All Entries Tagged With: "humor"

You and yew pet

with Elmer Fudd

Hewo fwends…just a short cowumn this month on the subject of “twavel with pets”. Wemembew: 1.) Nevaw weave yew widdle pooch in yew awevee or he might twash the howe wig befowe you wetrun fwom the beauty pawlow or baw. 2.) Don’t bwing yew widdle dog above 8,000 feet. They hab twoubwe bweathing and could be wunch fow a mountain wion or beaw. 3.) Pwease don’t wet yew widdle dog poop in the pawking wot of the gas station. This weawy makes the attendant angwy.
Wemembew to always weave pwenty of food and watew fow youw pet. If you wove yew poochie he will wove you back. Well, I’ve got to wun…

NEXT TIME: HANDOWING THE MIDWIFE CWISIS

Elvis aparece en Carne Cañón Viuda

Shavano Sol y Mailer – 25 de juno, 2015

     La mayoría de las mujeres estarían encantados de tener una leyenda del rock and roll visitarlos en el baño, pero no el solitario Beverly Lupac. De hecho ella ha tenido suficiente de todo.
Ya en marzo de Beverly surgió de un profundo sueño, entró en su cuarto de baño de dos tonos, miró a su espejo de dos vías y allí estaba: Elvis Presley allí mismo, en el zoom en el círculo de maquillaje. Al principio pensó que estaba soñando pero al reingreso se lo volvió a ver, peinando su cabello.
“Al principio no hablaba, pero se limitó a sonreír en ese” tipo Elvisy del camino “, dijo. “Entonces él le pidió prestado un poco de crema para el cabello.”
Luego agradeció Lupac, le preguntó si podía cantar su canción, cantó un verso de Blue Hawaii y se fundió de nuevo en el cristal.
Sacudido, Lupac corrió a la casa de su vecino para compartir el extraño encuentro con Ira Synge-Toole, un ex cajista de este sitio web cuando se trataba de un periódico. Si bien en un primer momento Toole burlado de la alcahuetería absurda de una estrella del pop que pertenece a la presencia de la porcelana que rápidamente dio la vuelta cuando el canto se reanuda desde el baño de Lupac.
Las dos mujeres, armados con una lata de maza anticuado y un 34 pulgadas Louisville Slugger, volvió a entrar en la casa Lupac. Se abrieron paso al baño toda llamó “Elvis! Elvis! Salga. Volver. ”
No paso nada. Después de una media hora Toole se desencantó con toda la operación y, diciendo The Days of Our Lives fue a punto de comenzar, se fue.
Lupac luego viajó a su amplia cocina, bien iluminado para preparar pelusa y tarta de riñón cuando una voz canturreó los tontos se enamoran. Se dio la vuelta media despertó para ver una de tamaño natural Elvis de pie delante de ella en traje de discoteca. Éste era un Elvis hablando. Él le preguntó sobre su vida en Carne Cañón pero no podía pensar en ninguna respuestas interesantes. La conversación arrastró. Allí estaba ella con el rey y ella era la lengua trabada. Ella le podía decir acerca de su cosecha de melocotón o el día que el perro fue noqueado fuera de la granja

Para más información por favor dirigirse a
No es más que un perro de maíz

Telluride a fax basura a West End

(Ames) En lo que muchos ven como un vano intento de aplacar a los residentes de Naturita y Nucla el Ayuntamiento Telluride ha votado a favor de enviar por fax más cargamentos de basura al basurero allí.
“De esa manera nadie puede enojarse cuando ven nuestros camiones de basura descarga en un condado diferente”, dijo Ima Reddi, portavoz del órgano de gobierno. Nuestros camiones ya no arrastrarse a través de los centros de la ciudad causando resentimiento. Tenga en cuenta “, dijo Reddi,” que estas comunidades votaron para albergar una planta de residuos nucleares de aquí. ”
Si este programa principal tiene éxito Telluride será fax otros materiales de desecho directamente al vertedero oa otros lugares específicos, ya que, contrariamente a la opinión general, en partes del condado de San Miguel, gran parte de esta basura a menudo apesta.
“Debemos ser capaces de vender nuestra basura como recuerdos en E-Bay”, dijo Reddi. “Ya hemos generado una gran cantidad de artefactos mineras interés de contabilización y fotos antiguas. La basura está al lado. “- Melvin O’Toole

PORTRAIT OF AN ARTIST AS A MADMAN

by Jonathan Lowe

Leaving the gallery after having previewed Ni Ne’s premier exhibition at the Metropolitan Museum, I had the unsettling sensation that I was being followed. While it is true that art critics must occasionally deal with such bouts of paranoia (their words being so vital to the success of failure of an artist’s career) I nonetheless had my apartment searched for bombs and microphones prior to releasing this review. Suspecting something of Ne’s propensity for both ingenuity and revenge, I also called Rent-A-Doberman and shortly had six froth-mouthed canines roving the premises. Only after these precautions were taken could I settle into the chair in my hotel room four miles away and begin to compost my thesis: “The Man Is Mad”.

