Filed under: funny...
WE may be on a bizarre-yet-(hopefully) short-lived tour through the pits of hell (we plan to stop taking “crazy pills” any day now), but knowing you kids are waiting for us when we come out on the other side is the only thing that gets us through the day. Well, that and the fact new episodes of The Office and/or Scrubs will be airing any day now. (thank you, Big Studios, for finally giving those writers a reason to come back to work).
OUR bloggy break and/or that writer’s strike notwithstanding, it should be noted that, while we’ve been away (from our own blog and/or yours), we have not been idle. Or have we? Actually, we kind of have, but that’s beside the point. The point, which currently adorns the dried up Christmas wreath still hanging on our front door, is that our idleness hasn’t stopped us from landing on the bio page* of the latest Spawn of Diesel’s Evil-yet-Funny Genius. Behold:
WE know what you’re thinking: What the hell is a Clay Pigeon and why the hell should I care? That’s for us to know and you to find out. That said, trust us when we say, this sh*t is hilarious. Click on the link and all shall be revealed (that’s what she said).
*Why we were included in that bio is a mystery, for we’ve yet to dish out one stinking article deemed CP-worthy. That’s right, despite enthusiastic nods of encouragement, everything we’ve concocted thus far has been set on the “back burner”. Still, in the absence of the aforementioned crazy pills, we expect to serve up a steaming plate of “funny” any day.
~the blogger formerly known as “snuppy”
The writer’s strike ended before it began on HUMOR-BLOGS.COM.
Filed under: Lampsha Spins
It’s only fitting that since TheSnark started out as a communal venture, so it should end – at least for my last Spin here. Today’s artist has become one of our contributors in TheSnark fairly recently, but is about as affable and fun a guy as roams the Blogosphere. I’ve been trying to get together a little spin over the past few weeks of his band’s music, so today’s the day.
I’m speaking about Jeff, the Harmonica Man of View from the Cloud. Jeff plays music with a band called The Receders (we over 30, okay over 40 gotta love that name) and is himself, as his moniker would indicate, quite adept on the harmonica as well as the keyboard (oh and vocals). But Jeff’s hairline wasn’t always receding and he wasn’t always married with children (quite bright ones at that). No, Jeff was a rock star! Go muck through his musical archives HERE. Trust me, the pics of Jeff in eyeliner and other 80’s garb alone are worth the price of admission. Anyway, to get some idea of Jeff’s background, I fired off a few questions:
When did you start playing music?
I actually began playing the piano when I was about 5 years old. My mom was an accomplished pianist and I used to sit on the bench with her while she played and “help” her. I guess she thought I would be more help if I actually took lessons. My next big milestone came in high school when I started playing piano for the choir. A guitar player approached me and asked me if I wanted to start a band and so we spent the next 3 years playing for every dance, talent show and assembly the school had to offer. Following that a local “professional” band asked me to join them when I was a senior and while I was still only 17, began playing in local and area nightclubs on weekends. Please don’t ask me if I behaved myself.
Have you made a living doing so?
Yes. I spent the entire decade of the ’80s on the road, full time, living in hotels and playing in nightclubs and showrooms. At one point I even toured with the USO, where we played military bases over in Asia and the South Pacific for 3 months. It was the experience of a lifetime – which I unfortunately used up when I was only 19.
How often do The Receders get together and play?
We play about once a month. Then the guitar player and I get together and do an acoustic duet thing about once a month as well. So on average I’m playing somewhere about every 2 weeks.
Who writes your original material?
So far all of us except our drummer, although the majority of the original songs we’re doing have been written by our guitar player.
Growing up when I did, I was heavily influenced by Elton John and Billy Joel. Then later I became a huge Springsteen fan, in part because of his orchestral use of keyboards and because of his amazing storytelling capability. More recently I’ve started collecting all the Tom Waits material I can find. I know he’s an acquired taste, but he blows my mind.
Anything else you’d like to throw in?
The Receders are very close to recording our first CD. We have the material, the studio and the money, but for us the hardest part is finding the time to commit to the studio and recording process. The four of us have very diverse careers and personal schedules so it’s extremely difficult to find time to get together.
What would a spin be without a little visual entertainment and so here we have TheReceders rocking the joint with, The Blues Don’t Get Off at Night with our man, Jeff, rocking one of his own songs on the harp:
Thanks so much Jeff – it’s great getting to hear some of our own “local” talent. The Receders rock!!! Whaddya say folks? Let’s give them a big round of applause!!!
In the spirit of the Grammys, I’d like to say it’s been a blast doing these spins over the past year or so and also thank everyone for dropping in and listening to some tunes with me. Since I am a bit of a music junkie, I’ll probably continue the spins in some form in my own little corner of the world, Simply Said. Saturdays work fine by me, so drop by and say hi.
