Have you been drinking, Mr. B—? It’s okay. You have a stressful job. Dealing with blithering idiots most of the day can’t be fun. And I’m not just talking about your colleagues, ie. s—heads. And please stop baring your teeth the way you do. There’s a rumor here you are a vampire and won’t expire. You’ve sucked too much blood (I know a thing or two about that).” “Yes, we’ve all heard.” “Okay, but stop it with the teeth. I don’t get that from Fr. B—. He seems more like a mummy. I sense a certain sancti-mummy in him, and he seems to love his sancti-mommy. That one was a real bomb-y. My Mom wants me to be a priest, but I have too much yeast down there. Please don’t stare. Oh, I don’t care, but no touchy. Grant me that much-y. Oh no, Mr. Bill is hard again because M—- is wearing a tight cardigan.” “W—, I think you’re possessed of Janus, you two-faced bastard.” “Mr. Bill! Missed her pill! Now a baby. Rhythm method maybe.”

“Hooray Caverns” by yours truly

“K—, have your heard about those caverns in western Virginia?” “You mean the Luray Caverns?” “Yes, but I prefer your Hooray Caverns. Would you let me in? What’s the admission fee? Would it be a sin? I could put my still-act-might into your still-act-tight. Mine would not be droopy. It would be quite a fight.” “Yes, my Dad knows about it, and he’d make you dead Ed.”

Update:

“Then I suppose I’ll spend a lot of time in taverns. Anyway, hooray!”

On the president-elect:

“Four more beers! Four more beers! Four more beers!  Four more beers! Four more beers! Four more beers! Four more beers! Four more bears!” “Okay, that’s a case, buddy. It’s time to go. Please get a Lyft ride. You can’t drive.”

“Mock her up! Mock her up! Mock her up!” “M—- might not approve, and you may never remove (and you can’t remove the stain). Do you have something to prove?”

“An Exchange,” by yours truly

“I like your hair.”

“Thank you.”

“Do you want a senior discount?”

“Don’t you have to be in your sixties for that?”

“I have trouble telling people’s ages.”

Shrug. “At least I’m still alive.”

(“But do you drive?” “Into you?” “Please, don’t spew.” “I know, it is gross or can be.” “Without a purpose.” “Why speak of dolphins? No one wins.” “Ask the Dolphins coach. He’s no roach.” “Okay, enough of this. I need to get back to business.”)

 

 

 

 

“Murder” by yours truly

“I will KILL you!” “I’ll kill you first. Then you’ll be driving in a herse-t. It’ll be the worst. And your car looks like a big old boat. Remember it’s ‘the motion of the ocean.’ Just ask Miss Sea.” “You haven’t heard what she said.” “She’d be better off dead. Ask Uncle F—” “Now you have to stop. You’re a total flop.” “Someone get a mop. There’s blood on floor.” “That stupid w—!” “That’s not nice. Young woman would suffice.” “She was just a girl. You make me want to hurl. I should blow your brains out.” “Well, it would take the pains out. Okay, you’re Travis Bickle; don’t be fickle.” “The John or the killer? Make up your mind.” “We should probably press rewind.” “I need a pickle or to get pickled. I may lose my mind.” “You’ve really milk-eld that one. Doesn’t really rhyme. It happens sometime.” “Pickled is our weakness.” “We could win the Preakness.” “Okay, meekness, have the earth.” “Did someone say there will be a birth?”

“Decadence” by yours truly

“She’s not a whore.” “And you’re not a bore.” “Your boring. Don’t make us snore.” “I won’t ignore. Whore. Bore. Why even explore it?” “Just ignore it.” “All these words. Sometimes they make your head want to explode.”
“Yes, don’t let it implode either.” “Neither, neither.” “Be a believer. Don’t leave her.” “Decadence makes some sense.l” “Yes, but don’t cause offense.”