A Collection of Funny Crap
Everyone has a lifetime of humorous stories to tell. Some weren't all that funny when they happened, but in retrospect....
That is what this blog is all about. And without any further gilding of the lily, allow me to kick this off with the following:
Weird Science
My most embarrassing moment in high school occurred in the chemistry lab. As in most institutional labs, the lab equipment was arranged in stations with 4 or 5 rather high stools arranged around each station. The floor was hard concrete and the stools had four metal legs and a thin hardwood perch. It was as if one were sitting upon a tightly tuned snare drum, which oddly enough sets the tone for the rest of the story.
On my way to class that morning I stopped at Mickey D's for a sausage egg McMuffin which I devoured in less than two bites. I washed it down with some OJ and a bit of coffee and arrived at my lab early as I was accustomed to doing. There were a couple others in the room, but not those with whom I would typically associate, so I took a seat toward the back of the lab and settled in for some serious learning.
As my classmates and friends filtered in I began to feel my breakfast digest. By the time several of my friends had joined me around my station and the bell had rung signaling the start of class, I was feeling a bit queasy and uncomfortable. Little beads of sweat had formed on my forehead as the pressure built in my intestines. This was not the sort of chemistry I had in mind.
The room fell silent as the teacher began to speak and just then one of my friends lets loose with a muffled yawn. For some reason I still cannot fathom, I found that hilarious, but obviously did not want to laugh out loud. In an attempt to stifle the laugh, I inadvertently set off a chemical chain reaction that has haunted me to this day. The initial release was colossal enough, but it was the long loud reverberation rattling out on that stool like a spirited rendition of The Little Drummer Boy that put the place in motion. My friends began to scramble, as if for their very lives, as backpacks and stools skittered across the floor. Nearby stations began to join in the exodus, and people were falling and stumbling away from me in a sort of semi-circular blast pattern not unlike that of a nuclear detonation in the Bikini Atoll. Some were laughing hysterically, others looked genuinely frightened. It was a good half hour before the room was finally ventilated and order was restored. From that point forward I was Legend, but not in the way I had hoped I would be in high school. I was later selected by my peers as "Most likely to solve the energy crisis".
This was One Cool Cat
Indeed. Male cats don't mess around, they get straight to the point. The first cat my wife and I had was a male tabby that showed up at our door step as a kitten with another kitten and a slightly older cat. He was the most friendly and playful of the bunch so we kept him and gave the other two away after checking with neighbors to see if they belonged to anyone. He was cute as a kitten with sort of orange and white stripes and was rambunctious to say the least. We named him Matuszak, in memory of the late great Raider John Matuszak.
So many funny stories with Matuszak its difficult to know where to start, but here goes:
As a kitten, he got his head stuck in a tall inversely tapered glass trying to lap up the last few drops of milk at the bottom. A little dish soap and some elbow grease was required to help free him from that predicament.
When friends came over on Sundays to watch football he wouldn't exactly "cuddle" with us on the couch, but rather wanted to be part of the action. He'd lay across someone’s foot waiting to be launched skyward for some aerial acrobatics and would always stomp the landing. Then he'd return to the same foot, or any nearby foot, for a repeat performance, ALL day!
My brother came to visit one time and picked up Matuszak with his thumbs under his belly and held him aloft in front of his face. As my brother launched into his high pitched baby talk, "Oh what a cute little kitty...such a cute little kitty cat aren't you...little kitty cat....", Matuszak at lightning speed grabbed my brother by both temples, claws fully extended, pulled my brother's head in even closer and bit him square in the middle of the forehead. I'm paraphrasing of course, but my brother's response was something to the effect, "Holy shit!....motherfucker! Stupid fucking cat!" Matuszak did not run away after he was dropped to the floor. He just sat there looking up at my brother and I swear to Christ he seemed like he was laughing.
We had to go out of town one weekend and couldn't find someone to take care of Matuszak while we were gone. So we put a big bowl of food, a clean litter box and all of his toys in the bathroom, kissed him goodbye and closed the door. He meowed a couple times but then seemed to be fine playing with his toys, so we were off. Upon returning home, the first thing we wanted to do was check on our cute little kitty and maybe play with him for a bit. As the bathroom door slowly opened, it quickly became apparent that Matuszak had not been happy with his weekend accommodations. His food was everywhere, not a single grain of litter was left in his litter box (nor turds for that matter), the toilet paper roll was empty and shredded paper was everywhere! Poo and urine were all over the floor and walls, and did I mention that he had shredded the nice wallpaper that was on the wall above the 3' high wainscoting? How he had managed to reach the heights to which the damage was done baffles us to this day. But there he sat, in the middle of that mess looking up at us like nothing happened, as if to say "Hey....what's up dudes?" Then he slowly sauntered out into the hallway.