Don’t forget to tip your bartenders and waitresses over at Humor-blogs.com who’ve been calling out for Freebird since my first spin.
Have a great weekend.
Filed under: funny...
“Don’t cry because it’s over. Smile because it happened.” ~ Dr. Seuss
To Whom it May and/or May Not Concern,
Due to reasons well beyond our control, Snuppy & Company won’t be in today. Maybe not tomorrow. Possibly never. Now don’t you cry for us, Argentina. Don’t. Instead, wipe your noses, then go HERE and have a good laugh. Trust us, you’ll feel better in no time. And so will we.
Apologies for any inconveniences we may have caused you and/or your funny bone.
Someone Who’s Not Snuppy… but used to be
Filed under: crummy letters
With the American dollar plummeting, the US government is desperately seeking a way to turn the economy around and stop the country’s potential slide into an obscurity rivaling that of Belgium, or even Canada. The latest plan, as you have likely heard, is to send every American a “tax rebate” check from anywhere between 300 and 1200 dollars, trusting that Americans will continue their longstanding tradition of pretending the money is on fire and forking it over to the nearest retailer as soon as (or, better, before!) it comes into their possession.
As with most government plans, this is of course an enormous steaming pile of B.S. Since when does making more of something increase its worldwide value? Imagine for a second if the price of diamonds suddenly started a worldwide freefall. Do you think the DeBeers company’s first recourse would be to open a few dozen of its scores of warehouses filled with blood-encrusted diamonds and start polishing them up to sell them off? Of course not. The diamonds would have already been cleaned of any bloodstains long before they went into the warehouses.
But that’s beside the point. In short, printing up 150 million more American dollars to flood the marketplace isn’t going to cause a mass worldwide stampede to acquire American bills as if they are collector’s items. If things stay the course, America is going to become like Mexico or somewhere where they use trillion dollar bills to hold their used chewing gum. So, I have devised an alternative plan. If the US is going to fall behind in the value of its dollar, it needs to take the lead in some other area where it has traditionally lagged behind.
This area is, of course, the alcoholic content of its beer.
Back in the good ole’ days of the 1990’s, when one American dollar could be exchanged in Canada for six whole beaver pelts, people in border states could drive to Canada and get more drunk for less money. Now, Americans are stuck with a weak dollar AND weak beer, so it costs more money to drown their sorrows about how weak the dollar is and how poor they’ve become. IT’S A VICIOUS, SELF-PERPETUATING CYCLE!
Since the issue of the weak dollar is left in the hands of incompetent bureaucrats (all together now: “As opposed to?”), it’s time for the domestic beer companies to step up, do their duty as Americans, and make a positive change. I demand more alcohol in American beers! Rather than having to purchase 5 expensive Molson Canadians and help fund a moose habitat or something, I want to purchase 4 cheaper Miller Lites and help the Brewers sign a left-handed reliever. And I want to get at least as drunk as I would have with the Molson’s! Rather than purchase 10 Paulaners to get completely plastered and likely bankroll another Nazi takeover of Germany*, I want to purchase only 8 Budweisers so that maybe the city of St. Louis will patch an extra pothole or two in their highways, because, good God, have you even tried to drive through that damn city?!?
The horse is out of the barn. The value of the dollar is plunging. It’s out of our hands. America has been an economic world leader for decades, and that time is passing. It’s instead time to set an example for the world in Affordable Drunkenness © (a term which I have just copyrighted). This is what our great historical figures would have wanted. The Washingtons. The Jeffersons. The Roosevelts. The Kennedys.
Especially the Kennedys.
*Some people will argue that not all major corporations or political figures in Germany are closet Nazis. These people are wrong.
We’ve never owned a dog but I understand they’re very expensive, what with the licensing, shots, grooming, food and accessories and all – not to mention the initial cost of the dog itself. In addition, many people easily pay $500-$2500 or more to own a “purebred” pedigree of one kind or another.
So when my daughter asked for a $29 guinea pig two Christmases ago I was thrilled. “This is the perfect gift!” I thought. “Except for a small amount of food, guinea pigs don’t have ANY of those expenses!”
So, my wife and I headed over to the pet store to pick up her pig. Oh yeah, and a few other items:
- habitat cage – $120
- bedding – $15
- bag of hay – $15
- food – $20
- vitamins $10
- pigloo – $15
Ok, suddenly this $30 rat was costing us $224.
All right, no problem. After all, this was the only thing she actually asked for for Christmas – and with the exception of a little bit of food, these will all be one-time costs.
