Escape your life for a little while — come play in mine.

Posts Tagged ‘Humor’

Paul Ryan vs Joe Biden

Posted by Lissa on August 29, 2012

Go here for an amusing series of photo comparisons. I’m just going to feature one here, for the ladies:


You’re welcome 🙂

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If you read only one thing today …

Posted by Lissa on November 8, 2011

… go read about CalvinsMom’s parents and their new furniture.  Go.  Do.  Would that every day started out with this much FunnyAwesome 🙂 🙂 🙂

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And you thought Autocorrect was dangerous

Posted by Lissa on October 21, 2011

Mike and I have been having lots of fun with SIRI, the new voice assistant on our iPhones. Between asking her what she’s wearing, requesting that she beam us up or tell us a joke, and telling her we need to hide a body, it’s been hugely entertaining.

But it can be dangerous, too …

I’m in the kitchen cooking dinner and I hear Mike say, “Tell Lissa ‘You’re a pretty kitty.’ ” I smile and look forward to the text message that will pop up on my phone, only to be confused by Mike busting out laughing. Snorting and chuckling, he comes over, phone in hand.

“That’s not what I said, and I would never send it,” he warns me.

“I heard what you said,” I told him, puzzled.

“Good, ’cause here’s what it wrote …”

Your a piggy kitty.

Damn you, SIRI!!


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OMG best restaurant review EVER!!!!

Posted by Lissa on March 21, 2011

I’m still cackling like a hyper-spastic drunken hyena over this beautifully-crafted gem of a restaurant review.

Twenty minutes later, possibly under their own steam, the snails arrive. Vesuvian, they bubble and smoke in a magma of astringent garlic butter and parsley. We grasp them with the spring-loaded specula and gingerly unwind the dark gastropods, curling like dinosaur boogers. They go on and on, expanding onto the plate as if they were alien. We have to cut them in half, which is just wrong. The rule with snails is: Don’t eat one you couldn’t get up your nose.

Dinosaur boogers?!? I may never eat escargots again!!

I have decided not to go for the famous roast chicken, mainly because I’ve suffered it before and I’d just been watching a Japanese couple wrestle with one like a manga poltergeist from some Tokyo horror movie, its scaly blue legs stabbing the air. So on to the broiled kidneys. Nothing I have eaten or heard of being eaten here prepared me for the arrival of the veal kidneys en brochette. Somehow the heat had welded them together into a gray, suppurating renal brick. It could be the result of an accident involving rat babies in a nuclear reactor. They don’t taste as nice as they sound.

Everyone needs a good laugh on a Monday morning — go read the whole thing 🙂

(h/t Go Fug Yourself)

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Dr. Seuss on the election

Posted by Lissa on November 2, 2010

As forwarded by my father.  Enjoy!!

I do not like this Uncle Sam,

I do not like his health care scam.

I do not like these dirty crooks,

or how they lie and cook the books.

I do not like when Congress steals,

I do not like their secret deals.

I do not like this speaker Nan ,

I do not like this ‘YES, WE CAN’.

I do not like this spending spree—

I’m smart, I know that nothing’s free.

I do not like your smug replies,

when I complain about your lies.

I do not like this kind of hope.

I do not like it. nope, nope, nope!

Go green – recycle Congress in 2010!


And for an extra treat — Mr. P.J. O’Rourke, in Don’t Vote, It Just Encourages The Bastards:

  • “Yet it was two consummate American politicians who supplied us with a model for the universal formulation of tolerance: “Mind your own business and keep your hands to yourself.”  These may be rightly called the Bill and Hillary Clinton Rules.   Hillary, mind your own business.  Bill, keep your hands to yourself.”
  • “The free market is not a creed or an ideology that political conservatives, libertarians and Ayn Rand acolytes want Americans to take on faith.  The free market is simply a measurement. The free market tells us what people are willing to pay for a given thing at a given moment.  That’s all the free market does. The free market is the bathroom scale. We may not like what we see when we step on the bathroom scale, but we can’t pass a law making ourselves weigh 165.  Liberals and leftists think we can.”
  • “But freedom is not fair.  Much can be made of the fact, I suppose.  Personally, I’m immune to the complaint.  I have a twelve-year-old daughter, Muffin.  All I hear is, “It’s not fair! It’s not fair! It’s not fair!” I say to her, “Honey, you’re cute.  That’s not fair.  You’re smart.  That’s not fair.  You were born in the United States of America.  That’s not fair.  Darling, you had better get down on your knees and pray to God that things don’t start getting fair for you.” “

And I’m off to the polls.  Keep your fingers crossed!

