Tim Torkildson's Clown Alley

Thursday, August 1, 2019

Can the Joe Biden who’s leading in polls survive Joe Biden the candidate?

the last time I saw Crazy Henry he was a candidate for mayor of Minneapolis. he asked me to work for his campaign as a volunteer, doing polls. "no" I told him. "I have a full time job and besides I don't know anything about polls and I think you running for mayor of anything but Nutty Town is a waste of time."
he shook my hand fervently and said "thanks for your endorsement. the polls show I'm leading by a ten percent margin over my opponents, and fifteen percent over the gashouse gang."
for the next five weeks Crazy Henry would call me late at night to ask how his polls were doing.
"I keep telling you I'm not involved in your dumb campaign!" I always shouted back at him. "leave me alone and let me get some sleep. I've got to work in the morning."
"that's just what I wanted to hear" he always replied. "keep up the good work, soldier, and I'll find a post for you in my kitchen cabinet."
Finally one night he called to say that the polls were showing that the election was not for 2 more years, so he was going to ride his Segway to Graceland for a brief vacation. "you know what you can do with your poll . . . " I began to tell him, but by then he'd hung up.

Rammstein’s guitarists kiss onstage in defiant protest of Russia’s anti-LGBTQ laws

I saw two ghosts kissing in a haunted house. "hey" I said to them, "are you male or female ghosts -- it's hard to tell with those shrouds you wear."
"in the afterlife there are no gender roles" said one of the ghosts. "we are free to love one another in any manner we please." this intrigued me, so I asked one of them if they would mind giving me a kiss (I was between relationships at the time.) both ghosts laughed at this and slowly faded away. but then another ghost floated into the room, looking very stern. it had a badge on its shroud. "listen" it said to me, "you've broken one of our ghost laws by asking a ghost for a kiss. I'm afraid I'm going to have to take you to ghost jail to stand trail in a ghost court." it tried to grab me, but being incorporeal it couldn't lay a finger on me. instead I blew on it, and it drifted out the window sobbing curses at me.
I waited around the haunted house the rest of the night to see if any other ghosts would show up -- I wanted to ask about their music preferences. but no more showed up. so at cock crow I walked over to a Dunkin Donuts for some hot chocolate and fresh crullers. and guess what? I saw those same ghosts from the haunted house sitting there, eating raw kale on sprouted wheat bread. that's when I knew the supernatural world reigned supreme.

Wednesday, July 31, 2019

44 people were injured when a waterpark wave machine launched a crushing tsunami

I was enjoying myself at the arboretum, when all of a sudden the sprinklers were turned on -- with a vengeance! I mean, they were like fire hoses. I was knocked off my feet into the nasturtiums, my elbows and knees scrapped a bloody red. an elderly couple nearby were hurled into the duck pond and nearly suffocated when they swallowed some lily pads. to make matters worse the overhead sprinklers came on as well, so everyone inside the arboretum began to drown. the water came down in shoals, in tidal waves, in green thick sheets. what finally saved us all was the Saint Bernard dog that came barging through the emergency exit, dragging us out to safety one by one. without that brave creature we would all would have gone to our watery grave.
when I gave the police my statement afterwards they were immediately skeptical. they asked me if I had been drinking. was I taking any recreational drugs at the time. could I locate a witness to verify my statements. that kind of thing. when I became indignant they hustled me into a black van in handcuffs.
"where are you taking me?" I cried in surprise and terror.
"to China" replied one of the cops. "they might swallow such fairy tales, but we sure don't here."

When a Mega-Tsunami Drowned Mars, This Spot May Have Been Ground Zero

I look at Mars and wonder what

is the latest scuttlebutt;

Do the Martians still exist?

Are we on their own blacklist?

Maybe send them edelweiss

when we're probing for old ice . . .

Fear not, for thou shalt not be ashamed

"Fear not, for thou shalt not be ashamed . . . "

3 Nephi 22: 4

What is there to dread, when God our lives discerns;

He knows for us what's best, and for our glory yearns.

No shame can ever touch the man or women who

grips the gospel staff and remains but true.

Two artists built seesaws across the U.S.-Mexico border. Then video of kids playing on them went viral

don't play in the Antone's yard, my mother commanded me when I was a kid. and don't let any of them come over here she further instructed. they were our next door neighbors, but mom had had a falling out with Mrs. Antone and so nobody in the family was allowed to set foot on their property. if she had a beef with them, we all had to have a beef with them. even as a child I knew that vendettas were a dumb idea. this one meant I couldn't go over to play with Jimmy Antone and mess around in his big garage where his father kept a bunch of rusty tools and bric-a-brac from his job on the railroad.
mom got dad to hire someone to dig a trench and plant claw bushes along the boundary line between our two yards. the bushes grew fast and soon towered over the elm trees that had been planted on the street back in the 1920's. evil things lived in the claw bushes. things with red eyes and foul stench, that slithered and crept about at night, devouring infants right in their cradles. vampires moved into the claw bushes and it took the Minneapolis Fire Department two weeks to burn them out with napalm. our house caught fire during the vampire campaign, and we moved to a trailer park. which had a fine set of seesaws.

She was feeding the stray cats that kept her company. Now the 79-year-old is going to jail.

I was in my backyard, minding my own business, when this spaceship comes floating down onto the lawn and an alien steps out of it. nothing scary; just a humanoid with green rippling skin and a snout for a nose. before I could do anything the alien threw down a brown package, got back in its spaceship, and left as quietly and quickly as it had come. I poked the package with a stick, and since it didn't explode or anything I opened it up -- it was full of baked potatoes and grilled steak and chocolate layer cake, and a pot of California blend steamed vegetables. boy, did I eat good that day!
the next day I was in my backyard again, kinda hoping the alien would bring something good again. and it did! this time it was a Sicilian pizza with anchovies and a cobb salad. I tried to thank the alien but it sped off in its spaceship before I could say anything.
after that I was out in the yard every day, and every day that spaceship landed and the alien dropped off a delicious package. as the years went by I married and we had seven children, and I kept them well fed with those wonderful packages from the space alien.
then one day it didn't come. there was no food. we had to eat crackers and cheese. I never saw that spaceship or that alien again, and several of my children starved to death before I could remember how to go to work to earn money to buy food.
That's why I'll never trust a space alien again -- they're murderers!

Tuesday, July 30, 2019

A lawmaker wants to end ‘social media addiction’ by killing features that enable mindless scrolling (WaPo)

"it's not about addiction" said Crazy Henry. "it's about stale bread."
"how so?" I asked him, curious. we were at Minnehaha Park, trying to escape the intolerable wet heat of an August weekend. we'd each had 3 root beer floats from the A&W stand, and I was nursing a stomach ache in consequence. I had said I was addicted to root beer floats and that they were killing me.
for answer, he rummaged in his pants pocket and pulled out a piece of white bread, pressed into a pill. this he popped in his mouth. "there" he said. "a stale bread pill suppresses the addictive personality for up to 48 hours. a known scientific fact." "you're talking complete bosh, like always!" I shot back, my belly ache getting worse. I needed to find a park bathroom. "just try one before you burn me at the stake" he said, offering me a bread pill from his pocket. it was covered in lint but I took it anyway -- just to see if my stomach ache would go away. and it did! I began to feel both happy and drowsy. "what's in those bread pills of yours?" I asked him, as I slid onto a concrete park bench. but Crazy Henry wasn't there anymore. instead there was a giant pineapple grinning at me. "tell Congress I love them" were my last words as I sank into a coma.