Why Strong Women Make Better Wives

[Headline, Huffington Post]

My wife asked me to twist off the lid of a jar because she couldn’t. I couldn’t either. We fished out the lid-opener tool and used that.

What if my wife had been strong enough – or at least didn’t have arthritis in her hands – to just open the jar? What if I had been strong enough? Later I got mad at a guy in the fast lane and totalled our car.

Conclusion: strong is good.

My wife asked me to “squeeze her as hard as I could.” She said, laughingly, that I could probably crack her ribs if I tried hard enough. I gave her a good squeeze. She frowned. “Is that all you’ve got?” she said. “My personal trainer could squeeze me so hard my shorts would fall off.”

Conclusion: strong would be good for me, but not so much for the personal trainer.

At the company Christmas party, I had one or two nogs too many and when the CEO’s executive assistant strayed under the mistletoe, I gave her a big smooch. She was not strong enough to resist. On the other hand, my wife put a hammerlock on me that left my arm numb for a week.

Conclusion (times two); strong is not good.

My wife and I took a test that appeared in Parade Magazine. The results indicated that she had the strength of her convictions, whereas I was a boob. I told her that if she didn’t increase my allowance, based upon the fact that I needed more money to keep me going  since I wasn’t too bright, I would divorce her. She was able to call my bluff and as punishment, refused to give me a cent for two weeks. I had to run a tab at the bar and without a dollar bill in my hand, the pole dancers wouldn’t come near me.

Conclusion: strong is not good.

Final conclusion: strong is good. My wife told me to write that.

A Critique of “Drowning (A Story)” for the 100-Word Challenge

A link to Drowning (A Story).

A link to this 100-Word Challenge.

Reminder: A critique doesn’t have to be negative, which is good, because – I would not presume.


To the author: well done.

“Drowning” is an excellent 100-word story, assuming that it doesn’t bother you to read about someone going down in a plane and drowning.

A nit: Aquamarine waters swallowed the aeroplane as it descended.” Would not the waters swallow the plane after it descended, not as it descended? Of course, once immersed, the plane must still descend to the bottom, to become a tourist snorkeling-attraction once the bodies have been removed.

Also, a woman gets her neck wrung (she survives) and vases get broken, which might render the story inappropriate for younger readers.


7 Weird Things That Happen During Sleep, Explained

[Headline, Huffington Post, 01/12/12]

1. You have had no intimate relations in your life, but yet you wake up from a vivid dream in which you were “doing it.” How is this possible? Are you sure that you are absolutely pure? Has this been confirmed by a doctor’s examination? What about that time you did one jello shot too many and woke up in the tool shed?

2. Your mate reports that you drool in your sleep, but yet you rarely drool in waking life, metaphorical instances notwithstanding. Confront your mate. What is he/she doing that may be causing this unwonted seepage?

3. You use up one pillow every few weeks. (a) The marshmallow story is apocryphal, an urban legend. (b) Sleepers with back trouble are often instructed to place a pillow “under their hips.” This configuration is also used sometimes during the act of marital congress. What’s the story with your hips? Are they sharp? Do they stick out like elephant ears? Does your partner sometimes yelp, “Eat something besides salad, Baby. You’re killing me here!”

4. You wake up in a strange place, whereas you went to bed in your bed. This one is easy. Somebody moved you.

5. You wake up in your bed, whereas you went to bed in a strange place. Also easy. You need to learn to “cuddle” when you’re done.

6. You have had a strange dream, but it seemed so real. I hear this often. It probably was real. This is probably the dream. How can you know? (a) Pinch yourself. Did it hurt? Of course it hurt. Even in a dream it would hurt. What are you thinking? (b) Spin one of those little tops. Does it just keep going and going. And then almost stop and fall over, but then, no, it speeds up and keeps going, and then it starts to slow down… You get the idea. If this happens, it strongly indicates that you are at least a little crazy, for just doing everything I say. You’re lucky I don’t ask you for money. Yes, you, four-eyes.

