Dangerously Fat

At one time in my life I was morbidly obese.
I have taken off five or six pounds since then, and now I am just dangerously fat.

My doctors have warned me for years that I could have a stroke and end up looking like Stephen Hawking, the astronomy genius. My fifth grade teacher announced to the whole class that I would know a lot about astronomy–she said that all I had between my ears was outer space.

I don’t want to blow a gasket, so I rarely strain myself.
When I go to the gym, I really just sit around and look at different women.
My eyeballs are physically fit.
I’m going to die one day, and instead of a slow lingering death, I think I would rather get hit by a large train.

Rodney Dangerfield

Rodney Dangerfield said that his wife liked to talk to him when she made love–
she would call him from her hotel.

When asked why he took his wife with him wherever he went, he replied,
“She is too ugly to kiss goodbye.”

He said he was lonely as a child.
His parents tied a bone around his neck to get the dog to play with him.

His uncle never loved him–his dying words were, “Sit in my lap”–he was in the electric chair.

His doctor told him, “Right away, I need a stool sample, a sperm sample, and a urine sample.”
Rodney said he gave him his underwear and got out of there.

Rodney, you’re my hero.

summer

shorts and flip flops

days by the sea

eating Bar-B=cue

sipping iced tea 

look on the horizon

a thong bikini

We Regret Any Inconvenience

“This is your Captain speaking. I regret to inform you that due to a large fog bank, this flight will be landing in Manchester England. British Airways will provide transportation to London. We regret any inconvenience.”
Holy shit! I’m going to miss my flight to Italy.
First they changed my seat to the back of the plane. When I complained, the stewardess said they put me in the back so the front would go up in the air. They sat me next to a big fat German woman. When she was sleeping she spoke in a deep creepy voice, repeating, “Batman loves me.”
That’s what it sounded like, I don’t speak German. There was some turbulence, and she grabbed my thigh. Knowing not to seek help from the stewardess, I lightly jabbed her hand with my pen.

In Manchester, they ushered us on to buses, stacked cases of Heineken on the floor, and said, “Enjoy your ride to London.”
I arrived at Victoria station drunk as a skunk. I missed my flight and spent the night in the Cumberland Hotel in Hyde Park.
Traveling always makes me realize, there is no place like home.

Growing Tomatoes

My tomato crop last year was a disgrace. I’m not sure what went wrong.
Did I hoe poorly? Was the fertilizer that my dog provided too strong?
Did ten stinkbugs sucking on each tomato have an adverse effect?
My eight perfectly planted plants produced seven deformed cherry sized tomatoes with above average flavor.

I am planting again tomorrow. I’m going to water perfectly all summer.
I’ve got my dog on an organic diet–Major Improvement in size and smell, and this makes us both happy.

Stinkbugs beware: my name is now Terminator.

The Kings of Frederick County

My best buddy Vance and I were cruising to Monocacy Village Park to catch a buzz. We had just beaten Westminster’s football team. Later, we would go to a house party with the cheerleaders. In those days we were the kings of Frederick County. Making our own rules, no fear, all muscle, living large.

Vance had two fatties of Mexican. Some hard tokes, holding it in, feeling the coolness, which seemed to go all the way to my vertebrae. We headed back to TJ High School. We would go to the school dance and scope on some babes.

Making a left turn onto 13th Street, I saw flashing lights in my rear-view.

“Vance, it’s a cop,” I yelled. I had never been pulled over before.

“Vance, what do I do,” I yelled again.

“Floor it!” Vance said.

Vance was crazy and stoned, and so was I. I jammed on that gas peddle with my extra-wide foot. My rusty, beat-up VW beetle did not put much distance between us and that cop. At the four way stop, I pulled over.

“Eat this.”

Vance handed me a fat joint. I stuck it in my mouth as I saw the cop, almost at my window. He shined his light in my face as I pushed the joint between my front teeth & gums and my upper lip. I smiled at him with my hidden joint bulging my lip and tiny slits for eyes. I must have looked like a chink. Then he shined the light on Vance. Vance was holding his arms weirdly in the air, and he was making a face with his lips all crooked, and he said, “Officer, I have muscular dystrophy.”

The cop and I both did a double take. The cop said, “Now look, your smart-asses could get a fine of over 100 dollars for speeding. As I saw you boys kick Westminster’s ass, and my nephew is your defensive end, I just want you to get the hell out of here.”

I was lucky that night, and many other nights. We were kings of Frederick County, living large, in our glory days.

The Italian Army’s Pit Stop

A determined Italian General is marching his men through the desert to meet and battle the Germans.
He won’t stop and they march for days.
Finally he stops, turns around and shouts,
“Men, we are going to have a change of underwear.”

A huge cheer rises from his men.
Then he says, “Luigi you change with Joseppi, and Mario you change with Leo.”

I Liked the Way She Sat

The nurse at my doctor’s appointment was wrapping the blood pressure meter around my arm when I noticed she had a bald spot. Then she smiled, and I saw that she was missing a front tooth.
I am lonely, so I said, “My blood pressure goes up around beautiful women.”

I could see some reddening above a large mole on her cheek–she was blushing.
“Sir, your blood pressure is low. I guess I’m not that pretty,” she said.

I told her I was attracted to grey-haired women, and I liked the way she sat in her chair.
She had great posture. Then my doctor came in and ruined everything.

Oh well, this is life. I’ll be back in four months.
I’ll try to get my blood pressure up by then.

Between Lies and Good Luck

It was another Friday night out on Masser Road. We had parked hours earlier
and drank many beers and smoked ganja. Our buddy Snydo was designated driver, and he was wasted.
His door opened up when we were leaving, and he fell out of the car.

“Vance grab the steering wheel!”
He didn’t budge. As we went through a barbed-wire fence, I jumped from the back seat and grabbed the steering wheel. We bounced through a cornfield and then came to an abrupt stop. I ended up with my head resting on the dash and my legs straddling Vance’s head.

We got the door open and tumbled out. We looked back and saw Snydo laying in the middle of the road. He was giving us a thumbs up. What a trooper!

Between lies and good luck we didn’t get into any trouble for this,
and we tried to do it again the following Friday.

Getting From Point A to Point B

When I get up in the morning,
sometimes the pain in my hip and knee makes me get into the ninja warrior position.
Then I sort of waddle into the bathroom, take a hot shower and stretch,
after which I can straighten up and walk right.

Over the last couple of years the shooting pain in my hip has caused me to swallow my gum abruptly, groan loudly in the library, and to fall over in an elevator, taking two small children down with me. They were good-natured about it. They helped me back up after I rolled off of them.

I have friends my age who have already had hip replacements. They recovered but still seem to have a hitch in their git-along.

The important thing is to get from point A to point B and not what you look like getting there.