"Humor Me" says Robert S. "Bob" Wieder

Thursday, March 31, 2005


This is, after all, categorized as a humor blog, so it's probably long past time to put some in. I found the following three jokes amusing. Perhaps you will, too.

A Washington D.C. lobbyist driving home from work finds himself stalled in the worst traffic jam he's ever experienced. On the shoulder, he sees a policeman talking into a two-way radio, and asks him what's going on. "The President's motorcade is stalled up ahead," says the cop. "It seems he's having a kind of nervous breakdown. He's halted the motorcade and says that the deficit has gotten so huge, he doesn't want to go on living. He's threatened to douse himself with gasoline and end it all. The situation is so bad, we've been taking up a collection for him."
"That's terrible," says the lobbyist. "How much have you got, so far?"
"Just twelve gallons, but a lot of people are still siphoning."

A man comes home one day to find a gorilla on his roof. He checks the yellow pages and sure enough, there is a listing under "Gorilla Removal." He calls the number, and before long a man arrives in a van, from which he takes a ladder, a baseball bat, a pit bull and a shotgun. "What's all this for?" the homeowner asks.
"I put the ladder against the house, go up on the roof, knock the gorilla off the roof with the bat, and the pit bull immediately grabs the gorilla's testicles in his jaws, which paralyzes him with pain until I can load him into the van."
"What's the shotgun for?"
"That's for you," he says, handing it over. "If the gorilla knocks me off the roof, shoot the dog."

Two woman, traveling separately, are in adjoining seats in an airplane. Shortly after takeoff, one woman sneezes, then shudders violently, and gently wipes her nose. A few minutes later, she sneezes again, and again her body is rocked by a pronounced spasm. This pattern recurs several times, until her seatmate finally asks, "I'm sorry, but are you having some kind of seizure, and should I call an attendant?"
"Oh no," the sneezer smiles, "I simply suffer from a rare neurological condition. Every time I sneeze, I have an orgasm."
"Good heavens," says the seatmate. "Are you taking anything for it?"
"Mostly just pepper," she replies.

Tuesday, March 29, 2005


Well, jeez, here I am again, just like every year. Not 30 minutes after we finish our Fantasy League draft, and already I’m going over my lineup and thinking if I ever get my brains blown out, it’ll probably be an improvement.

For one thing, I can’t believe I paid nine bucks for Dick Cheney. Especially when I probably could have gotten Carl Rove for like seven-fifty. But y’know, that’s just my philosophy: that you can’t field a serious political team unless you draft a real cutthroat bastard for your Puppet Master position. And Cheney, my God, he was born to play Puppet Master, some say the best since John Mitchell. The problem is, he carries the downside of being liable to drop over dead any time from a coronary--and there go your numbers. So you factor that in, and Rove looks like the bargain of the week.

But my problem with Rove is that he mainly plays out of love for the game, not for revenge. Give me a vindictive little weasel like the Chenster, with scores to settle. Anyway, other than those two, Bill Clinton was way overpriced at six bucks, and as for Ted Kennedy and Pat Robertson, don’t make me laugh. I could have snapped up Richard Mellon Scaife, but some players, even if they always do produce results, you just don’t feel good about having them on your team. It’s just a Ron Arteste Jason Giambi kind of thing, you know?

Then there’s my Big Mo pick. This is always a tough position to call, cause nothing is more dicey or fleeting than momentum. One day you’re tearing up the game, magazine cover material, and the next day you’re Bernie Kerik. Finito. I’ve seen guys take major baths paying seriously good money for “can’t miss” phenoms like McCain and Gingrich And older guys still talk about getting busted out on Gary Hart. (I’m not counting wise-asses like Tola here, who always fills his Big Mo position with Barney Frank just to be cute.)

On the other hand, of course, if you guess right, you can laugh your ass off, such as Pressman, who took Arnold Schwarzenegger in 2003 for a buck seventy-five because none of the rest of us could believe it. So maybe I should have gone to seven dollars on Condi Rice this time. But I think I’ll sleep a lot better with Alberto Gonzalez for a mere buck fifty. I see black robes in his future. Plus I like the hustle those latino players bring to the game. I’m rationalizing, I know, but whenever I feel bad about Alberto, I just think about Robertson paying two bucks for Porter Goss, and I feel a lot better. I mean, Porter freaking Goss?