7. You wake up and your wife is gone. Her clothes are gone. Her suitcase is gone. In the kitchen, there are signs that she made a PB&J to take with her. Check in the hall closet! Whew. Your golf clubs are still there.

5 Must-Know Facts About Sex

[Headline, Huffington Post, 01/11/12]

1. It’s ok to mix sex and food. For some, it is essential. (a) Is it possible to cook a good dinner, including hor dourves and dessert, while having sex? Sure. We won’t get graphic here; just know that it’s no problem. Care is necessary so that no one gets scalded or cut. (b) Comfort eating can be a big help during the rigors of intercourse. (c) Don’t snap your gum.

2. It’s ok to spread out the act, timewise. Pace yourself if you want to. Attenuate the friction by taking the whole day, say, on and off, to complete your business. What’s the rush? You’ve got the rest of your life, unless you’re on a date. Get started, take a break for Kelly Ripa and bagels, re-engage, argue about your finances, lose interest, do a little blow to rekindle, re-enact that time you were both unfaithful but now can laugh about it (only if you’re really high), and so on. There is no shame in temporarily wandering off, unless it’s to a strip club.

3. It’s not ok to call it sex when it’s really something else, like, say, exercise. Don’t count out loud, as if you’re doing pushups. Don’t play that little game where one of you chases the other, both of you shrieking with laughter, and you wrestle her to the ground, if that chase runs longer than three hours or twelve miles, whichever comes first. Normal relations never include lifting your partner repeatedly over your head.

4. It’s not ok if either of the two partners in the act does not realize that it is actually going on.

5. An exception to #4: If you can only enjoy sexual congress when asleep, it’s ok to tell your mate “Good night, Honey. Knock yourself out.”

Life in Hollywood: Advertising

Screenwriters sometimes write ad copy. An Australian friend asked me to have a go at something new for Aeroplane Jelly. He had been paid a big advance for a draft now due, but after a week with me in Hollywood, he was too drunk and disoriented to write anything. The subject came up as we drank at the Pole Cats Lounge in East L.A. A dancer there uses aquamarine Jello onstage. After she finishes, she comes down and acts innocent while administering lap dances to patrons aghast at the glob of it she still holds in her hand.

98 words. An entry in the 100 Word Challenge.