A Disney Adventure to Remember
Allow me to recount a Disney adventure of epic proportions. This is entirely true and actually happened during a single trip to Disneyland. My boys are 3 and 4 I believe at the time and just stoked out of their minds to be visiting Mickey, Minnie and the other amazingly bi-pedal animals in Anaheim California.
With both boys strapped into their car seats in the back seat of the Explorer we set off on the 7 hour journey to LA. About a third of the way there my youngest starts screaming as though Mickey himself is gnawing off his leg. I turn around to see him covering his eyes and thrashing about wildly and yet he is unable to explain his predicament. I quickly pull over and run around to his side of the car and yank the door open. His hands are still firmly clamped over his eyes and I manage to pry them apart as my other son stares on in wide-eyed horror. Somehow the little guy had managed to turn his eyelids inside out and the lashes were tucked up under the lids, likely creating the sensation he so disliked. I pulled the skin above his eyes up to pop the lids and lashes back into place, but alas that was not the end of that debacle. He had worked himself up into such a lather that about another 5 miles down the road he projectile vomited his entire breakfast of pancakes and bacon from the back seat, past my wife's head, and I shit you not, on to the windshield. It was like a scene from The Exorcist, but we cleaned it up while my other son tried valiantly to keep his own chow down.
We arrive late in the afternoon the first day and the boys wear themselves out just running around the Paradise Pier Hotel (gross misnomer by the way) and eating an assortment of fried and sweet foods with Chip and Dale for dinner.
After a very poor first night of sleep the boys want to go for a dip in the gigantic swimming pool before trudging to the park. My youngest is paddling around on his Donald Duck floater when all of the sudden his head starts turning red and he gets that "I gotta poop" look on his face. Before I can wade all the way over to him I see a brown cloud beginning to radiate into the water from his midsection. I grab him, fork lift style in a prone position and dash for the elevator. The fountain is still coming out of his swim trunks, over my arms, and down my legs. We finally get back into the room, leaving surprisingly very little in the way of a trail and we get him (and me) cleaned up in the bath tub. Fun stuff.
Later we head to the park for a very long day and the kids are getting tired. I hoist the oldest onto my shoulders as his feet are very tired. He starts to fall asleep and begins to slump over my head when suddenly I feel a warm sensation at the back of my neck and trickling down my spine. The trickle becomes a gush which becomes a torrent and so that's the way I walked around for the rest of the afternoon and evening.
On the shuttle bus ride back to the hotel of course both kids are out like a light. I'm holding the oldest in my lap while whispering to my wife what a wonderful adventure this has been. Suddenly I feel that warm sensation again and I lift my boy up off my lap to discover that the entire front side of my shorts are soaked, and there are golden rivulets running down my legs.. My dignity pretty much lost at this point, I proudly stride into the hotel lobby, other little kids pointing and laughing at the old guy who apparently wet his pants.
All in all though it was so much fun that we did it again a few years later after my daughter was born.
Doody!
My youngest son was so funny when he was little. I think he hated poop so much that he would hold it in until he just could no longer contain it. The sight and smell of it really grossed him out I suppose. Whenever he got quiet and wandered off into a dark corner or just laid down on the floor or sidewalk (usually in a prone position), we knew he was spinning a load of butt laundry. When his head started turning red, that was the beacon indicating he was at Defcon 1 and we had mere moments to get him on the throne. Sadly we sometimes didn't make it, and that was no fun for any of us.
My oldest son was somewhat the same, but it was just that he never wanted to stop what he was doing to bother with the inconvenience of dropping a deuce. At a cabin one year over the holidays he was having so much fun playing with his new toys that he started turtle-heading (or prairie-dogging if you prefer) and I had to carry him fork lift style in a prone position to the bathroom before he clipped it all the way off. The rest of the evening his mantra was "I need powwwwwda", and he is still teased about that to this day.
Dragged this over from Minds where it had languished sans audience for over a year. Tough room! Thought I'd try it out here and see how it fits. Please feel free to add your own stories. We can all use a good laugh from time to time, even when we aren't trying to be funny!