When we say “the artist is difficult” we sometimes mean that he lacks style in the classical sense (i.e. he doesn’t waste money on picture frames, pedestals or ties to wear to museum parties). On other occasions what we mean–as a compliment–is that he has dis-placed the typical social and commercial connections to the mundane realities of bourgeois westernism with the idiosyncratic and arbitrary willfulness to explore the deeper dimensions of emotional suppression and compromise. (He hates rich socialites but won’t go so far as to refuse to sell them an interesting piece for their den or foyer.) When it is applied to Ne, however, our statement takes a slightly different shading, and what we do actually mean is that the artist is certifiably insane.

Of course we would never actually say this, for fearing to appear out of touch with the contemporary mediums of artistic expression. (i.e. Even if we knew nothing of art, it would be the height of idiocy to admit it except when caught at home watching Nascar with a six-pack of Coors Light.) But the truth remains. I must confess that Ni Ne’s background is some-thing of a mystery. No one knows his age either. What I might be discussing here is a difficult child. All I have to go on is an interview purportedly conducted with his parents in a New York Chinatown restaurant. It appears in the exhibition catalogue opposite a picture of Ni standing behind 600 layers of Saran Wrap.

Portrait of the Artist As A Madman – Interview #611

Interviewer: Can you tell me where Ni went to school?
Wi Ne: We teach him here in shop. He made best Woo-Soo duck in Chinatown.
Interviewer: No–I mean did he learn to paint, and to sculpt?
Wi Ne: You sure he not in trouble with cops?
Interviewer: No, no, no. Where did he learn about art?
Wi Ne: Oh he know zippy about art. He pretty good with knife and wok, though. We still get many calls for his Sweet-or-Sour Pig.
Interviewer: How old is Ni?
Wi Ne: Well…Let’s see…I forget.
Interviewer: How old are you, then?
Wi Ne: Well…Let’s see. His mother there is…
Fi Ne: Don’t you dare!
Interviewer: Did you know that your son is having a one man exhibition at the Metropolitan Museum of Art next month?
Wi Ne: That fine with us…and you tell him so. As long as he don’t strain himself, huh?

When questioned, the museum director could offer me no other reason for the presence of Ni’s work there than that the selection committee had flown to Honolulu for “remedial inspiration” classes, and that in the interim had left the upcoming exhibit schedules in the capable hands of his secretary. Joining the said secretary on her coffee break, I attempted at some length to discuss her relationship with Ne, but all I could get out of her was that Ni was “nice” although she admitted having a thing for Thai Kick Boxing and Street-Fried Chicken smothered in soy sauce.

“I never got a look at him, it was always so dark,” she explained. “But he always said the most original things, like lets go roll around in some original recipe. He was such a good kisser, too. Are you suggesting my letting him have a studio to work in at night was a mistake?”

The answer to this question is obvious, as we shall see.

“THE DEAD AND THE DYING”

To enter the Ne gallery, one must first push aside several hanging figures of Nazi war criminals in various stages of decomposition. In this exhibit Ne seems to be saying that “payday is not always on Friday”. Such would explain the inclusion of Hitler as an old man, still clutching a piece of fishing net and a mini-skirt, a gift from his son.

When we say “this artist is difficult” we sometimes mean that he lacks style in the classical sense (ie he doesn’t waste money on picture frames, pedestals or ties to wear to museum parties).

