Bad Dreams

Todd Smith woke to find a raccoon biting his chin.

“I was at camp, dreaming that my mom wanted me to shave. Christ, I’ve only got about four hairs.”

Aaron Goldberg woke to discover that all his teeth had fallen out.

“I’ve had the same dream a hundred times. Out come the teeth. My therapist told me I was worried about losing my job, or maybe I was keeping a secret from someone. Turns out, she didn’t know bubkes about gum disease.”

Arvis Portlander was taken into custody at Microphonics, Inc., his place of work, nude in his cubicle.

“It was a lot more fun in my dream,” he said.

Matty Logan, seventh grader, came down to breakfast on a Wednesday-morning school day.

“My mom was in tears. I asked her what was wrong. She told me she had had a dream. In the dream I grew up and moved to the West Coast. I didn’t call. I didn’t write. I ate fast food and got thin. Not fat. Thin. I married a girl who was all wrong for me. The grandchildren were born and never knew my mom existed. At least she could have helped out at the time of their births, but no, my wife’s mother was a complete tyrant. She forbade my mom from flying out when the deliveries occurred. What did I do when this mother-in-law behaved like a Hitler? Nothing. I was under her thumb. At that point my mother contracted cancer but did I come home and visit her in the hospital? I came home, yes, but only to collect my childhood toys, which she had kept for me, dusted, all those long years. I wanted the toys for my children. Me, Matty Logan, monster. I tore out her heart, but still I should eat my oatmeal because the school bus was not going to hang around waiting for me to show up five minutes late.”

Bradford Simmons opened his eyes in the morning and thanked God that it had only been a dream.

“You know when you’re in a situation  where you’re totally screwed, but then you wake up and it’s only a dream? That just happened to me, in spades. I was back with my ex, only this time she understood me.  You know what I mean? Understood where I was really coming from, and she was going to make me pay for it.”

Fredrico Pascareli lives in Chicago.

“I’m a Cubs fan. I don’t have bad dreams. I don’t need them.”

The President left the White House suddenly on Friday afternoon. Reporters followed him to a psychic’s  home on U Street NW in Le Droit Park. He went into the residence and stayed for an hour, with Secret Service agents circling the building and pacing on the porch. When the President emerged, he held an impromptu press conference next to his limo.

“I had a dream last night so intense that I shared it with my Cabinet this morning. The members present were unable to shed light on the meaning of the dream. I convened the NSC and then the Joint Chiefs. No help from either, although members of both used the occasion to push their agendas in a transparent fashion that I found rather pathetic.

“I deemed the matter of sufficient importance to obtain an appointment with Madame Rose… Yes, she provided me with the answers that I required… No, I cannot share those answers… No, I cannot share the dream. It has been classified… No, I cannot share the actions that I will now take, but I can assure you that they will be significant… There are those who will be held responsible for their actions in my dream. There are those who will suffer consequences most grievous… It was just a dream but Jesus it seemed so real!”

Sheriff: Victim’s Head Still Missing

(CNN)

We found a foot first. I think it was a right foot. I remember we found the foot and then found another right foot later and the coroner insisted that the second foot did not belong to the same body as the first foot. I remember I asked him if some individuals might not have two right feet or two left feet and he told me that no, they wouldn’t. I didn’t want to let it go even when he pointed out that the second right foot was from a female, whereas the first one was from a male. Don’t they say guys all have a little female in them, which explains why when you’re in the shower, you can’t help checking out another guy’s equipment?

Then we found a left foot that the corner said, due to its DNA, matched up with the first right foot. He also told me when I asked, that an individual with two male feet and one female foot would defy the laws of nature and would be ungodly. As a good Christian, I let the extra foot go at that point. We filed it away as Unidentified Body #2, Part #1.