I’m pretty solid at the Freak For Power position at least. Hillary! You go, girl! Let my esteemed rivals beat each other to death bidding up Tom DeLay, who won’t give you very good stats if he winds up benched by federal indictments, and Schwarzenegger, who could be just one good steroid relapse away from washed up. Maybe Scalia was worth Moore’s ten spot, but only if he moves up to Chief Justice; otherwise he only wins when Sandy O’Connor closes for him.

As for Rumsfeld, sober up. Bad enough he’s in the Cabinet, which has lately been only slightly better for your playing career than a head wound, but on top of that he’s putting up the worst numbers since Nixon. Shit, you don’t even know if his autographs are genuine! Rummy’s the kind of player that can take down a whole team.

Then there’s my Colorful Nutball. I don’t know, I could have taken Nader, a proven vet at the position, but but he hasn’t been an impact player since 2000. And Giuliani, even if he unretires, will probably come back in the Big Mo slot. I liked Al Sharpton, but not at three bucks given his current status, which is circus act.

There just isn’t much quality at Colorful Nutball right now. Ashcroft retired, Schwarzenegger got serious, Howard Dean’s more mascot than player--hell, there’s nobody at the position today who could carry Ross Perot’s jock! I mean, what does it tell you when Dennis Kucinich qualifies as colorful? We’re down to drafting mayors! I got Newsom, the San Francisco guy. I admit, he’s no Pat Buchanan, but at least he won’t embarrass me by never embarrassing me.

I probably shouldn’t even mention my Heavy Hitter. Call me a chump, but I think you’ll be hearing from Joe Biden, okay? Anyway, how dumb a pick can he be at half a buck? Especially compared to Dennis Hastert at four fifty, Bill Frist at six, and Rush Limbaugh at seven-seventy-five. Alan Greenspan I would have loved, but no way I could come up with thirteen bucks at the end.

Actually, I did have enough left to consider taking a fling at George Bush, but screw that. One, I think he’s been playing way over his head, and when his streak finally ends, I don’t want to be holding the bag. Two, I already got Cheney. And three, I mean, come on. Bush? I want to win, sure. But not that bad.

Wednesday, March 23, 2005


The minute that she upset Venus Williams at Wimbledon last year, she also became the presumptive, indeed runaway winner, in the Athlete Whose Name Will Be Responsible For The Most Amusing Typographical Errors sweepstakes. I speak, of course, of rising young Croatian tennis star Karolina Sprem. It'll be even better if she turns out to be "bankable."
(Source: USA Today, 6/25/04, p. 13C.)

In one week in June, a man in Alpaugh, CA was busted for growing 57 pot plants because he had let them grow to a height of 7 feet, considerably higher than his fence and therefore clearly visible to passersby; a man in Scranton, PA was busted for growing 146 pot plants directly above his stoner-oriented record store, the narc-magnetically named Electric Mindshaft; and pro-pot activists in one Nevada county failed to meet the deadline to file their 6,000 petition signatures to get a legalization measure on the state ballot because, uh, er, they forgot. Some people just get too deeply involved in their work.
(Sources: Luis Hernandez, Visalia Times-Delta online, 6/19/04; Chris Birk, Scranton Times Tribune online, 6/23/04; AP--Las Vegas--6/25/04.)

Among the actual scholarships currently available to prospective college students:
$500 for linguistics majors, offered by the Klingon Language Institute;
$500 awarded for spiritual tolerance by the Free Spirit Alliance, a pagan organization;
$1,500 for those who win a duck calling contest in Stuttgart, Arkansas;
$12,000 for having the last name Scarpinato and planning to attend Texas A&M.
(Source: Rebecca Trounson, "Column One," L.A. Times online, 6/25/04.)

Researchers at the University of Hamburg have found that college students who have frequent sex boost their mental abilities significantly, get better grades, and finish their courses more quickly, while celibate students have more trouble with their classes. Would to God that I had had this “She who fornicates, graduates” argument in my arsenal of persuasion when I was in school.
(Source: Ananova.com "Quirkies" 6/8/04, citing U. of Hamburg professor Werner Habermehl and research institute GEWIS,)

Just when you thought your home was already totally wired, now comes from Toto, the Japanese toilet makers, the electronically tricked-out Neorest toilet, a computerized commode with sensors that you can program to automatically raise and lower the lid and seat, a wireless remote for the same purpose, a deodorizer, your basic spray massage feature, and a warm-air dryer. Personally, I needed to hit the crapper the minute I heard the price: $5,000.
(Sources: AP--Carlsbad, Calif.--6/8/04, citing Wall St. Journal; CNN/Money online, New York--6/8/04.)