Your weird science story made me laugh so hard I couldn't make myself laugh again for all the rest of the stories, including Dave's. Thanks for making my day.
Glad I gave that one top billing then.
I will post another story below that I did not write myself, but one that nonetheless makes me laugh until my contact lenses wash out. And I've read the damn thing perhaps hundreds of times. I'm thinking it is because it is very close to something I could have written about a similar incident that was very real to me. Here goes:
SHAMELESS
All in all, it hadn't been a good day. Bad traffic, a malfunctioning computer, incompetent coworkers and a sore back all made me a seething cauldron of rage. But more importantly for this story, it had been over 48 hours since I'd last taken a dump. I'd tried to jumpstart the process, beginning my day with a bowl of bowel cleansing fiber cereal, following it with six cups of coffee at work, and adding a bean-laden lunch at Taco Bell.
As I was returning home from work, my insides let me know with subtle rumbles and the emission of the occasional tiny fart that Big Things would be happening soon. Alas, I had to stop at the mall to pick up an order for the wife. I completed this task, and as I was walking past the stores on my way back to the car, I noticed a large sale sign proclaiming, "Everything Must Go!" This was prophetic, for my colon informed me with a sudden violent cramp and a wet, squeaky fart that everything was indeed about to go. I hurried to the mall bathrooms. I surveyed the five stalls, which I have numbered 1 through 5 for your convenience:
1. Occupied.
2. Clean, but Bathroom Protocol forbids its use, as it's next to the occupied one.
3. Poo smeared on seat.
4. Poo and toilet paper in bowl, unidentifiable liquid splattered on seat.
5. No toilet paper, no stall door, something sticky growing near base of toilet.
Clearly, it had to be Stall #2. I trudged back, entered, dropped the trousers and sat down. I'm normally a fairly Shameful Shitter. I wasn't happy about being next to the occupied stall, but Big Things were afoot.
I was just getting ready to bear down when all of a sudden the sweet sounds of Beethoven came from next door, followed by a fumbling, and then the sound of a voice answering the ringing phone. As usual for a cell phone conversation, the voice was exactly 8 dB louder than it needed to be. Out of shameful habit, my sphincter slammed shut. The inane conversation went on and on. Mr. Shitter was blathering to Mrs. Shitter about the shitty day he had. I sat there, cramping and miserable, waiting for him to finish. As the loud conversation dragged on, I became angrier and angrier, thinking that I, too, had a crappy day, but I was too polite to yak about in public. My ass let me know in no uncertain terms that if I didn't get crapping soon, my day would be getting even crappier.
Finally my anger reached a point that overcame Shamefulness. I no longer cared. I gripped the toilet paper holder with one hand, braced my other hand against the side of the stall, and pushed with all my might. I was rewarded with a fart of colossal magnitude -- a cross between the sound of someone ripping a very wet bed sheet in half and of plywood being torn off a wall. The sound gradually transitioned into a heavily modulated low-RPM tone, not unlike someone firing up a Harley. I managed to hit the resonance frequency of the stall, and it shook gently.
Once my ass cheeks stopped flapping in the breeze, three things became apparent:
(1) The next-door conversation had ceased; (2) my colon's continued seizing indicated that there was more to come; and (3) the bathroom was now beset by a horrible, eldritch stench.
It was as if a gateway to Hell had been opened. The foul miasma quickly made its way under the stall and began choking my poop-mate. This initial "herald" fart had ended his conversation in mid-sentence.
"Oh my God," I heard him utter, following it with suppressed sounds of choking, and then, "No, baby, that wasn't me (cough, gag), you could hear that (gag)??"
Now there was no stopping me. I pushed for all I was worth. I could swear that in the resulting cacophony of rips, squirts, splashes, poots, and blasts, I was actually lifted slightly off the pot. The amount of stuff in me was incredible. It sprayed against the bowl with tremendous force. Later, in surveying the damage, I'd see that liquid poop had actually managed to ricochet out of the bowl and run down the side on to the floor. But for now, all I could do was hang on for the ride.
Next door I could hear him fumbling with the paper dispenser as he desperately tried to finish his task. Little snatches of conversation made themselves heard over my anal symphony: "Gotta go... horrible... throw up...in my mouth... not... make it... tell the kids...love them... oh God..." followed by more sounds of suppressed gagging and retching.