Next we found the male individual’s coccyx. It wasn’t what it sounds like. At this point the coroner told me that this individual had experienced a grievous injury of some sort. You can lose both feet in a variety of ways. A train can run over them and chop them off. But then you go get some artificial feet and some crutches and life goes on. But if you lose your coccyx, it’s not like getting your boxer’s tail docked. You will be in a world of hurt. Hemorrhoids don’t compare.

This is the point at which we put that running checklist into the evening paper. This is the point at which Betty’s Doughnuts started offering $5 worth of crullers for each new body part found. And when the head became the only part left missing and unchecked in the list, Betty upped her award to $10 worth of glazed and House of Bamboo threw in an end table.

Lester Branchette the first-grade teacher contributed an artist’s sketch of the missing head – as seen from a rear view, hair color and curl based upon the found torso’s back hair.

Everyone in the community seems to agree that this thing – this search for the body parts and so on – has brought us all a little bit closer together and taught us all a little something about what the coroner likes to call “anatomy.”

 

 

This Cheeto Looks Suspiciously Like A Masturbating Man

[Headline, Huffington Post]

This Cheeto doesn’t look anything like me when I masturbate. Should I be worried? Huffington Post male masturbators are among the premier writers and news correspondents in the world, right? If this Cheeto looks like a Huffington Post writer when he masturbates, am I doing it wrong? Am I some kind of deviant or pervert? Or is that purvert? Or purvurt? Or, if you own a cat, purrvurt?

I never compared masturbation notes with, like, my priest. How does he do it? I have no idea. Masturbating makes me want to snack. Does that tell us anything? How many individuals masturbate and snack at the same time? Is that weird or normal? If normal, does it matter whether the snack is healthy or sort of junky? What about binging?

I did see a… what would you call it… a sex tape? Three hundred different amateur, or “amateur,” women masturbating (one at a time). I think… I think they were doing it sort of like me! Except that I’m a little more liberal with the lipstick and nail polish. I need a group! Do they still do groups? I looked into self-pleasuring groups and all I found was something called a “circle jerk.” Eww!

The Huffing Post is liberal, right? Left wing? Maybe I’m just a Republican masturbator. I am right-handed. This would assume that Republican men masturbate. In a dress.

Who makes Cheetos, anyway? What the hell is wrong with them? Cheetos make your fingers totally orange, especially if you suck on them (the cheetos) and get them wet. You eat a bag or two whilst masturbating and what have you got? Soiled briefs. And a wife who wonders why your underwear is stained with the orange residue of… what?

I remember my fifth-grade teacher grabbing me by the shoulders and shouting at me, begging me, pleading with me, ordering me, commanding me to only masturbate in the nude, ever. Take off your pants and your underpants, for the love of God! she would shout. I can hear her now. What was that all about?

I spoke to Horace Pourous about his famous Cheeto collection. Added my voice to those of others urging him to place his remarkable collection in the hands of a responsible museum. During my visit, I saw the Cheeto That Suspiciously Resembles A Woman Masturbating, the Joined Cheetos That Suspiciously Resemble A Couple Having Sex (Man/Woman), the Joined Cheetos That Suspiciously Resemble A Couple Having Sex (Gay), the Joined Cheetos That Suspiciously Resemble A Couple Having Sex (Lesbos), the Joined Cheetos That Suspiciously Resemble A Couple Having Sex (Man/Sheep), as well as the Cheezit That Suspiciously Resembles A Penis, the Cheezit That Suspiciously Resembles A Dildo, the Cheezit That Suspiciously Resembles A Vulva, and the classic Cheezit That Suspiciously Resembles A Cheezit Giving Birth To A Cheeto. Like me, Horace has orange stains on his fingers and his fly.

Man Tries To Throw Wife Off Bridge, Instead Falls Himself: Police

[Headline, Huffington Post]

I wasn’t trying to throw my wife off the bridge. I was trying to strangle her. Then I was going to throw her off.

Our marriage has been troubled.