I will kill my father. For what he has done to my mother. For what he has done to me. I will kill him. Thou shalt not kill? God kills hundreds while I bless my food. While I pray. Let God use me for one of these deaths. Why was my father born? Let his death return balance to my life. God will thank me. Am I resolved in this truth? I am resolved. Not elated. I feel no sense of joy. No satisfaction. No pride. It is too late for that. Too much pain. Too many insults to my body and my spirit. Too many tears. Too much ugliness. But now this inspiration comes to me, late but not too late, these quiet thoughts, this impulse to kill, to end it, to end him, to make things right, this idea, here, at last. I glow with it. I am filled with it. When he comes, it will end. It will all end. I will end it. Tonight? Please God yes. Tonight. I pray tonight. Soon. The moon is out. I will not pretend tonight. I will never pretend again. When the door opens and the light falls over me from the hall, let him see me, my expression, my spirit, my resolve, my determination, my anger, my rage, my wrath, my vengeance, let him see it on me, in me, set in me, in stone, in steel, for all time, written on my face, in my body, my brain, my soul, my guts, my boiling blood by God I will act, I will strike, I will kill this monster. Soon, yes soon. But now, now be still. Stop. Be calm. Be quiet. Breathe deep. Breathe. Breath in. Out. Feel your heart pounding, hammering, blood in your ears. Eyes swimming. Let the tears run. Breathe. Open your wet hands. Let your lips only touch, just touch each other. Close your eyes. Listen to the quiet, the silence in the house, the air whispering as your heart slows, feel the rasp of linen on your skin. Be alive. Know that you are alive. Now. Here. Pain cannot touch you now. You are whole, you belong to you, only you. Your resolve is armor and shield and weapon. Move your hands. Your fingers. Open your mouth and let the breath flow out, come in, flow out, like quiet surf. Lie still and drift in the night. Do not do this thing in anger. You do not need anger. Open the door within yourself. To act, to do this thing tonight, soon, opens that door. To do this is to leave a dark place, not enter one. To take one step and stand in light, a new life. To see the world changed forever. The monster gone. Dead. Buried away. By your hand. When he comes, tonight. In the first moment. If you pause, if you wait, if you allow one word to pass between you, you will not do it. That first instant. Do it then. You will hear his heavy breath, the breathing, and you will smell his odor. You will smell his stench. You will feel his heat. He draws near. You feel the closeness. The dark cloud, the evil, the devil, your hatred, your steel, and you will strike in that moment you will strike like a brute would strike like he would strike like God Himself would strike once twice pushing pushing forward not pulling back away but thrusting ahead jaw clenched thrusting thrusting in silence eyes squeezed shut driving forward with all your strength until you know that you are done that it is done that it is over no going back now anger burning in you an anger that blinds you. But know this, know this, know that if your anger does not shield you, if it abates, know that this act is not a switch, not a single click tick flip tap. Now alive now dead. Alive dead. No. Not this, but a process that yes is short but no will seem long so very long. The memory of this will not leave you. When the moment comes, when you have struck and now wait for the end, wait for it to be over please God, while you wait for all motion to cease, all sounds, those groans, that bubbling shuddering struggle to live, wait pleading for it to end, this is the time to look out at the moon again and to take in that slow and measured breath. Connect that breath to the moonlight. Breathe the moonlight into your heart. The other sounds have nothing to do with you. Those sounds belong to him. Let him own them. Let those sounds pass, let them cease by themselves. Find peace in this moment of greatest horror, breathe the peace in as moonlight. This moment, the most vital you will know, this moment when life ends, treasure it. When the moment passes, when it is done, Mother will try to come in. The door will be locked. The door is always locked. That is the first thing. Mother will not come in. The police will break the door and come in and Mother will try to look in, to see, but Father will be covered by then. You will cover him before she can see. She will see blood. She will see the sheets. Just a glimpse of them before the police pull her away. She will see you and the blood on you. But that is all she will see. It will be finished. You are close to that finish now. Will you reach it? Will sudden thoughts stop you before you act? Will this knowing, these expectations, this vision of blood stop you? Will it stop me? No. It will not stop me. Not if I do not think of it again. The locked door will stop Mother and the police will come and Father will be gone and that is all I want to know. Breathe in. I will not think, not think of before, of during, of after, not now, not again. The moon. Instead. Or if, or if perhaps the thought of blood and of Mother looking in weakens me, dissolves my strength, saps my will, deadens my spirit? If the thoughts are too much and overwhelm me? If I lack the strength after all to end his life, my father’s life? Then I will turn my anger against myself, like every time before. I will turn the anger inward but this time I will bring peace to this poor victim, peace by the steel but without the object, the cause, peace to this victim, now victim twice. With the moon in my eyes, I will bring eternal peace to this bed and this mind by my own hand and I will smile wide when I do it.

Elizabeth Taylor’s Ring Gets A Surprising New Owner

[Headline, Huffington Post, 01/06/12]

First, I deplore the use of celebrity gear in voodoo rites. I wish that I had a nickel for every star who has died of lung cancer because some voodoo newbie didn’t know what he was doing.

Second, I’m sick and tired of standing by the Two-Buck Chuck in the Trader Joe’s on Vine and watching Brad Pitt’s cargo pants walk past on the legs of some pimply teenage trash cruiser. Stars used to donate their clothes locally. Now they ship them off to Cameroons or Dhalijalibab because some young woman wearing Angelina’s silk blouse seems to think that this gives her license to get up in Jolie’s grill and express herself on whatever crazy obsession of the moment.

By the time Elizabeth passed, her ring was her only remaining possession. Long before, you could walk down Sunset and spot the outlines of one of her famous bras, only partially filled, under some young student’s Hollywood High T-shirt. The town has become Vulture City. Certain stars, and I’m not naming Gwyneth or Jennifer, now buy stuff and hand it over directly to their fans, just to try and buy a few precious moments of peace.