Alas, it is evidently difficult to hold one's phone and wipe one's bum at the same time. Just as my high-pressure abuse of the toilet was winding down, I heard a plop and splash from next door, followed by string of swear words and gags. My poop-mate had dropped his phone into the toilet.
There was a lull in my production, and the restroom became deathly quiet. I could envision him standing there, wondering what to do. A final anal announcement came trumpeting from my behind, small chunks plopping noisily into the water. That must have been the last straw. I heard a flush, a fumbling with the lock, and then the stall door was thrown open. I heard him running out of the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.
After a considerable amount of paperwork, I got up and surveyed the damage. I felt bad for the janitor who'd be forced to deal with this, but I knew that flushing was not an option. No toilet in the world could handle that unholy mess. Flushing would only lead to a floor flooded with filth.
As I left, I glanced into the next-door stall. Nothing remained in the bowl. Had he flushed his phone, or had he plucked it out and left the bathroom with nasty unwashed hands? The world will never know.
I exited the bathroom, momentarily proud and shameless, looking around for a face glaring at me. But I saw no one. I suspect that somehow my supernatural elimination has managed to transfer my shamefulness to my anonymous poop-mate. I think it'll be a long time before he can bring himself to crap in public -- and I doubt he'll ever again answer his cell phone in a bathroom. And this, my friends, is why you should never talk on your phone in the growler.
As for that first wet fart, the guy should pay attention to the first one of Jack Nicholson's 3 basic rules for the elderly in the movie The Bucket List: "Never trust a fart, never pass up a toilet and never waste a hard-on."
Google "Anal Leakage" which is listed as a possible side-effect of many medications. The results are hilarious. That unfortunate phenomenon is otherwise defined as a "Sour Audible Release", "Unexpected Rectal Discharge" and "Itchy Bottom". This is from Wikipedia.
Mr Giggles had a similar experience at a bowling alley in Biloxi, MS. It was the result of too much beer and oysters the night before. I think he gave the other guy in the bathroom nightmares for the rest of his life
LOL! Me too but at a casino in South Lake Tahoe. Buddy of mine and I were comped a free huevos rancheros breakfast at the casino that morning and cashed in on it during a break in the tournament later that afternoon. We followed the crowd to the very large restroom and located the only two stalls out of 30 roughly across the aisle from one another. Push comes to shove and we begin to engage in what became an epic version of dueling bunjos. Between volleys of seemingly choreographed melodies we heard toilets flushing, doors slamming and frantic shuffling until finally we were the only two who remained. The funniest part was when we emerged from the restroom, exhausted from laughter, we looked around to note dozens of eyes on us from all corners of the large casino floor. Quick glance at each other and we both went into one of those deep dramatic curtain-call type Shakespearean bows and then went about our business back at the poker tables.
Yeah JBB, I'm never going to remember any of those technical words. Let's just say we shit our pants, eh?
Consider making a comedy group now that NT has groups whose articles can be shared on the front page (at a click of a button) and can be moderated by the hosting group.
Thanks TiG. I'll try and check that out. How you been my friend?
Doing well. Been busy but in a good way.
This is funny topic you started.
Two stories instantly come to mind. One I won't give details to as I thoroughly embarrassed myself in front of 3 magnificently beautiful girls in my mid teens. They laughed, but still liked me afterwards. Sorry, that is all that goes public on that one.
Second one, omg, long and drawn out. I almost fell over laughing right there on the spot.
Alright, it is probably not a secret I like cars and motorsports. My good buddy, "Carl" (in Spanish it is not Carl, but that is what everyone called him, including his wife) who was also a gear head, 15 years older than me and was really mentor in life had purchased a 1954 Mercury (btw this was a few decades ago).
He taught me many things in life and one area was cars. Okay, I was all eyes and ears. This was the coolest project we had worked on. Part of the project was to swap out the engine for something newer and larger displacement.
So we found this early '60s Fairlane with a 312 to replace the 254. Went to look at the car. Fired it up and the engine sounded good. Let it warm up a little bit and reved it a few times. Sounded good. No smoke and nonsense. Waited to see if coolant would come out somewhere. Nope. All good.
Reved it one last time. WOAAAAA it took off in revers.
Now the next sequence happens in a split second of time.Don't think we are standing around with our thumbs up our butts.
