I've been writing these diaries for awhile now. When I come up with something funny, I get a lot of nice comments. When I actually try to write about politics, everyone calls me names and says I'm a jackass, not necessarily in so many words, but that's the gist of it.
Now, this is supposed to be a political website. I guess it's like if you're in a room full of preachers, the last thing you should do, as a layman, is give a sermon. If you start stripping or telling jokes or passing out drinks, they'll probably start whooping it up with the best of them. Well, maybe not if you strip. Not unless you loose some weight first. Not you, I mean me. Okay, I mean me and you both. You first. Drop the chocolate, sucker! And are they straight preachers? Which denomination? I just need to know before I start taking it off. It would change the sound track. My act remains the same regardless.
Anyway, you bang your head against the wall long enough even a jackass like me will eventually learn the lesson: wear a helmet. Or stop banging your head against the wall. Wait, I think I didn't quite learn this lesson. What I mean is, give the people what they want. That's the lesson. I learned it by banging my head against a wall?
When it comes to funny, there's no use running on inspiration. You got have a formula. Look at the Onion. Reviewing the diaries, I figured my formula out and will now proceed to adhere to it rigorously and rigidly and righteously. That ought to please you left wing preachers. And the formula is...
... an animal and some sort of disaster. Pick a disaster, usually some pain and humiliation thrown in, and an animal, a horse or an opossum, mix them and, presto, it's funny.
Here I almost get squished to death under a barn while chasing a Park Avenue Jack Russell. They loved it! Here I end up on the sidewalk eating a newspaper trying to convince a runway dog to come share the paper with me. A hit! Here I'm a pig stuck in a ham sandwich. Great! Here I get almost murdered by a horse. Here my wife is kicked by a horse the day we leave for Ethiopia to adopt a baby.
Here an opossum eats our gingerbread house.
So, obviously, a rut has set in and it's time for a good old-fashioned riddle: My left side goes up all day everyday for ever but never touches the sky. My right side goes down all day everyday for ever but never touches the earth. What am I?
"My aunt Frida."
Your aunt Frida? A person cannot possibly go in two directions at once. That's a stupid answer.
"Okay, an elevator."
Close: an escalator. An elevator goes both up and down.
"So does my Aunt Frida but you said that was wrong. Anyway, my turn: There once was a girl from Nantucket who went to the well with a bucket. The bucket leaked and she was a freak so she met this dude and said oh-"
Stop right there. That's not a riddle. It's a lymerick, you idiot.
"Did I say it was a riddle?"
It's a riddle contest, so it's kind of implied.
"I didn't agree to a riddle contest. You made up the rules. But alright then, here's another one for you: I come down from the sky but when I land in the airport, no one is happy and no planes take off. What am I?"
Is that it?
"That's it."
But that could any one of about a hundred things.
"Nope. Only one right answer."
Okay, a bomb.
"NO! A cloud! When it's foggy, they cancel all the flights."
If a bomb came down, I bet they would cancel all the flights.
"They bring the bomb in a suitcase. It doesn't fall from the sky."
It could fall from the sky.
"Look up. What do you see up there? A cloud or a bomb?"
I don't live in Mogadishu. I bet in Mogadishu they see more bombs than clouds. That is the stupidest riddle I ever heard. It could be a big garbage bag full of shit. Anything would shut the airport down.
"Do they have an airport in Mogadishu, smarty pants? Okay, Mr. Mogadishu, where in the world do they have bags of shit flying around? I don't think the Palestinians and the Israelis heave bags of shit at each other."
No where but in theory they could put a bag of dung in a Medieval catapult and heave it into the airport and whammy: no flights today.
"Okay, if we're allowed to answer the riddles with complete hypotheticals, then I say the answer to yours is my Aunt Frida like I said."
A person cannot have a left side that goes up and a right side that goes down all day long.
"Have you met my Aunt Frida?"
Is she made of cellophane?
"She might be."
Look, an Aunt Frida made of cellophane is no answer to the riddle. It's got to be the most logical answer.
"And a big bag or shit heaved into an airport by some crazy Somalis with a Medieval catapult is the most logical answer to my riddle? That's more likely than a cloud?"
You know what, I give up, let's go back to limericks.
"Okay, here goes:
old pond
a frog jumps into
the sound of water."
That's a goddamn Haiku you dumb piece of...