“RHAPSODY IN RED” Here are the video-taped highlights of a dozen fires and volcanic eruptions, including William F. Buckley’s discussion of the national deficit. At first I thought I’d wandered into Sears TV department, because of the salesman standing there. But when he said, “Can I interest you in LIFE or PROPERTY? i reevaluated my assessment, and decided he must’ work for Allstate. As it turned out neither hunch was correct and I knew it when I shook his latex hand. This marks the point at which I first thought Ne was ridiculing my sanity. “IT’S A SMALL WORLD

AFTER ALL” This is an example of “maximal” as opposed to “minimal” art. Demanding participation (not just contemplation), the exhibit requires that one get down on his hands and knees and crawl through a welded steel cylinder. As one gets closer to the end, the cylinder gets smaller and begins to spin. Crawling frantically out the other end, you are confronted by a convex mirror which makes you appear two feet tall. I have no idea what this all means, but suspect it has something to do with Ne’s disdain for critics in general, and the world at large. “TWO PEOPLE ARGUING” This piece illustrates a typical domestic scene: a husband and wife in a squabble over finances. He appears to be throwing a calculator at her while she reads from the novel “The Moneychangers”. With articulate and chilling detachment, Ne has placed a third–and sexless–figurine in one corner with a gun. “STAIRWAY TO HEAVEN” At the top of this escalator is a sign with fine print reading “NOW WHAT?” Beside the sign is a wok and a cookbook.
With articulate and chilling detachment,

Ne has placed a third sexless figurine in one corner with a gun.

“PRETERHUMANS” Here Ne has assembled the photos of many con-temporary rock stars in the hope that aliens visiting from the socially discriminating planet of Wackonia might feel guilty about having stranded them here. “CONSCIENCE, THE FEAR OF BEING TOLD WHAT TO DO, DEPENDENCE, APATHY & TOTAL RESIGNATION” An elaborate title to describe a dummy, in the act of punching out a time clock.

“THE MIND; A SELF PORTRAIT” Here, in what appears to be a subterranean environment, Ne has placed a trapezoidal collection of mirror fragments hanging and turning on piano-wire filaments. Below, shaped in crude replica from the death masks of great composers, philosophers, and statesmen are piles of heads made of iridescent yellow wax. One head–that of Nietzsche–has pale green neon eyes, and is smoking a cigarette. The sign below it reads, rather unpretentiously: FOR THE DEN OR FOYER “REVENGE IX” Skipping nos. (perhaps they were too sanely conventional?) Ni Ne (Nine?) has one figurine (resembling a famous film critic) tied to the ceiling by his toes. Another figurine (discreetly concealed behind 600 layers of Saran Wrap) appears to be trying to start a chain saw. Through a cutaway in the wall, one can see into the next room where a gathering of Chinese sit eating Ken-tucky Fried Chicken while watching “Kung Fu Rodeo”.

Footnote: After further contemplation and interpretation of the inherent symbolic content of this show, I an: recommending it highly, and wish to congratulate the museum for its foresight in bringing a new and original talent into the limelight.

Do cows know that it’s summer?

Do these bovines realize that it is summer?

Ouray Making Fortune on Tourist Soup

(Dexter Creek) Progressive marketing icons in this landlocked county seat have developed a recipe for Tourist Soup, which is reportedly brewed daily in the town’s municipal swimming pool.
Every spring town workers clandestinely prepare the pool (or pot as they call it) for the arrival of the “soup meat”, or tourists, starting in June. The thermal waters must be monitored hourly to insure a proper heat is maintained. The vegetables must be smuggled in and distributed in the now murky broth then the spices and herbs must be added in just the right measure so as not to distract from or dominate the final taste and aroma.
Then the soup is trucked over Red Mountain Pass to be sold to brokers in Durango for distribution, mostly to unsuspecting Third Whirled Countries and Grand Junction.
Our cookie-cutter little tourist economy is nothing more than a front for this more lucrative operation,” said Jimmy Scoggins who has gone so far as to serve the soup in his lavish Ridgway hardware emporium.
“In rare instances a complete tourist ends up in the final concoction but we go to great pain to avoid this due to strict county ordinances on cannibalism, which he called reactionary.
The soup itself, canned under the jurisdiction of Alf Bisque, comes in a wide variety of flavors including Okie, Texan and Kansas Chowder. Gourmet versions are available using Californians and Front Rangers.
Authorities became suspicious last season after a Utah man reported several masked men dumping industrial loads of vegetables into the deep end after dark. He claimed that carrots, potatoes and onions were boiled live in the curdling waters in direct violation of another county ordinance. He shared his concerns with police and has not been heard from since.
“The soup cartels are making too much money for some nosy flatlander to ruin everything,” said a former executive now mouthpiece for the Vegetarian Curmudgeons, a militant garden club. “Just wait until the little ice climbers show up this winter. We’ve got to keep up with supply and demand and there are a lot of people out there who want more of Ouray than an RV slip and a personalized license plate.”
The entire episode appears earmarked as just another version of the same old story: “Cooking with a hundred is always more difficult than cooking with a few” Bon Apetite!