Okay, you have to understand Carl. Survivor of a recognized horrible battle in which the 101st engaged and won.
He was like a hard ass Hispanic movie character in one of those Vietnam movies. That was Carl.
So we see this car heading toward this old Puerto Rican fellas perfect white picket fence and gate with the driver door wide open. It it going to make a lot of damage.
We quickly look at each other and Carl's face is a white a white mans. Lords knows what mine looked like. Being the young athletic kid I took off and ran to get into that open drivers door and stop it. The fence was already history. The next victim was a well manicured dogwood tree, beyond that was a steep hill and a "trench".
I got in just prior to the driver door had a chance to hit the dogwood and stopped the car.
Pulled the car back to the driveway, parked the car, shut it off.
The old fella was just beside himself. He lost the ability to speak English so the old fella was going off at me in Spanish. My Spanish was only good enough for casual conversation and ordering Cuban subs at the sandwich ship. So Carl was trying to intervene and carry the conversation.
In an instant my mind switched into surrealism. I had to turn away from time to time because I just could not suppress at laughing at this ridiculous situation. Here I am with this poor old fella upset beside himself, I feel bad but can't understand a word he is saying and Carl sees me begin laughing when I turn away and he starts the same thing.
We finally gather ourselves up and let the old guy now we will repair the fence, which we did.
He was fine.
I am sorry, but even right now writing the story I am breaking out laughing. Probably a ton of typos.
The Merc was beautiful when we finished everything.
That is some good shit Dave! I could just picture the scene in my head as I read it. Funny stuff!
Thank you. I would have replied sooner but I start laughing again. My words don't do the situation justice.
On the way home we both agreed to not tell his wife all the details. They were like my second parents at the time and Priscilla could certainly be a mom, who by the way, made the best yellow Spanish rice in the world.
Another web gem that I cannot claim as my own, but by God I can stand in ovation! Enjoy!
The Chili Cook-Off
Recently, I was honored to be selected as a judge at a chili cook-off. The original person called in sick at the last moment and I happened to be standing there at the judge's table, asking for directions to the Coors Light truck, when the call came in... I was assured by the other two judges (Native New Mexicans) that the chili wouldn't be all that spicy; and, besides, they told me I could have free beer during the tasting, so I happily accepted and became Judge 3.
Here are the scorecard notes from the event:
CHILI # 1 - MIKE'S MANIAC MONSTER CHILI
Judge # 1 -- A little too heavy on the tomato. Amusing kick.
Judge # 2 -- Nice, smooth tomato flavor. Very mild.
Judge # 3 (Frank) -- Holy crap, what the hell is this stuff? You could remove dried paint from your driveway. Took me two beers to put the flames out. I hope that's the worst one. These New Mexicans are crazy.
CHILI # 2 - EL RANCHO'S AFTERBURNER CHILI
Judge # 1 -- Smoky, with a hint of pork. Slight jalapeno tang.
Judge # 2 -- Exciting BBQ flavor, needs more peppers to be taken seriously.
Judge # 3 -- Keep this out of the reach of children. I'm not sure what I'm supposed to taste besides pain. I had to wave off two people who wanted to give me the Heimlich maneuver. They had to rush in more beer when they saw the look on my face.
CHILI # 3 - ALFREDO'S FAMOUS BURN DOWN THE BARN CHILI
Judge # 1 -- Excellent firehouse chili. Great kick.
Judge # 2 -- A bit salty, good use of peppers.
Judge # 3 -- Call the EPA. I've located a uranium spill. My nose feels like I have been snorting Drano. Everyone knows the routine by now. Get me more beer before I ignite. Barmaid pounded me on the back, now my backbone is in the front part of my chest. I'm getting red-faced from all of the beer.
CHILI # 4=2 0- BUBBA'S BLACK MAGIC
Judge # 1 -- Black bean chili with almost no spice. Disappointing.
Judge # 2 -- Hint of lime in the black beans. Good side dish for fish or other mild foods, not much of a chili.
Judge # 3 -- I felt something scraping across my tongue, but was unable to taste it. Is it possible to burn out taste buds? Sally, the beer maid, was standing behind me with fresh refills. This 300 lb. Woman is starting to look HOT ... Just like this nuclear waste I'm eating! Is chili an aphrodisiac?
CHILI # 5 - LISA'S LEGAL LIP REMOVER
Judge # 1 -- Meaty, strong chili. Jalapeno peppers freshly ground, adding considerable kick. Very impressive.