And so that Christmas morning a pig was born – and the children rejoiced. “Yay!”
Until my son chimed in… “Did you know that guinea pigs are supposed to be kept in pairs? So they don’t feel lonely?
“Uh, no way bud,” I retorted “this house ain’t big enough for a herd of pigs.”
And so the next day another pig was born – and the children rejoiced once again. “Yay!”
It took less than a month until the first bag of bedding was gone. And the first bag of food and hay as well.
“Dad, we need some money to go get some things for the pigs.”
“Sure,” I said as I peeled $5 from my wallet.
“Yeah right. We need like $50. At least.”
And this is how it’s been ever since. About once a month we shell out $50 for supplies and
everyone is the children are happy.
Except for a few weeks ago when one of the pig’s pee started to look dark. It played out like this:
- Initial vet visit: $35
- Prescription for UTI: $35
- Follow up visit because it didn’t appear she was getting better so they needed to see her all day and do blood and urine analysis: $150
- Refill for prescription: $35
Total cost of dark pee: $255
So then… let’s add this up after 13 months, shall we?
- Initial purchase costs: $224
- Supplies since initial purchase: $600
- Vet and medicines: $255
Total cost since purchase: $1,079
Ya, there’s a comma in that number folks!
Of course just when I think we’ve made a serious mistake, I take one look at these little furballs and change my mind.
Now if I could just train them to fetch me my slippers.
The laughs are cheap at humor-blogs.com
THINKING we should call this post “Poor Lampsha”. Why? Because our dear and delightful friend is under the weather today, suffering from a Horrible, Awful, Terrible, No Good, Very Bad Ailment we wouldn’t wish on our worst enemy. In case you hadn’t heard, check out her LATEST POST. Then, for the love of a wonderful person and beloved blogger, offer up a few words of support.
ALL this to say, we figured we’d take over today’s Saturday Spin, in hopes our NBFF might have one less thing to do before schlepping her youngsters to their various music lessons. Or, even better — and as DIESEL so eloquently put it in an e-mail to us after we whined about our own copious schlepping — “schleep in”. Yep, we love that term, and plan to use it, often. Naturally, schlepping and/or schleeping are beside the point. The point, which is becoming more dazed and confused by the minute, is that we’ve been wanting to share the following song/video for a while now, and figure this is as good a time as any to do so.
POOR LENO is a nicely groovy, yet somewhat haunting tune by a “techno-trip-hop” Norwegian duo, who call themselves ROYKSOPP. According to their website, they’ve been around since 1998, but started to gain popularity around 2001*. Our son first heard one of their tunes (Poor Leno, in fact) on one of his video games (Snowboards from Hell, or some such thing). Actually, we couldn’t help but wonder whether the video game didn’t influence some of the imagery featured in this wonderfully animated (tho’ kind of sad) little video. Or vice versa. Whichever visual came first, trust us, once you see this creative clip, you’ll NEVER look at captured critters in quite the same way.
GUESSING “trapped” is how Lampsha is feeling, what with her Horrible Awful No Good Ailment, and all. Feel better soon, dearest Lampsha… as you can surely see — and ALL will surely attest — Saturday Spins aren’t the same without you, Shirley. (seriously, get well SOON)
*Whether you know it or not, you’ve actually heard other songs by this duo, at least you have if you’ve ever seen this Geico commercial. In case you liked that song (Remind Me) — and why wouldn’t you, it’s awesome — you can hear it in its entirety on Royksopp’s “unofficial” MYSPACE PAGE, along with a few of their other “hits”.
~ snuppy, aka DJ Fauxer (like “poser”, only more fake)
Poor Leno never read Humor-blogs.com.
Editor’s Note: we wrote this post last week, when our dear friend was in the pits of hell, seemingly saddled with the aforementioned ailment. As luck (and a new doctor) would have it, LAMPSHA is better than she and/or Dr. Magoo (the name we’ve awarded her original dermatologist) initially believed. That’s the good news. The bad news is that, believing we were going to post today, our favorite DJ did, in fact, schleep in. She promises to check in later, and maybe, just maybe, do a new and significantly improved post for everyone’s perusal. Stay tuned…
PERHAPS you hadn’t heard, but over the years, we’ve become something of a magnet for people in desperate need of answers. It’s getting so we can’t walk outside without being swarmed by individuals bombarding us with queries (hey, Mr. Annoying Guy on our front lawn: we’ll pay those bills when we’re good and ready). Still, along with the occasional question about money (cash, check or credit card?) we frequently find ourselves inundated with unsolicited pleas from strangers on the street asking us for help in Various and Sundry Areas (No, we can’t move our car. Yes, we do get our hair done locally. No, our contact lenses are not tinted to this “particular” shade of blue. Yes, we do know which aisle the Depends are on. No, we can’t take time to fill out your stupid petition, Senator). Alas, no one’s asked us for advice around here, but, if you know anything about us (and you probably don’t) we’re not going to let that stop us from casting out a few pearls of wisdom.