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Happy Halloween from Rajah!!

Posted by Lissa on November 1, 2010

Hi everyone!  I’m not dead!!  I am, however, a creature of routine. Every weekday morning I would wake up, drink coffee while composing a blogpost, then hie myself off to the gym or to the shower (depending on the clock’s menace or benignity).

Here?  I wake up around seven.  I sit on the couch reading and sipping coffee.  Then Mike goes off to work and I . . . do whatever.  Sometimes it’s unpacking boxes.  Sometimes it’s admiring the bright yellow flowers on my tomato plants.  Sometimes it’s helping my husband kill a snake.  For a good portion of the last week, it was entertaining two houseguests.  Somehow, checking the internet didn’t make the list.  Hell, if it weren’t for Mike I probably wouldn’t know when the weekend rolled around.  (But don’t worry!  I know I need to vote tomorrow!!!)

Except, of course, Halloween.  You think I’d lose sight of that???

(In retrospect, we probably needed the “small” costume, not the “medium.”  Oh well.)


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Ode to a Blue Gun, with apologies to Keats

Posted by Lissa on September 23, 2010

Jay G waxed poetical over at his place:

Blue gun, blue gun, resting on the shelf;
Shall I use you to test my draw, a race against myself?
Perhaps you’ll teach a new shooter a proper grip and stance;
Or perhaps test an accessory, to give a better chance.
Revolvers, pistols, shotguns, even bayonets all have a form of you;
Bringing new meaning to the term “tangled up in blue”.

He addded, “Okay, so poetry ain’t my strong point…”

Well, I *do* claim to be good at poetry spoofs, so I offered the following in his comments:

Thou still unravish’d bride of quiet draws,
Thou foster-child of plastic and gun molds,
Raging gunnie, who canst thus express
The 4 Rules more sweetly than with pictures:
What powder-fring’d legend haunt about thy shape
Of Sigs or Glocks, or of both
In M&P or the dales of 1911s?
What levers or safeties are these? What mag release?
What practice draws? What struggle to retain in combat?
What bells and whisles? What wild ecstasy?

Who else loves their blue gun?  🙂

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Black and blocky was the Glocky* . . .

Posted by Lissa on September 13, 2010

LISSA:  *hic* *hic* *hic*

MIKE: “I shoot you with the bluegun!  PEW PEW PEW!”

MIKE: “Did it work?”

LISSA: *hic* *hic* “No!” *hic* “Try the Glock!”

MIKE: “Okay!  PEW PEW!”


It looks just like a Glock, doesn’t it?

*Title is a reference to the silly gun poem of yore

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“My name is Inigo Montoya; you killed my father; prepare to die.”

Posted by Lissa on May 27, 2010

All hail the Princess Bride!

P.S. Mike had a professor at Ye Olde Business School who once gave the following as a bonus question on a test:

“What is the most famous of the classic blunders?”

Shamefully, I got it wrong; I guessed it was going in against a Sicilian when death is on the line.  (Mike made the same incorrect guess and felt a little better that I did too.)  That is, of course, only slightly less well-known than the most famous one.  Bad Lissa!

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Posted by Lissa on April 14, 2010

I’m not a grammar Nazi by any stretch of the word, but I have been known to pitch hissy-fits over this word.  I’ve frequently opined that if ever, god forbid, I became a teacher, I would have a big flashy sign over my desk:


But no longer!  I embrace — I cherish, even — “alot”!

The Alot is an imaginary creature that I made up to help me deal with my compulsive need to correct other people’s grammar.  It kind of looks like a cross between a bear, a yak and a pug, and it has provided hours of entertainment for me in a situation where I’d normally be left feeling angry and disillusioned with the world.  

For example, when I read the sentence “I care about this alot,” this is what I imagine: 

Similarly, when someone says “alot of _______”, I picture an Alot made out of whatever they are talking about.  


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