Judge # 2 -- Chili using shredded beef, could use more tomato. Must admit the jalapeno peppers make a strong statement.
Judge # 3 -- My ears are ringing, sweat is pouring off my forehead and I can no longer focus my eyes. I farted, and four people behind me needed paramedics. The contestant seemed offended when I told her that her chili had given me brain damage. Sally saved my tongue from bleeding by pouring beer directly on it from the pitcher. I wonder if I'm burning my lips off. It really ticks me off that the other judges asked me to stop screaming.
CHILI # 6 - VARGA'S VERY VEGETARIAN VARIETY
Judge # 1 -- Thin yet bold vegetarian variety chili. Good balance of spices and peppers.
Judge # 2 -- The best yet. Aggressive use of peppers, onions, garlic. Superb.
Judge # 3 -- My intestines are now a straight pipe filled with gaseous, sulfuric flames. I crapped on myself when I farted, and I'm worried it will eat through the chair. No one seems inclined to stand behind me except that Sally. Can't feel my lips anymore. I need to wipe my butt with a snow cone.
CHILI # 7 - SUSAN'S SCREAMING SENSATION CHILI
Judge # 1 -- A mediocre chili with too much reliance on canned peppers.
Judge # 2 -- Ho hum, tastes as if the chef literally threw in a can of chili peppers at the last moment **I should take note that I am worried about Judge #3. He appears to be in a bit of distress as he is cursing uncontrollably.
Judge # 3 -- You could put a grenade in my mouth, pull the pin, and I wouldn't feel a thing. I've lost sight in one eye, and the world sounds like it is made of rushing water. My shirt is covered with chili, which slid unnoticed out of my mouth. My pants are full of lava to match my shirt. At least during the autopsy, they'll know what killed me. I've decided to stop breathing. It's too painful. I'm not getting any oxygen anyway. If I need air, I'll just suck it in through the 4-inch hole in my stomach.
CHILI # 8 - BIG TOM'S TOENAIL CURLING CHILI
Judge # 1 -- The perfect ending, this is a nice blend chili. Not too bold but spicy enough to declare its existence.
Judge # 2 -- This final entry is a good, balanced chili. Neither mild nor hot. Sorry to see that most of it was lost when Judge #3 farted, passed out, fell over and pulled the chili pot down on top of himself. Not sure if he's going to make it. Poor fella, wonder how he'd have reacted to really hot chili?
Judge # 3 -- No report.
That's the best belly laugh I've had in a very long time. Thank-you
My pleasure! Was it the, "I need to wipe my butt with a snow cone" bit that got ya? That put me over the top for sure. Lost both contact lenses. I still use that line from time to time when we go out for spicy food.
That was good but I think what really tickled me was Judge #2 becoming concerned about Judge #3
Tho, I do have to remember "wipe my butt with a snowcone"
I agree, that was funny.
Of course I am the weirdo who piles cayenne on top habanero sauce and mixes it together to dip meatballs or chicken nuggets in.
This might be funnier than Shameless.
I need to wipe my butt with a snowcone...Hahahahahahaha!!!!!!!!
This is a funny story albeit a bit gross and definitely TMI, so this is your warning.
Years ago, before we had our youngin' Matt and I did a car trip through Europe. We were in Provence in a place called La Baux (pronounced La Bow). (side note: It is an amazing place dating back 6000 BC and where people still live in the carved out caves from that period. Also, at the very top there is the ruins of a castle dating back to the 11 century... but I digress)
It was a really hot day, way over 90 and I was wearing barely shorts and a very long T shirt that fell down below my knees. Matt dragged me to the top of the castle ruins. Between the extreme heat and travel, but system was a bit off, so I went to look for a bathroom. What I found was a whole in the ground to do my #2. So I while holding onto the sink so that I could get the right angle, I did my business and was momentarily pleased with myself for making the mark without making a mess of myself. That moment was quickly gone, when I looked around and found no toilet tissue. Horrified, I carefully pulled my shorts up slightly and using my extra long t shirt walked out to Matt to ask if he had a tissue. He said that all he had was lens tissue and he gave it to me. I tried to use the stuff, but my finger poked through and needless to say, I not only still had a dirty tush, but a dirty middle finger of #2 (I did warn you.. so don't complain). So we had to walk all the way down from the top to the village below and find a place where I could wash up. I did this with my shorts still midway down my thigh. We finally found a pub, where they made us buy a drink so that I could wash up.