FOR the record (which could very well wind up being read to a jury of our peers): Yes, we did find the following Real Q’s from Real People after doing an extensive 12 second Google search. And, no, not one of ’em actually asked for our help. We call those things “details”. With luck, no one will ever find out what we’ve said about them behind their hapless and/or helpless backs… (if it makes any of YOU feel better, think of this bit o’ Q & A as Aunt Bea’s ADDled Advice. That’s what we plan to do, should we attempt this “feature” again)
*** *** *** *** ***
My husband wants to go on a dangerous expedition. I am so afraid he will never come home. He has always been an outdoor lover and has taken many trips, but this trip will tax him maximally. People have died. He says he wants to go now before we have children. What can I do to stop him? ~ Pretty Polly in Poughkeepsie
This is a tricky situation many a young couple have faced. We know because we, too, were half of a young couple when our (ex) husband decided to “spread his wings” in order to “see the world” before we “had kids”. He said he wanted to live dangerously, and we completely understood. Funny how his desire to experience an adrenalin rush turned to terror when we locked him in the basement the night he first brought up the subject. Long story short… once the inquiry was over, and the attorney’s fee was paid, we wound up with a sweet settlement that’s kept us in Aquanet and Chamomile Tea since 1963.
Still, Polly — if that’s who you are — not everyone is in possession of a properly sealed off basement. If you fall into that category, might we suggest chaining Mr. Dangerous Expedition to the radiator? Either that, or make an effort to grab a bit o’ his sperm while the gettin’s good. Trust us, nothing says “let’s make a baby” like soft music, a glass of wine and a turkey baster. So what if Mr. Honey, I Need More Danger is swimming with the sharks off the coast of Brazil? With luck, and one good spurt, you’ll soon be experiencing the joys of morning sickness while, at the same time, bemoaning your bulging belly, despite the fact you’ve only been pregnant for a little over a week.
By the time your husband returns, he’ll wonder what you needed him for in the first place… and so will you.
Help! I’m a middle-aged man who has been married for 20 years. I own a duplex in a nice neighborhood. Last week, I put an ad in the paper and a 21-year-old woman came to look at the upstairs apartment. The problem is, I found her attractive and had sex with her downstairs while my wife was not home. What should I do? ~ Couldn’t Help Myself in NY
Could you “help” yourself if you lived somewhere else? Kidding. We Kid.
This is a tricky situation many a middle-aged man has faced. We know, because we, too, were a middle-aged man in a past life. Oh the fun we used to have, chasing 21-year old women through the Halls of Montezuma. Thank goodness our loving wives (Celestiña, Carmen, you know who you were) never found out. Of course, they did try to chain us to the Stone of Tizoc one night, but we managed to escape, thanks in no small part to the key we kept hidden in the heel of our snake skin sandal. Good times… But, as we’re wont to do when channeling our inner Aztec warrior, we digress. What should you do? Take a good long look in the mirror, bub. That’s the face of a middle-aged asshole. The question is not “what should YOU do”, the question is “what will your WIFE do once she finds out?” Because she will find out.
PS: What kind of rent are you charging, and does it include utilities? Also, does the apartment have a radiator?
Aren’t condoms for sissies? ~ Hot To Trot in Kalamazoo
That depends. If by “sissies” you mean “people who hope to contract an STD for the purposes of seeing their own penis break out in a little something our past-life wife, Celestiña, called “burning bumps”, which eventually causes the aforementioned penis to shrivel up and fall on the floor”, then yes. Because, really, when was the last time you heard of someone’s penis falling on the floor? Okay, aside from that Unfortunate Incident when Lorena Bobbitt decided to take John’s fate into her own hands — altho’ in that case, if memory serves — and, according to our medium, Madame Le Foúffe, it does — Little John Bobbitt wound up by the side of the road, in Manassas.
Trust us, Real Men use condors. Nothing says “watch where you put that thing” like a vulture hovering over your dick.
~snuppy (aka: Crazy Aunt Bea)
PS and D’OH! in our haste knock out this “post” we completely forgot what day it is. Thank you, oh wondrous Non-Crazy and/or ADDled TLP for reminding us! (we miss you and are sorry we’ve not been around)
(FYI: this picture is one of the many “forms” of Bunny Suicides.)
Answers to Hahaha? are found on HUMOR-BLOGS.COM.