To the wonderful and steadfast citizens of Fucking, Windpassing, and Vomitville, the actual, long-established, time-honored names of three towns in Austria, all of which held ballot box referenda last year on whether to change their names, and all of which voted not to. Since I am a citizen of the world, Ich bin ein Fuckinger.
(Source: Ananova.com “Quirkies,” 6/8/04.)

Monday, March 21, 2005


Allow me to apologize for even touching on the almost indescribably repugnant subject of the politicization of Terri Schaivo, but...

It does provide us with just one more brick in the Wall of Proof that Tom DeLay is in fact and indisputably the most despicable human being to hold public office since, oh, Taras Bulba. Okay, since Stalin.

The brick: He knew instantly what he had in Terri -- a no-lose sop to the Insanely Fundamentalist Christian Bund. If by some convoluted reasoning a Federal judge were to rule for the parents, DeLouse has ridden to the rescue and cut schoolmarm Schiavo free of the railroad tracks of anti-life liberalism rampant. On the other hand if -- as I'm sure he fully expects -- there is no legal redress forthcoming, he has his calculatedly hoped-for banner line for the next two years: "Just one more reason that we MUST confirm the strict constructionist judges nominated by President Bush, to ensure that there will be no more betrayals of human life-is-sacred decency by the liberal activist judiciary. No more Terri Schiavos! Avenge her death! Write your senator! Vote Republican!"

These days, my response to Christian pamphleteers who ask if I've "heard the wonderful news" is:
"Really? You mean Jesus returned to earth, fucked Tom DeLay in the ass, and then fed him into a wood chipper? Hallelujah!"

This rant brought to you by End Times Accelerators, Inc.

Sunday, March 20, 2005


A few thoughts as we approach Easter...

I was reminded recently by I forget what that "Christ" is not actually Jesus's last name. Mary was not married to Joseph Christ, son of Balthazar Christ, tracing back to Abraham Christ. There was no House of Christ in Israel or Judea. In fact, "Christ" derives from the Greek "christos," meaning roughly Messiah, itself a translation from the Hebrew word for "anointed one."

What this all means, at least if your mind works like mine does (and God help you) is that the "Christ" in Jesus Christ refers to Jesus's calling or station in life, much like many English surnames are derived from the vocation of some distant ancestor. Names like Farmer, Miller, Hunter, and Carpenter, which, if he hadn't made the move into serious professional religion, would have probably been Jesus's last name. Fortunately, this did not happen. I say fortunately, because "Jesus Carpenter!" and "Carpenter almighty!" just don't work very satisfactorily as verbalized oaths. Also fortunately, this occupational-surnames fad died out a few centuries ago, or we would today be a society with family names like Tax Accountant and Teamster and Refrigerator Repairman.

And the newspapers would carry announcements like "ENGAGED: Marcy Elizabeth Cable Guy, daughter of Earl and Maude Cable Guy, to Dirk J. Human Resources Coordinator, of the Shaker Heights Human Resources Coordinators..."

Another interesting aspect to this is the implication for the widely anticipated Second Coming. If the Messiah were to return in contemporary human form, we could enter the glorious age of, say, Phil Christ, or Duk Chen Christ, or Shaquille Christ, or, if you want to be totally (even blasphemously) spooky, Osama Christ.

Actually, I'd like to see that, just to witness the effect on George Bush.
Happy Easter week.

Monday, March 14, 2005


I was so cheered and gratified by the response to my first little foray into conspiracy blogging (which could best be described as none) about rising oil prices last week, that I've decided to tee up my booga-booga game again. To wit:

It looks like year five of the eight-year Bush/GOP War On The Little Guy is gearing up for its Gettysburg or Iwo Jima or Little Big Horn, depending on which side you take and the eventual outcome of the debate on what to do about Social Security. I am not a trained economist, or anything else for that matter, but the angle that most intrigues me right now, largely because I haven't run across it in the media and therefore like to imagine that I'VE STUMBLED ONTO SOMETHING, is that to the extent that a significant number of people commit to channeling a regular and recurring amount of retirement money into the stock market, they are going to be tinkering with one of the fundamental laws of investment physics: that the price of stocks will rise along with and in proportion to the underlying value of the industries represented. The most rudimentary measure of this is the P/E, or ratio of price (of a share of stock) to earnings (of the company issuing the stock).

