The Latest Proctologist Jokes.

 

Aren't you ashamed of yourself

for clicking on this link?

Don't you have anything

better to do?

Timerick: Gun-Control Support Drops Amid Growing Crime and Firearm Purchases.

 

Lemme tell you something, son;

there is nothing like a gun.

Hefted in a manly hand

it will make you feel quite grand.

Did you know the Feds curtail

guns and ammo when for sale?

Used to be you'd pay in cash

and got your gun as quick as hash.

But now, alas, that ain't the case;

the red tape is a huge disgrace.

Try buying a Kalashnikov;

you will be told to bugger off!

And when you want to buy a Glock

they'll tell you they are out of stock.

No dum dum bullets or hand grenades --

How can a guy go on crusades?

Now down in Mexico, my lad,

things are not yet quite so bad.

If you have enough dinero

you can be a bandolero.

Guns and apple pie, amigo;

that's the true blue Yankee ego.

So start with BB guns, my boy,

to join the brutal hoi polloi!

******************

I ordered a new oven but it's still in port they say/I need it for the pumpkin pie on this Thanksgiving day/I guess I'll light a fire in the basement on cement/and roast the turkey over embers with no decent vent/And if my cooking is all charred and turns out to be smelly/I guess I'll order something from The Brothers Kosher Deli. 

Timerick: Gun Law Allowing Police to Seize Weapons From Potential Shooters Often Isn’t Used.

 

A crazy man walked down the street;

his eyes you did not want to meet.

For if you did he'd yell at you,

and scream just like a cockatoo.

He had a gun; he waved it madly.

He crooned to it, and called it Bradley.

Was he a vet; what was his race?

The cops ignored him, just in case.

He shot up windows, aimed at birds;

he was a menace, in other words.

No John Wayne would face him down,

and so he terrorized the town.

Until, that is, he shot a bear,

who didn't take it debonair.

The critter pawed him right and left

and gave his head an awful cleft.

So now the crazy man reposes

in a nursing home with roses.

The nurses took his gun away;

twas easier than mowing hay.

When cops their duty shirk so well,

then madmen with their shot and shell

can walk our streets quite unmolested --

knowing they won't be arrested!

Haiku: 詩人には腰痛があります

 

no one rends chickens

the red puddles dry crusty

they want a desk job

誰も鶏を引き裂かない

赤い水たまりは無愛想に乾く

彼らはデスクの仕事をしたい

with one ping dinging

and another one singing

my hands are wringing

1回のpingで
そしてもう一人は歌っています
私の手は絞っている

under a dead tree

grass crawling with cockchafers --

there's only black mud.

枯れ木の下
コフキコガモと草を這う-
黒い泥しかありません。

Try Smiling When You Shave . . .

 

When I make the effort to smile, to grin broadly, while I shave, I find I cut myself much less often.

You can draw any conclusion you like from that; or none at all, hoping, perhaps, instead, that a man who simpers at himself in the mirror deserves to have his throat cut.

Waking up this Sunday morning I immediately thought about baking and/or cooking something to serve to my neighbors here in Valley Villa Apartments. I often have such thoughts upon awaking. And I often act on them. But this morning as I stretched and yawned like a cat, turning over on my left side to caress my new bride, I felt a distinct distaste for the hurly-burly involved in making a big meal to serve out our front door or as a Potlatch in the Community Room.

(As I write this Amy is already in the kitchen making pear butter to give away to our neighbors after church.)

Then a vagrant yet pleasant thought drifted into my unfurnished head. Why not make something . . . not to portion out as servings, but as a whole casserole meal to give away to some couple or family at church this morning? I am intrigued by this idea. What will be the reaction when Amy and I approach a couple at church after Sacrament Meeting, to offer them a pan of spaghetti casserole and a Tupperware container full of Amy's cookie crumble pudding? I will carefully note the reactions and duly report them back to you, faithful reader, at the end of this essay.

For I am now beginning a new phase in my writing. I am become another Montaigne -- writing reflective essays on my life and the life around me. This is as a result of the heightened state of aufklarung I enjoy as a newly-wed. A newly-wed who has just married the same woman he lost 26 years earlier.

Writing a slick limerick about such a subject just doesn't cut the mustard.

