I’ve Decided Not To Come

(“My Top Three Excuses” contest. 150-word limit.)

1. Dear Janie. Thank you for your invitation. I’ve thought about it and, although I like you, I’ve decided not to come. Your parties usually aren’t that much fun.

2. Dear Janie. Thank you again for your invitation. I thought at first that I would come, out of respect for our friendship, but then I decided that it just wasn’t worth it, because your party will probably be something of a drag.

3. Dear Janie. Thank you for your invitation. My parents, my husband, and my children all believe that I’m going crazy. They say that this honesty business isn’t normal. Perhaps they’re right. I haven’t been myself lately. In any event, I won’t be coming, because I fear that your party will be a real snoozer.

Vatican’s Exorcist: Yoga Is Satanic

(Huffington Post, 11/29/11)

I was performing Laughing Raccoon Washes Food when an imp showed up.

“That’s terrible,” he said.

“What the…?”

“What am I doing here? I’m an imp. Lowest of the low. All I get is beginners and spastics,” he said.

“No Kardashian sisters doing yoga in the nude with their nude male instructor?”

“Listen, Buddy,” said the imp. “Some major demons show up for that one every day. Besides, at my size I’d smother in the snugglepups.”

I adopted Studious Raccoon Sniffs Garbage Can.

“Ugh,” said the imp.

“What do you care? Jeez. I’m working here.”

“My job is to help you channel energy to your groin and anger chakras. So you’ll go out and misbehave. It’s a new Satan thing that’s come down.”

I adopted Annoyed Crouching Raccoon.

“Now breathe deeply,” said the imp. “Let the air flow down through your body to your groin… Inflate your Root chakra… Good… Can you feel it?”

“Yes, but… the energy is going a little… farther… back… Aww, nuts.”


I adopted Shamed Wiping Raccoon.

“I’m not paid enough for this,” said the imp.

Recreating the Past

[100-Word Challenge]

Would you like Grandpa’s old toolshed standing out in your back yard? The family chicken coop of yesteryear? Great-grandma’s potting shed? With Queen Vicky’s Weathering Paste (Royal Patent, 1887), you’ll have the wood you need for your dream structure in no time!

Go down to your local lumber dispensary. Purchase what you need, fresh and green. Bring it home.

Of course you can now try white vinegar and steel-wool pads, but this isn’t a birdhouse you’re building. Slather on our paste and in a week, you’ll have lumber that looks like it came from the ark.

Families 2

(“My Top Three Excuses” contest. 150-word limit.)

1. Dear Son. You don’t call, you don’t write, and now you invite me to your wedding to somebody named Mary Christiana? I’ll stay home and watch Exodus again, thank you very much.

2. Dear Son. You invite me to my grandson’s brit milah (or as I refer to it, my grandson’s genital mutilation)? I’ll stay home and watch Hostel again, thank you very much.

3. Dear Son. You invite me to attend the group babtism of your entire family in the Pauxtenny River, dressed in black suits and white shirts and black felt hats, until the water washes them off your heads and they float away down the stream, what a waste? If I want wet like that, I’ll stay home and watch Noah’s Ark again. Have a good time, Mr. John the Babtist!


(“My Top Three Excuses” contest. 150-word limit)

1. Dear Susie. Thank you for finally inviting your old grandma to your birthday party. I won’t be coming because, one, it’s five thousand miles away and, two, I’ll be making out my will that day.

2. Dear Son. Thank you for inviting me to your underwater scuba wedding. I’ll have to miss it because, while my wheelchair would sink quickly to the bottom of the pool for the ceremony, I’d worry about getting back up to the surface.

3. Dear Son. Thank you for inviting me to your graduation. Congratulations. I’ll have to miss the ceremony because I made a promise to myself years ago, after I had served my time and been released, that I would never again return behind those gray stone walls, even to visit.


(“My Top Three Excuses” contest. 150-word limit.)

1. Dear Chin Tsi-ang. Thanks for your invitation. Since nobody but you and I would be speaking English at your party, and since your English is quite poor, I’d better not attend. You know that I like you, but I think that this is for the best.

2. Dear Chin Tsi-ang. It means I will not come. I will not be there. It will not eventuate. It will not transpire. I like you. We are friends. But I’m not coming over to your house and I’m not bringing a ” goodie smack” to your party.

3. Dear Chin Tsi-ang. No.

I’ll Not Come

(“My Top Three Excuses” contest. 150-word limit)

1. Sirs. Thanks for inviting me to your presentation of a great time-share opportunity. I understand that if I attend, I’ll win a car, an iPad, or a great deal on the time-share. I already have a car and an iPad, so I would only come if I thought I could win the great deal. But you’d probably just give me the car or the iPad and then try to sell me the time-share anyway, so I’ll not come.

2. Sirs. Thanks for the invitation to your clearinghouse magazine-subscriptions presentation. I understand that I may (and probably have) won one million dollars already. Therefore, please send me the million and sign me up for all the magazines. No need for me to come.

3. Sirs. Thanks for the invite to Nigeria, but you just keep the ten million from this long-lost uncle of mine. You need it more than I. I’ll not come.

On Behalf of Jesus, I Decline Your Invitation

1. Dearest Mary. I would love to come to your party, but I must decline due to the absence of prayer at your get-togethers.

2. Dearest Mary. Thank you for offering to let me pray at your party, if only in the closet. Sadly, I must still decline, due to the absence of any growthful preaching at your get-togethers.

3. Dearest Mary. Thank you for offering to let me preach at your party, if only in the bathroom with the door closed. Sadly, I must still decline, due to the absence of any full-immersion babtisms at your get-togethers (not to mention the dearth of speaking in tongues or any significant faith healing.)

Three favorite excuses

(“My Top Three Excuses” contest. 150-word limit.)

1. John: I don’t drink, smoke, sing, dance, smooch, listen to music, eat between meals, chat to no purpose, shake hands without a rubber glove, convene with heathens, fools, or chuckleheads, dress up, costume myself, observe holidays, suffer fools gladly, use toilets other than my own, leave my Norwegian Lundehunds home alone, or speak to any other human on Grubbnasser’s Eve. I won’t be coming to your party.

2. I’m a party animal. I only party with animals.

3. Fred: When I was young, my great-uncle took me aside for a chat. We never talk about this in the family. It was at my birthday party. Since that day, I don’t go to parties. If you invite me again, I’ll call the police.

Christmas Gift Exchange

(“My Top Three Excuses” contest. 150-word limit.)

1. Dear Magda: Thank you for the invitation to your Christmas Gift Exchange. However, since I’d be the only one there not in the 1%, I’d feel awkward about the gift I bring to exchange, constrained as I am budgetwise. Sorry.

2. Dear Magda: Thank you so much for the gift to use in the exchange. I’m blown away. Almost want to keep it for myself ha ha. But even with the gift, I’d be a sartorial fish out of water at such a formal gathering. I’ll have to renege on account of wardrobe failure. Sorry.

3. Magda. Thanks for the session at Patrik Ervell. Unbelivable clothes. Also, thanks for calling down after the guards saw what I was driving and wouldn’t let me in. While walking up to the mansion, I was asked three times to park the cars of arriving guests. I’m going home. I would like to keep the tips, though.