My tush was totally raw from the long walk down in the extreme heat and #2 rubbing along the way.. that was bad. But worse was my finger. Scrub as I may, between the heat and time, I could not get the smell off of my middle finger. For days after that.. the smell remained and no matter what I did, it was still there a week later.. and I would stick my finger under Matt's nose and say.. "Is it still there or am I out of my mind?" Needless to say, he was not pleased with this new ritual of mine, but equally shocked at how long it took to get rid of it. Literally 10 days till it was finally gone.
I learned my lesson after that. From that point on, while traveling in Europe, I bring my own roll of toilet paper.. and even here, if Matt sees me coming out of a public toilet he jokes..
"Hope that was not another La Baux moment"
OK you lived through that tale, so let me show you a few more pics of the place. I would call it a must see:
Another angel of the village below the castle ruins
Street view of the lower city.
Sounds like that trip was literally a pain in the ass. If we ever get the opportunity to meet in person, you won't mind if I bow in lieu of shaking your hand?
LMAO.. I would totally understand but the finger was bleached once we got home... just in case.. and no I am not kidding.
LMAO that is a true find!!!
Still live in the caves, eh? That's pretty fascinating.
Your story is funny...but what were you eating that gave you the stinky finger for a week? LOL
They guy standing behind him might be well advised to move...
OMG, I am laughing too hard..
Pull my finger!
The Darkside has invaded the New York City subway system! (I seeded this before... re-posting in case anyone missed it):
"Star Wars Subway Car" was a production of "Imprive Everywhere". Here's another:
Oh dear god, I was thinking the exact same thing while laughing my finely scented ass off!
Roses.... I smell roses...
Perrie, the good ones are ALWAYS gross.
Love the photos of history...and I'll just leave it at that. LOL.
It really was cool to see. Because it was so hot, everyone had their doors and windows open and you could see rugs on stone floors and furniture set up like it was any other house and openings to other rooms. The photos and paintings were hung up by very large nails like railroad size, banged into the uneven stone walls. Lighting was either done by lose wire or installed better using a casing that was also attached to the stone walls and ran up the ceilings in some cases.
Actually just French food from Avignon, which we used as a spring board to get to other places in Provance. There is so much to see there and so much to eat. But the water is a bit different, so that might have had something to do with it.
Some day I'm going to Provence. I don't care about Paris, but I would love to visit Avignon
Trout,
I have to tell you, that Paris was bleh compared to Provance and Nice. Also, you should stop in Straussberg ( you will need 2 days there) and Leon. But in Provance, you need like 10 days to see most of it. Avignon takes about 3 days to see, never mind, Le Baux, Nimes, which has the best Roman Collusium in the world (and I have seen the one in Rome), Saint-Rémy, Ménerbes, and Arles, where Van Gough lived.
And the food is amazing! The people are warm. Just don't go in August. You will die of the heat and humidity.
It sounds like I will need to spend a whole year there. Heat and humidity doesn't bother me, I live in Arkansas. LOL!
It sounds delightful
Ding, dong ... Avignon calling!
I'm glad! That is why I put that in. If my story grossed anyone out, at least they got some history, LOL!
Your story makes the story.
LOL.
Thanks Dave! I haven't told that one in a very long .. well almost never.... time.
This one speaks for itself....
After watching "Sharp Objects" that takes on a whole new meaning...
You find the best memes.
They just sort of fall into my lap, although I have been known to create my own.
Two memes in one! (above photo)
"Disaster Girl"
and
"Tourist Guy"
(Below-- the original. At the time people thought it was real):
JOKE:
A woman goes into her green grocer.
She tells the clerk that she has a food craving.
She wants broccoli.
He mentions they just sold out.
They will have no more until the next weekly delivery.
Would she consider a lovely head of fresh picked cauliflower? Its ivory white.
A true natural work of art, she retorts. But the heart wants what it wants. I must have steamed broccoli smothered in cheddar cheese sauce today.
Lady, says the clerk: if I had it I would sell it. That is what wed do here. We sell produce.
What I can do is point out an outstanding value. Romaine lettuce. Not a drop of rust. Fresh, fragrant and pure emerald green. Today only, a Bogo. Buy one head, get a second gratis.