Having said this, I know a guy who knows a guy who can get you pretty much whatever you want, as long as you’re willing to pay the freight. Let me know.

Saudi Report Claims Women Who Drive Will Have Sex

[headline, Huffington Post]

I was in a cab last night. The neighborhood convenience store is only four blocks away, but I have a sprained ankle so I couldn’t make it there on foot. All I wanted was a six pack of Tecate and a bottle of Tequila Don Julio Añejo to put in the beer, but when you can’t walk for free, you’ve got to pay for the ride (Life rule, which applies to women and gambling, as well as transportation). Otherwise, you’re dry all night, like in Saudi Arabia, where drinking and women drivers are banned.

The taxi driver was a woman. I gave her one block of small talk and then asked if she would have sex with me. “I’m driving, aren’t I?” she said.

So the question was, should I wait out the three remaining blocks, then hobble into the store and get my brew and tequila, and then hobble back out and have Trudi (for that was her name) drive me home, before we had sex? Or should I put off my purchase and just have her pull over in front of the Robinson’s house and join me in the back seat? In Saudi Arabia, Abdullah would be driving me to a chicken fight while I toked on Turkish hash in the back seat. No tough decisions necessary.

I believe in restraint, so I told Trudi I was going to buy my drinks first. I could tell she was disappointed by the way she gripped her gear shift. She told me that she had got behind the wheel for the first time at the age of fifteen, and had had her first child nine months later. When we got to my place, I asked her to come in and have a beer with me and then we’d retire to the bedroom. She looked at me like I was crazy. “Get out of the car?” she said.

A prayer

O Thou kind Santa! Thou hast created all humanity from thy own Joy. Thou hast intended that all belong to the same household, without stirring. In Thy Holy Presence, all mankind are sheltered beneath Thy tree. O Santa! Thou art kind to all, Thou hast provided for all, Thou dost shelter all, including reindeer and elf. I desire neither earthly kingdom, nor even freedom from birth and death, only a pony. Thou art the Mighty and Powerful! Thou art the Forgiving and Thou art the One Who overlookest the shortcomings of humankind, and brings presents.

[photo courtesy of http://lucidgypsy.wordpress.com/2011/12/09/weekly-photo-challenge-celebration/]

An entry in the 100 Word Challenge.

WATCH: Bullfrog DOMINATES Video Game

[Headline, Huffington Post]

You know that giant man spotted at Kim Jong-Il’s funeral? And now a giant bullfrog with super intelligence which croaks in the Korean bullfrog dialect? Coincidence? I think not.

The North Koreans, at first glance, have accomplished nothing in the past few decades. Satellite photos taken at night show a black patch of earth surrounded by the lights of China, South Korea, and Japan. Nothing to show for sixty years of struggle in NK, nothing other than the construction of a few nukes. Or not?? NK is the same size as Mississippi, which should tell you something right there.

NK has a million-man army, fourth largest in the world. When the authorities want a million-man march, unlike in Mississippi, no problem!

The truth is, those in power in North Korea have directed strong efforts over the years in secret directions. They’ve done a lot of work on giants, for one thing, and bullfrogs, for another. I have read several predictions that if Kim Jong-Il’s son fails as the next glorious leader, a giant human with the characteristics of a bullfrog, or vice versa, will take over. What does this mean?

Number one, our diplomats are not equipped to negotiate with a frog. The current liberal Greenpeacers in the EPA in Washington now are just dying to give away the store. The only thing worse would be if Korea was controlled by an ivory-billed woodpecker.

Number two, the Olympics will become a travesty, at least where the long jump is concerned.

Number three, NK is known as the Hermit kingdom. You don’t have to be a genious to see that the country is working not only on frogs, but on hermit crabs as well.

I hold no brief against frogs! Some of my best friends have pet frogs, or eat frog legs (but not both), or in shorts look like they have frog legs ha ha.

Toads, though, I’m not so sure. A big plate of toad legs can put a real damper on a first date.

So in closing: if a frog beats you at a video game, yes, he might be a prince, but if he is missing his legs, he might have played a French chef… and lost!