If I just threw her off, the drop wasn’t going to hurt her and I couldn’t depend on the gators to finish the job. Look at me. They only got one foot, one hand, and half a buttock.

If I had thrown Agnes off alive, I’d have her stumping around the house on one foot now, trying to cook and clean with one hand and unable to sit and rest without pain. She would have been unbearable! Not that she isn’t anyway.

I explained all this to the police. So did Agnes. They understood that the whole affair was an accident. Or a failure, from my perspective. But Huffington’s stringer down here, Audet Duplessis, covers a thousand square miles of swamp and bayou and and you can’t tell her anything. Which is why I arranged to meet her on the bridge later, to give her a blow by blow recreation of the events that had transpired.

I tried to strangle her and took my second trip down into the drink. That’s how I lost another half-buttock, my car keys, my eye glasses, and one ear.

How do you keep your new glasses on without an ear? i haven’t figured that one out yet.

And yet, here comes the next Huffington Post headline.

“Man Tries To Throw Reporter Off Bridge, Instead Falls Himself: Police”

She knew I was trying to strangle her. What else did she mean at the time when she said, “Ggggggggggggggg!”

I’ll give Audet this. She came out there with me again when I promised to behave. And then here comes the next headline.

“Man Tries To Throw Self Off Bridge, Instead Falls Himself: Police”

37 Things In Your Home To Get Rid Of Right Now

[Headline, Huffington Post]

1. Anything dead that you aren’t going to eat.

2. Anything that will incriminate you or other family members in a felony.

3. The thing farthest back in the ice box.

4. The monster under the bed.

5. The dust bunnies (aka “slut’s wool”) under the bed.

6. Uncle Charlie.

7. Great-grandma Myrtle

8. Broken glass on the floor, especially in front of the sink and around the toilet.

9. Any chair that no one has sat on over the past year.

10. Make that the past, oh, six months.

11. The contents of any drawer unopened in the past five years.

12. Glassware from the very back of the top kitchen shelf.

13. Spices you’ve never used, such as epazote, fenugreek, and machalepi.

14. All those wedding gifts stored in the attic.

15. Bottles of alcoholic products with less than a quarter-inch of fluid in the bottom.

16. Hair in the bathroom sink and tub. Once it has fallen out, it’s of no further use to you.

17. Any homeless people living on or about your premises without your knowledge or permission, although you don’t want to be a meany about it. Perhaps sit down with them for a cup of coffee or a cocktail, discuss their situation, see what you can work out. Try to make it win/win. Maybe they can babysit your newborn infant, for example.

18. Speaking of newborn infants, don’t throw out the baby with the bathwater, ha ha.

19. Old hair nets.

20. Unmatched socks. Be ruthless.

21. Solved rebuses.

22. Solved mazes.

23. Solved crossword puzzles.

24. Those annoying unsolved interlocking iron rings.

25. Any toilet brushes with the bristles worn down to nubbins.

26. Engine blocks in the garage, if you’re absolutely sure that you’re not going to go ahead and rebuild them.

27. Used motor oil.

28. Dead batteries.

29. All those spare vacuum tubes in a shoebox in the closet.

30. Anything tangled that you’ll probably never untangle.

31. Anything broken that you’ll probably never fix.

32. Something that you’ve always hated but nobody else in the house does. Take it out in the dead of night, whatever it is, and smash it to flinders. Spend a few minutes gloating over the remains.

33. Whoa. Don’t let #32 get out of hand there.

34. It’s time to start looking at your personal situation. Why are you relying on us to tell you what  to do? We’re not your mother!. You’ll notice that “Take out the trash” isn’t on this list. Did you do it? No? You’re hopeless!

35. That picture on the wall in the living room… No, the other one… Do the world a favor. Burn it.

36. You listen to Rush Limbaugh? Throw out all of your radios.

37. Go out on the front porch, turn around, step back inside, and begin grabbing objects one by one as you encounter them. Carry or push each one to the door and chuck it out onto the porch… Jeez, you’re doing it! I was just kidding. You really are impossible.