Every once in awhile, alas, this principle is temporarily violated by the market, when people in great numbers buy or sell stocks not on the basis of underlying value or sound economics, but out of such irrelevant motivations as greed or fear. As a result, the market as a whole drops or rises excessively and becomes priced markedly more or less than its actual value.

But now there emerges another possible irrelevant reason to buy stocks: because you at some point committed yourself to doing that, on a regular and recurring basis, year after year, no matter what. When enough numbers of citizens begin doing this, the market will automatically, and irrespective of economic conditions, receive an ongoing series of booster shots right in the share price, producing increases in price that are based not just on underlying value but on a kind of federally mandated momentum. It's supply and demand, but with an increasing portion of the demand being institutionalized and unwarranted.

At some point, this difference between the market's actual value and share price value will become great enough as to be viewed by investors as unsustainable. At that point, they will begin selling, some of them taking profits big enough to choke a Bechtel. These won't be all investors, mind you. They will be those investors who (1) were already in the market before this artificial inflation process began (i.e. current heavy riders), and (2) were invested outside the "private accounts" program and therefore are not required by that program's restrictions and penalties to stick it out in a falling stock market (i.e. see previous i.e.).

Would the Bush Administration in specific and the Republican Party in general engineer a nationwide Ponzi scheme to artificially and enormously increase the net worth of themselves and their friends and supporters, otherwise known as the wealthy, at the expense of the general public, otherwise known as the suckers?

Nah. I'm sure I'm just being paranoid.

Thursday, March 10, 2005



Though he's pictured as some horrid beast,
Any guilt that he felt’s been released.
His "kid love,” while bold,
Is no sin, he's been told
By no less than five Catholic priests.


Miss Hilton’s sex tape, though not toney,
Proved her hot-pants renown is not phony.
When she stayed on that farm,
They declared with alarm,
“To be safe, we had best hide the pony.”


Since Mel’s “Passion” made snuff flicks seem tame,
He now hopes that the millions who came
Will be just as enticed
By his grisly new “Christ”
Action figures and video game.


Though our troops, and Iraqis, are hurtin’,
Cheney says,”We can’t leave, that’s for certain.
“If we called the war off it
“Would mean far less profit
“For my old pals at Halliburton.”


From today's Ananova.com "Quirkies":

"Sandra Uses Haemorrhoid Cream On Her Face

"Sandra Bullock has revealed she uses haemorrhoid cream on her face. The 40-year-old - who attended the London premiere of her new film Miss Congeniality 2 - said she learned the beauty secret while filming. She said:'It was the most pertinent secret I learned in this job. Bottom cream really does help against wrinkles.'"

And now, all the rest of the day, I'm going to be carrying in my mind an image of Sandra in her proctologist's office, and he's saying, "No, dear, the principle doesn't work both ways, and you'd just ruin the lipstick."

Wednesday, March 09, 2005


If you're considering a career with the FBI, and which of us isn't, be warned beforehand that the following activities, as detailed in a recent, actual internal Bureau report on agents who've engaged in said activities, can get you fired:
--Calling phone sex hotlines while on duty;
--Having sex with prostitutes while on duty;
--Having sex with FBI informants while on duty;
--Stealing $400,000 from the informant-payoff fund to cover your gambling debts;
--Trying to sell cocaine to other agents;
--Shooting your wife with your FBI-issue weapon;
--Having sex with female informants and then bumping them off.
Serious no-no's, every one. Plow, or strangle, a snitch while on the clock and poof, there goes the Grade 12 pension. On the other hand, dressing up in women's lingerie and prancing around your own executive FBI Director's office evidently remains a gray area.
(Source: AP, 2/19/04, citing internal FBI report released 2/18.)

Tuesday, March 08, 2005


From the Reuters "Weird News" page comes the item that one William Johnson, a prison inmate in Ohio, has petitioned that he be allowed to wear, in place of prison briefs, delicate silk panties in his cell, because he suffers from irritable bowel syndrome. Uh, William, if you think your bowel is irritable now...

Wednesday, March 02, 2005


Eleven words and phrases you don’t want to see in a newspaper article in the same sentence as your name:
Shooting spree
Chapter 11
Guatemalan prison
Surgically reattached
Outraged jurors
Beyond recognition