woman rides horse into club in her underwear

guest host: anne p.

hi. i’m anne, with an e. thanks to joem for giving me this forum.

joem is tight with ann r. i just want to be clear that i’m a whole different kettle of fish.

first, to set the record straight, that wasn’t my underwear. it belonged and belongs to my roommate and intended, jennifer. i myself don’t wear much underwear.

i had wanted to ride into the bar nude, but in deference to jennifer’s feelings of modesty, and perhaps because of her possessiveness toward my body, i chose to compromise by covering my sexy bits.

i rode in to propose to jennifer.

second, why in underwear? because we had had a tiff at breakfast. for some reason, the subject of lady godiva came up. jennifer knew nothing about her beyond the fact that she rode naked through town on a horse and had a chocolate candy named after her.

listen, jennifer, i said. if we’re going to be together till death does us part, assuming the conservatives don’t rise up and arrest all of us for getting married or using the wrong bathroom, you need to learn a little history, not just the names of every rock band in the universe.

jennifer, i said. at least get an idea of each century. godiva was in the domesday survey with her old english name of godgifu or godgyfu (gift of god). get to know something of  the little renaisance that occured in the eleventh century.

so i rode into the bar as godiva to give her an engagement ring and show her there were no hard feelings and she accepted.

i’m not going to go through life acting out history but i hope in this case, it was a teaching moment.

Senator apologizes to ex-aide’s ex-wives

I’m sorry for the things I’ve done. I know that I’m the guilty one. But what more can I do, than say to you… I’m sorry.

And thank you to the Platters.

Actually, I’m now an ex-Senator. I’ve joined the ex club.

Look, yes, maybe I knew he was beating you all regularly, but he was beating me regularly too. It started out as a fun thing, but it turned ugly early on. Were your marriages like that? Thank goodness my marriage wasn’t. I would come home from the Senatorial office Friday night and my spouse would throw a blanket and saddle over my back and ride me till Monday morning.

How am I supposed to look after my aide’s wives? I never met any of you. How was I to know the guy had more than one or two of you? Sure we’re from Utah, but this is the twenty-first century. Big Love was a hit and that guy (RIP) only had three.

So put your ex in the rear-view mirror, ex-wives, unless a civil suit might extract a few more dollars from him. Get on with your lives. I know he has, with a whole new lineup.

 

 

Foot Binding

Eight-hour filibuster. Four-inch heels.
Three hours to go. Why did I do this?
I felt regal at first. A goddamned queen.
I could see over the lectern. Make eye contact.
Would they respect me in flats?

The short congressmen. They stand on a box.
I blame Frank for this. Frank and his shoes.
Frank and his feet. He’ll rub these feet with warm oil into the night.
And no shoes tomorrow. Maybe the fluffy pink slippers.
The tailor’s bunion. Must get it treated.

These stilettos are shrinking. My toes overlap.
Should have brought a second pair. One size larger.
Two sizes larger. An inch shorter.
After five hours no one cares. I could stand eye to eye with Dinklage.
Look at him. He’s a king or something.

Wendy Davis went thirteen hours. Wendy Davis isn’t seventy-eight.
Wendy Davis wore pink tennis shoes. Then high heels for her Vogue shoot.
Must stop saying “I won’t stand for it.” Must quit calling Republicans “heels.”
Now it’s time for the man with no shoes. Draw it out.
When it’s time for the man with no feet… let out a little sob.

 

…for Poets United Midweek Motif – Shoes

Higashikagoro Uses Loudspeakers To Recall Fugu

Fugu (河豚; 鰒; フグ) is a dish prepared from pufferfish (genus Takifugu, Lagocephalus, or Sphoeroides) or porcupinefish (genus Diodon). Fugu can be lethally poisonous due to the presence of tetrodotoxin in the body of the fish.

In 1968, the small Japanese town of Higashikagoro was decimated due to the anger of chef Oishi Kuranosuke, the only chef in the only cafe in town. Oishi was preparing a dinner to be shared by the populace in Higashikagoro during their celebration of the town’s founding in the distant past, when his girlfriend Tomoe Gozen accused him of insufficient care in his preparation of the celebratory fugu. Obtuse and stubborn in the extreme, Oishi swore revenge upon her for her outburst.

All partook of the chef’s meal, including the chef himself. Only Ms. Gozen abstained.

Today, Ms. Gozen, the sole inhabitant of Higashikagoro for the past fifty years, used the municipal loudspeakers to recall for tourists the night of the banquet, the fugu, and in particular, Oishi Kuranosuke’s excruciating final moments.

Hall of Fame: Practice Flyovers

Top five memorable synchronized airshow practice flyovers:

1. Bucharest – For the first time in 350 years, all the babies in the sprawling Grigorescu orphanage were asleep at the same time. In preparation for the city’s coming celebration of the coronation of the country’s new king, the Regal Cvintet of GJ343 Steaua Polara ramjets chose that moment to fly over the city center and perform their complex and long-lasting series of aereal gymnastics, afterburners on. Then for the first time in 350 years, no baby in the orphanage was asleep.
2. Paris –  The world’s greatest collection of fine and rare crystal, gathered for the occasion from 78 countries, was assembled in La Place De La Place for a grand showing, when the TriColore FRG009 Cinq unleashed one unholy hell of a practice session in advance of the kickoff celebrations for the Tour de France. Setting new records for low-flying without noise retardant equipment, the Cinq reduced the crystal show below it to a fragment – well, fragments – of itself in moments.
3. Quattbongbong – On the night before the long-planned very secret marriage of Paulabong Ankarabing and Tomabing Hankarabong took place, the ไท กองทัพอากาศ ช้างบิน (Thai Air Force Flying Elephants) flew over so low, practicing flying, that the bride and groom were thown into a complete ความหวาดกลัว (tizzy).
4. Honolulu – The combined-service Rainbow Angels began performing their synchronized stunts over the city just as a bogus warning of a nuclear attack was broadcast across the island. Grown men broke down at the sound of the incoming jets, reduced to tears, crying like teeny tiny babies.
5. Washington, D.C. – The U.S. Navy XSNAFU super-helicopter precision quintet and the U.S. Air Force FU Flying Five were inadvertently sent to practice over the District Fairgrounds on July 3, in advance of the Fourth of July, at the same time. This sudden saturation of airspace over the Fairground’s Sulky Racetrack with high-performance aircraft proved to be a zero-sum game for one hundred per cent of the pilots concerned. Sadly. That’s not what zero-sum means, but we didn’t want to go all grisly here.

Memo Released to Public

I am releasing this memo to the Congressional Grammar School in Washington, D.C. because it shows that my daughter, Sue, favors my husband over me. She should be ashamed. Let the teachers and students at CGS make their feelings known to her! As for my boys, Bob and Fred, they’re ok but they could show a little backbone once in a while.

Memo

From: Sue

To: Bob and Fred

Security: Classified!

Mom is a real jerk! A boob! I like Dad a lot more.

Dad lets us do what we want, as long as we make a few bucks and don’t bug him for $$. We can litter, he don’t care. A little weed. Whatever. Let him watch TV and play golf and that’s all he needs.

Mom cares more about the poor kids next door than she does about us. She’s always out demonstrating or “organizing.” And she’s low energy. Why doesn’t she organize Dad’s sock drawer if she cares so much?

I know you guys are “older and wiser” but jeez, I’m five years old. I got my rights!

Tax Q&A #157

Q: I hear guys joking around about a man marrying his tractor but I got to wondering whether there might be some tax considerations there. (J. Smith)

A: In this state, the laws are not unfavorable to just such a conjunction, but there are a tangle of rules.

What color is your tractor? If you are white, you cannot marry a black tractor. If you are black, you shouldn’t have a white tractor at all. The case of red and green tractors is being adjudicated.

How is your tractor used? For example, does it plow, till, disk, harrow, and plant? These are righteous uses. Taking the kids to school or catting around town are not.

Where was your tractor made? Tractors made in South Korea or Saudi Arabia are ok. Tractors made in Viet Nam or Iraq are iffy. Tractors made in Russia, China, or Iran may cause the Government to ask you whether you are patriotic or not. You don’t want them asking that.

Do you have more than one tractor? You can only claim one. DO NOT mention the others.

Where does your tractor stay at night? Out in the barn or in your bedroom is ok. It should be home at night and for damn sure it should not be living on another farm.

For comparison purposes: A tractor will save you twice as much as a cow, three times as much as a sheep, and four times as much as a goat.

Hope this helps!

QUIK POLL #478

I asked the following question to the first 100 people I met on the street. Demographic info filed separately.

Who is the most famous Roman emperor?

• Nero (67%)
• Caesar (21%)
• The Pope (12%)

Who is the most famous U.S. president?

• Trump (79%)
• Washington (12%)
• Lincoln (9%)

Crumbling Infrastructure

It’s crumbling, the Infrastructure.

I was driving on the I57 and hit potholes. The crumbling highway, but Holy Cow those potholes shook up the old Firebird’s chassis. The edges of those holes need to be a little more crumbly than they are.

I’m bumbling and grumbling and fumbling and it’s humbling and i’m jumbling things in my head and tumbling and mumbling and my innards are rumbling and i’m stumbling, but by God I’m not crumbling, not yet.

Ever see a bridge crumble? Just sort of melts into the river.

Ever see a structure crumble, whether infra or outfra? The outlines go soft. The thing draws scorn. Fresh scorn. You can’t fix it. Got to tear it down.

I knew a Mongolian kid named Jumble. Never checked the spelling. In English I mean.

Finally, the good news: A crumble is a dish of British origin that can be made in a sweet or savoury version, although the sweet version is much more common. A sweet variety usually contains stewed fruit topped with a crumbly mixture of fat, flour, and sugar. (Wikipedia)

But a crumble doesn’t crumble when it gets old. It petrifies.

Deep State

Our folks took us out to eat last night. We went to a pizza place that was supposed to be good.

The waitperson came over and said that the special was a deep-dish pizza.

“No deep-dish,” my dad said. “Just bring us the dish pizza.”

“But the deep…”

“No deep. We don’t hold with the deep.”

“You’re getting in too deep,” my mom whispered to him.

My dad doesn’t vote because he says that when you do, your vote sinks, sinks, sinks into the deep. My dad read a book written by Mickey Spillane called “The Deep.” It made an impression.

The Deep State is the worst. My dad takes it as a personal criticism.

“I’m not in a deep state,” he says. “The average elevation of Nebraska is 2,600 feet. Feet, not meters.”

“But dad,” my sister says, ” there are 3.28084 feet in a meter.”

“Who told you that?!”

“Dear,” my mom says, in a deep voice, “look deep into my eyes.”

“Oh my god,” my dad says. “I’ve peed.”