I can't think that my musings will be very profound or original. They will be rambling, anecdotal, and, for the most part, inconsequential. Which disclaimer, of course, is how all writers have fished for compliments down through the ages. But, somewhat like Montaigne, I feel so self-contained in my own happy contentment right now that I don't give a rat's patootie as to the opinion of others who may read this. 

************************

As we smoothed ourselves down for church, it came to me that the casserole and pudding should be given to the ward clerks, secretaries, and the Bishopric. With Tithing Settlement in full swing, this is a busy time for them -- I doubt they get home for Sunday dinner.

So that's what we did. I have no idea if any of it has been or will be eaten -- but there it sits in the clerk's office; a thank-offering for those who toil long hours over church membership, finances, and godly administration.

*************************

We have such a very small kitchen that both of us cannot be working in it at the same time. Only when doing dishes can we companionably stand side-by-side washing and drying. 

Walking home from choir practice at church this afternoon I spotted one lorn red rose about to unfold, surrounded by a herd of rose hips, in the front yard of a staid brick house. Reaching through the mesh fence, I gave the stem a violent tug, nearly uprooting the entire bush. But I got the rose. And I gave it to Amy.

The last rose of summer. How corny can you get?

A Message from my New Bride.

 

Dear Tim,

Awake this night, pondering what responsibility I am running away from. Thoughts of our conversation while walking the track came to my mind, I began to think tonight about how I could best support you. I read Mosiah 12-13, I read 3 Nephi 21-22. I prayed for you. Then I began to listen to things on YouTube. Just random things but God knows all things. My understanding was opened. 

Your goals are small compared to what God wants them to be. Think bigger than just you and me. How can you help the world?  What touches your heart and gives you a desire to help the world be a better place?  What do you need to study in order to have the knowledge to support that idea? To support us until you reach your goal? 

If the answer is that working for Adam will get you to the next level, then that is great. In January will I still need to be part of this venture? If so then there is something else for you to learn. Let's ask God to help with that. What I am saying is that I don't want to earn more than you. If I do then I am a usurper.

I know that you are God's man. What you are seeking is seeking you. I thank God for the wonderful and beautiful marriage we have. I thank God for the intelligence and wisdom He has blessed you with. I thank God for answering our prayers according to the faith we have.  I Love You,

Amy

Timerick: Hi, I’m a Leaf Blower. Everybody Hates Me. (Thanks to Jason Gay.)

 

why can't the leaves be left alone/instead of being ever blown/across the lawns of middle class/folks who love their tidy grass?/bagging leaves is such a bore/ a mindless pointless bourgeois chore/I'd rather plant a Norway pine/than listen to a blower's whine.

Timerick: Homes Now Typically Sell in a Week, Forcing Buyers to Take Risks (WSJ)

 

a week ago I bought a house;

at least I thought I did.

but when the realtor called me up

he said I still must bid.

for other buyers were on board

and jacking up the price.

I didn't think that sporting and 

it certainly ain't nice.

So I upped my ante a few thousand --

what the heck.

but when my realtor called me back

he wouldn't take my check.

I pleaded and I hollered

but that villain simply said:

"the housing market is insane

and standing on its head!"

My money cannot buy a home;

I rest my weary bones

on a park bench till the day

I get some bigger loans!

Haiku: 冬にガスを渡す

 

a cloud of feathers
with a red wattle waving
in brown gravy death

羽の雲
赤い編み枝細工を振って
茶色の肉汁の死で

a braid of water
weaved with mudlarks and clinkers --
now reflects sunlight
水の三つ編み
マッドラークとクリンカーで編まれた-
太陽光を反射するようになりました


死んだ白鳥のように白い
深いほこりの中のスラグの山に
隙間のある穴の隣
as white as dead swans
on slag heaps in the deep dust
next to gaping holes

Haiku: 詩人は豆のスープを作っています

making white bean soup

the wooden spoon has a crack 

onions fry in oil

白豆のスープを作る

木のスプーンにひびが入っている

タマネギは油で揚げる

 

スカッフィングの芸術は失われた都市の芸術形態です-葉の上でもっとサーフィンをしましょう！

the art of scuffing is a lost city artform --more surfing on leaves!

potatoes are dear
red meat is a memory
the damn vaccine's fault
じゃがいもは傷ついた肉は記憶ですいまいましいワクチンのせい