A bargain for the ages she says. I do favor Romaine on my salads. For now, I can only tell you I came in here to buy broccoli. That and only that will do.
Let's try this a different way, says the green grocer.
Are you aware that there is a "dog" in dogmatic?
Cute, she says.
In your travels has it come to your attention there is a "cat" in catastrophe?
Funny, the lady replies.
And has it been pointed out there is a "frig" in broccoli?
Perplexed, the customer observes that there is no "frig" in broccoli.
Dear neighbor, says the vendor. This is what I am trying to tell you.
I got no friggin broccoli!
Enoch, Peeling an Avocado.
This one actually comes with a story...
Pig escapes, terrorizes entire town, craps in cop car
Ladies and gents... I give you... The look of a champion.
I really do not understand why taggers continue to draw those this way. When was the last time you saw a Johnson and twins with a head roughly the same size as the bag of twins? It just isn't realistic. I like more realism in my art... I'm sorry. Nice teeth though.
Good boy Remy!
Did Remy say 'fuck'?
Well unless my ears are deceiving me....
One of my kids sent this to me and said it sounds just like me doing yard work.
If the story of the resurrection were re-told today...
My. Favorite. Story. EVER!!
Back in 2009, I had acquired a bad case of sepsis. I was in the hospital for 15 days and when released, I was on a PICC line slamming me with various antibiotics for six weeks. I went back to work with little balls [stop it!] of antibiotics hidden in my pant pockets, which I had to change out twice a day. I went back to work with 2-1/2 weeks to go with that PICC line hanging from me.
The inconvenience and horror of being so sick was dwarfed by the amount of weight I gained in a very short time. I was eating practically nothing, but I couldn't stop gaining weight despite practically being on a water and cracker diet. I hate to think of myself as vain, but I realized in a short time that I must be. I couldn't stop the weight gain, but my doctors assured me that once I was off the antibiotics, with proper diet and exercise, I could get back into my old clothes.
On Good Friday, I was at work and was so hungry I decided to go across the street to Riscky's BBQ. I was jonesin' for a ham sandwich. A good ham sandwich. With french fries, goddam it! As I mentioned, it was Good Friday so the place was packed. I work in Sundance Square so the place was packed with tourists. I mosey on up to the bar and order my ham sandwich. Now at this joint, they have cute little names for their sandwiches. For instance, the turkey sandwich is known as the Gobbler. A few minutes pass and there's not room to sit at the bar, so I stand unobtrusively behind several people waiting for my order. The bartendress finally walks up with a little bag and says "Who's the Oinker? Are you the Oinker?" I say, "OMIGAWD!! I'M STANDING RIGHT HERE!! I CAN HEAR YOU!!!" That got such a huge laugh, I was semi-mortified that I embarrassed myself for the sake of what I considered a funny quip. But that didn't last long. One guy loved it so much, he bought my lunch. Not bad ...
~~~~~
I embarrassed myself another time thinking I was so damned funny. It's the end of the work day and the elevator opens up. It's jammed packed. So much so that I couldn't step onto it and knew I had to wait for the next one. As the throng of people looked at me, I said "You're probably all wondering why I called this meeting..." Now, c'mon. I thought that was clever. Only one guy laughed. I mean really laughed. He was way in the back. As the doors were closing, he said "that was really funny!!!"
You HAVE to read the reviews of this 55 gallon drum of lube on Amazon ! There are over 3,000 reviews and 98% are friggin' HILARIOUS!!! People are so stinkin' funny ... !!
What is REALLY hilarious is scanning the numbers on those who found the funny reviews "Helpful".
One liners:
If attacked by a mob of clowns, go for the juggler.
Oh no. I heard that they're not going to make yardsticks any longer.
I checked into a hokey pokey clinic and turned myself around.
This is my stepladder. I never knew my real ladder.
My wife said I never listen to her, or something like that.
I wanted to be a Tibetan monk, but I never got the chants.
I swallowed a dictionary once and that was thesaurus my throat's ever been.
You gotta hand it to short people sometimes. Most times they can't reach.
Most cows I've known are outstanding in their field.
This one is finely coiffed.
where did this funny blast from the past come from?
I think it's needed these days.
Most of it came from various posts I made while many of us were still at Newsvine. I saved some of it and reposted it here. But much of the content in the comments area was contributed by many funny people right here at NewsTalkers. Always a good time for a laugh, but like Buzz said, especially these days.