Florida woman, 81, arrested for feeding bears lots of dog food

[Headline, Huffington Post]

Feed a bear a can of dog food for lunch and the bear is hungry again at dinnertime.

Teach a bear to hunt down, kill, and eat a dog and the bear… well, it’s still hungry again at dinnertime.

But you don’t have to keep opening cans of dog food for it! The bear is self-sufficient! It can go out and kill a dog and eat it without you picking up a can opener. Is that so hard to understand?

But look. Once all the dogs are gone, all you’ve got left is cans of dog food. And a lot of hungry bears. If you don’t feed the bears, because they can’t open the cans for themselves, what with having paws instead of hands, whom do you think the bears are going to eat next? People! When my electric can opener broke, I was damned lucky to come out of it alive!

This all started when the highway patrol pulled me over with a truckload of dogs.

“Do you need all those dogs?” said the patrolman.

“Does a bear poop in the woods?” I said.

You see, the whole misunderstanding came about because of the ambiguity inherent in the words “dog food.” After my close calls with the cans, I decided to eliminate the middleman and just give the bears dog food, i.e., food made out of dogs, i.e., what I said above. Only, when the dog population waned, I had to start trucking them in.

This seemed easier than teaching the gators to eat the bears.

While in the pokey, I did figure out how to handle this bear situation. It’s so simple! Teach the bears to open the cans of dog food!

If you’ve ever watched the My Little Pony shows, you know that animals without hands can still manipulate just about anything. Flutterfly and Pinkie Pie always use a toothbrush at bedtime, for example. I’ve seen them do it. They hold the brush with their little hooves somehow.

Also, when you’re planning to live with the bears (not the Care Bears, ha ha!): get married, so that if you do run into a situation where the bears are going to eat a human, you’ll have one handy.

Man forced to have enemas gets $1.6M

[CNN headline]

I got the $1.6 million, so I guess I can say a word or two on the subject.

What is the main point here? What have we learned?

Have you ever received an award of  $1.6 million? No? Then shut your pizza-hole!

What we have learned here is, and forget the taxes, that’s a whole different conversation, what we have learned here is, what can you get for $1.6 million?

I know what you can get for  $1.6 million. Not much. In Silicon Valley, you can’t buy a  doghouse for $1.6 million. $1.6 million isn’t squat. You spend it and it’s gone and you’re no happier than you were before the enemas.

What I mean is, an enema, you’re outraged, you’re uncomfortable, they tell you to hold it, hold it, hold it, until you’re like, really? More? What are we waiting for here? What is this, a contest? Book of world records? Just let me sit on the pot for chrissakes! I’m a grown man!

Then you get your $1.6 million and go out and look at the big houses. The mansions in town. It’s expected. You’re holding  $1.6 million, what are you going to do? Open a savings account at .002% interest? No, you’re supposed to buy a damn mansion.

But around here with the young techies, you can whistle for a mansion,  all the chance you’re going to get one. Go find six bedrooms with separate baths, a nice pool, servant quarters. For your piddling  $1.6 million, maybe you get the quarters.What I mean is, an enema, you’re outraged, you’re uncomfortable, they tell you to hold it, hold it, hold it, until you’re like, really? More? What are we waiting for here? What is this, a contest? Book of world records? Just let me sit on the pot for chrissakes! I’m a grown man!

Then you get your $1.6 million and go out and look at the big houses. The mansions in town. It’s expected. You’re holding  $1.6 million, what are you going to do? Open a savings account at .002% interest? No, you’re supposed to buy a damn mansion.

But around here with the young techies, you can whistle for a mansion,  all the chance you’re going to get one. Go find six bedrooms with separate baths, a nice pool, servant quarters. For your piddling  $1.6 million, maybe you get the quarters.

Now I’m back in, going for another $1.6 million. I’m getting better at holding it.